30

How’d it go?” Denny looked up from the computer when I got back.

“She’s legal. Finally! Ben looked like he had a few more white hairs, though.”

Denny laughed.

“But it was a big deal for Yo-Yo to help take care of the twins. I think she and Isaac bonded. A good thing.” I opened the fridge and pulled out the two lasagnas I’d made that morning. A very good thing—like sticking a finger in the dike of her crumbling relationship with Ruth and Ben. I turned on the oven to preheat. No, more like picking up a slipped stitch and knitting it back into a seamless whole.

I glanced at the clock. Four-thirty already. Stu was supposed to pick up Precious and Sabrina and bring them about five-thirty. Estelle was baking homemade French bread and pie. Guess all I needed to do was set the table and add a tossed salad. Wine with Italian food? No, better not.

“Amanda!” I yelled. “Did you clean the bathroom? . . . Denny, would you vacuum the living room before they get here? And where’s Josh? He needs to take Wonka for a walk around the block.”

By the time we heard the garage door go up, I’d lit candles on the table and the lasagnas were bubbly. Estelle came in the front door with her bread and crumb apple pie (“Don’t like them back stairs in rain or snow, uh-uh,” she complained) just as Stu and our two former houseguests came in the back.

“Precious! Sabrina! I’m so tickled to see you guys again!” I gave Precious a hug, then held her at arm’s length. Both had their hair braided into long extensions. “Girl, you are looking good. Gee, you two look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

Precious laughed and poked Sabrina. “Uh-huh. Hear that, ’Brina?”

Sabrina, dressed in tight jeans, skimpy tank top, and a body-hugging sweater, turned her eyes away, as shy as the day she first came to our house—and then she saw Willie Wonka. “Aw, there’s my baby.” The teenager squatted down and hugged the dog, who obligingly licked her face.

We took down the child gate until everybody got in and the food was on the table, then penned Wonka back in the kitchen. He whined at the gate.

“Can’t we let him in?” Sabrina petted him over the gate. “He don’ scare me anymore.”

“It’s not that, Sabrina.” I tried to be delicate. “He’s having some, um, bowel difficulties. We keep him in the kitchen lately, close to the door.”

“Eww.” Sabrina made a face and found a chair on the far side of the table. Amanda looked disgusted. I wasn’t sure if it was because I said the “B” word, or because Sabrina’s loyalty to her dog was so shallow.

After holding hands around the table and singing “Thanks! Thanks! We give You thanks!”—though we didn’t sound quite as good as when T. D. Jakes sang it—the lasagnas disappeared at an incredible rate. Good thing I’d made two! The conversation bounced from one person to another, as we caught up after almost two months.

“We’ve got a new name for our church,” Stu offered. “SouledOut Community Church. The teenagers came up with it . . . Can I have some more garlic bread?”

Precious passed the breadbasket. “Now that’s cool. I like that. Sabrina an’ me, we worship now an’ then with the Salvation Army. But I’d like to find us our own church. Whatchu doin’, Estelle? You ever finish that vest you was crochetin’ for your grandboy?”

Stu laughed aloud. “That, and two more, plus about ten outfits for herself.”

“Humph. Gotta do somethin’ to keep these hands busy. Won’t be doin’ much sewing for the next few months, though. I’m goin’ back to school—at my age!” Estelle beamed. “I applied this week for the Certified Nurse Assistant program at Chicago Community College.”

“That’s where Edesa goes to school!” Amanda piped up.

“Did go to school,” Josh murmured. “She transferred to UIC. Getting her degree in Public Health now, remember?”

“Oh. Well, aren’t they connected or something? They’re both in the Loop.”

“Speakin’ of school, Sabrina gettin’ almost all Bs now,” Precious bragged. “Some of them Salvation Army folks helping tutor her, praise Jesus.”

“Ma, don’t.” Sabrina rolled her eyes.

“Well, baby, we got lots to be thankful for. Even that Manna House fire gonna reap good things, you wait an’ see.”

“Well, now, that’s right,” said Estelle. “Reverend Miz Handley called me up this week, said the board wants to set up an advisory board made up of former residents and volunteers, an’ asked me who I thought would be good to ask.” She pointed her fork at Josh. “I told her she should ask you, Josh. You one of the few mens who volunteered, and you always had good ideas.”

This time I did not imagine it. The color drained right out of Josh’s face.

“Uh . . . I don’t think so.” He laid down his fork.

“Now, why not?” Precious jumped in. “You an’ that girl Edesa really livened up Manna House. The kids was always excited when you two showed up. That’s what that advisory board needs—some youthful blood.” She looked around the table. “Now wouldn’t that be grand if Manna House rose from the ashes, like the Phoenix bird, bigger an’ more beautiful each time? The old had to go so the new could come.”

I gaped at her. “How’d you know about the Phoenix bird?” A homeless single mom from the streets of Chicago didn’t seem the type to read mythology.

Precious simpered at me. “Girl, you could put me on that Jeopardy show with what I know.”

“Uh, could I be excused?” Josh didn’t wait for an answer but picked up his dishes, stepped over the gate in the doorway to the kitchen, came back empty-handed, and headed for his room.

“Josh? Wait a minute.” Estelle, for all her bulk, was up from the table and heading off our son in the hallway in less than two seconds. A moment later, she crooked her finger at Precious and the three of them headed for the living room.

“Well, if we’re done . . .” Amanda pushed back her chair. “Wanna listen to Audio Adrenaline in my room, Sabrina?” The two girls disappeared with only, “Call us when you serve the pie, Mom.”

Denny, Stu, and I looked at each other. “Uh, what just happened here?” Stu said.

I folded and unfolded my napkin. “Estelle wants to talk to Josh, I guess.”

Denny scratched the back of his head. “Hm. Hope she knows what she’s doing. He’s not been the talking type lately. Guess I’ll make coffee.”

For the next several minutes, the three of us puttered in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, cutting Estelle’s crumb apple pie, getting out dessert plates, pie forks, and coffee mugs. “Don’t get out the ice cream yet,” I said. “I’ll go see if they’re ready to come back for dessert.”

I slipped off my shoes and padded silently down the hallway toward the living room, not sure if I should interrupt. I heard Josh’s voice. Well, at least he was talking.

“. . . should never have let the kids talk me into plugging in the tree again. I knew it was a fire hazard. My mom and I talked about it.”

I stopped, realizing this was not the time to go in.

“But, oh yeah, I wanted to be Mr. Nice Guy to the kids. Everybody says, don’t be hard on yourself. It wasn’t your fault, Josh.” Josh’s voice turned bitter. “Well, you know what? That doesn’t help! I feel like it was my fault. If I’d taken out that tree, it never would have happened! What if . . . what if someone had gotten hurt that night? Or killed? It could’ve happened. Kids, women, who had nothing in the first place, ended up with less than nothing! Oh, God . . .”

The last words were muffled. I peeked around the corner of the archway into the living room. Josh’s head was in his hands. Estelle and Precious sat on either side of him on our couch. Tears puddled in my eyes and spilled over. Oh, my son, my son . . . I wanted to rush into the room and gather him into my arms. Don’t keep blaming yourself!

And then I heard Precious say, “Sounds like you need to be forgiven.”

Josh lifted his head and looked at her. “Yes.” His voice sounded strangled, but he nodded. “Yes . . . yes . . .”

“Well, now.” Precious put her arm around my son. “I forgive you. I know what you done—or didn’t do—wasn’t on purpose, an’ we all make mistakes. But you right, it coulda been a whole lot worse than it was, only by the grace of God. But He got that grace for you, too, baby. He knows you sorry, and He forgives you. An’ so do I.”

Josh’s shoulders began to shake. Suddenly he was sobbing into his arms. I could hardly stand it, but I knew God was holding me back. It’s not for you to do, Jodi, said the Voice in my spirit. He needs their forgiveness, the residents of Manna House.

“I forgive you, too,” said Estelle, also putting an arm around Josh. “Now go on, let it all out. It been too long a-comin’.”

As quietly as I could, I fled to my bedroom, shut the door behind me, and fell on my bed. Oh, God, Oh, God! my heart cried out. Why couldn’t I see it? The brick wall that had been closing in on my son ever since the fire was his own sense of responsibility and guilt. He could have prevented what happened. He didn’t. He didn’t need to be told it wasn’t his fault.

He needed to be forgiven.