Calculated Risk (25 page)

17

 

Heads snapped toward Cisney as she fumbled for her cell in her handbag and stifled the call.

Nick hadn't twitched, but the master gave her a cold glance.

Even Natalie took a step away.

Cisney stood as still as an ice sculpture in a freezer. Further apologies to her fellow spectators were out of the question. The embarrassment was too much. She'd melt into a pool of water at any moment.

The master took Nick's pawn with his rook. That put Nick down a piece. Thankfully, he couldn't blame her. Her phone had gone off after Nick had made his move. So far, he'd played a valiant game. Would he take the loss as well as he'd accepted the flat tire?

The two men danced their pieces around each other's for several plays. On the master's turn, his finger tapping his bottom lip, he lifted his gaze from the chessboard and appeared to assess his opponent. Then he straightened. “I offer you a draw.”

Nick shook the master's outstretched hand.

The spectators and all the other players, who had packed up and crowded in to watch Nick's game, applauded.

A grin on his face, Phil clapped Nick on the back. “That was awesome.”

Nick swept his chess pieces into his leather bag and stood. Several people crowded around to shake his hand and offer congratulations.

Cisney accepted a hug from Natalie. Obviously, a draw was considered a very good thing.

Nick shook the hand of the African-American youth, and then turned to Cisney. His smile was apologetic.

She scooted to him. “That was so amazing! No horror film has had me more on the edge of my seat. Make that, on the edge of my boots.”

He grinned. “I didn't blow it, then?”

“Are you kidding?” She drew Natalie into a side-arm hug. “I almost passed out holding my breath.”

Natalie chuckled. She lifted her hand and placed it on her husband's chest. “You did great, too, honey. You were one of the last three this time—that's moving up a place.”

Phil gripped her hand. “Thanks, sweetie.” He turned to Cisney. “In my five years in the club, I've never seen anyone beat or tie the master.”

Nick shrugged. “I think the master got distracted and slipped up.”

Cisney winced. “You have me to thank for that.”

Nick looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You know, when I erupted with, ‘thank you,' and then my phone went off.”

“What ‘thank you?' Your phone rang?”

“You didn't hear those sounds in the last few moves?”

“No. You can put your conscience at rest. The master got distracted long before the last few moves.”

“Yeah, but you took smooth advantage,” Phil said.

Cisney touched Nick's arm. “What would have happened if the master hadn't offered you a draw?”

“We'd have kept playing until the fifty-move rule took effect.”

“But the master recognized there was no way you were going to slip up,” Phil said.

Cisney regarded Nick while he and Phil rehashed their games. What would life be like married to Nick, taking their children to watch their daddy's chess tournaments?

 

****

 

At Cisney's apartment complex, Nick accepted her invitation to come inside for a cup of decaf. The hour was late, but he'd stay a few minutes.

Cisney turned the key in the lock. “You'll have to excuse my mess. I'm preparing for the Sunday school class I teach.”

“Ah, something we have in common. I lead a Bible study.”

They entered, and as she'd promised, white computer paper, construction paper in many hues, books, Bibles, cardboard boxes, lengths of various colored material, pots and pans, toy food, and puppets cluttered the sofa, the coffee table, and the surrounding floor. He wandered over to the colorful chaos while she headed to the kitchen.

“What age do you teach?'

“The fours and fives. This is my first year. I love it. I take it yours is an adult class?”

He lifted a red, blue, and yellow velour-like toucan with an orange plastic beak. It perched on a brown plastic log with a switch on the back. He toggled the switch to the on position. The bird didn't do anything. Battery must be bad. He turned it off and placed it back on the sofa.

He lifted Bibles and checked the versions. “Yes. I'll miss this year's group. They're always prepared and don't wander off on tangents like some groups I've led. We've had a lot of rich discussions.”

She turned on the coffee maker, and then joined him in the living area. “Most of the items you see there are to focus the children's learning.”

“What's the lesson this Sunday?”

“Mary and Martha.” She scooped up the lengths of fabric and draped them over the opposite arm of the sofa, making a place for him to sit. She sat on the corner of the coffee table.

He spread his hands toward her arsenal. “You must need a pickup truck to haul all this stuff to church.”

“Good thing I have an SUV, right?”

“How do you use all these things?” He raised a bell and rang it once.

She snatched at it, but he pulled it out of her reach. The bell jangled.

She scowled. “Are you trying to get me evicted?” She reached for the bell.

He held it farther from her and feigned preparation to ring it.

She rolled her eyes. “Did you pick up this immaturity from Tony? Until I saw the pictures of you as a child, I thought you were born an adult. Now, I'm not so sure.”

He grinned and set the bell on the coffee table. “OK, how do you use this stuff?”

She raised a pot and a wooden spoon. “All the cooking utensils are for opening play while the parents drop off the children. I'm layering the idea that Martha was busy cooking in the kitchen. I'll make a stone oven out of this box.” She indicated the empty laundry softener box. “I'll cut a U-shaped hole in the middle, cover it with brown paper, and then use these markers to draw stones.” She uncapped a marker. “Smell.”

He didn't trust her. One sniff and he'd come away with a brown blotch on his nose. He took the marker from her and sniffed. “Chocolate.”

“Aren't they wonderful?”

She delighted in the weirdest things. A trait that made spending time with her pure pleasure. “Isn't making an oven a lot of work for one lesson.”

“Oh, I'll save it. One of the other teachers will use it again, or I will.”

“OK. The bell?”

She lifted her palm. “Be patient. I'll use the lengths of material, the Bible clothes, the oven, and some of the wood utensils for role-playing the story.” She lifted a corner of the tan cloth. “This will be the dirt floor of Mary and Martha's house.”

“Where are the Bible clothes?”

“Right here.” She grasped a blue pillowcase from a colorful stack. “See, I cut a bowed hole in the end to pull over a child's head, and cut two barely bowed holes on the sides for their arms. Don't you think it makes a perfect biblical-period sheath? The other short lengths of cloth are for headdresses and cloaks.”

“Interesting.” What a wise God, designing vibrant and creative people like Cisney to teach the children. He'd never look at a pillowcase in the same way again. He'd be sleeping on potential Bible sheaths.

Cisney went to the kitchen and returned with their mugs of coffee. She gave him one, set hers on the table, and placed her finger on the tip of the bell's handle. “I ring this with gusto when a child correctly answers one of the five or six questions I ask after the story. You wouldn't believe how they listen while I tell the story because they want to make my bell ring. Children this age can answer why questions, as well as the who, what, and where questions.” Her enthusiasm was catching.

“I'd like to be in your class.”

“Sure. Anytime.” She picked up the toucan, her finger on its switch. “This week, we'll teach Toukie the Scripture verse and what it means.” She held the bird in front of her midriff. “Toukie, let's see if you can say our verse. ‘Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness.' Matthew six, verse thirty-three.”

The recorder inside Toukie repeated the verse twice while the bird's wings flapped.

He laughed. Good thing he hadn't said anything dumb when he'd switched on the bird. “Learning in your class has got to be fun.”

Cisney smiled and related the activities and materials she'd employ during other periods of the morning.

Nick sat back. “I'm impressed. I have to admit I thought the preschool classes were mostly babysitting. Not that I thought about them much. If all teachers prepared and expected as much as you do from the children, the preschoolers would be teaching their older siblings and parents.”

“I hope so. Ever since I saw you reading your Bible by the lake, I've been spending time daily in the Word and praying for creativity to teach the little ones under my charge.” She raised the bird. “Teaching Toukie Scripture was one answer.”

God had used his quiet time with the Lord to witness to Cisney? Unbelievable. “The fruit you're bearing is a great gift from God, Cisney. You're building a good base for those young children's future Sunday school experiences.” He lifted her hand and toyed with her fingers. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Because I teach Sunday school?”

He squeezed her hand. “Because you're you.” And because he was falling in love with her. At a speed too fast for this actuary.

She beamed, and then her smile faded. “I can't. Tom's adolescent brother and I have to learn the tango for Angela's reception.”

“How about Thursday?” Was he pushing her? But days to enjoy her company were running short. “I promise I won't drag you to another chess tournament or a symposium on how fuzzy numbers incorporate uncertainty on parameters and properties.”

From the pile of puppets, she selected a large sheep that appeared to be made of real wool. “Aw. I like fuzzy.” She grinned. “This is BoSheep.”

“Cute.”

“I'd love to go out Thursday, but I have the rehearsal and dinner that evening.”

And she had the wedding Friday night. That reminded him—Angela had sent him an email Monday inviting him to the wedding. A surprise for Cisney. With everything going on, he'd forgotten to send Angela a reply. But he'd already planned to drive home after work so he could spend Saturday apartment hunting in Charlotte.

There had to be sometime they could get together soon. He mentally scanned his work schedule. “Will lunch on Friday work?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I'm taking Friday off. Angela's mom has all the bridesmaids scheduled for a day at the beauty salon, after breakfast at the hotel. Our nails will be manicured, our skin defoliated, our hair swept up into sculptured curls, and our faces painted with makeup.”

He heaved an inward sigh. Time with her wouldn't fit into their schedules.

Cisney's eyes lit up. “How about this? The rehearsal dinner is at five-thirty at Short Pump Mall.” She named a popular pizza place. “I'll pass on dessert and join you at seven-thirty.” She indicated a restaurant across from the pizza place.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Then it's a date.” He took a sip of his coffee and placed his mug next to hers. “This has been a great evening. Thanks for being a good sport about the tournament. I'd better go.”

“No, you can't leave, yet.”

 

 

 

18

 

Cisney cleared the stack of Bible clothes and several puppets from the sofa. Still perched on his end as if ready to dash off, Nick watched her every move.

Had she scared him? Did he think she was transforming into a brash woman ready to attack him? Good. Keep him guessing.

She settled onto her side of the sofa and faced him. “There's something I want you to do.”

His eyes widened slightly. He probably thought she wanted him to kiss her. Which wasn't altogether an unwelcome idea. But this was their first official date. No oops or wows this time. They were supposed to be seeing whether they liked each other enough to warrant kisses later. “Can you guess what you have to do?”

He cocked his head. “Are you going to make me play Twenty Questions?”

“I guess not.” He made such a good straight man to her schemes. Jason bulldozed over conversations while they were together and never gave her a chance to be playful. It was so much fun. Better than a notch on her challenge belt. “Your mother told me to ask you something. I haven't had a chance to do so, until now.”

His eyes narrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes. Just before she left me at the airport.”

“She didn't say anything about this to me.”

“Of course not, silly. She told me to ask you.” And everyone thought Cisney was so transparent with her feelings.

His tightened lips and serious eyes needed no accompanying words. His expression warned he might shutdown and escape like he had after he delivered her suitcase.

She rested her elbow on the back of the sofa and supported her head with her hand. “So. Tell me about the swans.”

He flopped back against the sofa and clamped his hand over his eyes. “For crying out loud.” He ran his hand down his face. “Do I have no privacy?”

“Not if you want to arrive home before midnight.”

 

****

 

Nick shifted to a more comfortable position on the sofa and leveled his gaze on Cisney.

She clutched the talking toucan to her chest.

Why had Mom wanted him to tell the story about the swans? To create a touchy-feely moment that would bond Cisney to him forever?

She slid the switch on the bird. “We're waiting.”

The toucan flapped its wings. “We're waiting. We're waiting.”

Even if he got up and left now, she'd hound him until he told her. He sighed. “If you put the bird down, I'll tell you about the swans.”