Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  “Don’t care.” Conny sniffed. “He shouldn’t have hit you.”

  Nick gave a little laugh. “Well, I agree with you there.” A crack of thunder in the distance rumbled their way. “Hey, your grandpa and I gotta go to work before it starts to rain. See you tonight, okay?” He held open the screen door. “Why don’t you go inside and see your mom, wake her up.” So far Rochelle hadn’t shown her face that morning. Was probably taking advantage of Conny staying upstairs last night to sleep in.

  Another crack of thunder hustled them down the back steps to the car, which Peter kept in the detached garage behind the three-flat. “He sure likes you,” Peter said as he drove out of the garage and headed down the alley.

  “Yeah. I like him too.” Nick sighed. That’s part of what he needed to talk to his boss about.

  Peter didn’t press. But as they came through the door that said “Software Symphony, Inc.—Harmonizing All Your Software Needs,” he said, “Come on into my office. No need to scare the troops in the mail room.” He chuckled as he led the way into the tastefully appointed office and motioned to a comfortable, padded chair. “Okay, what’s this about? Church? Work?”

  Nick shook his head. “To tell the truth, I’ve been thinking about what Dexter said last night—”

  Mr. Douglass snorted. “Forget that. You’re just one more victim of his malicious mouth. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Yeah, well, it was kind of personal.” Nick made a face. “But I’m serious. I really need to talk about this. He’s assuming there’s something going on between Rochelle and me, and to tell you the truth, I can see what it looks like from his point of view. If Conny’s always talking about me and the stuff we do together, and Dexter knows he and his mom are staying in the same apartment where I live, what’s he supposed to think? I mean, sometimes I’ve wondered what other people at the church think. Never thought about it when the four of us first sublet the apartment from the Candys. I mean, we were just friends. We’re all adults and felt like we could handle being housemates, especially since there were three females and just one me. But to be honest, I’ve been a little surprised Pastor Cobbs or the elders haven’t got on our case—you know, ‘appearances’ and all that.”

  Peter nodded. “Well, have to admit we’ve had to handle a question or two from some of the members, especially when your name came up as a pastoral intern. But . . . we pretty much defended you, for the same reasons you mentioned, plus the fact that Avis and I live right upstairs and some of our own family members now live in the apartment—kind of like a multigenerational household. I think we’d know if there was anything questionable going on.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But it’s not quite that simple.” Taking a deep breath—as deep as his sore gut allowed—Nick told his boss about the man-to-man talk he’d had with Josh on Saturday. He felt his face going red as he recounted what Josh had said about Rochelle talking to Edesa about her feelings for him. “And Josh thinks my relationship with Conny is a big part of what’s giving Rochelle these, uh, romantic notions about me. Which is why I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Douglass. I really need some advice about what to do.”

  Peter Douglass had leaned back in his high-backed chair and frowned slightly as Nick talked. “I see.” He rubbed his chin soberly. “Have you given any encouragement to Rochelle to think you, uh, might be interested in her?”

  Nick flung out his hands. “Not that I know of! Unless inadvertently, the way I relate to Conny . . . I don’t know. I just thought of myself as a ‘big brother’ or ‘bachelor uncle’ or something. But she’s obviously been thinking of me more as a ‘daddy figure’ to Conny.” He leaned forward. “I really don’t know what to do, because I care about your grandson, Mr. Douglass, and as you said, he seems to really like me. I don’t want to hurt him or make him feel rejected. And”—he might as well put it all on the table—“there’s more.”

  Peter’s eyebrows raised.

  “It’s Kat. I . . . I do have feelings for Kat. I’ve never actually told her how I feel, which is pretty dumb, I know, but . . . well, that’s when I began to get more sensitive to the fact that our living situation might be a problem. It’s one thing to be housemates in mixed company, like brothers and sisters—but to date one of my housemates would change the whole dynamic. I’ve— What?”

  A slow smile had spread over Peter Douglass’s face. “So. I was right.”

  “Right?”

  He nodded. “I saw this coming. You aren’t as subtle as you think, young man. I’ve known for a while you had special feelings for that young lady.”

  “Oh man.” Nick shook his head. “Huh. If you can see it, why can’t Kat? She . . . I don’t know, Mr. Douglass. I wish I knew how she feels about me. I mean, we’re good buddies and all that. But what I feel for her definitely is not a buddy. And something’s gotta pop soon because, frankly, I’m going nuts!” Nick sighed. “Actually, I have given her some hints lately about how I feel. But just when I think she’s gotten the hint, then . . . I don’t know. She pulls away. Or we pass like ships in the night for days on end because of our schedules.”

  Mr. Douglass chuckled. “She’s probably just as confused as you are, Nick. Don’t make her guess. Tell her how you feel, straight-out. Don’t beat around the bush.”

  “Don’t you think I want to? But it feels so complicated while we’re all sharing the same apartment—me and Kat and Bree, and now Rochelle and Conny. And this . . . this thing with Rochelle, knowing how she feels, complicates it even more!” Nick slumped back in his chair. “I really don’t know what to do.”

  Peter was quiet for several long moments. Then he leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his forearms on the desk. “Tell you what. I think Avis and I have decided to do this thing in South Africa. We plan to take a couple weeks in August to visit our friends Nonyameko and Mark Sisulu-Smith as soon as the STEP program is over. Why don’t you stay in our apartment, house-sit for us? That would give you some space. And you still have a semester to finish at the seminary in September, right? Maybe we can let you stay on with us until you go back to CCU.”

  “Really? Mr. Douglass! That would be great.” Nick could hardly believe it. He could romance Kat and no one would question whether it was inappropriate. Except . . . “But did you say August? That’s still a couple weeks away.” He shook his head. “I gotta do something about this, uh, misunderstanding Rochelle has. Everybody heard what Dexter said—and she didn’t help any, telling him she could be with anybody she liked. I mean, how was he supposed to take that? The rest of you standing around heard that too—including Kat.”

  “I see your point.” Peter pursed his lips thoughtfully. “All right. I’ll need to talk to Avis about this first, but . . . maybe you could move upstairs with us this week, before we leave. I think we could manage that. And would it help if I talk to Rochelle? Put her straight?”

  Nick was so tempted to jump on the offer. Let Mr. D do the dirty work! It was one thing to tell a girl he was in love with her . . . quite another to face telling a girl he wasn’t interested— a young woman he cared about and didn’t want to hurt.

  He sighed. “Don’t I wish. But I think she needs to hear it from me.”

  “Good point.” Peter Douglass stood up. “Now I’ve got work to do. As for you—I want you out of here by noon. Go home and take a nap. That’s a direct order from the boss.”

  Chapter 35

  Nick was already gone by the time Kat got out of the shower. Why was he being so stubborn? He was in no shape to go to work! Now she was going to worry about him all morning. They should have insisted that he see a doctor.

  She heard Conny chatting up a storm in Rochelle’s bedroom—Mrs. D must’ve sent him home when she left for the summer program at Bethune. Which meant the principal was probably already there. Hmm. If she hurried, Kat might be able to catch her before the kids arrived. She wanted to talk to Mrs. Douglass about her chances for a job with Chicago Public Schools—which didn�
��t look too good if they were closing schools and putting teachers out of work. Still, she wanted to ask if Mrs. D would be willing to write her a recommendation.

  “How’s Nick?” Bree mumbled from her bed as Kat gathered her backpack, keys, and water bottle.

  “He looks awful, didn’t sleep much last night, but of course he’s gone to work.” Kat paused at the bedroom door. “You don’t sound too good either. You okay?”

  “Don’t know . . . feel like I’ve got a cold coming on.” Bree rolled over. “Uhhh . . . think I’ll sleep a little longer. Don’t have to go to work until one.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to check in on you after I’m done tutoring.” Kat hesitated, not really wanting to offer, but . . . “Guess if you’re really not feeling good, I could cover for you. I’m scheduled for the evening shift.”

  Bree waved her away. “Don’t worry about it. That’d make a really long day for you. I just need a little more sleep . . . turn that fan on high, will ya? Helps drown out you-know-who.”

  On the way out, Kat filled her travel cup with the last of the coffee Nick had brewed, then scurried down the front stairs. Uh-oh. Was that thunder? She’d better hurry.

  The sky was dark toward the south of the city but lighter overhead. Maybe the thunderstorm would pass by the bottom of the lake and miss them entirely. Kat arrived at Bethune Elementary still dry with ten minutes to spare before she was due in her classroom. She knocked at the inner door in the school office that said Avis Douglass, Principal.

  “Oh, hi, Kathryn. Come in.” Mrs. Douglass smiled at her. “How’s the patient?”

  Kat dropped into a chair. “Being stubborn. Went to work with your husband even though Mr. Douglass gave him the day off.” She bit her lip to keep from pouring out her frustration with Nick. “Men. Don’t understand them.”

  Avis Douglass chuckled. “Me either, and I’ve been married to two of them. They make terrible patients—either moaning helplessly with the slightest fever or getting all macho and ignoring the fact they’re about to keel over.”

  Kat couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well . . . don’t know why Nick insisted on going to work, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Mrs. Douglass pursed her lips a moment. “You really care about Nick, don’t you?”

  Kat was startled. Where did that come from? “Well, uh, sure . . . We’re good friends . . . He’s a great guy . . .” She felt as if she were tripping over her words.

  “I mean, care about him in a special way.”

  Kat felt heat flooding into her face. Nick’s words that night he’d walked her home from work, which she’d repeated over and over to herself many a night, echoed in her ears. “Kat . . . you do know you are more than just a friend to me, don’t you?” And then his lips had brushed her cheek with that gentle kiss.

  She couldn’t deny it. Her feelings for Nick—was it love?— had been growing stronger by the day. But she didn’t know what to say. She felt confused by what happened last night—Dexter all furious because he thought Nick and Rochelle were “shacking up.” Well, she knew that wasn’t happening—but Kat wasn’t so sure there weren’t some sparks there. When Livie and her sister were visiting, they got a big kick out of pairing up Rochelle and Nick as a cute couple. Even Rochelle’s taunts last night in response to Dexter’s accusations, saying, “I can be with anybody I want to,” had practically implied there was something going on with Nick.

  Looking down at her lap, Kat tried to regain her composure. As much as she’d love to pour out all her confusion to someone, she couldn’t—not to Rochelle’s mother.

  “I’m sorry, Kathryn. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But if you ever want to talk about it . . . well.” Avis cleared her throat. “So. You came in to see me about something?”

  “Um, yes. I wanted to ask if you’d write a recommendation for me. I applied to Chicago Public Schools for a teaching job this fall, but . . . well, it’s not very likely, given the school closings and everything. Still, until they actually say no, I want to give it my best shot.”

  “Of course. I’ll be glad to. You’ve done a good job this summer with the tutoring program. But you’re right—it’s a long shot. We all may be looking for jobs come August. But you never can tell what God might do! Lord, we’re going to trust You for just the right job for Kathryn this fall . . .”

  With a start, Kat realized Avis had moved right into a prayer for her. She bowed her head, but the short prayer was already at “Amen.” She looked up.

  Avis gave her an encouraging smile and then looked at her watch. “Oh . . . it’s almost nine.” She stood up. “We better get this morning’s program on the road. Can you go out to the playground and call the kids inside?”

  The morning went relatively well, in spite of Kat’s mental distractions. But once her charges had made a dash for the lunchroom, she grabbed her backpack and hustled out the door. She’d promised Brygitta she’d check on her. So far so good. Bree hadn’t called to ask her to sub for her—hopefully the extra sleep had revived her and she was already getting ready for work.

  Kat let herself into the apartment. All seemed quiet. Ah, a note from Bree on the table. Gone to work but feeling kinda lousy. Nick came home. Said he needed a nap.

  Nick was home? Nothing about Rochelle and Conny, but they were obviously not there. Too quiet. Kat tiptoed over to the study and peeked in. Nick was sacked out on the foldout futon, dead asleep. Well, good. Either he’d wised up or . . . no, she was not going to presume he was feeling worse. Had she even prayed for him since Dexter beat him up? Like those Yada Yada sisters had prayed last night for all the concerns they’d shared?

  Kat sank onto the living room couch, grabbed a cushion, and hugged it while a few tears crept down her cheeks. Oh, Lord, please help Nick get better. It’s so hard seeing him hurt like this. Protect him from any serious internal injury. And . . . and I feel so confused about what I’m feeling for him. Even more confused about what he’s feeling. Or what’s going on with Nick and Rochelle—if anything. Please, God, just make it clear.

  She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. Well, that was probably a stupid prayer, but at least she’d prayed. Those women at Yada Yada seemed to just tell God whatever was on their hearts, even if it didn’t sound “churchy.” So . . . that’s what was on her heart right now. And now it was in God’s lap.

  She felt better already.

  Okay, she had until five o’clock to get to work. Maybe she’d walk up to the Dominick’s food store in the Howard Street shopping center by SouledOut and talk to them about donating some dated perishables to the new food pantry—vegetables, day-old bread, stuff like that—that they were just going to toss. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  Kat left the big grocery store, trying not to show her frustration until she was out of sight. What was so complicated about her request? How about a simple yes or no? No, SouledOut wasn’t an outlet for the Chicago Food Depository—not yet, anyway. No, they weren’t receiving USDA foods—yet. But they had to start somewhere, didn’t they? And most of the store’s dated food was going to get thrown out into those compactors anyway. If they hadn’t put in those compactors, she could’ve fished it out of their Dumpsters. What would it hurt to just let the SouledOut Sisters Food Pantry have it? Good grief! It wasn’t like the food pantry was going to compete with them or lure customers away.

  Okay, Lord, sorry. Getting upset wasn’t going to accomplish anything. What was that verse in Proverbs Mrs. D had read at Yada Yada? “Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” Might as well start committing stuff to the Lord—stuff like this— because there were probably going to be a lot of frustrations and hurdles to jump over if the food pantry was going to be a reality. She could only do so much. God was going to have to do the rest.

  Kat was only a few sentences into her silent prayer as she strode down Clark Street when her cell phone rang. “Bree? What’s up? . . . Uh-oh. Sorry to hear that . . . Yeah, I can come in an hour early. Can you hang on that l
ong? I need to go home first, but I could be there by four . . . Okay. Bye.”

  She glanced at her watch. If she hustled, she had time to go home first, maybe even fix a sandwich, before heading over to The Common Cup. Besides, she wanted to check on Nick and make sure he was doing okay—for her own peace of mind, if nothing else.

  Conny was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV watching some kids’ program on PBS when Kat let herself into the apartment. Strange for the middle of a summer afternoon. Kat glanced at the study doors . . . not closed, so she guessed Nick wasn’t sleeping anymore. “Hey, Conny, have you seen Nick?”

  No answer. Totally engrossed in the TV. She waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Conny . . . where’s Mister Nick?”

  “Oh, hi, Miss Kat. Uh, he’s talking to my mom. They told me not to bother them.” Eyes glued once more to the TV.

  What? Nick and Rochelle were talking privately? A flicker of jealousy sent Kat to the study, but a quick glance inside the half-open doors showed no one inside. And she’d be able to hear them if they were in the kitchen. What did that leave—the bedrooms? Heart thumping, she walked quietly down the hall, past the bedroom she shared with Bree, past the bathroom, to the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed. Kat stood still and listened . . . but she heard no voices inside.

  She was tempted to open the door but couldn’t bring herself to do it. What was she thinking? This was crazy. They’re not in there. She should just go make herself a sandwich and get over to the coffee shop and relieve Bree. Heading back toward the kitchen, she reminded herself to breathe. You’re acting like a thirteen-year-old, Kat Davies.

  But as she passed through the dining nook and entered the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks. The door to the porch was closed, but she could see the back of Nick’s head through the large window in the top half, as though he was sitting down in one of the plastic chairs. Beyond him, Rochelle was standing up, gesturing about something. And then Rochelle laughed.