Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “So,” Mrs. Burlow turned her golden eyes on him. Flecks of mascara dotted her wrinkled cheek and settled into the creases beneath her eyes. “You mother says you and your fiancé plan to wed at the Holy Trinity Cathedral?”

  “I’ve made reservations.”

  “A lovely facility. As you know, that’s where we held our son’s christening.”

  He nodded and clinked the ice in his glass.

  Across from him, his mother sat poised and erect. “Yes, it is lovely, and the flower arrangement Mr. Adele and I discussed will complement the sanctuary well.”

  Mrs. Doriani’s face puckered. She pressed her lips together and glanced around, as if uninterested. Richard almost laughed. Was she worried his wedding would outshine her daughter’s? His smile faded as the memory of Ainsley’s narrowed gaze resurfaced, followed by her biting words. “It’s over, Richard.”

  Keeping his expression blank, he returned his attention to the conversation.

  “Have you hired a photographer yet?” Mr. Doriani pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. “You may remember, we used Elite Photography. They did an excellent job, and demonstrated extreme patience.” He chuckled. “Which, considering Jessica’s rather impetuous demands, proved no easy task, I am sure.”

  Mrs. Doriani frowned, deepening the lines fanning from her mouth. “Impetuous? Because she valued her wedding and expressed a clear desire for how things should be decorated and the ceremony conducted?” She turned to Richard’s mother with a stiff smile. “Regardless, I am certain Elite Photography is booked.”

  She lifted her chin. “Perhaps, but I imagine he’ll be able to work us in.” She touched her husband’s arm. “Remind me to call Mr. Jacobs, will you, dear. I believe I still have his personal phone number somewhere.” She lifted her glass. “He and his wife are very dear friends.”

  The men dominated the rest of the conversation like gladiators hurling iron mallets. At first, Richard joined in, until it became clear his diminishing practice and small book deal with an unknown publisher placed him on less than equal footing. Although none of the men laughed outright, their eyes danced with silent mirth. All except his father. Clearly, Richard embarrassed him.

  Richard placed his hands flat on the table, palms down, and focused on his plate. Once his parents learned of Ainsley’s decision, he’d never hear the end of it.

  Which was why he needed to do whatever it took to change her mind.

  The sun set quickly behind the brick industrial buildings on either side of I-35, the dark of winter settling across the city like a heavy cloak. Ainsley’s breath came out in a thin fog, her teeth chattering.

  What a waste of time. Why did employers schedule interviews when they already had someone in mind for the job? She grabbed her planner and flipped through the pages. Her next interview wasn’t for another two weeks, and each day in between her savings dwindled.

  So much for pharmacy school.

  She cranked up the heat, clenching her jaw as cold air flooded her face. The car didn’t heat up until she exited the freeway onto North Oak. By then, it had begun to drizzle, the dark clouds on the horizon suggesting a storm approached.

  A young man, no older than twenty, stood, shoulders hunched, on the side of the road. Dressed in jeans, what appeared to be workboots, and a thin hoodie, he shivered. He held a cardboard sign that read, “Veteran. Please help.” A raggedy backpack lay at his feet.

  She searched her car for a water bottle or cereal bar. Nothing, and her purse was empty—the one downfall of living off ATM cards. She really needed to keep something on hand, maybe sandwiches, or crackers.

  Avoiding his gaze, she merged onto Vivian then turned into her cul-de-sac. Chris stood at the end of his driveway, a large bag in his hand. He glanced up as Ainsley approached and offered a nod. She waved and pulled into her driveway. Her tires crunched as she eased into the garage. She parked, stepped out, and surveyed the dark cement behind her.

  Tiny salt crystals glistened in the dim lighting. Planting her hands on her hips, she studied the driveways on either side of her, all glittering. Tucked beside Chris’s garage stood another bag and a shovel.

  A modern-day good Samaritan, perhaps?

  After her day of rejections and disappointments, it felt like a ray of sunshine sent from God Himself. And maybe it was His way of reminding her He was watching, helping.

  Chapter 24

  riday afternoon, Ainsley grabbed a pen and pocket notebook then flipped through the church directory. She needed to call Ned, the youth leader, to find out how many students had committed to helping her prepare the dinner for the shelter and what items they were bringing. Hopefully they planned to cover most of the meal, because a chef, she was not.

  Having found his number, she dialed.

  “Ainsley, hello. What’s up?”

  “Hi. I’m calling to see how many kids signed up to help me tonight.”

  “With what?”

  “Ha, ha. Funny. I hope they planned the main dish, because a tossed salad is about as creative as I get.”

  “Dude, I totally forgot.”

  “Good thing I’m reminding you then. Let’s hope your students didn’t forget as well.”

  “No, I mean I forgot to ask them.”

  Ainsley stiffened. “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m so sorry. Things have been crazy getting ready for Christmas and everything.”

  “So call them, quickly.”

  “I’ll try, but with such short notice, if I were you, I’d move to plan B. I’d help you, but tonight’s the tween ice-skating party, and I’m already short a few drivers.”

  What a nightmare. Cook for sixty, maybe seventy-five people? There was no way.

  After ending the call, she tried Gina. Got her voice mail. Of all the times for her friend to be unavailable.

  “It’s Ainsley. I have an emergency. Any chance you can stop by a few hours early? I need some recipe-planning help and someone to cook ten, maybe twenty pounds of meat.” A food donation wouldn’t hurt either, except Gina was nearly as broke as she was. “Call me as soon as you get this message.”

  After flipping through numerous recipes and calculating the potential expense in her head, which well exceeded her unemployed budget, she settled on sloppy joes. Adding chips and store-bought cookies and she’d be good to go. Only problem—what would she cook the meat in?

  She sifted through her cupboards and placed every pan and baking dish on the counter. There were enough to fill her tiny 1970s oven five times over.

  Chris added the long list of expenses and compared it to his weekly proceeds for the third time. No matter how he worked it, he came up short, and on payday. He grabbed the phone and called his bank.

  “Good morning, F&C Financial. Can you hold, please?”

  Elevator music played across the line before he could answer. A moment later, the woman returned. “May I help you?”

  “I’d like to confirm my actual balance.”

  “What’s your account, sir?”

  He pulled his bank ledger from his desk drawer and read the numbers printed along the bottom.

  “This account is already at the minimum. Do you want to close the account, sir?”

  “No, I want to transfer from my personal savings to my business account.”

  “How much would you like to transfer, sir?”

  He looked at the number circled in red at the bottom of a yellow notepad. “One thousand, two hundred, seventy-five and—. Twelve hundred dollars, please.”

  Transaction complete, he pushed away from his desk. He paused to listen for the sound of chattering customers out front. The few voices he heard were quite the letdown.

  Lord, don’t leave me hanging here. I’m not asking You to make me rich, but it’d sure be nice to stay out of the red.

  He plodded down the hall toward the soft instrumental music pouring from ceiling speakers. Lawrence sat on a stool a short distance away picking at a nail. Candy sat in a corner sofa flipping
through a small pocket devotional.

  Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, Chris surveyed the café. A couple sat in the far corner, huddled together over a computer screen. Across the room, a woman nursed a small coffee while two toddlers sifted through the basket of toys nestled in the corner. An older couple sat near the side door, shopping bags at their feet. All told, they’d made enough to pay for the day’s use of electricity, maybe.

  Lawrence approached and ran a coffee-stained dish towel over an already clean table. “So what do you say, bossman? Wanna join Candy and me for a game of twiddle your thumbs while we watch the spiders spin webs?”

  “Things’ll pick up soon enough.”

  “Listen, man, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but we’re running low on green.”

  “It won’t crash, Lawrence, I have faith.”

  “Yeah, well, faith doesn’t pay the bills. I’ve got another job, starting Monday. Had to take it while it was there to take, if you know what I mean.”

  Chris raked his fingers through his hair. “I understand.” He held his hand out to Lawrence who looked at it, shrugged, then accepted the shake. “If you change your mind . . .”

  “Need me to stick around? Cuz if not . . .”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “It’s been interesting.” He punched Chris in the shoulder. “I’ll be back later for my check.”

  The rest of the afternoon wore on slowly. Candy meandered around the tables, occasionally pulling books from the shelves. She flipped through them, read a page or two, then put them back.

  It wasn’t exactly the urban revival he hoped for, but Candy was better than none.

  His stomach soured as he thought of his mother sitting in her tiny five-hundred square foot nursing home apartment. What he wouldn’t give to move her to Lily of the Valley; but if he moved her, and the café tanked, he’d only have to move her again. Maybe Matilda was right.

  No, he refused to believe that. There had to be a way, even if it took every last cent he had.

  By 2:00 the cafe was nearly empty. The next rush wouldn’t come until 4:00—if at all. Lot of good all those ads he placed with the paper did. He might as well take a few hours off. It was well past time he unpacked some of the boxes crowding his house. In truth, a garage sale was in order, come spring, but the thought of selling his parents things made him ill.

  He turned to Candy. “Think you all can handle the place for a few?”

  She shrugged.

  “Great. I’ll see you later.”

  A fierce wind swept over him when he stepped onto the sidewalk, the faint glow of the sun hidden by a thick cloud layer. A couple strolled by smiling and holding hands. As he watched them, an image of Ainsley surfaced unbidden. She had such a sweet, gentle nature. Her fiancé was one lucky man. Hopefully, he realized that and treated her accordingly.

  Diverting his thoughts, he gripped the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck and headed home.

  A pack of geese flew over head, their loud honks and cackles mingling with the low moan of the December wind. It slowed to a gentle breeze by the time he reached his neighborhood. Walking up his drive, he stopped, laughing at Rusty’s moist nose pressed to the living room window. The dog met Chris at the door with ears perked and tail wagging.

  Chris dropped to one knee, rubbing both sides of the dog’s face. “Missed me, huh?” He stood and glanced around. “Where’s your Frisbee?”

  Rusty cocked his head but made no effort to retrieve it. Rather, he inched past Chris to the porch then down the steps.

  Shaking his head, Chris crossed the room, grabbed the half-chewed piece of plastic, then met his dog outside. “No being lazy on me, old boy. We gotta keep those legs of yours moving.” He tossed the Frisbee. “Go get it.”

  Rusty stared at him then slid to the ground.

  He laughed. “Bet you’d move faster if I brought out some bacon.”

  An engine hummed behind him, and he spun around. Ainsley sat behind the driver’s wheel of her tan two-door. Chris stepped aside to allow her to pull into her driveway.

  She waved, opened her garage door, and pulled inside. A moment later, she popped the trunk, revealing two large metal pans.

  Chris sauntered over. “Do you need help?” Rusty followed then parked himself at the edge of her driveway.

  Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced at the pans. “I . . . Yeah, maybe so.” Her soft smile emerged. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” He stepped forward and lifted a gigantic slow cooker.

  She unloaded a bag of groceries from the backseat. “Can you put that in the kitchen?”

  “Sure thing.” Her car looked jam-packed with food. “This for the shelter?”

  She nodded.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to cook the meal all by yourself.”

  Still smiling, she rolled her eyes. “Long story.”

  He angled sideways to make it through the backdoor, careful not to step on the black electric cord trailing him. Ainsley followed.

  “Where would you like me to put this?”

  She deposited her groceries on the counter and motioned toward a center island. “Right there is fine. Thanks.”

  “Not a problem. How many people are you planning to feed?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe seventy-five.”

  “Wow. Need help? I’m not a fantastic cook, but I can whack a tomato or two.”

  She studied him for a moment then surveyed the three ten-pound tubes of ground beef sitting next to packages of hamburger buns. “Ever cooked sloppy joes from scratch? I couldn’t find premade sauce.”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I can stir or chop up a head of lettuce.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Excuse me.” She crossed the kitchen and disappeared around the corner, returning with an adult and two teenagers, each carrying a plate of cookies. The mother appeared to be in her late forties and had long brown hair parted down the middle. Permanent laugh lines had formed around her eyes and mouth.

  “This is Norma Qualls and her daughters, Amanda and Sammie.” She indicated each in turn. “Apparently, they heard I’d be cooking all by myself and hurried over to rescue me.” She introduced Chris next, adding, “I finagled him into helping me.” She flashed him a grin, which he returned.

  The foursome made small talk for a while. Apparently, the girls loved to cook, although to date, their culinary efforts had centered around taco salads and macaroni and cheese, which, according to Amanda, had been a colossal fail.

  “The cheese just clumped together.” Amanda popped a cucumber slice in her mouth.

  Their mother laughed. “Now, if you still want us after listening to all our credentials . . .

  Ainsley grinned. “Absolutely. In fact, you’ll fit right in. Follow me.” She led everyone into the kitchen to await orders.

  “So, what’s this place like, anyway?” Amanda leaned against the counter. “Because we’re kind of nervous.”

  Ainsley smiled, her face lighting up with a tenderness that was captivating. “Honestly, this will be my first time as well. But from what I hear, it’s amazing. Life-changing. Going, I mean. To be part of what God is doing for these poor women, to show them the gentle love of Christ.” She swept her gaze from Chris to Norma then extended her hands, palms up. “We should pray.”

  “Great idea.” Chris stepped closer, taking her soft, small hand in his. His gaze fell to her hand. Had she taken off her engagement ring . . . to cook, or . . . ? His pulse quickened, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Extending his other hand to Norma, who closed in on his left. The four formed a circle, and Chris bowed his head.

  Silence followed. Were they wanting him to say the prayer? As if in answer, Ainsley’s sweet voice followed:

  “Holy Father, thank You so much for bringing Chris, Norma, and her girls to help me. I was so nervous. And yet, once again, you showed me just how faithful You are, always ready to help the moment we take eve
n the smallest step of obedience.” She paused, her deep breath audible. “Help us to be a blessing to these women. Help us to do more than bring them food. Help us to connect with them, to show them Your amazing love and grace. In the name of your sweet and victorious Son, Jesus, amen.”

  A chorus of amens followed, but no one made an effort to move. Rather, they continued to stand in their circle, arms dropped to their sides, faces pensive. It was as if weight had been added to their endeavor. They weren’t merely providing a meal. They were reaching out to fellow human beings. Mothers and children who had been stripped of everything. Maybe even their dignity.

  Chris swallowed, thinking back to his life in Southern California. The homeless had been so prevalent, they faded into the scenery. How many had he walked by without giving them so much as a second glance? Without even being aware of their presence?

  Worse than that, there had been many times, way too many, he’d seen them and their needs but continued on, too busy, too focused on himself, to offer even a bottle of water.

  He’d been so incredibly selfish for way too long.

  Help me do different, Lord. To be different. Starting now.

  He glanced across the room to Ainsley who stood at the counter flipping through what looked like an old cookbook. Slips of paper stuck out of the pages, some of which had come loose from their binding and slipped out, only to be shoved back in.

  After a few minutes, she snapped it shut and whirled around to face her crew. “There’s everything from lamb stew to meatless lasagna but not one recipe for sloppy joes. Go figure.”

  “Maybe do a Google search?” Norma pulled out her phone.

  “Great idea!” Ainsley beamed. “Hold on while I grab my laptop.” She dashed out, returning with her computer which she plunked on the counter. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Norma crossed the kitchen to the table where bags of groceries waited. She peeked inside each in turn. “Salad fixings. Perfect.” She pulled out a head of lettuce. “While you do that, the girls and I will work on the salad.” The doorbell rang, and Ainsley shot her guests a grin. “Lookie there. More helpers, you think?”