Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4)

by Dave Jackson

  “Yes!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” All hesitation gone.

  “You want it today?”

  That brought the house down as people again rose to their feet, clapping, dancing, raising their hands, and crying, “Yes! Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus!”

  Greg’s eyes were closed and his hands were raised as the praise band began playing and a powerful soprano launched into, “It’s a new season . . . of power and prosperity.” The singer’s voice was so like the woman who’d led them in welcoming Mrs. Krakowski back to the neighborhood, Greg had to open his eyes to check. Nope. Somebody else. But still . . .

  “Do you believe it? Do you believe it?”

  The singer’s words brought Greg back to the present. But that connection to Beecham Street caused him to wonder what Pastor Hanson’s message meant for him? He had a good job, and they were doing all right financially, but perhaps God had more in store for him. Maybe he and Nicole ought to start a new business. She could run it from home while she was homeschooling the kids. Yes, yes. What a teachable moment that would provide for the kids, to see an example of real entrepreneurship right in their own home! They might even be able to help out, depending on what the business was.

  Ah, this was great! Thank you, Jesus! The education of children today had become so divorced from the family’s livelihood. Used to be the whole family was involved together on the farm or in the shop, making shoes or selling produce in the marketplace. But now . . .

  He felt as if God was giving him a vision.

  Pastor Hanson’s voice interrupted. “Be with us next Sunday as we explore ‘The Law of Sowing and Reaping,’ God’s divine plan for exercising your faith to receive your blessing!” The pastor was talking directly to a camera that had zoomed in close. How did he know which one to look at? “And especially for you friends out there worshiping with us through television. You’re as much a part of this family as those who are able to make it here to the Victorious Living Center, and so we want to provide a means for you to easily seed into our ministry.”

  Greg felt he was already seeding, and generously too. The next step for him was to receive the promise by faith so he could seed even more. He grinned to himself. Who knew where this would end? With a new lightness in his step, he headed for the Exit sign leading to the stairway. He would explain the whole thing to Nicole as they drove home.

  * * * *

  Nicole had watched Greg’s enthusiastic response to the pastor’s message. He’d been on his feet, clapping and singing and raising his hands. It amazed her and made her realize she really was a lucky woman. Glancing around at the audience in the Victorious Living Center, she saw many women were there without husbands, probably single moms or wives whose husbands weren’t interested in spiritual things.

  At least Greg was interested, more interested than ever.

  As they made their way out of the balcony and down to the lobby, Greg turned back to her. “If you’ll pick up the kids, I’ll get the coffee and cocoa and meet you at one of the booths.”

  Nicole nodded and headed toward the children’s church.

  If only she could feel more comfortable about the focus of Greg’s passion. She wanted to trust him as the spiritual head of their family, but the more enthusiastic he became over this new direction Pastor Hanson’s teaching had taken, the more she struggled to respect his spirituality. It seemed so . . . so self-centered, and she found herself comparing it to what she’d been taught in the church she’d grown up in. Sure, they’d had pledge Sundays and took special offerings for visiting missionaries. And there’d been the big capital drive to remodel the church basement into new classrooms, but no one ever offered an incentive. And yet there was that verse in Malachi that seemed to promise overflowing blessings to those who tithed faithfully.

  She’d have to think about that, but she wasn’t ready to swallow all Pastor Hanson had been saying.

  Now where were the kids? They were supposed meet her right inside the door.

  Chapter 6

  Greg had to wait in line to get out of the church parking lot, but as soon they were driving east on Touhy Avenue toward home, he said, “Got an idea.” When Nicole didn’t say anything, he glanced over to see if she was listening. “Nikki?”

  “Yes. What idea?”

  “Actually, it wasn’t so much my idea as a vision from the Lord, I think. Came to me during church.” When she didn’t ask what it was, he glanced her way again. She was still staring straight ahead, a small frown on her face. “Pastor Hanson’s message inspired it. Wasn’t it powerful? So clear how we’re heirs of God’s promise to Abraham!”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. Pastor Hanson applied that promise to our material prosperity, but to me, it didn’t seem like that was what the apostle Paul was talking about.”

  “What? God made Abraham a very wealthy man, didn’t he? I mean . . .” Did he have to preach the message all over again?

  “Well, you’re right. Abraham became rich. No question about that, but . . .” She sighed deeply. “Pastor Hanson read that verse in Galatians, but it actually seems to be talking about receiving the promise of the Holy Spirit. And he skipped over some verses in the same chapter that talked about Christ being Abraham’s true heir.” She opened her Bible and flipped through the pages. “Here, he skipped this verse entirely. ‘The Scripture does not say “and to seeds,” meaning many people, but “and to your seed,” meaning one person, who is Christ.’ That seems pretty clear to me.”

  Irritation tightened Greg’s throat. Why did Nicole have to disagree with everything? “Maybe it’s the translation. Your Bible’s the NIV, and the pastor was reading from the New King James. Besides, doesn’t the Bible also say somewhere that we’re ‘joint heirs with Christ’?”

  Nicole was quiet. He gave her a sideways glance. Had he convinced her or just shut her down? Either way, he felt frustrated. If God had given him a vision this morning, why wasn’t she eager to hear about it rather than debate details from the pastor’s sermon? “Well, I’m for cashing in on whatever God has for us even if you’re not.”

  She sighed deeply. “It’s not that, Greg. It’s just . . .”

  He waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they sat at a stoplight. “Just what?”

  “I don’t know, it’s this emphasis the pastor’s been on for the last few weeks, it seems so self-centered. Like it’s all about me. What’s in it for me? Me, me, me. That doesn’t sound like Jesus.”

  The light turned green. “Maybe we’ve got some wrong ideas about the life Jesus has for us. Maybe we’ve been thinking too small. I know I sure have. I grew up, you know, just plodding along, doing whatever was right even if it made me miserable. In college, when I transferred to the U of I, my roommate played baseball for the Illini. I didn’t have any friends, but my roomie frequently invited me to go out for pizza with him and the other guys on the team after a game. I always said no because I knew they’d order beer by the pitcher, and I didn’t know how to handle that. How miserable is that?”

  Nicole remained quiet. Greg glanced in the rearview mirror. Becky was sitting behind her mom with her head down, hands folded in her lap as though she was about to cry. Why? Were the kids scared because they were arguing? If so, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted to start an argument, just wanted to share his new vision with his wife, for pity’s sake. But he had to admit the tension over the last few weeks had wound him tighter than an old guitar string.

  “Hey, kids. What should we do this afternoon?” No answer. “Huh? Whaddaya say, Becky?”

  “I dunno.” Her voice was soft and muffled.

  Greg looked out the window. “The clouds are breakin’ up. We could go down to the lake. You wanna do that?”

  “Maybe.”

  Not much enthusiasm.

  Later, after a subdued Sunday dinner in the dining room, the kids ran upstairs to their rooms without men
tioning the lake, something they usually responded to with glee. Knowing Nicole was still upset, Greg tried to make a gesture by helping clear the table rather than heading right down to the family room to watch the Chicago Cubs’ game on TV.

  She finally broke the silence as they carried dirty dishes into the kitchen. “Greg, I’m sorry. It wasn’t right for me to shut you down like I did. If you feel God gave you a vision this morning, I ought to be the first one to invite you to share it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that, ’cause I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I mean—”

  “It wasn’t you, and I’m sorry. Why don’t you tell me about your vision?”

  Was it really safe to get into it now? She’d been touchy for weeks. Was there something else that needed attention first? Something he couldn’t put his finger on. But she seemed open to listening. “Okay. See, I’ve been thinkin’ . . . if God has more for us, it probably won’t be a sudden inheritance from some long-forgotten relative, but it might come from something we do, you know, perhaps starting a little business, like a home industry.” Greg set the last of the dirty dishes on the counter as Nicole started loading the dishwasher. “The kids are getting old enough that they could be involved. You’re always looking for teachable moments with the kids. What could be better than providing them with an example of real entrepreneurship right in our own home?”

  Nicole straightened, dirty dish in hand. “What are you talking about? You want me to start a home business?”

  “Well, yeah, maybe. Of course, it’d have to be the right kind, something the kids could be involved in. Not anything that’d take you outside the home like selling real estate or anything. I mean, the kids couldn’t be a part of showing houses to people, and besides you’d have to get a license for that. I’m talkin’ about something you’re good at, like . . . like cooking. You’re a great cook! Maybe you could do specialty baking like cupcakes for birthday parties. The kids could help cook and take orders and keep records, and . . . and . . .”

  Nicole gave a short laugh. “So you think I’m that good of a cook, do you?”

  “Well, sure. You could do it.” Though perhaps the idea of her baking cupcakes all day wasn’t so good. “Or maybe you could offer a pet walking service.”

  “Dogs? What if they got in fights? I don’t know how people do that, getting all tangled up in their leashes. We don’t even have a dog ourselves.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just brainstorming. Maybe you could do some kind of a craft with the kids, like making jewelry. You know, custom-designed jewelry. People could use their cell phones to send you photos of them in their favorite outfits, and then you could design jewelry to match their outfits. How ’bout that?”

  She finally put the dirty dish in the dishwasher and turned all the way around to face him as she leaned back against the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. “Slow down a minute, okay? Starting a home business is, um, certainly creative, but if we’re talking about me adding to the family income, I’m a paralegal, Greg. I chose that field. I loved it, I studied, might even become an attorney someday, but . . .” She held her hands out in bewilderment. “I . . . I don’t know anything about making jewelry or walking dogs or selling cupcakes. What exactly do you want from me?”

  Greg put up his hands. “That’s not it, Nicole. I’m not trying to put anything on you. It’s just that . . .” How could he communicate his vision? Maybe he needed to wait until God gave her the same vision, in His own time.

  Nicole blew out a large breath. “Greg, I’m not sure why you think I’ve got time for something else, anyway. Do you have any idea how long it takes to prepare the kids’ lessons? When you’re a teacher, it’s the same amount of work whether you’re teaching two kids or twenty. While they’re working on one lesson, I’m busy preparing the next one. All day long. I don’t see how I could take on anything else even if it was a good idea.”

  Greg sighed. “I’m not trying to make life harder for you, honey. I was just thinking, if we found the right thing, it’d fit right in with their education. Children used to be involved in the family business—farming, shopkeeping, weaving, you name it.”

  Nicole flipped the dishtowel over her shoulder and turned back to loading the dishwasher. “I know. But this is a different world we’re living in. No more sweatshops.”

  “Nicole!” He knew he should drop it, but he couldn’t let go. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m trying to come up with something good for them and for you. Just think what it’d be like—”

  “That’s the problem, Greg. We’ve got enough on our plate the way things are. And right now I’ve got a load of laundry still sitting in the washing machine from yesterday.” Nicole started the dishwasher and headed for the basement.

  Greg watched her go. Was that it? The end? But maybe she just needed time to think about it.

  Once he’d wiped the kitchen counters, Greg followed his wife downstairs. He could hear her transferring laundry from the washing machine into the dryer, but he went into the family room that doubled as the kids’ classroom, using a long, low counter he’d installed along one wall for desks. The flat-screen TV was at the other end of the room, the old sofa positioned in front of it. TV and school lessons sometimes conflicted, but not too often. Today the Cubs were playing the Pirates, but when he flipped on the TV, he got caught up in watching coverage of British Petroleum’s efforts to cap their Deepwater Horizon oil spill. A robot was trying to insert a siphon tube into the “top hat” dome to contain the leak. After attempting the same maneuver several times, it finally backed away, and all that could be seen was the wellhead with oil and bubbles spewing from it. A voiceover by a news broadcaster said, “We’ve just received word from BP officials that they think the metal frame on the tube has changed position, so they will have to bring the siphon tube back to the surface for refitting.”

  One more failure. For three weeks, oil had spewed into the pristine Gulf, yet everything they’d tried had failed to stop it.

  Greg knew how that felt.

  The commentator said BP had now spent several hundred million dollars attempting to stanch the flow and clean up the mess. The program broke for a commercial. Greg frowned. So, what did that mean? Was BP telegraphing their intentions to quit? They couldn’t do that. They had to keep trying no matter what the cost. Someone had to stop the spill!

  He clicked off the TV. “Nicole?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped into the unfinished portion of the basement. “Nicole?”

  “In here.”

  He found her in their storage locker sitting cross-legged on their old steamer trunk, looking at a family photo album. She closed it as Greg approached, but not before he caught a glimpse of the page she’d been studying. He recognized it—snapshots from their fourth anniversary. They’d stayed at the Drake Hotel that weekend, ate fabulous food, and went out each evening. What was the play they’d seen? Oh, yeah—Gem of the Ocean, at the Goodman Theatre.

  But it’d been on the Chicago River Cruise Sunday afternoon that he’d taken most of the snapshots now saved in the album. They’d supposedly been learning about the city’s architecture while the guide chattered on as the boat slid beneath drawbridges and skirted glistening skyscrapers. But it’d been Nicole’s “architecture” that held his eye. She sat in the back of the boat wearing a sleeveless pink top, sporting her long tanned legs in white shorts, the wind blowing her flaxen hair. She’d been so beautiful that day. In fact, as nearly as they’d been able to calculate, Nathan had been conceived that weekend. Thank goodness for the generosity of Mom Lillquist in keeping baby Becky for the weekend.

  The dryer beeped and Nicole stood up, putting the photo album back on the shelf. “Laundry’s finally done.”

  “Great.” He followed her into the laundry room. “Hey, whaddaya say we call your mom and see if she’s busy this evening? We could run down and see her, maybe take her out to eat at one of those Andersonville restaurants she likes so much?” Greg didn’t much care
for Swedish food, but . . . “I’d like to make up for being gone Mother’s Day, for both of you.”

  Nicole busied herself pulling the warm clothes out of the dryer, then handed him the laundry basket. “Guess we could ask her, if she’s not busy.”

  Quick thinking, Greg. Maybe this would calm the waters.

  Chapter 7

  Chuck Hastings wasn’t in the office when Greg got to work Monday morning, and Ethel Newhouse, the office secretary, had no idea where their boss had gone. It wasn’t an issue to Greg. He had plenty to do checking the invoices and writing letters to the exhibitors and manufacturers that had taken part in the Waukegan Harbor show. He needed to tie up all those loose ends and get a leg up on the final arrangements for the Chicago show at Burnham Harbor. He looked at his calendar and realized he was already behind on several critical details.

  But by noon, his boss still hadn’t come in or phoned. “I even called his home,” Ethel said. “Thought he might be sick. But Mrs. Hastings said he left the house this morning before seven for some meetings . . . ‘like a bat outta Gotham,’ was what she said. I don’t get it. I thought it was a ‘bat outta—’”

  “That’s Delores, all right. To her, everything’s Batman.” Greg laughed. “Back when they were filming The Dark Knight here in the city, Chuck called in some favors so she could be an extra on the set, and she’s never gotten over it.”

  “Batman?”

  “Yeah, Batman lives in Gotham City, so bat outta Gotham.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes mimicked the oval of her mouth as she thought about it. “Well . . . anyway, she had no idea who Chuck was meeting, and I don’t either. There’s nothing on his schedule.”

  Greg shrugged and returned to his office. He had plenty to do, and his boss could certainly manage his day without anyone else checking up on him. But it was unusual. If anything, Chuck Hastings tended to micromanage his staff but in turn was unusually forthcoming, keeping everyone informed about what he was doing, new projects, and the company’s direction as if he were accountable to his employees.