The next morning, Rosie waited with Mo in Pastor Johnson’s vestibule. The radiator had not yet kicked in, and the church was chilly. Jacob, obeying Mo’s request to appear, stood in the corner, gazing out the window at the steel-gray sky and the wind whipping through the trees.
Rosie fidgeted, preparing her argument against the stranger. Pastor Johnson hurried into the office carrying a box of doughnuts. “Got here as quick as I could.” He looked at Jacob. “Is he the problem?”
He motioned for Rosie and Mo to follow him into the office. He put the doughnuts down, took off his coat, and closed the door, leaving Jacob in the hallway awaiting judgment.
Rosie turned to Mo. “Are you going to tell him or should I?”
“I’m a grown man. I can take care of my own business.” He addressed the pastor. “I’ve let a homeless man stay in the caretaker’s room, and he’s earning his keep.”
Rosie immediately argued. “He spies on the choir from the closet upstairs. There’s something wrong with him. He’s probably a drunk.”
Mo jumped to his defense. “Never seen him drink. He’s a lost soul who needs a helping hand.”
“But you admitted you don’t know anything about him.” Rosie’s voice racheted up. “What if he’s a criminal on the run? What if he’s a pedophile? You want him around Langston?” Rosie had no intention of letting the stranger stay.
“Now hold on.” Pastor Johnson spoke slowly. “Let’s get the facts straight. Mo, you want to tell me what’s going on here?”
Mo recounted seeing the distressed man on the steps of First Baptist, trying to get him to leave, and offering him the caretaker’s room for temporary shelter.
Mo made a final point. “He seems like a decent fellow, not a troublemaker. He’s lost. You ask me? Something happened to him.”
“Why don’t we ask him?” Pastor Johnson said. “He’s standing outside listening to every word we’re saying.” He opened the door to Jacob. “Is there anything we should know about you, young man?” he asked.
Jacob remained silent.
Rosie was emphatic. “See? He’s off. He doesn’t talk. We need to call the police.”
Mo disputed her judgment. “I don’t see why we have to run him out of town for bein’ quiet.”
Pastor Johnson held up his hands to calm the argument. “If Mo set him up in the caretaker’s room, he’s not trespassing. Has he broken any laws?”
Mo shook his head. “No. Matter of fact, he’s been helping me around here. Been doin’ a good job, too. Did you see the basement? Not a speck of dust.”
Rosie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Hallelujah. The man can use a broom.” She looked at Pastor Johnson. “The church cannot be responsible for an obviously unstable man.”
“Rosie may have a point here,” Pastor Johnson replied. “We don’t know anything about him. Maybe the best way to help him is to call the authorities.”
Mo again jumped to Jacob’s defense. “So they can lock him up? He ain’t sick in the head. Sick in the heart, maybe. He’s no criminal, and he ain’t gonna hurt nobody.”
“So now you’re an expert on mental illness?” Rosie asked.
Mo knew how to get to Rosie. He stated matter-of-factly, “No sound should be heard in the church but the healing voice of Christian charity.”
Rosie heard Pastor Johnson’s stomach rumble, and she could see he wanted to put an end to this session. He took a deep breath and announced his verdict: “I’m going to trust my gut here and go with Mo—for now.” He held Rosie’s gaze. “He’s not asking for much. Let him stay for the time being.”
Rosie had lost the argument, but at least she would get in the last word. As she gathered her purse and coat, she looked at Mo. “Keep a close eye on him. I don’t want to say ‘I told you so.’”
Rosie ignored Jacob as she rushed through the vestibule. He was busy looking down at his dirty trousers.
That Saturday, Langston happily crossed the street for the Youth Ministry sleepover. Rosie had asked Mo to make sure “Sam” stayed in his basement room during the activities. Rosie got ready for her date with Edmond. Anticipation infused her preparations. She put great care into her hair, makeup, and wardrobe. She was actually looking forward to the evening.
Rosie feared a mildly boring excursion comprising meaningless chitchat and a social pas de deux to determine whether or not she and Edmond had chemistry. But she wasn’t bored at all. He’d chosen a charming restaurant in Tuscaloosa with crisp tablecloths and ambient lighting. He ordered a good bottle of wine. While classical music played in the background, he kept the conversation moving. He was pleasant and had a solid sense of humor. He was current in politics and world events. They were mutually entertaining each other when a momentary lull descended on the conversation. She couldn’t think of a thing to say and apparently neither could he. Rosie fidgeted with her silverware as if it needed immediate rearranging. She was busy noticing that a tine on her fork was slightly askew when Edmond reached across the table and put his hand over hers. His touch caught her off guard, and when she looked up, his comfortable grin was waiting.
“Tell me something interesting about your students,” he said, deftly putting the wheel back on the wagon.
Rosie was relieved to stop talking about herself. She brought up Hansom and the fight in the hallway, and the flow of conversation resumed.
When Edmond offered to walk her to the front door, Rosie felt like she had to take control of the moment. She wasn’t ready for a goodnight kiss. She leaned over and pecked his cheek politely. “Thank you for dinner.”
She could see that Edmond was disappointed at how cool she’d become. She wanted to explain that her reticence wasn’t his fault. Even though the paperwork said that she and Robert were divorced, she hadn’t kissed a man since her marriage ended. She was interested in Edmond, but thoughts of Robert had ruined the moment.
Rosie remembered seeing Robert for the first time. She’d gone to the step competition, an annual campus tradition at which fraternities performed step-dance routines. Robert’s fraternity performed bare-chested in fatigues and boots to a raucously cheering crowd. Robert was in the middle of the line, calling out the choreography steps for the other dancers. Rosie couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He was all raw masculinity, intensity, and charisma. At the post-performance fraternity party, they chatted and danced together, and for once, Rosie didn’t feel out of place.
Truth be told, she’d always felt awkward. She’d grown to her full height—five feet, ten inches—over a single summer when she turned thirteen. Although others complimented her willowy build, she felt clumsy and self-conscious. She slumped her shoulders so she wouldn’t stand out. In high school, she preferred novels and her mother’s quick wit to socializing with peers. Robert was her first real boyfriend, and she gave herself to him completely. She could still conjure the tender desire of those first months of their relationship, when she lived for moments alone with him. Would she ever feel that for Edmond or anyone else?
As she slipped her key into the lock, Mo opened the door. “Seems like a real nice fellow.”
She felt like she was back in high school, worried about other people’s expectations. “Edmond is nice. But nice can be boring.”
On paper, Edmond was the perfect match: a teacher, never married, decent looks, a good Christian, and a family man. Rosie wanted time to sort out her feelings.
“Don’t be too picky, young lady.”
She responded thoughtfully, “I can’t afford another mistake. I wasted ten years on one man. Put him through school. Tried to straighten him out. And what do I have to show for it?”
“A wonderful son…”
“Please, Mo. I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me that my son is a blessing. If I want to be picky with the men in my life, then too damn bad.”
As she walked upstairs, she heard the sarcastic tone of her voice lingering in the living room.