Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  “Um, sure.” Kat hadn’t brought any lunch with her, had planned just to go home and eat leftover pasta salad. But STEP usually had extra bag lunches for the kids who stayed for afternoon sports. In spite of the fact that Mrs. Douglass had been a lot friendlier since Kat had helped reunite her with her daughter, she couldn’t help feeling a bit weird being called to the “principal’s office.”

  Three hours later Kat’s tutoring students—Yusufu, Kevin, and Latoya—scurried off, carrying their new math game and craft project as Kat scrubbed white glue off the craft table in the schoolroom they’d been assigned. It’d been a fun morning in spite of having to repeat instructions too many times. She’d be able to tell Mrs. Douglass that all three of her students had already become more confident doing long division, and now they were reviewing their times tables. Which meant, she reminded herself with a quick glance at the clock, she’d better grab a sack lunch and skedaddle to the office.

  The inner-office door was already open and Avis Douglass beckoned her in. “I should have given you more warning,” the older woman said apologetically. “Those sack lunches leave a lot to be desired, I know. Which is why”—she waved at her desk, which held a steaming cup of soup and a homemade sandwich—“ I bring my own from home.”

  Kat sat in the “visitor” chair. “That’s okay. It’s got an apple. That’ll hold me until I get back to the apartment.”

  Avis picked up the cup of soup, blew on the hot liquid, and peered at Kat over the rim. “Speaking of the apartment, I wanted to ask how things are working out with Rochelle and Conny. I feel responsible that you ended up taking my family in, and I’m sure living with a six-year-old takes some adjustment.”

  Kat swallowed. What was she supposed to say? If there were problems, did Mrs. D think she was going to just blurt them out? She was Rochelle’s mother, for goodness’ sake.

  Avis seemed to read her mind. “I’m sorry. That’s unfair to put you on the spot. I just don’t want you to feel you’re stuck if things aren’t working out. I love my daughter and Conny is the light of my life—and I can never thank you enough for giving them a place to call home, even for these summer months—but I know it must have its challenges. I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend it’s all okay.”

  For some reason, Mrs. Douglass’s honesty put Kat at ease. She shrugged. “Okay. It’s an adjustment—for them too, I’m sure. But Rochelle has tried hard to fit in and pulls her own weight with cooking and chores. Really, it’s fine. Though . . .”

  The principal’s eyebrows went up. “Though . . . ?”

  “Well, Rochelle seemed kind of upset when you guys brought Conny home from spending time with his dad. All she said was Dexter was being a jerk. But . . .” Should she say it? “I remember what you said about her husband being abusive. I just hope . . .” Kat didn’t know how to finish what she’d started.

  Avis shook her head. “I don’t think he’s being physically abusive. He knows we’d call the police. But by the way he’s acting, I think Dexter liked it better when Rochelle was homeless.” Her voice had an edge. “She thought she needed him, which gave him the upper hand . . . and he had Conny, even though Rochelle has legal custody. But now that she has a place to live and we got Conny out of there, he keeps acting like a jerk. Asking questions about where she’s living, making accusations. It’s nonstop.”

  “Accusations? Like what? What do you mean?”

  Avis hesitated, as if not sure she wanted to explain. “Oh, questioning your motives . . . and why would she let Conny live with white strangers rather than with his own dad. That kind of thing.”

  “He’s got a problem because we’re white?” Kat had wondered if her lily-white parents might question her living with racially mixed housemates but never considered how black relatives might feel.

  Avis gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry about it, Kathryn. I probably said too much. It’s his problem.”

  Kat nodded. Mostly she wished they weren’t even trying to let Conny see his dad.

  “Mind if I change the subject?” Avis’s voice was warm again. “Rochelle was telling us about your visit to the Rock of Ages food pantry last week. Is that something you’re interested in, Kathryn?”

  Kat nodded. “In fact, I was hoping to talk to you and Pastor Cobbs about it. Nick is going to ask tonight at your meeting when I could come talk to the pastors. But . . .” Before she knew it, Kat was telling Mrs. Douglass the scriptures she’d been reading and what she felt like God was calling her to do: start a food pantry at SouledOut. “Even Estelle Bentley said she thought what I really want to do is feed people. And I think that’s true.” It had all spilled out so fast Kat had to gasp to catch her breath.

  Avis tented her fingers and looked at Kat a long time. Kat began to feel nervous. Maybe she should have waited to tell Mrs. D until a more “official” time. But then the older woman spoke. “Kathryn, can I ask—have you prayed about this? Not just you. But have you asked another sister to pray with you about whether this is what God is calling you to do?”

  “Well, I asked Edesa Baxter to pray about it and she said she would.”

  “I see.” A small smile tipped the corners of Avis’s mouth. “Well, it’s an amazing idea, but if I were in your shoes, I would want to be certain whether God is calling me to do this. And on my end, I would want to be certain whether God is calling SouledOut to partner in this. It’s the kind of thing that could overwhelm you and the church if we try to do it in our own strength. And it’s God who needs to open the doors. So . . . here we are, and I think we should do first things first.”

  Do? What did she mean?

  The principal got up and closed the office door, pulled up the second visitor chair, and held out her hands to Kat. “Let’s pray right now, shall we? You and me. We’ll pray about whether God wants Kathryn Davies to start a food pantry at SouledOut Community Church, and if so, to open the right doors to make it happen.”

  Chapter 22

  The job at Software Symphony was only supposed to be part-time, but Peter Douglass had been letting Nick work extra hours when he wasn’t needed for church responsibilities. “If things keep holding steady by summer’s end, I might be able to offer you a salaried job with benefits,” he said when Nick came to work on Monday.

  He was grateful, Nick told himself, walking home later that day. He needed the work, since his six-month internship at SouledOut only paid him for ten hours a week—though “paid” was a bit of a joke. Even Pastor Cobbs had been somewhat embarrassed at the small honorarium. But working the mail room at a software company wasn’t exactly the most exciting work in the world. Not sure he wanted to do it full-time. Nick was hoping by summer’s end he might be able to increase his hours at the church, maybe even negotiate for a raise? If so, he’d stick with part-time at Mr. Douglass’s company.

  Bree was on the computer and Rochelle was in the kitchen when he let himself in the front door. Bree said Kat had already left for her evening shift at The Common Cup. Figures. The way things were going, they could miss each other all week.

  Like last night—an almost full moon had been peeking in and out of the clouds, and he’d had this crazy idea of meeting Kat when she got off work at nine and walking her home. That in itself would’ve given her a hint, wouldn’t it? If he did that a few times, it wouldn’t seem too awkward to tell her his hopes for their relationship.

  But that was before Rochelle had asked him to read bedtime stories to Conny, who wanted not one, but two, and then three stories . . . and it was hard to turn the kid down. He’d been through a lot for a six-year-old. And from the little Rochelle had let drop, Conny’s Sunday afternoon visit with his dad hadn’t gone so hot. Kids picked up on stuff like that, even if it was stuff between the parents. By the time he got done reading, Kat was already back and plotting the coming weekend around Olivia’s birthday.

  “Mister Niiiick!” Conny came barreling out of the kitchen. “Mommy an’ I made lemonade. Want some?”

  “You b
et.” Nick let Conny drag him into the kitchen, where his mom had already poured a tall, frosty glass.

  “Hey.” Rochelle grinned at him and handed him the glass. “Figured you’d be hot after that long walk home. Supper isn’t quite ready. You and my mom have a meeting with Pastor Cobbs tonight, don’t you? When do you need to leave?”

  “In about an hour. Hey, what’s that picture you’re drawing, buddy?”

  Conny had scrambled back into a chair at the kitchen table and was making dozens of dots and dashes with a blue marker all over two big stick figures and a smaller stick figure, arms and legs splayed. The little boy giggled. “It’s you an’ me an’ Mommy playing in the sprinkler.” Satisfied, he put down the blue marker, picked up the drawing, and ran over to the refrigerator, holding it up on the door. “Can I hang it up here?”

  “Sure, baby.” Rochelle confiscated a magnet from the grocery list and stuck it on Conny’s drawing. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  Nick was touched by the drawing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it up there on the refrigerator. It’d be awkward to keep hearing “That’s Nick an’ me an’ Mommy” every time someone asked Conny about it. But what could he do? Every kid wanted to show off their artwork on the fridge. Unless . . .

  “Hey, that’s pretty good. What else can you draw? Can you draw a dragon? Wait till you see the monster I can draw.” Downing the last few gulps of lemonade, Nick grabbed a sheet of paper and a purple marker and set to work beside Conny, trying to ignore the gratified looks Rochelle kept sending their direction. A few more pictures on the refrigerator door just might obscure the trio in the sprinkler.

  Mrs. Douglass offered to give Nick a ride home after the pastoral team meeting at the church later that evening, but he waved her off. “It’s a great night for a walk. Thanks anyway.” He could hardly believe it when Pastor ended the meeting at eight thirty. That gave him just enough time to get to the coffee shop and walk Kat home after all. He even had a good excuse.

  “You again!” Kat laughed as she came out the door at 9:05. “Watch out, twice is a habit. Now I’ll expect it, and if you don’t show up, I’ll throw a hissy fit. See what you started?”

  Nick grinned. He knew she was teasing, but the words “Now I’ll expect it” played hopefully in his ears.

  “Don’t really like you girls walking by yourselves this time of night—”

  “Uh-huh.” He heard the mild mocking in her voice. “So why don’t you send someone to walk Bree or me home every night we work the evening shift, eh?”

  “—and besides,” he said, quickly shifting gears, “you asked me to ask the pastors tonight if you could talk to them about starting a food pantry. Thought you might want to hear about it.”

  “Nick!” Kat grabbed his arm. “You remembered! I was afraid you’d forget. Tell me! I already mentioned it to Mrs. D, but what did Pastor Cobbs say?”

  Nick stopped walking and gaped at her. “You talked to Mrs. D . . . when? Didn’t you just ask me yesterday to bring it up tonight? Which, I gotta tell you, Kat, was kind of awkward for me, doing this third-party thing. But I did it because you asked me to. Didn’t know you were going to go ahead and do it yourself.” Huh. Women!

  “Hey, come on, Nick, don’t get huffy. It wasn’t like that. She asked to talk to me after STEP this morning and said Rochelle told her about all of us checking out the food pantry at Rock of Ages last week. She wanted to know what my interest was . . . so it just came out.”

  Nick walked in silence for a few moments, then shrugged. “Well, okay. Funny that she didn’t say anything about it, though, when I brought it up.”

  “So . . . tell me. What’d they say?” Kat’s voice was eager again.

  “Well, how does next Monday evening sound? If you don’t have to work the evening shift, I mean.”

  “Really? I can come to your meeting and tell them my idea?” Kat twirled around on the sidewalk like a ballet dancer, then walked backward in little bouncy steps facing him. “So tell me, did they say anything else?”

  “Watch it!” Nick reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back to his side. “Only if you don’t trip over this curb coming up . . . okay.” He guided her across an intersection and they started down the next block. “Mostly they just listened, asked a few questions. I didn’t try to speak for you, just told them a little bit about the four of us helping out at Rock of Ages—”

  “Oh! Speaking of that,” Kat interrupted, “I called Sister Beatrice this afternoon and told her some of us would like to come again this week. Bree can’t, has to work, but Rochelle said she’d like to go. How about you?”

  Nick shook his head. “Can’t. Pastor Cobbs asked me to lead the prayer meeting at SouledOut on Wednesday night. It used to be a Bible study led by Pastor Clark, but it’s just been a prayer meeting since he died. Except I’m supposed to prepare a short devotional to start.” He gave a short laugh. “Guess it’ll be good prep before I give an actual sermon in a couple Sundays.”

  “Oh. Sorry . . . I mean, I’m glad for you, but sorry I can’t be there. But you’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

  Nick was sorry too. “Anyway, Mrs. D did say one thing about the food pantry idea. She said the most important thing was to pray about it first, because something like this needs to be ‘bathed in prayer’—those are her words.”

  Kat laughed. “Exactly the same thing she said to me in her office today! And she did it too, prayed with me right there.”

  “Yeah, well, same thing. The three of us prayed about this food pantry idea before we went on to the next agenda item.” Nick looked sideways at her face in the glow of the streetlights. “Made me realize I need to ask your forgiveness, Kat.”

  She looked up at him, puzzled. “Forgiveness? Whatever for?”

  He cleared his throat. “Because we sat in that café yesterday and talked for an hour about your food pantry idea, but I didn’t say anything about prayer, didn’t offer to pray with you about it.” Nick sighed. “I don’t know, Kat. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make a very good pastor. Seems like I forget some of the most basic things.”

  Kat took his arm again and he pressed her hand close to his side. “Hey,” she said softly, “don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s kind of hard wearing so many hats, don’t you think? I was asking you as my friend, not as a pastor.”

  They walked in silence, hand in arm, as they turned into their block. She’d hit the nail on the head. When he was with Kat, he didn’t know what hat to wear—and the hat he wanted to wear didn’t belong to him yet.

  It must’ve been her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, her nearness, the fresh smell of her hair that gave Nick the courage to stop before going up the three wide steps leading into the three-flat. “Kat . . . you do know you’re more than just a friend to me, don’t you?” Not waiting for her to answer, he leaned close and brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

  Chapter 23

  Kat lay on the bed, eyes wide open in the dark, letting the slow-moving air from the fan in the window caress her skin. Brygitta’s steady breathing from the other twin bed was a relief. If Bree knew she was wide awake at midnight, she’d be on her in a minute, wanting to know what was wrong.

  Nothing was wrong! A giggle nearly escaped from the well of pleasure bubbling inside. Every now and then she put two of her fingers together and brushed her cheek, trying to remember exactly how Nick’s lips had felt when he’d kissed her there. The kiss had taken her by surprise . . . as well as the fact that she’d felt a jolt of electricity all the way down to her knees.

  She’d just looked at him, startled. Not knowing what to do or say, she’d backed slowly up the steps to the front door, her hand slipping out from the crook of his arm. He didn’t follow, just watched her go, but his eyes seemed to be full of questions. So at the door she’d blown him a kiss with a little smile, said, “Backatcha,” and went inside.

  Duh. What a stupid thing to say! Backatcha.

  And as she thought about it, she felt a little co
nfused. “More than just a friend.” Did that mean, like, girlfriend? What if he just meant a special “bud.” But what about that kiss on the cheek? Except Rochelle had kissed Nick on the cheek and he’d insisted it didn’t mean anything. Was that how he felt about kissing her on the cheek? Just a friendly gesture, nothing more?

  Kat kicked off the sheet and flopped over on her side. It sure seemed like it meant something. But maybe she shouldn’t assume anything, see what happened in the next few days.

  Punching the pillow to find a comfortable spot for her head, Kat tried to relax. She really needed to get some sleep. But it was another hour before she drifted off.

  Opening one eye to focus on her bedside clock the next morning, Kat sat bolt upright. Eight twenty! She had to be at Bethune Elementary by nine! She must’ve forgotten to turn on the alarm. Bree’s bed was empty and unmade—already gone to work. Nick was nowhere to be seen when she padded through the apartment. He must’ve left for work too. The front door stood open into the hallway and she could hear Rochelle and Conny’s voices upstairs at the Douglasses.

  Shunning her usual shower, Kat splashed water on her face, dressed quickly, grabbed a banana, and half ran to the school. Yosufu, Kevin, and Latoya must’ve picked up on the fact that she wasn’t really prepared, because she had to practically sit on them all morning to get them to cooperate. From STEP, she headed straight to the coffee shop—she had the afternoon shift for the next two days—and by the time she got home to cook supper, she was in no mood to dance around Nick, trying to figure out what happened out on the stoop last night. Though he did give her a big grin as he helped himself to seconds of her honey-baked lentils over brown rice. “Great stuff, Kat.”

  But after supper Nick excused himself, said he had to prepare a “devotional” for the prayer meeting the next evening, then disappeared into the study.

  Okay. Pretend it never happened. Wait for him to make the next move. If it was a move in the first place.