The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Tough

by Neta Jackson

  Heads nodded. But I squirmed. Was Flo thinking I should “put in a little overtime” relating to Becky, since I lived in the apartment below? Decided it was just a stray “guilt germ” and squashed it.

  “Thanks, Flo,” Stu said. “Would appreciate that. Still . . .” She shook her head.

  “We need to put in some overtime on our knees too,” Avis said. She flipped her Bible again and ran her finger down a page. “Listen to this. ‘If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into.’ ”

  “What?” Yo-Yo yelped. “Jodi didn’t ‘let’ Becky bust in. That don’t seem—”

  Avis held up her hand, putting Yo-Yo on Pause. “Jesus liked to use examples from everyday life to help people understand spiritual principles. Here He’s talking about being alert and ready for His return from heaven. But it applies equally to being alert and ready for attacks from the enemy. It’s not enough to wait till something happens and then pray about it. We need to sharpen our spiritual weapons, fill the house with praise so Satan can’t get a toehold, and pray for the battle that’s already going on between God and His angels and Satan and his demons.”

  “Then I want us to pray for Mark Smith.” A worried frown creased Hoshi’s forehead. “That White Pride group is staging a ‘free speech’ rally on the university campus next Friday, and Dr. Smith plans to speak up against their ideas. Nony is upset about it, but Dr. Smith seems quite determined.”

  There. It was out. The room began to buzz. “White Pride what?” “What kind of free speech rally?” “Thought all that Ku Klux Klan stuff went out with the civil rights movement.” “Nah, they’re different. They’ve been in the papers—swastikas and stuff.” “I don’t get it.” “You don’t even wanna know!” “Lord, have mercy.”

  Adele’s mouth tightened, and I saw her eyes retreat behind a mask.

  I kept my eyes on my shoes. Please, God, don’t let Avis ask me to fill in the blanks.

  “Those hatemongers—ain’t no different than street gangs,” Yo-Yo piped up. “Got their own rules, can’t reason with ’em. I met a few white supremo chicks in prison. Best to just ignore ’em, in my opinion. Let ’em have their ol’ rally, talk to themselves, nobody show up.”

  Made sense to me.

  “Girl, you think that’ll make ’em go away?” Florida wagged her head. “Them White Pride types need attention, an’ they goin’ to get it, one way or another.”

  “I think,” Delores said slowly, “Hoshi and Avis are right. We need to pray. We need to prepare for the battle. Jesus, have mercy. It’s already upon us.”

  Little bumps stood up on my arms. All this talk about spiritual warfare made me feel creepy. Were we making too big a deal out of this? And what in the world did Delores mean, “It’s already upon us”?

  Avis nodded. “Absolutely. We must pray. That is our strongest spiritual weapon. Each of you, just speak out what God puts on your heart. We have mentioned several things already.” Avis began, “Lord God, Your Word tells us to take up the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit, Your Word . . .”

  The coil of tension in my gut unwound a few notches. At least Yada Yada was praying about this hate group stuff without me having to say anything about Josh and those books. After all, I hadn’t actually opened them; I didn’t really know what they said.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have to.

  WE WERE GIVING NOISY GOOD-BYE HUGS when Chanda called out, “An where we meetin’ next time? Soon as me gets my ’ouse, we can be meetin’ dere. What you t’ink?”

  We laughed. “That’ll be great,” said Stu. “But for now, you’ll have to put up with my apartment. I’m next on the list.”

  Edesa was helping Delores into her jacket. “I vote for Stu’s. Then Becky Wallace can meet with us. I think . . .” She glanced around at the rest of us. “I think it would be good for her to come to Yada Yada all the time. We should pray about that, sí ?”

  And pray about whatever’s bugging Delores too. Maybe I’d give her a call later. Or should I ask Edesa if she knows what’s going on?

  Edesa. My fingers went to the pocket of my jeans. I almost forgot to give her Josh’s note! I hesitated. I didn’t want Edesa to think I was some kind of go-between or that it was my idea for Josh to ask her to his prom.

  Florida poked her head back inside the door. “The Hickmans are fixin’ to move soon as we find a place in Rogers Park. Keep your eyes open, ya hear? Pray about it. Movin’ the Hickmans ain’t gonna be no picnic. Edesa? Delores? You comin’? Best to walk to the el together this time o’ night.”

  It was now or never. I caught Edesa’s arm. “Edesa, Josh said to give this to you.” I pulled out the envelope—rather crunched from its ride in my jeans pocket.

  “Oh! Good.” Edesa took the note and smiled. “Josh said he’d send it with you. Bye.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “That’s for Amanda.”

  I stared at her back as the el crowd evaporated through Adele’s front door. Josh said he’d send it with me? Were those two talking by phone? Surely they were both mortified by Josh’s rash invitation to the prom. So what—

  “Come on, Jodi!” Stu waved a hand at me impatiently. “Yo-Yo needs a ride home.”

  Stu and I didn’t say much after we dropped Yo-Yo off at her apartment. I wondered what Stu was thinking about inviting Becky to Yada Yada on a regular basis. One thing for sure, she wouldn’t have been able to blurt out the “housemate problems” they’d been having like she did tonight. Not if Becky was sitting right there.

  As for Josh and Edesa, guess I should be glad Edesa was still on speaking terms with Josh. But—passing notes?

  SO MUCH FOR A BAXTER FAMILY OUTING on Memorial Day. When I got home from Yada Yada, Josh was on the phone organizing a couple of vanloads of Uptown kids and friends to go to Six Flags Great America. Denny interrupted the Dagwood sandwich he was making to peck me on the cheek. “If they get twenty warm bodies to go,” he murmured in my ear, “they get a group discount—fifteen bucks off each ticket. Wanna go?”

  I snorted. “Yeah, right.” His mouth kind of sagged. “Wait a minute. You’re serious?”

  “Why not?” He grinned. “Could be fun, don’t you think?”

  Losing my stomach on the Raging Bull or knowing for sure I was going to die on the Vertical Drop wasn’t exactly my idea of fun anymore. “Tell you what. If they hit nineteen and still need another warm body, I’ll consider it. If you go—what, Josh?”

  Josh had leaned into the kitchen, holding the phone against his chest. “I’ve got Chris Hickman on the phone. He doesn’t come regular to youth group, but he and Cedric are Uptown kids. He says he doesn’t have any bread. Can we, uh, help out a little?”

  I grimaced sideways at Denny. God knew our bank account was skinny enough. But if Florida was worried about Chris hanging out on the street, a trip to Great America with Uptown kids might be a good alternative—at least for one day.

  Denny nodded. “Tell him he’s gotta pay something, but we’ll help with the rest.”

  “And call Yo-Yo’s brothers too!” I called after the back of Josh’s shaved head. “That’d be two more!”

  Josh no sooner hung up the kitchen phone than Amanda snatched the receiver. “I’ll see if José and Emerald can go!” she said, disappearing in the direction of her bedroom.

  I smiled smugly and headed for the bathroom. The body count was rising. I wasn’t too worried. Still had a lot of escape hatches. But I’d get brownie points for being willing—

  “Why not?” Amanda’s voice rose behind her half-opened bedroom door. “The more kids we get the cheaper it is . . . José! It’s not your job to support your family. You’re only a kid! . . . Well, if we get twenty people, they give one free ticket. How about that?”

  I paused in the hall. Financial problems. That had to be what was bothering Delores. Ricardo still hadn’t gotten regular work since the trucking company downsized last summer. And her paycheck as a pediatric nurse had to be
stretched thinner than plastic wrap these days—and they had five kids. I really needed to give her a call.

  “It can’t take that long to exercise the dog. Wish you didn’t have to do it, anyway. That dog is mean . . . Look. I’ll pay for your ticket. Or Emerald’s.” Amanda obviously wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Why not? I’ve got lots of babysitting money . . . Nah, I don’t need any summer clothes . . . It’ll be fun! Please, José?”

  NONE OF MY ESCAPE HATCHES FUNCTIONED. After burning up the phone all evening, Josh and Amanda indeed rounded up eighteen victims who enjoyed scaring themselves to death, two warm bodies shy of the necessary twenty. Denny was practically rubbing his hands with glee. “We don’t have to tag along with the kids. They’re big enough to take care of themselves. We can even do the kiddie rides if you want—Roaring Rapids or whatever.”

  Yeah, right.

  Between the fifteen-passenger church van (Pastor Clark was a pushover when it came to using the van for youth activities) and our minivan, we had enough seats for the assortment of Uptown kids, siblings, and friends who showed up at the church—but my mouth dropped open when José and his sister Emerald showed up with Edesa, looking cute as a Gap model in her white capris, bright orange T-shirt, and an orange wrap holding back her curly hair, bringing out the mahogany shine of her skin.

  She just grinned at me. “Josh’s idea. Said he needed a few more adults to supervise the rabble.” Her dark eyes rounded in nervous anticipation. “I’ve never been to a—how do you say?—parque de diversiones. Josh says my experience in the United States is not complete unless I ride the American Bird.”

  I giggled. “American Eagle. It’s a roller coaster.” Well, it would be fun to have Edesa along. But was she with Denny and me—or Josh?

  Turned out to be neither. Edesa mostly took special pains to look after Emerald Enriquez, who wanted to do everything the older kids did—though at one point I saw Emerald grab both Edesa’s and Josh’s hands as she walked between them, laughing up into their faces. Chris Hickman managed to show off his shoulder-rolling “gangsta walk” for about one hour—then he started running from ride to ride and horsing around like all the other kids. Pete and Jerry Spencer too.

  This was good. Very good. Thank You, Jesus.

  Denny finally talked me into getting on the Demon, a roller coaster that looped upside down a few times. What was I thinking? I didn’t know which was worse: watching Amanda and José, a few cars in front of us, hold their arms high in the air as we flew over the heartstopping crests, or feeling like I was going to get launched into outer space at every turn. Had to admit it was crazy fun screaming at the top of my lungs and holding on to Denny for dear life. But I was still glad to be in the first carload to poop out and go home.

  “WHOO-EE,” Denny said, kicking off his gym shoes and propping his feet up on the coffee table. One toe peeked through a hole in his sock. “What a gas. Glad you called time-out, though. I’m beat.”

  “What?” I deadpanned. “Aren’t you planning your annual Memorial Day Grill Fest in the backyard? I invited all those kids to come back here for burgers tonight!”

  The tan on his face faded at least two shades. I burst out laughing. “Gotcha! Oh, Denny. The look on your face was worth the price of admission.”

  “Oh,” he groaned. “Don’t do that to me. Just give me the phone, and I’ll order a pizza. For two.”

  Still laughing, I headed for the kitchen to get the phone, where the answering machine message light was blinking. Three messages. I punched Play.

  “Jodi!” Stu’s voice. “Thought you guys would be home today. Andy’s caseworker brought him over here for a couple of hours to visit with his mom. Sorry you missed him. Hope you don’t mind—I let Willie Wonka out in the yard, so Andy would have somebody to play with. The dog was a trooper. OK, bye.”

  Hm. Too bad. I would’ve liked to see little Andy again. I hit Erase.

  “Jodi?” For a moment I wasn’t sure who had left the second message. I could barely hear the caller; the voice sounded low, despondent. “I . . . please call me, mi amiga.” Delores! She sounded terrible. I reached for the phone to call her right back, but the third message started up.

  “Denny, this is Mark Smith.” Oh yeah, Mark and Nony are home; thank You, God. “Listen, brother, give me a call, tonight if you can. I’d like to talk to you about getting some of the brothers together Thursday night to pray—before this White Pride rally on Friday. And . . . I know you’ve got to work, man, but . . .” Mark’s voice sounded strained. “It would mean a lot to me if you could come to the rally, be there for some support. I appreciate what you did giving me a chance to talk with the guys at your men’s breakfast a couple of Saturdays ago. The flier these nuts have been handing out says four o’clock. Any chance you could get away?”

  I raised my finger, almost willing it to “accidentally” hit Erase. No way did I want Denny to go to that rally! But I just stood there, my finger raised. What was it Denny had said after that men’s breakfast?

  The gates of hell can’t prevail if we can just hold on like this—together.

  19

  The nightmare stalked me again just before the alarm rang the next morning. I’m in the street, dodging cars, trying to get to the other side, rain plastering my hair to my head, sticking my eyelashes together. And then, headlights bearing down on me—

  I sat up in bed, clammy with sweat. I hoped it was sweat anyway. I was too young for hot flashes, wasn’t I? I sank back against my pillow—then sat up again. Wait a minute. The dream was wrong, flipped around, as if my memory had turned inside out. I shouldn’t be the one in the street; I was supposed to be in the car. I . . .

  Denny sighed in his sleep and heaved his body onto his left side, facing away from me. And then I knew. This dream wasn’t about the accident that happened nearly a year ago. It wasn’t a memory at all.

  It was fear.

  I gave up on sleep, slid out of bed, grabbed Denny’s robe off the door hook, and followed Willie Wonka to the back door for his morning ablution. I started the coffee while keeping an eye on the dog as he waddled in the early morning’s half-light to the corner back by the garage to do his business. The patchwork of Johnny-jump-ups, petunias, and marigolds nodded happily along the fences, enjoying an early morning breeze. Looked like a nice day. Should be a nice day. But apprehension stitched my insides into a knot.

  I dreaded the coming week.

  It wasn’t just because my classroom tended to run amuck after Memorial Day, even though the long holiday weekend signaled “summer” to the third-grade collective brain, and they all came back to school acting like Mexican jumping beans. (My MO for the last few weeks of school? “Just get through them—somehow!”)

  It wasn’t just because the sophomore dance at José’s school was next Saturday, although Amanda had been acting as if all the sands of time, all cells and molecules, all the stars and the moon and the sun, all significant historical events, scientific discoveries, and great literature had been created for this one weekend.

  The coffee maker gurgled its final burp. I poured myself a mug, stepped out onto the back porch in Denny’s oversize robe, and sat on the aging porch swing. No, the main reason I dreaded the upcoming week was because Denny hadn’t even blinked when Mark asked him to come to the rally next Friday. “I’ll be there,” he’d said when he returned Mark’s phone call. “Just tell me where.”

  And because Josh, when he heard what was going down, leaped on it. “Me too, Dad.”

  Oh God, I groaned. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. The unknown. I mean, what in the world were we getting ourselves into? It was bad enough that Nony’s husband wanted to take on these white supremacists toe to toe. But why drag Denny and Josh into it? What if . . . what if . . .

  My mind zeroed in on its target like a heat-seeking missile. What if the rally got ugly? What if some of the minority students got offended at this “white is right” harangue and reacted violently? Were they going to distinguish
my “white guys” from the White Pride nuts? I rolled my eyes. Wouldn’t they just love to know Josh had a stack of that White Pride filth under his bed!

  Wonka finished his morning business and wandered back toward the house, pausing to sniff the new day. Grabbing the pooper-scooper, I hustled down the porch steps in my bare feet. It suddenly seemed very important to get rid of Wonka’s poop now.

  HALFWAY INTO THE WEEK, I realized I still hadn’t called Delores to find out what was troubling her—or Ruth, to see if she was feeling better.

  Hadn’t been upstairs to see Becky Wallace either.

  Some friend you are, Jodi Baxter, I scolded myself as I came in the house after school on Wednesday. I’d been so busy keeping myself busy so I didn’t have to think about this rally business, I’d been neglecting—well, a lot of stuff. Prayer. Friends. Promises.

  Dumping my tote bag and kicking off my shoes, I headed for the kitchen in my sock feet, let the dog out, grabbed the phone, put on the teakettle, and pulled open the freezer door to see if, by some miracle, a magic elf had left an already-prepared supper there.

  “Hello?”

  Good grief, whose number had I dialed? “Uh . . . is Delores there?”

  “No, Mama’s at work. Do you want her to call you?”

  Which Enriquez cutie was this? Wasn’t José. Didn’t sound like Emerald. “Yes, please. Tell her Jodi Baxter called, OK?”

  “Sí. Bye, Miz Baxter.”

  Admit it, Jodi. You’re not very good at multitasking. I took a big breath, put some pork chops into the microwave to thaw, poured hot water over a tea bag, and sat down before I made my next call. The phone on the other end picked up.