Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  Nick gaped at him. “Rochelle! What? Why would you say that? No! I’m talking about Kat!” He stopped, realizing Josh was staring at him. A horrible feeling crawled up his chest. “Oh, man. You said . . . you mean . . . ?”

  Josh nodded slowly. “Uh-huh.”

  Nick groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t believe this.” Josh had said it was obvious “she” liked him. All the time meaning . . . Rochelle. Not Kat. For a moment he’d been ecstatic, thinking Kat really did like him that way. Did that mean he was back at square one with Kat? Not really knowing how she felt?

  Even worse, if what Josh said was true, that Rochelle was talking about him to other people, had feelings for him . . . Nick groaned again. “Uhhhhh. Houston, we’ve got a problem.”

  He heard Josh laugh and lifted his head. “Sorry.” Josh immediately looked sheepish. “I know it’s not funny. In fact, you’re in trouble, my brother. But . . .”

  Nick waited. “But what?” He threw out his hands. “Look, I need some help here, brother!”

  “Okay, okay. You gotta tell her.”

  “Tell . . . ?”

  “Tell Rochelle.”

  “Oh, right. Just say, ‘Oh, by the way, Rochelle, heard you’ve got a thing for me. Sorry, not interested.’”

  “Then you gotta tell Kat. Tell Kat how you feel about her. And Rochelle will get the message.”

  Nick buried his head in his hands again. If only he’d told Kat how he felt about her before now. Why had he waited? Why hadn’t he kissed her on the mouth that night on the steps, like he’d wanted to, instead of on the cheek? He’d told her he was proud of how she’d presented the food pantry at the pastoral team meeting . . . hadn’t exactly seemed the time to kiss her that way. But why not? That was his trouble. He thought too much about stuff. Worried about how it would change things in the apartment. Worried about what people at SouledOut would think. He was trying to please everybody—or not rock the boat.

  Coward. That’s what he was. And now look at the mess he was in.

  “Hey, man.” Josh broke into his misery. “Hate to say this, but it’s four thirty already. We’re supposed to drop the girls off at Yada Yada and pick up the kids there . . . You gonna be all right?”

  According to plan, Josh and Nick dropped off Kat and Bree at the Baxters’ two-flat and picked up Conny and Gracie. As Conny scrambled into the minivan, Rochelle muttered, “We shouldn’t have told Conny you guys were taking care of them tonight. He kept wanting to come home early, which didn’t go over too well with you-know-who.”

  Great, Nick thought. Just one more person who was going to be mad at him.

  But once Gracie was buckled into her car seat with “big boy” Conny buckled in beside her, Josh said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go ride the merry-go-round down at Lincoln Park Zoo. Might only have an hour before it closes, but . . . what do you kids say?”

  “Yaaay!” Conny yelled. Gracie laughed and clapped her hands too, though Josh said he doubted she knew what it was.

  Nick was glad to have something to do, and glad it wasn’t just him and Conny trying to kill two or three hours. They found street parking—“The zoo’s free,” Josh muttered, “but they get your money for the parking lot”—and walked through the zoo to the large carousel.

  Josh tried to wave him away at the ticket booth as Nick pulled out his wallet, but Nick insisted on paying for Conny. “You’ve got Gracie, I’ve got Conny—even-steven.”

  Josh gave him a strange look, but for the next few minutes they were busy helping the kids climb onto their chosen “zoo friend.” Gracie wanted to ride the big ostrich, but Conny made a beeline for the tiger. “I can get on by myself! You don’t have to help me!” So Nick dropped back to where Josh was strapping Gracie onto the big bird and hopped onto the baboon next to them.

  The music started and the carousel jerked forward, accompanied by childish squeals as the animals went up and down, up and down. Josh, standing with one hand on Gracie’s leg to steady the little girl, leaned toward Nick. “That’s something we oughta talk about—you and Conny,” he said, talking loudly over the music and general noise. “He obviously likes you a lot—and vice versa. But I’m thinking that’s been giving Rochelle ideas— about you and her, I mean. Maybe you need to set up some boundaries.”

  Nick just stared at Josh. But his mind whirled in circles like the carousel the rest of the evening. What was he supposed to do—just ignore the kid? Good grief, he thought it was a good thing to give Conny some guy attention, surrounded as he was in a house full of females. Of course, his grandfather lived in the apartment upstairs. Maybe they’d spend more time together if Nick weren’t so available. And if his relationship with Conny was giving Rochelle ideas . . .

  But he had to admit he’d grown really fond of Conny. Liked spending time with him. He felt like a big brother or an honorary uncle. His relationship with Conny had given him ideas too—about wanting a family, wanting kids.

  But his kids and Kat’s. Someday.

  Oh, God, he groaned again silently as Conny and Gracie chattered all the way home about what they liked best about their short visit to the zoo. What am I supposed to do?

  “Looks like we beat the girls home,” Josh noted, pulling into a parking space in front of the three-flat. “Don’t see any lights in your windows. Mind if we just drop you and Conny off? It’s already eight o’clock, past Gracie’s bedtime. I’ll go pick up Edesa and we can mosey on home.”

  “No problem.” Nick slid the side door of the minivan open so Conny could scramble out. He leaned into the car and held out his hand to Josh. “Thanks for the afternoon, man.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Just . . . pray for me.”

  “You got it, brother.” Josh gripped his hand and grinned. “Just do it. Tell your girl how you feel. It’ll all work out.”

  Yeah, yeah, it’ll all work out. Nick wasn’t so sure. But he tried to put it aside as he took Conny’s hand, hustled him up the steps, and pushed open the front door. “Hey, kiddo, what say you see how fast you can get into your jammies and then we’ll have some ice cr—”

  A fist slammed into Nick’s face from the dark interior of the foyer. Pain shot through his nose into his brain. “So you’re the guy stealin’ my kid!” The angry hiss took shape . . . a man. The shadowy figure swung again—this time a slug to his gut. Nick staggered backward, back onto the flat stoop at the top of the steps, gasping for breath. “That’s all I hear—Nick this! Nick that!” the man shouted. “Well, back off, creep! He’s my kid.”

  “Daddy!” Conny screamed. “Daddy, stop!”

  Chapter 32

  For some reason, Kat felt a tad shy sitting among the lively group of Yada Yada sisters in Leslie Stuart’s apartment. An odd feeling for an extrovert—she was usually the one who broke the ice in any group with her easy chatter. But she felt as tongue-tied as Brygitta, who sat wide-eyed across the living room, taking in the room decorated in gorgeous shades of melon and lime. All around them a hodgepodge of women—an assortment that would rival Forrest Gump’s “box of choc’lates”—babbled in comfortable familiarity in spite of ages spanning Gen-Y to Baby Boomers, wearing everything from plus-sizes to skinny size 4, and hair done in meticulous “extensions,” to a few she’d have to label frowsy.

  At least she knew several of the women in this group—Avis Douglass and Edesa, of course, but also Estelle Bentley, Jodi Baxter, Florida Hickman, and Stu, their hostess, who attended SouledOut Community Church. But as she was introduced to others, Kat tried hard to peg their names to their faces: Adele, an imposing black woman, who wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a short “natural,” which seemed a bit odd for someone who operated her own beauty shop. A blond girl they called Yo-Yo, who looked rather boyish in her short, spiky hair and cargo shorts. And somebody said Ruth—a somewhat rumpled middle-aged woman who talked like a Yiddish grandmother—had five-year-old twins! A round-faced, motherly woman, Delores Enriques, showed up late wearing the smock of a pediatric nurse, and a couple oth
ers showed up whose names she’d have to get again.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes of chitchat and iced tea, Stu rounded up the women who’d spread out into the dining room and kitchen and herded them into the melon-and-lime living room. “Sisters! Avis says let’s get started so our guests can have some time to share too.”

  Kat gulped. That meant her.

  But just as she’d done at the pastoral team meeting, Mrs. D first read a psalm and then led the women in a slow, simple worship song. Once again Kat felt her spirit relax as her mind focused on the words being sung.

  Jesus is Lord . . . again and again.

  How we love You . . .

  Hallelujah . . .

  So different from some of the bouncy contemporary songs they often sang in chapel at CCU—“what God has done for me”—which was all right in one sense. She was thankful for what God had done for her. But this simple chorus just worshipped Jesus. Loving God for Himself.

  It felt like such a holy moment. Kat had to blink away a few tears as the beautiful voices of the dozen or so women filled the room, finally drifted into a hum, and then silence, broken only by a few whispers here and there.

  “We love You, Lord.”

  “Gracias, Señor, for Your Son.”

  “You’re an awesome God!”

  “Well.” Avis Douglass’s voice finally broke into the hush. “We’re so happy to have two of the Crista students join us tonight, as well as my daughter, Rochelle . . .”

  Several people interrupted with clapping and whooping.

  “All right, Rochelle!”

  “Talk about an answer to prayer!”

  “Thank You, Jesus!”

  Rochelle ducked her head as if looking for a hole to crawl into, and everyone laughed. Even her mother was beaming. “Sorry, honey. But these sisters have prayed for you and Conny—and me—many times, and it’s hard to keep quiet when we see the answer to our prayers sitting right here in the same room.” More laughter and clapping.

  “But we need to move on.” Avis cleared her throat. “Some of you already know about the announcement that was made at SouledOut this morning. Our sister here, Kathryn Davies, has felt God nudging her to start a food pantry—but it’s been quite a journey for her. Edesa wanted to give her a chance to share some of that journey with our Yada Yada Prayer Group and see what God might be saying to some of the rest of us. Kathryn?”

  Kat felt her cheeks flush. She’d made a list that afternoon of some practical ways people could support setting up a food pantry, but it was obvious she was being asked to share the background, her personal journey leading to this calling. But where in the world to start?

  Bree must’ve found her tongue, because she blurted out, “Tell them how you first became a Christian, Kat—you know, at the music fest. That’s where all this started.”

  Which was true, Kat admitted to the others. She’d been so blown away by meeting all those gung-ho, funky Christians, who talked about eliminating poverty and confronting racism and guarding God’s creation by “living green,” that she’d jumped into the Christian faith with both feet. People who believed in God and were socially responsible—who reached out to others because they believed in God—seemed to meet a deep need in her spirit she had never quite identified before.

  “Maybe it was the fact that I’d been a pre-med major before I transferred to CCU, but I especially got interested in food issues—growing food responsibly, eating healthy, avoiding wasting so much food—that kind of thing. I changed my major to education, decided I wanted to become an elementary teacher, but I have to admit I got pretty passionate about educating people about all those food issues too. Even when I came to SouledOut—”

  “You can say that again, girl!” Florida Hickman snorted. “Never forget you walkin’ in the church door with all that half-gone food you’d hauled outta a Dumpster! Lord, have mercy!” Several people laughed and wagged their heads.

  Kat’s cheeks burned. She’d really thought church people would be happy with her “save the earth” Dumpster diving. But apparently not. “Anyway, um, Estelle Bentley said something to Edesa once, that what I really cared about was hungry people, I just didn’t know it yet . . .”

  Again she was interrupted by comments.

  “Uh-huh, sounds right.”

  “Listen to Estelle, girl.”

  Kat blinked. She wasn’t used to such interactive sharing— kind of like people at SouledOut talking to the preacher right during the sermon. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Estelle Bentley give her a smile and an encouraging nod, so Kat went on.

  “That started me thinking about food in a new way, thinking about the people who needed food, not just ‘food issues.’ I even started digging into the Bible to see what Scripture has to say about food and feeding the hungry.”

  “A good place to start, that is,” Ruth, the aging mother of twins, declared. Heads nodded and some of the women leaned forward, as if eager to hear more.

  As she glanced around the room, Kat realized how God had not only been using the Scriptures but so many different people to nudge her along on this journey, some of whom were in this very room: Estelle’s comment . . . Edesa suggesting she volunteer at a food pantry to get some practical experience . . . Rochelle giving her opinion that more churches ought to be running food pantries . . . the man at Rock of Ages who said he volunteered at the food pantry because he didn’t want to miss Jesus . . . the pastoral team at SouledOut—including Avis Douglass—not only supporting the idea but affirming her heart for this ministry, as untried and untested as she was . . . and Bree, her friend and roommate, who, in spite of her own misgivings about the idea, was willing to pray with her about what God wanted her to do. “Even Pastor Nick’s sermon this morning”—she felt her face flush, calling him that—“about Jesus telling Peter to ‘take care of my lambs’ and to ‘feed my sheep’ fits in here somewhere, just haven’t figured how yet!”

  As she mentioned each of these people, Kat almost choked up. “Everywhere I turn, it seems God is nudging me on, even though, I confess, the closer I get to the food pantry becoming a reality, the less I know what I’m doing. And I used to think I knew a lot!”

  That got a laugh around the room. “Now maybe you ready,” Florida chuckled.

  Avis had her Bible open. “I’d like to encourage you to take this verse to heart, found in Proverbs 16, verse 3: ‘Commit your actions to the Lord and your plans will succeed.’” She closed her Bible. “So why don’t we pray with our sister about—”

  “Now hold on a darn minute, Sister Avis . . . sorry for interrupting,” the spiky-haired girl said. “We ain’t talked yet ’bout what God is sayin’ to the rest of us ’bout this. SouledOut ain’t my church, but this pantry thing gonna happen on Saturday mornin’s, right? I mean, I’d like to help an’ maybe some of the other sisters would too.” She looked around the room. “Anybody else?”

  In amazement, Kathryn saw more than half the hands in the room go up. Including Rochelle . . . and Bree. “Probably can’t do it every Saturday,” Stu said, raising her hand, “but if you get enough volunteers, maybe there can be a rotation.”

  “And all of us can start collecting food, right?” Yo-Yo went on. “I like doin’ this practical Jesus-stuff, since I ain’t as spiritual an’ heavenly minded as some of the rest of you all.”

  “Oh, Yo-Yo,” someone protested, but others just chuckled.

  Bree dug a little notebook out of her bag and passed it around, suggesting that people who were interested in helping write down their names, telephone numbers, and e-mail “—so we can start making a schedule.” Kat looked at her friend in amazement. So “we” can start making a schedule? Bree caught her eye and smiled, as if to say, I’m in too, girlfriend.

  “So whatchu gonna call this food pantry thing?” Yo-Yo said. “Gotta have some kinda name—Hey, I know! This gonna happen at SouledOut, right? An’ looks like the sisters gonna be helpin’ to make it happen big-time. What about ‘the SouledOut Sisters
Food Pantry’?” She grinned at Kat. “Kinda catchy, don’tcha think?”

  Kat grinned back. It was catchy. She liked it. Except . . . “Uh, we don’t want the guys to think they aren’t welcome to help. In fact, we’re going to need some men to volunteer.” She was thinking of Nick. And lugging bulky boxes of food. Hauling tables. Setting up. Taking down. Heavy stuff.

  Yo-Yo shrugged. “I dunno. I saw a tavern called Three Sisters Tavern, an’ it didn’t stop the men from gettin’ drunk there.”

  Now the whole room cracked up. Even Avis had to wipe away a few tears of laughter . . . but finally they sobered up and all the Yada Yada sisters locked hands with each other and their guests and prayed up a storm for the SouledOut Sisters Food Pantry.

  A name that looked like it was going to stick.

  Chapter 33

  The Yada Yada meeting went on for another hour, but there were times Kat felt like she was eavesdropping on a private conversation—especially when Mrs. D reminded everyone that things shared at Yada Yada were confidential and not to be shared outside the group without the person’s permission. She said that just before she said she had something to share that still wasn’t public knowledge.

  Kat remembered the little huddle of Avis, Jodi, and Edesa talking seriously after church a week ago and the feeling she’d had that “something was going on.” And Mrs. D had seemed preoccupied lately more than usual. She cast a quick glance at Rochelle—did Avis’s daughter know what this was about? But Rochelle, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against a corner of the flowered couch, had her head down, picking at something on her jeans.

  “Some of you know about the threatened school closings and that Bethune Elementary has been on the ‘possible’ list. Well, unfortunately, that has moved from ‘possible’ to ‘likely’—”

  “No!” Several of the women reacted in shock.

  “Where those kids gonna go?”

  “School s’posed to start in just six, seven weeks!”