The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (29 page)

“Class, please write your name at the top of the sheet I'm handing out and work the five problems on your own.”
Oh God, Your name is above every name in heaven
and on earth—but You also know each child in this class by
name! Draw them to You, Lord! I pray they will feel Your
love through me.
“Good job, Ramón! Would you like to show the class how you did that on the board?”

“
THY KINGDOM COME
,
THY
will be done, on earth as it is
in heaven . . .”

Another suicide bombing in Jerusalem dominated the evening news.
Oh God! I pray that Your kingdom
would triumph over all Satan's dirty tricks in Israel and
Palestine—and everywhere in the Middle East.
Denny's eyebrow lifted in surprise when I sat down beside him on the couch to watch the rest of the news.

“
GIVE US THIS DAY
our daily bread . . .”

On Saturday, I pushed open the door to Adele's Hair and Nails, glad to get inside, out of the spitting sleet. Adele looked up suspiciously from behind the counter. “You don't have an appointment, Jodi Baxter. And you're the third Yada Yada who has been here this week.”

I grinned. “Do you think MaDear would like some-one to read to her?” I dumped a stack of books out of my tote bag. “What do you think—Bible? Maya Angelou?
The Cat in the Hat
?”

Adele chuckled. “A little of each, I think. Can't promise she'll stay awake, though.”

Sure enough, MaDear fell asleep during the Twenty-Third Psalm. I stopped reading, and she promptly woke up. “You ain't finished, girl! Got two more verses. Go on! Go on!”

Oh God, let Your Word be MaDear's daily bread and
feed her spirit.
Somewhere deep in MaDear's mind, her memory was clear as fresh spring water.

She caught me skipping a page in
The Cat in the
Hat
too.

“
FORGIVE US OUR SINS
, as we forgive those who sin
against us . . .”

The light on the answering machine was blinking when I got home Saturday afternoon, lugging bags of groceries—later than usual because I ended up reading to MaDear for an hour. (Every time I'd tried to stop, she'd said,
“Read it agin,”
or
“Tha's good, tha's good.What's
the next one?”
) I punched the
play
button as I unloaded milk, frozen OJ, and a package of chicken quarters. The machine announced, “One new message,” then Stu's voice popped out. “Jodi! Guess what came in the mail today?”

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the package of chicken parts, wondering whether to toss it in the freezer or use it to make something for Second Sunday Potluck at church tomorrow.

“A letter from the parole board at Lincoln!” Stu's voice continued. “They're giving us a hearing—two weeks from today! Can you and Denny make it? Good thing Yada Yada meets tomorrow; we can pin this thing down.”

The answering machine clicked off, but I just stood there with the package of chicken. The parole board was giving us a hearing? I sank down on the kitchen stool.
Forgive me, Jesus, for having such weak faith. Even wishing
the parole board would say no. But . . . what exactly are
we getting ourselves into? We've already forgiven Becky
Wallace, haven't we?
Well, yeah, kinda, sorta—but I wasn't sure I knew what the implications were. What did it mean to completely forgive?

There were still consequences, weren't there?

“
LEAD US NOT INTO
temptation, but deliver us from
evil . . .”

I got up shivering in the middle of the night to put another blanket on our bed—and nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang. The glowing digital alarm clock said 4:11. I snatched up the bedside extension, my heart racing. Had to be bad news—my parents? Denny's?

“Jodi?” Yo-Yo's voice was high-pitched, scared. “Hey. Sorry to wake you up, but is Pete over there?”

“Pete? No . . . wait a minute, Yo-Yo.”

Denny had risen up on one elbow, but I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “It's Yo-Yo. Go back to sleep.” I hustled the phone out of the bedroom and down the hall into the dim shadows of the living room.Willie Wonka's nails clicked on the wooden floor behind me. “What's the matter, Yo-Yo?”

“He never came home last night. That homeboy been comin' in later an' later, givin' me fits. Tonight he never came back at all. I was wonderin' if maybe he stayed over with Josh.”

“Haven't seen him. I'll double-check Josh's room.”
Not a chance. I'd know if we had an extra body in the
house.
I padded back down the hallway, Willie Wonka at my heels, and peered into Josh's bedroom. One lump in the bed. I opened the door wider and scanned the floor. Just the usual mess. I pulled the door shut again. “Sorry, Yo-Yo.”

Silence at the other end. Then, “I don't know what ta do, Jodi. Kinda worried.”

Kinda? I'd be a total wreck if Josh wasn't home at four in the morning! “Who was Pete out with? Did you try calling his friends?”

“I don't know where he was. He just went out. That”—Yo-Yo blistered my ear with a few choice names in Pete's absence—“thinks he can do anything he wanna do since he turned seventeen. He ain't even a senior yet.”

“Oh, Yo-Yo.” I wanted to hug her. She was just a kid herself, only twenty-three, trying to raise two teenage brothers. And from stuff she'd said, she'd never had much parenting herself. I felt helpless to comfort her. “Want to pray for him right now, Yo-Yo? God knows where he is.”

“You pray, Jodi. I don't . . . I mean, I don't know if God listens to me.”

“Of course He listens to you! Why wouldn't He?”

“ 'Cause I'm not . . . I dunno. Not even sure I'm a Christian. I mean, how can you know when you've made it? Haven't done that baptism thing yet.”

Oh, Yo-Yo.
“Don't worry about baptism right now, Yo-Yo.” After all, it was four in the morning. “Just take my word for it—God listens to you. But if you want, I'll pray for us both, okay?”

Huddled in the darkness and the old afghan on the couch, I prayed aloud, phone clamped to my ear, seeing Yo-Yo in my mind—scared, sleepless, saddled with worries beyond her age. As I prayed, my heart began to lighten. “Steer Pete away from temptation tonight, Jesus, and protect him from all harm and danger. Don't let the evil one snatch him away.We claim Pete for You, Lord . . .”

I'm not sure how long I prayed, but Yo-Yo said, “Thanks, Jodi,” when I wrapped it up “in the mighty name of Jesus.” “He's prob'ly okay—sleepin' off too many beers at some kid's house or somethin'.”

The clock said 4:55 when I crawled back under the covers and pressed my cold feet against Denny's warm ones. Given the possibilities, sleeping off too many beers sounded downright wholesome.

“
FOR THINE IS THE
kingdom, the power, and the glory,
forever and ever! Amen.”

The Lord's Prayer was still at the forefront of my mind as I dropped off my Crock-Pot of chicken marengo in the church kitchen the next morning. I was glad to see Avis preparing to lead worship this Sunday. I could use some out-of-our-seats praise this morning, because Yo-Yo had called just as we were making our usual mad dash out the door. Pete had dragged in at five thirty and said he'd been playing pool and hanging out—“Smelling like weed!” she'd yelled in my ear—and “forgot” to call.
Oh, please.
Still, the he's-dead-in-an-alley-somewhere scare was over, and she was mad as a wet cat. Hallelujah! Praise Jesus!

I craned my neck. Huh. Didn't see Peter Douglass . . .

I gave Avis a hug after service. “Peter didn't come? Thought you might bring him to Uptown's infamous Second Sunday Potluck.” I grinned sheepishly. “Especially since I made you guys miss it last month with my lunch invitation.”

Avis got a funny look on her face. “No, he didn't come. Actually, Peter and I . . . um, we're kind of cooling things right now.”

I stared at her, speechless.

“Don't say anything, Jodi. I'll . . . we can talk later, okay?”

Don't say anything?
The whole Yada Yada Prayer Group was making a friendship quilt for the two of them, for crying out loud!

29

I
managed to not say anything to Florida or Stu, even though Stu rode home with us after the potluck, but I called Delores the minute I got home. “They're cooling it, Delores! Does that mean I don't have to embroider this quilt square?”

“What are you talking about, Jodi!”

“Avis and Peter—she said they're cooling it.”

I heard Delores chuckle. “Oh. Do not worry,
mi amiga.
That is to be expected. How do you say it?—cold feet. Did she say why?”

No, she hadn't said why, and I tried to call Avis after I hung up with Delores, but all I got was her voice mail.
Humph
. She better tell us at Yada Yada tonight—so we could pray, of course.

Yeah, right.

Amanda was hunched over the computer doing schoolwork while I made a birthday cake, but she gave it up for an hour—actually, I bribed her with the mixing bowl and beaters; anything for chocolate—so I managed to make two computer cards for the birthday Yadas, doing the “name” thing.Took me longer than I thought, though, because I had a sneezing fit right in the middle of accessing the Internet and waded through a pile of tissues before I got my runny nose and weepy eyes under control.
Dumb cold better not be making a comeback.
I took a decongestant and a couple of pain relievers for good measure.

Back on the computer, I checked out the meaning of Stu's first name—Leslie—and it came up meaning, “From the gray fortress.”
Huh?
What could I do with that? So I looked up her last name—Stuart, which meant “Caretaker.”
Hm.
That seemed appropriate, maybe to a fault. But I stuck with the positive and printed out a card that said,
Stuart: Old English for Caretaker. God bless you,
Stu, as you make sure that foster kids are taken care of!

Ruth's name was sweet: “Friend of beauty.” In spite of her brusque exterior, Ruth was intensely loyal, just like her counterpart in the Bible. Like the way she'd taken Yo-Yo and her half brothers under her wing.
To
Ruth
, my computer card said,
Friend of beauty. A beautiful
friend ~ Happy Birthday! Love, Jodi.

Our ranks were thin at Yada Yada that night—only eight of us. Nony and Florida both stayed home with sick kids, Delores had to work pediatrics at the county hospital, and Edesa was babysitting the Enriquez kids because Ricardo and José were playing their new week-end gig at La Fiesta. But Adele showed up—her sister was back in town and able to take MaDear on Sundays again—in Chanda's new car. A champagne Lexus. The whole group was standing out by the curb gawking at it when Hoshi and I drove up with Stu.

“What? You didn't bring Denny?” Ben Garfield fussed, giving me a peck on the cheek. “What am I supposed to do while you ladies get holy? I need a beer buddy.”

Oh, please.
I wasn't keen on Denny being Ben's “beer buddy,” so just as well. But I laughed airily and was just about to ask Ben if he'd sneak the cake from Stu's car into the house while we were praying, when he gave me a wink and motioned me to follow him. Ruth was busy taking coats in the living room, so he hustled me through the compact kitchen of their brick bungalow with its single sink and bright mustard counters and opened the door to a tiny utility room. A large bakery cake sat in all its sugary glory on top of the washing machine, boasting,
Happy 39th Birthday, Ruth
!

He pointed to the 39 and snickered. “That gal's been thirty-nine for the last nine years.” His large face broke into a mask of laugh wrinkles. “Had Yo-Yo make it. Just give me the high sign and I'll bring it in, candles lit. Better have a fire extinguisher ready.”

I groaned silently. I never did get hold of Yo-Yo to tell her
I
was making a cake. Now what? Ben's cake only said “Ruth” and we had two birthdays . . . well, maybe my cake could be for Stu.Not that we needed two cakes.

As I sank into a corner of Ruth's flowered sofa on the tail end of the opening prayer, Avis asked for praise or prayer reports. I wondered if she would say something about “cooling it” with Peter—but knew she probably wouldn't.And suddenly I realized how easy it was for Avis to hide behind being the leader. Yeah, there she went, asking Hoshi how her studies were going at Northwestern and if she'd heard anything from her parents. And then she'd ask someone else . . .

“I write every week,” Hoshi said, fingering the delicate oriental scarf around her neck, “and at first all my letters were returned. But lately they have not been returned.”