by Neta Jackson
She squirmed a little, thinking about Sister Shareese’s plunging necklines and her doubts about the young woman’s salvation at times.
“But that’s not all. Same chapter, verse thirteen: ‘But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another in love’—oh, hey, can you hold on? I’ve got another call—it’s the tower, I better take it . . .”
The phone seemed to go dead as he switched over, but she felt breathless. Really wished she’d been there to hear Jared’s sermon. Use our freedom in Christ to serve one another . . . It sounded so powerful. She wondered how the folks at Northside had received it.
Her mother pushed open the screen door. “You still on the phone? Trisha Burns just called and—”
Michelle waved her away. “Can’t talk right now, Mom. Later.” The door banged shut.
Jared came back on. “Uh, gotta go, Michelle. Bucky just got a call that his wife’s in labor. Boss says he’s totally useless, asked if I can come in early and finish his shift.”
“Oh . . . of course. Tell Bucky congrats. It’s his first baby, isn’t it?” Bucky . . . All the guys in the tower ended up with nutty nicknames. Jared’s was “Jazz,” a takeoff on Jasper she supposed, and he only tolerated it from his buddies at work.
“Yeah. Sorry, gotta run.” Now the phone went dead.
Well, of course he had to go. But she felt a little cheated. She wanted to hear more about Jared’s sermon—but given his schedule that bounced all over the place, it might be next weekend before he had a chance to tell her any more.
Michelle wandered back into the house. Her dad had come in from the garage and was eating a bowl of cold cereal at the kitchen table. “Can’t wait for those sleepyheads,” he muttered, mouth full. “I gotta eat somethin’.”
“Oh, good, you’re off the phone,” her mother said. “Trisha Burns called—you know, the woman I introduced you to at church who helps run the Christian cheer camp. She said her staff is willing to put together a temporary team for individual girls. Isn’t that great?”
Michelle just stared at her mother, and then shook her head. “Mom, you are something else. Are you sure? I don’t want to get Tabby’s hopes up—and besides, Jared and I were actually glad she might have to wait a year or so before getting into all this cheerleader stuff.”
“Now, now, Micky, you listen to me.” Her mother practically pushed her into a chair at the kitchen table. “From what I know, this camp is different. They talk a lot about character and good sportsmanship, and they even have morning devotions with the girls. I think it’ll be good for Tabitha. She can stay with us and we can take her back and forth. And I’ve already talked with your father—isn’t that right, Martin?—and we want to pay half her tuition. It’s only two hundred dollars for the week, so that leaves just one hundred for you and Jared to cover. Can you do that?”
“Mom, it’s not about the money . . .” Although, yes, in a way, it was about the money. The money it took to provide safe activities for three teenagers in the city all summer long. “But thanks for the offer. That would be very helpful. I do need to talk to Jared first before we sign on the dotted line, though. So—”
“Did she call?” Tabby bounced into the room, eyes alight. “Bibi? Mom?” She looked from one to the other. “She did call, didn’t she! And she said I can come, didn’t she! Oh, Babu!” She ran to her grandfather and gave him a hug around his neck from behind his chair. “This is so exciting! And I can come back and stay with you for a whole week!”
Michelle eyed her mother and sighed. Tabby was already way down the road.
* * *
Tabby chatted excitedly about cheerleading camp on the way back to Chicago that afternoon, and Destin pouted. “How come you guys and the grandpeeps are gonna pay her way, but I have to pay you guys back for mine?”
So much for waiting to talk it over with Jared before the details became common knowledge. But Michelle was going to try. “I haven’t even talked with your father about it yet, and besides, how we pay for Tabby’s camp isn’t really your business.” Michelle was trying to keep her voice calm. “And don’t call your grandparents the ‘grandpeeps.’”
Tavis snorted. “‘Grandpeeps’—that’s funny.”
“Don’t you start.” Michelle gave her youngest son a warning look in the rearview. Then she glanced at her oldest in the front seat beside her. “Besides, Destin, the Five-Star Basketball Camp costs a lot more—and you’re seventeen. You didn’t pay for your summer camps when you were thirteen either.”
“See?” Tabby swatted her big brother’s head from behind.
“Stop it, squirt,” he yelled, lunging back at her as far as his seatbelt allowed.
“Stop it, both of you!” Michelle snapped. “Or I’ll pull off the highway and we won’t move until you do.” Now she had a headache, and they still had two hours to go. Or more. Traffic was getting heavier the closer they got to the city, and it had started to rain.
But after coming over the Skyway into the city and inching the car along Lake Shore Drive, Michelle finally turned the minivan into Beecham Street at five o’clock. The rain had stopped and the extra traffic had only added another half hour—well, maybe forty minutes—to the drive. Not too bad. But she was tired. Really tired.
“Everybody take something in,” she said wearily, popping open the back of the minivan so they could unload their suitcases, food cooler, and the box of loose snapshots her mother had insisted she take home with them. They trooped into the house, and the kids immediately scattered. Michelle flopped on the couch. Jared was already at work, of course. And by the time he got home, he would’ve put in a twelve-hour day.
Which would make both of them too tired to talk. Or anything else.
Tavis popped back into the living room. “What’s for supper? I’m starving!”
“Me too!” Destin yelled from somewhere.
Starving? They’d had a huge brunch at eleven, and Bibi had sent along a whole bag of munchies for the trip home. Michelle didn’t want to think about cooking. Or unpacking. Or doing laundry. Or anything that took work. Vegging out downstairs in the family room watching a movie sounded about right. Let the kids forage for themselves—
The doorbell rang. Uhh. She was too tired to get up.
“I’ll get it!” Tavis yelled. Running to the door he pulled it open. “Oh, hey, DaShawn. Come in.”
“Nah, can’t. We’re cookin’ out. Miz Estelle saw you drive up, sent me over to invite you guys to come over for some grilled chicken an’ stuff. We got plenty an’ she says you just got home, your mom don’t need to be cookin’.”
“Oh, hey, can we, Mom?”
The commotion had already attracted Tabby and Destin. “Yeah, can we, Mom?”
Michelle felt outnumbered. It was tempting. She wouldn’t have to cook. But she’d have to get off the couch. And talk to the Bentleys. Wasn’t sure she had the energy for either.
The kids were halfway out the door. “All right. Thanks, DaShawn.” She struggled to sit upright. “You kids can go over if you promise to behave yourselves. Tell Miss Estelle I’ll be along a little later. I need a few minutes to get myself together.”
After all, it was just the Bentleys.
Chapter 18
Except it wasn’t.
By the time Michelle crossed the street and walked down to the Bentleys twenty minutes later, she not only heard the thump, thump, thump of kids shooting baskets behind the Bentleys’ garage—no surprise there—but voices she didn’t immediately recognize and the giggles of younger children. Oh no. She definitely wasn’t up for a full-fledged backyard party.
But she couldn’t back out now. She’d already sent her kids over. Coming around the side of the two-flat to the backyard, she saw Harry Bentley hovering over a charcoal grill wearing a big white apron, his shaved head glistening with sweat, waving a pair of tongs as he talked with Greg Singer and an older white man . . . oh yes, the husband of the retired couple who lived on the other side of the Bentley
s. Uh-oh. She totally blanked on their names, if she ever knew them at all.
Estelle Bentley, setting out food on a couple of card tables covered with blue plastic tablecloths, was chatting with some women sitting in the shade of a round umbrella table, but caught sight of her and immediately waved her over. “Sister Michelle! So glad you could come. You know Nicole Singer, don’t you? And Miss Mattie, of course. And this is our next-door neighbor, Eva Molander.”
Molander . . . that was the name. Michelle smiled and held out her hand. “Of course. Nice to see you, Mrs. Molander. And Mrs. Krakowski.” After shaking hands with the two older ladies, she nodded at Nicole Singer. “Hi, Nicole. Good to see you again too. You look really nice.” Nicole had on white jeans, white sandals, a loose, flower-print blouse, and her blonde hair had been twisted into a fat braid that hung over her shoulder.
Nicole flushed, seemed shy. “Thanks.”
Michelle looked around. “I thought I heard your kids—”
“Boo!” A childish giggle was immediately followed by the Singers’ little boy poking his towhead out from beneath the plastic-covered card tables. “Ha, ha. Scared you. Bet you can’t find Becky. She’s hiding.”
“Nathan!” His mother frowned. “That wasn’t polite. Come on out of there and say hello to Mrs. Jasper properly . . . Becky?” she called. “You too.”
Becky Singer, wearing a pretty pink sundress, appeared tentatively from the other side of the house. “We were just playing, Mommy.”
Michelle smiled warmly at the children. “Hi, Becky. Hi, Nathan.”
“Hello, Mrs. Jasper,” they chimed in unison, eyes down, sounding like penitents at a confessional.
Good grief, they were just kids. She winked at Nathan. “You didn’t scare me, but you did surprise me.” Spying a drink cooler under the card tables she thought fast. “Do you think one of you could surprise me with something cold to drink?”
“I will!” Nathan dived back under the card tables and came up with a can of lime-flavored LaCroix. “This okay?”
“Perfect.”
She popped the tab of the sparkling water just as Estelle pulled over two more plastic lawn chairs. “Sit, sit! Those ribs should be done quicker’n Uncle Ben’s rice.” Their hostess sank down into one of the empty chairs and fanned herself. “Harry’s been nursin’ ’em all day.”
Michelle sipped her lime-water, eyeing the men around the grill. It was an odd mix of folks. The Molanders had always kept to themselves pretty much. She was surprised they even came. And the Singers? Estelle was the type who’d probably invited them because of what she’d let slip about him not having a job right now. O Lord, I hope she didn’t say anything! But the Bentleys were pretty tight with Grace Meredith across the street . . . Why wasn’t she invited?
She wished Jared were here. He was better at small-talk than she was.
Almost as if reading her mind, Estelle said, “So glad y’all could come.” She beamed at them around the table. “Just wouldn’t be Memorial Day weekend without a backyard barbecue. We invited Farid and Lily too”—she waved at the bungalow on the other side of them—“but they had somethin’ else goin’ on. And Grace is out of town, has a couple concerts this weekend. But Rodney should be here any time—that’s Harry’s son.” She added, “DaShawn’s daddy,” almost as an afterthought.
Grace out of town . . . of course. She’d wanted all those brochures for her concerts this weekend. What was wrong with her brain, anyway?
“Yah, it’s nice, ver-ry nice.” Eva Molander smiled nervously. “We don’t get out much. Mostly just church and the grocery store. Karl’s health, ya know.”
Michelle didn’t know, wasn’t sure any of them did. Eva Molander had a slight Swedish accent, white hair, pale blue eyes. Pleasant face, really. Did they have family in the city? Grandchildren? She guessed the woman’s age to be late seventies, her husband too. Which wasn’t that old. Her mother was about the same age but seemed a lot more vigorous.
“We gonna eat soon? Don’t wanna miss my TV program,” Mattie Krakowski mumbled. “Dancing with the Stars comes on at seven.”
Estelle chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Miss Mattie. It’s not even six yet. But we can bring out the appetizers and get started. Sister Michelle, want to help me?”
Michelle hopped up and followed their hostess up the outside back stairs to the second floor apartment, glad to have something to do. “Don’t these stairs get a little tiring?” she asked, panting a little as they reached the kitchen. “Oh—!” She was startled when a black Lab raised its head from where it was lying near the back door and gave a little woof.
“Oh, don’t mind Corky. That’s Harry’s dog. Specially trained—Harry does security with Amtrak, you know. But sweet as a lamb . . . Here, why don’t you take this down?” Estelle handed Michelle a long cake pan of deviled eggs. “And just to assure you”—she winked—“we didn’t say anything to the Singers about knowing Greg quit his job. But thought maybe they could use a bit of fellowship.”
Michelle grinned. “Thought as much. But thanks for not telling on me.”
Estelle pulled a pan of hot pizza rolls out of the oven. “You still good goin’ to Manna House next Saturday to talk to the young ladies?”
Was that coming up already? “Sure—oh, wait. What time are you thinking?”
“Mm, morning would be best. By afternoon, everyone’s out an’ about.”
Morning. “Oh, Estelle. I . . . that’s when I volunteer at Lifeline. And I wasn’t there this past Saturday. I really don’t think I should cancel two weekends in a row.”
Estelle’s brow furrowed as she covered the pizza rolls with aluminum foil. “All right. Let’s see . . . maybe I could arrange for either Friday evening or Sunday afternoon. Would either of those work for you?”
“Sunday might be best, but I could probably do either. What about Grace? You wanted her to go too.”
“I’ll check with her and get back to you soon as I know. Sound good?”
The two women made their way back down the stairs, Michelle with the deviled eggs and Estelle with a platter of pizza rolls straight out of the oven. The kids would be in food heaven.
* * *
Michelle was surprised that she lasted as long as she did. In spite of her family being added last-minute, there was plenty of food—marvelous messy ribs, homemade potato salad, collard greens with ham hocks, a Jell-O salad full of whipped cream and fruit, potato chips, a few other bags of salty munchies, chocolate cake, and enough sweet tea to float a battleship.
The Singer kids had latched onto Tabby, who was playing hopscotch with them out on the front sidewalk. Rodney Bentley showed up just about the time Estelle was helping Miss Mattie back into the house so she could see her TV show. Harry looked annoyed, but DaShawn nearly knocked his father over with a big hug. “Hey, Dad! Wanna play a little two-on-two? We got Destin and Tavis, but we need a fourth.”
Rodney untangled himself. “Hold on, buddy. A man needs some of those ribs, ya know. You kids didn’t eat ’em all, didya?”
“And, uh, we need to be going soon ourselves,” Michelle put in. “School day tomorrow. Workday too.”
“Aw, Mom. Can’t we stay just till eight thirty? Please?” Tavis put on a good puppy-dog face.
Michelle wavered. “You got any homework?” A little late to be asking, she realized, but better late than never.
“Just a little math. Gonna take me half an hour max.”
Destin nodded, devouring a second piece of chocolate cake. “Yeah, me too.”
Rejoining the group, Estelle gave a fine-with-me shrug. “Don’t worry, these wannabe basketball stars are gonna get a workout helpin’ me take all this food back upstairs . . . right, Rodney?” She chuckled as she handed a plate to her stepson.
The Molanders excused themselves and headed next door via the alley. “We need to be going too,” Nicole said. “Thanks for everything, Estelle. Next time let us bring some food, okay? . . . Coming, Greg? I’ll collect the kids.”
“Give me a minute,” her husband said, still talking to Harry.
Michelle and Nicole walked together alongside the house to the front, where Tabby was drawing on the sidewalks with Nathan and Becky using big colored chalk. “Look, Mommy!” Nathan proudly pointed to something that looked vaguely like a snake—or maybe a dragon—covering the entire length of the Bentleys’ front walk from the porch to the sidewalk.
Michelle laughed. “Looks like Tabby found a good use for all that sidewalk chalk she’s been hoarding ever since she was Nathan’s age. Every time I wanted to send it to the Salvation Army along with her old toys, she wouldn’t let me touch any of it.”
Tabby flashed her mother an embarrassed look and kept drawing with Becky out on the main sidewalk.
Nicole smiled. “Smart girl. Always be prepared.” The homeschool mom was quiet a few more minutes as they watched the sidewalk artists, then she murmured, “Does Tabby do any babysitting?”
Michelle was surprised at the question. “Well . . . not really. Though she often helps entertain kids at church, like at the workday they had recently. I did quite a bit of babysitting at her age—though it was called ‘looking after your brothers.’” Michelle snickered. “But Tabby and Tavis are our youngest, so she missed out on that.”
Nicole nodded. “I was just wondering. She seems like a natural. Do you think she’d be interested in babysitting some time? Our kids seem to like her.”
“Oh . . . I’m sure that would be fine. You’d have to ask her though.”
“It’s just a thought. I don’t have any particular time in mind at the moment. But I might need someone this summer. Things are . . . well, kind of up in the air at the moment, as you can probably guess.”
