Stand by Me (34 page)

But riffling through the wad as she climbed to the second floor, Kat saw her name on a square envelope. Her father's handwriting.

A card from home!

Grinning, Kat hustled up the last few stairs to the front door and let herself in. “I'm back,” she called out. “And famished. Save any supper for me?” She dumped her backpack on the dining room table and headed into the kitchen to get a knife to open the envelope.

Olivia followed her into the kitchen. “I was worried about you! You should call if you're going to be so late. It's almost eight o'clock!”

Kat found a knife and slit open her card. “Livie. I've got my cell phone. You can call me if you're worried.”

Olivia opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plate with a pot lid covering it. “Just some catfish and rice. Hope it warms up okay.”

“
Mm
. I'm sure it's fine. I brought some lettuce. I'll make a salad to go with it.” As Kat took off the pot lid and stuck the cold plate in the microwave, she saw Olivia's troubled face. “I'm sorry, Livie. You're right. I should've called. Sorry I worried you. But I'm fine. Where's Bree?”

“Working at the coffee shop, remember? It was only Nick and me for supper. But Mrs. Douglass came down a little while ago. She invited us to have supper with them Saturday night.”

“Really? Mrs. Douglass?” The faces of Rochelle and little Conny standing in the alley behind the grocery store flashed in her mind, and her uneasy feelings returned.

“Yeah. We told her this was our last week of mini-term, and she said it could be an end-of-school celebration. Though the Chicago public schools don't get out for another week.”

Kat nodded. “That'll be nice.” She waved the envelope as the microwave beeped. “Got a card from my folks. Do you mind?”

Olivia took the hint and disappeared. Sitting down at the kitchen table with the plate of leftover food, Kat pulled out the card. A Hallmark card that said “Thinking of You.” Inside was a nice little ditty and underneath in her father's handwriting she read, “Home from the cruise. Had a great time! Love, Dad.”

That was it.

Chapter 31

S
itting at the dining room table staring at the screen on her laptop, Avis heard a key click in the lock and the front door open. “Peter?” she called.

Her husband poked his head into the large alcove that functioned as their dining room. “Nope, just the boogeyman,” he said, dumping his briefcase on a chair and loosening his tie. “Anything to eat?”

“I picked up some chicken from Jamaican Jerk on the way home from prayer meeting. Some oxtail and beans too. Help yourself. How was the elders' meeting?”

Avis had gone to the prayer meeting at SouledOut that had replaced the Wednesday night Bible study since Pastor Clark's death, and Peter had met her there, coming straight from work. But Pastor had scheduled an elders' meeting afterward, so she'd come home alone.

Peter just grunted and headed into the kitchen. “What are you doing? You're worse than I am, bringing work home.”

“Not work,” she called after him. “I'm e-mailing Nony and Mark. They don't even know about Pastor Clark's death, unless someone else told them. But I'm also telling them that we have to put their invitation on hold indefinitely.”

“Yeah.”

For the next few minutes all Avis heard from the kitchen was Peter fixing himself a plate of food and warming it in the microwave. That “Yeah” sounded kind of glum. When he came back with his plate and sat down at the other end of the table, she closed the lid to her laptop and looked at him over the top of her reading glasses. “Okay. Out with it. What happened at the elders' meeting?”

He shook his head slightly as he picked up a piece of chicken and took a bite. She waited. “Nothing really,” he finally said, mouth half full. “I mean, we talked about adding a discipleship class for new Christians, and who could mentor the teens who made a decision after the memorial service. That was good. Pastor asked us to recommend some members to preach on a rotating basis, at least once, maybe twice a month during this interim time.” Peter kept eating, talking between bites. “And we talked about the upcoming congregational meeting next week, went over the budget, how we're doing at midyear . . .”

Peter busied himself with his food for the next few minutes.

“And?”

Peter laid down his fork and let out a long sigh. “I don't know, Avis. Just . . . got a funny feeling. We were talking about the meeting next week and how to take the vote on Pastor's recommendation about interim pastors. And David started raising a lot of issues to consider. Setting a time limit on the interim. Selecting a committee to start the pastoral search process. Even expressed a concern that this appointment was too much to ask of us, since we both have full-time jobs. But . . .”

David Brown. Mary Brown's husband. Avis got a funny feeling too.

Peter frowned. “Just got a feeling that that wasn't what he was really saying. That he was dancing around the fact that he didn't really support the idea of us in that role. Not sure why. I've always gotten along with David all right. Don't always agree with him about church stuff, but that's why we have several elders. We're not close or anything, but we've always been cordial. So maybe I'm just imagining things.”

“I don't think so.”

Peter stared at her. “What do you mean?”

She hadn't planned on telling Peter what she'd overheard in the ladies' restroom at the church. As long as Peter wasn't picking up any racial undercurrents at the church, she hadn't wanted to fan any embers. But now she felt he deserved to know.

“You're kidding me,” he said when she finished. “Mary Brown doesn't want the church to get ‘too black'?”

“That's what she said.”

“What in the world does she mean by that?”

Avis made a face. “I didn't ask her. I was cornered in the handicapped stall, remember?”

Shaking his head, Peter pushed his plate back. “Dear God. I thought people at SouledOut were beyond this.” A moment later he banged his fist on the table. “Tell you one thing, Avis. I didn't sign up for this kind of mess!” He stood up abruptly, grabbed his dishes, and stomped into the kitchen. She heard him dumping his dishes into the dishwasher and a few other thumps and slams before he came back out again.

“Peter. Wait.” Avis got up and went to her husband. “I understand you're upset. I've been upset too. But we can't let the Browns dictate how we feel—and they probably don't speak for anybody but themselves.” Except maybe that other woman Mary Brown was talking to, but Avis had to let that go. “Let's pray about it, okay? We need to ask God to help us not let this influence our own attitude or what we do.”

Peter still looked grim. “I know. You're right. But this job was going to be challenging enough without the race card popping up.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Okay, let's pray.
Humph
. Guess that's why Pastor Cobbs wants
both
of us to be interim pastors, so my wife can help keep my feet on the ground.”

“Keep you from flying off the handle, you mean.” She gave him a playful poke, and then, still standing with their arms around each other, she began to pray. “Lord Jesus, we need You in a special way right now . . .”

Even as she prayed, Avis realized this was the first time she was praying about the conversation she'd overheard, the first time it had occurred to her to pray
for
Mary Brown. Even though she was always the one telling the sisters at Yada Yada to “pray first!” Give the stuff to God, let God work it out rather than fussing about it.

But when she came right down to it, it was easier said than done.

Peter just squeezed her when she finished and said, “Amen.” Obviously willing to let her prayers stand in for both of them.

Avis moved back to her laptop. “Oh. I did go downstairs earlier this evening and invite the students to have dinner with us Saturday night.”

Peter's eyebrows went up. “Good for you, girl. Kill 'em with kindness, eh?”

She made a face. “Don't rub it in. Nick and the girl Olivia—the only ones who were there—seemed pleased. Said it'd be a good way to celebrate the end of their ‘mini-term' or whatever they call it. Guess they've been commuting back to CCU every day.”

Peter rubbed his hands together. “Hey, I think it's time we fired up the grill and did some ribs, whaddya say? And you, my queen, make the best mac ‘n' cheese in the world. We'll show those kids some real soul food cooking.”

With the fifth graders going on a field trip to the Adler Planetarium on Thursday, and a dress rehearsal on Friday for next week's final assembly—including Derrick Blue and Sammy Blumenthal carrying the flags together down the middle aisle, stoically not speaking or looking at each other—Avis hadn't done anything to prepare for the “celebration dinner” by the time Saturday rolled around. After two days sweltering in the high eighties, the weather forecast predicted a thunderstorm or two late in the day. She hoped it would happen early in the afternoon to cool things off and then clear up so they could eat out on the back porch.

Peter went to work Saturday morning but promised he'd be home in time to grill the ribs. He liked to grill them slow, three hours or more. But when the phone rang just after she'd put the pot of collard greens and smoked neck bones on the stove to simmer and the caller ID said
Software Symphony
, she muttered to herself, “You better not be calling to say you can't get home to do those ribs, Peter Douglass.”

But the voice on the other end wasn't Peter. “Hey there, Avis,” said a male voice. “Peter made me make this call, said I was an answer to prayer.”

It only took a nanosecond to place the voice. “Carl? Is that you? You're at work?”

Florida's husband chuckled in her ear. “Yeah. Ever since the brothers came and prayed for me last Sunday, I been doin' real good. Decided to come over here in person, tell your man I plan to come back to work on Monday. Had to make sure he hadn't given my job to someone else.”

“Oh, Carl! That
is
good news. Are you sure? I mean, did your doctor give the okay?”

“Yeah . . . Hey, man, you don't have to grab. Avis, your man wants the phone back. See ya Sunday, I hope. Thanks for all the prayers—”

“Avis?” The next voice in her ear was Peter's. “Isn't this great news? Nearly fell off my chair when he walked into my office. He's looking great. Oh, hold on . . .”

She heard him calling out, “Hey, man, thanks for coming in. See you tomorrow at church.” Peter came back on the phone, his voice lighter than she'd heard it all week. “Yeah, I did tell him he's an answer to prayer—in more ways than one. He's looking a lot better, and having him back will take a big load off my shoulders here at work. But . . . there's another thing. To be honest, Avis, the last couple days I've been wrestling with God about whether I can hold this business together and take on more responsibility at church. And that thing with the Browns . . .
huh
. Don't want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Been thinking about telling the pastor I can't do this. And then—Carl walks in. Says he's ready to get back to work. Not sure what it all means. Is God trying to tell me something? With Carl managing things, I suppose I'd be able to cut back on my time in the office—but I'm still not sure how things are going to shake down at SouledOut.”

Avis let this sink in. She'd been having similar thoughts, not so much about the time involved—though that was an issue—but, like Peter, whether she was up to facing a situation that might prove to be divisive. She didn't want to be at the center of that kind of mess. She'd had enough of those racist attitudes when she was first appointed principal of Bethune Elementary. It wouldn't be good for SouledOut either. But . . . was Carl coming back to work, freeing up Peter, an answer for her too?

Chapter 32

T
he promised thunderstorm still hadn't materialized when the students from the apartment below showed up right at six. “Yay! Mini-term is over!” Brygitta crowed as they came in.