by Neta Jackson
His father ignored the tease as he joined Michelle. “Didn’t miss Mrs. K’s arrival, did I? Hope she comes soon though. I still gotta go by the church tonight.”
“Oh, Jared. Not tonight. How come?”
Her husband shrugged. “The janitor got sick, and his wife forgot to call Pastor that he wasn’t able to finish cleaning up after the Mother’s Day brunch last Sunday or do setup for this Sunday. I’ll take Destin with me. With two of us, it won’t take too long. I hope.”
“Aw, Dad!” Destin groaned. “Do I hafta—”
“Hey, neighbors!” A man with two flaxen-haired children in tow stepped up to them and held out his hand. “Name’s Greg Singer. We live on the other end of the block from you, next-to-the last house. And these two munchkins are Becky and Nathan.”
Jared shook the man’s hand. “Jared Jasper. This is my wife, Michelle, and our son, Destin.”
“Becky, why don’t you take Nathan and go play with some of the other kids?” The man waved them off.
Michelle nodded toward the two-flat. “Did you know Mrs. Krakowski when she lived here, Mr. Singer?”
“Hey, just call me Greg. No, didn’t really know the old lady. I’m gone a lot with my job. But according to my wife, the new people came by our house and invited us to come tonight. Friendly folks, aren’t they?”
“Uh-huh . . . You travel a lot?” Jared said politely. “What do you do?”
“Event coordinator for Powersports Expos. You’ve probably heard—”
“Powersports?” Destin suddenly got interested. “What’s that?”
The man warmed to the topic. “We do shows featuring sports vehicles all around the Midwest, though this time of year it’s mostly boat shows. Say, you two got any interest in fishing boats, jet skis, stuff like that? Maybe you’d like to come to our next event. Gonna be down at Burnham Harbor, June 3 through 6.” He winked at Destin. “It’ll be our biggest show this season. I might be able to get you and your dad a ride on a cigarette boat. What would you think of—”
“Here they come!” A shout went up. Two dozen heads turned toward the far end of the street, where headlights had just turned up Beecham. Michelle watched as the nondescript sedan passed them, turned around in the cul-de-sac, and pulled to the curb in front of the two-flat. A middle-aged man came around from the driver’s side—Michelle figured it was probably her son—and helped old Mattie Krakowski out of the passenger seat. As the elderly woman leaned unsteadily on his arm, a beautiful soprano voice began to sing, “Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? . . .”
Michelle smiled. The Bentleys must’ve asked Grace Meredith, who lived next door to the Jaspers—the one who traveled around singing Christian concerts—to kick off the song. But they were obviously supposed to join in.
Squinting at the words on the slip of paper she held in her hand, Michelle realized the words had been rewritten to fit the occasion. Some of the neighbors were singing the traditional New Year’s song, and some were singing the new words. But even though the song was kind of ragged, tears slid down the old lady’s face, which had a smile on it bigger than the full moon peeking through the clouds overhead.
As the last lines of the revised song died away, people shouted, “Welcome home, Mrs. Krakowski!” and Harry and Estelle Bentley escorted their new renter up the porch stairs and into the newly remodeled first floor apartment. Word was that the place used to be a real dump inside. Not anymore.
Michelle watched, strangely touched. Nothing like this had ever happened on Beecham Street that she could remember—and they’d lived at 7337 Beecham ever since the kids were small. They’d always been grateful for a quiet block, everybody just minding their own business. But that was before the Bentleys moved in. Harry and Estelle Bentley had gone around to every house on the block introducing themselves and handing out cinnamon rolls. The warm, gooey, homemade kind.
And now this homecoming.
But as soon as the door closed behind the Bentleys and Krakowskis, the crowd broke up and began to disperse. “C’mon, Tavis!” yelled DaShawn, and quicker than cockroaches when the light turns on, the two boys disappeared around the side of the house with a basketball. Destin started to follow, but Jared caught his arm. “C’mon, Destin. Let’s go.”
“Dad!” Tabitha caught up to them as they crossed the street, dancing on her toes. “Did Mommy talk to you about cheerleading camp? I gotta sign up right away!”
“What cheerleading camp?” Her father unlocked the minivan and slid in.
“Oh . . . I’ll explain later. Just go.” Michelle pulled Tabitha away as Destin glumly walked around to the other side of the minivan. But Michelle called, “Destin! Wait a sec.” She caught him before he opened the passenger side door. “Figure it this way, son,” she said, lowering her voice. “You’ll have your dad all to yourself for at least an hour. Go ahead, talk to him about the basketball camp.” She grinned. “See? First dibs.”
Chapter 2
Dusk had deepened over Beecham Street as Michelle watched the taillights of the family minivan disappear around the corner, heading for Northside Baptist. Most of the residents who’d gathered to welcome Mattie Krakowski back to the neighborhood had already dispersed, disappearing into the various brick bungalows that lined the block.
Saturday night . . . and once again her family was also dispersed here, there, and everywhere. Tavis hadn’t even asked if he could go shoot baskets behind the Bentleys’ two-flat. He’d just taken off.
She sighed. Why did Pastor Quentin always call Jared when he needed somebody to fill in? Huh. Because Jared always said yes, that’s why.
“Tabby, honey, you go on into the house. I want to talk to Grace Meredith.” Michelle gave her thirteen-year-old daughter a gentle push in the direction of their brick bungalow and called out, “Grace? Do you have a minute?” She did have something to ask the young woman who lived next door, but she was also curious about the good-looking young man who was with her.
The pair halted on the sidewalk and Grace gave Michelle a warm smile as she caught up to them. “Hi, Michelle. That little homecoming for Mrs. Krakowski was pretty special, wasn’t it?”
“Amen to that.” As if on cue, all three of them glanced across the street at the Bentley’s two-flat, where the bay windows of the first floor apartment blazed merrily with bright lights. “Can’t even imagine what she must be feeling, seeing her old apartment all fixed up—like a brand-spanking-new house.” Michelle turned back and smiled at Grace. “The welcome song was nice. First time I’ve heard you sing.”
“Well, thanks. The Bentleys changed the words, you know. I wasn’t sure I got them all right. Oh, I want to introduce my agent. This is Jeff Newman, from Bongo Booking in Denver.” Grace glanced up at the dark-haired young man—thirtyish, Michelle guessed, noticing the glance that passed between them. “Jeff, this is my next-door neighbor, Michelle Jasper. She’s the one who provided all those brochures we passed out during my West Coast tour.”
The young man grinned and shook Michelle’s hand. “Delighted to meet you. I hear they kept you trotting to the post office, couldn’t keep the brochures in stock. It’s wonderful you could support Grace’s ministry in that way.” He suddenly frowned. “I’m sure postage wasn’t cheap. Grace said you had to overnight them a few times. We definitely need to reimburse you—”
“No, no. Already done. Grace’s assistant took care of that—for the brochures too. Which basically ended up being a donation to Lifeline Care Center, where I volunteer.”
The grin was back. “Should’ve known Samantha would be all over it. She’s a real firecracker.”
Michelle tried to keep a straight face. The guy was too darn good-looking for his own good. Hot, as the kids would say. Dark, curly hair. A manly five-o’clock shadow. Dimples in his cheeks when he grinned. Grace was no slouch, either. The concert artist was lovely, her dark brunette hair layered in a long shag, framing her peachy-perfect skin and pretty features. If Michelle’s female instin
cts were right, these two had something more going on than just a business relationship.
As if reading her mind, Grace blurted, “Uh, Jeff’s on his way to Minneapolis to see another client, had to come through Chicago. He was actually here the day they discovered Mrs. Krakowski had fallen down the basement stairs and broke her hip—during that February snowstorm, remember? He helped your husband shovel a path up to her door so the paramedics could get through. I thought he’d enjoy witnessing the sequel to that little drama.”
“That was you? Jared said some guy from Colorado had helped him shovel.”
“Yep. That was me. I came to town for a meeting with Grace here, had just been assigned as her agent by Bongo, and it was our first face-to-face. Ended up getting stranded by that snowstorm.” He turned his grin on Grace. “Not that I minded.”
She whopped his arm with her hand. “Oh, you. Well, there’s no snow today, your rental car’s not stuck, and there are dozens of hotels within hollering distance, just waiting to take your credit card.”
Jeff shrugged and heaved a fake sigh. “So much for Midwestern hospitality.”
Grace seemed embarrassed by his teasing, so Michelle got to her point. “I don’t know your concert schedule, Grace, but I’ve been meaning to ask if you want more of the crisis pregnancy and post-abortion brochures when you go on the road again. Lifeline also has one designed especially for guys, and a general one about self-respect and sexual responsibility. If you tell me how many you think you can use, I could place an order ahead of time this time.”
“That’s a great idea, Michelle. I have another tour coming up in June—and a couple of independent concerts before then too. I’ll look at my schedule and ask Sam to help me figure out how many we might need. Can I get back to you?”
“Of course—”
“Mo-om!” Tabitha stuck her head out their front door. “Are you gonna come in soon? You still gotta wash an’ braid my hair!”
“In a minute!” Michelle hollered back. Washing Tabitha’s hair, which the girl was letting grow out, and then braiding it took at least an hour—and that didn’t count the comb-out in the morning before church. “Well, better go. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff. Glad you could be here for our little neighborhood celebration. Though”—she glanced again at the two-flat across the street—“I wonder if the Bentleys know what they’ve gotten themselves into. Mrs. K must be in her upper eighties, don’t you think? Oh, well. Not my business.” She gave a little wave and headed back to her own house next door.
Whatever was going on with Grace Meredith and Jeff What’s-His-Name wasn’t her business either. But Michelle couldn’t help wondering for a quick minute if that whole song and dance about “dozens of hotels within hollering distance” had been more for her benefit than his.
The faint thud, thud, thud of a basketball caught her attention just as she was about to go inside. Uh-oh. Tavis was still in the alley behind the Bentleys’ playing basketball with DaShawn. She’d better haul his butt home or those boys would be keeping Mrs. Krakowski awake her first night back in her home with all their thumping and ball bouncing.
* * *
“Ow! That’s too tight! When’s Dad getting home? Can we talk about cheerleading camp when he gets here?”
“Tabby, hold still!” Tabitha’s antsy wiggles were getting on Michelle’s last nerve. “No, we can’t. Dad called, said they’d be late. . . . There. Done. But it’s almost ten, so I want you in bed.” Michelle raised her voice and hollered down the basement stairs. “You too, Tavis! Shut off that video game. Time for bed!”
“But Mo-om!” sailed up the stairs from the basement family room.
“No buts! Get up here!”
Maybe the twins weren’t tired, but she was. It’d been a busy week at her job—DCFS had added four new clients to her caseload at Bridges Family Services. Then they’d gone to the college fair at the high school Friday night, which meant she had to stay up late preparing for the women’s ministry committee meeting after church on Sunday, because she knew there’d be no time today. Her Saturday had started with her regular volunteer stint at Lifeline that morning, grocery shopping and laundry in the afternoon, and the welcome home for Mrs. Krakowski this evening—even though all she had to do was show up tonight, but still. And tomorrow, church till one or one thirty, and her meeting with the women’s ministry team right after that . . .
Michelle sank down on the stool in front of her vanity mirror in the bedroom. It’d be Monday again before she knew it.
Picking up the wrap she used to hold her hair in place overnight—a short bob, relaxed by a regular perm, with long bangs that framed her large eyes and warm brown skin—she hesitated. Should she wrap her hair yet? Saturday night was often “their” night, and Jared might want to . . . uhh. Not tonight. She was too tired. She tied the wrap around her hair, left a bedside lamp on for Jared, and slid between the cool sheets. Should she check if the twins had gotten themselves to bed? . . . No, let Jared deal with them if they were still up when he got home . . .
She must’ve dozed off, because it seemed only minutes before she was aware of Jared sitting on the side of the bed, taking off his shoes and letting them fall to the floor. “Hi, hon,” she murmured, flopping an arm his direction and touching his broad back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Thud. Another shoe.
“How come it took so long?”
He grunted. “You mean besides the regular cleaning? Whole church looked like a hurricane. Found leftover food from last Sunday’s brunch that shoulda been thrown out, hymnals scattered everywhere except in the pew racks, Sunday school classrooms with broken chairs—not to mention a toilet that’s not working in the ladies’ restroom.” Her husband stripped down to his shorts and T-shirt, took off his glasses, and crawled into bed. “Gotta talk to Pastor Q about each ministry maintaining their own area. A Saturday workday at the church wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”
“Light,” she murmured.
“Oh . . . okay.” He reached for the light, then threw an arm over her body and pulled her close, spoon style. Michelle relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the press of his sturdy body against her back, glad he was home. She could feel herself drifting back to sleep, now that her whole family was home safe under their roof.
Then his voice in the dark. “ . . . Destin . . . basketball camp . . . summer . . .”
Uh . . . what? Was Jared talking to her? Or was she dreaming already?
“I said, did Destin talk to you about this Five-Star Basketball Camp he wants to go to this summer?”
“Don’t think so,” she mumbled. And she didn’t want to talk about it now, either. She wanted to go back to sleep. But his voice was directly behind her ear.
“Well, that’s all he talked about to and from the church. Said college scouts would be there. Michael Jordan was discovered at one of these camps. They have a camp down in Romeoville, south of the city. At Lewis University, I think. Sometime early July. Then he says registration needs to be in by Monday. By Monday!” Jared rolled away from her and punched up his pillow a few times. “Why does that boy always wait till the last minute to tell us stuff!”
And why are you telling me this as we’re trying to go to sleep? “Dunno,” she murmured into her pillow, “but maybe we can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Jared punched up his pillow, then settled down again. “Just . . . bugs me when he does that. And, oh yeah, of course he’s expecting us to come up with the registration fee.”
Michelle’s eyes flew open in the dark. Registration fee . . . She suddenly remembered Tabby’s song and dance about cheerleading camp, begging her to talk to her father. But no way would Jared like getting hit in the same weekend with two last-minute requests to go to expensive summer camps.
Still, she’d promised Tabby to at least bring it up . . .
Stifling a groan, Michelle slipped out from under the weight of Jared’s arm and tried to find another comfortable position, tried to invite the b
lessed blankness of sleep back into her mind. But now she was dreading Sunday, dreaded having to choose between her children—that, or telling both of them their summer dreams were just that. Dreams.
O God, what should we do?
Did that qualify as a prayer? Did God even care about cheerleading and basketball when the whole world was in such a mess?
Jared’s breathing slowed and she realized her husband had fallen asleep. But Michelle stared into the darkness for a long time.
Chapter 3
Finally! Everyone out the door and into the car.
Michelle let out a long breath as Jared did a U-turn in the cul-de-sac. Getting the whole family anywhere on time was still almost as bad as when the twins were toddlers and Destin in kindergarten. At least when the kids were little she and Jared could wrestle them into their clothes or snowsuits or whatever and cart them out to the car like sacks of groceries. Now, getting three teenagers out the door for church was like trying to herd cats. “I can’t wear this dress! Makes me look fat!” . . . “Mom! Destin’s taking too long in the bathroom!” . . . “Tavis, go back and brush your teeth!” . . . “Anyone seen my Sunday school booklet?” . . . “Did you talk to Dad yet about you-know-what?” . . . “Where did Tabby disappear to?” . . . At least they’d finally replaced her small SUV with a “pre-owned” Honda minivan, which gave them a bit more room.
“Who’s that guy with Miz Meredith?” Tavis asked as the Jasper minivan passed her house. “Saw him last night . . . an’ that ain’t her car.”
Michelle twisted her head and looked back. Grace waved at them as Jeff What’s-His-Name opened the passenger door of a silver Camaro. “That’s her agent. I met him last night. He’s from Colorado, came to Chicago on business. But maybe he’s picking her up for church.” The couple was dressed in suits—hers feminine, navy and white, skirt skimming her knees; his tailored, gray, with a dark tie. Were they a couple? Had he come to pick her up from wherever he stayed last night? Or had he—