by Neta Jackson
“How much? ”
The question startled me. “I don’t know. Blasting two or three walls, three or four hundred per wall—really, I don’t know Chanda. Enough to make her work double shifts.”
Again the thoughtful look on Chanda’s round face. Her chin came up. “I will pay it. Dat’s what God’s bin saying to mi dis week, Sista Jodee. Maybe mi been spending me money in all de wrong places.”
37
We totally forgot Yo-Yo’s birthday. “Ack!” I screeched, staring at the kitchen calendar a few days later. Denny and I had had Monday off—Columbus Day—so I’d gone back to the hospital to see Ruth. Josh couldn’t believe he had to work when his parents and sister were on holiday, a fact Amanda had rubbed in with a few phone calls to Software Symphony’s shipping department: “Yeah, sunny and breezy, think we just hit seventy-something, no humidity though . . . slept in till ten . . . Dad and I went for a bike ride along the lake, lots of windsurfers out there . . . Oooo, big brother, you better talk nice to me or I’ll tell Willie Wonka on you.”
Later that day, Denny and I had taken advantage of the holiday and actually gone out for supper—on a Monday! Over a big Greek salad with gyros slices and fat Greek fries sprinkled with vinegar at Cross-Rhodes, a wonderful little restaurant we’d found in Evanston, I’d told Denny about Chanda’s offer to pay off Chris’s wallcleaning bill. He’d frowned. “Hm. Don’t know if they’ll take it.The Hickmans have their pride, especially Carl. They don’t want ‘charity.’ Not sure it’s a good thing for Chris either. Hope they’re taking this out of his hide some way, not just Florida’s.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way—had just been amazed at Chanda’s response to my little suggestion that she “listen to God.” I shrugged. “Guess it’s between Chanda and the Hickmans to figure it out.”
That was Monday. Now it was midweek, all systems were back on schedule, and I had taken a quick glance at the calendar just to see what was coming up on the weekend. And there was Yo-Yo’s name: “Birthday, 24.”
I called Yo-Yo that afternoon when I got home from school but only got her voicemail. “Yo-Yo!” I said when I heard the beep. “I can’t believe we forgot your birthday! lease call me back. We still want to celebrate.”
She called me back the next day. “Yo, Jodi.Whaddya mean, forget? You called me on my birthday. Thought that was cool. By the way, tried to call you back last night, but no one answered.”
“Sorry about that. Amanda’s a phone hog; she doesn’t answer the other line sometimes. I just mean we forgot to wish you happy birthday at Yada Yada last Sunday night. Should’ve remembered, even if we were at the hospital.”
“Aw, that’s OK.You guys gave me a cake an’ everything last year.”
“Well, we can still celebrate. Sorry you have to wait a couple of weeks.”
“Nah, that’s OK. But if you really wanna do somethin’ . . . aw, I shouldn’t ask.”
“Yes, you should! Ask away.” I hoped it was within reason.
“Well, um, ya know that violet thing—that flowerpot you guys gave me last year for my birthday, because of my name, ya know.”
I grinned. “Yep. Yolanda, ‘lavender flower.’ ” That had been a hoot, giving a pot of purple violets to Yo-Yo of the perpetual overalls.
“Well, I really liked those flowers, made me feel kinda special every time I looked at ’em. But, well, I kinda killed ’em about ten months ago, an’ I was wonderin’, if it’s not too much trouble, could you find me another one? ”
I sat looking at the phone after we hung up. Dear, sweet Yo-Yo. Jesus, thank You for dropping her into my life. She always goes for the simple, not the complicated. Reminds me to find joy in the down-to-earth things of life—
“Mo-om! Are you off the phone? ” Amanda’s head poked into the kitchen, then she yelled over her shoulder. “Dad! Mom’s off the phone! Pleeease call and ask him!”
I followed Amanda and the phone back to the living room,where Denny had his feet up in the recliner, papers in his lap, briefcase open on the floor. Those weren’t game plans, I’d bet—not as athletic director. Probably tons of administrative mumbo jumbo.My heart gave a tug. I wondered if he missed coaching, regretted taking the AD job.
“Please, Dad? ” Amanda said, holding out the phone. “Just ask him again.”
Denny looked up at our sixteen-year-old girl-woman with thinly disguised patience. “Amanda. I’ve already asked Mr. Enriques twice to come to the men’s breakfast. Both times he said no. Get the drift? ”
“Da-ad! José says the guys his dad hangs out with aren’t, you know, they drink and gamble a lot, stuff like that. He doesn’t go to church either. Just ask him!”
Denny sighed. “I feel like I’m bugging him.We don’t know each other that well.”
“But you should! I mean, like, José’s my boyfriend , and Mom and Mrs. Enriques are good friends. Shouldn’t you, like, get to know the father better? ”
I raised an eyebrow at Denny. Boyfriend? We’d have to discuss that later. But for now, I tried not to laugh at Amanda, lecturing her father on getting to know the boyfriend’s parents. That was rich.
Denny did laugh. “All right, all right. I’ll ask him.” He held out his hand for the phone. “But just one more time, OK, Mandy? If he says no, that’s it.”
RICARDO ENRIQUES said yes. Had hesitated, Denny said, but when Denny offered to pick him up and give him a ride back home, he’d relented. “Gracias,” he’d said. “You are kind. And your daughter is una muchacha especial—a special girl. I’m glad she is José’s friend. Yes, gracias, I will come this time.”
“Don’t think he really wants to,” Denny muttered to me out of Amanda’s hearing. “But he’s polite, you know. Probably thought it’d be rude to refuse three times.”
“Are you still having men’s breakfast now that we’ve merged? I mean, we didn’t have Second Sunday Potluck. Maybe everything’s up for grabs till the dust settles.”
“Yeah, it’s on.Guess both Pastor Cobbs and Pastor Clark heard from Peter Douglass and some of the other guys—maybe after the potluck got passed over last Sunday—that they really want to continue the men’s breakfast. I was thinking about picking up Mark Smith, but maybe Peter can do that since I’m going after Ricardo.”
Which gave me an idea. “Denny, can I ride along? I’d like to spend some time with Delores and the kids; haven’t seen the munchkins in a long time. Then you could pick me up when you bring Ricardo back.”
Which is how I found myself at the Enriques’ home Saturday morning, along with Amanda,who saw an opportunity to hang out with José. “José!” Ricardo had said sharply before he left with Denny. “Walk the dog. Give him some exercise in the park. And I want it done before I get back.”
“Sí, Papa,” José had mumbled. It was only eight o’clock, he was still barefoot and in sweats, and he hadn’t had breakfast yet. Seemed to me he took his sweet time too. But I couldn’t blame the boy. Not after what I’d heard about this pit bull.
Delores,whose shift didn’t start until three, made breakfast burritos for all of us—rolled flour tortillas stuffed with scrambled eggs, crumbled chorizo, chopped tomatoes, and bunches of other stuff with homemade salsa for garnish. The Enriques’ five sleepy-eyed children gave us shy hugs and picked at their burritos, their appetites not yet awake.
Emerald, thirteen-going-on-fourteen, the next oldest after José, babbled away in Spanish to Amanda, who babbled back. Delores winked at me. “Amanda is getting good with the Spanish, sí ? ”
I nodded, a little taken aback. Very good. Very leaving-Mominthe-dust good.
Ricky Jr., maybe eleven, made off with his burrito to play video games. The two youngest girls, nine-year-old Luisa and six-yearold Rosa, kept looking at me shyly with big black eyes and dimpled grins, their straight black hair hanging long and silky down their backs.
José finally got himself dressed, took the leash and a leather muzzle, and headed out the back door of the six-flat apartment building, Amanda right o
n his heels, shrugging into her jacket. I started to cry out, “Wait!” but Delores touched my arm and gave me a reassuring smile.When the door closed behind them, she said in a lowered voice, “It will be all right. José always uses the muzzle, and the dog knows Amanda.”
I wasn’t convinced. “But what about that bite on your arm last summer? ” Not sure I was going to relax until Amanda and José were both safely back in the house and the dog back in its pen.
Delores shooed the other kids out of the kitchen and poured me a second cup of strong coffee. She smiled, but her eyes filled with tears. “Jodi, how do I say . . .? My heart is so grateful that Denny asked Ricardo to the men’s breakfast this morning. Saturday is always tense. Ricardo says he is taking the dog out for exercise, but he doesn’t come home for two hours! What kind of exercise is that? ”
“Didn’t you give him an ultimatum? Give up the dogfighting or you’ll call the police? ”
She sighed and looked down at her cup. “It’s complicated.” She lifted her eyes, bright with unshed tears. “I love him, Jodi. He is a good man. But losing his job, not being able to provide for his family, it’s like . . .” She balled up her fist and punched the air a couple of times near her stomach. “I want to give him a chance to figure this out. Calling the police . . .” She shook her head. “I could not do it. And the mariachi band, he loves it so. It’s the one thing that pulls all that is good from inside.”
Delores shook herself as if shaking off our conversation. “Enough. Tell me, Jodi, how is Josh? Working, sí , at Avis’s husband’s place of business? ” She chuckled. “Does he talk about Edesa all the time like she talks about him? ”
I stared at her. “Edesa talks about Josh all the time? I thought . . . he thinks . . . oh, dear. He’s been going out, dating, doing stuff with—I don’t know what to call it!—a girl named Sue at work. Don’t know anything about her.”
Delores laughed again. “Leave it alone, Jodi! All will work out. Edesa enjoys working with Josh very much at Manna House.They think alike, have the same heart.Maybe that’s all it will be.” But the motherly twinkle in her eye said something else.
The front door buzzer made me jump. She rolled her eyes. “Excuse me un momento. I will send whoever it is—”
“Mama! Mama!” Luisa and Rosa came screeching into the kitchen, their tousled hair and nightgowns flying. “El policía! El policía!”
Delores’s lips tightened. She headed with quick steps to the front of the first-floor apartment. Eyes wide, I scurried right behind her, coffee cup in hand.
All four kids were crowded at the front window. Revolving blue police lights sliced again and again through the sunshine streaming through the windows. Delores peeked out the front door of the apartment; over her shoulder, sure enough, I could see two uniformed police officers standing in the foyer.
She turned to me and closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if saying, Pray, Jodi, pray. Then she crossed the hall to the foyer door and opened it. “Sí? Can I help you? ”
“Mrs. Enriques? ” The police officer’s voice verged on demanding but was still polite. Delores gave a slight nod. “Is your husband home? ”
My heart pounded. Delores shook her head. “No. He is not home.”
“Where is he? ” Less polite, more demanding.
Words flew to my mouth. “He and my husband are at church.”
The police officers glanced at each other. I could read their looks: Yeah, right.
The first police officer narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Enriques, where is the dog your husband fights? ”
“D-dog? ” Delores seemed taken aback. “We have a dog. But it is not here.My son took it out, is walking it.”
Again the Yeah, right glances. I wanted to screech, “But it’s true!” And then my heart pounded. Oh stay away, José and Amanda. Stay away.
“Emilio, check around back.” The second police officer trundled back outside and disappeared around the side of the building.
“Madre del Dios! What’s going on here? ” Ricardo’s voice startled all of us. He and Denny came in the outside door into the foyer. Was it eleven o’clock already? I was so glad to see Denny,wanted to run into his arms. But like Delores, I stood immobile. Ricardo’s eyes darted between his wife and the police, his expression a mixture of indignation and . . . fear?
“Ricardo Enriques? ” The officer nailed Delores’s husband with a piercing glance. “Where were you between eight and ten o’clock this morning? ”
“With me.” Denny’s tone was curt. “Uptown–New Morning Church men’s breakfast. Two pastors and twenty men present.” As witnesses, was left unsaid.
The officer named Emilio returned, looked Ricardo and Denny up and down, then shrugged at his partner. “Garage is empty. Dog pen recently used, though.”
“What did I say? ” Delores’s eyes flashed. “We have a dog; our son is walking it.”
The first officer—his name pin said Blackstock—ignored her. “Mr. Enriques, you have been seen with a dog in the vicinity of . . .” The officer checked his notebook and rattled off an address. “This is a known site of illegal dogfights. Have you—? ”
Denny interrupted. “Officer, are you charging Mr. Enriques with anything? Arresting him? ”
The officer glared at Denny. “No, sir. But we’d like his cooperation.”
Denny gripped Ricardo’s shoulder. “Ricardo, don’t say anything.”
The air in the foyer seemed to crackle with heated thoughts and unspoken words. Officer Blackstock twitched an eyebrow, then tipped his hat with exaggerated politeness. “Mr. and Mrs. Enriques. Have a good day.” The two officers sauntered out the doorway.
A phone was ringing in the background. A moment later Emerald appeared in the foyer. “Mama! It’s Mrs. Cordova! She’s crying!” She held out the cordless phone. Delores took the phone and walked back into the apartment, phone pressed to her ear. The rest of us followed, strain moving our joints like puppet strings.
Delores listened. “Sí. . . sí . . . no . . . no . . .” She finally clicked the phone off and turned slowly around to face us. “That was Elana Cordova.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “The police raided a dogfight in a garage in their alley this morning.” She swallowed. “All the men were arrested, including her husband, and the dogs impounded.”
All of us stood frozen in the middle of the Enriques’ living room, with its sparse furniture and bare floor, surely thinking the same thought. If Ricardo hadn’t gone with Denny this morning . . .
The color drained from Ricardo’s face. He fumbled for a chair, breathing heavily, as if the weight of the situation pressed him down, down. And then his head sank into his hands. “El Dios, El Dios, I’m sorry . . . so sorry!”
38
Denny and Ricardo already had the dog pen in the back of our Dodge Caravan when José and Amanda showed up with the dog thirty minutes later. With only a few terse words, Ricardo shut the tawny pit bull into the pen and the men drove away.
José scratched his head. “Where are they taking it”
“Anti-Cruelty Society.” Delores’s voice quavered.
“Ha.” José all but rolled his eyes. “That’s a joke.Wait till they see the scars.”
His mother winced. “José, my son, come.” She put an arm around his waist, and they walked into the house together.
“Mom!” Amanda hissed at me. “What made Mr. Enriques—? ”
I held up a finger that meant later and sent Amanda and Emerald to help dress the two younger girls—who no doubt told their own wide-eyed version of the police showing up—while I cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Even from the kitchen, I could hear the rise and fall of passionate voices in the front room as mother and son talked, even the occasional, “Praise You, Jesús!” and “El Dios is merciful, José.”
No dishwasher. I filled up the sink with hot, sudsy water and slid the breakfast dishes under the suds. The soapy water soothed my rattled spirit.
Oh Jesus, I’m not sure exactly what You did h
ere this morning, but You are an awesome God! Thank You for honoring Delores’s prayers! I lined up the clean plates and cups in the dish drainer on one side of the double kitchen sink.
Thank You for Amanda’s persistence, bugging her dad to call Ricardo. Talk about “a little child shall lead them” ! Never had been sure exactly what that meant, but I did now. Even if she was a “big child.”
I pulled out the spray hose and rinsed the dishes in the drainer. And thank You for opening Ricardo’s eyes to see the lie that almost destroyed this family . . .
I thought about that while I dried the dishes and searched the neatly arranged cupboards for where to put them.What lie? The lie that God wasn’t sufficient, that Ricardo had to resort to illegal means to make money for his family. The lie that he had to be macho and do it himself, rather than lean on God and the church family at Iglesia del Espírito Santo.
But, I thought, hunting for a cupboard holding pots and pans, how different was that from the rest of us, doing things our way, getting distracted from God’s way, not listening, going off on tangents—maybe not illegal tangents, but still, trying to fix things on our own steam, by our own blueprint. And then we get all tangled up in our own mess. Sometimes God lets us flounder there a while, all tied up until we yell, “Uncle!” And sometimes . . .
I stood in the middle of Delores’s spotless kitchen, holding the frying pan, as the miracle of that morning washed over me again. Sometimes, I thought, God snatches His children out of the quicksand we waded into ourselves and says, There. I’m giving you another chance to trust Me.
Another chance for Ricardo. Thank You, Jesus!
Another chance—like He’d given to me after the car accident that killed Jamal Wilkins.
“Gracias, Jodi.” Delores stood in the kitchen doorway, short, loose dark hair framing a gentle smile on her round face. “Will I be able to find anything after you’re done doing my dishes? ” I turned, only then realizing my eyes and nose were running and my face was probably all blotchy.