by Neta Jackson
But lately, he thought glumly, heading back downstairs a few minutes later, all his conversations with Kat were like putting out brush fires. When was he going to get a chance to talk with her about how he felt about her?
The girl confused him. That wild hair of hers seemed like an extension of her personality and her spirit—beautiful, exciting, but not very tame. Soft to the touch, but frenzied.
Nick hesitated on the second-floor landing before entering their apartment. How, exactly, did he feel about Kat Davies?
Chapter 10
Kat heard childish laughter and squeals coming from the apartment even before she finished bumping the new cart full of groceries up the carpeted stairwell to the second floor. Whew. Somebody was home.
“I come bearing gifts!” she announced, pulling the cart inside. “Who’s going to help me put these groceries away?”
“I will! I will!” Conny leaped up from the living room floor, where it looked as if he and Nick had been wrestling.
She eyed Nick. “And . . . ?”
He hefted himself to his feet and grinned. “At your service, ma’am.” Then he murmured, “You saved my skin, Kitty Kat. I’d just been attacked by a talking alligator who was determined to eat me.”
Kat pinched his arm. “I dunno. Feels pretty tough to me. He’d probably spit you out.” She smiled inside. This was her Nick, teasing, easy . . .
Taking the cart from her, he wheeled it into the kitchen. “This was a good idea, getting a cart. But what’s all this stuff on top? You go Dumpster diving up at that designer Dominick’s?”
Conny was busy grabbing things from the cart and piling them on the kitchen table. “Yuk. What’s this?” He held up a purple eggplant with brown spots. “Did you buy any Lucky Charms?”
“No-o, I didn’t get any Lucky Charms, Mr. Sweet Tooth, and no, I didn’t go Dumpster diving at Designer Dominick’s. They’ve got those new-fangled compactors designed to keep out all comers. Arrgh. Makes me so mad. But . . . ta-da!” Kat held up two yellow-red mangoes. “I did get a whole bunch of stuff behind the fruit market on Clark. We better eat these today ’cause they won’t last. But I’m going to take all this other stuff to church tomorrow and give it to Edesa Baxter for Manna House—or for that House of Hope where she lives.”
Nick lifted out a sad-looking cabbage and several heads of discolored broccoli and stacked them on the table. “And our regular groceries are—?”
“At the bottom. In the paper bags, ninny.”
Conny stuck out his lip. “Did you buy somethin’ for me?”
“Sure. Got some yummy granola bars in here somewhere.” Kat dug around in the first paper bag Nick lifted out. “You can have one if your mommy says it’s okay.” She looked at him quizzically. “Where is your mommy, by the way?”
“She an’ Miss Breezy ina basement, doin’ laundry. Can’t I have one now? Mister Nick! Can I? Please?”
Kat found the box of granola bars and absently handed it to Nick. If Rochelle and Bree were both here, maybe they should talk about those precautions she’d printed out. Except . . . where had she put them? Wait. She’d never picked them up from the printer in the study. Slipping out of the kitchen, she headed for Nick’s study-bedroom.
The glass-paneled double doors with the gauzy curtains on the inside—giving some modicum of privacy when the doors were closed—stood open. The printer was on the desk . . . but no papers in the tray. She glanced at the various stacks of books and papers on the desk. Nick’s stuff. No article on precautions—
“Looking for this?”
Kat whirled. Nick leaned against the doorway, waving a set of papers. She snatched them and read the title. “This is mine. What are you doing with it?”
“Hey, calm down. It was sitting in the printer, which is in my bedroom, by the way. I picked it up to see what it was and read it. Good stuff.”
“Well . . . okay. I thought we could use it to talk to Rochelle—”
Sudden voices in the kitchen alerted them that the laundry duo had come up the back stairs.
“—like now, when we’re all together. With our crazy schedules, it’s not very often we’re all here at the same time.”
Nick shook his head. “Not now. I want to—”
“Want to what? What’s up with you, Nick! We need to do this!”
He put a finger to his lips. “Quiet, will you? I just want to tell you something Mrs. D said this morning about this.”
Kat felt her back stiffen. “You told Mrs. D what I said?”
“No, no, I didn’t! If you’ll give me half a chance—”
“Hey, you two!” Brygitta’s voice calling from the kitchen door broke into their whispered scuffle. “Can you come in here? We’ve got a favor to ask.”
“Okay! In a minute,” Kat called back. She shook the pages at Nick, again lowering her voice. “This would be a good time, Nick Taylor. We can’t keep putting it off, even if you’re right that the whole, uh . . .” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed to say “kissing thing” or “saliva thing.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, even if what I said isn’t an issue.”
“I agree! And it’s gonna happen. Just don’t bring it up right now. I’ll explain why—”
“Guys! We need you!” Bree appeared at the study door. “Rochelle’s mom is coming down in two minutes to take her shopping for some decent job interview clothes, and it’d be a lot easier on them if we can keep Conny. But I’ve got evening shift at the coffeehouse, and it’s already three thirty. Gotta leave in an hour. Can one of you—?”
“Sure,” Nick spoke up. “Kat and I’ll take him to the beach. Right, Kat?”
Kat opened her mouth to protest. Where did Nick get off volunteering her like that? But something in his eyes stopped her. He was pleading. “Uh . . . sure. No problem. As soon as we finish putting the groceries away.”
Kat had to admit taking Conny to the beach was fun. It felt good to have Nick all to herself for a change—well, “all to herself” as could be with Conny yelling, “Watch me swim, Mister Nick!” and “Lookit the pretty stone I found!”
“He sure has got a thing for you, Mister Nick,” she teased.
“Huh. You think?”
They’d finally spread out their towels after splashing in the shallow water with Conny, who was now busily digging in the wet sand with a plastic bucket and shovel Grammy Avis had bought him. Kat had worn her bathing suit under a pair of shorts and tank top, but that water was cold. “Like the Pacific Ocean,” Nick said when they came out, teeth chattering just from wading in up to their knees.
Now, parked on the beach towels they’d borrowed from the Candys’ towel cupboard, he said, “We used to go to Cannon Beach when I was a kid—you’ve probably seen pictures of it. Big rock formations sticking up out of the water like monolithic shark fins. There’s one called Haystack Rock that’s a couple stories high. But the sandy beach is one of the prettiest stretches along the Oregon coast. We’d jump the waves as kids and think nothing of staying in the water for an hour. But last summer when I went back there with my family? The water was so cold it turned all my fingers and toes blue! Don’t know how I did it when I was younger.”
Kat grinned. She liked hearing about Nick’s previous life in Oregon. “So while you froze in the Pacific Ocean, I chased lizards in the Arizona desert. Talk about different childhoods.” Not the only difference either. Nick had grown up in a Christian home and came to Crista University wanting to be a pastor. She’d grown up in a home that didn’t need God, and the only time she heard the name of Jesus—except for the occasional pilgrimage to the Episcopal church at Easter and Christmas—was when her schoolmates needed a convenient expletive.
Finding Jesus—and Nick and Bree—at the Midwest Music Fest a few years back had changed everything.
For several minutes they watched Conny running back and forth to the water’s edge, scooping wet sand into his bucket as seagulls swooped overhead. A bank of billowy clouds was building up south of the city. “So,” she sa
id abruptly, “why didn’t you want me to bring up the need to talk about precautions back there? Besides the fact that Rochelle had a date with her mom to go shopping, which we didn’t know about till last minute.”
Hugging her knees, Kat listened as he told her about his meeting with Mrs. D that morning, how she’d asked how things were going with Rochelle and Conny, and he’d blurted out their concern about needing to talk about precautions.
“Our concern?” Kat was going to kill him if he’d even hinted to Mrs. D that she’d gotten all bent out of shape over that stupid kissing thing.
“Yes, our concern, Kat. I agree with you that it’s important. I just wanted us to get our facts straight before we did anything. And she agreed it’s important too. Said they should have done it when we first talked about her sharing the apartment with us. But here’s the thing—she said Rochelle should be the one to bring it up, not us. And she promised to talk to her about it. Maybe she’ll do it while they’re together this afternoon.”
“Because . . .”
“Think about it, Kat! If Rochelle brings it up, then she’s owning it, it’s her initiative. If we bring it up, it’s like we don’t trust her or something. Makes sense to me.”
Kat chewed on her lip. He had a point. It was just . . . it seemed like Nick was always defending Rochelle, bending over backward to protect her feelings.
What about my feelings? I was his friend first.
A low rumble of thunder in the distance made them look up. The thunderheads had turned gray and menacing, even though the sky to the north was still blue. Jumping up, she called out, “Conny! We gotta go. Thunderstorm’s coming!” Nick rolled up their towels while she gathered up Conny and his sand toys, and they ran across the grassy park heading for the tree-shaded side streets.
Conny hung on to both their hands and yelled, “One, two, three . . . wheeee!” every few yards, picking up both feet so he’d be carried along like a monkey swinging from a tree.
“Okay. I’ll wait,” Kat said, huffing from the exertion.
“Wait?—oh, you mean wait for Rochelle to bring it up. Thanks, Kat . . . Uh-oh! Here it comes. C’mon, Conny, we gotta run for it!”
They still had half a block to go when the rain began to fall in huge splats on the sidewalk. Laughing, they ran up the steps into the foyer, already soaking wet. “Just as well the rain chased us in,” Nick wheezed when they finally made it into the apartment. “I’m on supper tonight. Better get started.”
The apartment was silent. “Guess they’re not back yet,” Kat said. “Okay, little buddy, how about if I run a tub of water and you can play like it’s still the beach. Gotta get that sand off of you anyway.”
But when the tub was full, Conny wouldn’t let her undress him. “Want my privacy!” he yelled and slammed the bathroom door.
Okaay. Kat wandered into the kitchen. “Sir Conny wants his privacy.” She rolled her eyes. “So might as well put me to work. Just go check on him now and then, okay?”
“Okay.” Nick handed her a knife. “Peel those mangoes you brought home. I’m making a mango-chicken salad. Sound good?” He grinned at her, his gray eyes soft. “Besides, there’s something else I wanted to tell you. Here . . .” He shoved a sheet of paper at her. “That’s the covenant people make when they become members at SouledOut Community . . . and, uh, I’m going to become a member next week.” He shrugged. “You know, especially because I’m doing my internship there. Might as well jump in all the way.”
Kat pulled the sheet toward her, reading the title: “Membership Covenant of SouledOut Community Church.”
“And, uh, I was kinda wondering if you and Bree wanted to become members too. At the same time, I mean.”
She looked up at him. “Become a member?” She hadn’t really thought about it. Actually, she’d assumed that if you went to a church all the time and got involved, you were a member. But it felt good that Nick wanted her to. And Bree too, of course. The Three Musketeers, all for one and one for all, and all that. “Well, sure. I mean, why not? As far as I’m concerned, SouledOut’s my church. Might as well be a member.”
Nick grinned. “Great. Go ahead, read over the membership covenant, and if you can affirm those things, then . . . guess we could tell Pastor Cobbs tomorrow. But”—he pointed at the mangoes—“chop up those first, ’cause I need ’em for the salad. And don’t get any mango juice on the paper.”
Loud splashing noises radiated from the direction of the bathroom. “Uh-oh,” he said, “I better check on Conny.”
As Nick disappeared, Kat peeled the juicy mangoes, only slightly overripe. She popped a tidbit in her month. Mm. Still good. As she chopped, her eyes strayed to the piece of paper. “. . . and having been baptized as an expression of my faith, I gladly join in covenant with—”
She stopped chopping. You had to be baptized?
Chapter 11
Edesa stood on the sidewalk in front of the House of Hope, holding a squirming Gracie in her arms as Josh carefully positioned the toddler car seat into Gabby Fairbanks’s secondhand Subaru. “Are you sure, mi amiga?” she murmured. “We can always take the El. You don’t have to drive us around everywhere.”
“Goose.” Gabby tossed her head, the early morning sunlight turning her red-gold curls into a headful of fire. “It’s no problem. The boys are with their dad and will be coming to church with him, so why not? Plenty of room. But”—she rubbed her bare arms—“think I’ll run back in and get a sweater. Kind of cool for late June, don’t you think?”
It was cool that morning, barely sixty degrees, though Edesa knew hotter days lay ahead. But her mind wasn’t on the weather. All weekend she’d been praying and trying to think how best to come alongside Kathryn Davies as an “older sister in the Lord,” even though there was only a few years’ difference in their ages. She’d done some research on various food pantries in the Chicago area, hoping she could suggest one close enough where Kat could volunteer. But would she even be willing to talk after church?
“Okay, sweetheart, in you go.” Josh took Gracie from Edesa’s arms and buckled her into the car seat.
“Hey!” called a shrill voice. “Wait for us!” Edesa turned to see Precious McGill hustling down the front steps of the six-flat with her grandson, Timmy, in her arms. She was dressed in a sleeveless yellow dress, heels with a backstrap, and a yellow hat with a wide brim—a stunning contrast to her dark-brown skin. “It’s just Timmy an’ me. Sabrina layin’ up in the bed, got her monthly. You got enough room?”
“Uh, I don’t know, Precious. We’re hitching a ride with Gabby. Her boys are gone, so I guess there’d be room for one more in the backseat, but—”
“No problem! I can hold the baby on my lap, ain’t that right, Lil’ Turkey?” The thirty-something grandmother nuzzled the little boy in her arms.
“Hold who in whose arms?” Gabby showed up, wearing a lightweight white sweater over her shoulders. “We’ve got more passengers for church?”
Precious beamed. “Thought we’d catch a ride.” She’d recently traded in her all-over-the-head tiny braids for a short, straightened ’do that looked like a little cap, now lost under the big yellow hat. Edesa thought the new hairdo was cute, but hard to get used to after the succession of braids and twists Precious usually wore.
Gabby shook her head. “I’m sorry, Precious. It’s not safe for Timmy to ride on your lap. He needs to be in a car seat.”
“Well, I got one of them. But . . . oh, forget it. Guess you don’t got room for two.”
Edesa felt helpless. Maybe she and Josh and Gracie ought to take the El after all.
“Look, it’s fine. I’ll just call Philip and ask him to swing by and pick me up. You guys take the car.” Gabby dug in her purse, pulled out her cell phone and car keys, and handed the keys to Josh. “Precious, go get Timmy’s car seat.” She flipped open her phone and punched a few keys. “Go on, go on. I’ll be fine . . . Philip? It’s Gabby . . .” She turned away as she spoke into the phone.
J
osh stood on the sidewalk, shaking his head and holding the keys like a hot potato. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “We need to get a car, Edesa. It’s like this every Sunday morning, like Russian roulette. Who goes? Who gets left? I know we said we don’t need a car for just the three of us, but—”
Edesa heaved a sigh. “Sí. It’s time.”
People were still going in the double glass doors of SouledOut Community Church as Josh swung the red Subaru SUV into a parking space. At first glance, the church didn’t look much different than the other stores anchoring the Howard Street shopping center, but soon the lively praise band and singing would differentiate it from the open-for-business neighboring shops.
Once inside, Edesa, Josh, Precious, and the two little ones quickly found seats, as it looked as if the service was about to start. A quick glance around the large room found Kathryn and Brygitta sitting in their usual places near the back. Edesa caught Kat’s eye and gave her a smile and wave, and to her relief the young woman smiled back. Bueno. She wasn’t still pouting about the shopping trip.
“Good morning, church!” Hearing Avis Douglass giving the welcome and call to worship, Edesa turned her attention to the front. Nick Taylor was standing beside Avis—he must be leading worship with her today. Edesa smiled to herself. Did the young seminarian realize how fortunate he was to be doing his pastoral internship alongside a woman of the Word like Avis? Bless young Nick, Jesús, she prayed in her spirit. Train him up to be a mighty man of the Word too.
As Avis stepped aside, Nick announced the morning’s Scripture reading from John 17. “Jesus is praying for His disciples,” he said. “Not only for the Twelve, but for everyone who would become one of His disciples down through the ages until today. So this prayer is also for you and for me . . .”