The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (42 page)

Stu plopped herself on the kitchen stool and glared at me. “Not valerian. Hate that stuff. So, did you know that Becky's been talking to Florida about renting their apartment? ”

I could pretend innocence. Or I could 'fess up. Better get it over with. “Um, yeah. She asked me to pray about it with her.” I found the box of assorted herbal teas; no chamomile. “Peppermint? Out of chamomile.”

“Oh, great. So I'm the last to know, is that it? ” She ignored the box of tea bags I was holding out to her. “How ungrateful can that sorry excuse for a druggie mother be? And what a dumb idea! Does she have
any
concept of how hard it's going to be to get Andy back? She couldn't even keep her nose clean living
here
! Should've reported her that night we caught her smoking weed on the front porch—”

The teakettle screeched. I poured hot water over two peppermint tea bags.

Stu got off the stool and began to pace up and down our boxcar kitchen. “What's going to happen when all the restraints are taken off, huh? Tell me that.When her old druggie friends start coming around again, like the loud-mouthed jerk I found in my living room that night, eating all my food. When she's free to go wherever. When no one's looking over her shoulder. She's going to mess up her chances to get Andy back big-time.”

“Here. Drink your tea.” I held out a mug of peppermint tea laced with honey. The minty aroma spiked the air.

Stu stopped pacing. “Did I say I wanted some tea? That's the trouble with you, Jodi Baxter; you think everything in the world can be fixed with a pasta dish or a mug of hot tea! Why
didn't
you tell me about Becky planning to move out? Don't you think
I
had a right to know? Some Yada Yada friend
you
are.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Was I shouting? I took a big breath and dialed it down, then put the mugs of tea back on the counter with a
thump
, sloshing tea everywhere. “Look here, Leslie Stuart. Don't make this personal between
us
. I didn't think it was my place to be telling you what Becky was thinking. She needed time to think. She asked me to pray with her about it. And just because she wants her own place doesn't mean she's ungrateful. Good grief! She
told
me she appreciated everything you've done for her. But that ankle monitor came off this past week.
Off!
Can you imagine the freedom she feels? Probably so giddy she feels like she could fly—could do anything.”

Stu just looked at me. I took a chance and laid a hand on her arm. “Believe me, Stu, I know this affects you too. I don't know anyone who would've done what you did, taking Becky in.But honestly, I thought this might be good news. You've been taking care of Becky's mess in one way or another for a whole year.Maybe it's time to get your own life back—your apartment, anyway. And it's her decision.” I grinned. “At least you're not having to kick her out.”

Stu absently grabbed a dishrag, mopped up the spilled tea, and picked up a mug. She blew on the tea and took a sip. I let out my breath slowly. Guess she wasn't going to go off on me. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “But we'd worked out most of the kinks. And I'd kinda gotten used to having someone around. Especially Little Andy on Sunday.”

A renegade tear slid down her cheek. “Guess she won't need me to pick him up any more. And he—he started calling me Auntie Stu. But now . . .” Her eyes met mine, stricken. “Oh, Jodi.”

I plucked the shaking mug of tea out of her hand and wrapped Stu into my arms. “Oh, Stu, I know, I know . . .” I should have known, anyway. Should have known that Andy had wiggled his hot-chocolate-with-whipped-cream self right into the empty, aching spot left behind by Stu's own missing child. Heaven's angel named David.

WHILE I WAS BAGGING UP THE INGREDIENTS for a taco salad the next Sunday before church, I saw Becky and Stu heading for the garage. Probably going to pick up Andy.
Huh
. We'd have a woman president in the White House before Becky Wallace got a car. I had an idea she'd welcome “Auntie Stu” still doing pick-ups for the weekly visits.

The church business meeting that had been announced for that Sunday had somehow morphed into a potluck meal. Somebody was smart. People would probably be more mellow and friendly after eating together. The fact that it was falling on the second Sunday might also ease some of the grumbling from Uptown folks, who'd felt overlooked last month.Today, at least,we'd have a chance to make a decision together about stuff like a monthly potluck.

Or not. It got put on the agenda, along with “New chairs! ” — Stu's impassioned plea—but it became apparent others had more critical things to talk about. Like what, exactly, was our leadership structure? Would former elders and deacons from both churches simply double up, or would new ones be chosen? Who had input into our music and worship style? Would we have agegraded Sunday school classes for the kids, or a children's ministry with the kids younger than teens all together?

The discussion got pretty intense, in spite of tons of cold fried chicken (we didn't yet have a functioning kitchen), potato salad, lukewarm baked beans, taco salad, chips and more chips, fruit platters, and veggie trays. One grievance that got a lot of “amens” was that some of these things should have been decided before we actually merged—leadership structure, for one.

Pastor Cobbs, who was moderating the meeting, leaned aside and conferred with Pastor Clark who sat nearby.
Mutt and Jeff, bless 'em.
Pastor Clark hunched over, all arms and legs in that wobbly chair, nodded, made some murmured comments, and then sat back. Pastor Cobbs took the mike again. “As your pastors, Pastor Clark and I agree that in many ways the ‘urgent' has crowded out the ‘important.'We apologize for failure on our part to chart a systematic path toward merging Uptown and New Morning.”

I poked Denny. Pastors who could apologize were a good sign.

Pastor Cobbs cleared his throat. “Admittedly, we are sailing in uncharted waters.We have no maps.That's why the list of concerns raised today is vital, and we thank everyone for your input. But one thing is clear: there is no way we can reach agreement today on all the issues we've put on our agenda.We need to prioritize, and we need to be patient—”

“Pastor? ” Sherman Meeks raised his hand, then stood stiffly to his feet. Beside him, his wife tugged on his jacket sleeve, but he ignored her. “I move that the two pastors
and
the present elders and deacons of both churches function as a Merger Committee, do the prioritizing, and bring the rest of us some proposals. It's more important for this here church to get things movin' than it is for all of us to have a say.”

“I second that motion!” someone called out.

The two pastors exchanged glances. “All right. We have a motion and a second. Everyone in favor—”

There was a chorus of “ayes” all over the room.

“Opposed? ” There were a few “nays” as well.

Pastor Cobbs looked pleased. “Well, then, maybe we should adjourn—”

“Pastor? ” This time it was Debra Meeks who raised her hand. “I know things like the potluck we enjoyed today aren't exactly at the top of that priority list. But fellowship should e. We are two churches who've jumped into the same pot, and we need to get to know each other while all the structures and programs are getting hammered out. What better way to fellowship than around the table? So I move that we continue Uptown's tradition of Second Sunday Potluck. Make it temporary if you'd like.”

“I second that motion!” Florida called out.

“I third it!” Becky Wallace said.

Laughter and a groundswell of clapping broke out around the room. Pastor Cobbs smiled and raised both hands. “I take it that's an ‘aye'? ”

Well, well. Bully good for Sherman and Debra Meeks. I caught Debra's eye and gave her a thumbs-up and my biggest grin.

“Pastors? ” Avis Johnson-Douglass stood to her feet. Her hair was swept into a French twist in back, with soft tendrils falling on one side. She wore an elegant shawl with rosy flowers on a dusky background. I felt a pang. Avis's loveliness always shone from the inside out, almost breathtaking.Did she know how beautiful she was?

“—our first priority should be prayer,” she was saying. Obviously, she wasn't thinking about her loveliness. “Prayer for our pastors, prayer for the current leaders as they tackle the things on that agenda. Prayer for the Holy Spirit to make this merger a light and a witness to the world. Not programs and structures first. Prayer first.” She sat down.

“I second that too!” Florida sang out.

By the time the first business meeting of Uptown-New Morning broke up, it was three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was already sinking westward, and we had four “temporary” decisions: an acting leadership group, two fellowship times (the men's breakfast got thrown in as a rider), and a weekly prayer meeting.

We'd done some good praying too. Now I couldn't wait to get home, get out of my nylons and heels, maybe soak in the tub, and get in my jammies early.

That
little bubble burst when I saw Florida, Stu, Becky, and Avis clustered around Nony by the front door, talking, shaking heads. All Yada Yada sisters. I smacked my forehead. “Oh, no,” I groaned.

“What? ” Denny was collecting our salad bowl and tongs.

“Yada Yada is supposed to meet at Nony's house tonight! But maybe Nony's canceling,” I added hastily and headed in that direction. Who could blame her? It'd already been a long day. I'd go over and cast my vote for calling it off.

“YOU'RE
STILL
GOING TO YADA YADA TONIGHT? ” Denny looked at me as if I'd just announced a trip to the moon.

“Not if it was up to
me
,” I grumbled. “I think everybody wanted to cancel, even Nony, but Hoshi invited somebody from school and I guess she's coming. Nony didn't want to disappoint Hoshi or her guest.” I sighed. “And then there's Delores and Edesa and Ruth and Yo-Yo and Adele and Chanda. It was Adele's birthday last week too. If we skip tonight, that means a whole month not seeing half the group or praying together.”

Denny frowned. “Where was Hoshi? I saw her earlier, but not during the business meeting.”

“She took Nony's boys home. Nony said she was preparing a special treat to have tonight since we were having a guest.”

“Yeah,well . . .” Denny sighed. “Guess I see why you can't cancel. But something's gotta budge, Jodi. You can't do church, potluck, business meeting, and Yada Yada all on the same Sunday.”

I rolled my eyes and booted up the computer. “Tell me about it.”

“What are you doing now? ”

“Making a birthday card for Adele. ‘Noble, kind'—remember? ”

A wry smile slipped on his face. “Oh, right.Last year.When she wasn't speaking to anybody. Especially me.”

I winced. “Oh, Denny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up.”

He waved me off. “Nah, it's OK. That was then. This is now.” He left me to the computer. A moment later, he was back. “What's Mark going to do while you women ‘yada yada'? Maybe I'll go along. It's been a while since we got to just hang out.”

“WHAT? JUST ONE CARD? NO MONEY? ” Adele's hoop earrings jangled as she shook the card several of us had managed to sign right under her nose that evening. “Last year y'all sent me a whole bunch of cards.”

“Yeah,well,we were trying to kill you with kindness back then,” I tossed back. “This year, one card, but you get twelve hugs. Well, maybe ten. Or eight.” Not everyone had shown up. And those of us who had were stalling until Hoshi arrived with her guest.

Nonyameko swept in with Hoshi's special treat and set it on the coffee table of the family room as Adele read the inside of her card aloud: “‘Adele. From the German
Adelheid'
. . . Adelheid!” she snorted. “Lord, have
mercy
. MaDear had no idea!”

I snatched the card. “Here, I'll read the rest. ‘A combination of
athala,
meaning ‘nobility,' and
heid,
‘quality,' meaning ‘from noble ways.'” I simpered at her, and continued reading. “‘Adele, you reign like a queen, lofty and serene, your words are few, but they always ring true. Happy birthday, our Noble Adele, from all the Yada Yadas!'”

Yo-Yo, Stu, and Becky clapped and whistled. Delores and Edesa laughed. “
Feliz cumpleaños,
Adele!”

But Adele just lifted an eyebrow at me. “Don't quit your day job, Jodi.”

Yo-Yo eyed the little squares of flat cake. “Hey, Nony. Can we eat? What is it? ”

“Hoshi said sweet rice-flour and coconut cake, or something like that,” Nony said absently. “I wonder where she is? It's starting to get dark out there.” She headed for the front door, her at-home caftan flowing with her.

I zipped after her. “Feel free to send Denny to pick them up if you want. He won't mind.” By this time Nony had the door open. “Oh,” I said. “Then again, maybe not.”

Denny and Mark were standing in front of the Sisulu-Smiths' Audi sedan out by the curb, their heads under the hood with a trouble light.

Nony stood at the top of the stoop and peered down the street. The sun was gone, but streaks of pink and gold tipped the tops of the almost bare trees along the parkway, creating a blue and lavender twilight. “Oh, there they are.” Relief almost giggled in her voice. She waved. “Hello Hoshi! Hello, Sara! Welcome!”

The two men pulled their heads out from under the car hood in casual curiosity as Hoshi and her friend approached the house.My insides smiled. Definitely a study in contrasts. Hoshi's willowy height and dark, swinging ponytail flowed along the sidewalk like a gentle stream. Her friend—shorter, pale eyes, yellowy hair—scurried alongside with nervous rabbit steps. And somehow . . . familiar.