9

I was tempted to snuggle deeper under the covers the next morning when my inner alarm woke me up at six. Why couldn’t my body clock tell the difference between weekdays and weekends? But the memory of Avis’s muffled tears wetting my shoulder as we just held each other in her office the day before, got me out of bed and shuffling toward the kitchen to start the coffee. I needed some time alone to pray, to talk to God, to ask Him how in the world this made any sense!

Ten minutes later I was in the recliner in the front room where the Christmas tree had stood, flipping open my Bible in the glow of the floor lamp. Denny’s warm robe and the hot coffee soothed my body, but I missed the glittering Christmas tree lights, as if cheer had been snuffed out from my spirit too.

The Psalms . . . that’s what I needed. Good ol’ King David somehow got away with ranting at God when he was upset. Yeah, Psalm 69—that was a good one. I’d pray it on Avis’s and Rochelle’s behalf. Maybe mine too. I took a breath and spoke aloud in the stillness, my mind paraphrasing the verses even as I read.

“God, it’s Jodi here. This news about Rochelle feels like floodwaters rising clear up to their necks, about to drown them. Avis is sinking right now into the mud, unable to keep her feet on solid ground. She’s overwhelmed, God! I’m sure she’s worn out calling on You for help, calling until she has no voice left! She’s looking for You, God—trying to understand why this is happening. Why aren’t You answering?”

My eyes skimmed part of the chapter until I came to verse 13: “But I’m praying to You, O Lord, looking for Your favor. In Your great love, O God, answer me! Answer Avis! Answer Rochelle! Answer with your sure salvation. Rescue them, O God, from the muck. Don’t let them sink! Don’t let these floodwaters, this terrible disease, swallow them up! Don’t just throw Rochelle’s life away into a pit. Answer us, O Lord, out of the goodness of Your love! Answer quickly, because Avis and her family are in trouble, Lord, and it hurts—it hurts all of us who love them . . .”

I heard Denny clear his throat behind me. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, babe. Just want to let you know I’m heading over to the church. Going to pick up Carl on the way.”

“What?” I squinted at my watch. “It’s only six-forty! Doesn’t men’s breakfast start at eight o’clock?”

“Yeah.” He came over to the recliner, bent down, and kissed my nose, smelling like mint toothpaste. “But Peter Douglass talked to Carl about the men at church praying for Chris, and for him and his family. Carl was kinda shy about it, said he’d rather do it with just a few guys he knows instead of the whole men’s breakfast. So a few of us are getting together ahead of time to pray with Carl.” I saw him grin in the glow of the lamplight. “I asked Ben Garfield to come. Said he would. Mark Smith is coming too.”

“Really?” For a moment I forgot I was mad at God. “That’s great!” I chuckled. “God’s got Ben in His sights, for sure . . . oh! Let Wonka in, will you? He’s been out there quite a while.”

When the back door closed behind Denny a few minutes later, I squeezed my eyes shut. Thank You, God. Thank You for reminding me that You are answering our prayers. Maybe not on our timeline, but we’ve been praying for Ben a long time, and there he is, joining the guys for a Jesus prayer meeting. I giggled to myself. Knowing Ben, half the reason he’d agreed to come was probably to get out of the house for a couple of hours, escaping baby duty. But who cared? Didn’t Ruth say Ben might go to church if he could hang out with Denny and the other Yada husbands?

On the way to the coffee pot for a refill, I passed the kitchen calendar and realized I had one other thing to be thankful for this morning. I still had a whole week before I had to show up for overnight duty at Manna House.

“HE WHAT?” I started laughing as Denny reported the morning’s events while he threw stuff into a small duffle bag. “He brought Isaac to the prayer meeting?” I still couldn’t get used to the image of white-haired Ben Garfield walking around with a baby in a baby carrier. Would wonders never cease?

My grin faded. “Yeah. Isaac. Wish he paid that much attention to Havah. I think he overcompensates with Isaac because of that birthmark on his face.”

“Yep. Fed him a bottle, burped him, put him to sleep over his shoulder. Gotta tell you, Jodi, that guy is nuts about that kid.”

Denny shrugged, hunting for his clipboard. “Don’t worry about it. They’ve got twins, remember? Makes sense for them to divvy up the childcare.”

Yeah, maybe. But I pushed the thought aside, following Denny back into the kitchen. “How was the prayer time with Carl? Did he stay for the men’s breakfast too?”

He rummaged in the refrigerator. “Yeah, it was great. Just five of us—Peter, Mark, Ben, me, and Carl. Well, and Isaac.” He chuckled. “Gave Carl a chance to just talk about how he feels with his boy in lockup—he hides a lot of that, you know. He’s scared, big-time . . . Jodi? We got any more bottles of water in here?”

I pulled one out of the refrigerator door, right in front of his nose.

“Oh. Thanks.” He threw it in the duffle bag and shrugged into his down jacket. “But no, he didn’t stay for the men’s breakfast. Mostly because we all encouraged him to go home and take Carla out for breakfast for her birthday. Told him it was important not to neglect his other kids in his worry over Chris.”

“Great idea!” Hopefully Ben Garfield would take the hint too.

Denny headed for the back door. “Varsity game’s over by three. I should be home by four.” Pulling open the door, he waggled his eyebrows at me. “Anything happening tonight I should know about? Or can we go out? See? I’m asking early.”

“Hm. I’ll think about it, see if I get any better offers . . . Just kidding! Close the door! No, wait.” I pulled Denny back inside and shut the door. “Did Peter Douglass mention anything about Rochelle? I mean, did you guys pray for her too?” I had told Denny the news about the HIV test and how devastated Avis was.

He shook his head. “He didn’t say anything, and I hesitated to ask. You said yourself you didn’t know if Avis had told him yet. Look, I gotta go.”

I leaned against the door after Denny left. I didn’t get it. Avis was a strong woman. She knew how to lean on God front and center, especially since Conrad died and left her a widow. But this thing with Rochelle was tearing her up! She needed the support of her new husband. Maybe she had told him, and Peter just didn’t want to bring it up, afraid it would take away from the focus on praying for the Hickmans.

“I dunno, Wonka,” I muttered to the dog, stepping around his bulk as I headed for the basement to switch loads in the laundry. “I can’t figure Avis out, sometimes. But guess it’s not easy getting married in your fifties. Trying to merge your old family with your new one.” Down in the basement, I pulled a load of whites out of the dryer and stuffed wet wash-and-wear into it. But I knew one thing—I was gonna get on her case. She couldn’t keep this all bottled up inside. She needed support! And Rochelle did too.

“IT’S NOT THAT EASY, JODI.” Avis spoke quietly into the phone. No tears now. “Rochelle isn’t ready to tell the world. People . . . react funny when they find out you have HIV or AIDS. You know that.”

I did know that. Did I want someone who was HIV-positive or had AIDS to check out my groceries? Handle my money at the bank? Teach my kid at school? It was hard to let go of the myths about how HIV could be transmitted when it got in-your-face personal.

“And the minute someone says they are HIV-positive,” she went on, “everybody’s thinking, ‘Oh, are you gay?’ Or, ‘Must’ve been sleeping around, tsk tsk.’ ”

Exactly.

“But to defend herself, Rochelle would have to point the finger at Dexter—and she’s not ready to do that. He hasn’t even been tested yet.”

“Why in the world would she want to protect Dexter?” The cad.

“I think”—her voice got tight—“she’s hoping they could work it out, get back together. He is Conny’s daddy, you know.”

I stifled a snort, cradling the phone in my ear while I pulled a clean towel out of the laundry basket and started folding. When I could trust myself, I got to the point: “The thing is, Avis, how can Yada Yada pray for Rochelle and Conny—and you!—if you keep this a secret? In fact, did you tell Peter yet?”

A silent beat hung in the air. Then, “Yes. Yes, I did. Last night. He . . . didn’t say much. Just held me and let me cry.”

Well, good. That was a start. I glanced at the clock. Almost four. “I better go, Avis. Denny wants to go out tonight and I still gotta do something with this rag-mop hair. See you tomorrow at Yada Yada? We’re meeting at . . .” I looked at the list posted on one of the kitchen cupboard doors. “Florida’s house. Wait—do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, what they’re going through with Chris and all that?”

“Flo’s not shy. She’d say something if it’s not okay. Besides”—Avis’s voice took on the old, familiar “everything’s under control” tone—“didn’t Becky say the next time Yada Yada met at the Hickmans, she wanted an apartment blessing for her squirrel’s nest on the second floor? And seems like it’s somebody’s birthday . . . who did we celebrate last year in January? Not Chanda—we missed her last year. Somebody else . . .”

I groaned. Now I remembered. Nony. Why didn’t we celebrate both Chanda and Nony at our last meeting? Well, I knew why we hadn’t. Chanda needed her own celebration. But who was going to bake a cake this time? Get a card for all of us to sign? Why in the world didn’t we plan ahead for this kind of stuff!

“Well, I’m not going to stay home tonight to pull it together,” I sniffed, knowing I sounded like a snit.

TURNED OUT HOSHI TAKAHASHI had everything under control. She pulled me aside at worship on Sunday morning, said she had ordered a cake from the Bagel Bakery and Ruth and Yo-Yo were going to bring it. “You already did the meaning of Nony’s name last year, correct?” she said softly. She smiled, dark eyes twinkling. “So this year I have a little surprise we can give her. Not exactly a birthday card, but something we can sign and give to her.”

My snit melted. I even felt ashamed. Why had I gotten so aggravated, assuming that if I didn’t do it, nobody would? But we really did need a birthday maven to make sure somebody was on top of the Yada Yada birthdays. I’d bring it up at Yada Yada tonight—

I smiled and shook my head. There you go again, Jodi!

Denny was laid back about me going off to Yada Yada Sunday evening. We’d had a great time the night before—went out to dinner at the Davis Street Fish Market in Evanston, tried not to talk about all the trials of various Yada Yada sisters, spent way too much money (“It’s Jamaica Jerk Café next time,” Denny groused goodnaturedly), and laughed at my squeamish attempt to eat one of the oysters he’d ordered. We ended the evening with some behind-closed-doors hanky-panky, given that Amanda had a late-night babysitting job and Josh was “out.”

I hitched a ride to Yada Yada with Stu, who seemed kind of quiet on the way over to Hickmans. Dirty ice and snow humped in ugly patches along the streets. It was time for a fresh snowfall to brighten up winter’s gray rags. “You okay?” I said.

She shrugged. “Just tired. I might leave early. We’ll see.”

We arrived at the little frame house before Nony and Hoshi got there. But Becky Wallace beckoned us furtively into the Hickmans’ narrow kitchen. A baby carrier on the floor contained baby Havah, sound asleep just under a pretty bakery cake on the counter. But Yo-Yo, Ruth, and Florida were crowded around a box lid on the other counter. My eyes widened. Sitting in the box lid were at least a dozen exquisite origami shapes folded from bright colored paper. A star, a butterfly, a rose, an owl . . .

“Hoshi smuggled ’em to me after church,” Flo said. “Said we were supposed to each pick one and sign it for Nony.”

“Hey. I like that frog on a lily pad.” Yo-Yo picked it up. “Do we hafta give ’em all to Nony? Man, this is cool.”

“Don’t be a shmo, Yo-Yo,” Ruth sniffed. “Sign the frog.” She lifted the paper butterfly from the box. “This one I like. I will sign it from Havah and Isaac, one name on each wing.”

Chanda called while others were still arriving. “All three of her kids got the flu,” Flo announced when she hung up. “She said Adele ain’t gonna make it either. MaDear’s got the flu too. They had to put her in the hospital. Worried about pneumonia.”

The prayer list for tonight was getting longer.

But Nony, wearing a blue-and-gold tunic over a black turtleneck and wide, black pants, was utterly delighted with the origami shapes and touched that we had remembered her birthday. I eyed Avis. Ha. If it weren’t for Hoshi, we’d be up a creek without a paddle. I was touched by Hoshi’s unselfish spirit, providing a gift for all of us to give Nony.

“So, Nony. How old are you? I wanna be like you when I grow up.” Yo-Yo was serious. Ruth rolled her eyes and stuck a pacifier in Havah’s mouth.

“I am thirty-eight this week,” Nony admitted in her cultured South African accent. “Do you think I will know what I am supposed to do with my life by the time I am forty years?” Her tone was light, but I suspected her words betrayed a trace of frustration. Six months of playing nursemaid to her husband recovering from head trauma had sapped some of her fire.

After demolishing the bakery cake, we tromped upstairs to Becky Wallace’s studio apartment at the back of the Hickmans’ house. The two rooms—combination kitchen/living area plus a bedroom with a single bed for Becky and a youth bed for Little Andy—were somewhat bare but neat and clean. The closet-size bathroom even had a scented candle burning on the sink. Stu poked me and muttered in my ear, “Maybe she picked up some household tips living with me after all, you think?” Avis brought out her anointing oil, and we prayed that God would fill the apartment with His love, His laughter, His protection, His hope. The prayers didn’t take long, but Becky sniffled and had to blow her nose.

Half our time was gone already, but back downstairs Avis led us in singing, “ Jesus, Your Name is Power.” I was gripped by the words, “Jesus, Your name will break every stronghold . . .”

We all sat quietly after the song, each one probably grappling with the words. Did I really believe Jesus had the power to break strongholds? Free every captive? Give life?

To my surprise, Avis broke the silence. “I’ve been singing this song in my heart all day,” she said, “holding on to the words. Because, I confess, Satan seems to have established a stronghold in my family that threatens to devastate us.”

Ten pairs of eyes stared at her.

“I . . . did ask Rochelle’s permission to tell you this, but I’d like to ask that it not leave the room.” And then Avis said it, flat out. “Rochelle has been diagnosed with HIV.”

Shock and disbelief registered on every face, like freeze-frame photography. But Nony literally lifted right out of her seat, hands clenched toward the ceiling. “Nooo!” she wailed. “No! No! No!” Then she burst into tears.