Stand by Me (25 page)

The church van had already arrived. Josh and half a dozen teenagers were lugging coolers, pans of food, and a portable charcoal grill to the sole picnic shelter in a grassy area. A set of steps led down to the beach, where a couple of the teen guys were setting up a volleyball net. Tucked into a grove of trees above the beach was a fire ring, and Nick joined a crew hauling firewood for an end-of-the-evening bonfire.

Kat deposited the potato salad with the other food, eager to get acquainted with some of the teens and join the volleyball game. But Gracie pulled away from her mother and grabbed Kat's hand. “Miss
Gato
! Miss
Gato
! See my fairy shoes? They sparkle!” The little girl jumped up and down, making the heels of her shoes light up. Then she pulled Kat down the steps to the beach, a plastic bucket and shovel in her other hand.

Not seeing the girl's mother, Kat took off Gracie's shoes and her own sandals and resigned herself to helping build a “sand mountain.” The sky was overcast, but at least the air was warm, somewhere in the seventies. A gentle breeze blew in off the lake, and all threats of rain had disappeared during the night. Playing in the sand was kind of fun. That was a plus moving to Rogers Park—a lot closer to Lake Michigan than the CCU campus.

Shouts of laughter and playful trash talk went back and forth over the net as often as the volleyball. Watching the game, Kat realized she hadn't known Nick was such a powerhouse volleyball player, slam-dunking the ball over the net and high-fiving his teenage teammates.

Kat had just started to work up a good case of feeling left out of the fun when Edesa Baxter ran across the sand and plopped down beside her, out of breath. “Oh, I am so sorry,
mi amiga
. I did not mean to leave Gracie alone with you. The wind blew the napkins all over the grass and I had to chase them! But
gracias
. Now, go! Go! Have some fun.”

Kat had a sudden change of mind. “That's all right. I'd like to stay with you and help Gracie finish her mountain.” She dug handfuls of wet sand from the shoreline and patted them onto the “mountain.” “I think one of my professors at CCU knows you . . . Ms. Vargas? How do you know her?”

Edesa seemed happy to talk. Kat learned that she and Ms. Vargas had both attended a Spanish-speaking church in the city—
Iglesia del Espirito Santo
, or Church of the Holy Spirit—but now that she and Josh were married, they'd decided to make SouledOut their home church. Everything about Edesa came as a surprise to Kat. The vivacious young woman had family back in Honduras, and she'd originally come to the States on a study visa. She and Josh had been volunteers at the Manna House Women's Shelter when a young Latina had died of a drug overdose, leaving a three-month-old baby. Even though they were both still in school at the time, Edesa and Josh had pushed up their wedding date to provide a home for the baby.

“Gracie,” murmured Edesa, watching the tiny girl poke her plastic shovel at a bug in the sand. “Our gift from God. Her adoption was finalized two months ago.”

Hispanic. Adopted
. Kat had presumed the little girl with the loose black curls and latte skin was a mix of black mother, white father. So much for presumptions.

“You said you were in school. What did you study?”

Edesa laughed. “Long story! I changed my major after working at the shelter, decided to get my master's degree in public health. I did my master's thesis on ‘A Hierarchy of Food Needs for the Urban Poor.' ”

“That's fantastic!” Kat could hardly believe it. A kindred spirit! “I am
so
psyched about the importance of healthy food. In fact, I am
so
glad I met you. I mean . . .” Kat's mind was spinning. “. . . what if we—you and me, I mean—offered a class to neighborhood families about nutrition. Maybe at SouledOut. What do you think?”

“A class?”

“Yes! Maybe four sessions or something. I mean, last week I saw kids on the way to school eating potato chips and candy bars. At seven in the morning! I wanted to snatch it out of their hands. Somebody needs to teach those families about good nutrition!”

Edesa dug her toes into the sand. “
Sí
. But it's not that simple. Nutrition is hardly the first priority for poor families. Not even second or third. They—” Her head jerked up.

Someone was banging loudly on a pot up near the picnic shelter. A moment later Edesa's husband appeared at the top of the steps hollering, “Come and get it!”

“Guess it's time to eat.” Edesa smiled at Kat, but her smile had lost some of its dazzle. “A conversation for another time.” The young woman swept up little Gracie, collected the pail and shovel, and busied herself brushing sand off the child's legs.

The volleyball game broke up. Kat followed the herd of hollow-legged teens up the steps to the grassy area and picnic shelter, a bit taken aback. What did Edesa mean that nutrition wasn't a top priority for poor families? What in the world could be more important?

Well. The woman might have a master's degree in public health, but Kat could teach her a thing or two about food issues.

Chapter 23

P
astor Cobbs rose from his desk chair as Avis and Peter came into the pastors' study. “Peter. Avis.” He shook hands with both of them. “Thank you so much for coming in on a holiday. Please . . . sit.”

Avis slipped a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer out of her purse and squeezed a few drops into her hand. She couldn't afford to catch whatever bug the pastor was fighting—not with only a few weeks left of school. At least he didn't look as wasted as he did yesterday at the hospital. “How are you feeling, Pastor?” Her concern was genuine.

“Better, better. Fever's gone. Nausea's gone. Still some congestion here”—he thumped his chest—“but guess that's to be expected. You two all right?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, fine. Well . . . given the circumstances.”

Pastor Cobbs sighed heavily. “I know. I'm still in shock. Feeling terrible that I wasn't at the service yesterday morning, but . . . it couldn't be helped.” He absently tapped the eraser end of a pencil on the desk, seemingly lost in thought for a few moments. Then he roused himself. “Well. Has everyone been notified of the funeral next Saturday?”

Avis nodded. “I believe so. Sister Jodi and Sister Debra made calls, as well as the two of us. Oh—one of the Crista students helped as well. Kathryn Davies.”

“Kathryn Davies . . . Didn't someone say she gave CPR to Pastor Clark until the paramedics arrived?”

“That's right.”

“And then helped make phone calls . . .
hm
. Interesting.” The pastor tapped the pencil again as seconds ticked by.

Finally Peter cleared his throat. “Pastor, you said you wanted to talk to us.”

Pastor Cobbs tossed the pencil aside. “I'm sorry. I'm not exactly functioning on all cylinders today.” He took several sips from a bottle of water, then eyed them both. “Pastor Clark's death is a major loss to our congregation—with a lot of implications. We're suddenly faced with a leadership vacuum. Both of you are professionals in the workaday world, so I know you're well aware that
any
change in leadership—especially if unexpected—can easily become a leadership crisis. Even in the best of circumstances, a change in leadership can be a difficult time for a congregation. Bottom line . . . I need you. Both of you. To keep things from unraveling until we come to unity as a congregation about how to go forward.”

Avis and Peter glanced at each other. She'd thought First Lady Rose was being a bit melodramatic yesterday when she'd said Pastor wanted to meet with them to avoid a “leadership crisis.” But Avis had chalked it up to the stress of the day and assumed Pastor Cobbs would be dividing out some of Pastor Clark's tasks among a number of people. But “to keep things from unraveling” felt more ominous than just being asked to take on a few more responsibilities.

“Uh, say a little more, Pastor,” Peter said. “As you know, Avis and I are seriously considering that mission trip to South Africa. Her school year will soon be over, and when Carl Hickman comes back to work, I was hoping—”

“I know. To be blunt, Brother Peter, I'm asking you to set that aside. Not forever, but for now. When you came to talk to Pastor Clark and me about the Sisulu-Smiths' invitation, none of us foresaw this situation. If we were to have that same meeting today, I would say this isn't the time. You are needed here.”

The muscles in Peter's jaw tightened. Avis realized her husband was struggling with what probably felt like cold water being poured on his dream. She leaned forward. “Pastor, I'm not sure I understand why you are talking to us. We have a board of elders, good people, all of them—and yes, certainly, Peter is one of the elders. But shouldn't you be consulting with the whole elder board about this situation and how to go forward?” As the words left her mouth, Avis suddenly worried that she'd been too outspoken. Would the pastor be offended that she'd challenged him?

But Pastor Cobbs nodded. “I do plan to meet with the elders—as soon as we can find a time this week when everyone can be there. But I needed to talk to the two of you first, because”—he cleared his throat—“I want to put your names forward to the elders as interim pastors. They would need to give their approval and blessing, of course—but I need your willingness and your permission first.”

Avis and Peter were quiet as they left SouledOut an hour later and walked toward Peter's car, each lost in their own thoughts. But instead of driving toward home, Peter headed to Sheridan Road. “I need some air,” he said. “Want to walk along the lake a bit?”

Sounded good to Avis—although she would have preferred to go for a walk by herself. She wasn't ready to talk about Pastor Cobbs's startling proposal just yet.

But once they'd parked at Loyola Beach, locked the car, and started hand in hand along the bike path, Peter didn't seem inclined to talk either. Charcoal smoke wafted in the air, carrying the tangy smell of grilled chicken. The grassy park along the beach was full of holiday revelers throwing Frisbees, romping with dogs, laughing around picnic tables, or just lounging in lawn chairs. Bikers dodged pedestrians on the paved path, rarely slowing down, sometimes cursing the occasional trio who insisted on walking three abreast, forcing the bicycles onto the grass.

Avis breathed deeply of the warm air, catching the cadence of disparate languages as they passed other walkers. It was a perfect day for a holiday. Not yet too warm, humidity low, scattered clouds drifting across the sky. The tall buildings of Chicago's Loop rose several miles to the south, but here the trees were in full leaf and the grass was lush and green. The slate-blue expanse of Lake Michigan, so wide it faded into the horizon, was still too chilly to tempt many swimmers, even though lifeguards were on duty.

She'd asked, “
Interim pastors?”
Why her and Peter? Pastor Cobbs thought a married couple would be received more easily to “fill in” on short notice than just one person. Also easier for two to share the pastoral responsibilities than just one person. Both she and Peter already held leadership roles in the church. Both were grounded in the faith. Both were respected in the community.

To Pastor Cobbs it was a slam dunk.

Avis was honored that he felt that way about them. But she and Peter already had full-time jobs. Could they do this? For how long?

Something else bothered her. While the pastor was talking, the conversation she'd overheard in the ladies' restroom—Was it just yesterday? Seemed like a year!—niggled in her head. If she and Peter accepted this role, the pastoral team would be all African-American. In a multicultural church. A few weeks ago she might not have even thought about it—especially for a temporary role. After all, meaningful relationships had developed at SouledOut across color lines and cultures in the past few years, and “differences” seemed to fade as what they shared in common as the family of God deepened and became more important.

But after the chitchat in the ladies' room, obviously not everyone felt that way.

“Avis?” Peter's voice seemed to come from some faraway place.

She shook off her troubled thoughts. “
Mm?”

An in-line skater plugged into an iPod, eyes hidden by wraparound sunglasses, zoomed toward them, causing them to jump to either side of the path. Glaring after the skater, Peter gestured toward the wall of large rocks hugging the bank between park and beach. “Let's sit before we get killed, okay?”