The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (25 page)

I watched Amanda dancing with José . . . watched Josh, his shaved head bobbing side by side with Chris and Pete as they danced to the music. My heart was bursting with gratitude . . . and yet full of sorrow. Geraldine's sorrow—

“Sista Jodee!” Chanda plopped down in the chair beside me. “Mi mon—he's one good dancer! See? Dancin' with Stu.”

Startled out of my thoughts, I glanced at Mr. Leather Vest gyrating in the center of the floor. Stu, laughing, was trying to imitate his steps.

“I see.Where did you meet him, Chanda?”

“
Meet '
im?” She laughed, her spirit light, as though she might just float off the chair. “Dat's my baby's daddy! He's back!”

24

D
ia's daddy? Back? “Uh, I thought . . . but you said . . .” Didn't Chanda say her “baby's daddy” had a new girlfriend and they'd gone off on a cruise or something? She'd been livid, because he was always telling her he had no money for child support.

Chanda tilted her nose up and sniffed. “Oh,
that.
He got tired of her, saw what he was missin'. Says he's home for good now.”

Oh, please.
The guy probably heard about Chanda winning the lottery and came running. “Chanda, are you sure? I mean, money can do funny things to people.”

Her eyes flashed. “This ain't about no money, Sista Jodee! De mon is Dia's daddy, after all. Ain't you happy about that?”

“Yes, of course, Chanda! But . . .” I let it drop and instead leaned over and gave her a hug. “I hope it all works out, Chanda.” I wanted to be happy for her, but I smelled a rat.

The official
quinceañera
broke up around five o'clock, but the kids still wanted to party. Josh was the only one with a driver's license, so Denny gave him back his car keys—it'd been seven days anyway. The
Quinceañera
and her
Corte de honor
all piled into our minivan and went out for pizza. Minus Edesa, that is, who begged off, laughing, saying she was done being a teenager for a day,
Muchas gracias.

Adele had stayed for a while, but I'd seen her leaving just after the piñata rained candy all over the floor. “Adele!” I'd scurried over and caught her at the top of the stairs. “I was supposed to ask you when I made Amanda's appointment—and forgot, of course. Since your sister's out of town, could Yada Yada meet at your place tomorrow? You know, bring the prayer group to you since it's hard for you to get care for MaDear right now.”

Adele nodded, pulling a snug fake fur hat down over her short 'fro, which was growing out to its natural black and silver color. “Stu already told me. Nice party, Jodi. You and Denny have a right to be proud of that girl.”

My smile tightened.
Good ol' Stu, covering for me again.
“Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow then.”

But I could hardly complain. Stu and Florida and Delores and Edesa—everybody, really—stayed to help clean up after the kids left. But as Avis put on her coat she murmured, “I won't be at Yada Yada tomorrow night, Jodi. Peter, he, well . . .” She looked a little flustered.

“What? You're going to miss Yada Yada for
Peter
? Hey, this
is
getting serious.”

“Oh, stop.” Avis batted a hand at me, like a pesky fly. “He's giving a dinner for new employees at the Palmer House tomorrow night and asked me to attend with him. Doesn't mean anything.” She lowered her voice. “Peter hates social gatherings, doesn't know how to do small talk. He asked me to come for moral support.”

I grinned. “Like I said.”

WHEN WE ARRIVED FOR worship the next morning at Uptown, all traces of Amanda's
quinceañera
had disappeared. Chairs were lined up in neat rows, bent in a half circle; Josh was behind the soundboard; and Amanda was wearing jeans again, like most of the other teenagers. Avis was there, but not Peter; Florida and Carla were there, but not Carl and the boys; the music was definitely words-on-an-overhead contemporary; and the temperature outside had dropped a good twenty-five degrees from last week's high of fifty.

Life had returned to normal.

I was so wrung out after our big day that I had considered not going to Yada Yada that evening. But with Avis not coming and the group meeting at Adele's after so many months, it seemed important to get off my duff. Stu offered to drive. Just as well; that meant Josh could drive himself and Amanda to youth group.

“Poor Denny,” I murmured, giving him a kiss on top of his head as I left the house. “Home all alone.”

“Shh.” He clicked the remote volume up a few notches. “Did you hear about that nightclub fire yesterday in Rhode Island?”

I beat a hasty retreat. One look at the pictures of bodies stacked two and three deep in front of a chained exit had already threatened to give me a new nightmare— only days after a similar nightclub stampede had killed nearly two dozen right here in Chicago.

Another good reason to keep my kids' curfew on lockdown.

On the way to Adele's apartment, Stu was abnormally quiet. “Thanks for all your help with Amanda's party,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “The piñata idea was great.”

“Oh. Sure.” More silence.

I tried again. “What happened when you tried to get reassigned to Becky Wallace's little boy's foster case? Any luck?”

Her face twitched. “Haven't heard yet. Lots of red tape. I don't know—I'm thinking of withdrawing the request.”

I stared at Stu as she nosed into a parking space on Adele's block just in front of a fire hydrant. That didn't sound like Stu! When had she ever backed away from a fight—especially with DCFS? I eyed the space behind the Celica as we got out. Looked less than the required eight feet from a hydrant, if you asked me.Which she hadn't.

Adele's first-floor apartment had the blinds drawn in every window, just like the last time we were there. Made me feel claustrophobic. MaDear was parked in a large overstuffed chair with a light blanket tucked tightly over her lap and into the cushions, seemingly oblivious to the stream of Yada Yada sisters collecting in Adele's compact living room.

Seeing MaDear, I remembered my idea that Yada Yada could maybe take turns getting MaDear out and about while Adele was working at the shop. But it might put people on the spot to talk about it in front of Adele and MaDear.
Shoot. I'll probably have to e-mail or call
everyone individually.

As people arrived, everyone gushed about how fantastic Amanda's
quinceañera
had been. “I think,” I said, eyeing Delores sheepishly, “we didn't do it up quite as fancy as a traditional Mexican
quinceañera
—I hear
that's
a party.”

“Not to worry,” Ruth sniffed. “What Denny did? With that promise ring? Made me cry, it did.”

“Yeah,” said Yo-Yo. “Way cool. Wish my dad had done somethin' like that—if he'd stuck around, that is. But”—she shrugged—“I'm glad Pete and Jerry saw it. They respect Denny.”

“Yeah. My kids too.Where's Avis?” Florida flopped into a corner of Adele's couch.

I cleared my throat dramatically. “Out with Peter Douglass. Employee dinner. At the Palmer House.”

“Oooo,” said Ruth. “Fancy. Went to a bar mitzvah there once.”

“What's the Palmer House?” Yo-Yo asked.

I caught my surprise before it surfaced. Yo-Yo had lived in the city her entire life and still never heard of Chicago's premier hotel?

“A Chicago hotel,” Adele filled in.

Yo-Yo shrugged. “Oh.”

“So who's leading this meeting?” Florida wanted to know.

I half-expected Stu to say, “
We don't need a leader just
for a prayer meeting,”
but she didn't rise to the bait. In fact, she hadn't said much since we came in.

“Nony, will you lead us?” Delores asked sweetly.

“Oh, I don't—”

“Nony!” several voices chorused. “You're it!”

I realized I hadn't really gotten a chance to talk to Nony at the
quinceañera,
even though she'd brought her entire beautiful family, all dressed up in the outfits they'd brought back from South Africa.Tonight she was dressed simply in slacks and a sweater, though her hair was still braided in long extensions.

“All right then,” she said quietly. “Are we waiting for anyone else?”

“Chanda's not here—did anybody hear from her? Did she need a ride?” I immediately felt guilty, since we lived as close to her as anyone.

“She knows she can call someone,” Stu said. “Probably busy with her new man.”

“Not exactly new,” I offered. “Dia's daddy.He's back.”

“What? They still married?” Yo-Yo asked.

I squirmed. Not that I knew for sure, but I never got the impression Chanda had been married to any of her kids' daddies.

“After her money, he is,” Ruth muttered. Ha. There it was. Out in the middle of the room. The exact thing we were all thinking.

“Sisters,” said Nony gently, “let's not gossip about Chanda. She can tell us what she wants us to know. There are big changes in her life, regardless of what we think about how this money came about. We need to pray for our sister.”

Okay.
Guess I needed that. God still had some work to do corralling all my thoughts and feelings and judgments and channeling them into prayers. “Thank you, Nony. You're right.”

“Who all these people?” MaDear's shrill voice cut into our circle. “Adele? Where you at, girl? Get 'em outta here!”

Adele rose. “You go on, Nony. I'll give her some-thing to do.” Adele picked up a jar of buttons and took them over to her mother. “Here, MaDear. Can you find me some black buttons? I need as many as you can find.”

“Humph.” MaDear dumped the buttons into her lap and started to poke through them.

Sheesh. Adele deserves a medal. She has the patience of Job.

Nony opened her Bible. “I'm reading from Amos, chapter five,” she said. Her melodic voice took on an urgency. “Seek good, not evil, that you may live. Then the Lord God Almighty will be with you . . .”

At least it wasn't ye old King James. I quickly turned in my own modern-language translation and tried to find where she was reading. “Hate evil, love good; maintain justice in the courts,” she continued. Then she skipped to the end of the chapter. “I hate, I despise your religious feasts! I cannot stand your assemblies! . . . Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice roll on like a river, right-eousness like a never-failing stream!”

Adele's living room was suddenly quiet, except for the
ping, ping
of MaDear's buttons as they dropped into the jar.
What an odd scripture to read.
I reread the last verses in my own Bible.
“I hate, I despise your religious
feasts; I cannot stand your assemblies”? What's that about?
Aren't we trying to learn to worship here? Does Nony think
we're off track, and God is displeased with us?

I looked up—and saw tears streaming down Nony's face. Someone handed her a tissue. After a few moments, she looked apologetic—and then the tears started again. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . forgive me, but . . . oh, sisters! I don't know what to do!” she wailed. “I sit here in comfort, taking my freedoms for granted, while my people in South Africa are still suffering from years of injustice! I am so blessed—how can I not share my blessings with my own people? Ignorance abounds! Young people, mothers, fathers—all dying of AIDS by the thousands. And yet, I cannot go, cannot ease the suffering in my heart unless I leave my family—because my husband will not go!”

25

N
o one moved.
Oh God! Where is Avis when we
need her?
I had no idea what to say to Nony. I could feel the pain in her heart—but I understood Mark's reality too. He was the breadwinner, he had a good job, and he was doing what was on
his
heart—teaching history to students like Hoshi. To be a Christian professor on the staff of a major university was a ministry in itself.