As it turned out, she had to miss a couple Sundays at her church in the city—a niece got baptized out in the county, a group of educators she was in had already scheduled a weekend retreat. So of course her first Sunday back she was late and just squeezed into a seat at the back. Her pastor’s wife waved at her while almost running down the side aisle, hand in hand with her just recently-potty-trained youngest child. This whole church was a mess, and she loved it so much.

Sarah peeked out around the edge of the pew and saw the other kids in that family (alone, of course, because their father was leading worship). One was about to let lose a paper airplane, one was dancing to the Swahili praise song, and one had a huge “fuck it” expression on her face.

Then she found Mark. He looked great in a windowpane plaid button down and straight front khakis, and yeah, he was moving his hips to the music, and boy she wasn’t supposed to be having those thoughts in church, was she? Also, they were on the same side of the church. Actually, maybe this was better because she wouldn’t have to look across the room at him during communion.

She quickly averted her eyes and sang along even louder. They had continued to text a little bit over the weeks, with proud reports from his classroom, and had waved when they passed each other in the alley. She knew how she felt about Mark-the-person. But somehow it was like the anger she’d felt when they met—even if it was no longer directed at him—that anger wouldn’t stay in the box. Between the struggles of her Title I school, and the discussion at her teachers’ group, the news—even though she tried to avoid it, the current administration’s blatant push toward privatization and more segregation—she was getting angry too often these days. She had stopped talking to a lot of people because she didn’t want to yell at them. She hoped that church would help.

When they reached the prayer part of the liturgy, what do you know, they were praying for people who worked in education. All the teachers stood up and looked around the sanctuary to see who their co-laborers were. She wondered if anyone else felt the zing when she and Mark finally made eye contact. She waved a tiny awkward wave with her hand still at her waist.

He made a face and waved back. At any rate, they all, charter, private, or public teachers and administrators needed that prayer.

When church was over, folks had gotten their kids from the nursery time, decompressed from communion, and started visiting, she smiled at a few people and made her way to the door. Some people just always had to stop at the doorway to the sanctuary, and she always had to work on her sanctification and be patient with them. The pastor was standing just past the doorway, greeting people as they left.

“Hey Sarah—How’s your year been?” he said as he took her hand to shake. But after a closer look at her face, he gave her a hug. “That bad already, huh?”

“It’s been quite a semester so far,” she admitted. Even the good years at her school took a lot out of her. And this year was only so-so.

“Well, we’ll hope God answers our prayers for you—and let us and the deacons know if we can do anything to help.” She kept herself from rolling her eyes. She loved her church, but nobody from the church ever showed up to volunteer or even thought about sending their kids to her school.

Sarah felt her skin tingle and it wasn’t because of the pastor’s non-sexual hug. He’s right behind me, isn’t he?

“Hey, Pastor Louis, I’m Mark Jones. I’m Sarah’s neighbor.”

“Oh, Sarah, you know Mark?”

“I do indeed.” She didn’t say she knew the inside of his mouth a little better than she’d meant to. This church had carried her through some pretty bad times, but she wasn’t sure it knew how to deal with insurmountable sexual attraction. On the other hand, there were a lot of families with a lot of kids around, so maybe they knew exactly what to do with it. Yeah, she didn’t want to think about that.

“Oh, and I saw you both stand up during the prayer—do you teach at the same school?” Her pastor was observant, yes.

“No, I’m at Wolf School on the west side.” Mark answered before Sarah could say anything. And then he continued more slowly, “But honestly, I don’t think I’m called to be a teacher. I was sold by the schtick—I’m with USAteach right now—and—” He took a breath and released it. “—I’m doing okay but I feel like I’m taking a spot from someone who was trained and created to teach. I may not be making things worse but I’m not adding value, and the school environment is getting to me, too.”

Sarah looked at him, her eyes going wide. He hadn’t said anything in his texts, which were optimistic about his students’ progress. Of course, her pastor did have the gift of pulling unsolicited truth out of people.

Mark looked her in the face. “I know. I just…I’ve been a soldier, and children are not soldiers. And you—you light up when you talk about teaching. I shut down.”

“So you’re gonna quit? This far into the school year?” Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. “Bye, Pastor Louis.”

They walked down the front entrance steps together. “No, I don’t want to leave them in the lurch—it would probably be even worse for the kids there, but I’m hoping I can leave mid-year. It’s pretty clear I haven’t bought into the culture of the school, so I don’t think they’ll be too surprised or even disappointed to see me go.” Mark said it with a twisted smile. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with my lease or what is going on with my life but yeah. Teaching isn’t going to be the way I make my mark on the world.”

She cautiously laid a hand on his arm and when nothing electric happened, spoke. “Teaching isn’t the only way to make a difference in the world. There’s so much to do here in St. Louis.”

“Yeah, but can I make a difference and still pay my rent?” Her heart contracted a smidge at then woebegone look on his face.

She tossed her hair. “We’ll worry about money later. For now, let me take you to lunch.”

Some of her hair brushed his face, and he tightened his clenched fists. He’d dampened the zing he felt as soon as she could when she’d touched his arm, and he felt all kinds of naked while admitting his failure in discernment. But it was her, and she wasn’t judging. He could go to lunch with her and it would be okay.

“Have you ever had Vietnamese?”

“Sarah, I might be from the south, but that doesn’t mean I’m a rube. Of course I’ve had Vietnamese.” Once.

“Well, when I am having problems with the world, Vietnamese soup is what makes me start to feel better about life. It’s just…it’s like God’s love in a bowl.”

“Okay—that sounds like what I need today.”

She wasn’t wrong about the soup. At Mark’s first spoonful of the broth, he closed his eyes and just felt. Suddenly all the feelings that had been overwhelming him—school, Sarah, Sarah, school, the way Sarah felt about his school, what would happen when he quit...all those feelings slipped away and instead he felt overwhelmed by the goodness of God. Because God was good—it was good that he knew Sarah. It was good that he wanted to kiss her forever. And maybe make her lunch to take to school. God would be good to those kids in his soon to be ex-classroom, with or without him.

He must’ve moaned a little or something, because Sarah kicked him under the table. “You need a moment alone with your pho? I can go outside, sit on the patio.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I embarrassing you?” He slurped up some noodles.

“Well, I think you’re embarrassing yourself. You did just close your eyes and moan just now. I don’t know what people are going to be thinking you’re thinking.”

“Probably that I’m imagining what I’m going to do to you when we get back home.”

“Mark!”

“That’s not what I was thinking, just for the record, but I’m sure that’s what other people are thinking. I mean, I can’t blame them. You are a hot lady, and I am an infatuated man.” Jesus, what in the world is happening?” How did he go from a spiritual experience to practically dirty-talking a woman he wasn’t even in a relationship with? Was this even acceptable?

“You’re infatuated?” Her tone was light, but she was very careful about how she was twisting the noodles from her noodle bowl onto her chopsticks.

“I mean—” he took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. I’d say so. I look at everything you are doing with your school and your garden and you probably have a school garden too, don’t you, and with church, and your life is just full. You fill your life up with good things. You’ve had the chance to do it and you have. You share your squash. You kiss like an avenging angel. I’ve almost run into the dumpsters in the alley like 20 times ‘cause I’m checking to see if you’re in your garden.”

She let out a sharp laugh and stopped messing with her noodles.

He continued. “And I know I’m like your worst nightmare—I’m not from St. Louis, I’m at a charter school and with USAteach—for now, at least, and I still don’t understand exactly why you hate them, I’m not a godly Black man your students can look up to.”

She choked at the words, and he smirked.

“Infatuated, Sarah. I’ve been asking about you. I want to know you more, for you to show me more. And now you’ve introduced me to pho, and I’m just stuck.”

Sarah coughed. “Wow. I didn’t realize. Okay. Can I have a minute to process all this?’ Her face was becoming a deep shade of red.

“Sure, I’ll just eat my soup without moaning. Don’t mind me.” He wasn’t sure what was happening. He’d planned a long campaign, maybe after he was finished being a teacher, not to blurt everything out the first time he was alone-ish with her. Subtlety, precision, he’d had plans. Maybe even some heirloom seeds. Instead he’d blurted everything out, and now he felt like the scrubby, pimply thirteen-year-old, still short and smooth, with a crush on a beautiful eighth grader, taller than him, curvy and gloriously pony-tailed. She could laugh at him and walk away and would be well within her rights.

Sarah negotiated getting just the right proportions of pork, peanuts and noodles on her chopsticks. She risked a look up at Mark. He was staring grimly into his pho, his slurpy spoon in his hand. Oh man, earlier he’d been moaning into his soup, and now he looked at it like it was a firing squad. What had even happened?

And oh man, could she believe he’d said that thing about “when we get home”? Did nice Christian boys talk like that? And if they didn’t, did she want a nice Christian boy after all?

She took a moment to look at him. Even when he was sulky, she was…yeah, dammit, he still shone. Where and how to go from here? At least she could start with the easy questions.

“Okay. So first off, I hate charter schools because it’s an opportunity for people to disinvest from the local neighborhood schools, and just because some parents choose to go to charter schools or magnet schools, none of the kids at any of the schools really have a choice. And charter schools divert resources and love that our neighborhood public schools desperately need. They can have rules and restrictions that public schools can’t.” She stopped and took a sip of her Sprite. Mark slurped up some broth. He caught her eye and winced.

“I can see some of that,” he said. He covered his face with his hands and dragged his fingers to his chin. “What else?”

She swallowed hard and kept going. “And I hate USATeach because it is a slap in the face to all the real education majors who love kids and the idea of education. I went to school for four years—FOUR YEARS!—to study education. And then I went back and got my Masters. Meanwhile, they are just parachuting you in after you studied business or something for four years. Just because you have high test scores and a good application. And no offense to you, but then the folks who apply and can’t hack it leave. Kids need consistency at their schools. My best students are the ones whose older siblings I’ve taught, where I’ve been able to form a relationship with the whole family. I know them. And USAteach talks about using it as a foundation for something other than teaching—our neighborhood kids shouldn’t be a stepping stone on your resume! Get the fuck outta here.”

Mark actually scooted his chair back. “Whoa. I can leave.”

Sarah reached out her hand to touch his forearm. “No, no, you can stay. That wasn’t at you. Sorry. It’s a very sore subject. Seems like everybody thinks about what’s best for their family alone, not about all the other kids around them. Even at church.”

“I can see what you’re saying, though.” Mark pushed his hand through his hair. “We do have really strict standards, and we require volunteer hours from parents, and we can do that because there’s a waiting list. And it’s so messy about perception because you are definitely a better teacher than I am.”

Sarah shook her head vehemently to agree with him. Boy, all the anger had come out again.

“I bet you feel lonely, huh.” Mark scooted his chair a bit closer to the table.

“Yeah. I do.” Now he was even slipping into the chair beside her.

“Nobody understands?” His chair was close enough that their thighs were touching now.

“Yeah.” She sniffed. His arm was around her now.

“People you went to college with, your family, your old church, nobody really understands the choices you make? Or the politics you’ve come to?” He was nuzzling into her ear now.

“Mark, what are you doing?” He was so close, so warm.

“I want to be close to you, Sarah. You said you were alone, but I just want you to know you don’t have to be alone now.”

“That’s…that’s really sweet.” Shit. He was still glowing. She had the feeling her life would never fit the same way again.

“Well, not all of my other thoughts are sweet but yeah.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I can’t tell you.” She looked at his face, which was kinda red.

“Mark, are you having dirty thoughts again?” She asked with laughter in her voice, but he squeezed his eyes shut tight in a grimace and put his face in his hand. His other arm, though, the one around her, pulled her even closer.

“Yes. I got close to you again, didn’t I? I gotta go home and repent, man.”

“Maybe take a cold shower?” She was teasing him again.

He was glumly serious. “Yes.”

She made a squirmy dance of happiness that brought their bodies into a wave of contact. “Holy shit, Sarah, be still. Please.”

“Oh—sorry.” She smiled at him and she could feel the zing that went from her smile, the kind that lifted up her cheek apples and stretched her cheeks, that went right into his chagrined eyes.

At this moment, she was feeling a peace—maybe even a joy—and some anticipation that she’d never felt before. Her life before he ran into her in the alley had been peaceful, a semester at a time eddying over her, and joyful as students lit up inside because of her teaching and her garden grew. It had been a good life before. She’d been content. Occasionally wistful, but overall, content. She dismissed the frustrations and irritations and the brief spurts of anger she’d experienced with Mark and with educational policy in the city and the country. Life had been good.

And now, it was going to be a different kind of good. Maybe even good-good. She wasn’t even sure how to process it. This was even better than the first sip of pho. The warmth of his arm was around her. And then his eyes changed from shamefaced to warm and clear and, dear Jesus, so intense. And then he blinked hard.

“Okay, baby, we have to go.”

She couldn’t resist a mischievous grin. “Let’s go.”

Mark thought really cold thoughts all the way home, and ended up not needing his shower after all. He was like, there and not-there. Already and not-yet. He was all-in and he hadn’t even unpacked everything. He’d never felt a pull this strong from anything. Well, except Jesus, right? No town, no idea, no other woman, no video game, or sports team. It was fucking awesome but he also felt like he’d been hit upside the head with a two-by-four. Repeatedly. He tried to watch football, but his team wasn’t on, and he wasn’t sure he could have concentrated anyway. They were way out of play-off contention anyway.

Finally he changed out of his church clothes and put on exercise clothes and went for a run. Except he started saying all the thoughts he was thinking and he finally had to slow to a walk so he could yell at God properly. Not loud enough to get the police called on him, but wow it felt good to vocalize his problems.

“Jesus, did you just bring me here to destroy me?”

He hadn’t had a real clear idea of his future when he’d moved to town. Hadn’t seen a trajectory clear—it had been a new start with the potential for anything to happen and maybe he’d move the arc a little bit closer towards justice. But what he hadn’t expected was seeing his plans, as gauzy as they were, get exploded in just a few months, by his own failings, by his neighbor, who didn’t even think he was moving the arc at all.

He’d thought maybe he’d meet a co-worker, maybe someone at that seminary? Certainly not someone as outspoken, as opinionated, as… fuck it, wise…as Sarah. She was a little bit angry, a lot compassionate, and Jesus, he wanted to touch her, to be close to her, to be inside her.

It felt like a train wreck. He’d pictured more an airplane flight, with lots of waiting, seatbelts on, when he did meet that counseling seminary student, probably from the south, with a heart “for the marginalized”. Instead he’d met Sarah, and it was like a fucking train wreck. Boom, crash, it was over.

“Is this really what you want, Jesus? Jesus, please show me the way. Help me. What in the world is going on?”

He’d been kinda wondering around mindlessly but when he finally stopped and looked at where he was, he just face palmed. Of course he ended up at her school. It was a beautiful building, no doubt built during the 1910s. Mostly beautiful. There was a window boarded up in one of the windows on the front, a sign probably from the original building, that said, “Children Only. No Adults.” Trash on the sidewalk. He walked around the block to try to get a feel for it. There was a sweet, carefully tended garden, still verdant despite the end-of-summer heatwave. Each section was neatly labeled. He knew that was probably Sarah’s work.

He saw some places where the raised beds needed reinforcing, where the plants could’ve benefited from supports. Despite the sign, he opened the gate to get closer to the garden. He reached the herb section, each one clearly labeled, with a reason to use it. He picked a sprig of lavender “for peace” like the sign said. He twisted it in his fingers and raised his hands to his nose to smell.

He breathed deeply—one twice three times. Something about those breaths re-centered his heart and his soul. The shock and uncertainty faded away, at least for now, and the bone-deep feeling of resolve settled in him.

“Okay, Jesus, I trust your providence. I’ve trusted you with my life in shittier situations, I will try to trust you now. For me and for Sarah. Just please, keep us.”

And then, because it was Sunday and tomorrow would bring another day of instruction, he had to go home and get ready to try to teach. As he walked back home, his mind teemed with possibilities for his future. He had to find a new career, convince his neighbor they should be together, and honor God all the way through it.

Surely somewhere in his past life he’d been prepared for this, right?

His pace picked up as he ran back home towards his future.