16

Adele? Where’s MaDear? Did your sister take her for the weekend?” Immediately heads turned, and the chatting and munching hushed to a whisper. Adele snorted. “My sister? That hussy? Don’t know what’s gotten into that girl! Sissy’s so busy huntin’ for a man, she’s likely to forget MaDear’s at her place and go dancin’ all night.” She jerked a thumb toward the small bedroom in the back. “Got MaDear in the bed. She’s still gettin’ over that pneumonia, you know. But don’t know what I’m gonna do, y’all. I can’t leave her here by herself all day. Gotta get her up an’ take her to the shop.” Adele sank into a chair and sighed from deep inside, like a slow leak in a truck tire. “Might have to put her in a nursing home. Hate to do it, though. My people take care of their own.”

“Girl, I know what you sayin’,” Flo agreed. “Just don’t seem right, how we treat our elders these days. But I hear ya. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.”

Delores spoke up. “Si. But maybe we should pray that God would provide another way for Adele and MaDear.”

Avis smiled. “Sounds like we’re ready to begin our prayer time. Why don’t we worship the Lord for a few minutes, get our focus right, before we gather up our other prayer concerns.” She followed her own suggestion and led out with a familiar hymn . . .

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness!
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

Even Becky and Yo-Yo, who didn’t seem to know the words to the verse, picked up on the chorus:

On Christ the solid Rock I stand!
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

We helped each other through the next few verses and heartily sang the chorus once more, followed by some spontaneous praise. “Thank ya, Jesus!—for being my Rock in the middle of this storm!” “Si! Si! Dios, You are the anchor we cling to.” “Yeah. Thanks, Jesus, for keepin’ me from drownin’ in my own mess.”

Some quarterback must have made a touchdown at Reliant Stadium in Houston just then, because people in the apartment above Adele started yelling and stomping their feet. “Or maybe they tryin’ to drown us out,” Becky smirked. We laughed.

Most of the prayer requests that night were updates on ongoing concerns. The Manna House fire and displaced residents . . . a second hearing coming up for Chris Hickman . . . Ricardo Enriquez still looking for a job . . . Becky groaning about the “loop-de-loops” DCFS was putting her through to regain custody of Little Andy . . . whether Stu should ask Estelle to be her housemate . . .

“Avis,” Nony cut in, two furrows gathered between her brows. “What about your daughter? You are not sending her back to a shelter, are you? I am very concerned about Rochelle. This is a critical time for her, and the fire is one more trauma on top of everything else.”

Avis shook her head. “Rochelle and Conny are going to stay with us for the indefinite future. In fact, Peter says he was wrong to send her away when she needed us most.” She let slip a wry smile. “Kind of nice to see him grovel.”

We all laughed again, even harder this time. How many of us had squirmed uncomfortably when Peter put his foot down but kept our mouths shut, not wanting to create more tension in Avis’s new marriage?

A loud wail from one of the baby carriers joined the laughter. “Awake she is now,” Ruth pouted. “Yo-Yo, see if Havah will fall back asleep if you walk her.”

Yo-Yo didn’t move. “Walk her yourself,” she muttered.

My mouth nearly fell open. Ruth glared at Yo-Yo, but unbuckled the baby from the carrier and headed for Adele’s hallway, murmuring, “Shh, shh, mamela. Don’t pay any attention to that nebbish.”

Avis did not seem to notice the interruption. “There is one piece of good news, sisters. The HIV clinic tested Conny, too, but”—her voice dropped to a choked whisper—“praise God! His test came back negative. We are so grateful!”

“Thank ya, Jesus!” Florida cried. Others joined in the praise while some looked shocked, as though they hadn’t even considered that possibility.

When the room quieted, Nony leaned forward. “Avis, do you think Rochelle would be comfortable talking with me? I would very much like to help her get the help she needs to live with her HIV diagnosis. It is not hopeless, you know. But . . .”

“Thank you, Nony. I—I would appreciate that very much. Let me talk to her.” Avis looked at her lap, absently twisting her wedding ring. “In fact, I think all three of us need some help to live with this diagnosis.”

In the silence that followed, the only sound was Ruth jouncing the baby over her shoulder and muttering who-knows-what in Havah’s tiny ear.

“Well.” Avis raised her head and looked around, back to business. “Have we heard from everyone? Hoshi. You’ve been very quiet tonight. Is everything all right? How is your new semester going?”

Hoshi nodded, her straight hair falling like black silk over her shoulder. “It is very good. But hard. This is my last semester at Northwestern, you know.”

Her last semester! How had that snuck up on us? I felt a sudden pang. Would Hoshi go back to Japan after graduation? Would Yada Yada lose her? And what would the Sisulu-Smith family do without her? She had been an incredible help to them during the difficult time of Mark’s injury and convalescence.

“. . . but most of all, I would like prayer for Sara,” she was saying.

My attention snapped back. Sara. “The girl in the sundress” who had caught my eye at the racist rally at Northwestern last spring, part of the White Pride group. The girl God had prodded me to pray for, even before I knew her name. The girl who had defied her racist friends and named the men who had attacked Mark Smith and left him for dead. The girl Hoshi had unknowingly befriended at Northwestern and brought to a Yada Yada meeting at the Sisulu-Smith home one night last fall, tearing the peace of that home to shreds and smashing the fragile friendship between the gentle Japanese student and the mixed-up white girl from Chicago’s North Shore.

We all leaned forward. Even Ruth stopped jouncing the baby and tuned an ear.

“Sara transferred out of my history class, so I do not see her as often. But our walkways keep crossing anyway.” Hoshi smiled. “Nony calls them ‘divine appointments.’ ”

“Hallelujah, Jesus,” Nony murmured.

“We had coffee at the student center last week, and I invited her once more to Yada Yada, at a different home this time. But . . .” Hoshi shook her head. “I do not think she will agree.”

This was met with sympathetic murmurings. “Well, girl, you tried,” Florida said.

“Yeah,” Yo-Yo chimed in from her perch on a floor pillow. “That girl’s a hard case. Maybe harder than me.”

Hoshi’s volume hiked up a notch or two. “I do not agree. It is not time to give up on Sara. Why has God put her in our way if He does not want to show her how much He loves her? Haven’t we often said, ‘God’s ways are not our ways’?”

Whoa. Hoshi had some backbone!

Hoshi’s voice softened. “I . . . there is a Christian student group on campus. I am going to ask Sara if she would like to attend. They share a meal together, then have a Bible study and discussion. She may say yes if I go with her. She’s very lonely.”

Delores Enriquez patted Hoshi’s hand. “We will pray that she will go with you.”

Hoshi lowered her lashes. “There is only one thing. It meets on Sunday evenings.”

“SUNDAY EVENINGS?” I groused to Stu as we walked from the garage to our back porch. Stu’s lights were on upstairs, but my house was dark. “Do you think Hoshi will start going to this campus group rather than coming to Yada Yada?”

“Possibility, I guess.” But I could tell Stu was distracted. “Adele said she has to take MaDear to the beauty shop with her, even when she’s sick. But, you know, I wonder . . .” She ran up the back stairs and I heard her call out, “Estelle? How’s the sewing going?” before the door shut.

I unlocked our door. Wonka rose stiffly from his post just inside the door to greet me, snuffling. Otherwise, the house was silent. So Amanda wasn’t back yet from youth group. But surely the Super Bowl was over. Maybe Denny and Josh were giving rides home to some of the other guys.

I suddenly had an inkling of how Stu felt coming home every night to a dark house.

I shed my jacket and turned on the flame under the teakettle. Wonka just stood in the kitchen, whining faintly.

“What’s the matter, Wonka? Want to go out?” But the dog was facing me, not the door. “Hungry?” I looked in the dog’s bowl. Still full of kibbles. Hadn’t been touched. How strange was that? “Just lonely, huh?” I scratched the dog’s ears. “You don’t like it when we all leave the house, do you?”

I glanced at the clock. Still had a couple of hours before bed. I should probably finish my lesson plans. February was Black History Month. I already had my class reading books about Mary McLeod Bethune, the inspiring African-American teacher our school was named after. But I felt weighted down by all the concerns we were carrying in Yada Yada. MaDear’s illness . . . Chris Hickman locked up at the JDC . . . Rochelle needing to “live with HIV,” as Nony put it . . .

I knew we were supposed to take our burdens to God and leave them there. But I still felt like I had sand in my gears. Maybe it was just the winter blues. While we had been sending up desperate prayers for our loved ones that evening, the guys had probably been laughing, cracking jokes, and yelling at their Super Bowl bash. Plain old fun.

That’s what we Yadas needed! Some good old-fashioned fun.

I looked at the calendar in the kitchen, ignoring the whistle of the teakettle. Our next meeting in two weeks would meet upstairs at Stu’s place. That Saturday was Valentine’s Day . . . and the following Monday was a school holiday: President’s Day. We should do something fun that weekend! Something everyone could do, not just the “couples” on Valentine’s Day. But what? Something like . . .

I grinned. That’s it!

“Wonka, old buddy,” I said, as I plonked myself down in front of the computer and booted it up, “it’s too bad you have four feet, because I don’t think they make roller skates for dogs.” A few minutes later, I was typing furiously.

To: Yada Yada
From: BaxterBears@wahoo.com
Re: A Roller Party

Sisters! Anybody up for some FUN in the midst of all the serious stuff life throws at us? How about a rollerskating party on Valentine’s Day! That’s a Saturday. Bring the kids! Bring a friend! (Hoshi? Do you think Sara might come?) Oh, yeah. We might even let the guys come if they behave themselves and don’t act like a bunch of adolescent showoffs. So . . . what do you think?

Love, Jodi

ALL THREE OF MY FAMILY MEMBERS looked at each other as though sharing a terrible secret: Mom had gone completely off her rocker. Denny backpedaled. “Uh, Jodi. It’s been twenty years since—”

“It’s like riding a bike. You never forget!”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Kids go roller skating, not . . . not old people.” She flounced off to her room.

“Watch it, kid. I could skate circles around you!” Denny called after her.

Oh, so Denny was on my side now?

Josh shrugged noncommittally and hauled out the city phone book. “Mom? You got a number for the Salvation Army?”

So much for roller-skating. “Uh, think I do.” I flipped through our address book. “Who’re you calling?” None of my business, but so what?

“Precious. She’s gotta be bummed.”

“What? You mean . . .?” Guilt over letting Precious and Sabrina go to the Salvation Army shelter popped up again and danced like a gremlin on my conscience.

“I mean”—Josh grinned wickedly—“the Carolina Panthers lost to the Patriots 29 to 32 tonight. I’m calling to rub it in.”

THE FIRST WEEK OF FEBRUARY slogged its way across the city, with snow flurries upping the snow cover to about seven inches. At least it blanketed the dirt-encrusted ice clumps that made walking as treacherous as downhill skiing. Still dangerous, but not so ugly. One out of two wasn’t bad. But I felt like a triathlon athlete every time I made it to and from school with no broken bones.

A couple of days in a row, I saw Estelle leaving with Stu in the morning. On the third day, I poked my head out the back door. “What’s up with you two? Estelle going to work with you?”

Stu laughed. “Better than that! Estelle is taking care of MaDear at home so Adele doesn’t have to take her to the shop.”

Estelle, bundled against the cold, smiled big. “Ain’t the Lord good? That MaDear is the sweetest thing. And Ms. Skuggs is paying me, too, so I can contribute to my room and board while I’m here.”

I wouldn’t have called forgetful, feisty MaDear “the sweetest thing,” but I whooped, “Hallelujah!” anyway. “What a great idea! I’m so glad for Adele—and you, too, Estelle. Keep warm!” I quickly shut the door against the frigid air, then pulled it open again. “Stu! Did you get my e-mail about the roller-skating party?”

“Count me in!” she yelled back.

“Count me out!” laughed Estelle.

But as the week wore on, I got several more positive responses to the roller-skating party idea. Florida said she was game, also Cedric and Carla, but she couldn’t vouch for Carl. Chanda and her tribe said they’d come, so did Becky, Yo-Yo, and Edesa. Delores said it depended on her work schedule, but she knew Ricardo had a gig that night. Well, that was a good start, so I Googled a list of roller rinks in the Chicago area and started making calls to find the closest rink. It didn’t matter if everyone got on board. The rest of us could have fun.

But I was worried about Willie Wonka. I fed him in the morning as usual before leaving for school, but more often than not, when I came home from school, the bowl of kibbles had barely been touched.

“What’s the matter, old boy?” I murmured, sitting down on the floor beside him and stroking his silky brown head. But all he did was lay his muzzle in my lap and look up at me with dark liquid eyes, whimpering softly.