Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  “I know,” Kat mumbled. “It’s just—Rochelle’s so doggone gorgeous, how can any guy keep from being attracted to her? And I know he’s really attached to Conny. He might have good intentions, but when they’re together like that—what if he has second thoughts?”

  Bree turned her around and shook a finger in her face. “Now you listen to me, Kat Davies. I’ve known Nick Taylor longer than you have, and if that guy says he loves you, I’d be willing to back it up with a thousand-mile warranty. And that piece of advice will only cost you a promise that you’ll let me be your maid of honor.”

  Kat’s mouth dropped. “Whoa! Don’t get ahead of me, girl. We haven’t . . . we’re not . . .” She began to laugh and held out her little finger. “Okay. Your warranty, my pinkie promise.” She hooked pinky fingers with Bree, just like she’d done in grade school when she’d promised not to tell the latest whispered secret.

  “All riiiight!” giggled Bree, and still holding Kat’s pinkie, dragged her over to the refrigerator. “I think we need that second quart of ice cream to seal the deal.” By this time they were laughing so hard they both collapsed into chairs at the little kitchen table as they dug into the strawberry ice cream.

  “Hey.” Nick’s voice startled them both. “You two going to leave any of that for me?”

  “What are you doing back here?” Bree hugged the quart of ice cream possessively. “You forget something? No way you’ve been to Software Symphony and back already.”

  “Nope. Rochelle suddenly said she’d changed her mind. Said she and Conny were going to walk and sent me back.” Nick shrugged. “Go figure.”

  Kat and Bree looked at each other. Kat took the carton of ice cream from her roomie and pushed it toward Nick with a grin. “Knock yourself out.”

  Kat had to work the early shift at The Common Cup Saturday morning, but she used the occasion to get permission to tape one of the flyers announcing the food pantry in the front window. “Oh, by the way,” the manager said, “that wastebasket you put by the door for food donations has been filled up several times this past week, so we emptied it into that big box back in the storeroom. Wouldn’t mind if you got it out of there, though.”

  “Oh!” Kat scurried into the back room. She’d peeked into the wastebasket by the door several times this past week and was disappointed to see how few canned goods had been donated. But the manager had been emptying it into something else? She found the big cardboard box, left over from a shipment of large paper hot cups and lids, and peeked in. Yikes! It was almost full of cans and boxes—canned fruit, canned vegetables, SpaghettiOs, cold cereal, cake mixes, canned sausages, tuna fish . . .

  Kat couldn’t help grinning. Nick and Rochelle had shown up last night with a trunk full of similar donations from the big bin at Software Symphony. They’d decided to ask Rochelle’s mom if they could leave the stuff in the trunk and cart it over to SouledOut sometime this weekend. Now she had to figure out how to get this stuff over to the church—but the two donation bins together was at least a start.

  Another “Thank You, Jesus” moment.

  When Kat got home from work, Nick and Bree and Rochelle were sprawled in the living room, air conditioner on high speed, looking as if they’d just plowed the back forty. That, or they were really hooked on the Smurfs DVD Conny was watching. She told them the good news about the box full of donated food at the coffee shop, and Bree waved the last few flyers. They’d been out in the neighborhood all morning, posting flyers along Howard Street, Morse Avenue, Clark Street, Touhy, Lunt, a couple of El stations, and even in the windows of stores in the shopping center close to the church.

  Kat got a sudden lump in her throat. “Wow. Can’t thank you guys enough. I was planning on doing that this afternoon—but maybe I’ll go bat my eyelashes at the store manager at Dominick’s and see if he’s ready to cough up some produce and perishables next week.” She was hoping to get a rise out of Nick with her flirty joke. Maybe he’d even offer to come with her to protect her honor, ha-ha.

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Rochelle waved a hand from one of the beanbag chairs. “If you can wait till my mom picks up Conny around two, I’ll go with you, okay? She wants to spend some special time with him today—feeling guilty about leaving the country, if you ask me.”

  Okaay. Kat didn’t know what Rochelle’s “better idea” was, but at this point she wasn’t going to turn down any offers to help. As for Nick, she ought to know better than to play flirty games. If she wanted him to come with her, she should’ve just asked.

  Nick, collapsed like a marathon runner on the couch, raised his sunglasses slightly and peered out. “Uhhh, okay . . . if you guys are going to hit up the store, I’ll figure out a way to pick up the stuff from the coffee shop and get it to the church. But as long as you’re at the grocery store, can you pick up some stuff I need for supper? We’re going to celebrate.” He grinned at Kat before hiding once again behind the sunglasses.

  Celebrate? What was he talking about? But picking up some groceries and wheeling the grocery cart up to the manager wasn’t a bad idea . . . Here they were, loyal customers, asking a favor from her “favorite grocery store,” which would be no skin off their nose.

  The manager wasn’t impressed. “Sorry, ladies, I’m kind of busy. Haven’t had time to talk to the head office yet. Why don’t you try—”

  “Excuse me.” Rochelle shouldered her way in front of Kat and her cart. “Mr.”—she peered at his name tag—“Mr. Hernández. It’s not going to look too good when one of your customers writes to the Chicago Sun Times to tell them that perfectly good food from a major grocery store chain is going to waste when it could be used to feed hungry families in the Rogers Park neighborhood, simply because a certain store manager—the Sun Times likes details, names are good—is too busy to consider this very simple request. Chicago has a long history of using boycotts to express their displeasure with businesses that ignore the needs of the people.”

  It was all Kat could do to keep her face straight. Consumer pressure. Why didn’t she think of that?

  “On the other hand”—Rochelle shrugged with a why not gesture—“it could be very good public relations for this store if SouledOut Community Church, located right here in the shopping center, was able to list this store as one of the primary donors to its new food pantry. Don’t you think? As you can see”—she waved a hand between herself and Kat—“we represent a very diverse community—white, black, and yes, Latino too. Mm-hmm. Yes, very good public relations, Mr. Hernández.”

  Kat pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The store manager looked extremely uncomfortable. “Well . . . I will need something official,” he said. “On church letterhead and signed by a . . . one of your trustees or something. And a notarized waiver that any problems resulting from donated food will not be used to bring any kind of legal repercussions against this store.”

  Rochelle looked at Kat. “Sounds reasonable to me. What do you think, Ms. Davies?”

  Kat nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll bring a letter and a waiver early next week.” She extended her hand and shook his. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hernández. Your community spirit will not go unnoticed. Oh—the food pantry opens next weekend. What day should we pick up the donated food?”

  They took their cart through the self-checkout line, since they didn’t have that many groceries. Kat felt giddy with success but managed to act nonchalant until they exited the store—and then she couldn’t help laughing with excitement. “Rochelle! You were priceless! You oughta be a . . . a union organizer or a foreign diplomat or something. He was putty in your hands.”

  Rochelle grinned. “Yeah. My dad—my real dad—used to say I could talk him into anything and make him think it was his idea.” Her eyes got a distant look and she fell quiet. Then, “I miss him. Might not have married Dexter if he’d been around. I was needing somebody, something. But he died from pancreatic cancer, you know.”

  No, Kat didn’t know. There weren’t exactly framed photos
sitting around the Douglasses’ apartment of the first “Mr. Avis.” Probably in an album.

  Rochelle shrugged. “Peter’s all right. I’m happy for my mom . . . We’re getting along all right now. It was just hard, you know, losing my dad.”

  Kat didn’t know what to say. Rochelle had never opened up to her like this before.

  “And, by the way, wanted to say I got your note the other night. Thanks.”

  That was all she said. But it was enough for Kat.

  Nick cooked up a fabulous batch of lemon-pepper shrimp pasta for their Saturday supper. Even took off his sunglasses, in spite of the raccoon-like mask around his eyes, though the bruises were now starting to fade. Conny was still out with his grandma, so it was just the four adults around the table.

  “So what’s the celebration?” Bree asked. “Gee, candles and everything.”

  “If this is about the food pantry,” Kat put in, “maybe we should wait until next weekend—after we survive the launch of the test run. If we survive.”

  Nick grinned. “Nope. We’re celebrating the prayers God’s already been answering. Kat, you were all stressed out last night about not having any food for the food pantry—and now look. Donations from Software Symphony, from The Common Cup, and by the time people come to worship tomorrow at SouledOut, I bet that bin will be full too. Celebrating now is faith that God’s going to provide all we need.”

  Kat’s ears perked. Did he just say, “All ‘we’ need”?

  “And don’t forget the donations our friend, Mr. Hernández, says he’ll give,” Rochelle added with a smirk.

  “All riiiight!”

  “A toast!”

  “Thank You, Jesus, for what You’re going to do!”

  They all clinked their glasses of lemonade and ice water, then let Nick dish up the heavenly pasta and garlic bread.

  But for Kat, the celebration spilled over into the evening when Nick murmured, “Wanna go for a walk? Nice night out there.”

  She almost felt delirious with joy as they walked hand in hand to the lake, not feeling any special need to talk, just enjoying the slight breeze coming off the water and the playful sounds of people throwing Frisbees in the park and dog-walkers tossing balls for their pooches. They found the same bench along the jogging path facing the lake—forever “their” bench—and as they sat, Kat leaned against him, Nick’s arm around her pulling her close.

  She finally broke their comfortable silence. “Nick, I can’t thank you enough for all the support you’ve been giving to the food pantry. I don’t take it for granted. I mean, I know you’ve got work and all your pastoral responsibilities. I don’t want you to feel obligated to, you know, add the food pantry too.”

  He didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he murmured into her hair, “I disagree. Because if I want to be courting Kat Davies, then what concerns her concerns me too. So maybe this food pantry has to be our project. Don’t you think?”

  Chapter 41

  Nick was right. By the time Kat got to SouledOut the next morning, people had already brought boxes and shopping bags full of canned goods and nonperishables and were dumping them into the donation bin. By the time worship was over, Kat saw that the bin for the food pantry was nearly full—both from regular SouledOut members and from stuff collected by the sisters in the Yada Yada Prayer Group.

  Which was great! Except—where were they were going to store all this stuff until next Saturday?

  True to her word, Bree went around with her notebook after the service, asking people if they’d like to sign up as a volunteer for the food pantry. A whole crowd of teenagers was signing up.

  Yikes. What if they had too many volunteers?

  Kat and Nick counted the long tables that usually came out for the Second Sunday Potluck and talked about how to set up the pantry. A separate table for different kinds of food? A table for fruits and vegetables, a table for canned meats and main dishes, a table for condiments and miscellaneous, a table for desserts and sweets, and a couple of tables for whatever the grocery store donated. Bread and baked goods? Dairy products? Fresh fruits and vegetables? Well, semi-fresh at least. They wouldn’t know until Thursday, which was when Mr. Hernández said they could come to the back of the store and pick up some boxes of stuff pulled off the shelves to make room for new deliveries.

  When they reported to Pastor Cobbs after the service, he said he’d have a letter ready for them by the time Nick got to the pastoral meeting Monday night. “But if you could get the waiver notarized, Nick, I’d appreciate it—wait, that won’t work.” The pastor scratched his nubby salt-and-pepper hair. “I suppose it’s my signature that needs to be notarized. Hmm, I think one of our trustees is a notary—I’ll ask him to do it.”

  Kat felt a little guilty about the extra work for the pastor and promised they’d make sure everything was cleaned up after the food pantry and set up for Sunday morning.

  The last week in July seemed to crawl like a tortoise trekking across the Mohave Desert—but also whirled by so fast, Kat could hardly believe it when Friday, August first, arrived. It was the last day of the Summer Tutoring and Enrichment Program at Bethune Elementary. Yusufu Balozi came dressed in a shirt and tie and presented her with a gift—a small wood carving of a mother with three children. A little sticker on the bottom said Made in Uganda. Yusufu grinned wide and pointed at the woman. “That is you, Miss Kat! And Kevin and Latoya and me!”

  Kat turned the carving this way and that. She was touched . . . even though the carving was of a native woman with a baby at a bared breast and tightly coiled hair, and the other two children clung to her skirt.

  Latoya decided she wanted to give Kat a gift too and pulled a hair rubber with a little red bead off one of her braids and wound it around a clump of Kat’s hair. “Don’t ever take it off, Miz Kat,” the little girl said solemnly.

  “Thank you, Latoya.” Kat gave her a squeeze. “It’s a very sweet gift and will remind me of you.” Which was true, though she definitely wasn’t going to make a pinky promise never to take it off.

  Kevin decided to make her a card with the art supplies. The outside of the folded piece of paper said “I LIKE MATH” in bubble letters, and the inside said “GOODBYE from KEVIN.” It was decorated with pluses, minuses, and division signs. Well, if Kevin liked math, Kat could chalk up her six weeks of tutoring at STEP as a huge success.

  After a short assembly in the gym, which included any parents who showed up, where each of the kids received a certificate of completion, the last morning was spent as a “field day” out on the playground, with three-legged races, tug-of-war, and a marshmallow-and-spoon relay, followed by grilled hot dogs, potato chips, and ice cream bars. Not a veggie to be seen. Kat sighed. She thought by now Mrs. Douglass would’ve made some effort to include some healthier choices.

  Kat had to excuse herself before the hoopla was over, as she’d agreed to a double shift at the coffee shop today in order to take Saturday off. But Mrs. Douglass called to her before she got out the gate. “Just a minute, Kathryn! I have something for you.” Kat waited as Bethune’s principal, dressed for the day in white athletic pants with turquoise piping down the leg and a white and turquoise T-shirt, met her at the playground gate.

  “Here.” Avis handed her an envelope. “I thought you might like to have a copy of the recommendation I mailed to the school board. And”—she also handed Kat a package, shirt-box size, tied with red, white, and blue ribbons—“just a little appreciation gift for the fine work you did this summer. I think you’re going to make a fine teacher.” With that, Mrs. Douglass gave her a quick hug and trotted back to the throng of children clamoring for seconds on ice cream bars.

  Kat was stunned. She hadn’t expected to see a copy of the recommendation, much less a gift from Mrs. D. She was tempted to open them both then and there, but decided to at least wait until she got to work. Arriving at the coffee shop a few minutes early, Kat stowed her backpack and found a corner in the back room where she could open the letter and the
package. Her eyes teared up as she read the letter. “I highly recommend this candidate . . .”

  She sure was chalking up a lot of “Thank You, Jesus!” moments.

  Slipping the ribbon off the box, Kat pulled out a canvas tote bag. On the side it said, “Teachers write on the hearts of their students, things the world will never erase.” Now she did have to fish for a tissue and blow her nose. “Oh, Jesus, please make me worthy of being a teacher,” she whispered.

  “Hey, Kat!” One of the other baristas—the guy she called Billy the Kid—poked his head into the back room. “Is that food pantry thing you’re collecting for starting tomorrow? If so, we’ve got a whole bag of day-old bagels you could take with you, ’cause they ain’t gonna sell here. Still good in my not-so-humble opinion.”

  Grinning, Kat tied on her apron and headed out into the main room. One more “Thank You, Jesus” moment.

  Kat, Nick, Bree, Rochelle, and Conny were at SouledOut Saturday morning by eight o’clock to set up tables and organize the donated food. Even with the air-conditioning on, Kat was sweating from sheer nervousness. Would they get everything set up in time for the doors to open at ten? Would they have enough food? What if no one showed up and they were stuck with all this stuff?

  Nick had asked Josh “Gonna be a new daddy” Baxter if he had a few hours on Thursday to help him pick up the promised boxes of food at Dominick’s in the church van. “A lot easier than making a dozen trips carrying those boxes across the parking lot,” Nick had told Kat later that night. “We definitely needed the van—we loaded at least six big boxes. We stored as much of it as we could in the refrigerators and freezers in the kitchen. But you’ll have to decide what’s usable.”

  The whole Baxter clan showed up early on Saturday morning as well, including Josh’s home-from-college sister, Amanda. This generated a lot of squeals as Kat, Bree, and Rochelle hugged Edesa and Josh, the new parents-to-be, and congratulated Jodie and Denny, the grinning grandparents-to-be. “Hey! What about me?” Amanda pouted. “Doesn’t the auntie get any recognition? After all, I’m the designated Chief Babysitter.” Which earned her a round of hugs and congratulations too.