Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4)

by Dave Jackson

  Only believe, only believe;

  All things are possible, only believe.

  Only believe, only believe;

  All things are possible, only believe.

  The band led off with a very country version of a song Nicole recalled from her childhood. They sang it twice, and then Pastor Hanson held up his hands again to stop them while the band played softly in the background.

  “Now I want you to turn to your neighbor and take your neighbor’s hand. And we’re going to sing it again, except this time, I want you to sing it to your neighbor. That’s right, to your neighbor. Now don’t get squeamish on me. Just do it. It’s a simple chorus, and you’re not auditioning for American Idol. You’re just trying to help your brother or sister receive God’s word for today.”

  Nicole took Greg’s hand as the congregation began to sing, but she couldn’t look at him while he sang to her. All she could do was cry. The tears came faster and harder, and her words turned into big sobs. What was wrong? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt the answer was in the verses of the hymn, and they weren’t singing the verses. But she couldn’t quite remember the words.

  Chapter 22

  Greg didn’t understand why Nicole had been crying during church, but the kids were giggling and whispering about something on the way home. So it didn’t seem like the right time to ask questions. Besides, she kept her face turned toward the side window for most of the trip.

  He parked the Cherokee in the garage and took a moment to clean some trash out of the car while the kids and Nicole went into the house. When he got to the house, both Becky and Nathan met him at the kitchen door, bouncing up and down like Jack-in-the-boxes.

  “You’ve got to go to your room, Daddy,” Becky said.

  “Yeah, an’ close the door,” Nathan added.

  “Hey, what’s going on here? I haven’t been a bad boy. Why do I have to go to my room?” He feigned mock injury, making them giggle.

  “You’ll see. You’ll see.” They began pushing him toward the bedroom.

  “How ’bout my book? Can I get my book? It’s just a thin book with a black and yellow cover by my computer.”

  “No,” Nathan said. “You have to go straight to your bedroom, and no looking around.” But Becky volunteered to get the book. It had come with a packet of information from SlowBurn as part of his registration for the training that was to begin on Tuesday. Greg was supposed to read it before he got there, but he hadn’t taken time to even crack its cover.

  Once Greg was sitting on his bed, book in hand, the kids left. But just before slamming the door, Nathan turned back, his eyes wide. “An’ no coming out till we tell you.” Wham!

  Greg fell back on the pillows, a big smile on his face. His kids were something else. But with Nicole being so upset at church this morning, maybe he ought to offer to take everyone out for dinner. It’d been awhile, and even though money was getting short, he wasn’t about to live as though You can’t always get what you want. No. He could get it. They could get it.

  “Nicole?” He got up and went to the door, but at the last moment left it shut in order to play along with the kids’ game, whatever it was. “Nicole? Hey honey, you want to go out for dinner? It’s Sunday and all.”

  He could hear his wife and kids murmuring to one another in the kitchen, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  “No. That’s okay.” Her voice was light. “Already got something started.” Her response was followed by more murmuring and stifled squeals from the kids.

  Well he’d asked. Greg drifted back to the bed and picked up the book. Network Marketing: Overcoming Your Fears to Realizing Your Dreams. But in spite of his good intentions to read the network marketing book, he soon drifted off to sleep.

  He awakened fifty minutes later when Nathan and Becky flung open the door. “You can come out now. It’s time for dinner.”

  “Ahh,” Greg yawned. “I was just starting my nap. But if it’s dinner, guess I’ll come.” Greg stood up and headed toward the door with an exaggerated stagger.

  But as soon as he stepped out, both kids began chanting, “Happy Father’s Day, Happy Father’s Day,” as they danced before him into the dining room.

  The table was set, steaming dishes of food were ready, and red and yellow streamers hung from the chandelier to the corners of the room.

  “What? Is this Father’s Day?” He hadn’t even remembered.

  “Yes, it’s Father’s Day, and I made a card for you . . . all by myself.” Nathan gave Greg a little push toward his chair.

  Greg glanced toward Nicole. She gave him a sly smile. “Well, we didn’t forget. Sit down before the food gets cold.” Her distress of the morning seemed to have passed. She’d put on fresh makeup and looked great, though Greg could still see traces of red in the whites of her eyes. But it wasn’t the time to bring up whatever had troubled her earlier.

  “Read my card, Daddy.” Becky thrust it toward him.

  Greg sat down and read both kids’ cards, as well as a beautiful card from Nicole. He didn’t pay much attention to the printed verse, but she’d signed it, “With all my love, your Nikki.” He looked at her as she took her seat at the other end of the table. Maybe his concerns about Lincoln Paddock were groundless. Today, he was a happy man.

  He took a large helping of his favorite pasta dish: spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, basil, and garlic. The mix was laced with small cubes of extra-sharp white cheddar cheese and extra virgin olive oil. He topped it with coarsely ground black pepper, which Nicole had left off because it was too spicy for the kids. In addition, there were some strips of grilled flank steak and a helping of steaming broccoli.

  “What a meal, Nicole. How’d you fix it so quick?”

  “We started yesterday,” Becky said.

  “And”—Nathan’s eyes grew big—“we made cupcakes for you.”

  “For everybody,” Little Miss Sweet Tooth corrected. “Besides, Nathan, that was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Greg reached over and tickled her nose. “And it all is a surprise too. I’d completely forgotten this was Father’s Day.”

  As he enjoyed the scrumptious meal and all the appreciation from his family, it crossed Greg’s mind that Pastor Hanson hadn’t said one word about this being Father’s Day. That seemed strange, especially for someone who often spoke about the importance of husbands being the heads of the families and for the wives to submit in all things. The pastor must’ve forgotten.

  Greg knew how easy that was. He’d forgotten Mother’s Day just as completely. A twinge of regret stabbed him. The contrast between this thoughtful celebration and his lame effort a few weeks ago to make up for his oversight by taking Nicole and her mom to that restaurant in Andersonville was painfully obvious.

  “Maybe this afternoon you should call your dad,” Nicole suggested.

  “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll do it, right after we have those scrumptious homemade cupcakes you kids made.” But Nicole’s reminder was another stab. He hadn’t given his own dad a single thought—not early enough to send a card and not even this afternoon while his whole family was talking about Father’s Day and honoring him.

  Maybe . . . maybe he and Pastor Hanson were just two peas in a pod—focused on more important concerns.

  * * * *

  Nicole felt bad about the hard time she’d had with Pastor Hanson’s message on Sunday. She knew it had meant a lot to Greg, and she wanted to support him. He’d seemed so encouraged by their Father’s Day celebration that she didn’t want to bring him down by discussing her reservations about Pastor Hanson’s teaching. But she couldn’t get the closing song out of her mind: Only believe, only believe; all things are possible, only believe.

  Songs weren’t necessarily authoritative, like Scripture, but if this old song—one she recalled from her youth—actually meant all you had to do to get what you wanted was to believe, then maybe she’d been wrong all these years.

  Once she had the kids settled doing their reading Monday mor
ning—something she’d insisted continue even though it was summer break now—she switched on the basement computer and did a search for the song’s lyrics. When she finally tracked down the hymn, it was as old as Pastor Hanson had said, having been penned by Paul Rader in 1923. She hummed the tune quietly as she read the words, but realized as she went along that it did not promise people could get all the riches and blessings they wanted if they “only believed.” In fact, the final verse clarified the message the songwriter intended.

  Fear not, little flock, whatever your lot,

  He enters all rooms, “the doors being shut,”

  He never forsakes; He never is gone,

  So count on His presence in darkness and dawn.

  Only believe, only believe;

  All things are possible, only believe

  Only believe, only believe;

  All things are possible, only believe.

  Nicole sat back in the desk chair and blew out a breath. The songwriter wasn’t singing about “believing” for a new car or even recovery from sickness and tragedy. That was not the promise. The song called God’s people to believe that Jesus would be with them and never forsake them no matter how bright or dark their circumstances . . . “whatever your lot.”

  “Mommy, what does m-u-s-t-a-n-g spell?”

  “What?” Nicole pulled her attention away from the words on the computer.

  “M-u-s-t-a-n-g, what’s it spell?”

  “Mustang. It’s a kind of a horse, Nate.”

  “What kind of horse?”

  “Uh, uh . . . a wild horse, out west.”

  She turned back to the song on her computer screen.

  Her jaw tightened. How could Pastor Hanson use this song to tell people they could get everything on their wish list, do everything on their bucket list, and have a pain-free, worry-free life if only they believed? What a cruel distortion of the truth. Yes, she knew the Bible made some extraordinary promises, but the greatest was Jesus’ promise just before He returned to heaven, “Lo, I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

  But Greg had swallowed everything Pastor Hanson said—hook, line, and sinker. Why? Why was he so eager to believe it completely and so impatient when she questioned it? Sometimes he’d talked about a bigger house or a new car, but she hadn’t known him to be driven by raw greed. Perhaps he was more worried about this job change than she realized. Maybe he was just scared and grasping something to hold on to.

  She wanted to help, not make things harder for him. But what could she do? Greg had been out of work for over a month now, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t made any big sales with his new SlowBurn business. He handled all the money for the family, so she didn’t know where they stood financially, but things must be getting tight.

  Greg was going to be gone the next few days at the SlowBurn conference. What if . . .

  Nicole glanced at the extension phone hanging on the wall above the computer. Greg was upstairs in the living room working and never used the home line for business. She dug through her purse until she found Lincoln Paddock’s business card, then went to the bottom of the stairs and listened. She could hear Greg talking on his cell. Good. Picking up the receiver to the house phone, she dialed Lincoln Paddock’s work number.

  She was surprised when the call went straight through to him. “Uh, Mr. Paddock? This is Nicole Singer, your neighbor from down the street.”

  “Oh yes. Hi, Nikki. What can I do for you?”

  So friendly! “Hi . . . I was, I was just wondering whether you might be needing some clerical help in the next few days. You’d mentioned—”

  “You’re kidding! What great timing you have. We just got in a truckload of work, and I had no idea how we were going to finish it in time. When can you start?”

  “Well, maybe I could help out tomorrow for a while if I can arrange childcare for the kids, but—”

  “That’s great. When can I pick you up?”

  “Uh . . . I’m not sure. Can I call you back on that?”

  “Sure. Just let me know, and if the morning doesn’t work for you, I’ll send the car whenever you can make it.”

  Nicole hung up and sat down slowly, almost gingerly, in front of the computer, her heart pounding and her head swirling as if she’d been spinning on a tire swing. What had she just done? She wanted to run upstairs and tell Greg, but what if it didn’t work out? What if she couldn’t do the work? And then there was the big question of what to do with the kids.

  She reached for the phone again and called the Jaspers. After all, this possibility had been in the back of her mind when she’d tried Tabby out as a mother’s helper. It would’ve been best to test how she did on her own for shorter periods. But necessity had a way of altering the best-laid plans.

  A sullen voice mumbled, “Hello?”

  For a moment Nicole thought she’d dialed the wrong number. “Is this the Jaspers? This is Nicole Singer.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hi, Mrs. Singer.” The voice brightened. “This is Destin. How you doin’?”

  “Fine. Is your mom there?”

  “No. She’s workin’.”

  Of course. “Any chance you could give me her work number?”

  “I can give you her cell. Will that do?”

  “Yes. If you would.”

  To Nicole’s great relief, Michelle answered her cell on the third ring. “Thanks for taking my call, Michelle. Sorry to bother you at work, but I was wondering whether Tabby would be available to babysit for the next few days, starting tomorrow. I figured I should ask you first before I talked to her.” Given Tabby’s young age, it seemed right to Nicole to ask Michelle first rather than speak directly to the girl.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’d love to, but Tabby’s down in Indiana at cheerleading camp this week. Won’t be home till Saturday evening. Maybe next week, though. She’s said how much she enjoys watching your young ones.”

  All the excitement drained out of Nicole. “Thanks, Michelle. Yes, next week might work. I’ll get back to you.”

  She sat there discouraged after they hung up, but then she got another idea and dialed her mother.

  “Hi, Mom. You busy tomorrow?”

  “Not at all, honey. You wanna go shopping together?”

  “No. Can’t do shopping. Would you be able to watch the kids for me for the next few days? I’ve got a temporary job offer, and Greg’s going to be away at a training conference. The easiest would be if you could come up here and stay over. Does that seem possible?”

  There was a brief silence. “Well, you know I love my grandchildren, but I don’t know if I can keep up with them for several days. They’re quite a handful sometimes.”

  Nicole tried to keep her voice upbeat. “Oh, you can do it, Mom. All you’ve gotta do is set firm boundaries. You sure knew how to do that for me.” She laughed.

  “I know, honey, but I was younger then. And you may not realize how much it takes out of a person.”

  Nicole did know. In fact, she’d started to realize it was part of the long-term exhaustion that dragged her down—kids all day every day, being teacher, wife, housekeeper, and now she had to run interference to make sure the kids didn’t disturb Greg while he worked. Whatever made her wish he could spend more time at home?

  Her mother finally broke the silence. “Well, all right, dear. I’ll give it a try for a few days, just to see how it goes.”

  “Oh, Mom, thanks so much. And it’ll only be for this week. I think I’ve got someone else who can do it next week, if the job lasts that long.”

  “Oh, but you’ve got to be careful who you let care for your children, sweetheart. I know you wouldn’t let a stranger watch them”—though the way her mom said it, she was probably afraid Nicole had called a babysitting service—“but there’re little things like letting them get away with backtalk or . . . or not obeying when spoken to. Kids are so sassy these days.”

  “I know, Mom.” Her mom had always been hard on sass, too hard. “This is someone I know personally a
nd she’s watched the kids before under my supervision. It’ll be okay. Could I pick you up about seven-thirty tomorrow?”

  Chapter 23

  Greg shrugged into his sport coat, slicked his dark hair back on the sides once more, and checked his appearance in the full-length bedroom mirror. Light gray shirt open at the collar, dark gray sport coat, light gray slacks. Face still nicely tanned from his last Powersports boat show. Good. Casual but businesslike. He wanted to make a good impression when he arrived at the Hyatt Regency for the SlowBurn training sessions today.

  He needed to get an early start. He couldn’t leave Nicole without a car for four days, but hiring a taxi to take the twenty-five-mile trip out to Schaumburg would be pretty pricey, and he was becoming more and more conscious of their dwindling finances. But arriving at the Hyatt on a public bus would look pretty shabby. So he’d come up with a plan.

  Greg grinned to himself as he made for the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. All he had to do was take the ‘L’ on the Red line down to the Loop and the Blue Line out to O’Hare. Then he could catch the Hyatt Regency shuttle from the airport to the hotel in Schaumburg. It might take him a couple of hours, but if anyone saw him arrive, it would look like he’d flown in for the conference.

  He glanced at his watch. If he left in the next fifteen minutes, he’d easily be there in time for the SlowBurn training since it didn’t start until noon.