Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  Laughter and childish giggles came from the Lego corner as Edesa fervently prayed about what to say. But before she could say anything, they heard the familiar banging on a pot from below announcing that lunch was ready. Several of the residents sitting around the room moseyed toward the stairwell. Out of the corner of her eye, Edesa saw Josh pick up Gracie and head toward them.

  But Rochelle seemed oblivious. She leaned forward, her eyes intense. “Edesa, do you think it’s all right for the woman to, you know, let the man know she’s interested? I mean, I know a lot of girls who do, but they always seem so . . . brazen about it. Throwing themselves at guys. I don’t want to do that, but I’d like Nick to know I’m interested in him. That I like him. A lot.”

  Josh had come up behind the couch where they were sitting, and out of the corner of her eye, Edesa saw his eyes widen slightly. He’d overheard.

  “Oh, Rochelle. I—”

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Conny launched himself between them, grabbing his mother’s hand. “Didn’t you hear the signal? Everybody’s going downstairs. Can we stay an’ eat? Please? Gracie gets to. I wanna stay too.”

  Rochelle allowed herself to be dragged off the couch. “Okay, okay. I’ll ask Miss Estelle if she has enough. We didn’t sign up for lunch.” Casting an apologetic smile over her shoulder at Edesa, the mother and son headed for the stairwell leading to the dining room below.

  Edesa followed along behind with Josh and Gracie. But she touched Josh’s arm and held him back until Rochelle and Conny were out of earshot. “Josh,” she hissed, “you need to talk to Nick . . . soon.”

  Chapter 29

  Ack. It was starting to rain.

  Nick had left the apartment early Saturday morning, needing a good run to wake up his brain so he could really concentrate on the final prep for his first sermon at SouledOut tomorrow. He’d been mulling over his assigned passage for a couple of weeks—Jesus’ last words to Peter after the resurrection—and had made a lot of notes, but he definitely needed to carve out a significant hunk of time today to pull it all together.

  He groaned. Why had he agreed to rustle up a large bin—or two or three—to collect nonperishable food at SouledOut? By tomorrow! When was he going to do that? But he’d promised Kat he’d help and Sunday was the big day when the food pantry was going to get announced at church. Somehow . . .

  Nick cast an anxious eye at the sky. He hadn’t even had time to process the news Sister Avis had shared in the pastoral team meeting last Monday night after Kat left, or what its implications might be. But he couldn’t think about that today. After tomorrow.

  He’d been hoping a good run would help clear his mind so he could sort things out. But he’d no sooner made it to the jogging path along Lake Michigan than he felt the first big drops. The clouds overhead hung dark and heavy. He’d better head back before the skies really opened up.

  By the time Nick got back to the three-flat, his heart was pumping and it was hard to tell if he was damp from sweat or the drizzle in the air. Taking the outside back stairs two at a time and coming into the kitchen, he saw his newest housemate frying up a batch of grated potatoes.

  “Morning, Rochelle.” He was suddenly hungry, but he should probably shower first. Heading through the kitchen, he was distracted by a sheet of paper lying on the kitchen table. He picked it up. “Rochelle! Did you design this flyer?”

  The young woman at the stove turned and eyed him shyly from under her mane of thick black hair. “You like it?”

  “Yes, I like it. Great design.” He had no idea Rochelle had such artistic talent. “But, more important . . .” Nick craned his neck and glanced into the dining–living room area. “Does Kat like it?”

  Rochelle grinned. “She does. This is just the first one asking people to donate canned goods and stuff for the food pantry. I designed a few more announcing the food pantry itself—you know, to post in store windows and places like that—but I wasn’t sure what its name is going to be. Would you like to see them?”

  “Sure.” Nick pulled out a chair at the table. The shower could wait. “Those fried potatoes or whatever you’re making sure smell good. Any chance a hungry jogger could have some of those with breakfast? I’ll set the table, grovel, do anything.”

  Rochelle turned the gas flame under the frying pan down low, scurried out of the room, and was back in thirty seconds with a large manila envelope. “Here. And yes, you can set the table. Everybody’s here except Kat—she had to be at the coffee shop by six. And Conny’s still asleep—uh-oh, spoke too soon. Hey there, young man!” She smiled at the sleepy boy who’d just wandered in, dressed only in a Spider-Man pajama top and his underpants. “Want some breakfast?”

  Rubbing his eyes, Conny crawled up into Nick’s lap. With one arm wrapped around the little boy, Nick opened the large envelope, pulled out three brightly colored flyers, and laid them on the table. “See those, buddy? Your mommy made them. Isn’t she great?”

  “I know.” Conny yawned. “We went to Grampa Peter’s shop yesterday and she drawed them on his computer. I saw you in the mail room, but Mommy said we couldn’t bother you.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t have bothered me. Then I could’ve introduced you to my working buddies. They’ve heard all about you.” Nick studied the three flyers again and then held one up. “I like this one best so far.” It had photos of all different kinds of food running around the edge of the page like a colorful ribbon.

  “I can read those words.” Conny pointed. “It says ‘Food Pantry.’”

  “Hey, that’s good. What else?”

  The boy giggled. “You read it.”

  “Okay. It says ‘Come to the Table on Saturdays, 10 to 12.’ And it’s got the address of SouledOut Community Church.” Nick looked up. “So that time’s been decided?”

  Rochelle shrugged as she dished up the hash browns, melted some butter in the same pan, and poured in some beaten eggs. “Don’t know for sure. Like I said, they’re just rough drafts. Are you going to set the table or not?”

  “Right, right, right.” Nick quickly put the flyers back into the envelope and pushed Conny off his lap. “You can help put the silverware around, okay, buddy?”

  By the time he got the plates on and the orange juice poured, Rochelle was dishing up the scrambled eggs. So far no sign of Brygitta. But if Kat had the early shift, Bree probably didn’t have to work till the afternoon or evening. “So we’ll let her sleep,” he said, rubbing his hands gleefully. “All the more for the rest of us, right, buddy? You want to say the blessing?”

  Conny considered. “Okay.” He folded his hands and scrunched his eyes shut. “Thank You, God, for the food and for my mommy an’ for Grammy Avis and Grampa Peter an’ Mister Nick an’ Miss Bree an’ Miss Kat. Amen.”

  “And your daddy,” Rochelle prompted.

  “I already said amen. Can I have some eggs?”

  Rochelle eyed Nick, and he shook his head slightly. He respected Rochelle’s efforts to keep Conny connected to his dad, but that might be pushing it.

  “So what’s next with the flyers?” Nick took a bite of the fried potatoes. “Mm, these are great.”

  “Well . . .” Rochelle dished up her own plate. “Kat asked if I could make copies of the first flyer today so she can pass them out at church tomorrow. She wants people to pass them out to their neighbors and take them to their work. I don’t mind except”—she tipped her head toward the window—“weather guy said it’s going to rain all day. Don’t really want to take Conny out in the rain. But maybe I can ask my stepdad if we can make copies over at Software Symphony—especially if he’s going to work today and we can get a ride.”

  Software Symphony. “That’s it!” Nick grinned. “Kat asked me to come up with a big bin or something to collect foodstuff from SouledOut members. I just remembered . . . we have a couple big trash cans in the mail room—heavy-duty plastic things—we might be able to do without. I’ll ask Mr. D if we can borrow them for a few weeks. They’re not too pretty, but—” />
  “Maybe you could decorate them. I know somebody who’d love to help, right, big boy?” Rochelle reached over and knuckled the top of Conny’s head.

  “Yeah! Can I help decorate ’em, Mister Nick?” Conny bounced up and down in his chair.

  Wait. Finding the bins was one thing. Decorating was another. He really needed to work on his sermon. “Uh . . . I’m preaching tomorrow and I still need a good chunk of time to prepare. Maybe Bree can—”

  “Maybe Bree can what?” A sleepy Brygitta wandered into the kitchen wearing a loose robe over her T-shirt and shorts, her dark-brown pixie cut tousled, her face bare of any makeup. “Any of that food left for me?”

  Rochelle pushed the remaining potatoes and eggs her way as Bree picked up a glass of orange juice and eyed Nick over the rim. “So what are you volunteering me for?”

  Nick told her about the bins to collect food. “Gonna try to borrow some from Mr. D’s shop—but they’re pretty ugly. Rochelle suggested we decorate them, and I was just wondering if you—”

  “Can’t.” Bree shook her head. “I’ve got to go to work this afternoon.” She sighed and spooned what was left of the food onto a plate. “I’m getting pretty tired of this work schedule. It’s all over the map. Hard to plan anything.”

  Rochelle got up from the table abruptly and stuck her empty dishes in the sink. “At least you’ve got a job,” she muttered and stalked out of the kitchen. “Forget it.”

  Bree stared after her as their housemate disappeared into the other room, then turned back to Nick. “Gosh, I didn’t mean anything.”

  Nick didn’t say anything. Even he was a bit taken aback by Rochelle’s sudden change in attitude. What was that about? Come to think of it, though, she’d been doing a lot more around the apartment—like making breakfast for everybody this morning—maybe to make up for not having a job. Were they taking her for granted? Probably. Rochelle was dealing with a lot—parenting a six-year-old as a single mom, dealing with a disgruntled ex, managing HIV with all its implications, job-hunting for weeks and coming up zero . . . which, frankly, was hard to understand. Look at the talent evident in those flyers she’d designed—

  “Take care of the flock.”

  Peter Douglass’s words suddenly echoed in Nick’s ears. That’s what Rochelle’s stepfather had said to him when she and Conny first moved into their apartment. Seemed awfully similar to the Scripture passage he was supposed to teach on tomorrow. “Do you love me? Feed my sheep,” Jesus had said to Peter, the disciple who’d turned chicken and denied even knowing Jesus.

  Huh. What did “Take care of the flock” and “Feed my sheep” mean on a Saturday when he was feeling pressure to prepare for his sermon, find bins for the food pantry collection, decorate said bins with an eager-beaver kid who craved his attention, and juggle the expectations of his housemates? One of whom was the girl he—

  “Nick? Earth to Nick . . . your cell phone is ringing.” Bree poked him before clearing her dishes and disappearing out of the kitchen. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. But I want to get my laundry started.”

  Digging the phone out of the fanny pack he wore while running, Nick glanced at the caller ID. Josh Baxter? “Hey, Josh. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Nick. Say, was wondering if we could get together sometime today? Thought both of us could use some guy time. I’m surrounded here at the House of Hope with estrogen and thought maybe you could use some rescuing, too, from your all-female household. Well, except for Conny, but you know what I mean.”

  Nick snorted. “Definitely know what you mean! Man, wish I could. But I’m preaching tomorrow at SouledOut and I’ve still got to pull it together. My first time, you know. Trying not to fall flat on my face. And I’ve got some other stuff I promised Kat I’d do today too, related to launching this food pantry. But, hey, any chance I could take a rain check? Tomorrow afternoon or evening maybe? I’d really like that.”

  “So you can’t get together today? Well . . . okay. We could try for tomorrow. Let me check what Edesa’s got going on. We can talk at church in the morning, okay?”

  Nick hung up reluctantly. What he wouldn’t give to just chuck the whole business for the day—sermon, food pantry, Conny, Kat—and just hang out with Josh. How long since he’d done just that, hang out with the guys?

  But as he showered and dressed, then called up his sermon notes on his computer, the words kept chasing themselves around in his mind.

  “Take care of the flock.”

  “Feed my sheep.”

  Arrgh. Figuring out how to do that was just as hard— harder—than figuring out how to preach it. But what kind of pastor would he be if he didn’t live what he preached?

  At the other end of the apartment, Nick heard Rochelle running the vacuum cleaner in the bedroom she shared with Conny. Closing his computer, he passed Conny watching cartoons in the living room, headed down the hallway, and knocked on the open door. “Hey!” He noticed Rochelle had wrapped a bandanna around her thick hair, probably to keep it out of her face while she did housework. Somehow the girl managed to look great no matter what she wore.

  He waited until she turned off the machine. “Did you talk to your stepdad? Are you going over to the shop to make copies?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. He’s going to work in about half an hour, so guess Conny and I’ll go with him. It’s still raining.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll go with you guys, check out the bins, and see what Conny and I can come up with to decorate them while you’re making the copies. If we do that this morning, I think I’ll still have time to do my sermon prep this afternoon. Sound okay?”

  Her face lit up with a smile. “Thanks! Conny will really like that. Me too. It’ll be fun.” Rochelle pulled off the bandanna and shook out her hair with a playful toss. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter 30

  Where was everybody?

  Kat checked her cell phone again just to be sure she hadn’t missed a text message or voice mail, but . . . still nothing. Not that Nick was obligated to tell her he’d gone out, but it was kind of strange that the apartment was totally empty. Brygitta, of course, had shown up at The Common Cup for her shift just as Kat was ready to leave, but where were Rochelle and Conny? It wasn’t exactly a rule, but her apartment mates were usually pretty good about leaving a note on the fridge.

  Her finger itched over the speed dial . . . Nope. She wasn’t going to call Nick and whine, Where are you? It had been a strange week anyway since that long hug last Monday night— not to mention his kiss on her cheek before that. Neither one of them had said anything about either incident since—though they’d hardly had any time alone all week, with her working a couple evenings, Nick at prayer meeting on Wednesday, she and Rochelle volunteering again at the Rock of Ages food pantry, and all four of them going out to a movie last night while the Douglasses babysat Conny. TGIF and all that.

  But she’d asked him last night to help her find some kind of bin to set up at the church tomorrow for donations to the food pantry. She’d been hoping they could go out together that afternoon once she got home from work, maybe ask at the Dominick’s near SouledOut for a big box or something. They could decorate it together—that’d be fun.

  If he got back from who-knows-where.

  Digging out a package of flour tortillas and cheese, Kat fried herself a large quesadilla for lunch and was just chopping up some green onions and lettuce to go with the salsa on top when she heard laughter and loud thumps coming up the front stairwell. A few moments later the front door flew open and Conny, Rochelle, and Nick stumbled in, laughing as they wrestled a large plastic trash can into the living room.

  Kat came to the door of the kitchen, knife in her hand. “What in the world?”

  “Hi, Miss Kat!” Conny yelled. “We got your food bin!”

  Kat gave it a once-over. Pretty beat up. “Uhhh, I see. What does the other bin look like?”

  Conny screwed up his face. “Huh?”

  Rochelle laughed. “What does the�
�ohhh, funny.” She bent down and whispered in the little boy’s ear.

  “A joke?” He still looked puzzled. “I thought she was talking ’bout the other bin we left at Grampa’s shop.”

  Nick grinned at Kat. “Mr. D graciously donated two trash cans for contributions to the food pantry, but as you can see, they need a little, er, help. Conny and I tried to decorate one with a big sheet of butcher paper we found in a storage room, but by the time we got it taped on, it sorta looked like a trash can with the trash on the outside—”

  Rochelle snickered and rolled her eyes in agreement.

  “—so Rochelle got the bright idea to leave that one there for donations from Software Symphony employees and bring the other one back here to spruce up for the church.”

  “Right.” Rochelle absently redid the rubber band holding back her thick hair at the nape of her neck. “I think my mom has a stash of those disposable plastic tablecloths in bright colors— the kind you get for a party—and if she’s willing to part with them, we could wrap this can in one or two of those.”

  “And cut out pictures of food from magazines and paste them all over it!” Conny yelled. “Mommy said I could do that part.”

  Nick nodded, still grinning. “Let Rochelle make a sign for it—she did a bang-up job on your flyer. Hey . . . show Kat the copies you made.”

  Kat took the stack Rochelle handed her. “This is great, Rochelle. Thanks for doing that. Uh . . . sounds like you three had a good time at the shop.” She tried to ignore a twinge of envy. After all, they’d just been doing stuff she’d asked them to do for the food pantry—though she’d meant Nick helping her come up with a usable receptacle for donations. But Nick had spent the morning having fun with Rochelle and Conny while she’d been on her feet serving up an endless parade of iced coffee and chai tea to go.

  Get a grip, Kat. Just a misunderstanding. And since he’d already found a bin to use, maybe she and Nick could do something else—if the stupid rain let up.