Whoa.” Stu’s eyes went wide. “Did you know about this, Edesa?”
Edesa shook her head. She reached over and tenderly W stroked the baby’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “I just hope we find your mama, niñita,” she whispered.
The sisters gathered around Edesa and the baby I was holding and prayed, pouring out their hearts for the young, lost mother and her abandoned baby. By the end of the prayers, we’d used up half a box of Florida’s tissues.
The group also prayed for rapid healing of my sprained ankle, and for Becky and Little Andy as they prepared to move from the cocoon of the Hickman household to their own apartment. “Thanks for the boxes, everybody,” Becky said sheepishly. “Though I wish Jodi hadn’t—”
“Give it a rest, Becky!”
“Okay, okay. Um, I hate to ask, but I’m movin’ a week from Saturday if anyone has a couple of hours to help. Ah, except Jodi.”
“Becky Wallace!” I rolled my eyes. “Will someone stuff a sock in her mouth?”
Becky sniffed self-righteously. “Well, you can’t help, even if you wanted to.”
Florida leaned my way. “That’s the men’s breakfast Saturday,” she murmured in my ear. “Think we can volunteer them?”
Before the meeting ended, we talked about Nony’s e-mail, bemoaning the short visit but agreeing it’d be best to have our reunion celebration after Christmas. “What about New Year’s Day—that’s a Sunday,” Stu suggested. “That’s our regular Yada Yada time, first Sunday of the month. Weekend would be best for everybody anyway.”
“Just we sistas? Or invite de ’usbands and de kids?” Chanda stuck out her lip in an exaggerated pout. “Dem wit’ ’usbands, anyway.”
We laughed, but agreed on husbands and kids, lots of food, lots of music, time to share, time to worship and pray . . . exact time and place still to be decided.
“Humph. You know dat Nonyameko going to be all decked out, wit’ dem blue-an’-gold outfits from Sout’ Africa and dose head-dresses she wear,” Chanda said. “Well, mi too. Going to dress like de Jamaicans dress when we party.”
Yo-Yo snickered. “Uh-huh. Only problem, Chanda. Your snowboots gonna look mighty funny with those sleeveless beach dresses you brought back last time.”
I STAYED HOME on Monday, since Avis had already arranged for a substitute, but I told Denny I wanted to go to school on Tuesday if he’d give me a ride. “I’ll get Avis or somebody to give me a ride home . . . I promise,” I added.
When I arrived at school, hobbling into my classroom on crutches, a stack of handmade get-well cards from my students sat on my desk. How sweet. Another teacher brought my students from the gym when the bell rang, and the kids seemed excited to see me, examining the soft “boot” with Velcro straps I was wearing on my left foot and wanting to know, “Didja like my card?” and, “Can I try your crutches?”
But the novelty of having me back wore off soon enough, and I found myself raising my voice more than I wanted to, simply because it was too much effort to walk around the classroom supervising their desk work as I usually did. Avis, bless her, showed up unannounced and just hung out in my classroom for ten minutes before lunchtime, walking between the clusters of desks, giving smiles and nods—and a few frowns when needed. And after lunch, she sent Ms. Ivy from the school office to do the same thing.
But by the time the last bell rang, my foot was throbbing and I was pooped. Avis said she’d give me a ride home, but it’d be four o’clock before she could leave. Fine with me. I tanked up on ibuprofen, propped my foot on an upturned wastebasket, and used the time to grade papers and plan for the next day . . .
The next day? Sheesh. I’d barely made it through this one.
But I enjoyed the five minutes I had Avis all to myself as she drove me home in her toasty warm Camry. “How’s Rochelle doing?”
She glanced sideways at me. “You saw her the last time I did, at the dedication for Manna House. I think she’s tired of being ‘poor Rochelle’ . . . out to prove she’s not going to let HIV stop her from living a full life. And she’s doing a pretty good job of it too. She loves her job working retail at one of the boutiques in downtown Chicago. All glamour and upscale.” She slipped me a wry grin. “Can’t afford the clothes myself.” The grin faded. “I just wish she’d find a good church and settle down.”
“She was coming to SouledOut for a while. Conny seemed to love it.”
“Yes, he did. And it was a nice way to see them both every week without being in each other’s hair.” Avis sighed, but kept her eyes on the street as she turned into Lunt Avenue, which was one-way. “To tell you the truth, Jodi, I think my other daughters feel neglected ever since Rochelle was diagnosed. Peter and I are thinking of driving to Cincinnati to see Charette and Bobby and the twins for Christmas. Tabitha and Toby are in first grade now! They’ve invited Rochelle and Conny to come, and Natasha too—though she’s living in New York since she graduated. We’ll see.”
“Christmas! When are you coming back? In time for our Yada Yada reunion, I hope.”
“Don’t worry. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Avis double-parked in front of my house and kept the car running as she got out. “Stay there, Jodi. I’m coming around to get you.”
There wasn’t much Avis could do except hold my tote bag as I used my crutches to boost me up the porch steps, one at a time. “Thanks. I’ll be fine now.”
“No problem. I’ll wait till you get inside.”
I opened the storm door and started to insert my keys in the lock, when I noticed something had been wedged between the two doors. “What’s this?”
“I’ll get it.”Avis bent down and picked it up. We both stared at it. Avis was holding my stolen purse.
WE STILL HAD leftovers from the food various Yada Yada sisters had dropped off that weekend. Denny dished out individual plates when he got home, and while waiting for them to reheat in the microwave, I showed him the purse Avis and I had found on our doorstep.
“How weird is that? Everything’s here—my wallet, ID, insurance card, lipstick, address book, coupons . . . except for the cash and credit cards, of course.”
“Huh. Of course.” The microwave beeped and Denny carried the two plates to the dining room table.
“But why bother to return the purse? I mean, I’m glad to have it back, and my other stuff, but don’t purse snatchers just take what they want and toss the purse?”
Denny grinned. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve snatched any purses. I forget the drill.”
“Denny! Be serious! . . . Anyway, let’s say thanks and eat. I’m hungry.” I leaned my crutches against the table, sank into a chair, and closed my eyes. “Lord, thank You for this food and for the friends who brought it, and thanks I didn’t have to cook it. And Lord, thanks that thief returned my purse . . .” My eyes flew open. “Wait a minute! Why am I assuming the thief returned it? The thieves probably tossed it in the bushes, but some Good Samaritan found it, saw my wallet and ID with my name and address, and dropped it off. That has to be it!” I closed my eyes again, grinning. “So . . . yes, Lord, bless the Good Samaritan who found my purse and returned it. You know who he or she is. Return their kindness many times over—”
The phone rang, interrupting my extended prayer. “Thank good-ness,” Denny muttered, jumping up to get the phone. “I thought you were hungry . . . Hello? Baxters . . . Oh, hi, Josh. What’s up?” Denny listened a long time. I saw his features sag and he glanced at me. “I’m so sorry, Josh . . . Yeah, sure, sure. It’s fine. See you tomorrow night.” He slowly put the phone back in its cradle.
“Denny? What? Is it—?”
Denny nodded, sat back down in his chair, and pushed his plate away. “It’s Carmelita. They found her . . . dead. Drug overdose. Found her in a drug house about two blocks away from the shelter.”
I just stared at my husband. Carmelita . . . dead? Oh God! How could this happen! Didn’t we pray for her safety? I felt angry . . . and confused. God had answered so many of our prayers! Why not this one? All the people praying for Carmelita certainly satisfied the promise Jesus had made: “If two of you agree on anything . . . my Father in heaven will do it”—several times over!
I put my head in my hands. Oh God, I don’t understand . . .
A few moments later, I looked up at Denny. “What did you mean when you told Josh, ‘See you tomorrow night’?”
“He asked if he could come by tomorrow night for supper. Said he needed to talk.”
“Just Josh?”
“That’s what he said.”
I DID GO to school the next day and managed a little better physically. Still couldn’t put any weight on my left foot, but I moved around on my crutches more freely and didn’t get as tired. But emotionally . . . I had a hard time focusing on division problems and arid regions of the earth. My mouth said the right things to the students (“Hand in your geography worksheets” . . . “Who wants to work the problem on the board?”), but my mind and heart kept up a running prayer with God.
Lord Jesus, please don’t let Josh hit another skid over Carmelita’s death . . . He takes things so personally . . . And what’s going to happen to Carmelita’s baby? . . . Jesus, have mercy on little Gracie. She’s so innocent, but she’s had such a hard life already . . . Maybe they can find the father . . . but he’s probably some no-good jerk who abandoned Carmelita when he found out she was pregnant . . . Oh God, in Your great love and mercy, Gracie needs You now . . .
Avis took me home again.We sat in front of my house in her car as the streetlights came on, holding hands with the heater running, and prayed for Manna House, its staff and volunteers and residents, facing yet another trauma. “ . . . And Father, we thank You for what You are going to do in baby Gracie’s life,” Avis prayed. “Thank You for bringing her to a safe place before her mother died. Help those who care for her to bear fruit in every good work. And help Gracie to grow up in the knowledge of You and to be strengthened with Your power. Rescue her, Lord, from the kingdom of darkness that took her mother, and bring her into the kingdom of light . . . ”
After an amen,Avis glanced at me and grinned. “I’ve been reading the first chapter of Colossians.”
O-kay. I was going to have to reread Colossians, find all that good stuff.
Denny brought home takeout from Eng’s Asian Cuisine on Western Avenue, a large order of General Tso’s chicken with rice and one order of Thai spicy chicken wings, which was more than enough for the three of us and cost ten bucks. Josh arrived shortly, his nose and ears red from his walk from the Morse Avenue el station. He looked around as he shed his knit hat and jacket. “Seems kind of lonesome around here without Willie Wonka. You guys thought of getting another dog?”
Every day. “Sometimes. But we’re at work all day and you kids are both at school . . . Come on, sit down. Food’s hot.”
We made small talk while Denny served up the chicken and spicy wings—how long I’d have to be on crutches, how Josh’s classes were going, how the West Rogers High Panthers were doing this year without their basketball stars from last year’s senior class. But Josh didn’t seem to be eating much, just pushing his food around on his plate.
“What’s up, Josh?” Denny finally cut through the small talk. “You said you wanted to talk.”
Josh sighed and pushed his plate away. “Yeah.” He blew out a long breath, as if letting out something bottled up inside. “Edesa wants to adopt Gracie.”
His announcement hung suspended in the air for a long, startled moment . . . then words tumbled from my mouth before they were even complete thoughts. “Adopt? But, but . . . that’s a huge decision! She shouldn’t feel obligated just because of Carmelita’s note. Carmelita didn’t even ask her! Oh, Josh. Manna House needs to call DCFS, if they haven’t already. I’m sure Illinois has all sorts of laws and regulations in a case like this. Indigent mother; abandoned baby. Maybe there are other relatives—”
“I know, Mom. I feel so confused. Edesa cried and cried when they found Carmelita. But now . . . it’s like she’s got her mind made up. She feels responsible for Gracie. More than that. A commit-ment. She’s really bonded to the kid, feels that God brought Carmelita and Gracie into her life for a reason. But . . . ” The pain on Josh’s face was palpable. “Where do I fit into this?”