The Lights of Tenth Street

by Shaunti Feldhahn

  He looked at the clock on the dashboard and sped up a little. If he missed this plane, the new deal would go south and she’d see even less of him.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of the airport. He dragged his bags out of the SUV and set them on the sidewalk. Sherry slowly climbed down from the passenger side and gave him a tremulous smile.

  “Sorry I made you late.”

  “That’s okay, honey.” He gave her a quick kiss. “As long as the security checkpoints aren’t too bad I should be okay.”

  “Call me as soon as you get there.”

  “I will. Pray for my flight.”

  “I will.”

  He walked toward the nearest entrance, then looked back over his shoulder and mouthed I love you.

  She didn’t see him. A policeman was urging her to move along. She climbed into the driver’s seat and slowly pulled away.

  Doug walked into the terminal, feeling alone.

  Sherry merged with the traffic, emptiness swamping her. She had so looked forward to having her husband all to herself for a solid hour or two. What on earth had gone wrong? Maybe it was too much to expect, that Doug would ever be able to relax and connect during a preflight rush.

  A decrepit car with one taillight missing swerved in front of her, barely missing her bumper. Sherry stomped on her brakes, then leaned on the horn. Someone in the backseat of the car turned around and made an obscene gesture. Sherry watched as the old vehicle turned off at the next exit and sped onto a rundown street, tires squealing. Why did some people think they owned the road? She would never treat anyone like that!

  The rest of the midday traffic was well-behaved as Sherry merged onto the main highway and headed north through downtown Atlanta. Her eye was drawn to a billboard that advertised a local church’s Christmas show: Bring the whole family!

  She gave the sign a sad smile. Doug wouldn’t be back for their church’s Christmas show this weekend. He had explained to Genna that he couldn’t get back from California in time, and the four-year-old had seemed to understand. But as Sherry had watched her daughter prance around the house in her little angel costume, her heart ached at what her husband was missing.

  And it wasn’t just the time away from his family. Sherry wanted him to be happy in his work, not exhausted, not stressed. She remembered his delight in his first job out of business school, how he whistled in the shower on Monday mornings. Now, he was quiet and withdrawn on Sunday evenings, thinking about what was coming in a few hours.

  They had a great house, two beautiful cars; the kids were in their church’s expensive Christian school … and it wasn’t worth it.

  She drove around a curve, and another billboard jumped out at her. This one was larger, emblazoned with the name of a gentleman’s club and a woman in a suggestive pose.

  Ugh. Who would go into one of those places? They were dirty, in run-down neighborhoods, and reeking of alcohol. She glanced again at the woman’s smoky-eyed picture as she sped by. What kind of person would do that sort of thing?

  A moment later, Sherry let out a sigh. Who was she to ask that question? Before her life was transformed, she hadn’t exactly been an angel. She had grieved God’s heart many, many times. Why was it that a decade of distance made it difficult for her to remember that? It was as if those memories were pictures of a whole different person—a whole different life that she could somehow judge from afar.

  She sat up straighter in her seat. Those memories were of a whole different person—in a way. She was a new creation.

  Her voice was small in the gently humming car. “Thank You, God, for reaching out to me, for transforming me. Thank You for giving me this wonderful husband and family. Please, please forgive me for my snippy attitude.” She gave a snort, annoyed with herself. “I’m probably overanalyzing everything again, like always. Lord, help me leave it in Your hands and not be so stressed. Help me learn how to be the wife that Doug needs me to be.”

  Her mind went to the decrepit car and to the woman on the billboard, and she sighed. “And help me love the unlovable as You do.”

  SEVEN

  Hey, Jordan.” Doug set his laptop case on the tiled floor of the vast foyer and shook hands with his boss.

  “Glad you made it. Your phone call about gave me a heart attack. I thought you were going to miss your flight.”

  “I nearly did. Had a problem getting out of the house, and then getting through security nearly torpedoed the whole thing. I ran up to the gate just as they were closing the doors.”

  “Been there.” Jordan smirked. “I’ve had a few of those getting-out-of-the-house problems, too. Probably why I’ve been divorced twice. Well, time to go make money.”

  Jordan picked up his briefcase and walked toward a transparent wall that separated the foyer from a large office area. Doug could see frenetic activity in the cubicles beyond, harried people carrying papers and equipment, lots of people on the phone.

  Jordan paused just shy of the office entrance. “I know you’ve never been here before—have you met the principals yet?”

  Doug shook his head. “I only took over the deal after one of the managers went on maternity leave a few weeks ago.”

  “Maternity leave is the pits, isn’t it? Makes you want to tell ’em to not bother taking the job if they’re just going to leave for three months.”

  Maybe that’s the reason you’ve been divorced twice, you bozo.

  “Well, just remember that we’ve put a lot of time and effort into building this relationship.”

  “Jordan, I’m not going to eat them.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “Look, I’ll give it a fair hearing, chief. I really will. I know you want this deal, and that they want this partnership. I’ll do everything I can to find a way to structure it so that it works financially.”

  “Fair enough.” Jordan chuckled. “With you, that’s all I can ask.”

  He led the way into the office teeming with ringing telephones, raucous chatter, and clattering carts laden with equipment. Doug followed his boss around the edge of the large room, heading toward an open staircase. He resisted the urge to plug his ears.

  They climbed the gently circling staircase to a catwalk that overlooked the clamor. Doug shook his head. He would go stark raving mad in this environment, but some people must thrive on it. There was no way he could live in Silicon Valley.

  The catwalk led to a second-floor suite of elegant executive offices, visible behind another transparent wall. They stepped inside and shut the door behind them. Doug looked around the quiet waiting area and let out a sigh of relief.

  He heard a chuckle from a nearby doorway.

  “Gets to you, doesn’t it?” A rotund man with a ready smile stepped forward, hand outstretched.

  “Gavin Gilmore, I’d like you to meet Doug Turner, our CFO,” Jordan said.

  “Just call me Gil. Welcome, both of you.” He shook Doug’s hand, then led them toward a conference room. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ll let you get settled in, and we’ll get our executive team in here in a few minutes.”

  He looked at Jordan and paused, hesitating. “Jordan, I haven’t told you—I was sorry to hear about your brother.”

  “Thank you. It was for the best, really. He’d been sick a long time.”

  “Hmm.” Gil made a noncommittal noise in his throat, picking his words carefully. “So … you’re running the company on your own now, correct?”

  “Correct. But we have the same management team, same board of directors, same company structure.” His eyes flickered for a moment. “The board feels it’s important to demonstrate consistency.”

  “Ah. Well. Just wanted to know the new lay of the land before we got started.” Gil headed out the door, then poked his head back in. “Want anything to drink? Coffee? Coke?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  Gil’s head disappeared, and Doug could hear his voice outside the door, presumably talking to his secretary, asking her to
round up both the coffee and the leadership team.

  Doug raised an eyebrow, pondering Gil’s question. The man’s affable attitude was deceiving—he was more astute than many of their contacts. Most didn’t realize how much was subtly changing under Jordan’s solo management.

  Ten minutes later, the small conference room was full, neat white briefing reports in front of each chair.

  Gil was seated at the head of the table. “Well, Doug, we’ve spent a few months fleshing out the options from our end, and we also know what your company can bring to the table. Now we have to see if we can afford what you’re suggesting, and vice versa. As much as we want this deal, we all know it needs to be a win-win for both sides. So we’ve put together all the partnership proposals for our different departments; defense contracting, telecommunications, and so on. Our department heads will give you the rundown.”

  He turned to the only woman at the table. “So, Jill, let’s start with satellite systems.”

  “Sure.” The redhead stood up and walked toward the whiteboard on the wall. She was wearing a slim jacket and stylish, but short skirt, and no wedding ring.

  Uh-oh. Doug’s eyes narrowed. He felt the familiar tightening in his gut. He forced himself to look away briefly and took a subtle breath. He looked back as she began her presentation, briskly laying out the various options. She turned from marking on the whiteboard to look at him from time to time, explaining what their department proposed.

  She’s not as pretty as Sherry. He wanted to glance at her legs, and forced himself to stare at her face.

  She made a joke and briefly smiled in his direction. He could feel his ego stirring. She knows that I’m the key man here. And I’m in better shape than these middle-aged guys she works with.

  He broke the eye contact and looked down at his yellow pad, scribbling a few notes, forcing his mind in another direction. If their margin is so small that pricing structure wouldn’t work …

  By the time her presentation wound up, he had pages full of notes and fifteen minutes of battling the subtle thoughts that fought for his attention.

  If the GPS package is two hundred thousand, then we may have to outsource. Does she find me attractive? Stop it. Concentrate on the numbers.

  Their testing schedule won’t allow enough time. I bet I’m a better husband and father than whatever guy she’s dating … Cut it out. What was that product timeline?

  Look at her face, look at her face, look at her face …

  As she turned and walked back to her seat, he snuck a swift peek at the view. He forced his eyes away and swiveled his chair toward Gil.

  “So, Doug, any questions?”

  “Nope.” He scribbled a last few notes, hoping he hadn’t missed any key facts. “I want to hear all the presentations before I start trying to contradict your numbers.”

  Low chuckles sounded around the room.

  “Fair enough.” Gil gestured to the man sitting next to Jordan, and he walked over to the whiteboard and erased Jill’s scribblings.

  Doug found his eyes flickering in her direction. She was sitting back in her chair like every other executive, waiting for her colleague’s presentation.

  Doug wrenched his attention back to the man at the whiteboard outlining a defense-industry proposal in a low monotone.

  Doug stifled a yawn and reached for his coffee, very aware of Jill’s presence down the table.

  Sherry poked her head out the door of the church pantry, checking on the kids for the fifth time. The half-dozen rambunctious youngsters hadn’t burned down the playground yet. Thankfully, a teenage girl appeared to have the madness under control.

  As Sherry stepped back inside the small room, one of the other volunteers broke off from a conversation and glanced at her from beyond a shelf of canned goods.

  “Everything still okay?”

  “All limbs still attached,” Sherry said as she returned to cataloging the latest holiday contributions.

  The questioner turned back to her sorting job and her conversation with another volunteer. “So anyway, I just think they’re embarrassed. I doubt either of them will come back.”

  “What a shame.” The second woman’s voice was clear, although she was out of sight behind several food racks. “You’d think one of them would want to come. It’s a shame for both to lose their church and all their friends.”

  “Especially during a custody battle. How dreadful.”

  Sherry worked silently, torn between a desire to eavesdrop and her annoyance at the women’s gossiping.

  The second woman continued. “Pastor tried to talk them out of it but they were bound and determined. So they’d probably just feel guilty if they did come back.”

  “Awful, just awful. It’s reaching epidemic proportions. You know, I just found out that the Silvertons were divorced, too.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. It’s the second marriage for both of them. You know, I really wonder whether it’s appropriate to have him on the worship team.”

  There was a pause, then Sherry heard the second woman continue her sorting of food cans. “You know, I never thought of that, but it’s a good point. Are we condoning divorce if we place a divorced man in a leadership position?”

  “It’s not like he’s a pastor, of course, but still.”

  “Well … then again, there could’ve been good reasons for their earlier divorce, biblical reasons. Maybe his former spouse cheated on him. If that’s the case, you certainly wouldn’t want to limit the poor man.”

  “I imagine the worship director must’ve taken that into consideration.”

  “If he even knows.”

  Sherry saw the first woman straighten, a jar of peanut butter in her hand. “I wonder if he does know. Not many people do. I would hope the Silvertons would have told him privately, but maybe not.”

  “Well, you know the worship director best. Why don’t you quietly pull him aside one Sunday and ask? That way you don’t stir up a fuss, but you check to see whether we need to address the issue.”

  Sherry finished her cataloging and wove her way across the small food pantry, clipboard in hand.

  “Melanie, those boxes are done. Anything else?”

  The second woman stood up from her chair and stretched, smiling. “Thanks so much, dear. It looks like we’re almost finished. You’re very sweet to volunteer today.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance before. It’s certainly an important cause.” Sherry looked across the shelves and boxes. They weren’t exactly sagging under their load. “Will this be enough food?”

  “I’d imagine so. We generally don’t have a flood of direct requests after all; we usually just hook up with an inner-city ministry that needs the holiday contributions, and they take care of actually getting the food to the people that need it. Much more efficient.”

  The door opened, and all three women turned as a young man shuffled in. Sherry wrinkled her nose at the rank smell.

  Melanie set down the clipboard and moved forward. “Can I help you?”

  The man turned his glassy eyes toward her, and Sherry noticed that Melanie flinched back from his breath.

  His voice was sluggish. “I need food and stuff. I saw your church from the street.” He looked slowly around the room packed with cans and supplies. “Your office folks said you was back here.”

  Melanie pulled a sheet off the clipboard. “Before we can give you anything from the pantry, we need to get your name and contact information.”

  The man took an unsteady step back, his voice belligerent. “Why?”

  “Because we like to know who we’re helping.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then began spelling his name in a too-loud voice. “And I don’t have no home address right now.”

  “Okay,” Melanie jotted the information down. “We can give you a bag of canned goods, if that will help.”

  He just stared at her with his glassy eyes. Clearly disconcerted, she put her hands on her hips
.

  “Will that help you?” Another pause. “Sir, you are drunk. Maybe it’s best if you take a couple of hours to—”

  “I need a place to stay, too.”

  “We, ah, we don’t have a ministry like that. We can refer you to a church that does, a few miles away.”

  “I don’t have no car.”

  Melanie looked at the other two women, flustered. “Well, we don’t offer a shuttle service, sir. You can probably walk there in less than an hour.” She moved to a small cabinet and pulled out a brochure. “There’s a map right here. You just walk straight down Tenth Street out front, and turn right at the second light. It’s another mile and a half down. You can’t miss it.”

  The man took the brochure and squinted at it, standing still in the middle of the room. When he hadn’t moved a full minute later, Melanie began bustling around the room arranging a sack of groceries for him.

  Sherry sidled up next to her as she set a stack of canned vegetables into a grocery bag. Sherry kept her voice low.

  “If he doesn’t have a car, how is he going to carry that big bag three miles?”

  Melanie swiveled around. “Sir, how much food would you like?”

  He looked up, his face vague. “Maybe just some peanut butter and bread. I like peanut butter and bread. They may let me keep it at this shelter.”

  “Oh, sir …” Melanie hesitated, and then quickly loaded the rest of the bag, adding an extra jar of peanut butter and setting a fresh loaf of bread on the top. She hefted the bag and placed it into the drunken man’s arms. Melanie wrinkled her nose in distaste, but duty called.

  “Sir, I’m going to drive you over there. It’ll only take me five minutes.”

  She stepped back, screwing up her courage to brave the man’s smell, and then ushered him out the door, glancing backward with a roll of her eyes before the door closed.

  The first volunteer looked at Sherry in astonishment. “Good heavens. That’s something you don’t see every day!”

  Sherry stared in the direction Melanie had gone. “Good for her. It was the right thing to do.”

  “I guess. I don’t know. I’m of a mind that people have to be willing to stop drinking and taking drugs and get themselves on a good track first, or we risk aiding and abetting their habits. Otherwise, if we give them food, they’ll take the money they would’ve spent on food and use it for drugs instead. That’s not a good idea.”