Stand by Me (15 page)

Hearing it all laid out like that, Avis had a strange sensation. What was happening in their lives bore a striking parallel to what had happened to the Sisulu-Smiths. Nony and Mark had struggled for years with different visions of what they should be doing. Then a tragedy, loss, uncertainty—and pieces of their life had been taken away. But in the end it had opened the door for something new.

Was that what God was doing?

Both pastors listened in silence and sat quietly for several moments after Peter was done, as though considering all they'd heard. Finally Pastor Cobbs spoke. “I appreciate your willingness to include your pastors as you two face this decision. I'm certainly willing to pray with you as you consider the implications.” He smiled wryly. “Can't say I'm excited about losing one of my elders and one of our best worship leaders though.”

Pastor Clark had said nothing so far. He sat hunched over, a bit like a scarecrow losing its perch, rubbing his bony chin. When he did speak, he addressed her. “Sister Avis, you said, ‘It's complicated.' Is there something more you'd like to share with us?”

A lump caught in Avis's throat. It was as if the older man could see into her heart. She nodded gratefully. “There's one thing that makes it hard for me to even consider such a life-changing invitation right now—which has caused some stress between Peter and me.” She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on Pastor Clark's kind face for courage. “My daughter Rochelle and our grandson, Conny. They're missing. We haven't heard from them for, well, it's three months now.”

“Rochelle . . . She was diagnosed with HIV, wasn't she? I remember she shared once here at SouledOut. A brave girl.”

“Yes. Infected by her philandering husband.” Avis spit it out, fresh anger rising in her throat. “We got a restraining order against him because he was getting abusive. She was doing all right for a while, being monitored at a clinic, taking her meds. But then . . . things just started falling apart. And now . . . we've lost touch.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Avis saw Peter shift in his chair, as if a bit edgy at the turn the conversation was taking. Both pastors expressed concern, agreeing it was definitely a priority to make sure her daughter and grandson were safe and in a good place. “If there's anything we can do to help you find Rochelle, please let us know,” Pastor Clark said.

“Absolutely.” Pastor Cobbs tented his fingers thoughtfully. Avis noticed that the flecks of gray in his close-cropped hair added a distinguishing touch, even though the pastor was several years younger than Peter. “But it does seem that God is doing
something
new. I don't have a clear sense of what you
ought
to do, but I think I speak for both Pastor Clark and myself, we want to pray with you and stand with you as God reveals what your next steps should be.”

After promising to keep them posted and spending time praying together, Avis and Peter walked out to the parking lot. She wondered if he was disappointed. The pastors had been open and supportive, but they had given no clear direction. Well, they could talk when they got home. They'd driven separately, and Avis walked toward her car. “See you at home. You need something to eat.”

“Yeah, thanks, I'm starving.” Peter pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. “
Huh
, got a message . . .” He started for his car, phone to his ear. But as Avis unlocked her door, she glanced toward his car and saw him frowning in the stark illumination of one of the parking lot lights. Suddenly he came striding toward her, clearly upset.

“Here. Listen to this.” He punched a couple buttons and thrust the phone at her.

She pressed his phone to her ear.
“Peter. Jack Griffin here. I've
been crunching some of the numbers you gave me, and, well, we've got
a few problems with doing the buyout. Call me when you can and we'll
talk
.”

Eyes widening, Avis stared at her husband. With sudden force he slammed his hand on the hood of her car. “See? Should've told Griffin yes when the door was wide open! What are we going to do if this falls through?”

Chapter 14

K
at stopped at the wide entrance of The Chip and did a 360 of the booths ringing the student center café. The café was crowded this Friday afternoon with families in town for graduation tomorrow. Spying a hand waving at her from a booth in the corner, she managed the obstacle course around several knots of young siblings and grinning parents of soon-to-be graduates. “Whew!” She scooched into the vinyl seat, shoving her backpack into a corner. “I'm surprised you got a booth, Ms. Vargas.”

The dark-eyed woman smiled. “No problem. I just told a few of my students it was their booth or their grade.”

Kat laughed. She'd had Ms. Vargas for Spanish her first year here at CCU as a transfer student and enjoyed her sense of humor—one reason she'd signed up for the Urban Experience program, where the lively middle-aged woman served as advisor.

“So.” Sipping from a tall, frosty glass of iced something, Ms. Vargas eyed Kat. “What's this about? You wanted to see me.
Como esta?
”

Kat laughed. “I'm good! For one thing, finals are over. I graduate tomorrow. Just picked up my cap and gown.” She patted her bulging backpack. “Although I'm staying for mini-term, taking a refresher Spanish course. Seemed like a good idea when I signed up for it, because I'd love to teach ESL. But right now? The thought of another class fries my brain!”

Ms. Vargas opened her mouth as if to say something, but Kat rushed on. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I'm staying in the city this summer! You inspired me to not just do the tourist thing in Chicago, but to actually get involved. Not just me, but Nick Taylor and Brygitta Walczak too. And maybe Livie Lindberg. We're looking at an apartment this weekend—practically fell into our laps! You see . . .” And Kat rattled on about visiting SouledOut Community Church as part of their “urban experience” and how they found out about an apartment to sublease for the summer. She finally paused for a swig of her water bottle. “This will give us the opportunity to, you know, get involved in the church this summer. Maybe work with kids. I'd like to find a job tutoring if I can.”

Ms. Vargas let a few quiet moments pass before responding. “And?”

Kat blinked uncertainly. “And . . . what?”

“What are you hoping to learn from this experience, Kat?”

“Well, uh . . .” Kat wasn't sure what Ms. Vargas was driving at. “I'm sure we'll learn a lot. Getting to know people in the neighborhood. Finding out what we can do at the church. It's pretty different from the Phoenix suburb where I grew up, and SouledOut . . . well, it's pretty exciting. So diverse. Really energetic. You must've been there, since it was on your list of recommended churches to visit.”

Ms. Vargas nodded. “Yes, I have a friend who's a member there. Edesa Baxter. You'll probably meet her if you do attend SouledOut this summer. I knew her as Edesa Reyes, originally from Honduras. We . . . Never mind, that's neither here nor there.” The UE advisor leaned forward, her dark eyes locking on Kat's. “Kat, let me say something. You are a vivacious, idealistic young woman. Brimming with enthusiasm for your latest passion, whether it's a new theory of teaching, or being green, or . . . or eating vegan, or whatever it is you call it.”

Kat shook her head. “I'm not exactly vegan. More like—”

“Whatever. Let me finish. I—” An insistent beeping suddenly distracted the UE advisor. She fumbled at her watch and pushed a button. “Uh-oh. I totally forgot I have a meeting with a student and parent in five minutes.
Lo siento
. . . I'm sorry.”

The woman slid out of the booth but paused. “So I'll just say this, Kat. Talk less. Listen more.” Then she grinned. “And come talk to me at the end of the summer.
Adiós
,
mi amiga!
” With a laugh, Ms. Vargas disappeared among the warm bodies still crowding into the café.

Talk less. Listen more. Huh
. Ms. Vargas's comment made Kat feel like a sixth grader again. Her middle school teachers were always telling her to shut up and sit down. In fact, going over the brief chat with the UE advisor, Kat felt her face flush hot. Sure, she'd done most of the talking in the café, but the prof had asked her what was up, hadn't she? She thought Ms. Vargas would be excited that four of her students were taking the whole “urban experience” thing seriously. But all she had to say was, “Talk less, listen more”?

Kat wished she hadn't bothered letting the UE advisor know what they were doing this summer. She hadn't seemed all that impressed.

Well. So be it. If Ms. Vargas thought she talked too much, she'd keep her mouth shut. Though if she left the talking to Nick or Brygitta or, heaven forbid,
Olivia
, they wouldn't even have an apartment to check out this weekend. After all, she was the one who let the people at SouledOut know they were looking for a place to live in the city this summer. And at least she wasn't like Olivia, always asking anxious questions or stating the obvious.

Kat generally avoided her friends that evening and the next morning. Wasn't hard. Graduation on Saturday was by ticket only for family and friends, and Brygitta and Nick had both been given tickets by other graduating friends whose families couldn't come for one reason or another. “See you there! We'll cheer when they call your name, Kat!” Brygitta promised.

But Kat was having second thoughts about attending graduation at all. What was the point? Her parents hadn't come. She'd get her diploma whether she did or didn't attend. And to be honest, the party atmosphere and hoopla on campus was annoying. All these undergrads had come to CCU to get a Christian education, but most of them basically ignored the big city around them except to shop in the Loop or go out for Gino's Pizza. Now they were graduating. They'd get their diploma and go back to their lives in small-town America without ever having to deal with “the big city.” Even the Urban Experience program was extracurricular, not required. A big mistake, in Kat's humble opinion.

Besides, it was a gorgeous spring day—temps climbing toward the seventies and a blue, blue sky. And, good grief, mini-term started on Monday, which didn't give much of a break. Kat didn't feel like sitting for hours in the auditorium while alphabetical lines of undergrad and graduate students crossed the stage. She felt like getting out of there.
Doing
something. Maybe she'd . . .

Eyes gleaming with her sudden idea, Kat went back to her dorm room, dumped books and notebooks out of her backpack, and repacked it with a fresh water bottle, granola bars, a windbreaker . . . and the Google map Brygitta had made of the address they were going to visit tomorrow.

Getting off the El at the Howard Street station, Kat deliberately walked to the shopping center where SouledOut Community Church was located, intending to follow the map from there to see how long it would take to walk on Sunday. It wasn't necessary. She was sure they could make it by one o'clock after church. According to the map, the address was only a mile or so away.

She hadn't expected anyone to be at the church—after all, it was Saturday, almost noon—so she was surprised to see a rental moving truck parked alongside the walkway in front of the church “storefront” and a good-size group of people inside: teenagers and young adults, along with some kids and parent-types. And as usual—for SouledOut, anyway—it was a mixed crowd of blacks, whites, and everything in between.