Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4)

by Dave Jackson

  She pulled back a little bit and wiped her eyes, but Greg could tell she was starting to accept the situation. “What do you mean, look at it right?”

  “You know, with faith. Yeah, we need to have faith. Our faith will bring God’s blessing, just like it did to Abraham.”

  He felt her stiffen ever so slightly before she dropped her head and nodded. She sniffed. “All right. Where’s a tissue? I need to blow my nose.”

  “Does that mean we can go out and celebrate?”

  “If you want. Doesn’t exactly feel like time to celebrate yet.”

  “Don’t worry. It will.”

  As Nicole got up to go to the bedroom and blow her nose, the kids sidled back into the living room, sucking on juice box straws, ever alert to family drama. “Is Mommy okay?” Becky asked, watching her mother disappear.

  “Sure, sure . . . So where were you guys this afternoon?” he asked.

  “We went to the zoo.”

  “But there weren’t any elephants. They all died,” added Nathan.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Who—”

  Just then, Nicole returned from their bedroom, and Greg decided it wasn’t the right time to ask who’d brought them home from the zoo in that black car.

  Chapter 10

  Greg would have taken his wife and kids anywhere for dinner—anywhere within reason, that is—but when he asked, Nicole just shrugged and said, “You choose.” The kids voted for McDonald’s, but Greg vetoed that and finally took the family to the Olive Garden in the Lincolnwood Town Center.

  Nicole never said the words, but her demeanor throughout the meal kept asking, What’s to celebrate? If he let his feelings catch up to him, he knew he had the same question, but he refused to give in to it. He kept telling himself he was exercising faith . . . but what was the difference between faith and human optimism? He had to remain upbeat. If he let himself get depressed or anxious, he wouldn’t make a good impression when he talked to prospective employers. Still, uncertainty danced at the edges of what he hoped was faith. Was this the fulfillment of God’s plan for him? Was God going to prosper him or not?

  Nicole’s mood irritated him. It wasn’t fair. He needed her now, especially now, but she felt like a rubber crutch. Worse than that, she was . . . she was . . . The memory of that black Town Car easing on up the street came back unbidden. What was she doing riding in Lincoln Paddock’s sleek Town Car this afternoon? Had Paddock taken his wife and kids to the zoo? That wasn’t right. He’d have to get to the bottom of this.

  He waited until the children were tucked in bed and Nicole was in their bathroom brushing her teeth before bringing it up. “The kids said you went to the zoo this afternoon. How’d that go?”

  Nicole spit out a mouthful of suds and glanced in the mirror at him leaning against the doorjamb. “It was okay. I think they liked it.”

  “So which zoo did you go to?”

  “Lincoln Park.” She turned on the hot water.

  “Of course, Lincoln Park. That’s why Lincoln Paddock drove you home.” He knew as he spoke that his words were swathed in sarcasm.

  Nicole didn’t respond but held a steaming washcloth up to her face.

  Her silence goaded him. “So, did he take you down there too?”

  She removed the washcloth and stared at him in the mirror, her face red from the steam . . . or was it from being found out? “Yes, he did. He promised the kids last week,” she said matter-of-factly. “He dropped by today to see if we could go. Nathan’s been wanting to take a picture of the polar bears for his nature project, you know. Seemed like the perfect opportunity.” She put the reheated washcloth back over her face and began scrubbing away any remaining makeup.

  Greg backed away from the bathroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, and took off his shoes. Something didn’t feel right about another man—someone they barely knew—taking his family on an afternoon outing. And he might not have found out about it if he’d come home at his usual time. Nicole hadn’t coached the kids to not tell, but they might’ve forgotten. And she hadn’t phoned to ask him about the trip . . . or even tell him.

  “So, you find this playboy Paddock to be an interesting fellow?”

  Nicole grimaced from the bathroom. “Oh, stop it, Greg. If you only knew what it’s like to come up with truly educational experiences for the kids all the time, you’d realize this was a blessing, nothing more.”

  “But you could’ve driven the kids down there yourself, couldn’t you? I leave the Cherokee here for you so you can do errands and stuff. In fact, you took them to the zoo last fall, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, that was when Nate got lost and nearly scared me to death for thirty minutes before I found him. Ya know, it really helps to have another adult along.”

  “Another adult. Who just happens to be a good-looking—”

  “No!” she snapped. “A neighbor who just happened to offer our kids an outing. Come on, Greg, give it a rest. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  He said no more, and they both crawled into bed a few minutes later, back-to-back, but Greg could tell by Nicole’s frequent sighs and movements that she didn’t go to sleep any sooner than he did.

  * * * *

  Nicole stared at the red numbers of the digital clock on her bedside table. In a blink, they went from 11:14 to 11:15 to 11:16, and before she knew it, to 11:37.

  She flopped onto her back and closed her eyes tightly, causing a kaleidoscope of color wheels until the image of Nathan standing at the thick window into the big cat habitat materialized. A full-maned lion lay on the other side of the glass and pawed at the window, inches from Nathan’s face, like a kitten wanting to play with a mouse. Fearlessly, her son had called for her to watch. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

  The whole afternoon had been that way—exhilarating and terrifying. But why? Why had it been scary? Because she’d enjoyed every moment of Lincoln Paddock’s attention . . . and knew she shouldn’t.

  “You want a bag of popcorn?” “Let’s let the kids ride the carousel.” “Hey, I’ll get on the unicorn if you ride the ostrich next to me.” And he’d helped her up.

  He’d taken her elbow when they stepped over a rough section on the path to the polar bear exhibit and when they went down the ramp of the great ape house. Nicole told herself he was just being a gentleman, but she thought his hand lingered a little longer than necessary . . . and she liked it.

  When Nathan got tired of walking, Lincoln had picked him up and carried him on his broad shoulders without a complaint until the boy was rested and wanted to get down and run again.

  There had been no “Robbie” to chauffeur them to the zoo and back in a stretch limo. Lincoln had driven a standard-sized limo, but the shiny black Town Car had seemed all the more luxurious with him behind the wheel.

  “So what’d you do before you became a . . . what do you call it, a teaching mom?”

  Nicole had felt herself blush as he glanced over at her on their way home. But why was she blushing? It was a simple, straightforward question any two people might ask as they got acquainted.

  “I was a paralegal for a law firm.”

  “Get outta here! Really?”

  “Yeah. I started as a legal assistant with Whitney, Young, and Gould right after college.”

  “Real estate law, right?”

  “Uh-huh. On the near Northside, but then the kids came, and we decided I’d homeschool them.”

  Paddock had glanced into the rearview mirror at the two children in the backseat who were too tired to even talk. “Well, I think you’re doing a great job.” He was silent while he changed lanes. “Have you ever thought about getting back into the legal field?”

  Her heart sped up a few beats. “Well, sure, sometimes. In fact, I wanted to get my law degree and become a lawyer, but . . .”

  “Hey, don’t give up that dream. You’d make a great lawyer. In fact, even if you want a part-time job, let me know. We’re always needing help.” He reached up an
d pulled a business card out of a packet in the visor and handed to her.

  A part-time job? Nicole’s mind spun as she studied the card. What an opportunity. Perhaps her legal career wasn’t over. Maybe . . .

  Her imagination had taken off.

  And then she’d come home to Greg telling her he’d been fired and talking glibly about the possibility of moving to some other city, away from Beecham Street, away from her mom, and away from such an unbelievable opportunity.

  * * * *

  The executives Greg needed to talk to in his job search wouldn’t be in their offices on Saturday, so he spent most of the day prioritizing those contacts according to the companies that interested him most, personnel he’d met and liked, and location. He didn’t really want to leave Chicago, so boat dealerships in the area headed his list. He’d go for something like Vice President of Sales or maybe Marketing Director, at the VP level, of course.

  Sunday was Pentecost—fourth Sunday in May—and Greg took his family to church, eager for some encouragement about his job situation. He was not disappointed. Pastor Hanson directed his listeners to Acts 2.

  “The Day of Pentecost is about giving!” he declared in a booming voice and then paused behind his Plexiglas pulpit while he surveyed the congregation as if waiting to see whether his pronouncement generated the surprise he intended. Finally, he continued. “It’s not just our giving to God, but God giving to us. The gift of His Holy Spirit, the gifts given by the Holy Spirit, and the power and abundance to use them for His glory.”

  Greg leaned forward, listening intently.

  “Now, do you think God is glorified by some miserly little token? No! He’s a generous God who pours out His blessings in abundance in response to our own generosity. It was Jesus who said in Luke six, thirty-eight, ‘Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.’ That’s God’s principle of sowing and reaping. And you can be sure He follows that principle in what He gives in return to what we sow in faith. Now, let’s look at our passage in Acts two.”

  The pastor pointed out how amazed the onlookers were by the events surrounding God’s gift of His Holy Spirit. These were sophisticated skeptics who had traveled from many countries and had seen the wonders of the ancient world, but they were utterly astonished with what they saw that day in Jerusalem. “And the church grew by leaps and bounds every day,” Pastor Hanson boomed. “God was blessing their giving!”

  This message was just what Greg needed to lift him out of the pit and chase away the doubts and fears that had nibbled at the fringe of his faith over the last couple of days. God was going to bless him. This was his time of opportunity.

  Nicole leaned over. “Somehow Pastor turns every Bible passage into a sermon on prosperity, but it’s really a message about the Holy Spirit,” she whispered.

  Greg gritted his teeth and gave her a cold stare. What was wrong with her? Of course, this teaching took a new slant, but that’s because in all their years in church, no one had taught them about God’s desire to bless them financially. All she had to do was look around. Other people were prospering. Look at the clothes they wore, the cars they drove. Why not them?

  When the music began to play—the offering always followed the sermon at the Victorious Living Center—Greg pulled out his checkbook. In the back of his mind he knew he was acting in spite of Nicole’s reservations, but he told himself he was just exercising faith . . . boldly. “Give and it will be given to you!” He whispered the promise to himself as he wrote the check for twice their normal tithe.

  * * * *

  That afternoon as Greg was reviewing some of his contacts, getting ready for the next day, the doorbell rang. He let Nicole answer it.

  “Nicole?” said a woman’s voice. “We met last weekend when Mrs. Krakowski came back to the neighborhood.”

  “Sure, I remember . . . Michelle Jasper, right?”

  “And I’m Jared.” Man’s voice. “Is your husband home? I actually came down to see him, and my wife wanted to come along to say hi.”

  Now Greg knew who was at the door. He’d spoken with the man and his son that evening. African American family. Lived at the other end of Beecham.

  “You want to come in?” Nicole said. “Greg?” His wife stepped to the living room archway. “Someone to see you.”

  Greg saved the file he was working on and rose to meet his guest. “Hey, Jared, come on in and have a seat. I was just doing a little catch-up.” He gestured toward his computer.

  As they shook hands, the women wandered into the kitchen.

  “So, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “Well . . .” The man appeared a little self-conscious. “The other evening when the Bentleys had that welcome party for Mrs. Krakowski, you mentioned the possibility of going to a boat show you’re putting on—down at Burnham Harbor, I think you said it was.”

  Greg nodded. Oh yes, and he’d magnanimously offered to arrange a ride in a cigarette boat. What had he been thinking?

  “Anyway,” Jared continued, “I have to miss an important family trip Memorial Day weekend—got a conflict, you know—so I’m hoping to make it up to the kids by doing something special with them. I remembered the boat show you mentioned. My oldest son seemed especially interested.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’d enjoy it. It starts June third at Burnham Harbor, goes through the weekend. But, uh . . .” Greg leaned forward, elbows on knees, and rubbed his hands together. How was he gonna say this? “Unfortunately, I’m not with Powersports any longer. I’m in the middle of a job change, lookin’ at some new possibilities.” He sat up and raised both hands over his head like a referee signaling goal or a man who’d just been freed, not fired.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m movin’ on to better things. I’d been at Powersports too long as it was.”

  “Well, I guess that’s good, then. You got something specific lined up?”

  “Let’s put it this way, I’ve got plenty of solid connections. The only thing is, my connections probably wouldn’t get me free passes for this show. But hey, tickets aren’t too expensive, ten bucks online if you buy them ahead. Just put in ‘Burnham Harbor In-Water Show.’ There’ll be all kinds of activities, a lot of really cool boats to see, demonstrations of every extreme watersport you can imagine. And . . .” He thought about his earlier offer. “You might be able to talk your way into a boat ride, though probably not in that cigarette boat I mentioned unless you’re serious about buying one.”

  Jared laughed. “Not hardly. How much do those things cost, anyway?”

  “Oh, you can spend over a hundred grand on them real quick.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not ready for the life of the rich and famous just yet, if you know what I mean.”

  Both men laughed to ease the awkwardness.

  Jared stood up. “Well, listen, I won’t keep you any longer. But I appreciate you thinking of us earlier. And I’ll be praying that you get the right new job.”

  “That’d be great. I appreciate that.”

  After the couple left, Greg realized he’d never asked Jared what kind of work he did. Not good. He’d make a point next time they met. Would’ve been one way to get the conversation off his own “job issues” too.

  * * * *

  Monday brought warm weather and blue skies with scattered, cottony clouds. Greg met it with the eagerness of a racehorse at the starting gate.

  There was, of course, still the question of how much he should reveal to those he called about Powersports’ situation. But having been “fired”—yeah, his self-image was strong enough to use that word—he didn’t feel the same obligation to keep Chuck Hastings’ secret. Apparently, the news was already out there, though he wasn’t ready to accept the full blame. And by now, Hastings would’ve spoken to several other exhibitors, any of which could’ve passed
the word.

  In fact, it could be online by now. Greg typed “Trade Show Executive Magazine” into the Google search on his computer. As soon as the page came up, he scanned the “Breaking News” column. Hmm. No mention of Powersports Expos yet, but it could flash up there at any time. Okay. He wouldn’t explicitly announce Powersports’ demise to anyone, but he wouldn’t worry if someone else figured it out. Besides, with all that Hastings was dealing with at this point, it was unlikely he’d remember to call Greg and release him to say whatever he wanted to those gold-star exhibitors he prized so highly. They were Greg’s top candidates for a job too.

  From his contact list, Greg made sure he remembered the person he was calling, how to pronounce his name, exactly what he did in the company, as well as reviewing the last emails or letters they’d exchanged. He also went online to refresh himself with the company’s latest news, product promotions, and other features. He wanted to be completely informed and prepared.

  Nicole and the kids were in the lower family room getting started on the day’s lessons. He could hear Nicole’s gentle voice as she helped Nate sound out new words in the story he was trying to read. Nathan had been slower to begin reading than Becky, who was reading chapter books by this age, but it sounded like Nate was finally getting it.

  At five minutes to ten Greg started calling, late enough for his contact to have cleared away any urgent business that had collected over the weekend but hopefully before he got mired in the day’s work.

  Not many boat manufacturers were in the Chicago area. There was a company that built high-performance propellers, another that specialized in custom conversions, and a couple of racing boat builders who worked mostly on a project-by-project basis for the super rich. But there were a lot of boat dealers.

  The first dealer Greg called was Roger Wilmington at Potawatomi Watercraft up on the Chain o’ Lakes, the guy who’d let Greg use their cottage on Deep Lake. It would be a long commute, but a lot of people did that.