Stand by Me (10 page)

Olivia nodded and busied herself with her cup of coffee.

“So what's next?” Brygitta asked. “We need to find an apartment—”

“And jobs,” Nick put in.

“—but, like . . . where do we even start looking?” Brygitta went on. “Chicago's a big city!”

“What did you guys think about SouledOut last Sunday?” Kat said. “We've already met some people at that church. Maybe they could help us find a place.”

Brygitta laughed. “You
know
what I think about it. That service was looong!”

Nick shrugged. “Didn't really feel that way to me. I liked the way everyone got so involved. At my home church the choir's up on stage doing a performance for an audience. But here . . . everyone was singing, clapping, saying ‘amen' to the preacher. Kinda cool.” He grinned and leaned back, arms spread out along the top of the vinyl seat.

Kat nodded. “Same here. Have to confess, most of the churches I've tried don't do a whole lot for me. But . . . SouledOut is different. I felt excited to be there. Like we were, you know, really worshiping God.”

Brygitta leaned an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “
Hm
. Hadn't really thought about it like that. Just not what I'm used to, I guess.”

“Well, me either. But . . .” Kat's thoughts drifted to the lady in the plum-colored suit who'd led worship last Sunday. How she'd said,
“Let's go worship!”
Not
“Let's go to church
” or
“The
service is starting
.” But
“Let's go worship!”
Like being invited to join in a big celebration at the White House—no, much better. Being invited into the throne room of heaven, to celebrate the King of kings! Lord of all creation!—

A pair of fingers snapped in her face. “Kat? Kat? Are you in there?” Nick waved his hand in front of her eyes. “I think we lost you.”

Kat grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I was thinking about SouledOut. I'd like to go again on Sunday, if any of you—”

“I will,” Olivia said. “I think I need to give it another chance. At least my last exam will be over and I won't be so distracted.”

Kat blinked in surprise. “That's great, Livie!” Maybe she'd misjudged the girl.

Nick raised his hand. “Make that three.”

Brygitta rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. Four.”

Kat closed her laptop and stretched.
Done!
Felt so good to finish her last term paper—and it was only Thursday. Paper wasn't due until Monday. She'd have the weekend to do some rewriting and proofing before turning it in. She glanced at her watch. A little after ten. Brygitta hadn't come in—probably still at the library, which was open till midnight on weeknights. Maybe she should go over to the Memorial Center and hang out for an hour, do something to relax.

Ducking into their small bathroom, she ran a wide-bristle brush through her thick mane of dark waves, touched up her blush and lipstick, and smiled approvingly in the mirror. A lot of women paid big bucks to get the effect of her natural curl. It softened her nose, which was a bit too big for her taste, even though Brygitta told her it gave her a “noble” look. Yeah, like Julius Caesar.

The “Flight of the Bumblebees” ringtone ended her beauty inspection. Snatching her cell phone off the desk, she looked at the caller ID.
Drat
. Her father. She didn't want to have “the summer talk” right now! She should have called
him
, taken the initiative. She hesitated. Could let it go to voice mail—but she'd still have to respond to his call.

Might as well get this over with.

She pressed Talk. “Hey, Dad! We must be on the same wavelength! I was just going to call you.”

“Hi, sugar. Didn't want to call too late—but I've got some good news. You won't have to look for a job this summer. My receptionist is taking maternity leave in June and I need a bright young woman to fill in.” He chuckled in her ear. “Talk about great timing, eh? For both of us!”

“Oh, Dad, that would be great—except that's what I was going to call you about. I might not be coming back to Phoenix this summer—”

“What do you mean, ‘might not'?”

Kat wanted to kick herself. She shouldn't have said “might not.” Left too much wiggle room. “Well, it's exciting, actually. I've been involved in this Urban Experience program here at CCU, and some of us in the class have been talking about staying in Chicago for the summer and—”

“Kathryn. What are you talking about? Is this some kind of payback, just because your mother and I won't be able to make it to your graduation? I thought you understood our situation.”

She almost shot back,
“Understand? I understand that taking
a cruise with the Jeffersons is more important than seeing your only
daughter get her master's degree.”
But then, they hadn't made it to her undergrad graduation either—not after she'd dropped premed at the University of Arizona and transferred to Crista U for her senior year. She hadn't protested then either. They were disappointed, and frankly, it was easier
not
having them come. But still . . .

“No, Dad,” she said patiently. “Not payback. I understand, really. It's just . . . if I'm going to teach in a city school, I need more experience with the culture and people here.” She thought fast. “I'm hoping to get a tutoring job with kids, or maybe—”

“Why not here in Phoenix?” her father snapped. “I just don't understand some of the decisions you're making, Kathryn. If you'd followed through on your premed studies, you'd almost be ready for an internship by now—”

“Dad, please—”

But her father went on as if he hadn't heard. “—and I could have put in a good word for you at any number of hospitals here in Phoenix. What does a teacher make? Peanuts. And even if we're just talking about a summer job, I'm certain no
tutoring
job”—she didn't miss the scorn in his voice—“could match the salary I'm offering you to fill in at my office.”

Kat grimaced. This wasn't going well. She took a deep breath. “Dad, I really appreciate it. I do. But this is something I'd really like to do. Look, I'm supposed to meet up with some friends in a few minutes. I'll call Mom this weekend for Mother's Day and we can talk about it some more, okay? Love you both! Bye!”

Deliberately leaving her phone behind, Kat grabbed her purse and flew out of her dorm room. Maybe she needed one of those decadent chocolate-caramel milk shakes after all.

The four friends piled off the Foster Avenue bus Sunday morning, but instead of heading directly for the Red Line El station, they detoured to the Dominick's grocery store again.

“Are you sure they said there's a potluck this Sunday? Maybe it's a special Mother's Day thing.” Olivia trotted to keep up with Kat. “I mean, what can we buy ready-made that would be potlucky?”

“Yes, I'm sure they said potluck on the second Sunday, and nobody said anything about it being special for Mother's Day. We can get one of those veggie trays they make up in the deli. It'll be perfect.”

“Or brownies. Or cookies. Or a pie,” Nick said hopefully, but Kat whacked his arm with the back of her hand.

Mother's Day balloons, potted flowers, and signs abounded in the large grocery store, making Kat feel guilty that she hadn't followed up on her promise to call home this weekend. Well, she'd call this afternoon. After all, it'd been too early in Arizona to call this morning before they left.

“I still don't think we need to bring anything,” Brygitta said. “They know we're students. And church folks always bring extra for visitors and guests at these potlucks.”

“Exactly. They don't think students would think to bring anything. Which is why we're going to.”
And maybe redeem the
first impression we made last time
, Kat thought.

But she couldn't help wondering what other good stuff had been thrown out in the store Dumpsters that morning. It wouldn't hurt to just look, would it? While Brygitta and Olivia argued over whether to get a veggie tray or fruit tray, Kat slipped outside and around to the back of the store. No one in sight. Lifting up the lid of the first Dumpster, she was met with a putrid smell of rotting . . . something. She let the lid fall back with a bang, which made her jump. She cast an anxious eye at the double doors, but they stayed closed.

Waiting another minute or two, she lifted the lid of the next Dumpster. Oooh . . . what was that? She squinted into the dim interior. As things came into focus, her eyes bugged at the six-packs of fancy fruit juices, still in their plastic shrink-wrap. Lots of them. Holding up the lid with one hand and leaning over the edge, she snagged a six-pack with her other hand and pulled it out into the light. “Sell by May . . .” She squinted at the fine print on the plastic bottles. “Good grief! That's only yesterday! These are still good!”

Glancing around to be sure she was still alone, Kat slung off her backpack, stuffed the six-pack inside, then strained to reach another . . . and another . . . and another, until she had four of the juice packs zipped inside her bag, all that would fit. Heavy as it was, she couldn't get it on her back again, so she just lugged it by the top strap and headed for the front of the store—where she ran into Nick, Brygitta, and Olivia coming out the automatic doors with a plastic grocery bag.

Brygitta rolled her eyes. “Kat. You didn't.”

Kat tossed her head. “Did. But don't worry, I promise not to embarrass you. It's one-hundred-percent fruit juice, just one day past sale date, perfectly good. We can just put it out on the table with the rest of the potluck stuff. Who's to know we didn't buy it? Nick, will you help me get this backpack on?”

“Forget it, I'll carry it,” he said, just as a loud rumbling a block over caught their attention.

“Oh no, the El! We missed it!” Olivia cried.

“I think that one's going south.” Kat began to run. “Maybe we can catch the northbound if we hurry!”

Chapter 10

A
vis slipped the navy blue rayon dress over her head and let it fall softly just below her knees. Delicate silver filigrees decorated the scoop neck and three-quarter-length sleeves, complimenting the silver buckle on the navy belt. She'd already gotten two phone calls that morning wishing her Happy Mother's Day. The first, from her youngest daughter, Natasha, in D.C., had gotten her out of bed. “Oh! Sorry, Mom! I keep forgetting about the time difference!” The second, from her oldest daughter in Ohio, was cut short by Charette's nine-year-old twins clamoring for a chance to talk to “Grammy.” They were growing so fast. She and Peter should really go see them sometime this summer.

No call from Rochelle. She closed her eyes a brief second, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. She couldn't let that cloud her whole day. She had a lot to be thankful for.

Peter poked his head into the bedroom as Avis slid the post of a silver hoop into the nearly invisible hole in her earlobe. “You ready, honey? I put your dish for the potluck in the car already.”

“
Mm-hm
. Thanks. Just need to get my coat.” She turned around for him, showing off the dress. “Look okay?”