Stand by Me (17 page)

“Got your message,” he murmured. “Glad you went up to see Carl. How's he doing? Florida all right?”

“
Mm-hm
. Hopefully Carl will be too. But you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I guess. It's just . . . strange. I hadn't even verbalized this thought in my head until today, when Carl got hurt. But in the back of my mind, guess I've been thinking that if the sale of the business falls through, well, one alternative would be to keep the business, put Carl in charge for a few months, and just take a leave. Still do the mission trip thing. Isn't Mark Smith doing some teaching at KwaZulu-Natal University in Durban? I'm sure they have Internet and cell phone connections. I could keep in touch with what's going on at Software Symphony if needed. But . . . now this.”

Avis didn't respond, but her mind tumbled. What was with Peter? It was as if he'd decided he was going to do this mission trip thing no matter what!

Okay, Avis, don't get bent out of shape
, she told herself.
He
admitted it was an idea in the back of his mind that he hadn't really
put into words until now. And he's telling me—“confessing,” as it were
.

Her spirit softened. “Honey, we really have to trust God with this. We're still asking God what we should do. If we're supposed to go to South Africa, God's going to make it possible, right? And right now our concern is for Carl. His family can't afford for him to be off work, though I know you'll do right by him while he's laid up.”

He sighed again. “Sure, sure. But . . . I just don't know how I'm going to manage if he's out very long. Carl's a key player, been with me the longest.”

“Well, let's not imagine the worst. Our heavenly Father knows . . .” And Avis slid right into a prayer, asking God for healing for Carl, comfort for Florida and the rest of the Hickman family, wisdom for Peter, and guidance for both of them in the decisions facing their future. “. . . In the
mighty
name of Jesus. Amen.”

She didn't know about Peter, but she felt better giving it all to God. Tilting her head back, she kissed Peter on the cheek, catching a faint whiff of his aftershave, and pushed herself off his lap—an awkward dance since she had to wiggle off the recliner sideways as well. “Guess I'll start some supper . . . Oh. Did you get the mail?”

“
Mm
. On the lamp table.”

Avis picked up the clump of mail and sorted through it. A business magazine, Com Ed bill, pack of local coupons, junk mail addressed to “Resident,” two catalogs . . . wait. What was this? A sheet of lined school paper folded in thirds was stuck between the two catalogs, half crumpled. School paper? She smoothed it out and opened the folds.
“Mom . .
.”

Rochelle's handwriting
. Suddenly light headed, she groped for the closest chair and sat down.

“Avis? What is it?”

She licked her lips. “Rochelle . . . she left us a note.”

Peter put the recliner's footrest down with a thump and was at her side. Leaning over her shoulder, they silently read the handwriting together.

Mom, thanks for the Mother's Day message. Sorry I couldn't answer. Phone on the fritz. Just want you to know Conny and I are okay. Maybe we can meet up somewhere. Conny asks about you. Love, R.

P.S. Flowers look nice.

Chapter 16

A
vis tossed and turned all night. Half the time her heart was singing.
Thank You, Jesus, that Rochelle and Conny are
all right!
And
Thank You, Jesus, Rochelle got in touch with
me!
Peter had said, “See? They're all right. She'll come around soon enough.” But the rest of the night, she felt like punching the pillow. Rochelle's phone was “on the fritz”?
Humph
. Probably shut off again for nonpayment. And dangling the hope they could meet up somewhere? How was she supposed to do that if there was no way to get in contact with her daughter?

One look in the mirror the following morning—eyes puffy, black silk hair wrap all askew, hair twists sticking out at odd angles and coming undone—and Avis was tempted to stay home from Sunday worship. What she needed was time alone with the Lord, to pour out her heart's concerns about her daughter and grandson, to hear from God how to handle her frustration and seek guidance on what to do next.

Worship
. . . worship would be good. But she didn't feel like making small talk with people she only saw once or twice a week. Or getting sucked into pouring out her guts, either, to those perceptive few—her Yada Yada sisters in particular—who would guess right away that something was wrong and would hover around her like a flock of biddy hens.

But Avis had never played hooky from church. Not once in her adult life. Even on trips to see Charette and her family or to attend an education conference, she always found a church to visit. Sunday was the Lord's day, and the Bible said not to neglect meeting together with other believers “as some do,” didn't it?

She went to church. But Peter wanted to go early to pray with the elders again, which was the excuse Avis needed to drive her own car and slip in just as worship was starting. And she was glad she'd come when Florida got up to share about Carl's accident. Avis and Peter, the Baxters, and several others gathered around her at the front of the church to pray for his speedy recovery and protection for the family.

Pastor Clark preached that morning, taking his text from Matthew 18, about Jesus' promise that if two agree about anything they ask God for, He would do it. And where two or three gather in His name, Jesus promised to be present among them. “Do we believe this, church? Jesus seemed to be saying that
praying
in unity
, agreeing together what we should be praying for, is important. So how do we do that?” Pastor Clark scratched his chin thoughtfully. “
Hm
. I sure would like one of those new BMWs . . . Maybe I'll ask Brother Bentley over there to ‘agree' with me and pray about it, too, so I'll be sure to get it!”

Avis saw the retired cop duck his head. Uneasy laughter rippled around the room.

Pastor Clark raised his eyebrows. “Did I step on some toes? Be honest now. But, saints, think about this: the first requirement for praying in unity, for coming to agreement, is that our prayers need to line up with the Word of God!”

Amens
bounced from every corner of the room. It was a good message . . . but Avis managed to slip out during the benediction, telling Peter in a whisper that she'd pick up some Chinese takeout for lunch and would meet him at home.

Her cell phone rang while she was waiting at Yuen's Chinese Kitchen on Clark Street for the lunch combination of egg rolls, Szechuan Chicken, and shrimp fried rice.

“Avis Douglass!” Jodi Baxter's voice blasted her ear. Avis quickly lowered the volume. “What's with you today? You came in late and left early—and I didn't even get to hug your neck. Are you okay?”

“Hi, Jodi. Yes, I'm fine. Just . . . needing some space today.”

“
Uh-huh
. Either you and Peter had a big fight or you're upset about Rochelle. Which is it?”

“Number 16! Order number 16!” shrilled a voice behind the pick-up counter.

“Look, Jodi, I can't talk now. I'm at Yuen's and they just called my—”

“Wait! Are you coming to Yada Yada tonight? We're meeting at the Garfields'. Tell you what. I'll pick you up and we can drive over together.”

“Um . . . sure.”

“Okay, I'll pick you up at four thirty.”

Avis slipped the phone into her purse and took the paper bag the clerk handed her.
Yada Yada tonight
. Part of her didn't feel like going anywhere . . . but she'd missed the last meeting, and Pastor Clark had just preached about the importance of praying together in the name of Jesus. Yes, maybe that's exactly what she needed to get a breakthrough in the walls she was up against. If she had some alone time this afternoon, she might be ready to share her heart with them and unleash their prayers.

As Avis pulled out of the small parking lot onto Clark Street, she saw the four Crista students walking down the sidewalk, almost to the tiny strip mall she'd just left. Glancing in her side mirror, she saw them head for Yuen's. She shivered. That was close. She was in no mood for the Kat girl's hyper enthusiasm about everything. What were they doing walking this way anyway? The El was—

Ohhh, right. They have an appointment to see the Candys' apartment
this afternoon
. Suddenly the likelihood of the four students living beneath her for the next few months loomed like an ominous cloud on the horizon. She pushed her speed up. She wanted to get home and lock the door and pretend she wasn't home.

Peter held up a hand when Avis asked if he wanted more shrimp fried rice. “I'm good. Thanks. But think I'll go over to St. Francis to see Carl. You want me to clean up this stuff first?”

“No, it's fine. Go. If you see Florida, tell her I'll be at Yada Yada tonight.”

He went for his jacket as she cleared the table, but he stopped back by the kitchen before heading out. “Uh . . . you going to be okay?”

She fluttered a hand at him. “Yes! Shoo! Shoo! The sooner you go, the sooner I can get a few hours' rest before Jodi picks me up.” She softened her brusque send-off with a light kiss on his smooth-shaven cheek and accompanied him to the front door.

Laughter from the apartment below floated up the stairwell.

“Sounds like the interview is going well,” Peter murmured, giving her a wry grin.

Avis rolled her eyes and shut the door behind him.

Five minutes later she was snuggled in a corner of the living room couch with an afghan, a steaming mug of tea, and her Bible.
Mm. Peace and quiet
. She sipped the hot tea for a few moments, then set it aside and closed her eyes.
Lord .
. .

But the prayers she wanted to pray didn't come. Stuck like peanut butter to the roof of her mouth. How was she supposed to pray? Rochelle's note, which had felt like cool water to her thirst for news of her daughter, now taunted her. She had no way to respond or get back in touch with her! Were she and Conny really okay?

And Peter! He was all hot to chuck life as they knew it and go running off to . . . somewhere. Nony's invitation was probably just a good excuse. Gave his wanderlust a spiritual sheen. But with Carl in the hospital and sales falling, Software Symphony was on rocky ground—not to mention her own job hung in the balance.

She hugged herself, rocking back and forth.
Oh God, I don't
know how to pray!

Praise Me, Avis. Isn't that what you're always telling your Yada
Yada sisters? Praise Me in faith, praise Me for what I'm going to do
and am already doing, even if you can't see it. Let the joy of the Lord
be your strength!

The Voice in Avis's spirit tugged on her heart. What was wrong with her lately? She seemed to be forgetting everything she knew about keeping her eyes focused on Jesus. Instead, she was letting life's choppy waves knock her off balance.

All right, Lord, I get it. We're going to have a little praise party here
.

Hefting her big Bible, Avis opened to the Psalms. Bless Nonyameko. Her friend's constant example of praying the scriptures was especially helpful on days like today, when her own prayers felt stuck. Psalm 42 caught her eye and she began to read aloud.

“ ‘As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God! My tears have been my food day and night . . .' ”
Oh! So true!
She continued to read aloud, the familiar words coming alive and soothing her troubled heart. “ ‘Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise—'”

A rapid knocking at the front door startled her.

Knocking? Who would knock? The door was supposed to be locked at the bottom of the stairwell.

Avis threw off the afghan and headed for the door. Maybe Jodi was early. No, wouldn't be. Jodi always rang the buzzer and waited to be buzzed in.