by Neta Jackson
Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we could start by asking for food donations from the congregation, and encourage people to get donations from their workplaces too. Like at Software Symphony, you could set up a box or barrel or something for employees to donate food. Mr. D would support that, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer but rattled on about Saturday mornings, how it might be easier to recruit volunteers on the weekend, and once it was up and running, they could find out how to apply to the Chicago Food Depository and apply for free USDA food.
She eyed him breathlessly. “So? What do you think?”
“I think,” he said carefully, “you’ve got a tiger by the tail. Don’t you think it’d be smart to volunteer at Rock of Ages for a while and get some experience before getting in over your head?”
“O-kay. But after that. What do you think about the idea of a pantry at SouledOut?”
“I think,” he said, chosing his words carefully, “. . . you should talk to Pastor Cobbs and Sister Avis. They’re the pastoral team now. It would definitely need their blessing.”
Kat threw up her hands. “And yours! You’re on the interim team now too!”
“Yeah,” he protested, “but I’m so new to SouledOut, I have no idea how such a thing would fit with the ministry priorities of the church.”
Kat’s eyes and voice softened. “Nick, if I were to get involved in something like this, it would mean a lot to me to have your support. In fact, I’m not sure I could do it if you thought it was a dumb idea.”
Nick laid down his fork, his own burrito only half-eaten. She needed his support? Did she have any idea how much that meant to him? Now he was the one who stared out the café window, only vaguely noticing the Sunday afternoon traffic backed up on Clark Street. What did he think of her idea?
After a long minute he turned back, reached across the tiny table, and took Kat’s slender hand. “Okay. It’s a fantastic idea. Not sure how you’d pull it off, but I have no doubt you’d figure out a way. We don’t take Jesus’ commandment to ‘Love your neighbor as yourself ’ seriously enough. Your idea is beautiful. I . . . love your heart, Kat.” And I love you, he wanted to say. But the words stuck in his throat.
She gripped his hand with both of hers. “Thank you, Nick. That means a lot.” Tipping her head, she looked at him earnestly. “You meet with Mrs. D and Pastor Cobbs tomorrow night, don’t you? Would you ask if I could come talk to the three of you about this idea?”
“Kat!”
“Okay, okay! I wouldn’t have to come tomorrow night. Just ask if I can meet with you all sometime soon.”
Nick went for a run along the lake that afternoon, even though the temperature had spiked into the high eighties. His mind was running too. Honestly! Trying to keep track of Kat’s wild ideas was like playing with quicksilver. In fact, her request for him to bring it up in the weekly pastoral meeting had so thrown him off that he never did say the main thing he’d wanted to say. Well, maybe he’d work up the courage when he got back if she hadn’t left for work yet.
Sweat ran down his face and trickled under his armpits as he jogged along the path, hardly noticing the beach volleyball games and Frisbee players, his mind on Kat. The girl had definitely gotten under his skin. He loved looking at her. She didn’t have the classic blond looks of an Olivia or the pixie cuteness of Brygitta. Or even the exotic beauty of Rochelle Johnson, with her creamy-brown skin, large dark eyes, and full lips. Kat was certainly pretty with her wavy hair and striking blue eyes. But it was more than that. Her face and personality were so . . . so alive. And he felt alive when he was with her.
Why was it so hard to tell her how he felt? Okay, partly because he didn’t know how she’d react. Did she only think of him as a buddy? Sometimes he got clues it might be more than that. Even her saying she needed his support if she did something like the food pantry made him feel she depended on him to be more than just a buddy.
But if she didn’t . . . he didn’t want to ruin the close friendship they enjoyed by adding a romantic element that would make her afraid to be close to him. And their living situation made it even more complicated. Right now they were all just housemates and friends. But if a romance got thrown into the mix, the whole delicate balance could get very, very complicated.
Arrgh! Nick pounded out his frustration by increasing his pace. Leaving the jogging path, he zigzagged back through the residential streets, only slowing a few blocks out so he could cool down by the time he arrived back at their three-flat.
Kat was sitting on one of the flat concrete arms bracketing the three wide steps leading into their building, her laptop on her knees. A sprinkler went around and around on the postage-stamp bit of grass off to the side, watering Mrs. D’s flowers. “Hey,” he said, flopping down on one of the steps below her, panting slightly.
“Hey, yourself. Nice run?” She frowned at the screen, but after a moment tapped a key and closed the lid. “Just e-mailing my parents. Trying to keep in touch more—you know, after what Pastor Clark’s brother said at his funeral, how much he regretted that they’d lost touch.” She sighed. “It’s not that easy talking to my parents, but I’m trying. At least with an e-mail, I get to say my whole spiel before my father can disagree with . . . whatever.”
Nick mopped the sweat off his face with his T-shirt. “My folks don’t do e-mail. If I don’t call at least once a week, they call me.” He hesitated but then blundered ahead. “Hope they can meet you someday. They’d like you.” He grinned at her. “I’d like to meet your parents too.” Was that too obvious?
Kat cut her eyes at him sideways. “Not sure about that. Meeting my parents, I mean.” She seemed to be studying him as she slid her laptop back into its case. “On second thought, meeting you and Bree and the Douglasses would probably be a smart move. They think I’ve gone off the deep end and that I’m living with a bunch of religious nuts.” She simpered at him. “Might be good to see how normal you all are.”
It was that “normal” comment. Nick couldn’t resist. “Is that so?” Scrambling to his feet, he snatched the laptop case off her lap and set it down, lifted Kat off her precarious seat into his arms, and hustled down the steps.
“Nick!” she screeched, kicking her legs. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hot. Thought I’d cool off!” Grinning, he headed into the sprinkler.
Kat screeched again. “Stop it! Let me down! I’ve got to go to work in half an hour!” But she was laughing, holding on tight around his neck as the sprinkler chu-chu-chued back and forth, getting them both thoroughly wet.
He didn’t see Rochelle and the Douglasses until he heard a familiar childish yell. “Nick! Me too! Me too!” Conny appeared on the sidewalk, let go of his mother’s hand, and ran straight toward the sprinkler.
Sputtering, Kat slipped out of Nick’s arms and escaped . . . replaced by Conny, jumping up and down in front of him. Oh well, he was already wet. He grabbed Conny’s hands and hopped around in the sprinkler as the little boy giggled happily.
“Just don’t stomp on my flowers!” Avis Douglass called as she and her husband disappeared inside the foyer, shaking their heads.
“You come too, Mommy!” Conny yelled, running back to the sidewalk and grabbing his mother’s hand. He dragged Rochelle into the sprinkler with one hand and grabbed Nick’s hand with the other. “Dance, Mommy, dance! We’re dancing in the rain!” Soon Rochelle was laughing too.
As the three of them paraded around in the sprinkler, Nick glanced over his shoulder in time to see Kat pick up her computer case and disappear inside behind the Douglasses.
Arrgh. Sometimes Conny’s timing was off. Way off.
Chapter 21
Kat hadn’t counted on having to change out of wet clothes before going to work. Still, she couldn’t help grinning as she toweled her hair. It’d been fun—even if they had been acting like a couple of teenagers. She hadn’t realized Nick was so strong. He’d picked her up like a rag doll . . . and her face flushed as she rememb
ered the feel of his arms holding her close against his body, her own arms around his neck.
Too bad Conny and Rochelle had shown up right then.
Admit it, Kat, she told herself, pulling on a dry pair of capris and a knit shirt. The guy’s a hunk—even if he does want to be a pastor. She snorted trying to stifle her laughter. Pastor Nick the Hunk. No, no, she couldn’t call him that . . . he might take it wrong.
Or maybe she wanted him to take it wrong. Or right.
Enough of this! She had to get to work! Bree would jump all over her if she was late relieving her at the coffee shop.
Zipping down the carpeted front stairs, she met Rochelle, Conny, and Nick coming up, Conny clinging to his mom with one hand and to Nick with the other, looking for all the world like a little family. “We’re wet!” Conny giggled.
“And I’m late! It’s all your fault, Nick Taylor.” Kat playfully slapped him on the arm as she passed. Pastor Nick the Hunk.
“Hey! Sorry supper isn’t ready!” he called after her as she turned on the landing and kept going. “I’ll save you something.”
“Okay!” And she was out the door. She wasn’t hungry now, but she’d definitely be hungry by the time she got off at nine.
Kat made it to the coffee shop in record time by running every half block. Only three minutes late. “Sorry,” she said to Bree as she tied on her apron. “Long story. Ask Nick.”
Bree tossed her own apron into the laundry bin. “No problem. But I just remembered it’s Livie’s birthday this week. We oughta do something.”
“Yikes! I forgot. Sure. Let’s talk when I get home tonight . . . Coming!” she called, scurrying out of the back room as the bell on the counter dinged. She smiled at the man standing on the other side of the counter with two preteens who were ogling the brownies and oversized cookies in the glass case. Must be dad’s night out with the kids. “What’s your craving tonight, eh, boys? Have you tried our specialty ice cream?”
When Kat got home that evening, Rochelle and Bree were in the living room watching TV. The rant from the TV sounded like “Madea” . . . had to be a Tyler Perry movie. Kat tossed her backpack on a chair. “Where’s Nick? He said he’d save me some supper.”
Rochelle was sitting cross-legged on the couch, hugging a pillow. “Did. There’s pasta salad in the fridge.” Her eyes never strayed from the TV.
Kat headed for the kitchen, found the pasta salad, and dished up a generous helping of shell pasta, veggies, ham, and cheese all mixed with some kind of vinaigrette. Looked yummy, though she might pick out the ham.
Bree wandered in. “There’s some garlic bread too. I’ll toast it for you.”
“Thanks. I can do it if you want to finish your movie.”
“Nah. I’ve seen it before. Madea gets on my nerves sometimes.” Bree tipped her head toward the other room and lowered her voice as she put a couple of slices of garlic bread in the toaster oven. “Besides, Rochelle’s kinda been in a bum mood since they got back this afternoon.”
“Why? Because Conny and Nick pulled her into the sprinkler? Give me a break.”
“Nah, that wasn’t it. Some fuss with Dexter, I think. Anyway, she asked Nick if he’d read to Conny before bed. Said her son needed some normal guy-time after his visit with his dad. I think Nick’s still reading to Conny.”
“Ha. Not sure chasing around in the sprinkler falls under normal . . . Uh, is that garlic bread done yet?” Kat was hungrier than she’d realized, and she didn’t really want to talk about Conny. “So what should we do for Olivia’s birthday? If we’re going to send her something, we’d need to get it in the mail tomorrow.”
Bree pulled out another kitchen chair. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we invite Livie and her sister, Elin, to come visit next weekend? It’s already been several weeks since she went home . . . well, home to their aunt in Madison, I mean. Anyway, it’d be fun.”
“That’s a great idea, Bree! Except . . . where would they sleep? Rochelle and Conny took her place, you know.”
Bree snorted. “Details, details. Make Nick sleep on the couch and give them the study or something.”
“I’m sleeping on the couch? What did I do?” Nick’s voice behind them made both Kat and Bree jerk around in their chairs as he came into the kitchen. Kat snickered at the puppy-dog look on his face.
“Hey. Private conversation,” Bree pouted. “Don’t sneak up on us like that.”
“It’s not a private conversation if you’re talking about me.” Nick pulled out another chair. “What’s up?”
Kat told him Bree’s idea about inviting their former housemate and her younger sister to visit next weekend. “It’s Olivia’s birthday Thursday.”
Nick shrugged. “Sure, I’ll sleep on the couch. Great idea.” He shifted in his chair and eyed Kat.
She was just about to say, “What?” when Rochelle wandered into the kitchen. “Any pasta salad left? I’m still hungry.” The young mom got herself a plate from the cupboard. “Thanks for reading to Conny, Nick. I just tucked him in and he asked if you’d come say prayers with him.”
“Oh, uh, sure. I guess.” Nick rose somewhat reluctantly. “Be back in a minute.”
Rochelle helped herself to some of the pasta salad and joined them at the table. “What’s this about Nick sleeping on the couch?”
Kat munched on her garlic bread, letting Bree fill Rochelle in on their idea. What was that look Nick had given her? Like he had something on his mind. Why did it seem like Conny or Rochelle showed up every time she and Nick had something going on? Coincidence, she knew, but still . . . annoying sometimes.
“Olivia’s your friend who lived here before Conny and me, right?” Rochelle sighed. “Maybe Conny and I should give up our room. Your friend was here first.”
What was with the Eeyore attitude? “Not necessary, Rochelle,” Kat said. “It’ll be fine . . . Are you okay? Did something happen this afternoon with Dexter?”
Rochelle poked the pasta salad with her fork. “Oh, I dunno. He was acting pretty decent for a while, letting Conny stay with him, taking him to school. But now he’s . . . oh, just being a jerk.”
Bree leaned forward, frowning. “Is he giving you a hard time about seeing Conny only once a week?”
Rochelle grimaced. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Kat and Bree exchanged glances. O-kaay. Kat hopped up, stuck her empty plate in the dishwasher, and filled the teakettle with water. “Tea, anybody? By the way, I’m thinking of volunteering at that food pantry again this week. I have to work the afternoon shift on Wednesday, but if Mrs. Wilson—or Sister Beatrice or whatever they call her—doesn’t mind me coming late, does anyone else want to come?”
“Can’t.” Bree sighed. “I’ve got the evening shift that day.”
Rochelle chewed her pasta thoughtfully. “I might be interested if I can find somebody to watch Conny. I’ll ask Mom.”
Kat was surprised. She’d thrown out an open invitation, but she hadn’t expected Rochelle to volunteer—not after what she’d said about food pantries being too much of a reminder of her months on the street. Kat regretted being annoyed at her earlier. “That’d be great, Rochelle. Let me know.”
“So.” Rochelle’s mood seemed to brighten. “Tell me more about your friend. Let’s plan something fun while she’s here. You said her sister’s still in high school?”
The three of them had their heads together when Nick came back. “Hey, Nick. Is your laptop handy?” Bree asked. “We want to check out what’s going on in Chicago next weekend. See if there’s some kind of ethnic festival . . . or maybe we could do a picnic at Millennium Park if there’s a concert.”
“Has anyone called Livie yet to find out if she and Elin want to come?” Nick said.
Bree rolled her eyes. “Details, details. Okay, you get the laptop, I’ll call Livie.”
Olivia screamed so excitedly when Bree called with their invitation that the rest of them could hear—and the phone wasn’t even on Speaker.
So Nick was assigned to find a festival or outdoor concert to attend, Bree said she’d work on getting Livie and Elin here, and Kat volunteered to come up with food.
As the kitchen-klatch broke up, Kat hung back and cornered Nick. “You looked like you had something on your mind earlier. Is everything okay?”
Nick seemed flustered. “Oh . . . yeah. It’s all right. Maybe another time.” He sidled away. “Night.”
Kat watched him disappear into the study. Something was definitely on his mind.
“Hi, Miss Kat!” Latoya Sims grabbed hold of Kat’s arm and hung on as they entered the wide hallway of Bethune Elementary the next morning, which gleamed from the weekend cleaning and smelled strongly of lemon oil. “What we gonna do today?”
“You’re early.” Kat grinned at the bouncy eight-year-old as she headed for the school office. “Want to help me photocopy our math games for today?”
It was the fourth week of the Summer Tutoring and Enrichment Program, and Kat felt as if she was hitting her stride. She’d had to get up early that morning to prepare her math lesson, and she’d also found some fun crafts and games online that could be made with simple household items—paper plates, paper bags, newspaper, a pizza takeout box, a pair of dice, straws, cotton balls. She was eager to try them this week. Making the games would be as much fun as actually playing them.
Avis Douglass stuck her head out of her inner-office door as Kat was showing Latoya how to put in the number of copies and then press Start on the photocopy machine. “Kathryn? What’s your schedule like today? Do you have to rush off to work at noon?”
“No. I’ve got the evening shift today. Do you need me for something?”
Avis stepped into the outer office and smiled warmly. As usual, she looked the picture of an elementary school principal, wearing a fawn-colored pantsuit, a black shell, and gold-and-black-onyx jewelry, complementing the cinnamon tone of her smooth skin. “No. Just thought we could use a catch-up over lunch. My office?”