by Dave Jackson
The man gave him a firm handshake. “Jared Jasper. This is my wife, Michelle, and our son, Destin.” The man was a bit taller than Greg, solidly built, hair cut close, wore wire-rim glasses. Mrs. Jasper nodded toward the Bentley’s two-flat. “Did you know Mrs. Krakowski when she lived here, Mr. Singer?”
“Hey, just call me Greg. No, didn’t really know the old lady. I’m gone a lot with my job. But according to my wife, the new people who bought her house invited us to come tonight. Friendly folks, aren’t they?”
“Uh-huh. You travel a lot?” Jared asked. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Event coordinator for Powersports Expos. You’ve probably heard—”
“Powersports?” The man’s teenage son spoke up. “What’s that?”
Greg smiled. What a job! It was as good a conversation starter as if he’d been a pro-basketball player—a dream that had died when he stopped growing at five-eight. “We do shows featuring sports vehicles all around the Midwest, though this time of year it’s mostly boat shows. Say, you two got any interest in fishing boats, jet skis, stuff like that? Maybe you’d like to come to our next event. Gonna be down at Burnham Harbor, June 3 through 6.” He winked at the son. “It’ll be our biggest show this season. I might be able to get you and your dad a ride on a cigarette boat. What would you think of—”
Before either of them could answer, someone shouted, “Here they come!” and almost everyone turned to watch a pair of headlights cruising slowly up the street.
But it was the comment of a man behind Greg that got his attention.
“If you ask me, I think she could bring a great lawsuit against the city for what happened. You do pro bono, don’t you, Mr. Paddock?”
Chapter 5
As the old Chevy passed the gathering of neighbors and turned around in the cul-de-sac at the north end of the block, Greg glanced over his shoulder to see who’d been talking about a lawsuit against the city. It was one of “Danny’s dads” talking to the businessman who’d built “Housezilla” at the end of the street, making Beecham Street look like an English lane leading up to the great manor house. Greg chuckled. By comparison, his small brick bungalow and the others on the block seemed like peasant housing. How did that guy get three lots across the end of the street for his estate?
He casually joined the two men. “You an attorney?” he asked the tall man in the trim black suit, white shirt casually open at the neck. Greg reflected that he could’ve looked just as sharp if he hadn’t changed. “Thought you ran a limo company. I see your Town Cars from time to time.”
The man gave him a bland smile. “That’s right. Lincoln Limo, but it’s just for pickin’ up the babes.” He grinned wryly as he extended his hand. “I’m an attorney most of the time. Lincoln Paddock.” He turned to introduce the other man. “And this is . . . sorry, but your name slips me.”
“Tim Mercer. We live next door.” He jerked a thumb at Paddock.
Greg shook hands with both men. “I’m Greg Singer. We’re at the other end of the block.” He turned to include Jared Jasper in the conversation, but by then Jared and his son had stepped away, greeting other people.
The Chevy pulled up to the curb and stopped. A lanky man came around to help old Mattie Krakowski out of the passenger side. As soon as he stabilized her with his offered arm, she gazed up at the two-flat, windows ablaze with light in the fading twilight, as though recalling a lifetime of memories. Greg wanted to ask what Mercer had meant about a lawsuit, but just then a lovely soprano voice began singing, “Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? . . .”
“Here.” Tim Mercer thrust a sheet of paper between Greg and Lincoln. “The words.”
As the old lady advanced up the candlelit walk, she stopped every few steps and peered around at the chorus of neighbors as if she couldn’t believe her rheumy eyes. When the song finally ended, several people shouted, “Welcome home, Mrs. Krakowski!” as Harry and Estelle Bentley escorted their new renter up the steps to the newly remodeled first floor apartment.
Once she’d gone inside, everyone stood in silence as if they didn’t want to break the spell. Across the small gathering, Greg sighted Nicole. At least she’d made it in time, and like several others in the group, she was wiping a tear from her eyes.
“Now that was nice,” said Tim Mercer, breaking the silence. “Good on her.” He seemed genuinely moved.
“Oh yeah.” Greg turned. “Hey, what were you were saying about the old lady having a good case against the city? What for?”
“Well, I’m no attorney.” Tim glanced self-consciously at Paddock. “But it seemed to me the city might have incurred some liability when they failed to clear our street that day after the big snow. And when the city ambulance people couldn’t make it in here, they just gave up and drove away. Mrs. Krakowski could’ve died in that basement when she fell.”
“They left her there?” Greg couldn’t recall the incident. Maybe he’d been out of town.
“Yeah. And nobody could get ’em to come back until later when Farid over there plowed a lane down the sidewalk with his pickup.”
“Wow. I see what you mean. What do you think, Lincoln?”
The man shrugged. “Well, she might have a case, but it’s usually not that simple.” He stopped as if not wanting to offer any more of an opinion.
Greg arched his eyebrows. “Why not? I knew this man who went to Cook County Hospital with blood clots in his leg. For some reason he got overlooked and lay on a gurney in the hallway for three hours without any care. One of the blood clots broke loose and caused a stroke before anyone responded to him. He has some permanent impairment—not bad—but he won a three-million-dollar lawsuit over it.”
“Oh, it happens, but it could take several years of litigation.” Paddock gestured toward the two-flat. “Think she wants to spend the end of her life going to court over and over? And there are no guarantees.”
“Maybe not,” Greg said. “But shouldn’t that be her choice?”
Tim lifted a hand. “Well, gotta go. Danny’s home with a nasty chest cold. But I agree with Greg here. Just think about it, Lincoln.”
Greg looked around, trying to keep an eye on the kids in the deepening dusk, and saw Nicole talking to an attractive black woman as the crowd started to disperse. “Oh, there’s my wife.” He raised his voice and beckoned. “Nicole! Over here!”
Nicole glanced at him and then went back to talking to the woman and Jared Jasper, who’d joined them.
“Oh. So Nikki’s your wife?” Lincoln said.
Greg gave him a puzzled look. “You know her?”
“Not really. We just met the other day.”
Really, and already calling her Nikki? The little crowd was breaking up and Greg beckoned to his wife again. “Nicole?” She finally broke away from the Jaspers and came toward them. “I was going to introduce you to Lincoln Paddock here, but he says you two already met.”
Nicole nodded and seemed somewhat embarrassed. “Yeah, a couple of weeks ago.” She gave him a shy smile. “Hello again.”
Paddock smiled appreciatively. “You’re all dressed up. You two going out or something tonight?”
For the first time, Greg realized Paddock was right. Nicole had changed into her white dress slacks, a pretty turquoise sweater, and sling-back heels—heels that made her two inches taller than him. She had fresh makeup on too.
“Uh, no, don’t have any plans that I know about.” He laughed self-consciously. “I just got home from one of our expos about half an hour ago, so if we are, ha ha, guess I’m the one who’s not dressed right.”
“I dunno, Singer.” Paddock gave him a man-to-man wink. “If I were you, I’d take this pretty lady dancing somewhere tonight.”
The whole conversation felt awkward and Greg tried to steer it away. “Yeah, well, guess we better collect the kids and get on home . . . oh, there they are. Becky! Nate! Time to go!”
The kids reluctantly stopped a game of chase that had them running
all over the Bentleys’ front lawn and bounced up to him. “Aw, Dad, do we have to? We’re having fun.”
“Yep, time to go.”
As they started off, Becky turned back and waved. “Hi, Mr. Paddock!”
“Hi, yourselves!” he called after them and headed for his big house at the end of the street.
Once out of earshot, Greg asked Becky, “How do you know Mr. Paddock?”
“He gave us a ride in his big black car the other day, didn’t he, Mommy?”
Greg looked at Nicole, waiting for an explanation, but all she said was, “That’s right, honey.”
What was that all about?
They walked on in silence until Greg’s curiosity got the best of him. “So, why’d he give you a ride in his limo?”
“’Cause it was raining,” Becky said matter-of-factly.
Nathan bounced around in front of them and skipped backwards. “An’ he was gonna take us to the zoo yesterday, but he had to go to jail.”
“Not jail,” corrected Becky. “He had to go to court.”
“Same thing.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is. I saw it on TV. You go to court and then they put you in jail.”
Court? Greg frowned. Paddock had said he’d only met Nicole the other day, but she had worked as a paralegal for several years before the kids came along. “So, Nicole, did you know Paddock was a lawyer?”
“No, really? Hmm.” Her voice sounded unconcerned. “I just thought he ran that limo company.”
* * * *
Lincoln Paddock was an attorney? The thought distracted Nicole all the way to church the next morning. When he’d called her to apologize for not taking the kids to the zoo because he had to go to court, it hadn’t crossed her mind he might be an attorney. Someone with a limo company would undoubtedly have legal business from time to time or maybe it was a traffic violation, so she’d just dismissed the comment as one of those things.
But Greg said he was an attorney. That was intriguing. Did he practice as part of a firm? Or was the limo company his primary business?
What if she’d continued down that track? Would she be an attorney by now? It had always been a glamorous world to her, something she’d enjoyed from the day she got her first job as a legal assistant just out of college. That job had been with a commercial real estate attorney’s office—no litigation, no courtroom drama. But she’d still liked it and within a year became a paralegal with plans to go to law school and study for the bar. However, once the kids came along Greg had felt strongly she should focus on parenting.
And she’d agreed. In fact, it had been her choice to do homeschooling. She was organized and disciplined. She could do it well. But there’d always been that what-if in the back of her mind. What if she’d become an attorney?
She didn’t know that much about Lincoln Paddock, but the allure that surrounded him was how she’d imagined being an attorney—successful, suave, big house. The tingle of riding with him in the back of his stretch limo came back to her as Greg pulled the Cherokee into the church parking lot. The way he’d smiled at her and paid such focused attention.
The fact that he’d remembered his promise to take the kids to the zoo showed how thoughtful he was. And then when he couldn’t make it, he’d taken the trouble to call and apologize beforehand, not afterward. Greg used to be considerate like that, but lately he’d blown through her expectations as though she ought to just understand the pressures of his job without him having to say anything.
Was this the kind of change in behavior her mother had noticed before discovering her father was being unfaithful? Hopefully that wasn’t what was going on with Greg! She had no reason to think there was someone else. On the other hand, they’d been married for over ten years; and the fire in their relationship that had once crackled and snapped now smoldered like a dimly burning wick drowning in a puddle of melted wax.
Surely the fire wouldn’t grow cold with someone like Lincoln.
Nicole almost stumbled on the steps going up to the balcony of Victorious Living Center. What was she thinking? The mystery of how her father had fallen for another woman washed over her. Was this what had happened to him? Had it all started by following a what-if muse? It’d been one of the questions she hadn’t been able to ask her mother. Perhaps her mother wouldn’t have known the answer. But it shouldn’t matter. Nicole shook herself. She wasn’t her father! She wouldn’t follow in his steps.
* * * *
From their seats high in the stadium-like auditorium of the Victorious Living Center, it was easier for Greg and Nicole to watch Pastor Hanson on one of the huge overhead screens than to squint at him way down on the stage. He was a large man, not necessarily overweight but, at fifty-five, a little soft looking, Greg had to admit. Still, his wardrobe was impeccable, and he never sported a five o’clock shadow or the need for a haircut. Squeaky-clean.
He stepped up to the clear plastic pulpit and plopped his open Bible on it with a thud. “Continuing our series, ‘God’s Blessings for You Today,’ turn with me this morning to Galatians three, beginning with verse thirteen.”
Since the Scripture passages were always projected on the screen, Greg rarely opened his Bible, sometimes wondering why he even bothered to bring it to church. But Nicole always looked up the verses, explaining, “I like to see them in context. Sometimes it matters.”
As soon as the words were on the screen, Pastor Hanson began reading. “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us . . . that the blessing of Abraham might come upon the Gentiles in Christ Jesus . . . through faith . . . Now to Abraham and his Seed were the promises made . . . For if the inheritance is of the law, it is no longer of promise; but God gave it to Abraham by promise.”
“Wait,” Nicole whispered as she pushed over close to Greg. “He skipped some parts.”
“Of course,” Greg pointed toward the screen. “That’s what those dots are for, those ellipses. He’s just trying to make it clear.”
Pastor Hanson continued, “Now there are three questions before us today: One, what did God promise Abraham? Two, who is Abraham’s seed? That is, who’s in line to inherit the blessing? And three, how is it received?”
The pastor had Greg’s full attention. He’d missed last Sunday by being up in Waukegan, but this series was so exciting.
“Stay with me, now. I’m gonna be moving kinda fast, but in Genesis chapter twelve we find God calling Abraham and making promises to him. Verse two: ‘I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name great.’ Verse seven: ‘To your descendants I will give this land.’ In Genesis thirteen-fifteen He promises, ‘for all the land which you see I give to you and your descendants forever.’ God is promising unimaginable material wealth here, brothers and sisters.” Every verse the pastor quoted flashed on the screen. “And He can deliver. Don’tcha know that He owns ‘the cattle on a thousand hills.’ ‘“The silver is Mine, and the gold is Mine,” says the Lord of hosts.’ This is the promise God made to Abraham, and we’ve got a big God! He can deliver!”
Most of the congregation was cheering and clapping.
“And did God deliver, brothers and sisters? Perhaps you haven’t noticed when you’ve read the Word, but in that ancient culture, Abraham became a wealthy man, a filthy rich man. We’re talkin’ Donald-Trump rich! And that’s for you too.”
Greg stood up and joined in the clapping.
“Anybody here have 318 male servants in your household? According to Genesis fourteen and fourteen, that’s how many Abraham had. When Abraham sent his most trusted servant to find a wife for his son Isaac, the servant described Abraham this way in Genesis twenty-four, verse thirty-five: ‘The Lord has blessed my master greatly, and he has become great; and He has given him flocks and herds, silver and gold, male and female servants, and camels and donkeys.’ You gettin’ the picture, folks? You gettin’ the picture?” A swell of laughter filled the auditorium.
Having establis
hed that God had promised Abraham great material wealth and delivered on that blessing beyond anyone’s imagination, Pastor Hanson proceeded to answer the other two questions he’d pulled from the morning’s primary text: Who’s in line to inherit the blessing? And how is it received?
“We’re a Bible-believing church,” Pastor Hanson often said. “That’s why I always preach from the Word.” And he did, too, floating every point of his sermon on a verse like individual snowflakes swirling in a Chicago blizzard.
“Don’t you know we are the ‘Gentiles in Christ Jesus’? Galatians three-fourteen says, ‘the blessing of Abraham [would] come upon the Gentiles in Christ Jesus.’” Pastor Hanson zeroed in on his point: this promise of prosperity was for believers today. “We are Abraham’s seed, in line to inherit the promise, and God never breaks a promise. Psalm eighty-nine, thirty-four says, ‘My covenant I will not break, nor alter the word that has gone out of my lips.’”
Greg noticed that Nicole had her Bible open and seemed to be reading the whole Genesis chapter.
“That brings us to the third question,” Hanson bellowed. “How is the promise received? Again, the answer’s in the Word. We receive it just like Abraham did—by faith! Verse fourteen couldn’t be more clear: ‘We . . . receive the promise . . . through faith.’ Simple as that! Do you want it?”
“Yes,” half the audience murmured.
“Really? Doesn’t sound like it. Do you really want it?”
