Stand by Me (18 page)

At the door, Avis paused. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Douglass?” The voice sounded loud and clear, even through the wooden door. “It's us. The students from CCU.”

I don't believe this
, Avis thought. But it was too late. She'd already announced she was home. She opened the door.

Kat Davies and the other Crista University students—what were their names again?—stood on the carpeted third-floor landing, grinning like kids at Disneyland.

“Hi, Mrs. Douglass!” Kat bounced on her toes as if she couldn't stand still. “We just wanted to tell you that we're going to be your neighbors for the summer! We just signed an agreement with the Candys, and they said we can move in as early as next weekend. We're so excited! Isn't it wonderful?”

Jodi Baxter snickered behind the wheel of the Dodge Caravan as Avis recounted the announcement at her front door.

“As if she were the angel Gabriel, announcing the coming Messiah!” Avis groaned. “What's wrong with me, Jodi? I like young people, don't I? Why does the prospect of these particular students living right under my feet make me feel . . . invaded?”

“I don't know. Hopefully it'll be better than you think. I doubt they'll be throwing any wild parties or turning it into a drug house.” Jodi glanced at Avis from the driver's seat. “But that was this afternoon. You were already upset about something this morning. What's going on?”

Avis sighed. Might as well tell Jodi. The younger woman had become a good friend in the years they'd been in the Yada Yada Prayer Group together. They'd made a strange pair at first. Avis thought Jodi was as bland as white bread when she and her husband and their two teenagers had first moved into the city from the 'burbs. But God had taken this “goody-goody white girl” through some tough stuff, and she'd had to go deep. And one thing about Jodi. She was persistent. And loyal.

By the time Jodi parked the minivan a few houses down from the Garfields' one-story brick bungalow, Avis had spilled the whole stew she'd been slopping around in the past few weeks. Rochelle's disappearance since Valentine's Day. The missing earrings. Peter's restlessness. The invitation from Nony and Mark. The offer to buy Peter's business—which might fall through now. Carl's accident. And the note from Rochelle that had shown up in their mailbox yesterday.

The only thing Avis held back was the letter from the Chicago school board. The potential school closings were confidential—and besides, if it happened, it would mean Jodi's job too.

“Sheesh.” Jodi turned off the motor but made no move to get out of the minivan. Just sat there shaking her head.

Avis gave her a lopsided smile. “
Uh-huh
. I second that.”

“I'm so sorry, Avis. About Rochelle especially. I mean, I knew she hadn't been in touch for a while, but I didn't understand the toll it's taken on you. Forgive me for being so dense.”

Avis sighed. “I didn't realize either. I kept thinking she'd stop being mad and call any day. And then suddenly, six weeks had gone by with no word—and I got scared. The note helps a little—but I'm still worried.” Her voice choked. “And I really miss Conny. My little sweetheart.”

“Oh, Avis.” Jodi laid a hand on her arm.

Avis fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose. “Well. Can't sit here all night. Thanks for listening, Jodi. Helps to tell somebody. Besides Peter, that is. He's got his own issues with all this.” She opened the door and climbed out of the minivan.

“Uh, just a sec,” Jodi called after her. “Gotta make a quick call.” Half a minute later she got out, locked the car, and hustled after Avis. “Sorry about that. We better go in.”

Avis shrugged, noting the bright clusters of marigolds and chrysanthemums on each side of the door stoop. Ruth Garfield never failed to brighten up the plain brick bungalow with flower beds and window boxes. She'd inspired Avis to do the same to their building.

“We're here!” Jodi called, opening the front door and ushering Avis into the tiny entryway. She stopped and let Avis precede her into the living room—

“SURPRISE!!!!!” A flock of female voices yelled in unison and then launched into an off-key version of “Happy Birthday to Youuuuuu . . .”

Avis gaped at the grinning faces surrounding her. Florida Hickman cocked her forefinger and thumb like a gun and mouthed,
“Gotcha!”
Ruth Garfield, their hostess and everybody's “Jewish mother,” was trying to ignore one of her four-year-old twins—the girl, Havah—who was tugging on her arm. Yo-Yo, who could still pass for a teenager in her spiky blond hair, cargo pants, and skinny tops, had Ruth's other twin—the boy, Isaac—in a headlock. Adele Skuggs, wearing a large green T-shirt with Adele's Hair and Nails across the front, pointed at Avis, then to her own hair, and frowned. Message:
Girl, that hair's a mess. Get
in my shop tomorrow!
Delores Enriques was singing
“Feliz cumpleaños
” just to confuse everybody. And Estelle Williams—now Estelle Bentley—the group's “Big Mama,” and Becky Wallace, pale and lean in comparison, leaned against the living room doorposts as if holding up the tiny house.

As the song ended, Leslie “Stu” Stuart smirked, saying, “Thanks for the call from the car, Jodi. Though giving us more than thirty seconds' notice would've been nice.”

Chanda George, spilling out of her too-tight blouse and skirt, giggled and announced in her thick patois, “Never mind dat. Avis, mi tink yuh like de chalklit cake mi made special a-you!”

Avis tried to protest. “It isn't my birthday yet . . . is it?”

Jodi laughed and pushed her into the compact living room. “No, not till Friday, but this is the closest Yada Yada meeting to your birthday, so why not celebrate?”

They made her sit in Ben Garfield's “Daddy Chair”—an overstuffed monstrosity with crocheted doilies on the arms and back—and brought her Chanda's “chalklit cake” and a glass of yummy punch with sherbet floating in it. Avis kept insisting they shouldn't have gone to the trouble, wasn't even her birthday . . . but she drank up the love in the room like lemonade on a hot day.

Jodi presented her with a birthday card she'd made on her computer with Avis's name and its meaning in a flourishing script on the outside page:

Avis ~ “Refuge in Battle”

And on the inside page: “Avis, God has put within you a spirit of refuge—one who listens, who cares, who points us to the One True Refuge, Jesus Christ. You have stood with each one of us through many of life's battles, and we love you.” It was signed with all their names.

All except three: Hoshi Takahashi, who was spending the year with International Student Outreach at Boston University. Nonyameko Sisulu-Smith, now “back home” in South Africa. And Edesa Reyes Baxter, Jodi's Honduran daughter-in-law, who only came occasionally since she'd started a spin-off Yada Yada group at the House of Hope where she and her husband, Josh, were living as support staff for homeless moms with kids.

Avis let the happy chatter swirl around her.
Yada Yada . . .
to know and be known intimately
. At least that's what Ruth said the Hebrew word meant. They'd been together, most of them, for seven years this month. These sisters knew her well—and loved her, no matter what. Which made it easy, finally, to share from her heart later that evening, and let these quirky sisters—as different from each other as a drawer full of mismatched socks—pound heaven's ears as they prayed for her.

“So!” Chanda demanded as they finally broke up and were saying their good-byes. “What yuh want Peter get yuh for you birtday?”

Avis just shrugged and smiled. But as she and Jodi drove home, not talking, just relaxing in the warmth of the minivan's heater in the cool spring evening, she knew what she wanted for her birthday.

To find Rochelle and Conny. To wrap her arms around them and bring them home.

Chapter 17

K
at took off the earphones in the language lab and stretched.
Uhhhh
. Mini-term only started yesterday, but already the mountain of homework required for refresher Spanish had fried her brain. And that wasn't counting the three hours of class lecture every morning, every day except Friday. And it was only Tuesday!

She gathered up her books and papers, stuffed them into her backpack, and wearily made her way out of the building. Good thing mini-term was only three weeks long or she might not make it.

But as she made her way across campus to the student center, she took a deep breath of the late afternoon air, smelling of a recent rain, new leaves, and budding flowers.
Mmmm, spring
. That was one thing she enjoyed about the Midwest compared to dry, hot Phoenix—actual seasons. Sure, winter was a lot colder here, but the snow was fun—at least for the first two months—and made her appreciate spring all the more.

And the move into the Rogers Park apartment this weekend was something to look forward to. She'd been surprised after service on Sunday when a guy about her age had introduced himself, said his name was Josh Baxter, and offered to help them move their stuff with the church van if they got the apartment. How cool was that?

The Crista campus had largely emptied out by Sunday evening, and even the student center was practically deserted as Kat headed for the corner booth in The Chip where her friends sprawled in various stages of early mini-term fatigue.

“She arrives! The fair maiden who skipped her own graduation.” Nick lifted a large paper cup of soda in a salute. “We thought maybe your professor sent your class to Mexico for language immersion.”

Brygitta scooted over and Kat sank down beside her roommate. “Not a bad idea,” she moaned. “I'd rather talk to a real person than to that disembodied voice in the language lab. I'm dead. I need food.”

“Already done . . . here it comes.”

An undergrad student with a once-white dish towel tied around his waist like an apron deposited a huge platter of nachos with melted cheese, chili beans, lettuce, tomatoes, and jalapeños in the center of the booth table. “Sorry for the wait. I'm here by myself tonight.” The kid seemed in no hurry to leave. “You guys all staying for mini-term too?”

“Yeah, man. We'll be around.” Nick gave him a friendly fist bump.

“Not around much. We'll be living off campus this summer.” Kat grinned at the student waiter and lifted a large nacho off the plate and into her mouth, strings of melted cheese dripping from it.
Ohhh, so good
. She felt her spirit rising again—the way she'd felt when they left the Candys' apartment Sunday afternoon.

“All summer? You guys aren't going home after mini-term?” The waiter's eyes glittered. “Man, I'd love to stay in the city for the summer! My hometown in Oklahoma is barely on the map.” He made a face. “Their idea of a good time is the chili cook-off at the local VFW.”

Kat looked at him with interest. “Hey, would you be—ow! What'd you kick me for, Bree?”

Brygitta gave her a look, but the guy didn't seem to notice. “Where'd you find an apartment? Uh, do you have room for one more? I'd pay my share of the rent . . . well, if I can find a job. Working here at The Chip doesn't pay much—especially now that they've cut my hours.”

Nick shook his head. “That's not it, man. We signed an agreement to sublet, and I'm sure the absentee owners wouldn't be happy with us adding a fifth person they'd never met.”

The Oklahoma kid shrugged. “Yeah, well. My dad's gonna say he needs me to help with the corn harvest, so it probably wouldn't work anyway. Maybe next year. Well . . . eat up. Anybody want anything else? Refill on sodas?”

“Sure,” Nick said, and the student disappeared behind the café counter.

“Kat!” Brygitta hissed. “What were you thinking? You can't just invite someone else to crash in the Candys' apartment. That was the whole point of going to meet them, wasn't it? To let them get to know us, assure them we'll be responsible tenants. I mean, it's full of their stuff, not ours!”

“Okay, okay.” Kat shrugged. “I just thought, you know, dividing the rent
five
ways would make it even cheaper. And
you”
—she pointed a finger in Nick's face—“you just want to be the lone guy so you can keep a bedroom all to yourself.”