We moved into silence, just looking at each other. Questions passed unspoken between our eyes. “Please tell me what you’re thinking, Lester. Even if it is bad, I just need to know.”
He sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. I know what the Bible says, but I also know a couple of other gay people who are wonderful. And now you. I have rarely seen anyone with the love you have for kids. These kids that so many in our world say are unfixable and unworthy of love or trust.”
I nodded, not really sure what to say.
“I also know this,” he continued. “I know God is bigger than any of us can conceive. I know things are not always black and white. And I know you. And I know I see God shining through your eyes. I am content to leave it at that. Why should I have to understand every minute detail of God’s universe and His plan?”
“Thanks, Lester.” It felt like he had just wrapped his arms around me. I wanted to curl up in bed and fall asleep.
“Thank you for being open with me, Brooke. It’s good to know you more. Now, go home and relax. I’ll let the girls know I sent you home early.”
“Okay, thanks again, Lester.” I wiped my eyes one final time and walked to the door.
As I pulled open the door and started to step through, Lester put his hand on my shoulder. “Brooke, is it okay if I give you a hug?”
Ilooked up into his eyes. My throat suddenly constricted again. All I could do was nod.
Lester took me into his titan arms, smashing my face below his chest. I’d never been hugged by anyone so large in my life. I felt like a child. The tears started again.
Four
Theculinary club turned out to be a complete success. The boys loved it, and many of them, to the shock of everyone, were naturally good at it. I wasn’t sure it was going to change anyone’s life, but it did provide time to build deeper relationships with the kids and helped some of them find a new aspect of themselves to be proud of. I even heard a couple of them talking about becoming chefs one day. I was going to check at some of the culinary institutes to see if they had any scholarship programs to help inner city students or those with disabilities. It was working out better than I’d dared to hope.
The first week, we started simple with mac and cheese and no-bake cookies. After the boys did well on that, I decided to jump ahead to the gourmet, just to see if they could keep up. Sure enough, after two weeks of mastering main courses, I was convinced I was leading the only team of five-star chefs who threw up gang signs anywhere in the country. I figured it was time to move on to my favorite, desserts. For that, I needed supplies.
I wandered around the cooking superstore wishing I had unlimited funds. They had food-related tools and appliances for everything imaginable. I had no idea what many of them actually did, but they were shiny and expensive. They looked like fun. I had a difficult time forcing myself to put down the set of chestnut-brown designer dishes. They would have gone perfectly with my newly steel-blue-painted dining room. I knew better than to even glance at the new line of sterling silver flatware; there wouldn’t be achance in the world I would be able to pass it by without handing over a small fortune. I kept my eyes focused ahead, looking at the signs above labeling each section of the store.
Smugly proud of my determination and self-control, I made my way over to the baking area. It proved to be full of even more unrequired treasures. I picked up a copper mixing bowl with fluted edges. I set it back down with a gasp when I saw it cost more than six hundred dollars. I gazed at it in awe. Gingerly, I ran my finger over its textured surface. It was pretty, but I wasn’t sure how it would cook things better than the normal, everyday mixing bowl I had at home. I made a note to myself to bring the boys here on a field trip. It would be fun to see their reactions to some of the prices, and to give them different ideas of what we could do in the culinary club. How much more could they do if they had the tools? Oh well, they had more now than they ever had before, and they were probably doing a better job with what they had than some of the rich schools’ cooking classes in the area. I patted myself on the back yet again. Then I remembered the whole falling after pride thing and rapidly quit my self-adulation. The last thing I needed to do was to fall here and break a thousand-dollar crystal spoon or something.
I finally found the area I was looking for. Pans. After several seconds, I spotted the tag with the label I needed. Bottom shelf, of course. None sitting there for me to just pick up. I glanced around before I got down on my hands and knees and peered to the back of the rack. One left! I pushed aside other items that were in front of the one I wanted, pulled the pan out, and stood up quickly.
Pain shot through me as the back of my head crashed into something. White spots danced over my eyes. Whatever I’d hit fell to the floor and shattered. “Fuck!” I put my hand on the back of my head and began to rub and gradually straightened up.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”
The voice came from behind me, and I turned around slowly, my face reddening. “Oh, no problem. I’m sorry I cursed. I’m not typically so vulgar; it just caught me off guard. I….” I stopped as I faced the person. Actually, as I turned my head upward to face the person. I couldn’t believe who was in front of me. I had no idea what to say.
“Don’t be silly. I would’ve cursed too! Again, I am very sorry. Apparently I’m not meant to purchase a ceramic casserole dish. At least, not that particular one.” He gestured to the shards around us on the floor and flashed a smile of perfectly white, perfectly straight, perfectly sized teeth. Perfect.
His eyes widened as he looked at my face. “Oh, it’s you! You seem to constantly be catching me when I’m not at my finest. First dancing in the elevator and now clubbering you with cooking ware.”
“Clubbering? Don’t you mean clobbering?”Dear God! Had I really just said that?These are the words I choose as an introduction? If only the dish could have hit my head hard enough to render me unconscious.
The man stared at me quizzically with a smirk on his face. His low voice was gentle. “Actually, I meant clubbering. I think it sounds better. What are you, a teacher or something?”
“Uhm, yeah. I mean, no, actually.”
“Not quite sure what you are? Must have hit you harder than I thought. You’re suffering from amnesia.” The man’s eyes twinkled.
“I’m a counselor, with kids,” I muttered.
“Oh, there I go, putting my foot in my mouth.” He laughed. His laugh was as deep as his voice—not too deep, just enough to have a sense of warmth to it. I liked the sound of it. He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Jed. Sorry to haveclobberedyou, as you say. I will try not to do any other physical harm to you in the foreseeable future.”
I readjusted the box I held and took Jed’s hand and gave it a firm but brief shake. “Brooke. I’m Brooke.”
“As in Brooke? James Brooke?”
I looked at him in confusion. “No. I’m not sure I know who that is.”
