Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (29 page)

     The minister’s main emphasis was on honoring and respecting the government and being thankful for the freedoms they enjoyed in this country. But he did acknowledge that there were times when Christians “must obey God rather than men,” as the early disciples had told the authorities when they were arrested for preaching. “God forbid that we will ever face that in this country, but with the way some things are going, we need to be prepared.” The young pastor noted that Victorious Living Center supported missionaries and believers in other countries who faced that very test.

     Greg could see that. If someone was told he couldn’t worship Jesus or preach about him, he should definitely “obey God rather than man” and do it anyway. But did that exemption extend beyond preaching or witnessing? In the Bible, young Daniel had resisted eating the king’s rich food. And what about doctors and nurses who refused to perform abortions today?

     For some reason, Greg’s mind drifted to the brothers in Harry Bentley’s Bible study. As far as he knew, they were all patriotic Americans, but about half were African Americans and Ben was ethnically Jewish. What had “submitting to the authorities” meant for their ancestors? Would they have been right to resist evil authorities?

     Down on the platform, the minister was now praising the founders of our country for the freedoms they’d established. That was good. Greg felt a lump in his throat thinking about all that this Independence Day meant. But . . . hadn’t those revered American revolutionaries been resisting the very authorities the preacher had just said were established by God? Why was he now praising them for doing that?

     He glanced sideways at Nicole. And then there was the undercurrent of resistance Greg felt in his own home. What was his wife thinking as the minister preached about “submitting to the authorities”? Was she making any connection to their domestic situation? Was she thinking of herself as duty-bound to submit? Or was she thinking she was exempt—like the disciples, like Daniel, like the American revolutionaries?

     It was confusing, and something definitely was going on with Nicole, something he didn’t understand. But he wasn’t going to get into a debate with her about the morning’s message. They’d just have to work out their issues on a case-by-case basis.

* * * *

Greg shut down his computer and looked at his watch. Five o’clock already? “Hey, Nikki! We better get ready if we’re going up to Evanston to see the fireworks.”

     He wandered into the dining room where she was working on a photo album. “I’ll go out and put folding chairs and blankets in the car. You want me to bring the cooler in here so you can pack our picnic? Anything else you need from the garage?”

     Nicole sighed deeply. “You know what? I really don’t feel like dealing with the crowds or listening to those things boom and bang all evening. They give me a headache. Would you mind taking the kids without me?”

     Greg looked at her dumbfounded. She was the one who always wanted to spend more time together as a family. What was going on? But as he stared at her, she averted her eyes.

     “Please, Greg? I just don’t want to go. Okay?”

     “Well, maybe we should all stay home and play games or something, have our regular popcorn and ice cream floats.”

     Becky, who’d been digging in the coat closet to find the cap she’d gotten the year before, the one with stars and buttons and sparkling whirligigs, overheard him. “No, no. I don’t wanna stay home. We gotta go to the fireworks! You promised, Daddy! We go every year.”

     Nathan picked up the cry. “Yeah! You promised! I wanna go.”

     “Okay, okay. Calm down. We’ll go.” Greg turned his palms up in a helpless gesture to Nicole.

     She slowly shook her head. “Look, I’ll pack the picnic for you. I’ve got some cold chicken, and I picked up a tub of potato salad, but I just don’t want to go myself. Okay?”

     Greg shrugged. “If that’s your choice. I just thought . . .” He clamped his mouth shut. Fine. What was the use arguing about it? If she didn’t want to go, he’d take the kids himself.

* * * *

Nicole sighed deeply once Greg and the kids headed out the door. She leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. It was true, she really didn’t want to go, but she also needed to check with Lincoln Paddock about the job he’d asked her to do this week. Earlier when they’d met, he’d gone over all the details and then handed her a small black thumb drive. “Here, I downloaded the database you’ll need to use on this. Just pop it into your computer’s USB port and you’ll be good to go.”

     But when she’d gotten home and tried it, her computer could read the thumb drive well enough, but there were three database files on it, and she couldn’t tell which was the one she needed for Lincoln’s project.

     She went out onto the front porch where she could look up the street to see if Lincoln’s Town Car was still in his driveway. It was. That didn’t guarantee he was home, but it was worth a try. She ran back in and down to the basement where she pulled the thumb drive from her computer. Back upstairs, she stopped briefly in the bathroom to freshen her makeup before heading out the door.

     As Nicole walked up the street, she rehearsed to herself why she needed to see Lincoln right now. The words in her head were the defense she’d give if Greg challenged her.
I had to see Mr. Paddock because he’s the only one who could tell me which database to use, and if I waited, he might be gone tomorrow or in meetings or in court all day Tuesday.

     But why didn’t you just phone him?

     Because, he’d need to see the actual file to be sure which one I should use. Legal work is too important to leave any chance for error. What if we sent out the wrong stuff to the wrong person?

    
Then why did you stop in the bathroom to freshen your makeup?

     Nicole stopped herself. What a stupid conversation. She wasn’t defending herself in court. She wasn’t even arguing with Greg. Besides . . . a girl didn’t have to justify checking how she looked. She should always look as good as possible. Didn’t mean a thing.

     Stop it, Nicole!

     Why was she fixated on justifying herself as though she were guilty of arranging a secret rendezvous with Lincoln? That’s not what she was doing. No one was accusing her of anything. No one knew what had gone on in her head last night. Besides, what difference did it make? Greg had a great time. He even said so and without a flicker of suspicion.

     Walking up the sidewalk and around the cul-de-sac to the big house, she pressed the doorbell and heard the Westminster Chimes play inside the grand house. She waited . . . and pushed the bell again. He must not be home . . . but then the door opened, and a big smile spread across Lincoln Paddock’s face.

     “N-i-i-i-kki. Hey, didn’t expect to see you today. Wassup? As the kids say.”

     “Oh, not much really.” She pulled the thumb drive out of her pocket and held it up. “I was just having some trouble with this. I plugged it in and—”

     “Here, come on in. Where are my manners, leaving you standing on the steps.” He swung the door wide and stepped back.

     She followed him through the two-story high foyer, marveling again at the huge crystal chandelier until they stopped at the bottom of the sweeping curved staircase. “Do we need the computer, or do you want . . .?”

     She glanced up the stairs. Had he gestured that way with his head? Better take it a bit slower. “Probably the computer.” She handed him the small flash drive. “It’s just that there are three databases on the thumb drive, and I wasn’t certain which one you wanted me to use.”

     “Oh, no problem. Come on.” He beckoned her down the hall to his office with its sweeping mahogany desk, shelves of books, and iMac with its twenty-seven-inch flat screen. “Here, sit down here”—he swiveled his high-back leather chair for her—“and I’ll pop in this thumb drive.”

     He rested his hand on her shoulder, and it felt so hot, Nicole could hardly concentrate.

     “Open Finder . . . there, click on WEK-23. That’s the thumb drive. There, it’s that file right there. See? It’s got the most recent date.”

     “Okay. Sure. Guess I could’ve seen that.” She reached up and put her hand on top of his.

     “Easy to miss. There, click on the drive again to eject it.”

     A woman’s voice yelled from somewhere else in the house, perhaps upstairs. “Lincoln, where are the clean towels?”

     Nicole jumped and pulled her hand away, clasping her other hand in her lap.

     “Ha, ha!” Lincoln laughed nervously. “My holiday guest. Sometimes she can’t find her own toothbrush when it’s in her mouth.” Lincoln leaned over to pull out the thumb drive, and then stepped to the door. “Towels are in the closet to the left of the bathroom, just like always, Karen,” he yelled back.

     Nicole stood up, rolling the desk chair back so fast it bumped into Lincoln. “Well, I better go. I . . . I need to get home.” She felt herself blushing and wondered if he could see blotches on her cheeks like often happened when her color rose. She took the thumb drive without looking him in the eye and headed for the door.

     “How are the kids doin’? You guys go to the city fireworks last night?”

     “No. Greg took ’em this evening, up to Evanston.”

     “Oh, that’s great.” He followed her down the hallway toward the front door. “Hey, why didn’t you go with them? I don’t want you to get so busy with this work thing that you don’t have any time for your family.”

     She reached for the latch on the front door. “Oh, it’s not that. I just didn’t want to listen to all those booms. Thanks for the help. I’ll get right on this job.”

     She was out the door and heading down the steps when he called after her. “Not tomorrow, though. Tomorrow’s a holiday, and if you’re working for me, you have to take it off because I don’t want to pay double time.” He laughed awkwardly. “See ya, Nikki.”

     She forced herself to turn back toward him briefly. “I won’t. Thanks for the help.”

     “Should’ve offered you some coffee or something.”

     “No, that’s okay.” She turned and headed home, her face burning.

     What in the world had she done? Made a total fool of herself, that’s what.

Chapter 29

“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain . . .
”

     The words in his mind woke Greg. He knew they came from the Bible and their truth was thundering down on him. Without God’s blessing, his business was failing!

     Nicole was already up and busy elsewhere in the house as Greg swung his legs onto the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, chin in his hands. “Come on, God, don’t make a fool of me here,” he moaned. “Pastor Hanson said all I needed was to put my faith into action. Well, I’ve been ‘acting,’ but I’m beginning to feel like Noah trying to build an ark in the desert. Where’s the rain? Where’s the blessing?”

     He sighed. Today was supposed to be a holiday—Monday following the Fourth of July—but should he take the time off? It would express confidence in his business, maybe even faith in God. But he felt desperate.

     He stood up, stuffing his fears. He would take a break! Besides, what could he do that would make a difference? And his “honey-do list” of projects around the house was getting longer, not that Nicole was adding much to it lately. In fact, she’d been cutting him some slack in that department while he launched SlowBurn. He should thank her. Still, the water heater needed replacing. The gutters were so clogged the last heavy rain had cascaded down the side of the house like Buckingham Fountain. And there were half a dozen other projects that needed attention.

     He’d start with the gutters. Then maybe he’d go to Home Depot and order a new water heater—if it was open on the holiday. And depending on how much it’d cost. He might have to just keep relighting it till they got back on their feet.

     After breakfast, Greg set up the ladder near the front corner of the house and was halfway up when he noticed Destin Jasper walking past on the sidewalk. He scrambled down and called, “Hey, Destin. Hold up a minute.” He’d just check on—no, encourage him a little.

     Destin waited for him to catch up. “How you doin’, Mr. Singer?”

     “I’m good, but how’re you doin’?” Greg noticed Destin didn’t seem able to look him in the eye. Maybe he should say something about that to the young man. You can’t be good at sales if people don’t trust you, and people don’t trust someone who looks away or down or gives the impression they’d rather be anywhere else than with you. “How was that basketball camp you went to last week?”

     Destin cleared his throat. “Oh, the camp was good. Got some good instruction.” He smiled and finally looked at Greg. “Got an award for Best Post-Up Moves.”

     “Get out!” Greg said playfully and bumped knuckles with the kid. “Does that mean you got recruited to one of the Big Ten?”

     Destin chuckled self-consciously and looked down again. “Not really, but . . . a couple of scouts did take the time to talk to me.”

     “That’s great. Absolutely on schedule for getting you a scholarship.” Now that he’d given the kid a little encouragement, it was time to check up on business. “I bet after gettin’ an award and all, the guys were wondering what you were chuggin’ that gave you all those hot moves, right? You sell a lot of SlowBurn to the other guys?”

     Destin looked off down the street with a thousand-yard stare. “Wasn’t able to do that.”

     “What do you mean? How much did you sell?”

     Destin looked back at him, a defiant glint in his eye. “Mr. Singer, I didn’t make a penny. When the coaches saw me tryin’ to sell those cans of SlowBurn, they confiscated every one of ’em on the spot like I was tryin’ to peddle drugs and told me one more infraction of the rules and I’d be outta there. I never saw any rule about that. Believe me, Mr. Singer. I wasn’t meanin’ to break any rules, but . . . it just didn’t work out.”