in San Antonio—he found a place for everything he’d brought with him. If any youth group kids or parents wanted a tour, he wouldn’t be embarrassed to let them in.
Jase still had to organize his dresser drawers and closet. A person shouldn’t live out of suitcases for more than a day or two. Sure, the rest of the place looked neat, but not until his clothes were put away would it really feel like home. He’d used the same measuring stick when he was a boy, bouncing from foster home to foster home. Except back then he’d carried everything in a black garbage bag. Still, if he got to unpack, he knew he’d stay. At least for a while. His urgency to get fully settled battled against his resistance to adopt Bradleyville as his new home, making his insides twitch.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had organized the kitchen cabinets instead of eating breakfast. Bless Leah Kraft’s heart, she’d fully stocked his fridge with milk, apples and oranges, assorted lunch meats and cheeses, plus a half dozen whipped topping and butter tubs containing leftovers from her own kitchen. She’d even loaded the door with basic condiments. The Krafts were good people—thoughtful, generous. He already liked them a lot.
He selected a tub and peeled back the lid. A single slice of meatloaf and a lump of mashed potatoes waited inside. Perfect. He bumped the fridge door closed with his hip, took a half step to the mini microwave on the counter, slid the container in, and pushed Start. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he knew how to operate such a simple appliance. When the thing gave a tinny ding!, he transferred the steaming food to a plate, then sat at the little table tucked against the pony wall separating his kitchen from his living room. He folded his hands and bowed his head.
“Dear Lord…” A lump filled his throat. Why was praying so hard these days? He used to talk to God as easily as if they were seated across a table from each other. Now even thanking Him for a meal left him tongue-tied and empty worded. Maybe even empty hearted. And he was going to lead young people?
Suddenly the food didn’t hold the same appeal. He scraped it back into its tub and returned it to the refrigerator. As he rinsed his plate, someone knocked on the door. He glanced at the clock hanging on the soffit above the sink. One o’clock already—the time he and Brother Kraft had agreed upon to turn in the U-Haul and then do some car shopping.
Jase put the plate in the sink, grabbed the towel he’d draped over the oven door handle, and hurried to the door. He opened it and gestured the minister inside while drying his hands. “I lost track of time. Let me get my jacket, and—”
Brother Kraft whistled through his teeth, his gaze roaming the room. “Look at this place.” He scuffed across the freshly vacuumed carpet and touched the frame of the Spurs poster Jase had hung dead center above his faded brown leather sofa. “Decor items up and everything. It looks like you’ve been here for weeks already.”
Jase folded the towel and lay it over the pony wall. Then he snagged his jacket from a hook behind the door and shrugged it on. “I think better when I’m not in the middle of a mess.” He wasn’t as obsessive about neatness as he’d once been, but he’d probably never completely recover from the total disarray in his earliest memories. He’d probably never forget the piles of garbage and clutter that accompanied his mother’s mental illness and led to his removal by the state. Rachel had understood his need for order and hadn’t ever made fun of him the way his college roommates had. He’d found his soul mate. And now she was gone.
He pushed aside thoughts of mess and of Rachel. This was his new chapter, remember? “Besides, I figured some parents might want to come up, see where I live, since their kids will probably hang out here some.”
Brother Kraft turned and faced Jase, his expression solemn. “If you did all this work for that reason, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you…all gatherings with the kids will take place at the church. In this day and age, having kids to your apartment?” He brushed his toe against the nap of the carpet, pushing the shaggy strands the wrong way. “It isn’t