There was believing, and then there was acting on it.
Sitting in the pew. That was fine. That was listening and understanding and believing. But the acting part . . . Well, that was something unfamiliar to J.D. But he was trying to act. And this felt like the right thing to do.
They stood in a packed gymnasium in the lunch line holding trays. It didn’t feel much different than being back in school or maybe being at some kind of church function. Several people serving out food and greeting people wore red Salvation Army smocks. The room smelled like bacon.
J.D. glanced at Teri, who stood as straight as a ruler holding her purse with both hands against her chest. Her eyes wandered around with suspicion. He shook his head at her.
“I don’t want to be here,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Come on, relax. It’s an adventure.”
There was a mother and her young daughter a few steps behind them. They were talking and not paying attention to J.D. and Teri. He realized that’s what happened when you got older. People stopped paying attention to you. They’re just the older couple. Nobody ever bothered to really notice you.
When they reached the food, J.D. took a moment to decide. There wasn’t just soup even though he had told his wife this was a soup kitchen. There were sandwiches and soup and various kinds of casseroles. They looked pretty good, too.
“What can I get you?” a woman with a smile that smothered him with love asked.
“Hi. Can I have some of that chili-mac-and-cheese, please?”
It looked wonderfully unhealthy. It was something Teri would never make in a million years.
“Nothing for me,” his wife said to the server.
He couldn’t believe her. He wanted to tell her to just order something, to not act so insulting, but J.D. didn’t want to bring any more attention on them.
“How come you don’t wanna eat that?” a voice out of the blue asked. “Is it cuz of the carbs?”
They both looked back and saw the little girl looking at them with curiosity. She looked pale and thin but also quite feisty.
A smile covered his wife’s face. It was nice to see.
“No, it’s not that,” Teri said. “I’m just—I’m not very hungry.”
J.D. leaned toward the round cheeks and big eyes staring up at them. “You sure seem to know a lot about food.”
“Yeah, I know a lot of stuff. I’m Lily.”
It wasn’t just a simple introduction. It sounded like some kind of declaration. Almost like I’m Lily, haven’t you heard of me? A warning of sorts.
“Pleasure to meet you, Lily. I’m J.D.” He gave the mother a friendly smile. “Mind if we sit with the two of you?”
Lily answered for both of them. “Sure. If it’s okay with my mom. She gets a little weird about strangers. Especially big ones named Joe.”
The mother simply shook her head in a combination of embarrassment and pride. The woman looked much like her daughter. The only thing missing was the fire that made the girl’s face glow.
“It’s fine,” a subdued voice told them. “That would be lovely, thanks.”
The long tables were full but J.D. and Teri found a section in the middle of one where they could sit and face the mother and daughter. A couple of grizzled men, bundled up even inside, sat on one side, devouring their food, while a couple of friendly faces sat on the other. J.D. decided to take the seat next to the men.
Without even thinking about it, he gave his usual thanks to God before eating.
“For what we are about to receive—and for the gift of our new friends, Samantha and Lily—may the Lord make us truly thankful. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
As he lifted his head and picked up his fork, he saw both of his new friends looking at him.
“Do you always pray before your food, Mr. J.D.?”
There was something about the unabashed honesty of children. The world quickly stomped it out, J.D. thought. Especially in today’s politically correct, careful-not-to-offend, unobtrusive culture.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“Me too,” Lily bounced back. “Even when they run out of beds, and we have to sleep outside in the parking lot. And all we eat is potato chips for two whole days.”
Maybe your mother doesn’t love that honesty.
“Sleeping in the parking lot, huh?” J.D. said as if she were talking about a new toy she received for Christmas. “Sounds like fun. Sorta like camping. Right, hon’?”
Teri gave a nod and polite smile but remained silent.
Lily kept talking through a big mouthful of food. “It’s not really camping. We have a car. Mom calls it the ‘orange dorkmobile.’ ”
“I love the name,” J.D. said.
He could tell Samantha appeared embarrassed and defeated, a one-two punch. A flood of questions filled him, yet he had to wade through them and try to figure out if any of them were appropriate to ask. He wanted to help, wanted to offer any sort of suggestions or aid. But he was brand-new to this and the last thing he wanted to do was to heighten that embarrassment or defeat.
“This is good,” he said about his chili-mac-and-cheese.
Teri gave him a you-are-so-lying look.
“Seriously,” he said. “Look. You can’t ever go wrong with anything with chili and cheese.”
He took a big bite and then nodded at Lily while raising his plastic spoon. She laughed and then did the same.
Samantha gave him a polite smile that looked like a painting in a museum. A portrait of someone with a thousand different stories to tell but unable to share a single one.
• • •
HALF AN HOUR later, while driving back home, J.D. kept trying to pull something out of his wife. She hadn’t said much and had only answered his questions with simple one-word answers.
“That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“Right.”
“They were a cute family.”
“Yes.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Teri never overdid anything, including talking. She liked to bury her thoughts and emotions. If they did actually bubble to the surface, they were still always carefully spoken and thought out. It made her impossible to see right through. Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves, as the saying went. Teri’s heart was hidden behind a bulletproof vest.
So when she finally said something before arriving home, J.D. couldn’t help but be surprised.
“I thought . . . they’d look a little different.”
He chuckled. “You mean like orphans in a Dickens novel?”
She looked over and laughed. It was genuine. This was her way of admitting that it hadn’t been so bad, that he had been right. She would probably never utter those very words, but J.D. knew she had been pleasantly surprised by their lunch.
He waited to see if she said anything else, especially about Samantha and Lily. But nothing came.
He’d wait. Perhaps that mind and heart of hers would start to stir. Perhaps she would eventually mention them, providing an oh-so-slightly opened door.
J.D. had already walked through it. He knew what he wanted to do. What needed to happen. His wife just needed to be convinced. And it usually worked best when it seemed like the idea was hers.
The evening was hours away. He had time to work on her.