After everyone stopped laughing and found their place, we read aloud together,
or do you show contempt
for the riches of his kindness,
forbearance and patience,
not realizing that God’s kindness
is intended to lead you
to repentance?
“The opening word, ‘or,’ relies on the first three verses of the chapter,” Zander explained, “and we discussed them last week. Tonight, let’s look at how verse 4 presents ‘the riches of his kindness, forbearance, and patience.’ What is the Apostle Paul’s point in listing these attributes?”
“It seems obvious that God’s kindness, forbearance, and patience are all intended to lead us to repentance,” Nance suggested.
“Right. The whole point of God’s mercy and kindness is to bring us to a place of repentance. But, what, exactly, is repentance? Why is it important? Is it the nasty word the world has made it out to be?”
One guy shrugged. “I think repentance is kind of off-putting.”
“Can you explain why you feel that way?” Zander asked.
“Maybe because it feels like shame? Or punishment? Or that I have to pay for or repair what I’ve done? I mean, some damage can’t be fixed, you know? Can’t be undone.”
A young woman near me raised her hand. “That’s how I feel when I’ve blown it—that I have to suffer for the wrong I’ve done or try really hard to fix the problem I’ve caused—and I feel guilty when I can’t do it. All that guilt seems to keep me glued in the same spot. I end up feeling farther from God instead of closer to him.”
I murmured aloud, “A friend of mine once told me that repairing the damage we cause follows after repentance and forgiveness. If we don’t repent and allow Jesus to wash us clean before we rush off to fix the mess we’ve made? Well, we’ll just make the same mistake again.”
Ooops. The words popped out before I could stop them. Words that Zander had once spoken from his heart to mine. Words that had become a lifeline for my wayward heart.
And everyone was staring at me. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, I shifted in my chair and chanced another look at the group—but the nods and agreement around the circle were sincere and hopeful.
As for Zander? The expression that crept over his features was, well . . . thunderstruck.
He stared. I stared. We stared.
Izzie glanced from me to her brother and back. “Interesting!” She was practically gloating.
I ripped my eyes away from Zander and fixed them on my Bible. I didn’t say a word during the rest of the study.
At the end of the discussion period, we had a time of prayer followed by snacks and fellowship. It was pleasant, being with other people my age. I mingled and smiled and said hello. I discovered, to my surprise, that I wasn’t shy like Gemma had been. I didn’t feel the compulsion to hide in the background, even though I still preferred to listen and watch, rather than talk.
When the evening wound down, I shouldered my purse, said goodbye to Nance and Izzie, and walked toward the door. I was partway across the fellowship hall when I realized someone was behind me.
“Jayda?”
I stopped in my tracks. “Yes?”
Zander drew alongside me. “I enjoyed having you in our study tonight. Will you be coming back?”
“Uh, I haven’t decided yet. I liked it, though.”
He searched my face, searched my eyes. “You . . . you remind me of someone.”
I swallowed. Reddened. “Oh?”
He nodded—and out of the blue, he snagged my fingers and curled them up in his. My fingers tingled all the way up my arm.
“Gemma?”
I froze. “No, it’s Jayda.”
He didn’t let go of my fingers, and his eyes never left my face. “Jayda Locke, is it?”
“Yes, Jayda.”
“Jayda. Got it.”
And turning his head a little so if anyone were watching they would not see, he lowered one eyelid. Down. And up. A slow, purposeful wink.
I had to fight to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up in delight. I glanced around, too.
Shoot. There was Izzie, eyeballing us like a roadrunner fixated on a grasshopper.
“You can never tell anyone, Zander, or do anything to give me away. Especially to Izzie.”
“I . . . understand.”
“I mean it. Not ever.”
He nodded. “But . . . can we be friends? Jayda and I? Can we . . . go to dinner tomorrow evening, for instance?”
“Uhhh.”
“Meet me at P.F. Chang’s? I’ll make a reservation for seven o’clock.”
“All right.”
~~**~~
Chapter 32
Dinner was wonderful. It was our first—our only—real date, and it came with all the trimmings: Zander wore a suit. He brought flowers. He held my chair. And he let me order everything I wanted. Everything. Enough for a party of five: lettuce wraps, spring rolls, soup, three main courses and two side dishes to share.
I drooled over the menu.
When the waitress left with our order, I set out the single ground rule. “Zander, whatever conversation we have tonight must be between you and Jayda. No one else. That’s the way it has to be.”
Zanders head bobbed once. “It may be a difficult adjustment, but I’m willing to live with that.”
So, we talked. And laughed. About the study group and about his ministry with the youth and young adults. He asked me about my apartment and job prospects. Then I shared the work God was doing in my life—couched in vague references that Zander would “get.”
“With all that’s happened . . . in the last year, I can look back and see how much God has changed me. Oh, I still get grouchy and I frequently struggle with anger, but the cool thing is that when I open my Bible and step into God’s word? It’s like his presence comes and fills me up—and I no longer have room for anger or grouchiness.”
“Jesus said that his word is living bread. You are describing the way his living bread feeds our souls.”
“That’s it exactly.”
Zander was careful how he phrased his next question. “What are you doing to fill your time right now, Jayda?”
I licked my lips. “Oh, this and that. I run. Work out. Look for employment.”
“Do you . . . do you miss the, er, faster pace of, say, the last six months?”
He’d couched so much in that one line.
And my answer was honest. “Yes. I’m kinda bored, to tell the truth. I’m safe and secure, but a little bored.”
“Could you . . . do you think you could get used to a normal, boring life? Could you get accustomed to, say, being courted by a poor associate pastor? Because this poor associate pastor would like to woo you, Jayda.”
I leaned toward him and lowered my voice. “We can’t . . . we can’t go there, Zander. You know that.”
“And yet, we’ve never ‘gone there,’ Jayda. You owe me a real, honest, and complete discussion on this, uh, topic—and you owe it to us not only to explore the possibility, but to prayerfully ask God’s direction after we’ve identified all the obstacles.”
I expected to be angry with him, but I wasn’t. I was just sad.
“Jayda, look at me.”
My eyes were too full of tears to meet his.
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Please, sweet Jayda?”
I looked up.
“Jayda, I want to suggest a path forward. Monday is my day off. Let’s go for a long drive and find a remote spot where we can be ourselves to talk it all out. We’ll get every bit of the issue out on the table—and then we’ll pray over it. Are you willing to do that?”
“But you already know that those tiny, um, complications will come along with us.”
“Yes. I know.”
Waitresses, universally, have the worst timing ever.
“Would you like me to box up the leftovers?”
Zander didn’t miss a beat. “Th
at would be great. Jayda would love to take them home.”
“Jayda. What a pretty name.”
Zander agreed. “It is; I’m already partial to it.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
When we left the restaurant, I was carrying a bouquet of flowers and a large bag filled with boxes of goodies.
“Where are you parked?” Zander asked.
I pointed. “Way over there. The lot was crowded when I got here.”
He grabbed my pointing hand and tucked it into his, and we walked across the lot like any other couple.
But we weren’t like any other couple—and we never would be.
If I were to be honest, what lay at the center of my concerns was that “thing.” The Big Thing. I mean, every girl has a picture of what . . . intimacy with the man she loved would be like—am I right? Except Zander and I would never be alone, just the two of us . . . together.
I had this recurring (and creepy) vision of us whispering the most private of endearments—and Alpha Tribe uploading every word to their library. I imagined Zander, leaning in to kiss me—while the nanomites watched over our shoulders and added running commentary.
Popcorn, anyone?
It would be worse than having a dog or a cat in the room! At least a pet wouldn’t be asking inappropriate questions.
At the absolutely wrong time.
Ackkk! I squeezed my eyes shut. I’m never gonna “un-see” that!
Zander opened my car door. I slumped into the seat.
“Are you all right?”
“Hunky-dory,” I lied.
Crud. Now I need to repent for lying.
“Jayda, would you come to church tomorrow? Sit with Izzie? Maybe have lunch with us afterward?”
I snorted a laugh. “You mean not hide up in the choir loft?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You’re Jayda Locke, new to DCC, part of the young adult group now. Friends with Izzie.”
“I-I’ll consider it.”
“Great. It was a lovely evening—thank you. I hope to see you tomorrow.”
He closed the door, waved, and turned away. I popped the door back open and climbed out.
“Wait. Zander? I didn’t thank you for dinner.”
He chuckled and kind of smirked. “Okay, but you’d better thank me three times. Dinner with you is like buying for three girlfriends.”
I had to giggle. “I know. I’m sorry. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For dinner, for our fellowship. For everything.”
“Would you like a goodnight kiss?”
“W-what?”
“You heard me.”
“Well, I-I—”
“Because I only kiss the woman I intend to marry. So, do you want a goodnight kiss?”
More than anything. More than you know. If only—
He must have seen it on my face, because the next thing I knew, his arms were around me, and he was delivering the finest goodnight kiss in the history of the world.
Well, in the history of my world, anyway.
We pulled apart, and I could hardly breathe. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. I love you Ge—I mean Jayda, so don’t forget to pray and think on our upcoming conversation. We’re going to hash this thing through and then give it to God.”
“Okay.” Might as well.
I drove out of the parking lot in a fog of consternation: I had only scratched the surface of my concerns. I knew what the nanomites had done to my body, but I didn’t know how those changes might affect certain biological functions. And, if Zander and I were to discuss the facts in less than forty-eight hours, then I needed to know the facts—and that meant asking the nanomites explicit—uncomfortable—questions.
Like, could I have children? Because Zander would expect children. Had it crossed his mind that I might not be able to give him a family? And, if, by some miracle, I could conceive, did conceive, would the child be normal—or would the nanomites’ mutations filter down in my genetic code? Would the child be a nano-amalgamation, like me? Or would those genetic mutations damage the baby?
And, if I did conceive, what might happen to the infant in utero if the nanomites and I were to use the terrible powers we possessed?
Beyond all my other concerns, was the certainty that my life was tied to the nanomites’ health and longevity. One unanticipated, unprepared-for electrostatic discharge of sufficient strength could wipe out the nanocloud—and me.
Longevity. The nanomites had also warned me of the effect attrition would have on their numbers. The swarm would age and would suffer the inevitable breakdown of various members along the way. As individual nanomites failed, the swarm would diminish—unless the nanomites had the environment and materials to replenish the nanocloud.
And, Dr. Bickel had assured me, that wasn’t going to happen. He was not going to re-engineer another ion printhead.
The question was, how long before the nanocloud depleted to the point where it could not sustain its critical functions—me being one of them? How many years did that give me?
Ten years. Fifteen, tops.
Was that fair to Zander? To any children we might have?
Yes, I was scared to ask the nanomites the questions that pressed me—because I dreaded their answers.
Tons of uncertainty.
Heaps of reticence.
Loads of fear.
Not the faintest flicker of hope.
***
The next morning, I found Izzie in DCC’s large sanctuary. “Hi, Izzie. May I sit with you?”
“Jayda! Yes, of course.” She patted the seat next to her and I scooted in.
She wasted no time. “Zander tells me you might be coming to lunch with us after service?”
“Oh. Yeah, he did mention that.”
“Last night at dinner?”
“He told you we had dinner, did he?”
She grinned. “Oh, yes, indeed. Come on, you don’t fool me. I saw sparks shooting across the room at Bible study Friday evening.”
The stink eye I leveled on her would have earned high praise from a polecat.
She just laughed. “Hey, there’s Zander’s little friend, Emilio, and his foster dad, Abe.” She waved at them. “Zander’s going to ask them to lunch, too.”
Abe and Emilio waved to Izzie from seats far away. They scarcely gave me a glance—but that was before we went to lunch together.
Worship on the main floor was a very different experience than what it had been from the choir loft. I felt exposed and out of place—not because I was Jayda Locke but because everything was strange to me. I felt self-conscious: I didn’t know the songs and was certain my failure to sing would be noted by all. I hardly knew when to stand or sit—and what was with all the raising of hands? I watched Izzie out of the corner of my eye and followed her examples (except shooting my hands into the air—that was a bit much).
But the service taken altogether? I loved it.
When Pastor McFee pronounced the benediction and we all said, “Amen,” Zander joined us. Abe and Emilio did, too.
Zander placed his hand on the small of my back. “Abe, Emilio, this is my new friend, Jayda Locke. Jayda, these are my good friends, Abe Pickering and Emilio Martinez.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pickering” I shook Abe’s hand and held on. I winked. Twice. Abe shifted on his feet and tried to take back his hand. I didn’t let him. I hung on and squeezed his hand. Twice.
I coughed and winked again.
With sudden clarity, Abe grinned. “Nice to meet you, um, Jayda. Very nice, indeed.”
Then I tried to shake Emilio’s hand.
Nope. Instead, I got to witness the might and power of a fully functional Death Stare, Emilio style.
“Hi, Emilio.”
*Scowl*
“Say hello to Miss Locke, Emilio,” Abe instructed.
*Glare*
Emilio’s brows bunched down in that black line I knew so very well and he muttered a half-hearted “Hey.”
“Young man�
�”
“It’s all right, Mr. Pickering. He just doesn’t know me yet.” Emphasis on the “know” part.
Abe glanced from me to Emilio and nodded his understanding, but Izzie missed the unspoken communication between Abe and me.
She was oblivious, and in my book, oblivious was good.
“Anybody else hungry?” Zander asked to ease the strain. “How does IHOP sound?”
My stomach roared in my ears. “Yum! I’m down with that.”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something, but Abe put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Emilio looked away and grumbled under his breath.
***
Going out to lunch together should have been a great idea. Our wait for a table was only supposed to be a few minutes, so we stood in line. Smiling. Chatting.
Izzie excused herself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Yup, going out to lunch would have been a great idea—if Emilio hadn’t seen Zander (when he thought no one was looking) stroke the back of my hand. It was just a touch, a brief token of affection.
Well, Emilio was looking.
While Abe and Zander talked about the finer points of the pastor’s message and I listened, Emilio shot jeers and grimaces of disgust and distain my way. His sneers weren’t bad; I rated them somewhere between sulfuric acid and toxic waste. I seriously thought the side of my head was going to putrefy, melt, and puddle on the floor.
Then I snapped to the basis for Emilio’s anger.
Whoa! He sees Jayda Locke as Gemma’s competition! He’s trying to prevent some two-faced hussy from horning in on Gemma’s man.
Relieved to understand, I made eye contact with Emilio. Waggled one brow. Willed him to “see” me.
No joy.
Instead, he flashed me an obscene gesture and mouthed an uncomplimentary phrase in Spanish.
Emilio said that you—
“Um, yeah. I got the gist, Nano. Don’t need a translation” I tried not to let the nasty words bother me, but they did. Emilio wouldn’t have said those things to Gemma.
Wouldn’t have said them to Gemma.
Ah.
“Nano, listen: This is what I’d like you to do.” I gave them instructions and waited.
Stealth Retribution Page 33