Stand by Me (12 page)

But a disturbing thought flickered across her mind, even as the table talk bounced from bemoaning the Chicago Bulls' losing season to whether the economy would ever recover.
How
can Peter think about taking an extended trip when he's just agreed
to serve a two-year term as an elder?
She shook her head. She and Peter were just dancing around this issue. They really needed to talk—

“Okay if we sit here?”

Avis blinked. Two of the Crista students—the “Cat” girl and the timid blonde—stood by two empty chairs across the table, holding their plates of food hopefully.

Chapter 11

O
f course!” Sherman Meeks jumped up and even pulled out the chairs for the two young women. “By all means. We need some youth at this table of old folks.”

“Speak for yourself, Meeks.” Denny Baxter feigned a wounded look. “A few of us here aren't over the hill
yet
.”

“Don't mind him.” Jodi extended her hand. “I'm Jodi Baxter. This is my husband, Denny. And please remind us of your names . . . ?”

“Kathryn Davies.” The talkative girl beamed and shook Jodi's hand. “Though most people just call me Kat. Kat with a K. And this is Olivia Lindberg. We're both from Crista University. I'm in the graduate school. Education.”

“Undergrad,” squeaked the younger of the two. “Sociology.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Denny offered. Neither girl had a cup. “I'd be glad to get you some lemonade. They've made enough to float a Carnival cruise.”

Kat—
With a K
, Avis reminded herself—shook her head. “Uh, no, unless there's something else besides Styrofoam cups.”

The three couples just looked at her.

Olivia spoke up. “Kat doesn't do Styrofoam. Bad for the environment, you know. But . . . I'd love some lemonade. Thanks.”

“O-
kay
.” Denny smothered an amused smile and disappeared toward the kitchen.

“Mrs. Douglass, right?” Kat smiled at Avis, crunching on a raw baby carrot. Avis noticed that the girl hadn't taken any fried chicken, only beans and rice and the macaroni and cheese. “You were the worship leader last week. I was hoping you would lead worship again this Sunday. Did the guy today sub for you because it's Mother's Day? Or is there a rotation?”

Girl
, Avis thought,
if you stick around awhile and observe, you'll
learn the answers without having to ask so many questions
.

Peter filled in the momentary silence. “We have several worship leaders, some of them newer than others. A way to grow people in their gifts. But I know that's unusual. The church I grew up in always had the same person leading worship.”

Denny Baxter returned with two plastic glasses from the kitchen filled with lemonade.

“Thanks! That's so nice of you,” Kat said. “We'll be glad to wash them. Do you save the plastic forks too? We'd be glad to wash them too, if you like. Right, Livie?”

The other girl nodded but seemed slightly embarrassed.

Avis caught Jodi Baxter smirking at her. Jodi had tried once before to get the church to wash and reuse the plasticware they used at potlucks, but most of the women had rolled their eyes and protested, “What? Wash the
plastic
? That's why we use it, so we can just toss everything!”

“So you girls are looking for an apartment to rent?” Debra Meeks asked sweetly. Avis noticed the slight emphasis on
girls
.

“
Uh-huh
. And Nick too,” Kat said. “We'd like at least three bedrooms, so we three girls don't all end up in the same room.”

“
Mm
. Things sure have changed since I was a girl,” Debra murmured.

Avis smiled. At least Debra shared her surprise that these Christian college students were planning on sharing a co-ed apartment.

“Avis, honey, didn't you tell me that the couple downstairs want to sublease their apartment this summer? Do you know how much they're asking?”

Avis stared at her husband.
No, no, no, Peter. You didn't just
say that out loud
.

But Kat was already on it. “Really, Mr. Douglass? That is so
awesome
. Can you find out how much they're asking?”

“Oh, uh, it's probably much too expensive for students,” Avis said quickly. “Our building is condo, so they've got a mortgage.”

Kat tossed her mane of wavy hair, eyes dancing. “Maybe not. After all, there're four of us to share the rent. Would you give them my phone number, Mr. Douglass?” She fished in her bag for a small notebook and pen, scribbled a number, tore out the page, and handed it to Peter. “Oh!” She jumped up from the table, still grinning. “I gotta go tell Nick and Brygitta we've got a nibble!”

Avis let Peter have it the moment they were in the car. “Peter Douglass. I can't believe you told those students about the Candys' apartment like that! They might not want a bunch of students living in their condo. It's not like we even know these kids!”

“What are you talking about? Didn't Louise Candy tell you to let them know if we heard of anyone needing an apartment? Students might be just the thing! And if not, no big deal, the Candys can always say no. And maybe you're right—they might be asking more than these students can pay. Let them figure it out.”

Avis pressed her lips together and rode in silence until they turned into their block. “That's . . . not the only thing. We live in the building too. We've got a condo association. Don't the other owners have some say about who lives there? It's only three apartments, after all.”

Peter shot a quick glance at her and then concentrated on backing into a parking space in front of their building. Once he'd turned off the motor, he faced her again. “I can't believe I'm hearing right. My Avis, principal of Bethune Elementary School, champion of young people, reigning monarch and peacemaker of the motley crew known as the Yada Yada Prayer Group—
that
Avis doesn't want four students from a Christian university to live in our building for three months.
What
, my dear, is your problem?”

Avis turned her head away from him and contemplated the front of their building. The empty cement urns on the sides of the steps could use some geraniums and vinca vines to spruce up the entrance. All danger of frost was past. Maybe she should plant some marigolds or petunias along the front of the bushes. No one else in the building seemed inclined to plant flowers.

“Avis?”

She turned back to her husband and sighed. “You're right. We should let the Candys know about the students. I don't know . . . it's just, they annoy me for some reason. Not sure what it is. Their big ideas. Their big egos. A bunch of idealistic white do-gooders. Especially that one girl, Kat.”

Peter chuckled. “It's not like you haven't had to dodge some white-girl attitudes from some of your prayer group sisters. Naming no names, of course.”

Avis had to smile. “True. But the Yadas have been through some serious stuff together and hung in there. Makes a big difference.
Anyway
. . .” She opened her car door and climbed out. “Forget what I said about the Crista students. Go ahead and tell the Candys about them if you want.”

Which he did, stopping to knock on the Candys' door while Avis continued up the next flight to the third floor. Hanging up her coat, she changed into comfortable black slacks and a white cotton sweater. Before storing her purse on its shelf in the closet, she took out her cell phone. Should she try Rochelle's number again? Probably an exercise in futility, but . . .

Pressing the speed-dial number for Rochelle, she almost flipped the phone closed when the voice mail message came on, then suddenly realized it was saying,
“. . . can't answer the phone
right now. You know what to do at the beep. Thanks.”

The phone was back on! And that was Rochelle's voice on the message. Quickly Avis said, “Hi, honey. This is Mom. Just wanted to wish you a Happy Mother's Day. I'm missing you and Conny terribly and want to know how you are. Please call. Please? Talk to you soon.” The end-of-message beep cut off her last word.

Peter came into the bedroom, loosening his gray-and-blue tie. “Louise Candy sounded very interested in the students. They knew it'd be hard to find someone to sublease for just a few months, so they'd already started putting up notices at Loyola and Northwestern . . .” He stopped. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I got through to Rochelle's voice mail.” Avis's voice came out in a croak. “Left her a message to call.”

“That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm glad. Real glad. Shows that she's okay, right?”

Avis shook her head. “I don't know. I guess.” It
was
Rochelle's voice, and the phone was back on, after all. A thread of hope. “But now what?”

“Wait a few days. See if she calls back.” He shrugged off his sport coat and threw it on the bed. “Let me get out of this suit and then I'll help you look for those ruby earrings like I promised.”

“I . . . don't think it will help.” Avis surprised herself. But it was time to bring her worries into the light.
Light People bring
clarity, not confusion
.

“Why not?” Peter stood in his socks, holding the dress slacks he'd just taken off. “I might think of looking places you haven't. You know, two heads better than one?”

“That's not what I mean. But . . . put your pants on. I can't talk serious talk with your bare legs and stocking feet staring at me.” A giggle escaped in spite of herself. “In fact, I'm going to go make some coffee.”

A few minutes later Peter came into the kitchen dressed in old tan Dockers and a black and red Bulls T-shirt. She handed him a cup of coffee with a splash of milk and two teaspoons of sugar as he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “Okay, what's this serious talk about?”

She sat down with her own cup of black coffee. “The last time I wore the ruby earrings was Valentine's Day. And remember what happened that night when we got home?” She reviewed the stormy evening, how Rochelle had come crying to their door, how she'd locked herself in their bedroom in a fit of temper when they said she and Conny couldn't stay with them. “I was undressing when she came, don't think I'd even had time to put the earrings away. And I've looked everywhere for them!” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What I'm worried about is . . . what if Rochelle took the earrings that night and pawned them or . . . or something. And that's the reason she hasn't contacted us, afraid we've figured it out. And maybe that's why she left Manna House after just one night, because she knew she could get some cash and make it for a while.”

There. It was out. It felt good to tell Peter that this possibility occurred to her first, rather than have him get suspicious and accuse Rochelle. This was right. She should have done it sooner.

“Mercy me.” Peter shook his head. “Rochelle has her problems, but . . . stealing? From her own mother? Hard to believe.”

Avis wanted to hug him.

“But . . . you don't know this for sure. You're just guessing, right?”

She nodded.

“Well. Then we've got to hold it as a ‘maybe.' Not jump to conclusions. But it's possible. So I'll take your word for it that it's not much use to keep looking for them.”

“I'm so sorry, Peter.” Avis reached across the small table and touched his hand. Strong brown hands. “They were your wedding gift to me. A precious gift.”

He took her hand in his. “Don't worry about it, baby. I insured them. In fact, might be better if they are stolen rather than just lost. Not sure I could make a good case with the adjuster for ‘My wife misplaced them.' ” He lifted his cup. “Any more coffee?”

The earrings were insured?
Better
if they were stolen? For a brief moment she was tempted to pour the rest of the coffee on his head.