2-in-1 Yada Yada (43 page)

Probably a myth by now, created in simpler times when kids had daddies, and moms stayed home. Summer day camps were no doubt better than all those kids sitting in front of the television all summer.

Denny and I had always been grateful we both had school-year jobs that let at least one of us be home when the kids were out of school. Yet now that they were both teenagers, it drove me a little nuts that Josh and Amanda could easily sleep till noon if we let them. I wasn't a big fan of hanging out at the mall either. Denny solved that little problem by stopping their allowance in the summer. Any spending money they wanted they had to earn.

So far it was working pretty good with soon-to-be-fifteen Amanda. She kept up quite a cash flow with baby-sitting and “mother's helper” jobs—mostly families from Uptown Community Church. She enjoyed the independence of buying her own clothes and not having to beg us for money when she got invited to Six Flags Great America.

Josh was a different story. By the time he and Amanda got back from the youth-group mission trip to Mexico in July, most of the available summer jobs had been taken. Denny got him on as a sub at the park district, but so far that had only averaged one day a week of actual employment at pitiful wages. And the ancient garage behind our house had only so many sides that could be painted in one summer. I loved my tall, gangly son, but Willie Wonka was plenty when it came to inert bodies lying around the house.

One good thing: my recovery from the accident and lame leg finally forced the kids to do their own laundry. We probably pushed up the water bill doing it that way instead of combining loads, but it was worth it. I'd been guilty of either nagging them to death about their laundry or finally giving up with an okay-I'll-do-it-myself martyr complex. But now? Couldn't do it; I couldn't do the basement stairs. If
they
didn't do their laundry, they had to wear it dirty. Ha!

Sometimes I wondered why it took a big crisis in my life to get some simple stuff straight, like not doing chores my kids should be doing.

On the other hand, they'd be happy doing some things for themselves I wasn't ready for yet—like staying home alone this weekend while Denny and I went away for our anniversary. I knew they'd both nix the idea of having somebody come to stay at the house. I could hear them now: “Mo-om! We're too big for a baby-sitter!”— though Amanda might acquiesce if I suggested Edesa Reyes, the black Honduran university student in the Yada Yada Prayer Group who tutored her in Spanish. Amanda and Edesa had hit it off big-time, but Josh was just old enough (seventeen) and Edesa just young enough (a very attractive twenty-one) that
that
didn't seem appropriate. Not for a whole weekend. I decided against it.

I heard the bathroom door bang back in the house. Shoot. I'd missed my chance for a leisurely shower. I better get off my duff and get on the phone. “Come on,Willie,” I said to the dog, who was already into his morning nap on the back porch. “Let's put some rubber under these wheels.”

TEN DISCOURAGING PHONE CALLS LATER—was everybody we knew out of town this weekend?—it was Amanda who came up with a solution that made everybody happy. Well, almost everybody. “Edesa said I could come spend a weekend with her sometime,Mom. I'd love to visit her church—it's in Spanish! And I'd get to see the Enriques kids too. Just ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes.”

I couldn't help but smile. Amanda had quickly taken on the role of honorary “big sister” to several of the kids whose mothers were part of Yada Yada. Maybe this would work, though I felt a little nervous at Amanda spending a whole weekend on the Near West Side. José Enriques, Delores's teenage son, had been shot in a park in Little Village—only a mile from where Edesa lived— while we were at the Chicago Women's Conference, an event that solidified our ad-hoc conference prayer group into an ongoing prayer filibuster. Yet I knew Avis or Florida would say, “We can't live in fear!” So I dialed Edesa's number.

By the time Denny got home that evening, I'd walked over to the Fitzhughs' to return Sheila's dress, Edesa had agreed to keep Amanda for the weekend, and Josh had argued reasonably that he should stay home because “somebody's got to take care of Willie Wonka.”Which was true.

Denny thought it was a good plan—until I told him Edesa offered to bring Amanda back on the El Sunday afternoon. “She and Delores are coming up anyway for Yada Yada—we're meeting at Nony's house.” Denny frowned. “Uh, I offered to give Edesa and Delores a ride to Yada Yada after she brings Amanda back— it's the least I can do.”Nony Sisulu-Smith was hosting Yada Yada's bimonthly meeting this week at her home in north Evanston near Northwestern University, where her husband was a professor. I wanted to see where she lived. The only other time Yada Yada met at Nony's, I never made it.

Denny's frown deepened. “Did Dr. Lewinski say you could start driving yet?”

I shrugged. To tell the truth, I didn't want to get behind the wheel again ever, but I had to sometime. “Isn't the wreck we're driving an automatic? I should be okay. There's nothing wrong with my right leg.”

“Going to Yada Yada just seems a bit much after a weekend away,” he grumbled.

Ah. So that was it. I let it pass. Denny had apologized for getting jealous of our diminished Sunday evenings together, now that the Yada Yada Prayer Group had decided to meet every other week, but he still struggled.

After supper, Josh took off for Touhy Park to shoot some hoops, and Amanda had another baby-sitting job. I was feeling pretty accomplished lining up the weekend when Denny asked, “Did you call Adele today?”

I looked at him stupidly. I'd totally forgotten.

He winced. “This is important to me, Jodi. Maybe I should just call her myself.”

I could tell he was frustrated—even more so when he had to go hunting for the phone, which he finally found in Amanda's room. I got him Adele's number and apologized for forgetting to call— but to tell the truth, I felt relieved he was going to do it. What would I have said anyway?
“Say, Adele, got any explanation for why
MaDear went off on Denny yesterday? Nice little fiasco.”

Denny dialed Adele's number, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he just got her answering machine. “Uh, Adele? Denny Baxter here. Could you give me a call? I need some help understanding what happened yesterday with MaDear. I hope she's okay. Thanks.” He hung up and stared at the phone.

“I'm sure she'll call you back,” I encouraged, rubbing his shoulders. I certainly hoped so—tonight, while he was still home.

Yet Adele hadn't called by the time Denny left for work the next morning, taking Josh with him, who'd gotten a call at 6:30 a.m. to sub. So he asked if I'd please call the beauty salon and talk to Adele.

I thought of a half-dozen things I
had
to do before I could call Adele, but I eventually ran out of excuses. I picked up the phone.

“Adele's Hair and Nails,” said a young voice. Sounded like Corey, the girl who did nails.

“Um . . . hi, Corey. Is Adele available? This is Jodi Baxter.”

“Just a minute.”

I could hear a CD playing in the background and indistinct voices. Then Corey came back on. “She's with a customer right now.”

“She's with a customer right now.”
That was it? Not,
“Can she call
you back?”

I stumbled. “Uh, okay. I'll try again.”
Dolt!
I scolded myself.
You should have left a message for her to call.
Well, I hadn't, so I'd just have to try again later. But how did I know when she'd be free?

I was packing the clothes Denny had washed last night when I heard the phone ring and Amanda pick up. “Mom! For you.”

Whaddya know,
I thought. Adele had called back after all. Yet when I said, “Hello? This is Jodi,” it was Avis on the line.

“Hi,” she said. “Just wanted to say good-bye before you and Denny take off for the wilderness this weekend. Will you be back in time for Yada Yada Sunday evening?”

“Yeah, planning to.” I rattled off our weekend plans, including driving Edesa up to Nony's after she brought Amanda home. “You can pray for me! First time behind the wheel since—you know.”

“You'll be fine.” There was a slight pause. “You and Denny okay after what happened Wednesday?”

“Yeah.”
Okay, Jodi, be honest.
“Well, maybe not. Denny is still pretty upset. He tried to call Adele last night to talk about it but only got her machine. He wants me to call today. I did once, but she was busy. Was going to try again in a while.”

Another pause. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. You might want to give it a rest for a few days—at least till you get back from Starving Lodge or wherever you're going. Adele might be ready to talk about it then . . . but I'm not sure.”

At any other time I would have guffawed at Avis's misstatement about Starved Rock, but something in her hesitation to have us talk to Adele set off alarm bells in my brain. I mean, I thought Adele would probably apologize for her mother's tantrum, assure Denny that he was just a victim of his mother's dementia, and say that MaDear didn't even remember it had happened. Surely that's what Denny needed to hear. So why . . .

“What do you mean?” My tone was sharper than I intended it to be. Then it suddenly occurred to me that Avis knew. She'd stayed behind to help Adele with MaDear; now she was urging us to “give it a rest” and not push Adele on it. “Avis, what's going on? Why did MaDear freak out when Denny showed up at the shop? Why doesn't Adele want to talk to us about it?”

“I think Adele should be the one—”

“You just said Adele doesn't want to talk about it,” I was dangerously close to shouting, “but that leaves Denny and me hanging, filling in the blanks with . . . with . . . I don't know what!” I had no idea what she was talking about, but knowing my active imagination and Denny's despondency over what happened, I was pretty sure we could work up a pretty good stew over it.

“All right. I'll tell you what Adele told me, but promise me you won't try to talk to Adele about it just yet. Give her some time.”

I tried to control my voice. “Okay. I promise.”

As Avis filled me in on what happened after we left Adele's Hair and Nails last Wednesday, I slowly slid down the doorjamb of the kitchen doorway that I'd been leaning against until I was sitting on the floor, my elbow on my knee, my head in my hand.

When she finished I hardly knew what to say. Finally I whispered, “Okay. Thanks, Avis.” I clicked the Off button and just sat in the doorway, hardly noticing Willie Wonka's wet nose in my face.

How was I ever going to tell Denny?

5

I
t took us almost an hour to get out of Chicago that evening—and that was
after
we dropped off Amanda at Edesa's apartment on the Near West Side.

Denny walked Amanda into the apartment building, carrying her sport bag of clothes for the weekend while she clutched her pillow and threadbare Snoopy dog she still slept with at fourteen. I watched from the car, double-parked in the street, as she waved and disappeared into the foyer. A few minutes later Denny was back. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” He eased the clunker down the on-ramp into traffic on the Eisenhower Expressway as we headed back toward the Dan Ryan, where we would pick up I-55 heading south.

I bit my lip. Didn't he know when I ask if everything is “okay,” what I really want to know is what Edesa said when they got to her door, and what he said, and did Amanda say good-bye or send any messages back to me? Did she seem nervous or anxious about us going away?

Probably not. What was one measly weekend when she'd weathered two weeks in Mexico without Mom and Dad just fine?

Friday night traffic was snarly as usual, with construction on I-55 backing things up for miles. I doled out turkey sandwiches and carrot sticks as we crept along behind a big truck, reading and rereading the stupid little sign on the back that said, “How's my driving?” and an 800 number.

“Did you bring your cell phone?” I asked.

“Uh . . . no. Why? We don't need it, do we?”

Denny had gotten the cell phone when I came home from the hospital so I could reach him anytime if I needed him during the long weeks of recovery. We hadn't used it much. I didn't think he even took it to work anymore.

“Oh, just thought I'd call that 800 number on the back of the truck. Do you think anyone ever does?”

Normally Denny would have laughed out loud at that. Even handed over the phone if he'd thought to bring it. But he just said, “Oh” and sank back into the silence that had hunkered in the car with us ever since we dropped off Amanda.

I rolled down the window, trying to catch what little breeze was created at fifteen miles per hour. My own mood that day had alternated between excited, worried, and ticked off. I'd really been looking forward to getting away with Denny, had been planning this Starved Rock getaway for weeks. But right now I felt like Pigpen in a
Charlie Brown
comic strip, walking around with a rain cloud over my head. A
big
rain cloud.

When Denny got home from work, I'd had stuff for the weekend all ready to go—two duffle bags, books to read, Bible and journal, swimsuits, Josh's portable CD player, sandwiches for the car, a cooler of lunch food so we didn't have to eat in the lodge dining room for every meal. I knew Denny still had to shower and change clothes before we could take off, but Amanda was raring to go, which helped. I dreaded the conversation about Adele and MaDear, arguing with myself all afternoon whether I should dump it all in his lap and get it over with, or put it off as long as possible. I knew I should feel bad for MaDear, but mostly I felt mad that we had to deal with this at all.