by Neta Jackson
Kat snickered. “Well, given that sandwich you just built, I’d say forget it.” She plopped down in a chair at the table. “When you’re done feeding your face, I need some help.” She told him about reading the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand and what she was curious about.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You want to find all the passages in the Bible that talk about Jesus and food? You mean where the Bible talks about feeding the poor?”
“Well, yeah. But other stuff too. I’d just kind of like to know what the Bible says about food.”
He took another huge bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Well, okay. The Bible has a lot to say about food—but not sure you want to go into all the Old Testament regulations. Some Jewish people keep kosher, but most Christians don’t feel those rules apply anymore. The Bible also uses food metaphorically—you want some of those passages too?”
“Sure.” Then she made a face. “To be honest, I’ve been kind of lax about studying the Bible. I’d like to, you know, dig in a little.”
Nick finished his sandwich, swept the table crumbs into the trash, and stuck the mayo and mustard back in the fridge. “Come on. I’ve got an online concordance. We can get you started now if you’d like.”
“Where’s Bree?”
“Dunno. Apartment was quiet when I got home.”
Kat peeked into their bedroom. Brygitta was sacked out on the bed, the fan in the window drowning out any noise from the rest of the apartment. “Out cold,” she told Nick. “Family phone call must’ve worn her out.”
Soon the two of them were hunched over Nick’s computer in the study, hunting up words in his concordance. Kat had a fairly long list of Scripture references when they heard thumps coming up the stairs and then the front door burst open.
“Mister Nick! I’m home!”
Kat rolled her eyes at Nick as Conny barreled into the study. “Guess we’re done here,” she murmured.
“Hey, give us a minute, buddy,” Nick said, rumpling Conny’s hair. “Miss Kat and I are doing something. Almost done. Go on.”
“Awww . . .”
Kat saw Rochelle come in the front door and head for the kitchen. Her turn to fix supper. “Go on, Conny,” she urged. “Go help your mom.” She watched till Conny was out of earshot and then shut the study doors and lowered her voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, Rochelle hasn’t brought up the subject of you-know-what. If she isn’t going to do it, then I’m—”
“Kat, open the doors.”
“What?”
“We shouldn’t be in my bedroom with the doors closed. It doesn’t look right.”
Kat gaped at him. “What are you talking about? I just want to say something to you in private. Good grief, Nick.”
“I know.” He looked chagrined. “But somebody at church questioned whether it’s appropriate for a single guy to share an apartment with three women. I don’t want to do anything that makes people talk—”
A knock on the doors made both of them jump. Kat pulled open one of the doors.
Rochelle.
“Uh, am I interrupting something?”
Nick jumped up and opened the other door wide. “No, no, it’s fine. We didn’t mean to have the doors closed. Kat asked me to look up something on the Internet for her.”
Kat frowned. What in the world was Nick getting so defensive for? She noticed Rochelle was wearing a soft, melon-colored skirt and contrasting lime top that brought out the glow in her honey-brown skin. No doubt about it, the girl was a looker, even more so now that she was off the street and getting some new clothes. She was suddenly conscious of her own rumpled running shorts and sweaty T-shirt. And her hair must be a mess after running in the wind at the lake.
Rochelle cleared her throat. “Anyway, I was wondering if you guys are going to be home this evening—later, I mean. Like, after Conny is in bed. There’s, um, something I’d like to talk about with the three of you.”
Kat didn’t dare look at Nick. “Uh . . . sure. I don’t have any plans.”
“Me either,” Nick said.
“Great. Is Bree—?”
“Napping. But it’s time for her to wake up or she’ll be up all night. I’ll tell her.”
Rochelle nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Uh, guess I better get supper on. Catfish okay? And greens. Mom cooked up a batch and gave us some.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen.
As she disappeared, Nick cleared his throat.
Kat backhanded his shoulder. “Don’t say it.”
Chapter 13
The pounding of his feet seemed to mark time with the blood pounding in his ears as Nick ran hard along the jogging path the next morning. The sun had been up for an hour already, but widespread clouds hid its face, turning the choppy waters of Lake Michigan to a dull blue-gray. Disappointing. Being witness to the sunrise over the lake had been one of the highlights of his morning runs—which had to be even earlier now that he had to be at work by eight thirty.
He passed joggers and early morning dog walkers, feeling a kinship with others beginning their day along the lake. That was the beautiful thing about Chicago—a profusion of parks and trees and forest preserves scattered all over the metro area, giving city dwellers room to move and play and breathe. Not to mention Lake Michigan stretching as far as the eye could see both north and south, then fading into a horizon blending sky and water, like a freshwater ocean.
Thank You, God . . .
Sporadic thought-prayers huffed along with his labored breathing. Thank You for my job with Software Symphony . . . Wow, God, still can’t believe I’m doing my internship at SouledOut . . . thanks for working all that out . . . and that Rochelle brought up the sticky subject of precautions last night . . .
That was a relief. He hoped the honest discussion had put Kat’s worries to rest.
But his spurts of thanksgivings were also mixed with troublesome thoughts. That interaction with Kat about the closed doors was awkward. He wished it hadn’t happened. But after Pastor Cobbs told him somebody had brought up his living situation as “inappropriate” for a pastoral intern, he felt a little jumpy. The pastor said he wasn’t asking him to move out—not for the present, anyway—but thought he ought to be aware that at least one person had questions, maybe others. And he’d asked Nick not to be offended if he checked in with him from time to time about it. Nick had said of course. No problem.
But . . . who was that person? What did that busybody know, anyway? He and Kat, Bree, and Livie had always been just good buddies, practically like siblings, for the past three years. Livie had gone back home for now, of course, but Rochelle was a single mom with a kid, and—good grief—her parents lived right upstairs! Even CCU had coed dorms these days—well, guys on one floor, girls on another. As far as sharing the apartment, let anyone who had questions come visit at any time. They had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.
Which was true. All true.
Except . . . something had changed. His feelings toward Kat definitely didn’t feel “just” brother-sister lately. In fact, he’d been distracted by her nearness yesterday as she’d leaned over his shoulder in the study watching him navigate the online concordance, her loose hair brushing his cheek, the smell of her—like sunshine and fresh air and water—filling his senses. He’d been wanting to tell her, felt as if he’d burst if he didn’t. He needed to know if she cared about him in that way—or if she could. Explore what that might mean for the future. Their future.
But if he did, if their relationship changed, how would that affect their living arrangement this summer? Girlfriend-boyfriend in the same apartment? Maybe it wouldn’t be appropriate.
A groan escaped from somewhere deep inside, and he ran off the path and slowed to a stop, bending over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Oh, God . . .
But a glance at his watch pulled him upright again. Time to get back or he’d never make it to work on time.
Kat was already in the kitchen—her night to cook—when Nick
got home from work that evening. Her thick, wavy hair had been pulled back into an excuse for a ponytail, wisps falling out in damp tendrils around her face.
“Need any help?” he asked, snitching a cherry tomato from the pile of vegetables on the counter.
“Sure, if you like to chop. I need those onions and other stuff cut up for a stir-fry.” She handed him a knife.
“Okay. Give me five minutes to change my clothes. Bree’s at . . . ?”
“Evening shift. She relieved me at five.”
“Rochelle and Conny?”
Kat shrugged. “I think I heard Conny upstairs at the Douglasses’. Didn’t Rochelle say something last night about job hunting today? Mrs. D might be babysitting.”
“Right, she did. Okay, give me five.”
He was back in two. A few precious minutes alone with Kat before Conny figured out somebody was home and thundered down the stairs. Nick picked up the knife and reached for an onion.
“Did you wash your hands?”
“What?”
“You know, the list of precautions. ‘Always wash hands before handling food.’ Should do it anyway, HIV or no HIV.”
Nick grunted, went to the sink, and scrubbed his hands with soap.
“Use a paper towel to dry your hands.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Thought you had a thing against using paper towels. Uses up too many trees.”
She had the grace to blush. “Yeah, I know. But I read somewhere that dishcloths and hand towels are some of the germiest things in the house. Guess we gotta compromise somewhere.”
Nick grinned and used a paper towel to dry his hands before resuming onion-peeling operations. “So, you feel better now that Rochelle brought up the subject of precautions?”
“Uh-huh. You were right, Pastor Nicky.” Kat flicked him with a pot holder before taking the lid off a pot of boiling water and measuring two cups of rice into it. “If we’d brought it up, she probably would’ve felt like we were judging her or finding fault or something. But for her to bring it up, well, it seems okay to talk about it whenever we need to.” She stirred the rice, put the cover back on, and turned the heat down on the stove. “Makes me mad, though—”
Nick stopped slicing the onion, hearing her voice soften even though she used the word mad.
“—that a sweet girl like Rochelle has to struggle with HIV because that jerk husband of hers fooled around with sluts and whores behind her back.”
“Whoa. Sluts and whores? Pretty strong language. We don’t know the story.”
“So? Wouldn’t have happened if he’d been faithful to her. Like the Bible says.” Kat banged a big frying pan onto the stovetop.
“Yeah, well . . .” Nick sliced the onion. Why was he defending the jerk husband? Worse, why was he making Kat upset? “You’re right. Whatever happened in their marriage, it’s not fair.” He decided not to add that “jerk husband” must be paying for his sins since he had to have HIV issues too.
They worked in silence for the next few minutes, Nick chopping his way through the pile of mushrooms, red pepper, a yellow summer squash, and a funny long eggplant while Kat heated sesame oil in the fry pan and sautéed some sliced ginger and garlic. “Smells wonderful,” he ventured—but was interrupted by the laugh-track ringtone on his cell phone, muffled in his pocket.
Caller ID said Rochelle Johnson. “Hey, Rochelle,” he said, catching Kat’s eye and pointing at the phone. “What’s up?”
He listened for a few moments. “No problem. Thanks for letting us know.” He closed the phone. “Rochelle said she’s just now leaving downtown and the El is running very slow. Said to go ahead and start supper without her, but wanted to know if we could take care of Conny till she gets here, which I’m glad to do . . . Oh, wait.” Nick glanced at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. “This is Monday.”
“All day.” Kat tossed him a mischievous grin.
“I totally forgot that Pastor Cobbs set up a regular meeting with me and Mrs. D on Monday evenings! Oh, Kat, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to volunteer you . . .”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining a six-year-old for an hour or so. But we better get this stir-fry going. Don’t want to send you off to the lions before you’ve got something in your stomach.”
“I think it’s the lions that need to be fed so they don’t eat me,” he teased. But he felt relieved. That could have been a mess-up, volunteering to take care of Conny and then skipping out to a meeting. Good thing he remembered, though. Not a good start to his internship if he forgot his first Monday night meeting.
But as Kat whisked the steaming hot rice and the fragrant vegetables to the table—the girl really did know how to cook— he regretted having to rush off. There were several things he wanted to talk to her about, like . . .
“I’m pretty sure Pastor Cobbs will ask me if I’m good with the membership covenant he gave me so we can do the membership thing next Sunday. Uh . . . did you get a chance to read the stuff I showed you? What do you think about becoming a member next week too?”
Kat set four plates on the table but shook her head. “It says you’ve got to be baptized. I sent my folks an e-mail to ask if they baptized me as an infant, but even if they did, I’m not sure it would count, since I basically grew up pagan until . . . well, you know. You were there. Hey, grab the silverware, will you?”
The Midwest Music Fest. He had, indeed, been there. That was the first time he’d laid eyes on Kathryn Davies at the Crista University booth, where Kat had been telling Brygitta how she’d prayed to become a Christian at the concert the night before. He’d been struck then by her unusual beauty—all that dark brunette, wavy hair and bright-blue eyes. A fun contrast to Brygitta’s “cute” features and short, pixie-like haircut. And spirit! Kat had decided then and there to transfer to the Chicago school, bailing on a medical school track at Arizona State she said she didn’t want, and pursuing a teaching degree at CCU, even though her parents had gone ballistic.
Nick had admired her spunk and let’s-just-do-it spirit from the get-go.
But he’d never thought about encouraging her to get baptized after her decision to become a Christian. Huh. And he thought he was pastor material?
“Hey, I’m sure we can talk about that with Pastor Cobbs and Mrs. D—”
She cut him off. “I know. But not right now. You better go upstairs and grab Conny so we can eat. Besides, there’s something else I need to ask you that’s more immediate—but go! Shoo! Before the food gets cold.”
Nick let her practically push him toward the door. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Just tell me what you want to ask so I’m not quaking in my shoes all evening.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. What did she want to ask him that was more immediate than Sunday?
Chapter 14
Appreciate the ride, Mrs. . . . uh, Sister Avis.” Nick grinned apologetically. “Sorry. My folks taught me to call adults by Mr. and Mrs., and it’s hard to give it up.”
Avis Douglass chuckled. “You and Josh Baxter. He still calls me Mrs. Douglass—when he doesn’t forget and call me Mrs. Johnson. That’s how he knew me when our families first met and he was still in high school.” Her voice softened a bit as she drove up Clark Street toward the Howard Street shopping center. “My first husband, Conrad Johnson, died of pancreatic cancer. Peter Douglass is my second husband, though I’m sure you’ve figured that out. We got married at Uptown Community Church before it became part of SouledOut.”
“So your grandson is named after your first husband?” Nick felt a bit awkward at Mrs. D sharing all this personal information— but honored too, as if she were talking to a peer.
“Yes. Conny never knew his biological granddaddy, though. As far as he’s concerned, Peter’s his grandpa—which he is. Conny needs all the positive male role models he can get since . . . well, you know, the situation with his father, Dexter.” The woman glanced sideways at Nick. “Conny’s pretty crazy about you too. Do you
feel like you’ve grown another appendage?” She chuckled.
“Pretty much.” He laughed too, and then cleared his throat. “By the way, I want to thank you for advising us to wait for Rochelle to bring up the whole thing about precautions. She talked to the rest of us last night . . . it was good. Just the right thing.”
“You three all right with Rochelle living with you?”
Nick hesitated for just the briefest of seconds. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, it’s just something none of us have had to deal with before, so it seems a bit challenging. But when it comes right down to it, not such a big deal. Unless—”
“Unless she cuts herself and you have to deal with blood, right?”
How’d she know what he was thinking? But she was right on. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know. We . . . well, Peter and I could work on another solution for her living situation. Things are in a better place between us than when she disappeared last February.”
He didn’t answer for a few moments. It did complicate things having Rochelle and Conny in the apartment mix. But . . .
“Thanks. Nice to know there could be another option. But as I see it, God had a hand in bringing Rochelle to us. I mean, Kat finding her while Dumpster diving, of all things, when she’d been missing for several months was nothing short of a miracle! And then Livie moving out, making room in our apartment just when Rochelle and Conny needed a place to come off the street . . . well, had to be more than just coincidence.” He smiled sheepishly. “Don’t you think God brought all this together?”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about! Hallelujah!” Avis smacked the steering wheel with her hand. Laughter was in her voice. “You, young man, are beginning to sound like me. Watch out, SouledOut!”