Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “I know that’s right!” A woman with stringy black hair hanging over bony shoulders entered the kitchen carrying a ten-quart juice container. “My help cometh from the Lord, the maker of the heavens and the earth” (v. 2 KJV; paraphrase).

  The two women burst out in song, “We’ll be standing on the mountaintop, looking out upon the valley. You carried me. Father, You carried me.”

  Ainsley giggled and turned to Gina. “Would you mind stirring the meat a bit while it reheats? I’m going to get my guitar.”

  Chris rushed to her side. “And I’ll get mine.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You play?” She’d seen a second guitar in the van but assumed it belonged to one of Norma’s girls.

  “I dabble.”

  “When did you . . .”

  “Gina said you’d be playing. I told her I did too. She said you might feel more comfortable if one of us went up with you, so I grabbed my guitar back at your house when all you females were taking turns with your bathroom.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Right.” They walked side-by-side to the van.

  “So, how long have you been playing?”

  She retrieved her instrument from the trunk of Norma’s van. “Since I was twelve. At one time I thought I wanted to be the next Amy Grant.”

  “There’s always time.” He grabbed his case and slung it over his shoulder. “Guess tonight will be our first duet, huh?”

  Ainsley smiled, her heart giving a little jump. When they reached the shelter entrance, he opened the door and held it for her. “If you’re ever interested, I’d love to have you come play at the café sometime.”

  “I didn’t know you had live music.”

  “We don’t, yet, but it’s on my list.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”

  They returned to the kitchen to find Richard leaning against a counter, scowling. Gina hovered over three slow cookers, vigorously stirring the bubbling meat. The compact kitchen smelled of garlic, tangy beef, and fresh brewed coffee. It set Ainsley’s mouth watering, reminding her it’d been a while since her last meal.

  She propped her guitar against the wall and crossed the kitchen, breathing deeply of the spicy, sweet aroma.

  Voices floated in from the other room. Ainsley peered into the cafeteria. Women and children milled around tables, gathering in packs of fours and fives. Her breath caught, and, palms pressed together, she brought the tips of her fingers to her mouth. Was that . . . ?

  Yes! Sitting near a far table with her shoulder’s hunched, head drooped forward, sat Wanda, the battered woman from the apartment. Her son sat beside her with the same down- trodden posture. He wore a pale green sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head. Every once in a while, he’d glance up, scan his surroundings, then stare at his hands again. Poor kid. But at least he and his mom had found a safe place. For tonight.

  “Showtime, folks.” Grinning, Rose poked her head through the doorway. “Y’all ready?”

  Ainsley nodded, swallowing hard. She glanced at Gina who shot her a wink.

  Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. “Surely you’re not nervous, my princess.”

  Ainsley turned to Chris. “Shall we?”

  He nodded and followed her down the center aisle toward a small, black podium in front of the cafeteria. Three wooden stools of alternate height lined the far wall. She pulled one forward. It wobbled on uneven legs. She returned it and tried the second one. Chris followed suit and settled on a stool beside her.

  He held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes sending a flutter through her heart and heat to her cheeks. She quickly glanced away, scanning the crowd for Wanda and her son. Upon making eye contact, she smiled. Would she get a chance to talk with them later? What would she say? That she thought about them constantly, prayed for them daily?

  Richard sat at the far end of the room at an empty table, back rod straight, arms crossed. Gina sat beside him. She smiled and gave Ainsley a thumbs-up sign.

  Ainsley cleared her throat. Lord, this one’s for You. Please, overcome my insecurities, for their sake. Love these women through me today.

  She turned to Chris. “‘You’ll never leave Me’? In G?”

  He nodded then awaited her lead.

  Ainsley strummed her guitar and let the softly played chords envelope her. Wanda watched her intently, her fingers twined and pressed to her mouth. Tears shone in her eyes. She reached for her son’s fisted hand, placed hers upon it. He visibly relaxed and leaned into her. Lifting his head, he centered his gaze on Ainsley.

  Her voice cracked as intense emotion swept through her, nearly stealing her breath. It was as if God was loving them through her. And in that moment, she felt more alive than she had in some time, if ever.

  Chapter 27

  insley swept cookie crumbs into her hand while a group of giggling children scampered between the tables. Unfortunately, William and his mother weren’t among them. Had they come for the meal only? Or had they sought shelter, only to find the beds already assigned? Oh, Lord Jesus, please watch over Wanda and her son. Hold them tonight. Keep them warm. And fed.

  A woman with frizzy red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail approached, looking from the floor to Ainsley’s face. “That was a great meal, thank you.” An infant dressed in soiled pajamas squirmed in her arms.

  “My pleasure.” Ainsley stroked the baby’s cheek, a lump lodging in her throat. “You have a beautiful little girl.”

  The woman’s eyes moistened. “Thanks.”

  “Assignments!”

  Startled, Ainsley turned to see Rose standing at the front of the room holding a clipboard.

  “Sammy, you’ve got the downstairs bathroom. Tiffany, the hallway . . .”

  As she continued assigning tasks, women scurried in different directions. Some wiped tables, others gathered leftover food items, while others carried brooms and mops down the hall. Meanwhile, the children ran about the cafeteria, playing with one another and laughing.

  Ainsley hoisted a slow cooker with leftover sloppy joe mixture and heaved it into the kitchen. Richard’s narrowed gaze followed her, though he made no move to help. He appeared much too busy throwing visual daggers at Chris, who, as usual, didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  Gina came in carrying an empty salad bowl. “I’d say we were a hit.” Her eyes danced. “Great music, inspiring message, and halfway decent food.”

  Ainsley placed the slow cooker on the counter. “I’m just glad there was enough.”

  A woman, with spiked gray hair and feather earrings, wearing a gray sweatshirt entered carrying a tray topped with half a dozen cookies. “What do you want us to do with the leftovers?”

  Two women at the industrial sink, elbow deep in soap suds, spun around, and the kitchen went quiet as a dozen eyes looked her way.

  Ainsley swallowed. Such hope for a few morsels of food many Americans threw away. “We’ll leave them.”

  The silence broke into cheerful chatter. The women scampered around the kitchen, filling plastic storage bags with food.

  “Save that juice!” An older brunette pointed a long, curved nail toward one of the near empty slow cookers. “That’s some good juice right there.”

  Agreement sounded and women dashed into the storage area, reappearing with more ziplock bags.

  A large woman with long, silver-streaked hair and jaundiced-looking skin wrapped the remaining cookies in a napkin. “Some of the ladies are at work. They’ll like this. Yes, indeed, that was a fine meal.”

  Chris approached carrying a stained rag. Richard was close behind, his entire body visibly tense. Planting himself in the doorway, his narrowed gaze followed Chris’s every move. Ainsley rolled her eyes. To think she once found him charming. Once again, she thanked God for His guidance and protection.

  After wiping down the stovetop and a counter, Chris dropped his rag in a sudsy tub and faced Ainsley. “Gotta job for me?”

  The woman at the sink spun around, lather splattering across the floor and counters. “I want a job.�
�

  Ainsley’s heart ached. She and Chris exchanged glances.

  He turned to the woman, eyes soft. “No, I’m looking for a job, to help clean up.”

  The woman’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.” She returned to washing dishes.

  Rose entered a moment later, still clutching her clipboard. “Thank you for coming. The ladies really appreciated it.”

  Ainsley studied the women in the kitchen, a lump lodging in her throat. A desire to do more than fill their bellies welled within. Sometimes life cut deep. She couldn’t fix these ladies’ problems but she could point them to the God who would carry them through. “I’d like to come back.”

  Chris nodded. “Me too.”

  Rose smiled. Her charcoal eyes sparkled as if they’d just offered her a new Mercedes. “Come with me.” She led Ainsley and Chris through the cafeteria; the narrow hallway, and into a small, cluttered office. Bible verses printed on thin sheets of paper dangled from tacks on the wall and odd little knick knacks covered the desk. An orange troll with green hair stood on the top right corner of an archaic computer screen.

  Chris leaned against the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Ainsley sat on the edge of a metal folding chair.

  Rose grabbed a paper calendar off the wall and placed it in front of Ainsley, then handed her a pencil. “When do you wanna come?”

  She skimmed the sheet in front of her, numerous days unfilled. “When do you need us?”

  Rose laughed. “Girl, we always need warm bodies to come in here.”

  Chris stepped forward, carrying with him the faintest scent of spiced cedar. “Monday’s work best for me.”

  A nervous flutter filled Ainsley’s stomach, and she lowered her gaze.

  Rose looked at each of them in turn, a hint of a smile tugging on her lips. “Perfect. We’re always shorthanded at the beginning of the week. What was your name again?”

  “Chris. Chris Langley.”

  Rose jotted down his name then looked at Ainsley. “What about you, Miss . . . ?”

  “Ainsley. Meadows.”

  “Ah, I like that. Makes me think of a field of flowers in spring.” She grinned. “Monday work for you?”

  “I . . . Uh . . .” Ainsley straightened. She glanced at Chris, blushed beneath his lingering gaze, then looked away. “Sure. Monday’s fine.” The words tumbled out, leaving her wringing her hands as the flutter in her stomach increased.

  “Well then.” Rose extended her hand, shaking first with Chris then Ainsley. “I’ll see you both Monday. And bring your guitars, if you don’t mind. Y’all play so beautifully together.”

  Ainsley nodded and started to rise, then settled back in her seat. “A woman and her son came tonight—named Wanda and William. Do you know them?”

  Rose tapped her pen against the palm of her hand. “Hmm . . . Can’t say I do.” She picked up and studied her clipboard. Flipped the page, then another, before returning it to her desk. “Don’t have them listed. But we get a lotta folks comin’ here. Some come to eat, others hoping for a bed. Once we fill up.” She shrugged. “I wish I could shelter them all. The fact is, I can’t.”

  Ainsley nodded then stood, lingering a moment longer before slipping silently out. In the hall, a toddler sat strapped in a stroller tucked against the wall. She reached out a chubby hand as Ainsley passed, her high-pitched squeal echoing through the hall.

  Ainsley chuckled and stroked the baby’s cheek. “Aren’t you a bottle of sunshine?” The skin beneath the baby’s nose was red and cracked. Dried snot covered the edge of her nostrils and streaked across her rosy cheeks. She wore tattered and food-stained pajamas, her bare feet sticking from cut openings on the bottom of each leg. Where was the child’s mother?

  Chris stopped beside her. “Children are such precious gifts.”

  “Who are you?”

  Ainsley turned as a woman with long, tangled hair emerged from a nearby bathroom. She carried a mop in one hand and pushed a wheeled bucket with the other. She twitched when she walked like a detoxing addict.

  “I’m Ainsley, and this is Chris.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

  The woman pushed her bucket against the wall and plopped the mop in it. “Who’s asking?” The skin above her thin eyebrows creased. “You from the CIA?”

  Ainsley and Chris exchanged glances. Either drugs saturated the woman’s brain or she suffered from schizophrenia.

  “No, we’re not from the CIA.” Ainsley spoke as if coaxing a timid child. “We’re from . . . Well, I’m from Northside Community of Christ.”

  The woman’s shoulders relaxed. “You’re an angel, then. Just like Miss Rose.”

  Ainsley’s heart gave a tug. “Not angels. Just believers in Christ who long to share God’s love with others.”

  “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life. For God demonstrated his love for us in this, that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” The woman spoke fast, hardly pausing for air. “For I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with loving kindness. Sing to the Lord a new song, praise his name in the congregation of his saints.” Verse after verse spilled from her mouth without pause. When finished, she leaned forward, face red, as if she’d used every last ounce of air, then sucked in a loud breath.

  Chris chuckled. “Wow, that’s a lot of great Scripture.”

  “For the word of God is living and active, sharper than a double edged sword, dividing soul and spirit.” She popped off four more verses, her face growing even redder than before. Halfway through her fifth verse, someone cleared their throat and Ainsley turned to see Richard standing beside her, frowning

  He glanced from Chris to Ainsley. “Are we ready to leave?” A tendon in his jaw twitched.

  “I . . .” She looked at the baby again, wondering if she should wheel her into Rose’s office. Before she could, a tall, blonde woman dressed in flannel pants and a baggy T-shirt tromped down the stairs and to the stroller.

  “Hey.” She looked from Ainsley to Chris then continued on down the hall, pushing the baby with her.

  As Ainsley watched them leave, her heart completely overwhelmed by all she’d seen and experienced that night. Loss, pain, hope, love, God’s provision and grace poured out on these women. On these precious children. She couldn’t imagine a baby living on the streets. That didn’t happen, did it? And yet, she knew it did. According to an article she’d read, the average age for a homeless person was nine. Fourth grade. She couldn’t image. The problem seemed insurmountable.

  Lord, show me what I can do!

  With a heavy sigh, she turned toward the cafeteria. A woman with long, gray hair swept while two younger women wiped down tables. Behind them, two more folded the tables and shoved them against the far wall.

  She nodded. “Seems they’ve got everything under control.”

  Gina stood in the center of the room surrounded by a handful of children. She glanced up, caught Ainsley’s gaze, and winked.

  “Would you fellas mind gathering up our dishes while I round up Gina?”

  “I’m all over it.” Chris disappeared into the kitchen.

  Once Chris left, Richard turned to Ainsley with a scowl. “There’s something unsettling about that guy.”

  “Not now.”

  “I don’t like the way he looks at you. It’s not right. Be careful.”

  “You’ve read one too many neuropathology books.”

  “Just be careful,” He repeated. “And remember how many people Ted Bundy fooled with his charming smile.”

  “Seriously, Richard, you need to join the real world once in a while. Not everyone’s a sociopath.”

  “Not everyone’s altruistic either.” His phone chimed and he pulled it from his front pocket. “Excuse me.”

  “Gladly.”

  Singing drifted from the cafeteria, Chris’s low voice audible over the others.

  Her heart warmed as
she thought of him standing over the toddler tucked in the stroller. The look in his eyes had been so tender.

  Could a man fake compassion? She remembered all the afternoons she waited in vain for her father to call—the man who once called her his little angel. Yes, a man could, and love for that matter.

  It’d be easier, and safer, to avoid romance all together. She’d be like those old women in the movies with lots of cats, books piled on every surface, and cobwebs clinging to every corner.

  Chris carried the last slow cooker to Norma’s van. He glanced at Richard who rested against the side of the vehicle, phone in hand, apparently glued to the door. Quite the servant. He’d gone from sitting in a far corner, scowling, to standing in the parking lot while everyone else worked double-time.

  His heart warmed as an image of Ainsley standing over the snot-faced toddler, eyes radiating with love, came to mind. She and this guy were Sun and Moon from each other. Or perhaps, Sun and Pluto was a more accurate analogy. Ainsley’s light shone so bright, it brought smiles to everyone she encountered. Except for Richard. He hadn’t smiled once, other than the lip-stretching attempt he gave Rose on occasion. Maybe Ainsley’s servant heart would soften the guy. Either that or he’d snuff the life from her.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel as Ainsley and Gina exited the shelter, chattering. Rose stood in the opened doorway.

  Her shoulder rested against the silver metal, her body acting as a doorstop. “Thanks again for coming.” She flicked a wave. “And Chris and Ainsley, I’ll see you Monday.”

  Chris gave a thumbs-up sign. “Looking forward to it.”

  Richard slipped his cell phone in his pocket, shoulders pulled back as if trying to appear larger than his willow branch five feet nine. He glowered at Chris before turning to Ainsley with narrowed eyes. “What’s that about?”

  Ainsley frowned. “Serving.” Her tone was clipped. Crossing her arms, she turned her back to him and stared at the shelter entrance. Richard’s scowl deepened, and he shifted his gaze to Chris, looking like a testosterone-loaded teenager itching for a fight. Chris suppressed a smile. Nice try, man, but I have no interest in masculinity wars.