by Neta Jackson
Kat scurried home as fast as she could after work on Wednesday afternoon, using her cell phone to ask Rochelle to meet her outside the three-flat to save time since they were already late showing up at the food pantry. As she came out the door, Rochelle handed her a submarine sandwich Bree had made before her evening shift. “Smart girl, giving us a portable supper.” Rochelle grinned, unwrapping her own sub as they walked along.
“Who’s taking care of Conny? The GPs?” Kat was glad Rochelle hadn’t tried to bring Conny along, though it had crossed her mind she might if she didn’t find child care. After all, there were other kids running around the food pantry who’d come with their parents.
“No. You know the family on the first floor with the two preschoolers? Believe it or not, they actually invited Conny to go play at the park with them this evening. Kind of amazing, ’cause Mom says she hardly ever sees them. Guess their kids are in day care a lot.” Rochelle waved her sub sandwich. “But they seemed pretty excited that there’s another kid in the building. And Conny’s good with younger kids—he gets to be the bossy ‘big kid’ for a change.”
Kat snickered. Seemed to her Conny was perfectly capable of being the “bossy kid” no matter who he was with. But she said, “That’s great.” Because it meant she and Rochelle could do this thing together without being distracted by Conny, and she’d have someone to debrief with. In fact . . . was this one of the “doors” Mrs. D had prayed would open if the idea for a food pantry was a God-idea? It was just a little thing—care for Conny—but still.
“Rochelle, remember what you said last week after we were at Rock of Ages, that more churches should set up food pantries? Well, it started me thinking . . .”
As they walked, Kat found herself telling Rochelle what she felt God was asking her to do—to feed hungry people. As they approached the stone church on the corner, where a line straggled out the side door and groups of people clogged the sidewalk, she said, “Your mom said I should pray about it with some other people, to be sure it’s God’s idea and not just mine. Would you be willing to pray about it with me?”
Rochelle shrugged. “Well . . . sure. I’ll pray about it.”
She’d meant pray with her. But Kat let it go.
The foyer at Rock of Ages wasn’t as jammed this week, since the weather was decent and people could wait outside. But Sister Beatrice immediately put them to work alongside two other volunteers, and for the next two and a half hours, Kat hardly had time to think or take a breath. Seemed like for every person who went out the door with a bag of groceries, two more were ready to come into the pantry.
She recognized several people who’d been there the week before—like the Lady Lolla character, dressed today in a short red taffeta sheath with some kind of sheer netting gathered around her pale shoulders like a shawl. Hard to miss. The rail-thin woman ignored the canned goods again and eagerly pounced on the ears of corn on the fresh produce table. “Ike, he do love corn on the cob.” She giggled. “Though he can’t eat it too good ’cause he’s missin’ some teeth.”
Lady Lolla and Ike . . . What is their story? Kat wondered.
But many faces were new to Kat. A young black woman, cute as a pixie, aided her overweight mother—or aunt or grandmother—whom she called Mimi. Both were dressed neatly, but they each filled a large shopping bag with a variety of food. They certainly didn’t look homeless, but obviously “hungry” and “homeless” were not necessarily synonymous.
However, it was the preschooler with little beaded braids all over her head whose eyes grew large at the boxes of macaroni and cheese and the elderly man who slowly filled his bag with trembling hands that got to Kat. Hungry people. Young people. Old people. Edesa was right. At that moment, Kat didn’t particularly care what kind of food they ate, she just wanted to open a loaf of bread and a couple jars of peanut butter and jelly and make them a sandwich, then and there.
After Tony the Bouncer, as Kat thought of him, shut the doors at eight o’clock, she and Rochelle stayed awhile longer to help straighten shelves and clean up, along with the other two volunteers, an older couple—retirees, Kat supposed—members of Rock of Ages, who spoke with a slight Scandinavian accent. Kat was hoping to talk to Sister Beatrice again, but the motherly manager was bustling around with a sheaf of papers on a clipboard doing an inventory of what needed to be replenished.
So Kat grabbed a dustpan and held it for the pleasant-faced husband who was wielding a broom. “Why did you decide to volunteer at the food pantry?” she asked with a teasing grin. “You could be playing golf.”
The man chuckled. “Don’t want to miss Jesus.”
What? Kat blinked. “Miss . . . Jesus?”
His pink-cheeked wife peered around his shoulder with a patient smile. “The sheep and the goats. Matthew 25.” But she took the broom away from him. “Please, Anders. We need to get home before it gets dark.” With an apologetic smile, she hustled Anders out the door.
The sheep and the goats? Odd thing to say. But Rochelle seemed anxious to go too, so they waved good-bye to Sister Beatrice and Tony and headed back through the neighborhood streets the way they had come. To Kat’s surprise, Rochelle walked two blocks without saying anything, a frown etched between her eyebrows.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Rochelle didn’t answer for a few moments. Then, “I guess. Just . . . not sure I should’ve come.”
“Why? I was really glad you were there. I saw you talking to some of the pantry folks. They all seem to like you.”
“Oh. Well, thanks.” Rochelle gave Kat a half smile. “Feeling kind of guilty, I guess. I was on the street, needed the food pantries just like these people. It was only for four months. Now I’ve got a roof over my head and plenty of food to eat. But I was talking to Tony, and he said he felt discouraged, because it’s the same people every week. Month after month. Nothing ever really changes.”
“But it changed for you.”
“Did it?” Rochelle looked away for a long moment. “I’m still getting a handout. Not paying for my rent or our food. Makes me feel just like I did showing up at the food pantries. Kind of embarrassed. Second-rate. Like a leech.”
“Rochelle! We don’t feel that way. And it’s just until you get a job.”
“Yeah, right. If I get a job. If you haven’t noticed, nobody’s beating a path to my door, wanting to hire someone with HIV. And then what are my choices? Food stamps. Public assistance. Still a handout.”
Kat didn’t know what to say. It was true in a way. They were supporting Rochelle and Conny. And so far, none of Rochelle’s job applications had called her back—
“Don’t get me wrong, Kat. I’m real grateful. But . . .” Rochelle glanced at her sideways. “You aren’t going to like me saying this, but it makes me wonder if this food pantry idea of yours—starting one at SouledOut—is a good idea.”
Oh great. Just what she needed—someone throwing cold water on her idea before it even made it to the light of day. “Not sure I see what your job situation has to do with starting a food pantry,” she said, realizing her tone came out terse. “People are still hungry. You said yourself that more churches should start food pantries.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rochelle shook her head. “It’s just . . . I’m realizing that giving away food is just putting a Band-Aid on a much deeper problem. Doesn’t really solve anything. Once it’s gone, people are hungry again. And every time they get a handout, it kills a little more of their spirit. At least, that’s what it did to me.”
A half dozen retorts sprang to Kat’s mind. So? Do we just ignore the fact that people are hungry? What are people supposed to do in the meantime, before they get a job or get off the street? Just because we can’t do everything doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do something . . . But she pressed her lips together, afraid that if she said anything it would come out wrong.
As they turned into their own block, Rochelle said, “Look, I’m sorry. Maybe the food pantry is a good idea. It was just—I don’t know.
Being there tonight brought up all these feelings. I was just being honest with you.”
“Okay.” That was all Kat trusted herself to say. She was almost relieved that the first-floor family was already home from the park and Conny needed a bath and putting to bed. Besides, Kat felt a little guilty that she’d shared with Nick and even opened up to Rochelle about her idea—her “calling,” as she was starting to think of it—before she’d even told Brygitta. After all, Bree was her best friend. At least she’d be encouraging . . . she hoped.
As soon as Bree got home from the coffee shop that night, Kat steered her out the kitchen door onto the back porch where she had two glasses of herbal iced tea and a candle flickering, and she laid it all out once more, from reading how Jesus had fed the five thousand to her appointment to talk to the pastoral team next Monday about starting a food pantry at SouledOut.
Brygitta’s brown eyes had gone wide. “My goodness, Kat—”
“Don’t say it. I know, sounds like just another crazy idea, but I’m getting enough of that from everyone else, thank you. This time it’s different, Bree. I know I can’t do this without God—or without your support either, for that matter. So all I’m asking is just pray with me about it.”
Brygitta was quiet for what seemed a long minute, and then she suddenly leaned over and grabbed Kat in a fierce hug. “Oh, Kat, of course I will. I’ve been a Christian a lot longer than you have, but you’re the one with the faith to pray about something as big as this.” She let go of her hug but took Kat’s hands in her own. “Let’s do it. Let’s pray right now.”
But they’d only just started when the back screen door slammed and Nick’s voice interrupted. “Is this a girl thing, or can I get in on this prayer meeting too?”
Kat’s heart seemed to leap into her throat, but she swallowed it. “Didn’t you just come from a prayer meeting? Aren’t you prayed out?”
“Nope.” He pulled up another porch chair with a grin. “Just prayed up. Whatever. I’m in.”
Kat felt his strong clasp as Nick joined hands with her and Bree, and they kick-started the prayers again. She still felt confused about what that kiss on the cheek had meant the other night . . . but right now, she was just glad to have her hand in his.
Chapter 24
A Pavarotti memorial concert? And it’s free? You’re kidding, right?” Kat’s mouth dropped when Nick told them what was on the schedule at the Millennium Park pavilion as they cleaned up the kitchen Friday evening. She wasn’t an opera buff, but a tribute to the famed tenor was sure to be fantastic.
“Nope, not kidding. There really is a memorial concert this month. Only problem. Wrong weekend. This weekend it’s Community Music School Night with local talent doing chamber and orchestral music.”
“Not—oh!” Kat snapped him with the dish towel she was holding. “You are so mean, Nick Taylor! Local talent? What does that mean? Oh, never mind. Whatever. What time are Livie and Elin getting in at the bus station?”
Bree fished out her notes. “They’re taking that new Megabus. Supposedly dirt-cheap. The one from Madison is scheduled to get in at . . . hmm, eleven Saturday morning. But it drops off passengers at Union Station, not the bus depot.”
Both Kat and Bree had traded shifts at the coffee shop so they could have Saturday free. Even Rochelle and Conny seemed excited by the plans for the weekend visit. On Saturday morning, while Kat, Bree, and Rochelle packed food for their day in the city, Nick and Conny made “Happy Birthday” and “Welcome, Olivia and Elin” signs to stick up all around the apartment.
Kat supposed it made sense to include Rochelle and Conny for their day in Chicago, since they were doing this as a household, not just the original friends. But having a kid along would certainly change the dynamic. Oh well, she told herself, wrapping cold, baked chicken in aluminum foil and stuffing it into her backpack. She’d just enjoy the weekend for what it was.
Loaded with backpacks of food, sunscreen, and water bottles, plus a large tote bag with picnic paraphernalia, the five of them caught the El by midmorning and rode the Red Line downtown. The train was packed with weekend shoppers and teenagers plugged into iPods—not the usual ties and briefcases. Bree and Rochelle found seats on one side and Nick and Kat on the other, while Conny bounced from window to window. Smiling to herself, Kat wondered whether she’d finagled the seat beside Nick, or the other way around. Didn’t matter. He chatted easily about the guys he was getting to know at work and asked more about her second volunteer stint at Rock of Ages . . . that is, when Conny wasn’t squeezing himself past their knees to look out the window on their side.
“Hey, you.” Kat pulled the little boy onto her lap on the third interruption. Might as well give him some attention. “What did the doctor say when his nurse told him there was an invisible man in his waiting room?”
Conny looked at Nick, as if hoping for a clue, then back at Kat. “I don’ know.”
“He said, ‘Tell him I can’t see him now. Next!’”
Nick snickered. The little boy looked puzzled for maybe two seconds and then broke into a grin. “I get it! He can’t see him ’cause he’s invisible!”
“Make that an invisible boy,” Nick teased, tickling his ribs.
Conny giggled. “I’m not invisible!”
“We noticed,” Kat and Nick chorused—and broke up laughing just as the El went underground into the subway tunnel.
They all piled off at the Adams/Wabash station, came up onto street level, and caught a bus that took them over the Chicago River to Union Station with five minutes to spare before eleven. But the Megabus was late. Figured. Rochelle took Conny inside the station to use the restroom . . . and they still had to wait another twenty minutes. But when the big blue-and-yellow bus pulled up to the curb on Canal Street, Olivia was the first one off, followed by a younger version of herself—same shoulder-length blond hair and fair skin—smiling shyly.
The next few minutes were filled with laughter, hugs, and introductions right there on the sidewalk. Conny looked soberly from Olivia to Elin and back again, and then said to Olivia, “Is that your daughter?” which cracked everybody up, especially Elin.
The bus driver was unloading bags from the storage area, and Olivia and Elin collected two wheeled suitcases, the carry-on size. Kat poked Nick. “Uh-oh. I forgot they’d have overnight bags. What are we going to do with those?”
“Hopefully we can find some lockers,” Nick said.
They decided to walk the seven or eight blocks back to State Street in the Loop, where they were able to catch a free trolley to . . . “Navy Pier?” Olivia said, her eyes dancing. “Yay! I was hoping we’d do something like that. I wanted Elin to see the fun side of Chicago.”
“Oh, we’re going to show Elin Chicago, all right.” Bree grinned mysteriously.
Which was why they’d chosen to take Olivia and Elin for a ride on the gigantic Ferris wheel at Navy Pier as their birthday surprise. Sorting themselves into two of the enclosed cars—with the suitcases, since they couldn’t find any lockers—the lighted wheel took seven minutes to go around just once, giving them a panoramic view of Chicago’s glass-and-steel skyline on one side and glittering Lake Michigan, dotted with sailboats and sightseeing boats, on the other. Rochelle, Nick, Conny, and Elin ended up in one car on the wheel, with Olivia, Brygitta, and Kat in the one just behind it. Kat noticed that the car up ahead rocked continuously.
In spite of a light rain early that morning, the day had turned out perfectly—scattered clouds, temps in the mideighties, a light breeze off the lake. They ate their sack lunches at a picnic table, then walked to the far end of the pier gawking at the tour boats, art sculptures, assorted shops and cafés, through a conservatory of tropical greenery and fountains, but decided against the stained glass museum—not with a six-year-old!—and back again. By this time Conny was dragging and Nick carried him piggyback for a while as Rochelle walked alongside.
Crossing Lake Shore Drive to Millennium Park, they cooled off in Crown Fountain,
which was a long wading pool with two glass “video towers” at either end featuring changing faces that “spit” water into the shallow pool. Rochelle peeled off Conny’s shirt and shoes and let him splash in the pool—but he soon dragged her in too, along with Nick and Elin.
“Cute kid,” Olivia said, joining Kat and Bree on one of the stone benches, babysitting the backpacks and suitcases. “How’s that working out?”
Kat shrugged. “Pretty good, I think. Rochelle doesn’t have a job, so she hasn’t been able to help with the rent yet. But she pulls her weight in other ways. Don’t you think, Bree?”
Brygitta nodded. “But Conny’s got a thing for Nick. Ask him how it’s going.”
“I noticed,” Olivia murmured. “He’s not the only one.”
Kat looked at her sharply. What did Livie mean by that? She wanted to ask, but just then Elin ran up, grabbed her big sister by the hand, and pulled her into the shallow pool. “My sandals!” Olivia screeched.
“They’ll dry!” Elin laughed, and the sisters joined Rochelle, Nick, and Conny dodging the long streams of water coming from the changing faces on the two towers at either end.
Bree slathered another layer of sunscreen on her arms. “Elin seems like a neat kid. I’m glad Livie moved home to be with her.”
Hadn’t Brygitta heard what Olivia said? Wasn’t she curious about what their friend meant by “He’s not the only one”? Kat watched the others cavorting in the shallow water. He . . . who? Nick? As in, Nick’s not the only one Conny has a thing for? The little guy did seem smitten by Olivia’s kid sister, who was chasing him around the splash pool. Maybe that’s what she meant.
But the comment kept niggling at her as the water-play ended and they all wandered toward the music pavilion, setting up their picnic on the sloping lawn. “He’s not the only one.” Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she meant Conny’s not the only one who’s “got a thing” for Nick. Kat’s face flushed as she spread out the sheet they’d brought to use as a picnic blanket. Were her growing feelings for Nick that obvious? Or did she mean—