Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  And “Oh my goodness. This affects Jodi too.”

  Avis held up her hand but nodded. “Yes, if Bethune closes, Jodi will be out of a job too. But let me explain. I said ‘likely’ because it’s on the short list of school closings, but a group of parents, teachers, and lawyers are petitioning the school board for an emergency hearing to protest.”

  The room started to buzz with frustrated comments and Mrs. Douglass had to raise her voice to be heard. “Sisters, let me finish. I appreciate your concern, but there’s more.” She waited for the room to quiet. “I really need some prayer for wisdom, because Nonyameko and Mark have written to Peter and me again, asking if we’d consider coming to Durbin for two weeks this summer to see the work they’re doing with the Women’s AIDS initiative in KwaZulu-Natal. And—”

  Again the room buzzed, and Kat figured out from various comments flying about that there’d been an earlier invitation to come for six months to a year, which the Douglasses had turned down. But now, some thought, why not? It was only two weeks. Go for it! Wouldn’t it be great to see Nony again? But what about her interim pastoral role at SouledOut? And the school board hearing . . .

  Kat’s head was spinning. What did these school closings mean for her application to teach school in the Chicago school district? She still hadn’t gotten an interview. And if the Douglasses went to South Africa for a couple of weeks, how would that affect Nick’s job at the church? Did he even know? Oh, right. He’d said Mrs. D had shared some confidential stuff at the last pastoral meeting after she’d left. Probably this news.

  She saw Bree trying to catch her eye, tipping her head toward Rochelle. Oh dear. Rochelle was now hugging her knees, staring at the floor. Hopefully she and Bree could talk to Rochelle when they got home, give her some support for whatever she was feeling about all this.

  Avis had to quiet the room again in order to go on. “That’s why Peter and I need your prayers,” she said. “Pastor Cobbs isn’t worried about me taking two weeks from pastoral duties, but obviously there are implications to a trip like this. And how it fits with my job terminating at Bethune.” She shook her head with a rueful smile. “Well, God knows.”

  The women prayed fervently, sometimes two or three praying at the same time . . . and then there were more sharings. Both of Ruth’s twins had chicken pox. One of Stu’s clients had tried to commit suicide. Delores was having trouble with an overbearing supervisor at the county hospital. Yo-Yo’s brother was still in Iraq. And so they prayed again.

  Just when Kat thought they were prayed out and it was probably time to go, Stu brought out a flaming birthday cake to surprise Edesa, who’d had a birthday earlier that week. The group had chipped in on a little miniature fountain that you plugged in to hear the water splash and gurgle over several layers of stones as a reminder to Edesa that her name meant “Abundance of Water,” which seemed to delight the pretty Honduran woman to no end.

  Kat felt a pang. Do I even know what my name means?

  But the festivities did end when Edesa got a call on her cell that Josh and Gracie were on the way over to pick her up, so Rochelle, Brygitta, and Kat followed Avis to her car for a ride home. Rochelle sat up front with her mother, but they were all pretty quiet. Kat wondered how much she’d known before tonight about what Mrs. D had shared. Surely her mother would’ve told her own daughter before dropping those bombs in a group?

  Turning into their street, Avis slowed to look for a parking space, but as they passed the three-flat, Rochelle suddenly screamed, “Mom! Stop! Stop the car!”

  Avis slammed on the brakes, but even before the car was fully stopped, Rochelle was out of the car. What—?! Kat fumbled with the rear door latch even as she heard Avis say, “Oh, Lord, no—where’s my phone.”

  Bree was right behind Kat as she scrambled out of the car, and then they heard it: Conny yelling, “No! I won’t go! Stop it! Let me go!”

  Heart pounding, Kat ran for the three-flat on Rochelle’s heels. She saw a man coming down the steps, holding Conny by the hand, but Conny was struggling and yelling. And beyond them, on the top step—that looked like Nick! Why was he all bent over? Was he hurt? Who was the guy holding Conny’s arm?

  Rochelle was yelling too. “Dexter! Let go of Conny right this minute! Where do you think you’re going? And what have you done to Nick?! If you’ve hurt him, I’ll—”

  Kat darted around the three of them and up the steps. “Nick! Nick! Are you all right?” . . . just as the front door opened and Peter Douglass’s big voice boomed, “What’s going on—Dexter! What are you doing here?! Get your hands off Conny!” He ran down the steps. Conny must have taken advantage of the confusion and pulled his arm away, because a moment later Kat saw him leap into his grandfather’s arms.

  Nick was trying to get to his feet, and that’s when Kat saw the blood running down his face from his nose. “Oh, Nick! Are you okay?” she cried. Bree appeared beside her, and they both helped him to stand. Kat’s heart was pounding. Just how hurt was he?

  She glanced back to the walk. Rochelle was hitting the other man’s chest with her fists, getting in his face. “What’s going on, Dexter? What are you even doing here? Conny baby, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mommy! But he hurted Mister Nick!” Conny pointed up to where Nick was leaning against the brick wall of the building.

  “I called the police.” Avis had come up just then, joining her husband and Rochelle, and the three of them stood like a wall between Dexter and the street. But at a nod from Peter, she took Conny from his arms and hustled up the steps. “Come on, baby, let’s go upstairs. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” She cast a worried look in Nick’s direction but disappeared into the foyer with the little boy.

  For a moment Dexter’s eyes seemed to dart fearfully from Peter’s angry face up to the group on the steps. And for the first time Kat had a good look at Conny’s father. Rochelle had called him a “ladies’ man”—no wonder. The guy was drop-dead good-looking, like Denzel Washington or somebody.

  But then he drew himself up, a sneer on his pretty features. “Go ahead. Call the cops. I’m Conny’s father. I have a right to see my son, and that creep there was interfering.”

  “What?!” Rochelle sputtered. “Nick was babysitting Conny so I could go to a meeting, you jerk!”

  Nick moaned and said, “I gotta sit.” Kat and Bree helped him sit down on the closest concrete arm bordering the steps, where he fished out a handkerchief and pressed it against his bloody nose. Kat sat beside him, not knowing what to do. Did he need an ambulance? He still seemed to be trying to get his breath.

  But Dexter wasn’t cowed. “So that’s the great Mister Nick,” he sneered. “That’s all I hear. Mister Nick this, Mister Nick that. Didn’t know you had a thing for white dudes, Rochelle.”

  “It’s none of your business, Dexter.”

  “Oh yeah? It is my business. You and Conny living with this cracker and a bunch of white chicks too? Court just might give me custody if they knew how you’re slutting around.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Peter snapped. “You have no cause to talk to Rochelle like that.”

  “Humph. He’s called me worse, Dad. And it’s still none of your business, Dexter. I can be with anybody I want. We got a divorce, remember?”

  Kat was startled by her words. “I can be with anybody I want.” Did she mean Nick? What was she implying? Had she been telling Dexter that—

  But at the same moment she heard a siren in the distance, coming closer. The others heard it too, and heads turned. Dexter took advantage of the distraction to push past Rochelle and head for the sidewalk.

  “You wait!” Peter grabbed him. “We’re not done here. This man is injured—”

  “Let him go,” Nick spoke, breathing heavily. “It’s . . . it’s all right, Mr. D. We . . . I don’t need the police.”

  Dexter turned and snorted. “Aw. Ain’t that sweet.” But then he jabbed a finger at Rochelle. “Frankly, sweetheart, I don’t care who you
shack up with. But my son’s coming back to live with me. As for you, ‘Mister Nicky-boy’”—he turned the finger on Nick—“you butt out of my son’s life, or this little chat we just had ain’t the last of it.”

  With an ugly laugh, Dexter broke into a run and disappeared, just thirty seconds before the police car, blue lights flashing, turned the corner into their street.

  Shaking with the intensity of the last few minutes, Kat slipped an arm around Nick. “Come on,” she urged. “You’re hurt—let’s get you upstairs.” Nick nodded, rose, and with Bree on the other side of him, they took a few steps toward the door.

  “Wait.” Peter Douglass held up a hand. “Nick, I’m asking you, please, make a police report. It’ll help us get an order of protection against Dexter.”

  “Yes!” Rochelle ran up the steps to stop him. “He was trying to take Conny! Please, Nick.”

  The police car doors slammed. “You the folks called the police?”

  Chapter 34

  Laying his head back on the arm of the overstuffed couch, Nick took the ice pack Kat handed him and held it to his face. Uhhhh. He didn’t know what hurt worse, his nose or his gut. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a fistfight—maybe back in fifth grade, when somebody called him a “Sunday school sissy.” And that time he’d landed the first punch—much to his parents’ disappointment. “It’s one thing to defend yourself, Nicholas,” his father had said. “But violence is never the best way to deal with a problem. Better to suffer an insult than fight back. Look at Jesus.”

  He couldn’t agree more—now—but he wished he’d had more warning Dexter was itching for a fight. At least he could’ve defended himself, held his own. But he hadn’t seen it coming, got sucker punched before he even knew what hit him.

  But what was worse, he hadn’t protected Conny. If the girls hadn’t arrived just then—and Mr. D, who heard Conny screaming— Dexter would have made off with him . . . under his watch! He groaned. Oh, God, Oh, God . . .

  “Oh, Nick. I still think we should go to the ER and get you checked out.”

  Kat’s voice. He half opened his eyes and saw her hovering twelve inches over his face, worry lines between her blue eyes. Her dark hair fell in long wavy tresses on either side of her face, almost tickling his chin. Once the police had left with his statement and he’d gingerly navigated the stairs to the second floor, she had gently washed the blood off his face with a cool washcloth, pulled off his gym shoes, and made him lie down on the couch while Bree prepared an ice pack. Now he had a crazy urge to pull her down and kiss her—but even the slightest movement sent stabs of fire through his gut. Scratch that.

  “I agree with Kat,” said Bree. Nick slid his eyes sideways and through half-open lids saw Brygitta sitting cross-legged on the floor a few feet away, as if she was keeping vigil. “You ought to see a doctor, Nick. You might have a broken nose or a ruptured spleen or something.”

  “Look, I’m okay,” he wheezed. “Don’t think they do anything for a broken nose anyway. Ever see a nose cast?” He gave a snort at his own joke, but the pain in his diaphragm cut that off quick.

  “You’re stubborn as a mule, you know that, Nick?” Kat pulled back and stood up. “I’m going for some Tylenol, and you’re going to take it.”

  Nick closed his eyes again, letting the cold of the ice pack numb the pain in his face. Once the police were gone, Rochelle had run up to the third floor to see about Conny. Just as well. He wasn’t ready to talk to Rochelle . . . What was he going to say? He’d let her down, failed to protect her kid—on top of all that other stuff Josh Baxter had laid on him.

  But a few moments later he heard the front door of the apartment open and footsteps crossing the room. “Hey, Nick. How you doin’?” Rochelle’s voice was gentler now than her Mama Bear explosion outside.

  Nick winced inwardly. Couldn’t avoid it. He had to say something. He struggled to sit up. “Hi, Rochelle. I’ll be all right . . . but how’s Conny? I know the poor kid was scared. I—”

  “He’s fine. Worried about you. Mom is putting him to bed upstairs, though, otherwise he’d be all over you.”

  “And then you would need to go to the hospital.” Bree giggled.

  Worried about me. Great. That was going to make it even harder to straighten things out, to set those boundaries like Josh said. And Dexter—the man had the completely wrong idea! But, good grief, Rochelle’s comments didn’t help any. “I can be with anybody I want”? Huh! She’d basically let Dexter think he and Rochelle were “shacking up”! Oh God, can this situation get any worse?

  Kat appeared with two pain pills and a glass of water. “Oh, hi, Rochelle. Patient needs to take his meds.” She took the ice pack and handed the glass and pills to Nick. Grateful for the interruption, he swallowed—one, two, three—and traded the glass for the ice pack again. He wanted badly to lie down again, but he still had something he needed to say.

  “Rochelle, I’m so sorry. You left Conny in my care and I . . . I let you down. Dexter might’ve taken him—thank God you guys showed up right then! But I’m—”

  “What are you talking about, Nick?” Kat cut him off. “He attacked you! It’s not your fault.”

  Oh, Kat, don’t—

  “Yeah. And Conny was raising such a ruckus, somebody would’ve noticed and called the police,” Bree added.

  “I know, but—” Nick wasn’t sure if the pain he felt was from the beating he got or his failure to protect that little boy. “But I was responsible for him. Don’t know if I could forgive myself if something had happened to Conny.”

  Rochelle reached out and patted his free hand. “I know. I don’t blame you, Nick. And he didn’t take Conny—Mom and Dad said that was God looking out for my boy.”

  Nick nearly broke out in a sweat at her touch. No, no, no . . . not in front of Kat. He pulled his hand away. “You’re right. We should be thanking God for protecting Conny.”

  A knock at the door, followed by Peter Douglass poking his head in, saved the day. “How’s the patient? Oh, there you are, Nick.” Rochelle’s stepdad joined the others circling the couch, making Nick feel like Exhibit A. “Just wanted to tell you to feel free to take the day off tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Don’t be surprised if you end up with quite a shiner from that punch in the face.”

  Yeah, no kidding. Nick’s eyes already felt puffy. Staying home tomorrow would be nice . . . Wait. Kat and Bree would be gone, which would mean he’d be there alone with Rochelle and Conny. Perfect opportunity to speak to her, but he wasn’t ready for The Talk yet. He hadn’t even had time to process Josh’s revelation that Rochelle was interested in him “that way.” And maybe he needed to talk to Kat first.

  “Uh, thanks, Mr. Douglass. I’ll let you know tomorrow, see how I feel.”

  Nick didn’t sleep very well that night. Dexter’s crude comments . . . Rochelle’s flip retorts . . . Josh’s revelation . . . the feel of Kat’s body against his as they’d hugged that night . . . the spring-fresh smell of her skin when he’d kissed her cheek . . . Dexter’s sucker punch to his gut . . . the police asking question after question about what happened . . . Disparate images and discordant voices ricocheted against each other in his mind like rough stones in a rock tumbler.

  Not to mention the body aches.

  He got up early and made his way to the bathroom. The bruises around his eyes had already set in. He could almost hear the good-natured taunts of the other guys in the mail room. “So! Taylor. What’s the other guy look like?”

  Yeah. He’d love to stay home today. Lock himself away in the study and come out in a week.

  But in the wee hours of the night, he’d decided what he needed to do.

  As soon as he heard stirring in the apartment overhead, he called Peter Douglass’s phone. “Mr. Douglass? . . . Uh-huh, yeah, I feel a bit better this morning. I’d like to come in today . . . I know I don’t have to, but actually, I need to talk to you, and would rather do it at the shop . . . Would appreciate a ride, though . . . Yeah, y
eah, thanks. I’ll be ready.”

  He made coffee, which earned him a scolding from Kat when she breezed into the kitchen. “Nick! What are you doing up? You should still be in bed taking it easy.” She’d pulled her hair back into that careless clip she often wore when she was just going to work or tutoring students at STEP, and her face was clear of any makeup—but she still looked striking. He was so busy staring at her he almost forgot to answer.

  “Oh, uh . . .” He took a slug of coffee to wake up his brain. “Didn’t sleep that well. Decided I might as well get up. Moving a bit slow, so I need some extra time to get ready. Mr. Douglass is picking me up around eight—”

  “You’re going to work?” Kat’s blue eyes flashed. “Good grief, Nick. Mr. D gave you the day off!”

  Nick grinned, in spite of the bruises. “Well, I might, if you’d take the day off too.” His face sobered. “Actually—” He stopped. He’d started to say, “Actually, I want to talk with you”—but that sounded so routine, so stiff, as if he wanted to talk over schedules or the chore list. That’s not what you say to a girl if you’re planning to tell her you’re in love with her.

  Kat rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m not the one who looks like he got hit by a truck. Really, Nick.” She eyed him a moment. “Okay, I know that stubborn look. At least you’re going to eat a decent breakfast. How about a banana-mango-strawberry smoothie? Ought to go down easy.”

  Fortified by the smoothie, a few more pain pills, and a shower, Nick was ready to go when Peter Douglass knocked on the back door. But when Nick opened the door, Conny was standing there too, holding on to his grandfather’s hand. “He wanted to make sure you’re all right,” Peter said.

  Nick knuckled the top of Conny’s head. “Sure, I’m all right, buddy. Don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Conny let go of his grandfather’s hand and hugged Nick around the knees. “I hate my dad! He was mean to you!”

  Nick was startled by the little boy’s vehemence. He squatted down with difficulty. “No, no, buddy. Don’t say that. Your dad . . . believe it or not, your dad loves you. He was just kinda jealous that I get to spend more time with you than he does.”