Controlling Interest (17 page)

Matt shifted his shoulders. “Yeah, well, the problem is, neither of us exactly has a church at the moment.” He leaned a little closer to Natalie, as if for rescue from Tootie's disapproving eye.

Probably her imagination.

Tootie got her knitting back under control. “You should come with me. Father Tim's doing a series on the book of Deuteronomy.”

“Deuteronomy.” Natalie met Matt's twinkling hazel eyes. “Sounds great, Tootie, but — ”

“ — but the church that sponsors the shelter has a service on Sunday morning,” Matt interrupted smoothly. “I vote we check that out. Maybe Yasmine will show up there.”

“She's Muslim. Why would she go to a — ” Natalie stopped as Matt's left eyelid flickered. “I mean, that's a great idea. I told Alison I'd help when I could. She said they were looking for somebody to play the piano.”

“I didn't know you play the piano.” Matt looked downright incredulous.

“There are a lot of things you don't know about me,” she said tartly. “I know how to knit too.”

Tootie tossed her skein of yarn and needles into Natalie's lap. “Then straighten out this mess before it turns into a toboggan instead of a blanket.”

Natalie looked at it dubiously. “I'll see what I can do. Matt, I really am tired. If you think there's nothing else we can accomplish tonight, I'm going over to my mom's for the night.”

“Okay. Come on, I'll walk you out to your car.”

Natalie gathered up her new project, along with her purse, and followed Matt downstairs and out to the street where her car was parked. She unlocked the Miata and climbed in.

He held the door, looking down at her with a frown. “Be careful driving home. This isn't a safe neighborhood for women.”

Sheesh. He was getting to be such a big brother. “I'm always careful.”

“Yeah, right. You and your dark alleys.”

“Okay,
generally
I'm careful. I'll see you in the morning.”

But instead of letting go of the door, he squatted down to her level. “I'm glad you called when you did.”

“Why? I got the impression I was interrupting a good time.”

He looked down. “Well, it was and it wasn't.” The shadow of the car door hid his face, but from his tone of voice, she'd bet he was blushing.

“What do you mean?”

“Let's just say I need somebody to watch my back every now and then.”

Natalie hardly knew what to do with this yank in the conversational knot. “You weren't fixin' to do something . . . stupid, were you?”

“No. Not really. I don't think so.” Matt jiggled the door back and forth. “Never mind. Forget it.” He started to rise.

“Wait, Matt.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. He'd been mostly kind to her. Maybe they were becoming friends. “I know how hard it is to break bad habits. My language was awful for awhile, and sometimes I still slip.”

“Yeah.” He seemed relieved that she understood. “That one too. I think I've been lonesome lately. Don't have anybody to talk to but Tootie and Ringo — and you can imagine what
those
conversations are like.”

She smiled at his wry tone. “Maybe . . .” She hesitated. “Maybe she's right, that church would be the best thing for us both. The Lone Ranger stuff is dangerous.”

“I guess. Do you read your Bible every day?”

“I try to. Why?”

“Well, it's just — ” He let out a breath. “I know you're supposed to do that, and I've tried, but it seems so boring. Makes me feel guilty, but I don't even like to read the newspaper. How'm I supposed to get into a bunch of thee's and thou's and verily I say unto you's?”

“It helps to think of it as a love letter. Anything impersonal is boring.”

Matt sighed. “Part of the problem is, I can hear my dad's voice reading it, like he did at bedtime when I was growing up. Puts me right to sleep.”

A pang of envy struck. “Your parents are Christians, then.”

“Yeah. Actually, my dad's a retired bivocational minister.”

“Really? Then how'd you get so far away?”

“When I got out of high school I hopped on the first spiritual plane and zoomed off as fast as I could. I didn't think the church had anything relevant to say to me. Or if it did, I wasn't listening. Not until I met Cole and Laurel McGaughan.”

“The couple in the photo on your desk?”

He nodded. “You know that verse about scales coming off your eyes? That was me. Rude awakening when I got in trouble.”

“See? The Bible
is
relevant, when you pay attention.”

“Oh, I know. And looking back on it, I'm thankful for all the Scripture my parents and my school teachers stuffed down me. It comes back to me at odd moments.” Matt rubbed his forehead. “I just have a hard time making myself choke it down on a daily basis.”

Natalie fumbled for the right words.
Lord, please help me here.
“Being a disciple is following the example of your teacher. I guess that's why it's called discipline. It's like food. Has to be consumed daily. If you don't, you get weak, and girls in low-cut tops and tight jeans will be a bigger temptation.”

There was a moment of quiet as Matt looked up at her. “You must think I'm a real loser.”

She squeezed his shoulder. Surprisingly powerful shoulder. “I think you've got more courage than a lot of men who never ask for help.”

The white glint of his teeth flashed. “And I think you're a lot smarter than I first thought. Even if you are trouble waiting to happen.” As he stood up, he kissed her forehead. “Meet me at the chapel next to the shelter in the morning. Maybe we'll get lucky and zero in on Yasmine.”

Forehead tingling, Natalie started the car and backed out. She'd never had a conversation like that with any man, not even the late unlamented Bradley. Especially not Bradley. Strange, when for the last two days she and Matt had been like a couple of pool balls caroming on a table, crashing against one another and bouncing apart again.

She reached up and brushed a finger across her brow. She was getting dizzy from not knowing what to expect.

CHAPTER
TEN

S
unday morning as Matt passed Tootie's apartment, she poked her head full of curlers out the door. “Don't forget your Bible.”

He pulled it out from under his arm. “Got it.” With Tootie to nag him, he hardly missed his mother. Women just seemed to be genetically wired to run a man's life — or at least try to. Poor Mom had had little success in that arena. Which was why he had no desire to get married.

“Married?” he muttered out loud as he started down the stairs. “Who said anything about getting married?”

“What's that, Matthew?”

Startled, he looked over his shoulder. “Nothing, Tootie. Just talking to myself.” He ducked out the front door.

Out on the street he looked around, enjoying the quiet. Though the sun was well up in the east, the work force hadn't yet arrived in the shops. Street bums were sleeping off liquor binges, either in a back alley or at one of the shelters. Tourists were still abed. The short walk over to Jackson Street would be a good time to pray for guidance for the day.

Last night he'd lain awake past midnight, thinking about what Natalie said about reading his Bible. Asking forgiveness for his lack of discipline and praying for new passion. Maybe the passion wouldn't come all at once. But God wouldn't hide from those who sought him.

Natalie was right about the Lone Ranger thing too. His heart warmed, knowing she'd be praying for him. Never had imagined he'd look forward to sharing his office. But Natalie was such a cheerful little thing, with that pale yellow hair and bright smile.

Life was going to be a little bit lonelier after he finally got rid of her.

Mood deflated, he looked for the little blue Miata and found it parked in a metered space just down from the chapel. He checked to make sure she didn't have a ticket, then remembered the meters didn't run on Sundays. Pulling out his PDA, he made a note to ask Tootie to get Natalie a parking pass for the lot behind the building. Might as well, since she'd be working there for the next few weeks.

He hurried past a patrol car and gave a thumbs-up to the cop reading a Sunday paper spread across the steering wheel. The service was scheduled for nine, and it was about ten 'til. He hated to be late. The ultimate rudeness, his mother always said.

The glass storefront windows, painted with the words “Waterfront Chapel” in black lettering, glistened with a recent cleaning. Matt paused to scan the winos and addicts and ragged-out women lined up in metal folding chairs. The room would be rancid with cigarette smoke and other unmentionable odors. He looked down at his old but clean jeans, the crisp white oxford shirt, and a Mardi Grastie he'd bought in Mobile last year. He'd known a few lean years himself, trying to get the agency up and running. But he'd never been reduced to sleeping in a city park or under a bridge or in an abandoned building.

He had a lot to thank God for.

What was he going to say to these people? What if he ran into the man he and Nat had carried to the shelter the other night? Maybe going to church with the down-and-out would be good for him. Cole had talked him into helping with a soup kitchen back in Mobile a couple of times. That wasn't so bad.

Taking a breath, he stepped inside. Over the heads of the congregation he saw a plump young woman with a round, pleasant face handing out Bibles. She looked up and smiled as if she recognized him. He looked around to see if someone else had followed him in.

“Matt!” She beckoned, wiggling her fingers. “Come on in. Natalie said you'd be here. She's gone to help David bring the piano in from the truck.”

Matt shrugged and skirted the clump of winos, about thirty men and five or six women. He didn't see his friend, Homeless Harry.

“I'm Alison.” The brown-eyed woman offered her hand with another smile. “You can do this while I go and check on the children in the other room. We're almost ready to start.”

Adding the stack of Bibles to his own, Matt looked down at a woman in the front row. Her smile exposed several missing teeth, and her eyes were bloodshot. But she seemed alert and sober.

“Thank you,” she said when he handed her a Bible. She opened it randomly to the middle and hit Proverbs. A dirty finger caressed the fragile page. “Could I keep this?”

“Sure,” he said recklessly. He'd buy the chapel another one.

Feeling ridiculously heroic, he continued his task. By the time he got to the back row, empty-handed — he'd given his own Bible away too — he had relaxed enough to begin joking with the clients. Patients. Whatever you called them. Not everybody needed a Bible; some had brought their own, and a few were still in hangover mode. But they were all human beings with souls behind the sunburnt, dirty faces and foggy eyes. He was ashamed of his initial reluctance.

He looked up and found Natalie on the other side of the room, tinkering with the buttons on an electric piano. She had on jeans and a fluttery-sleeved green blouse that made her eyes glow. Or maybe it was her smile that shone. She'd apparently entered through the back door with the tall, dark-haired young man in glasses who was shuffling papers against a music stand.

The young pastor laughed when Natalie took off on a bouncy rendition of “The Addams Family” theme. “I think it's working now,” he said, moving his hand in a cutting motion.

Natalie grinned and smoothly slid into “Amazing Grace.”

“Morning, everybody.” The pastor grinned at his ragtag congregation. “Glad you're here. If you're new, I'm David, and my wife Alison is in the room with the children. We're very blessed this morning to have Natalie playing piano for us. I think y'all know this song, so let's stand and sing.”

Matt slid into the back row beside a couple of black men and tried to sing. The old hymn was so familiar, he normally wouldn't have noticed the words. But suddenly the word “wretch” stood out as if pasted on a New York billboard. He'd been just as lost as any of these people.
You found me, God
.
When I was running just as hard as I could away from you. Let me show you my gratitude.
Let my life count for something besides making money and having a good time.

Natalie thought he had courage. At least she'd said so last night, probably out of kindness. But he knew his own weakness, and he'd need more than a certificate like the one Oz had bestowed on the Cowardly Lion. He was going to need transformation from the inside out. Looking around this room, he saw the damage wrought by a powerful enemy — an enemy who'd like nothing better than to render Matt Hogan null and void.

Make me not afraid, Lord. Make me your warrior.

Natalie hovered as Matt effortlessly hefted the electric piano and loaded it into David's little Nissan truck. She wasn't surprised that he'd shown up for the service, but his enthusiasm in handing out Bibles and joining in the singing — tone-deaf though he may be — had come as something of a shock.