Stand by Me (43 page)

“I know where it is.”

“I work Saturday morning, early shift, but I get off at ten. Morning rush is over, it'll be pretty quiet. Could you meet me there at ten o'clock? Then we'd have a place to sit and talk.”

Rochelle shook her head slowly. “Can't do Saturday. I got Conny all day.”

“Bring Conny too! We've got great ice cream. My treat.”

Silence hung between them. Kat wasn't sure what Rochelle was thinking. “Uh, do you need money for El fare?”

“I've got money,” Rochelle snapped.

“All right. But will you come? Please?”

Again a long silence. Then, “All right. Just to talk. Ten o'clock Saturday.” And with a few running steps, Rochelle disappeared around the corner of the store.

Kat was a nervous wreck on the way home on the El. What had she done?! But it was time to break her promise and tell Brygitta and Nick everything. Rochelle would understand that she'd have to ask her apartment-mates if they were going to talk about rooming together.

Nick had just walked in a few minutes before Kat, having safely delivered Olivia to her aunt's home in Madison. And that night over a late supper, she spilled the whole story to her two friends. Brygitta already knew a bit of it, and Nick . . . he was probably the most trustworthy secret-keeper on the planet.

“Sure,” Nick said. “I could move into the study on the futon, and she could have the master bedroom. Queen bed ought to be big enough for her and the kid.”

Kat felt like kissing him again . . . but she didn't.

“He's six? That's a fun age,” Brygitta said. “Could be kinda fun having a kid around.”

“Uh, I don't think she has any money for rent.”

Brygitta and Nick looked at each other. Nick cleared his throat. “Well, if nobody moved in, we'd be splitting it three ways, so what's the difference? Besides . . .” A slow grin spread over his face. “Haven't told you guys yet—kinda got bumped off the radar with Livie moving out—but Mr. Douglass offered me a part-time job in the mail room at his software business. I start tomorrow.”

Kat and Brygitta both shrieked. “Nick! That's fantastic!”

“Yeah. I was feeling so grateful on my way home from Wisconsin, I wrote a song in my head . . . Want to hear it?” He started to get up as if to go get his guitar.

The two girls looked at each other and burst out laughing. Nick's music tended to be on the sappy side, but . . . why not. “Sure,” Kat said. “But sit down a minute. Let's, you know, pray together first and thank God for your job. And ask God to soften Rochelle's heart so she says yes to moving in with us. And that she shows up Saturday.”

“Wait a minute.” Brygitta frowned. “It's not just about Rochelle moving in with us. Aren't we forgetting the big elephant in the room? The fact that Rochelle and her mom haven't spoken to each other for four months? Seems like we need to pray that
that
wall comes down before any of this is going to happen.”

Kat's spirit sank a little. Bree was right. Still . . . was it such a big wall? Hadn't Rochelle sent her mom a birthday gift? Hadn't Mrs. D asked her Yada-Whatever-Group to pray that they would find her? Seemed to her like all Rochelle and her mom needed was a little push and that wall would come tumbling down.

Pushing their plates aside, the three friends held hands around the small kitchen table and started to pray. But Kat was also intensely aware that Nick was gently squeezing her hand, as if sending her a message.

Chapter 40

T
he next two days seemed to pass in a blur. Every time Kat saw Mrs. Douglass at the school, she ached to tell her about their plan. A place for Rochelle and Conny to live! Close by! But Nick had cautioned her not to say anything yet. It wasn't certain that Rochelle would even show up on Saturday, much less accept their invitation, and that would just be another huge disappointment.

Afraid she'd blurt out something, she did her best to avoid the principal, keeping busy helping Estelle Bentley pass out the individual boxes of cereal, small cartons of milk, and juice boxes as the kids arrived, and corralling the three students she was tutoring as soon as they were done eating. On Thursday she brought a bag of apples to help them visualize simple division problems, but it became a “subtraction” problem when some of the other kids snatched apples and ran off with them, throwing them at each other, and in general creating havoc before the volunteers got them under control.

So much for props. She tried story problems. “What if we had a dog wash here in the school playground to raise money for a field trip to . . . where would you like to go, Yusufu?”

“Disneyland!”

“Uh, someplace here in Chicago.”

“Great America!” Latoya squealed.

“Okay. Great America. If we charge three dollars per dog, how many dogs would we have to wash to make ninety dollars?”

All three faces screwed up in concentration. She showed them how to divide ninety by three. “Thirty dogs!” Kevin snorted. “No way! Just go to that machine at the bank and take out ninety dollars. That's what my mother does when she needs money.”

Oh, brother
. These kids needed some money sense.

That evening she Googled “have fun with long division” and was rewarded with a list of cool websites with math games for kids. Perfect. Friday morning she'd ask for computer time early and get her three rascals working with basic division facts online, complete with bells and whistles when they got the right answer.

While online, she checked her e-mail. Still no answer from either her mom or her dad, even though she'd e-mailed them last weekend, telling them about her new job and volunteering with the Summer Tutoring and Enrichment Program. She'd used the whole title, hoping they'd be impressed. But . . . maybe they didn't check their e-mail that often. Well, she'd give it one more day and then maybe she'd call.

Yusufu, Kevin, and Latoya loved the online math games. At least it was a start. Kat was feeling pretty good about her first week with STEP, but Mrs. Douglass stopped her as Kat was leaving at noon. The principal looked slightly annoyed. “The kids are saying you're going to have a dog wash here at the school to raise money to take them all to Great America. What's this about?”

Kat's mouth fell open. “Oh no, no, that was just a story problem for my math students! Are they . . . oh dear. I was trying to make it personal, so I did phrase it like, ‘What if we had a dog wash here at the school . . .' but I didn't mean
really
!”

Mrs. Douglass's mouth twitched at the corners. “Ah. No dog wash. Good. We'll have to make that clear first thing next week—if word doesn't spread this weekend and half the neighborhood doesn't show up Monday with their dogs.” And then she chuckled. “Kids do take things literally, Kathryn. Be careful what you say.”

Kat nodded meekly. She'd taken Theory and Practice in Classroom Management, but all that theory was a bit different from actually teaching real kids. Especially kids as different from each other as Yusufu, Kevin, and Latoya. Worse, she had a master's degree in education but felt as if she'd made a fool of herself. More than anything, she wanted Mrs. Douglass to respect her skills as a teacher.

Her parents didn't. Obviously they were still miffed that she wasn't doing her hospital residency by now. But just in case, she checked her e-mail again before heading for her afternoon shift at the coffee shop. Still nothing. Okay, she'd call after work, try to catch her mom before they went out for the evening or something.

But there was no answer on the home phone when she called, using her cell on the walk home. It went right to voice mail, and a digital voice announced that the mailbox was full. Good grief! Didn't her mom ever listen to her messages? Kat glanced at her watch . . . five fifteen Chicago time, only four fifteen in Phoenix. She'd leave a message at her father's office. They usually stayed open till five.

“Doctors Davies, Evans, and Campbell.”

Kat recognized her father's middle-aged receptionist. “Uh, hi, Ms. Coalson. It's Kathryn Davies. Is—”

“Oh, hi, Kathryn! We thought you'd be back in the office this summer! How's Chicago?”

“It's good. Uh, I'm trying to reach my folks, didn't get through at home. Can I leave a message for my dad to call me? I know he's probably still got patients.”

“Sure thing, hon. Want to give me your number just in case?”

Just in case what? That her father had somehow lost her number? But she repeated it anyway.

Kat's alarm rang at five o'clock. In the other twin bed, Bree groaned and put a pillow over her head.
Ughhhh
. Kat felt like doing the same thing. This was her first day to work the six a.m. Saturday shift. It had sounded good at the time, because it didn't conflict with tutoring at Bethune Elementary during the week. But she'd forgotten how early five o'clock was.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Kat turned on the shower, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror as the water warmed up. Supposed to be another hot day in the eighties. Maybe she should cut off all this hair and wear it short like Brygitta. Except Bree's was straight and pixie-like with those wispy bangs and cute wisps in front of her ears. Hers would just frizz up like a Brillo pad. Well, she'd just wash it and get it off her neck with a clip per usual.

Friday evening had come and gone, and still no call from her parents. Well, darn it, she wasn't going to chase after them. She'd sent an e-mail and left a message for her father. It was their turn. Besides, she had something else on her mind this morning.

Rochelle
. Would she show up at ten o'clock like she'd promised? And even if she did, what would they do then? There was still the elephant in the room.

But once she was up and dressed, fortified with a glass of blended vegetable juice, Kat enjoyed the walk to Morse Avenue. Early morning runners and dog walkers were out in force. And once she had her apron on and took up her position behind the counter, she was surprised how many customers she'd served before seven o'clock.

The in-and-outers were mostly gone by nine. Then the sip-and-stay set drifted in, laptop, book, or newspaper in hand, ordered their favorite beverages, and settled down at a table for the next hour, lost in their own media world of choice. Kat was in the process of ringing up a café au lait and a blueberry scone for a middle-aged professor type when the hinges on the door squeaked and she glanced up.

Rochelle had pushed open the door and was beckoning to someone behind her.

Conny.

Quickly handing the man his change, Kat glanced at the clock—twenty to ten—and slipped from behind the counter. “Rochelle! You came.” She grinned at the little boy. “Hey, Conny. I'm glad to see
you
.”

The boy looked up at her with curious eyes. “Mama says you got ice cream here.”

“That's true! You want to pick out your favorite flavor?” She held out her hand and Conny placed his in hers, letting her lead him over to the Swirl Freeze machine.

Rochelle trailed behind them. “Guess we're early. Sorry 'bout that.”

“It's okay.” More than okay! They were here! “I've got another twenty minutes to work, but you and Conny can order something and I'll be with you as soon as I can.” She turned back to the little boy, his eyes big at the display of candy bar chunks, cookie pieces, chocolate chips, fruit, and other delectables that could be mixed into vanilla ice cream and swirled together.