The last few days of winter break, my kids acted like caged monkeys with bellyaches. Every time I asked Amanda to do something around the house, she wailed, “But I only have three more days till school starts!”—making it sound like these were her last days on earth. And Josh found some reason to be out every night till midnight, his non-school-night curfew. Funny how popular he was now that he had his driver’s license.
“Can’t we set a limit on how many midnights per week?” I fussed at Denny. “I never go to sleep till Josh gets home, and this is getting ridiculous!”
Frankly, I was glad when Amanda was invited to spend Friday and Saturday with her best friend in Downers Grove, taking the Metra train out to the south-west suburbs. Patti Sanders and Amanda had gone through elementary and middle school together, Awana Club and summer camp too. But the hour-plus drive on traffic-glutted highways between our Chicago neighbor-hood and Downers Grove meant that the girls hadn’t seen each other that often since we moved. “Have fun, honey,” I said, giving Amanda a kiss at the Rogers Park Metra station Friday morning. Go, go, I thought. Drive somebody else’s mother crazy. And then I immediately had an anxiety attack when the train pulled out. She had to change trains at the Metra hub downtown. What if she got on the wrong train? What if Patti’s mom wasn’t at the station to pick her up? What if some maniac saw she was alone and . . .
Get a grip, Jodi, I scolded myself as I drove back to Lunt Avenue. Haven’t you learned anything about trust this past year? Didn’t God protect Amanda and you and Denny and all the Yada Yadas when we got robbed last fall? Didn’t God bring Hakim back to your classroom after his mom yanked him out?
I grabbed one of the worship CDs we kept in the car, stuck it into the narrow slot, and punched through the selections till I found the song I wanted: “God is in control! This is no time for fear . . .” By the time I turned into our alley and clicked the garage opener, I was belting it out with Twila Paris: “God is in control! We believe that His children will not be forsaken!”
I came in the back door still singing—“He has never let you down; why start to worry now?”—but was immediately drowned out by an awful racket blaring from the stereo in the living room. Josh was in the dining room playing games on the computer but looked up when I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Oh good, you’re back.” He headed for the living room, yelling, “Dad! Mom’s back!” And suddenly the racket went dead. I shook my head to stop the ringing in my ears. Blessed tranquility.
Denny appeared in the dining room archway, shrugging into his winter jacket and carrying his sport bag. “Where’s the car?”
“Oh. I put it away. Sorry.” I knew Denny had to coach a basketball practice today at West Rogers High, just forgot in the heady praise trying to drown out my anxiety about Amanda. “Uh . . . what was that on the stereo?”
Denny grinned and pecked me on the cheek. “A CD Josh wanted me to hear—a demo of a punk rock group called Head Noise.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Jesus People. You wouldn’t like it.” He yelled down the hall toward the bedrooms, “Josh? You coming?”
I already knew I didn’t like it. I mean, gospel groups like Radical for Christ or Kirk Franklin were one thing—loud, but at least you could hear the words—but heavy metal? punk? It might be Christian, but it didn’t qualify as real music.
Josh appeared, jingling his own set of car keys. “I’ll drive.”
I raised an eyebrow at Denny. “Josh going to work with you?”
“Nah. He’s going to drop me off, then pick up some of the guys and go down to Jesus People to hear this band. They’ve got a couple of gigs today.” Denny winked at me and followed Josh out the back door.
I looked down at Willie Wonka, who was sniffing the back door as though checking for positive ID of who’d just gone out. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me,Willie,” I said and headed for the computer. I had a few things I needed to do, and a quiet house with nobody needing clean socks or help with homework was an unexpected bonus.
I checked e-mail first, deleted half of the new ones, scrolled past messages addressed to Josh or Amanda, and opened one from Hoshi Takahashi.
To: Yada Yada
From: Htakahashi@nwu.edu
Re: Mark and Nony
Dear Sisters,
Just got an e-mail from Dr. Mark and Nony. They are leaving Johannesburg today and will be arriving home tomorrow, Saturday, Jan. 4. Nony says hi and she’s missed everyone so much and has lots to tell us.
I am also so happy to see them again! This house is not the same without Marcus and Michael.
Love, Hoshi
Bless Hoshi! Mark Smith had asked if she’d be willing to house-sit the fish tank, geckos, and houseplants when he left to join his wife and sons in South Africa a month ago. It actually worked out for Hoshi, since the dorms at Northwestern University closed for winter break. But it’d been pretty lonely too. Most Northwestern students went home for the holidays; “home” for Hoshi was Tokyo—and Hoshi’s parents hadn’t called or written since their disastrous visit last September.
My heart squeezed. A lot had happened since that crazy woman—now in prison at Lincoln Correctional Center—had sliced Mrs. Takahashi’s hand during a robbery at our house. The doctor who stitched Mrs.T’s hand had assured Hoshi that her mother’s wound would heal quickly. Yet the deeper wound to Hoshi’s family was still open and raw. “This is what happens when a daughter is dis-obedient and forsakes her religion!” her father had fumed.
I made a note to call Hoshi. What time were the Sisulu-Smiths flying in? Was anyone picking them up? That’d be fun—maybe Denny and I could do it. We’d still have room for their family of four in the Caravan, though luggage might be a problem.
I called up Google and typed “quinceanera” into the search line.Wow! Lots of hits. I poured myself a cup of the coffee still sitting in the coffeemaker—ugh! Too bitter. I made some fresh coffee and settled down to read up on the party José wanted to give Amanda.
I was not happy at what I found. I mean, it sounded practically like a wedding, with a fancy gown, a special mass—which was a problem, since we weren’t Catholic, and neither was the Enriquez family, for that matter—and maids of honor and chambelánes, for Pete’s sake. Not to mention food, favors, a live mariachi band, and a huge birthday cake for the “hundreds of guests.”
Good grief! What is Delores thinking, encouraging José in this crazy idea? Well, there was no way Denny and I could afford such a celebration. Sometimes this multi-cultural stuff went too far.
I printed out some articles to show Denny, then I went back to Google to search for information on learning styles. Hakim Porter might be back in my classroom, but his mother was still opposed to testing him for a learning disability. And maybe the problems he was having weren’t a learning disability at all. Avis seemed to think it could be related to posttraumatic stress after his big brother was killed . . .
A familiar wave of nausea sent me to the bathroom. I rarely threw up, but the feeling was so strong I sat on the side of the tub for a few minutes just in case. It still seemed like a cruel cosmic joke that the little brother of the boy I’d hit with my car last June ended up in my third-grade classroom—unknown to either his angry, grieving mother or me.Not till that awful day we’d faced each other at the first parent-teacher conference.
No, no! I know You’re not into cruel jokes, God! God had to have His reasons, didn’t He? God is merciful, full of grace and truth . . .
Trust. “This is where trust comes in, Jodi,” Avis had said. “Trust that God has your good at heart—and Hakim’s good, and his mother’s too. Even if you don’t understand it right now. Or ever.” Which was certainly true; I didn’t understand it.
I splashed cold water on my face and returned to the computer. Avis had promised to see if she could arrange counseling for Hakim with a school social worker. The loss of a sibling was reason enough, but Avis suspected that having no father in the home compounded Hakim’s loss. And I was following a hunch. Hakim was obviously no dummy—he’d proved that with his math skills when we’d used a balance scale to find the missing addend. But he absolutely bogged down when it came to reading and writing. Not to mention his defiance and lack of cooperation when it came to group work.
Whatever was blocking him, I needed to find a key to teaching this kid. I wanted to see the triumph in his eyes again, like when he’d put the exact number of weights needed on the scale and said scornfully, “Didn’t you know that?”
BY THE TIME DENNY got dropped off by one of the other coaches, I’d printed out a bunch of articles to help me brush up on various learning styles. One phrase leaped out at me about “the logical learner,” described as capable of abstract thinking at an early age, able to compute math problems quickly. That sounded like Hakim. I needed to read more about that.
“Hi, babe.” Denny kissed me on the back of the neck. “Did Amanda get out to Patti’s house okay?”
Amanda! She’d never called—and I’d been so en-grossed in my searches, I didn’t call her either. I nearly fell over Willie Wonka in my haste to get to the phone, but a quick call to the Sanders home assured me that she’d arrived safe and sound and the girls were now hanging out at Yorktown Shopping Center. “Want me to have her call you when they come in? Though I don’t expect them for an hour or two. They wanted to see that Tim Allen movie. Santa Clause 2, I think. Hope that’s all right.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks. Yes, have her call.” Grrr. Amanda was supposed to check out any movies before she saw them, not after. She’d argue that she knew this one would be okay, but still.
When Denny got out of the shower, I followed him into the bedroom, reading from my printouts about the Mexican quinceañera while he got dressed. “See? It is the Mexican version of a debutante ball, except it’s focused on just one fifteen-year-old. A huge fiesta, with a fancy dress, gifts, food, musicians, dancing . . .”
“Sounds like fun.” Denny was splashing on some aftershave.
“Denny! There’s no way we can afford something like this for just a birthday party! Maybe when she gets married in ten years, Lord help us.”
“I thought José wanted to throw this party. Let him pay for it.”
I stared open-mouthed at my husband, who must’ve gotten beaned on the head by a wild basketball today. “Denny! We can’t do that! That’s like . . . like admitting they’re a serious couple. Besides, José is only fifteen him-self. Where’s he going to get money to do something like this?” I stopped, suddenly realizing that Denny had dressed in black slacks, a teal shirt, and black cardigan sweater instead of his usual around-the-house jeans and sweatshirt. “Why are you so dressed up?”
He grinned. “Because. Both kids are gone. The house is empty. We are going out to dinner. And then . . .” He waggled his eyebrows.
Had he listened to anything I’d been saying? But his grin was irresistible—and going out would be nice. It’d been a couple of weeks since we’d had any time together. “Wait a minute. Amanda’s supposed to call. And doesn’t Josh have the car? When is he going to be back?”
Denny shrugged. “By his curfew, I guess. He said don’t wait up.We can take the el up to Evanston. They’ve got a lot of good restaurants. And Jodi . . .” Denny leveled his gaze at me. “Amanda can leave a message.”
“Well, okay.” I headed for the shower. I’d be stupid to turn down a dinner date with my husband. It seemed weird that our teenager had the car and his parents had to take public transportation, but it didn’t seem to bother Denny. Okay, it might even be fun. Still, I didn’t care how good he looked and smelled—we were going to talk about this Mexican fiesta thing.