Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  Chris shrugged, amused to see an almost childlike side of Ainsley. It stirred his heart in a way that felt quite uncomfortable, especially considering the woman was engaged. Did her fiancé realize how lucky he was?

  “I’ll get that.” Norma handed the lettuce to her daughters with the instructions to wash it and padded to the door. A moment later, a click sounded, followed by creaking hinges and Norma’s cheerful voice. “Richard, hello!”

  Ainsley whipped around so fast she nearly knocked her computer off the counter. She stared through the kitchen entry-way, her face going from shock to a frown. She turned to her guests. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Chris watched her go, intrigued. That wasn’t how one normally behaved when the love of their life appeared. Relationship trouble maybe? Not that it was any of his business. The fact that the idea brought a wave of pleasure only proved how incredibly selfish and sinful he was. That girl was as far off limits as one could come.

  Chapter 25

  insley hurried to the door, making it there just as Richard stepped across the threshold. “Pardon us, Norma. Richard and I have something to discuss.”

  “Certainly.” The woman excused herself with a smile and a nod and returned to the kitchen.

  Ainsley faced Richard, arms crossed. “What are you doing here?”

  He offered her a much too smooth smile. “I told you I’d help you serve at the shelter.”

  “But that was before . . . This is inappropriate, and you know it. You need to leave.”

  “I am merely wanting to help the less fortunate in our community, my dear. Surely you will not fault me for that. Nor hinder my acts of goodwill.”

  “Right. Out of the goodness of your heart.” She glared. “If you seriously think this will somehow change my mind about us—”

  “Surely you do not think I’m that juvenile. Or manipulative.”

  Her tense muscles relaxed a little as she determined to hear him out. Not to jump to conclusions. Just because God had said no to their marriage didn’t mean she couldn’t be civil to the man.

  “I signed up to help with tonight’s preparations, and I intend to honor my commitments.” He paused. “But to speak to your initial . . . accusation, yes, I do think it’s important to help those in need. My entire career is centered on that.”

  She massaged her temples. She wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth about his intentions, but he had signed up. And this was a church-sanctioned event. Who was she to set the rules regarding who could help and who couldn’t? Except they were baking at her house, and Richard being a part of that felt wrong.

  Or was that her pride talking?

  “We’re adults here.” He glanced past her toward the kitchen, and his smile wavered. “As such, I would expect we can serve together on this project.”

  Her cheeks warmed at the chastisement underlying his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. She was probably blowing this—him being here—way out of proportion. Besides, he couldn’t weasel himself back in if she didn’t let him.

  “Fine.” She threw her hands up. “But don’t act stupid.”

  She turned and stomped into the kitchen. Richard’s heavy footfalls followed.

  Then, ignoring him completely, she turned to her laptop and scrolled down the page. An image of overflowing sloppy joes filled the screen.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Richard leaned on the wall, ankles crossed. “I thought you had a whole group helping with this.”

  “There was a miscommunication.” Ainsley clicked on the link for recipe. A quick scan verified, with some multiplication, it would work.

  “What do you mean?” Richard moved closer to Ainsley.

  She bristled and widened the distance between them once again. “Apparently the youth director forgot to mention the women’s shelter event in the newsletter.”

  Amanda relayed the rest of the story, adding a great amount of detail as to why, what the other students were doing this evening, and why she and her sister decided to serve at the shelter instead. “But Ainsley may wish we hadn’t by the time we’re done.” She grinned. “Like I told her, I’m not the most talented cook around. Last time I made cookies for youth group, I was told they looked like scabs. But that they tasted good.”

  Ainsley laughed. “That’s all that matters. Besides, remember our prayer earlier?”

  The girl nodded. “We just have to do our best and leave the rest to God.” She raised her paring knife to the ceiling then returned to chopping tomatoes faster than her sister could wash them. Their mother peeled cucumbers at the sink while Chris stood in the center of the kitchen looking about as awkward as a football player at a Tupperware party. She needed to assign him a task.

  She grabbed an onion and handed it over. “Would you like to wash and chop this?”

  He smiled. “I’d be happy to.”

  Richard rose and stepped forward, attempting to wedge himself between them. “I’ll get that.”

  Ainsley frowned. “Fine.” She handed him a knife and the remaining bag. “While you’re at it, we need three more peeled, washed, and chopped.” He wouldn’t be so anxious once the fumes hit his eyes and tears started gushing. Come to think of it, a bit of tear-induced humility would do the man good. Suppressing a laugh at the image, she turned to Chris once again. “Would you mind browning the meat?”

  “Not at all.”

  Chris looked at Richard. “So, what do you do?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist, specializing in neuropathology, borderline personality disorders, and dissociative disorders, most often resulting from multiple personalities.”

  “That’s a mouthful.” Chris grabbed a tube of ground beef and sliced it open.

  Ainsley met him at the stove with a saucepan then returned to the cupboard for three more until one occupied every burner. Next, she handed Richard a cutting board and knife.

  He took both to a nearby counter and began hacking away the outer onion peels. “What about you, Mr. Langley? I seem to remember seeing you at the corner café serving coffee.” His tone dripped with condescension.

  Ainsley stiffened, waiting for Chris to react. To her surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he grinned and replied, “Yep, that was me.”

  A man who didn’t feel the need to dominate or compete? Now that was a first.

  Either that, or he was oblivious to Richard’s attempts, something that only irritated the man all the more, based on the way his left eye had begun to twitch.

  Not that this deterred him any, for he continued to drill Chris while everyone else scampered about preparing the meal. Initially, Ainsley felt bad for Chris, thinking that perhaps she should defend him. But after a while, Richard’s childish tactics became comical.

  What had she ever seen in the man?

  Three hours later, ground beef slathered in ketchup, mustard, and brown sugar filled the slow cookers. Tupperware filled with salads—fruit and vegetable—lined the counter.

  Ainsley tested her sauce. “Not bad.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m surprised Gina’s not here yet.” Moving to the window above the sink, she rose on her toes and leaned forward.

  “She’s not over at my house, is she?” Chris stepped behind her. “I’ll be back.” He turned and exited the kitchen.

  “Wait, I’ll come with you.” She followed him out, leaving Richard to fume.

  Chris inhaled the crisp evening air, relieved to be free of Ainsley’s boyfriend—or perhaps former boyfriend—and his constant psychobabble investigation. The tension between those two sizzled throughout the house. Something told him this was more than a romantic spat. At least he hoped so, because Ainsley was much too good to date such a loser. Surely she knew guys like that only got worse after marriage. Some even turned abusive.

  He tried to remind himself yet again it was none of his business, but the protector in him refused to settle.

  He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “What are You doing here, Lord?”

  “You OK?”


  He turned to see Ainsley studying him with a furrowed brow. He forced a smile. “Yeah. Just catching my breath.”

  She laughed. “That was a workout, wasn’t it? I appreciate your help. I can’t imagine trying to pull it off myself.”

  “No problem.” He stopped at the edge of the driveway and waited for Rusty to lumber to his feet. Poor dog, his joints must have stiffened in the cold. Even so, the fresh air had been good for him.

  He knelt and massaged the dog’s hindquarters to help loosen them up. “Come on, old boy. Let’s get you inside.” They cut through Ainsley’s yard to his, finding Gina on his porch.

  She stood with hands cupped around her face, nose pressed to a fogging window. She wore a silver jacket with a furry hood, polka-dotted gloves, and lime-green rubber boots.

  Resembling a fictional character named Pippi Longstocking, she stirred a brotherly affection within him. “Hello.” He lowered his voice, a grin emerging with full force.

  Gina jumped and whirled around, her cheeks pink. “Oh, hi.” She brushed a patch of dirt from her jacket and straightened. Her nails were painted a mint green. “I thought I was to meet you here.”

  Ainsley stepped forward and looped her arm in Gina’s. “The guys came over a bit early, to help.” She raised an eyebrow.

  Gina’s eyes widened. “Oh, did they now?”

  Chris sensed a hidden meaning laced their conversation, but then Gina faced Chris, her tense posture visibly relaxing.

  Gina faced him. “You’re a cook, I take it?”

  “I don’t know about that, but I can stir a mean lump of meat.” He fell into step beside her and the three of them traipsed back to Ainsley’s.

  “Add a few gallons of ketchup and a healthy dose of mustard, and you’ve got a meal fit for a king,” Ainsley said.

  Chris stared into her green eyes. “Or a family shelter.”

  She smiled but it vanished when they reached her front steps to find Richard standing like Robot Man.

  Richard eyed Chris then turned to Ainsley. “How are we going to get all this food to the shelter?”

  “I thought we could use your Lexus with its luxuriously roomy trunk.” Eyes dancing with laughter, Ainsley shot Gina a wink. But then her face warmed as she recalled his earlier comment about acting like adults. Just because she wasn’t dating the man, just because she was finding him more infuriating by the day, didn’t mean she could act like a jerk.

  This group could only handle one of those. “No.” Shaking his head, Richard backed toward his car. “Absolutely not.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Relax. I was kidding. Although, truth be told, I hadn’t thought of that one. I’m not sure I can fit everything in my car.”

  “I’ve got a van.” Norma hooked a thumb toward her vehicle parked along the curb.

  Ainsley smiled. “Perfect.”

  “I call shotgun!” Amanda shot her hand in the air, and everyone laughed. Everyone except Ainsley, who shot a glance toward Richard only to find him watching her.

  Childish or not, she did not want to sit next to him. Because if she had to listen to his sarcastic, condescending comments for one more minute, she was liable to scream.

  And she really didn’t want to do that in front of the girls.

  Chapter 26

  earing the North Kansas City Ray of Hope Women and Children’s shelter, the houses and buildings grew increasingly run-down. A vacant lot bordered a dilapidated liquor shop and a shotgun house with boarded windows. Across the street, a kid in a gray sweatshirt glided by on skateboard.

  “You know these kids don’t stand a chance.” Richard leaned back and looked out the window.

  Ainsley glared at him. “How can you, a mental health professional, say such a thing?” And in front of impressionable teenagers, no less. “Of course they have a chance. Jesus can transform even the worst of lives, even the most hopeless of situations. You know that.”

  “In theory, perhaps, but research suggests a child’s self--esteem is developed by the time they are five. Their overall belief system is established by age twelve.” He motioned toward a two-story brick apartment complex with barred windows. “Most of these parents—and I use the term quite loosely—are too busy smoking crack, among other things I am sure, to care where their children are.”

  The girls exchanged glances, their eyes growing wide.

  Their mother visibly tensed, her brow plummeting. “You don’t know that. There are countless reasons why families end up in poverty from job loss to illness and disability to single parenting.” A plastic bag whipped through the air, bouncing off her windshield. “Which is why we’re doing this. Right, girls?” She shot her daughters a grin through the rearview mirror. “Making no assumptions and coming with the grace of our Savior, we’re going to show these women and children that there is indeed hope in Christ.”

  Richard muttered something under his breath but Ainsley ignored him. She wasn’t interested in continuing this conversation with such a hard-hearted man. In fact, he shouldn’t even be here. Acts of goodwill her foot!

  Lord, please never let my heart grow hard. Fill me each day anew with Your love for Your prodigal sons and daughters, and let us be instruments of Your grace tonight.

  They turned left, the brick building of the shelter coming into view. Ivy climbed up its walls, making the old, gothic building look foreboding. Women with children of all ages crowded the sidewalk, waiting for the doors to open. The shelter had limited beds, offered on a first-come, first-served basis. How many families would be turned away tonight?

  Norma pulled into a fenced lot sandwiched between the shelter and a dark stone building. Two flickering street lights manned each corner and a single bulb hung above a metal door cut into the wall. Windblown plastic bags and bits of newspaper dangled from the thick strands of barbed wire lining the chain-link fence.

  Richard craned his neck, looking around. “Do you really think it’s wise to leave your vehicle here?”

  As Norma cut the engine, Ainsley scooted to the edge of her seat, ready to be out of the car and away from Richard and his negativity. “It’ll be fine.”

  Everyone piled out, gathering around the trunk.

  Richard stepped too close for Ainsley’s comfort. “You’re beautiful when you worry. Do you know that?” He raised his hand to her cheek.

  She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t. If you want to help serve, fine.” Heat flooded her face when she realized everyone else, now silent, was watching her. Even so, it needed to be said, so, lowering her voice, she continued. “But if you came to try to weasel your way back into my life, you may as well leave.”

  Awkward silence continued, making Ainsley regret her words. Or more accurately, allowing Richard to come in the first place. Norma’s cheerful voice broke the tension. “Fellas, do you want to grab the slow cookers? They’re pretty heavy.” She unlocked the trunk with a beep.

  “But be careful. They’re hot.” Ainsley moved aside to let the guys through. “At least, I hope they’re still hot.”

  Chris peered over a steaming slow cooker, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Hot enough to take the bite off the cold.”

  Richard grabbed a second slow cooker; the women carried the rest. From the looks of it, they had enough to feed an army, and yet, Ainsley still worried. This was the last place she wanted to come up short. For some of these families, this could be their first and last meal of the day. But they’d done their best with what they had, and like Amanda had said earlier, the rest was up to God.

  After offering up a quick prayer, Ainsley stacked two large containers of salad on top of one another then carried them across the lot where the others stood gathered around a metal door. She pressed a broken doorbell and waited, shivering in the cold, salad containers shoved under her chin.

  “Does the doorbell work?” Gina scrunched her neck in her jacket, teeth chattering.

  “I don’t know.” Ainsley tried again.

  “Excuse me.” Richard nudged he
r aside and kicked the door three times, waited, then kicked again.

  A moment later a woman with braided hair streaked with gray appeared. “Who are you with?”

  “Northside Youth Group, without the youth.” Ainsley offered a nervous laugh. How in the world would they pull this one off, considering none of them—not one—had ever done anything remotely like this before? Although they’d already done the hard part—cooking. But the real test would come when everyone tasted the concoction.

  The woman’s face softened and she opened the door wider. “I’m Rose.” She held out a wind-chaffed hand and closed icy fingers around Ainsley’s. Her smile revealed a mouth full of crooked teeth. “Do y’all need help?”

  Within seconds, women emerged from numerous directions, hoisting containers from their arms and disappearing with them down the hall. Ainsley and her crew followed to a large room filled with rectangular tables.

  “Kitchen’s this way.” Rose led them to an industrial-sized kitchen. A partial loaf of bread sat next to a tub of butter. On another counter freezer bags full of leftovers lay next to a tub of powdered drink mix. She gathered them up. “Guess we don’t need these. We’ll save them for Sunday.”

  What did they do for food when the leftovers ran out and volunteers failed to come?

  She turned to Chris and Richard who stood just inside the door, still holding their slow cookers. “Why don’t you plug those in, on low. That way food won’t get cold.” She glanced at the clock. “What time do we start serving?”

  “We open the doors at 6:30 for worship and the message.” Rose looked from one face to the next. “So who’s preaching?”

  Richard frowned. “What message?”

  Ainsley offered a sheepish smile. “I suppose I forgot to mention that. I thought one of the youth boys would take care of it.”

  “Doesn’t have to be fancy or nothing.” Rose grinned. “Just read one of the Psalms. Like Psalm 121 or something. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” (v. 2 KJV; paraphrase).