Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (12 page)

     The fact was, he’d spent the preceding week exploring local alternatives without assuming that was a faithless exercise. Now that those options had proved fruitless, why not go national?

     He wanted to get his plan together before the afternoon barbecue with the Bentleys, the older black couple from the two-flat up the street. Aside from that welcome home event for the old lady and waving to him a couple of times on the street, Greg barely knew the man, but Harry had come knocking last evening while he was out walking his black Lab.

     “No, no.” Bentley had waved him off when Greg invited him in. “Corky’s been chasing her KONG toy up and down the alley. Don’t want to bring her muddy paws into your nice house. But Estelle and I are inviting a few neighbors over for a Memorial Day picnic, and wondered if you and your family would join us.”

     “Nicole!” Greg had called.

     Harry said they didn’t need to bring anything, but when Nicole joined them at the door she insisted on contributing something—her mother’s Jell-O salad recipe, full of whipped cream and fruit, not Greg’s favorite, but Nicole liked to make it, and kids always loved it—so Harry had finally conceded.

     “You, however,” he’d smirked, pointing a finger at Greg’s chest, “you could show up early and help me with the ribs. Say about three o’clock?”

     Light rain showers driven by distant thunder rumbled through the area midday, but by three when Greg had finished his call plan and done all the background research he could think to do, the clouds were breaking up and the sun peeking through. Looked like a nice evening was in store after all.

     He stepped to the doorway of the kitchen where Nicole was mopping the floor. “Anything you need me to do before I head on over to the Bentleys?”

     “No, not unless you want to take the kids with you.” She stood and pushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

     “Oh.” He wasn’t sure if it was an offhand idea or a request. “Kids downstairs?”

     “Nate might be. Becky just went up to her room. Said she was bored.”

     “Not sure what they’d do over at the Bentleys. There’s no one for them to play with.” He waited in case Nicole had a better plan.

     “That’s okay. Forget it.” She shrugged and went back to mopping.

     The wistful tone in her voice didn’t sound like it was really
okay
. He listened for kid sounds. Nothing. “Sounds like they’re doing okay for now.”

     “Yeah. I’ll bring them with me later.”

     “About five, then?”

     She nodded and Greg left, grabbing his Cubs cap from the peg in the coat closet.

* * * *

Nicole watched him go, feeling irritated. She’d frequently wished Greg could spend more time at home, especially with the kids. But over the last couple of years, his travel schedule had taken him away all too often. Now, however, she was having second thoughts. His presence in the house did not mean he picked up more of the housework or took more responsibility with the kids. It simply meant she had more things to coordinate.

     The simple lunches that had been adequate for her and the kids weren’t satisfying to Greg, so she had to fix larger meals, which inevitably meant she ate more as well . . . and had put back on a couple of pounds. Also, somehow she didn’t feel so free to do her exercises while Greg was upstairs working on the computer.

     Last Thursday while the kids were doing their reading, she’d been doing her exercises when he came down to the schoolroom. He stared as if he couldn’t understand what was going on. Finally he’d said, “Did you wash my blue Van Heusen shirt yet?”

     “No. Monday’s my wash day.”

     “Oh. Well, if you get a chance . . .” And then he’d drifted back up the stairs.

     But the steam had gone out of her exercises. He obviously had expectations. Flouncing into the laundry room, she’d started a load of laundry, including his Van Heusen shirt.

     And now today, supposedly a holiday. She could’ve used a break, but no.
He
was the one getting a break. Sure, he’d been working most of the day, but so had she, typical wash-day-Monday stuff, but now he’d gone over to the Bentleys early and left the kids with her, even though she’d tried to hint that he take them with him.

     Nicole gave the floor one more angry swipe with the mop. She knew single moms who had more free time than she did, especially when the kids were with their ex.

* * * *

Turning in at the Bentleys, Greg followed the sidewalk around to the backyard. At first he didn’t think anyone was there and that he’d come too soon, but then he heard some rummaging going on in the garage and realized the side door was ajar.

     “Hello? Anyone in there?”

     “That you, Singer? Just getting some chairs.”

     A black paw caught the door and swung it open as Bentley’s black Lab trotted out and give a halfhearted
woof
, tail wagging.

     Greg reached down so the dog could sniff the back of his hand. “It’s okay, girl.” The kids probably would’ve liked to play with the dog.

     The older man stepped out into the sunshine, lugging several folding chairs. “Ah, you’re right on time, but I’m a little late gettin’ started. Didn’t want everything to get wet with the rain earlier. Here, take these chairs, and I’ll grab the bag of charcoal.”

     In a few minutes, Harry Bentley had his chimney starter filled with charcoal and lit. “There, that won’t take long. Come on up and help me bring down a few things.”

     It took a few trips up to the second floor and back down, but it wasn’t long before the coals were burning evenly, four racks of ribs were on the grill, and the two men finally sat down under the shade of the spreading sycamore tree while the Cubs versus Pirates game murmured quietly from the boom box hanging from the fence.

     Harry flipped open the lid of a large cooler beside him. “Want somethin’ to drink? Got Pepsi, some bottles of water, maybe some lemonade in here.”

     “Water. Thanks.”

     Harry handed him a bottle of water. “So, how you doin’?”

     “Oh, good. Real good.”

     Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Is that good as in copacetic or good as in you don’t want to talk about it?”

     Greg didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know for sure what the word
copacetic
meant.

     Harry chuckled. “What I mean, is, you ask somebody how they’re doin’ and they’ll usually say, ‘Good’ as long they’re this side of death’s door. But I was actually askin’ how you’re really doing. I’m interested.”

     “Well, I’m, uh . . .” Greg looked at the older man for a moment, a slight sheen of sweat beading his shaved head and an easy smile crinkling his eyes. “To tell the truth, things are a little rocky right now.”

     “You don’t say. What’s up?”

     Did he really want to tell this man about his personal life? Weren’t guys supposed to do small talk first? But the man actually seemed interested. And the truth was, Greg didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

     Greg shrugged. “The company I’ve been working for the last seven years is going under. Recession, I guess, though I think the boss could’ve managed things better and survived. Anyway, I was the assistant Midwest coordinator—pretty much the VP level, though we weren’t organized that way. I was depending on it thriving. Still think it could. I mean, this recession can’t last forever. But the boss pulled the plug, so I’m out in the cold.” Wait a minute, he’d never used those words before. Crisis meant “dangerous opportunity” and all that, but not
out in the cold
.

     “You get a decent severance package?”

     “Not really. Two weeks was all. But at least I don’t have to stay on the job during that time like the rest of the staff. They got two weeks’ notice but will only get paid if they work to the bitter end.”

     Harry Bentley nodded and frowned deeply. “Sorry to hear that. Got laid off myself once, though the circumstances were different. Had to take early retirement from the Chicago Police Department—”

     Bentley, a cop? That was interesting.

     The older man continued, “Involved a big legal case where I blew the whistle on some corruption.” He waved his hand dismissively as though that was another story. “But bottom line, bein’ without a job can be pretty scary, ’specially when you got family to support. I know.”

     Greg took a deep breath. “Yeah, well, didn’t think it would bother me at first. But the last few days, the options seem slimmer and slimmer. I have all kinds of business contacts, but . . .” What was he saying? He hadn’t even expressed those fears to himself. But this older guy was looking at him as though he really understood. “Anyway, I’ve got one good lead in the Chicago area. Supposed to hear tomorrow, but if it doesn’t pan out, we’re probably gonna have to relocate.”

     “Oh, that’s big time.”

     “You’re tellin’ me. My wife will have a fit if we have to move, and I don’t want to move either. I just don’t know what we’ll do.”

     “What kind of business you in?”

     Greg explained the kind of events Powersports put on as Harry got up and checked the grill. When he returned to his seat, Greg told about his hopes for a job with Potawatomi.

     “That sounds like somethin’ to pray about. You a prayin’ man?”

     That took Greg by surprise. “Well, yes . . . yes, I am.” Bentley’s question reminded him of the faith he’d been nurturing, faith that God would prosper him and his family, faith that he was about to become rich! It was what he wanted to believe, but somehow in the last few minutes, the bottom had dropped out of that bucket. Why? What had happened?

     It must have leaked away as he became honest with himself. He needed help. “Yeah, prayer would be good.”

     Harry reached his hand out toward Greg’s shoulder, hesitating a few inches away. “Okay to pray for you right now?”

    
Right now?
Greg was a little startled. “Sure, I guess so.”

     “Good. I always say there’s no time like the present.”

     He let his hand rest gently on Greg’s shoulder and began to pray.

Chapter 12

Before the ribs were ready, the Cubs had lost to the Pirates—broadcast by Bentley’s little boom box hanging on the fence—and Greg and Harry had arranged the chairs under the tree and set up the card tables.

     “Catch these plastic tablecloths,” Harry’s wife called down from the second-floor deck. “And put them on the card tables so they’ll look nice.”

     Harry caught them, and the two men finished setting up everything while the teenage boy Greg had seen with the Bentleys and three other lanky kids—at least one of them the Jasper boy from across the street—traipsed through the yard with a basketball. Must be a hoop out in back of the garage. Sure enough, the
thump thump
of the ball against concrete and youthful chatter played in the background as he talked with Harry. Turned out that Bentley was again working as a cop, though now for the Amtrak police, and he seemed to be a sincere Christian.

     “You mentioned you go to church,” Harry said. “That’s good. Real good. You got any brothers to hang with?”

     “Brothers?” Greg was an only child and hadn’t mentioned anything about his family.

     “Yeah,” Bentley said. “You know, some guys to pray with and study the Bible. Some of us get together every Tuesday evening. Couldn’t get along without ’em. You’d be welcome to visit some time, if you want.”

     The back gate creaked and swung open before Greg could respond, and an elderly couple came in.

     “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Molander.” Harry got up to go greet them and Greg followed. “Come right on in. You’re nearly the first ones.”

     “Sorry if we’re early. We were trying to take a nap, but the
thump, thump, thump
.” He rolled his eyes toward the alley.

     “Sorry about that. You know Greg Singer from across the street, don’t you?”

     The woman stared hard. “I don’t t’ink so. Ve don’t get out much anymore.” Her accent sounded Swedish.

     Harry turned to Greg. “This is Karl and Eva Molander. They live next door. Oh, let me take that for you.” Harry reached for a dish covered with a tea towel that Mrs. Molander was carrying.

     “Tuna casserole, a favorite at the church picnics, don’t you know. We used to have years ago, but the new preacher doesn’t do them anymore.”

     Karl grimaced. “He’s been here ten years already, Eva.”

     “Maybe so, but he’s not like Rev. Johanson.”

     Karl Molander sat down heavily in one of the lawn chairs, panting deeply. Harry eyed him carefully. “You okay, Mr. Molander?”

     Molander waved his hand. “It’ll pass.” He took a deep breath as Greg glanced between him and Harry to see if Harry remained concerned.

     The Molanders’ house was a bungalow like Greg’s, so it wasn’t as if the man had descended three flights of stairs or walked a mile. Yet a gray and haggard pallor had fallen over his face. Finally, his labored breathing calmed and he looked around the yard. “Looks like you’re expecting a crowd.”

     “Not really. Just you and a few other folks.” Harry turned to Mrs. Molander. “Miz Eva, why don’t I take you in to chat with Miz Mattie for a bit? Then I’ll run this casserole up so Estelle can pop it in the oven to keep warm.”

     With Harry Bentley gone, Greg tried to think of something to say. “Uh, guess you folks and Mrs. Krakowski are the true old-timers on the block.”

     “Oh, yeah. We were here before any of the rest. Neighborhood used to be all Swedish and German, except for the Krakowskis. She’s Polish, ya know.”

     “And you’re Swedish, right?”

     “Oh yeah. Like I said, about the only ones left in the neighborhood.”

     “My wife’s Swedish, at least her mother is. She lives down in the Andersonville neighborhood.”

     “You don’t say.”

     The conversation seemed to die again. After a few moments, Greg made another try. “So, are you retired?”