Stand by Me (40 page)

The flowers in Millennium Park were in full bloom, like walking through an English country garden. The “Bean”—the futuristic Cloud Gate sculpture that looked to Kat like a huge stainless steel kidney bean resting on the plaza—dominated the park, and it was fun to see the Chicago skyline reflected in it. They ate their packed lunch on the lawn of the pavilion, an outdoor stage hosting concerts through the summer. “Let's get a schedule of concerts,” Nick said. “It'd be fun to come down here at night.”

But the most fun was Crown Fountain, a pair of fifty-foot towers sitting at each end of a shallow wading pool with enormous video images of real faces spitting water into the pool. The faces changed and their mouths “spit” water at intervals, and kids were having a ball splashing and squealing as the water hit the pool.

“Come on!” Kat tossed her sandals onto a stone bench along with her backpack. “Let's get wet!” It had to be eighty degrees at least. The water would feel good.

“I'll watch your stuff!” Olivia yelled after them.

Kat and Bree and Nick cavorted like juveniles themselves in the shallow pool, chasing each other from one end to the other.

“Time out!” Bree gasped finally. “I'll go relieve Livie.” She headed for the bench.

Kat started to follow, but Nick grabbed her. “Oh no you don't. You're not wet enough.” Laughing, he dragged her under the latest stream of water pouring from the closest tower.

Kat screeched and struggled—but not too hard—realizing Nick's arms around her felt . . . warm and wonderful. She grabbed him back and they both got soaked before finally making their way back to the stone bench, laughing and gasping.

Olivia shook her head. “You two are nuts. We should go so you two can get some dry clothes.”

Yeah
, Kat thought, toweling off her hair with the sweatshirt in her backpack.
The weekend's almost over and I still have to figure
out how to get Rochelle's gift to her mom
.

Chapter 37

W
hen the four friends arrived back at the three-flat around five o'clock, the perfect opportunity presented itself. Kat had just gotten out of the shower and changed into dry capris and a tank top when she heard the door buzzer ringing in the apartment upstairs and footsteps and voices tromping past their apartment on the way to the third floor. Then the buzzer again and more voices. And then a knock at their door.

Edesa Baxter stood on the landing holding a large, flat bakery cake. “Shh,” she said. “May I come in?”

“Of course!” Kat opened the door wider and Edesa set the cake on their dining room table. “What's up?”

Edesa giggled happily. “It's Estelle Bentley's birthday next week, and our Yada Yada Prayer Group is meeting at Avis's apartment tonight. You know who Estelle is, don't you? From SouledOut? Sister Estelle won't suspect a thing since we're a week early, but we don't want this cake to show up yet. Would you . . . would you be willing to bring it up when I call you on your cell phone?”

Who could miss Estelle Bentley? An imposing presence, the attractive middle-aged black woman, and her husband, the ex-cop. Kat grinned. “Absolutely. Your . . . what group?”

“The Yada Yada Prayer Group. Some of us from SouledOut belong to this group, but there are women from other churches too. We meet every other week in different homes. Just happens to be here at Avis's tonight—but God is good,
si
? You live just below to help us with our surprise!” She gave Kat a hug. “Thank you so much, Sister Kathryn. I better go—but can you give me your cell number? I will call you.”

When she was gone, Brygitta, Olivia, and Kat crowded around the sheet cake. It had been decorated with purple icing swirled to look like balls of yarn and knitting needles in gold icing, along with “God has knit us together, Estelle!” in purple and gold.

“She must be a knitter,” Bree murmured.

“You think?” Kat gave her a teasing shove. But her mind was racing. It sounded like a large group of women up there—and she was supposed to bring the cake up. Maybe Mrs. Douglass would be so distracted, she could sneak Rochelle's gift box into the bedroom—if Mr. D wasn't holed up in there. But it seemed like her best chance. Even better if Bree helped—surely it wouldn't hurt to tell her that Mrs. Douglass's daughter wanted to slip a gift into her mom's bedroom.

“You carry the cake,” Kat told Brygitta once she'd filled her in. “I'll look for an opportunity to sneak the gift into her bedroom.”

They heard singing upstairs. Laughter. More singing. Forty-five minutes later a text arrived on Kat's cell. All it said was “Now.”

Kat and Bree carefully mounted the stairs to the third floor with the cake. Kat tapped lightly on the door. It opened immediately, and as they walked in with the cake, the roomful of women shouted, “Surprise!” And someone began singing, “Happy birthday to youuuu . . .”

Estelle, dressed in a royal blue caftan and matching head wrap—Kat had heard she sewed her clothes herself—clapped her hands and laughed. A few moments later Mrs. Douglass and another woman Kat had never seen before disappeared into the kitchen—probably for plates and ice cream or whatever.
Now!

She guessed the master bedroom was at the end of the hall, similar to the master bedroom in their apartment, but Kat stepped into the bathroom first in case anyone was watching her. A moment later she peeked out toward the living room. No one was looking. Slipping down the hall, she pushed open the bedroom door, already slightly ajar.

Glancing quickly around, she took in the room. Queen bed with a royal blue duvet and baby-blue-and-cream flowered bed skirt, matching pillow covers plumped up against the wooden headboard. Two dressers—one, tall and masculine on the far side of the bedroom, the other on the near side, wider, lower, with a mirror held by a wooden “scroll.” That must be Mrs. D's.

Quickly Kat slipped the box out of the roomy pocket of the hoodie she'd put on just for this purpose and set it on the dresser. No, she'd half hide it behind the photo of her and Mr. D on one side . . . there.

Now to get out—quick!

No one in the hall . . . no one looking this way from the living room . . . but just in case, Kat slipped back into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, ran the water in the sink, and came out again.

Uh-oh
. The women in the living room were sharing prayer requests while eating their cake. Awkward. She hesitated in the hallway, wondering what to do.

“Any word from your daughter?” Jodi Baxter was saying.

Mrs. Douglass, sitting with her back to Kat, shook her head. “No. Just that one note in our mailbox. I . . . It's been four months now, still don't know where they are. Please keep praying, sisters. And pray for Peter and me too. Once we find Rochelle and Conny, he and I need to come to more agreement about how much to help them. It's been . . . difficult.”

“Tell me about it.” Estelle wagged her head. “Grown kids comin' back home? When your own marriage is just a few years old?
Mmmm
. . . Well! No time like the present to pray.” The “birthday girl” set her cake aside and took the hands of the women on either side of her. Hands joined, heads bowed . . .

Now
. She tried to slip unobtrusively around the group toward the door situated between the living room and dining alcove, but Edesa caught her eye and left her seat, meeting Kat at the door. “There you are,” she whispered as voices prayed aloud in the circle. “Wondered where you'd disappeared to. Brygitta left before we could offer her some cake. Would you like to take some downstairs for the four of you? Our thanks for helping with our birthday surprise tonight.”

Kat jerked a thumb back down the hall. “Had to use the restroom . . . uh, maybe later for the cake.” She really needed to get out of there before Mrs. D realized she was still there. With a quick wave she was out the door and padding down the carpeted stairs to the apartment below.

Kat was grinning. Mission accomplished!

Kat left early the next morning so she could walk with Olivia as far as the Morse Avenue El Station. “Have fun doing your Mary Poppins thing!” She waved as Livie disappeared into the lower area to buy her ticket. They'd all offered to take turns walking Olivia to the El in the morning until she got used to taking public transportation, though she had to walk home by herself since they couldn't be certain which train she'd catch in the evening. So far, so good.

The day had started out cool and was only supposed to hit the low seventies. Kat was glad for the walk to Bethune Elementary, just a half mile through typical Rogers Park residential blocks, each a mixture of big old frame houses with verandas and brick two-flats and three-flats. Walking gave her time to think.

The prayer group that met at the Douglasses' last night—
What did they call it? Yada Yada? Odd
—was something else. She'd been so fixated on getting Rochelle's birthday gift to her mom that she hadn't really thought about it till now. The group was mixed, just like SouledOut. White. Black. Hispanic. And . . . whatever you called someone like Edesa Baxter, who was black but from Central America. Sounded like the women shared a lot of personal stuff and then prayed about it.

Kat felt an ache in her spirit. She wished she could share things with other women like that and pray about them. She and her apartment-mates had prayed together a few times about stuff—the move, needing jobs—but not on a regular basis. And even though she'd tried to read through the Bible a couple times, she'd gotten stuck in all those stupid genealogies and prophetic rantings and ended up mostly reading the Psalms and the Gospels. When she read the Bible at all, that is, which was usually only two or three times a week.

Something was wrong with this picture. She'd decided to become a Christian at that summer music fest and had made some pretty major decisions because of it—like transferring to Crista University—and she really wanted to follow the teachings of Jesus. But . . . what exactly did it mean to have a
personal
relationship with God? When Mrs. Douglass and others at SouledOut worshiped, it was like they were communicating with Someone they knew intimately and loved deeply. Was that why Kat couldn't “get into it” herself? That she didn't really “know” God? Did she
love
Him?

She liked the worship at SouledOut, but if she was honest, it was mostly like observing a cultural experience she admired. Only a few times had she actually felt as if she was worshiping.

The elementary school loomed up ahead, taking up a whole block. She was early . . . so Kat slowed down, still thinking about last night. She'd heard Mrs. Douglass say it'd been four months since she'd seen her daughter and grandson, and they couldn't find her. So they
didn't
know where she was, or that Conny was living with his dad! And something must've gone wrong in Camelot, because Mrs. D had asked for prayer that she and her husband could agree on how much to help Rochelle—and Rochelle had been very adamant when his name came up:
“He's not my dad!”

Whatever it was, it must've been a big family blowup.

But Rochelle was obviously hurting. Looking scared. Anxious. Dumpster-diving because she had to, not because she wanted to. And though Kat didn't know for sure, she guessed Conny was living only with his dad, not his mom. Why?

Kat's heart sank. Maybe Rochelle didn't have a place to live. Maybe that was why Conny was staying with his dad, even though—Oh! If Mrs. Douglass had any idea what the real situation was, she'd be frantic!

Kat stopped in the middle of the school parking lot. A new thought pierced her mind as if she'd been struck by lightning.

She had to think of a way to get Rochelle and her mom back together again.