She must know I’m making a date with her. Devin McKenna sat in front of his computer reviewing his latest article on men’s health. He’d gotten a lot of mileage out of that topic recently, taking the premise of a piece on stress and cholesterol he’d written over six months ago and putting a unique twist on it for four different publications. His latest was a three thousand word feature for, what else? Men’s Health magazine.
Although he’d finished his article, he’d been sitting in front of his computer, tweaking and word-smithing it like he was an editor instead of the writer. But the truth was, he’d been pleasantly captivated by Ms. Renata Connor. Of course, she was beautiful, there was that. But he was drawn to something else, something vulnerable and simmering. Something that, though hidden, functioned as her adrenaline. Like a blast of energy surrounding her—an aura that he could feel.
There was something there he wanted to touch.
“Psss,” he mumbled, and clicked the print button on his keyboard. His laser printer hummed to life, and page after page slid out of the feeder tray.
He got up to stretch, realizing that he’d thought himself into a corner. Ms. Renata probably had a man, or—devil’s dream—she was married, with a husband and maybe some kids.
I can’t believe this, he thought. I just met the woman and already I’m staking her out.
He picked up the pages of his article as they slid out of the printer. They were hot in his palms. He intended to read through the piece one more time, taking a red pen to it to correct any last-minute typos. Then he would get his mind in the right place for dinner tonight with Renata.
He checked the clock on the wall—the simple, round metal clock that matched his simple decor. Helen had been the decorator. When he gave her the house, he hadn’t thought twice about his lack of decorations. Plain brown furniture was all he needed. Bare walls, no rugs, nothing frilly, frou-frou, or metrosexual. Simple surroundings for a simple, uncomplicated life. Only that, he thought to himself, has become complicated.
Two-thirty. He had just enough time to finish the edits, e-mail them to the magazine editor, and go to Bible study before dinner. He hadn’t been to Bible study in a long time. He needed something to get his mind right. He figured the word of God was always good for that. But with all of the thoughts he’d had about Renata today, he wondered if the devil would be working overtime.
The devil is working overtime, Renata thought. She looked sinfully good, even though she’d toned down her evening attire out of respect for spending time with a Christian man. Cobalt accents in her eye makeup, her favorite blue dress, and a pair of low-heeled mules completed out outfit.
She licked her lips over the stay-on lipstick she wore and headed out the door. She was surprised to find Malcolm already sitting on the porch waiting for her.
“Malcolm, why didn’t you let me know you were here?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. He was dressed in different clothing than what he’d had on yesterday. Either the Smiths had given him some of the clothes left behind by another foster child, or they had gone out that morning and bought him a new outfit. Knowing the Smiths, it was the latter.
“You look good,” she said. She couldn’t tell FUBU from Phat Farm, but he was sporting something like that.
Malcolm stood, stuck a toe into the ground, then slowly looked up. “Thanks.”
They walked to her relatively new Elantra. Malcolm seemed to be impressed when he got in.
“Nice whip,” he commented.
“Thanks,” Renata replied, trying not to think about the car payment that she’d missed last month and the possibility of her car being repossessed. But she couldn’t afford to pay herself her usual salary and keep her agency in business. So she’d cut her pay and used the money to keep her office insured for a few more months.
As they drove to the restaurant, Renata noticed how quiet her passenger was.
“Why so quiet? Usually, you’re Mr. Chatty.”
Malcolm kept his eyes toward the road. He didn’t glance her way. Instead, he paid more attention to the streets.
“I’m just thinking about how you don’t know me from Suge Knight, but you hooked me up like we’re family or something.”
Renata smiled. If that was all this young brother had on his mind, she could allay his fears quickly.
“First of all, I’ve heard of Suge Knight and you are nothing like him. Second, I do know you…in a way. I mean, when you trace it back, we’re all related, right? And like they say, the children are the future. So you’re my future. I just want to make sure that the future is positive.”
It didn’t take long to make the trip to the waterfront, the trendy part of town where Manna’s Restaurant was located. Renata put the car in the parking space right in front of the place. Malcolm reached for the door, but Renata held him back.
“Uh, Malcolm…I just want to say that when we get inside…Mr. McKenna, I mean, he’s still deciding whether to recommend Success Unlimited as a sponsorship candidate for the Red Oaks outreach ministry. So you should probably be on your best behavior if you are really serious about getting a job.”
He sighed and leaned back against her leather seat. “I’m serious. I just don’t know about working in a church.”
Well, for that, she couldn’t offer any words of consolation. She hadn’t set foot in a church for…well, for a long time. And if she had her way, any meeting she had with any member of the Red Oaks outreach ministry would take place anywhere but inside the sanctuary.
They got out and walked toward the door, when Malcolm swung his head around slowly and said, “So, you like him, huh?”
“What?” she asked, tripping over nothing in the sidewalk.
“Ol’ boy. You’ve got that look.”
Oh God, if there is one, she thought. If even a teenage boy could see her attraction, maybe a grown man could see it too. She would have to be more careful.
When Renata stepped into the restaurant, Devin licked his lips and said another prayer. Unfortunately, the ones he’d said earlier either hadn’t worked or were wearing off. He was feeling a definite pull. Like a yoke around his neck with Renata holding the reins. Shake it off, Brother McKenna. Shake it off.
But it was too late. The body in the blue dress Renata wore would remain etched in his mind for a long, long time. He watched her walk and thought of St. Augustine’s prayer for God to remove his lust. He smiled despite himself, just thinking of what a boring existence that would be.
“Hey, Devin,” she said, extending her pretty, soft hand. He took it gladly, held it just a bit too long.
“This is Malcolm Goodwin.”
He exchanged a handshake with the young man.
“Pleased to meet you,” Malcolm offered, and the hairs on the back of Devin’s neck flared as if they’d been set ablaze. Something uncomfortably familiar about Malcolm rubbed Devin the wrong way.
Rather than acknowledge his unease, he said, “Good to meet you, Malcolm.”
“Me, too,” the young man said.
They all sat at the table Devin had chosen for them. It was the best spot in the restaurant, at the junction of the wall-window and a collage of paintings of flowers so vibrant that anyone would swear the aroma of lilacs and roses hung in the air.
“Nice restaurant,” Renata remarked.
Malcolm nodded. “I think I’d like to come here again one day…when I can pay for myself.”
At that one comment, a stone of sadness fell in Devin’s stomach. So often kids like Malcolm grew up to be adults who could never afford to eat in a place like this. He wondered about Malcolm’s fate.
When the waitress came, they ordered. Lasagna for Devin. Spaghetti and meatballs with extra meatballs for Malcolm. When Renata ordered a dish called “hot and naked pasta,” with olive oil and spices, Devin felt as though he’d been pleasantly violated.
Before Devin was saved, that kind of thought would have turned him on, and quite possibly turned him out. His instinct would have been to ditch the kid. To say anything and everything that Renata wanted to hear in order to get into her pants, or in this case her little blue dress, and to have sex with her until he’d had his fill. But as it stood now, all he wanted to do was handle the evening professionally, come to a decision about working with Malcolm, and keep his composure around the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
The problem was, he’d taken one look at the kid and become immediately suspicious. I don’t like him, Devin thought. His reaction was acute and exacting. Part of it he understood as his own bias, but part of it was unrecognizable. He wondered himself why his reaction was so strong.
He imagined that everyone had an experience with people who just rubbed them the wrong way. Often, you’re not sure why. The cause was elusive, like a word on the tip of your tongue. His response to Malcolm would trouble him, he knew. And the reason why would come to him later, like a name he was trying to remember or a song he’d forgotten. It would hit him when he least expected it, and then he would either be vindicated or apologetic. Until then, he would keep his guard up.
In her description, Renata had spoken of the young man in respectable tones, had almost hummed his phrases like a sweet song. The only cloying endearment she hadn’t called him was “lad.” Looking at the youth before him—one part DMX, one part 50 Cent, and the rest Tupac Shakur—he could have orchestrated the theft of her purse himself, as a gag or a ploy to get in her good graces. Devin had heard about thugs like that. Scam artists. Grifters. They all had games, ways they twisted the truth to gain trust. They manipulated their victims until they had them just where they wanted them and then, poof! There goes your life savings. There goes your check book, credit cards, social security number, your identity.
Fortunately, this rap academy drop-out looked like he didn’t have the finesse to pull off identity theft. But burglary, robbery, petty thievery: this kid not only looked capable, but Devin was sure he was guilty of all three, plus who knows what else.
Devin reasoned that, as far as Malcolm was concerned, Renata was a mark. Someone to get close to and then break. He’d seen it before. Hell, when he was a teenager and living in the world, he’d done it before.
Devin swallowed hard. Some folks need prayer. Some folks need redemption, forgiveness, grace. The rest need to be on lockdown, straight up. Don’t just throw away the key, destroy it. He knew from personal experience.
He’d been the best booster in three counties. He’d found out early that the best way to steal was not the snatch and grab, but the let-me-help-you-across-the-street, let-me-help-you-with-your-bags, let-me-help-you-up-the-stairs kind. With snatch and grab, some women would scream bloody murder—or worse, chase after you. But if you gain their trust and then betray it, they are so stunned and surprised and hurt that they don’t do anything for the first few minutes except stand and stare. That gives you just enough time to get a—
“Devin?”
Malcolm must have sensed Devin’s ill feelings. Rather abruptly and awkwardly, he excused himself and headed for the restroom.
“Devin, why are you staring at him like he stole something?”
“Because I’m sure he has. And if we leave this room for four seconds, I’m sure he will again.”
“You’re judging him and you don’t even know him!”
“Please. He looks like he gets his clothes from Thugs’R’Us.”
“The Smiths would not buy him thug wear! Those are just clothes. It’s a style called hip-hop. All the kids wear it. It doesn’t mean he’s not a decent kid.”
“Sure it does. Decent kids don’t wear clothes like that. Wait a minute…did you say the Smiths?”
Renata lifted her chin. “Yes.”
That explains it, Devin thought. That’s where the reaction came from. Everyone in town knew that the unsavable kids went to the Smiths. Kids with violent tempers, drug addictions, or disorders like pyromania. He would not put the church at risk.
“What do you know about decent kids?” Renata asked.
“What?” Devin responded, roused out of his thoughts.
“I said what do you know about decent kids? Do you interact with kids on a regular basis? Do you spend time with them in their world? Do you talk to them? Do you even know any teenagers?”
Devin thought about the teenagers that attended Red Oaks Christian Church regularly. He was about to answer when Renata interrupted his thought.
“Any teenagers that don’t go to your church?”
His stomach hardened. The only teenager he knew was Mallory, his ex-wife’s daughter. Well, actually, Mallory was his ex-wife’s step-daughter, and he didn’t really know her. He just knew of her. But she seemed like a good kid, and knowing his ex, Helen would never let her leave her bedroom dressed in anything close to what this kid was wearing.
“That’s what I thought.” Renata leaned back in her seat and let out an exasperated breath. “Look, Devin. Brother McKenna,” she amended. “Maybe there’s someone at your church who is more amenable toward kids. It’s obvious to me that you have a problem with them.”
“I don’t…,” he began, and then stopped himself. What was he going to say? He didn’t just have a problem with kids. He had a big problem with kids. He didn’t like them and they didn’t like him. And he had a special dislike for kids like Malcolm who probably had no respect for themselves or others. Kids today weren’t raised right. They didn’t know their place. They didn’t do anything their parents told them to do. They were disrespectful, combative, argumentative, and just plain obnoxious. He could count on one hand the number of kids who would sit down, be still, and shut up, if they were instructed to do so by their parents. Even the children at Red Oaks seemed to have more devil than savior in their hearts sometimes.
And kids took up so much time and so much money. Devin had too many goals to accomplish in his life to become one of the tired and broken down parents who had given up their dreams only to raise children who didn’t appreciate the sacrifices they’d made. Devin had been dead set against splitting the prime years of his life between a struggling career and an unruly child.
It had been the downfall of his marriage. When his ex-wife figured out that instead of postponing having children, he’d had no intention of having them at all, she’d filed for divorce so quickly Devin hadn’t known what hit him.
He was probably the only adult in the church who hadn’t at some point taught Sunday School, led the Youth Ministry, or helped coordinate the yearly holiday specials.
Devin’s participation in the outreach ministry had come at a time when he was working hard on his spiritual walk. He’d started the ministry with five other members of Red Oaks Christian Fellowship Church knowing full well that it would force him at least once to face his most challenging demon—kids—or rather his distaste for kids.
No. Devin did not like kids. His—if he’d had any—or anyone else’s.
“Well, Brother McKenna. You’ve obviously not interested. Come on, Malcolm,” she said when the young man returned. “I’ll find you another sponsor.”
Devin watched Renata and Malcolm leave. The dinner disaster saddened him. He wished things could have worked out differently.
He might be in for a stern tongue lashing and a bible beating from Mother Maybelle, but if Malcolm Goodwin was an example of the types of youth Renata Connor was trying to help, then Devin couldn’t in good conscience recommend that Red Oaks Church become a Success Unlimited sponsor.
Mother Maybelle would just have to understand.