Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “You can’t do that. As my psychiatrist, you’re legally bound to maintain confidentiality.”

  “As your former psychiatrist, you mean? And of course you are right, but could I help it if information leaked out? You know as well as I the security risks with using online databases. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I saved files to an insecure server.”

  Mr. Wheeler cursed. “If I do this, you’ll permanently delete my files?”

  Richard rubbed his lips with his index finger. Now why would he do that, when Mr. Wheeler proved so helpful? “Of course.”

  Chapter 40

  hanks for coming.” Aunt Shelby walked Ainsley to the door. “So sorry your mother couldn’t make it. Do tell her we missed her.”

  When I talk to her next, you mean? Which, considering how much money Stephen shoveled her way, wouldn’t be for quite a while. Nope, now that Ainsley’s mom found a solution to her cash-flow problem, she’d have no reason to call her only daughter.

  Ainsley said good-bye to a few more relatives then scuffed down the walk to her car. She slipped behind the driver’s wheel, tears stinging her eyes. Why had she expected this Christmas to be any different? As if her mom would suddenly wake up and realize how incredibly selfish she was . . . as if she’d suddenly care. Why did Ainsley continue sticking her heart out only to be trampled?

  A passage from her morning Bible reading resurfaced. “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get?”

  The more accurate question was: If you love those who couldn’t care less about you, what reward did you get? A smashed heart filled with bitter memories. The same emotions she saw shadowed in so many eyes down at the shelter. How many of those women experienced similar rejection and worse? Probably a lot, otherwise they wouldn’t be there. Family didn’t let family sleep on the streets.

  Easing out of the neighborhood, down Barry Road, and onto I-29 South, she flicked through radio stations until praise music emanated from her speakers. Smiling, she thought of Kiara and Janalyn, two young girls from the shelter, snuggled on either side of her, waiting to hear a story. And tonight, their eyes would twinkle especially bright when they saw what she brought. OK, so maybe her homemade Barbie doll food items weren’t toys and games quality, but they worked.

  By the time she pulled into the North Kansas City Ray of Hope parking lot, excitement swallowed the bitterness poisoning her heart. Among all the materialistic tinsel, nothing more clearly illustrated the Christmas message like spending the evening among the homeless. Quite a fitting scenario, actually, considering the location of Christ’s birth.

  Her stomach fluttered when she noticed Chris’s pickup parked beside the chain-link fence. She paused to check her appearance in the mirror, smoothing a few stray curls and adding a bit of gloss to her lips.

  The gravel crunched beneath her thick-soled boots as she approached the building. A cold wind moaned through the adjacent buildings. When she swung open the heavy metal shelter door, singing poured from the hall, punctuated by rhythmic clapping. The scent of chocolate and roasted ham filled the air.

  Good. Someone brought dinner then. She picked up her pace, hurrying down the hall and into the cafeteria. She stood in the archway, the air caught in her throat, and stared at Chris. He knelt in the center of the room, clutching a large, white trash bag. Dirty-faced children surrounded him, bouncing on socked feet, arms waving at their sides like hummingbirds. He glanced up as she approached and held her gaze, causing her heart to flip.

  She set her package of homemade toys beside her and watched, laughing, as Chris distributed stuffed animals, crayons, and coloring books to the children huddled around him. When finished, he folded the plastic sack into a square and turned to Ainsley.

  “How come you’re not with your family?”

  “I went earlier. But I had to come here, to distribute a few things.” She held up her small package, heat pricking her cheeks.

  Chris smiled. “Yeah? What’d you bring?”

  “Nothing as elaborate as all this.” She hugged a few of the giggling children bouncing all around her. Their mothers sat a few feet away, smiling. Some laughing. Two fighting tears—happy ones.

  “I’m sure it’s splendid. What do you say, kiddos? Wanna see what auntie Ainsley brought for you?”

  Cheers erupted, eliciting more laughter. Kiara, a toddler with braided hair, crawled into Ainsley’s lap and looked up with big, brown eyes. “Did you bring sumsing for me, Nantie Nainsy?”

  Ainsley giggled and gave her a squeeze. “Did I ever!” She pulled the clay food wrapped in tissue paper from her sack, and handed them out. Footsteps approached. She glanced up and froze. William! He walked toward her in a sweatshirt, most likely provided by Rose, that looked at least three sizes too big. A hole marked the toe of his right shoe, but his face was clean and his hair was brushed. Behind him, his mother lingered in the doorway, hugging her torso. Rose stood beside her and draped an arm over the woman’s shoulders.

  Tears lodged in Ainsley’s throat as she looked from the mother to her timid son. Then, smiling at the boy, she picked up a nerf football Chris had brought and tossed it in the air. “Hmm . . . Something tells me this football has your name on it. What do you say, Chris?”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned. “Course, I hope you’ll let me toss it around a bit.” He winked at Rose. “What do ya say? How about us fellas play some football?”

  William’s head jerked up. Looking from Chris to his mom, it was clear he was doing his best to hide a ginormous smile.

  Rose stepped forward, her face stern. “Uh-uh. Not in here you don’t.” She jerked her thumb toward the back hallway. “Take it outside, boys. And no tackle. You hear me, right?”

  A handful of boys sprang to their feet. “Right!”

  Laughing, Chris spun the football on his finger and approached William. “You’re my defender. Can you handle that?”

  Ainsley’s heart felt like it would explode as she watched the group leave. Holy Father, You are so faithful. So incredibly faithful.

  Sweat sticking his shirt to him despite the icy chill, Chris wiped his brow with his sleeve. Heaving for air, he planted his hands on his knees. “I’ve been had! A bunch of ball-throwing beasts, that’s what you are.” He smiled and nudged William with his elbow. “What do ya say we go back inside, see if Rose won’t make us some hot chocolate?”

  Beaming faces nodded and the children skipped to the door and clanked it open. Their laughing voices echoed through the hall.

  Ten minutes later, steaming mug in hand, Chris leaned against the doorframe separating the hall from the cafeteria. He watched Ainsley read stories to a group of girls. She sat cross-legged on the linoleum, back rested against the wall, nearly buried by affection-starved children. She glanced up and met Chris’s gaze, pink splashing her high cheekbones, before turning her attention back to the book in front of her.

  “Real angel on earth, isn’t she?”

  He turned to see Rose standing behind him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “Most folks come here out of obligation.” She frowned. “During the weeks before Thanksgiving and Christmas, do-gooders swamp the place, bringing food and lofty sermons. From a distance, mind you. Come mealtime, they all huddle around that back table over there.” She pointed toward an empty table near the far wall. “Guess they’re afraid poverty’s contagious. Or maybe they think these ladies here got some sort of disease.”

  She shook her head. “Then there’s Ainsley. She gets in the thick of it, sitting plop-dab on the floor, surrounded by dirty children. Only you know what? I bet she don’t see the dirt. No sir, because she’s too busy looking into their hearts.”

  A voice called for Rose from down the hall and she excused herself with a nod. Although Chris could have watched Ainsley and the children all night, the almost frantic milling in and out of the kitchen beckoned his assistance. But not until he said a silent prayer asking God to bless her for her continual acts of kindness. Hopefully with a new, higher-
paying job.

  His stomach dropped before the prayer concluded. He’d grown accustomed to seeing her at the café each morning. She brought a vitality to the place, like a ray of sunshine on a dreary day. But she deserved more than he could afford to pay her.

  Although, if God blessed the shop, he could increase her wages.

  Cheered by the thought, he rounded the corner and surveyed the kitchen. Dirty pans lined the counters as women poured leftovers into large ziplock bags. Two other women manned the large industrial-sized sink while a third leaned against the stove, cell phone pressed to her ear.

  When two women entered heaving a seven-quart slow cooker between them, Chris ran to their side and took it off their hands. At first, it seemed as if the women wouldn’t release it.

  “That’s good juice in there.” A brunette he didn’t recognize locked eyes with him. “Don’t throw it away. We can use that for our meal tomorrow.”

  His chest tightened as the women around him continued to scrape each drop and crumb into bags. So many needs. So much heartache. What could he, but one man, do, other than offer a meal or buy an occasional Christmas gift?

  As if in answer, the chorus of his favorite song filled his head. It reminded him God didn’t expect him to save the world, but instead, to obey with full surrender. Full surrender in pursuit of a glorious God.

  Thirty minutes later he and Ainsley stood in an empty and clean cafeteria, the residents ushered upstairs to spend a long-sought night in a heated room with a roof over their heads.

  Ainsley tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m not sure which breaks my heart more, to see familiar faces or new ones.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I hope these ladies hit a temporary patch of bad luck, but some of them have been here since you and I started serving, and likely long before then. And yet, when I see new faces, I’m reminded of how many more are out on the streets right now, either unable to make it here or unable to get in once the beds are full. No one should sleep on the streets on Christmas.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, staring down the dim hall leading to the stairwell.

  “And on a lighter note . . . He offered what he hoped to be a soothing smile. “You wanna get some coffee, or are you coffee’d out after slaving over an espresso machine all week?”

  “Can a woman ever have too much coffee?” But then her brow furrowed as if sifting through a mental debate.

  “You know Gina and I aren’t dating. Not because I ditched her or anything. I mean . . . OK, that sounded stupid. “We both decided things wouldn’t work out.”

  Ainsley smiled. “I know. She told me. And coffee sounds great.”

  As agreed, Ainsley parked in a garage off Broadway and waited for Chris to pull his truck beside her. He met her at her door as she stepped out.

  “You going to be warm enough?”

  She nodded. “Especially when I get a nice, hot peppermint latte in my stomach.”

  “Let’s get you to Starbucks then.” He looped his arm through hers, causing her heart to jump and face to flush. Conflicting emotions battled within as she thought of Richard and their canceled engagement. Was it wrong to be out with another man so soon after their breakup? Was this a rebound thing? No. The quickening of her pulse every time Chris glanced her way told her otherwise.

  “Joy to the World” poured from hidden speakers tucked within the storefront awnings as they strolled down the sidewalk toward the bookstore. Thousands of twinkling lights glimmered on every store front, building, and tree. It gave the shopping center a fanciful feel—like they’d stepped into a midcentury fairy tale.

  A gust of hot air met them when they entered the bookstore. Ainsley paused beneath the heating vents to savor the rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee mixed with the scent of new books. Her skin, numbed from their walk, tingled as warmth spread through her toes and fingers. She peeled off her gloves and coat then allowed Chris to lead her through the aisles and toward an escalator leading to the second floor.

  Halfway up, she turned to face him. “So, was it your love for coffee that motivated you to buy the café?”

  “Honestly?” His smile evaporated and his eyes searched hers.

  “Honestly.”

  When they reached the second floor, he guided her past decorative display tables and leather recliners filled with bookstore patrons. His hand rested on the small of her back, sending a jolt of electricity up her spine.

  They filed in line behind the counter then slowly inched forward.

  His smile returned. “In answer to your question, it’s more like a calling, like an urban mission of sorts. A mission and a ministry. After my dad died . . .” He paused, his expression sobering. “I never had the chance to say good-bye.”

  “I remember you telling me that. Did he die suddenly?”

  “Yes and no. He’d been complaining of chest pains for some time, but honestly, I attributed it to heartburn. When he went to the ER, I figured they’d hand him some aspirin and send him home. Got a call the next morning from my sister. She said he had 85 percent blockage and needed a bypass.” He shook his head. “At that point, most sons would’ve hopped a plane, but I was in the middle of a big case and told myself those kinds of surgeries were routine. Figured my dad was too young for anything serious. He died the next afternoon.”

  Silence hung between them, but Ainsley made no effort to fill it.

  “So anyway, on the tails of that, and dealing with how to care for my mom, I realized I needed to make a change—to find a way to free up my time. One night, after spending hours tossing and turning, I drifted into a restless sleep filled with the weirdest dreams.” He shook his head. “In my dream, I worked at a coffee shop similar to Java Bean, only a bit different.” He chuckled. “It was more like a soup kitchen slash café, filled with contrasts—women in Sunday dresses served by women with missing teeth, giggling children running around between them. I’m not sure what God’s plan is for me or the café, but I’m moving forward, trusting,” He sighed, “hoping He’ll work out the details.”

  Ainsley studied him, unsure of what to say.

  A few moments later, steaming cups in hand, they meandered toward a long window lining the far wall. Shoppers filled the sidewalk below, brightly colored bags in hand. A horse drawn carriage covered in twinkling lights, a couple cuddling in its seat, pulled to a stop behind a red Camry.

  Chris stopped. “Wanna go for a ride?”

  She looked at him, her breath catching when his eyes locked on hers. “That’d be lovely.”

  Chapter 41

  ichard sat in a leather loveseat, staring at the revolving doors in front of him. The parting comments Mr. Wheeler made during their phone call concerned him, indicating perhaps he might not show—that perhaps Richard’s threats of disclosure weren’t enough to override the man’s ridiculous value system.

  A cab pulled to the curb, and Richard leaned forward, hands tightly twined. He relaxed, settling back into his seat, when Mr. Wheeler stepped out clutching a briefcase. The man examined the sidewalk on either side of him, dashed inside, then stood in the center of the hotel lobby. Upon seeing Richard, he crossed the marbled floor and sat in a vacant chair, holding his briefcase like a shield.

  Richard chuckled. “Relax. You act like I’m asking you to commit high treason.”

  Fire filled Mr. Wheeler’s eyes. “No, just a bit of Internet hacking, dredging up someone else’s baggage.”

  “Does that mean your search proved successful?”

  Mr. Wheeler set his briefcase on a glass-topped coffee table in front of him. “Not highly. I did a search on the address you gave me. The house belongs to a Mrs. Langley, the man’s mother.”

  “I’m not interested in a genealogical account, Mr. Wheeler, nor do I care what steps you took to uncover your information.”

  The man’s eyes darkened but he nodded. “After deducing the man’s last name, I searched for records pertaining to him. The results were extensive. He previo
usly practiced business law in Southern California.”

  “Any shady clients or associations?”

  “To the contrary. It appears he took numerous pro bono cases for small, struggling businesses, and I found a fair amount of ministry connections.”

  Richard frowned. “This is not helpful, Mr. Wheeler.” He knew that weasel Langley had secrets. The man acted much too . . . cheerful, even when there was no reason for such. Clearly he was hiding something. Either a personality disorder or perhaps something shameful from his past. But having been a lawyer, the man was probably quite adept at keeping his record clean. On the surface. “Apparently you are not as committed to your marriage as I thought.” He started to rise.

  “Wait. I did find something.”

  Richard sat again as Mr. Wheeler snapped open his briefcase and sifted through various papers. His hand trembled when he pulled out a stapled stack, a Los Angeles County Circuit Court seal stamped across the top. He handed it to Richard then leaned forward, hands clasped.

  Richard studied the documents page by page, his smile growing with each one. “A sexual harassment suit? Just as I suspected.” He dropped the file on the coffee table. “You did read the court transcripts?”

  Mr. Wheeler nodded.

  “And?”

  “The charges appear to be trumped. From what I could tell, a disgruntled employee sued her boss to get rich, although the jury ruled in her favor.”

  “Really?”

  Mr. Wheeler nodded. “According to a juror interviewed by the local papers, they didn’t believe Mr. Langley harassed the plaintiff. However, although they agreed she deserved to lose her job, they didn’t like the way he fired her. Or more accurately, they disapproved of many of the company’s policies. I imagine their ruling had more to do with the economic downturn occurring during that time than the merits of the woman’s case.”