Stand by Me (16 page)

Not like campus, where “minorities” were still a minority.

What was going on? The moving truck . . . oh yes. There'd been an announcement last Sunday that one of the families was moving. Away? Or just in the neighborhood? A glance at the back of the truck showed that it was empty. So the move must be done already, and they were feeding the work crew who'd showed up to help.

Watching from the parking lot, she felt a little left out. She briefly considered going inside. They'd probably welcome her. But she hesitated. She hadn't helped with the move, so maybe it was a little presumptuous to show up at lunchtime.

Kat pulled out the map they'd printed out. Go down Clark street, turn on Pratt, head toward the lake, then go south a few blocks, turn again . . . okay, maybe it was a mile and a half. But it was a gorgeous day and she was up for it.

Clark Street was a trip. She'd never seen so many different tiny restaurants and grocery stores—mostly Mexican food—and little carts on the street corners selling hot ears of corn, an assortment of tamales, and a drink called
arroz con leche—
to name a few. A bustling fruit market. Shops with
quinceañera
and prom dresses. Even a western-wear store with cowboy boots, hats, and belts with big silver buckles. Kat bought one of the ices from a cart with a big orange and white umbrella, using her smattering of classroom Spanish. She felt giddy. Staying in this neighborhood was going to be so fun!

Turning east on Pratt, then making a few more turns onto residential streets containing a mix of big old houses, two-flats, three-flats, and six-unit apartment buildings, Kat consulted her map, looked up . . . and realized she'd arrived. There it was. A brick three-flat. Well maintained. In fact, flower beds in front of the bushes that lined either side of the cement steps looked as if they'd been freshly dug, and rows of pink and purple petunias—or were those pansies?—nodded in the noonday sun. The big stone urns on either side of the steps were filled with red geraniums and some long vines.

Kat grinned inside. Nice, very nice. Glancing about and seeing no one nearby, she ventured up the steps and into the small foyer. Three mailboxes. Three sets of buttons. Three names. “First floor, Logan. Second, Candy. Third, Douglass,” she murmured. She didn't really want to run into the Candy lady, since they didn't have an appointment until tomorrow, but for a brief moment she was tempted to push the button that said Douglass. Were they home? It'd be fun to see their apartment. It would give her an idea of what the Candys' apartment was like. But she hesitated. Probably a bad idea to show up without—

The outside door to the foyer opened and Kat turned quickly, feeling caught. But it was a young black woman, no one she recognized. Pretty, skin on the creamy side, lots of hair. Seeing Kat, the woman stopped, as if startled. They stared at each other. Funny, Kat thought, the girl's hair was almost like her own, full and long and wavy. Darker, though. Black with brown and gold highlights.

The stranger's eyes flickered. “Who are you? You here to see someone?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly. I have an appointment to see an apartment here tomorrow. I was checking to be sure I had the right address.”
And what business is it of yours?
she felt like adding.

“Who's moving? I didn't know someone was moving.”

“Do you live here?” Maybe she was the first-floor people.

The young woman ignored her question. “Who's moving?” she repeated. Her eyes darted from Kat to the door and back again. She seemed awfully nervous.

“Not exactly moving. Second floor. They're going on a business trip. I—several of us—are subleasing their apartment for the summer.”

“Oh.” The woman seemed visibly relieved. “Okay. 'Scuse me, I need to leave something.” She moved to the mailboxes, took a pencil and folded piece of paper out of her shoulder bag, scribbled something at the bottom of what looked like a note, then stuck it through the slot in one of the boxes. Pulling the outside door open again, the young woman hustled down the steps and was gone.

As the door wheezed shut, Kat edged back toward the mailboxes and peered at the name on the one in question.
Douglass
.

Curious, Kat went outside to the sidewalk and looked both ways. Halfway down the block she could see the woman running, hair flying.

Kat stared after her. What in the world was
that
about?

Chapter 15

A
vis popped open the trunk of her Camry and lifted out several plastic grocery bags but had to set them on the curb to close the trunk. She wished Peter were home to give her a hand, but he had a board meeting at the Manna House Women's Shelter, then was going back to the office—
another
Saturday—and wouldn't be home till suppertime. If only they lived on the first floor! As it was, she'd have to make at least two trips up to the third floor.

But she had to smile as she relayed the grocery bags up the steps and into the foyer. The petunias, phlox, and alyssum she'd planted that morning in the beds on either side of the steps looked so cheerful! Ditto the geraniums and trailing vines in the cement pots. Even if it did mean she got a late start to the grocery store and had to wait in a checkout line ten people deep.

Unlocking the inner door to the stairwell, she propped it open with her foot and grabbed two bulging bags in each hand . . . and hesitated. Had the mail come? Well, she'd check when she came down for the second load.

The phone was ringing when she got inside their third-floor apartment. Dumping the bags on the kitchen table, she caught the caller ID.
Software Symphony
. “Hi, Peter. I'm here, just got back with the groceries.”

“Oh, okay. I called awhile ago, didn't get an answer.”

“I had my cell.”

“I know, but didn't want to talk while you were out. Got a minute?”

“Uhh . . . I've still got more groceries down in the foyer. Some frozen stuff. I better not leave them. Can I call you back?”

There was a slight pause. “Sure. Talk to you in a few minutes.”

Avis winced. Peter didn't sound good.
Oh, Lord, what now?
He'd been moody ever since that call from Jack Griffin last Wednesday, even though the two men had had a long phone call the next day, and the offer wasn't completely off the table.

She was halfway down the carpeted stairway when she met Louise Candy coming up, mail in her teeth, Avis's grocery bags hanging from each hand. “Um, hi,” her neighbor said, voice muffled. The middle-aged white woman with the garish fake tan set the bags on the landing and rescued the letters from her mouth. “Saw your groceries on my way in, thought I'd bring them up.”

A bit taken aback, Avis nodded. “You didn't have to do that. But thanks. Nice of you.” She'd wanted to pick up the mail . . . but guessed it could wait till later. She needed to get the frozen stuff into the freezer and call Peter back anyway. Picking up the bags, she turned to go back up the stairs.

“By the way,” Louise called after her, “thanks for finding someone to sublet our condo. You know, those students from that Christian college or seminary or whatever. We figure if you and your husband recommend them, they gotta be all right.”

“I—” Avis pinched her mouth. She wanted to say it was Peter, not her, and they couldn't exactly recommend them, but that might come out wrong. Still, she needed to say something to correct the assumptions. “Actually, we only just met them ourselves. They were visiting our church and asked about a place to rent for the summer. Please make your own determination if they're suitable. We don't have anything invested in them renting from you.” All of which was true.

“Oh, sure. I know. I talked to one of the girls on the phone, Kat Somebody—funny name, isn't it?—and they're coming by tomorrow afternoon. Sure would be nice if it worked out, though, 'cause now they want Ted in Costa Rica right after Memorial Day, and I'd like to be able to go with him.”

“Oh. Well, hope it works out.”

Avis started once more up the stairs with the grocery bags, but Louise called after her again. “Hey. The flowers out front look nice. Did you do that?”

Avis kept going. “
Uh-huh
. Glad you like it.” And finally made it inside her door.

She felt a little guilty about Louise Candy as she made room in the freezer for the Styrofoam tray of chicken breasts, a bag of precooked shrimp, and two bags of frozen green beans. They'd been building neighbors for, what, going on two years now, and they had never done much more than chit-chat in the hallway, except for the rare condo meetings when they needed to make decisions about the building, like replacing the roof or getting the furnace cleaned before winter. Same with the family on first. They all had their own lives, like cars in different lanes on the expressway, not even having to stop at the same stoplight.

Still, the woman seemed to be reaching out. Avis decided she'd make more of an effort to get to know Louise when the Candys got back from Costa Rica, invite her up for coffee or something.

If she and Peter weren't in South Africa or somewhere by then.

Peter! He was waiting for her to call back. Punching Redial, she cradled the kitchen phone between her shoulder and her ear as it rang, figuring she could put away the rest of the groceries as they talked.

“Avis. Glad you called back. But I've got a Com Ed guy here I need to talk to in a few minutes. Will you be home for a while?”

“Peter. Just tell me what's going on. Then we can talk more later, okay?”

She heard him sigh on the other end. “Okay. It's Carl Hickman. He had an accident today in the mailroom. Tripped over something or slipped—we're still investigating—and hit his head on the corner of a counter. Split it wide open. Knocked him out for about five minutes, and there was a lot of blood. But when the paramedics came, he was in a lot of pain, seems like he injured his neck too.”

“Oh no, not Carl!” Carl Hickman was Florida's husband. One of Peter's top employees, rising from the ranks of mail clerk up to general manager. “Where is he? What hospital? Does Florida know?”

“They took him to St. Francis, and yeah, she's up there with him now. But, Avis . . .” She heard her husband suck in a deep breath and blow it out. “It's not just Carl. If he's out for a long time, I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't have anyone who can replace him, no one with his experience, and—Oh. I gotta talk to this inspector Com Ed sent out. Something about the electrical wiring. See you when I get home.”

The phone went dead. Avis realized she was standing in the middle of the kitchen still holding the same package of pasta she'd taken out of the grocery bag when she first called Peter back.

She dropped the package on the table and went hunting for her purse and jacket. This wasn't just any employee. It was Carl Hickman. She needed to get up to the hospital to be with Florida.

A gentle rain had settled in when Avis drove her car out of the hospital parking garage two hours later. Her newly planted flowers would love it, anyway. And the news wasn't all bad about Carl. The gash in his head had required twenty-four stitches, but the doctor said head wounds tended to bleed a lot but weren't necessarily serious. They were more concerned about the neck spasm that prevented Carl from turning his head even a little, and they wanted to keep him overnight to check for possible concussion as well.

As for Florida, once she knew Carl wasn't going straight to heaven, she began fussing. What was she going to do with him underfoot, lying around the house? He better get better quick and get back to work. Avis had to chuckle at her friend. Those two had been through hell and high water and made it to the other side—with Jesus, no less—so she was sure they'd make it through this.

She parked the Camry out front—they only had one space in the three-car garage in back, and Peter's Lexus was newer than her car, so they figured it was safer there—and dashed through the rain into the foyer. Oh, the mail. She dug out her keys and unlocked their box, but it was empty. Peter must be home.

Her husband was sitting in his recliner, eyes closed. “Hi, baby,” she said, unloading her purse and damp jacket on a chair. “You okay?”

He reached out a hand and she took it, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. But he pulled her down until she was half sitting on the arm of the recliner and half in his lap. Relaxing into his embrace, she snuggled her head on his shoulder.