by Neta Jackson
“She’s got an agent? Cool!” Destin sounded impressed.
Tabitha snickered from the second seat. Michelle caught her eye in the rearview mirror and frowned. Had her daughter read her thoughts? She needed to be careful. Like mother, like daughter.
Besides, Grace deserved the benefit of the doubt. Michelle hadn’t even known she was a believer until about a month ago. Hadn’t really talked much to her next-door neighbor, just the usual pleasantries, “Hello” and “Have a nice day” as they passed coming and going. Until Estelle Bentley moved into the neighborhood and invited Michelle to pray with the two of them that one time. She’d been surprised to find out Grace was a professional singer. Wouldn’t have guessed that someone who traveled around the country doing concert tours would live in their modest neighborhood like ordinary folks. But it did explain why the young woman seemed to be gone a lot.
So now there were three Christian families on their end of Beecham Street. Maybe there were others and they just didn’t know it. But if Michelle was to guess, their neighbor on the other side—the single guy in the mansion he’d built on the cul-de-sac—looked the playboy type. The wife of the Farid’s Lawn Service guy wore one of those Middle Eastern headscarves all the time, so Michelle presumed they were Muslim, though she didn’t really know because the family pretty much kept to themselves. And the “two dads” across the street raising the little boy didn’t exactly fit the church image—which might be unfair. What did “church image” have to do with anything?
Had to admit she didn’t really know any of the families at the other end of the block—though last night she met a mom who said she homeschooled her two children. White family, seemed nice. Why didn’t she see them around more if they were home that much?
Michelle sighed. Busy, busy. Everyone was just busy. Life in the big city.
Jared pulled their Honda minivan into the parking lot of Northside Baptist and was out the door seconds after finding an empty space. “Lock the car, will you?” he called over his shoulder, walking quickly toward the side door of the large brick building. “I need to catch Pastor Q before service.”
Michelle and the kids climbed out of the car. “He didn’t have to run.” Destin smirked. “Service always starts late anyway.”
Which was true. But she said, “Well, we need to set a good example and be on time anyway . . . oh, good morning, Mother Willa! How are you today?”
By the time Michelle had greeted and hugged and chatted her way into the sanctuary, the kids had settled into the back rows with other teens. Whatever happened to sitting together as a family? But it was hard to insist the kids sit with her when most of the other families let the young people sit together in the back, saying they were just glad the kids were in church. And Pastor usually wanted the deacons to sit up front, either in the row of wooden chairs with red plush seat cushions facing the congregation in front of the platform, or in the stately “thrones” on the platform behind the pulpit. So Jared didn’t sit with her either.
Like a good deacon’s wife, she headed for the second row near the middle aisle as the choir filed into the choir loft behind the platform. She was glad to see her friend Norma sitting with the altos—she’d been absent last Sunday. Michelle felt a stab of guilt. Should’ve called this week to see if she was sick or something. Shareese Watson in the soprano section was sporting a new weave halfway down her back, tinted reddish brown. Pretty . . . but good thing she was wearing a choir robe. Shareese sometimes came to church with a bit too much cleavage showing. The young woman seemed sincere enough, though. Eager to serve. Had recently joined the women’s ministry team, which was, well, a mixed blessing. Her eager-beaver ideas were a bit much at times—
“Hello, Sister Michelle. Family all doing well?” A matronly figure stopped by her pew and patted her shoulder.
Michelle jumped up. “Oh—good morning, Sister Donna!” She leaned into the aisle and gave Pastor Quentin’s wife a “churchy” hug. “Yes, we’re all fine. Thank you.”
“Good. Good.” Northside’s First Lady moved on, greeting several other deacons’ wives.
Michelle smiled as the older woman, dressed conservatively in a modest black suit, neck scarf splashed with pink roses, and a simple black hat with a matching rose-colored bow, settled down in the first pew. Sister Donna and Pastor Quentin had been at Northside for . . . well, twenty-five years. The last Pastor’s Anniversary, an annual event, had been a big “silver anniversary” celebration.
When the Jaspers first came to the church ten years ago, Sister Donna seemed to be everywhere—heading up the women’s ministry, teaching Sunday school, singing in the choir, chairing Women’s Day and Men’s Day committees. But five years ago or so, the First Lady of Northside began to let all that go, encouraging other women to take over those roles. That’s when she’d tapped Michelle to take over women’s ministry. Now the First Lady basically functioned as “mother” to the congregation, praying for people, spreading words of encouragement.
Took a lot of wisdom and maturity to step aside, Michelle mused. Unlike some pastors’ wives she’d known.
A rustling around her clued her that the congregation was standing up as Pastor Quentin walked in from the side room, followed by the associate minister, the minister of music, and the four deacons. Three of the deacons headed for the chairs below the pulpit, but Michelle noted her husband stayed on the platform today. Jared was still a good-looking man at forty-two, hair worn short with just a few flecks of gray at the temples. He’d put on a few pounds in their almost-twenty-year marriage, but he wore them well. The wire-rim glasses and neatly trimmed moustache made him look sophisticated and serious—until he grinned and revealed his dimples.
“Good morning, church!” boomed the rotund minister of music, stepping to the microphone. “Good morning!” bounced back from all corners of the room. “Praise the Lord! Keep to your feet, saints, while we worship the Lord in his sanctuary today.” Turning around, he snapped his fingers—one, two, three, four—as the gifted young man at the piano launched an intro to Israel Houghton’s new gospel song, “Saved by Grace.” Michelle wasn’t sure of all the words yet, but led by the choir, clapping and stepping side to side, filling the house with joyous music, she let the song carry her into worship. That was why they were here, after all.
* * *
“Sister Michelle!” Shareese Watson bore down on her from the choir loft after Pastor Quentin’s benediction, her long weave and unzipped choir robe flying. “Is the women’s ministry team still meeting on today?”
The open robe revealed a decidedly plunging neckline, barely containing a full, attractive bosom that obviously hadn’t nursed three babies. Michelle felt conflicted. Should she say something? She didn’t want to embarrass the girl . . . but if she didn’t, one of the fussy “church mothers” might—or, worse, one of the male ushers or deacons. That made up her mind. No way did she want Jared to feel he had to speak to this young woman.
Michelle glanced at the clock on the wall at the back of the sanctuary. It was already 1:20. Church had gone long. “Yes, we are, in about ten minutes in the lounge. But can I—”
“Oh, good! Because I have a great idea for our women’s ministry!” Shareese giggled. “See you in ten!”
“—see you for a minute first?” dropped unheard into empty space because the weave, the robe, and the young woman flitted off like a canary released from its cage.
Michelle blew out a breath. Well. She’d take Shareese aside before or after their committee meeting.
But even though she got to the lounge a few minutes early, Shareese was already talking to Sister Norma, who was making coffee and setting out sweet rolls. And then the rest of the ladies on the committee came in, chatting away, making a beeline for the coffee, saying, “Oh, I shouldn’t” but taking one of the sweet rolls anyway, and settling down into the various couches and chairs that made up the lounge.
Well, hopefully she’d get a chance to talk to Shareese later.
; Michelle shushed the chatter, opened the meeting with a prayer, then asked for reflections about the Mother’s Day brunch last Sunday, which had taken the place of their regular second Saturday monthly event. She opened her notebook to take notes.
Heads were nodding around the circle. Most of the committee looked pleased.
“Sister Gleniece, the table decorations turned out so nice.” Michelle wanted to give credit where credit was due. Heads nodded again.
“Could’ve used more help,” Gleniece pouted. “I was up till two a.m. the night before.”
Decorations need more help, Michelle jotted in her notebook.
Mavis, the committee treasurer, spoke up. “The food was good. We got compliments. But ordering pastas and salads from Maggiano’s this year put us over our budget.”
Rolled eyes. “What do you want us to do, cook our own Mother’s Day brunch?”
“We could ask the brothers to cook it.”
This was met by general laughter. “If they did, you know we’d end up with ribs on the grill and baked potatoes loaded with sour cream.”
Michelle wrote, Increase food budget for M-D Brunch?
“Speakin’ of the mens, don’t know why we had to plan the Mother’s Day brunch. Should’ve been the deacons or some men’s committee.” Sister Paulette had been through two nasty divorces and could be counted on to stick it to the men.
The deacons? Michelle wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Um, Sister Michelle?” Shareese was waving her hand. “The Mother’s Day brunch was nice and all, but . . . what about us women who aren’t mothers? Some of the sisters feel left out.”
“Girl, don’t be a wet blanket!” Paulette had no qualms about being a wet blanket herself. “What are we s’posed to do? Cancel Mother’s Day?” The mother of six glared at Shareese. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Um . . .” Michelle scrambled for words. Every few years this complaint came up. “We do have Women’s Day, you know, which celebrates the gifts of all the women and girls in the church. So I think—”
“I know, but . . .” Shareese seemed undeterred by Paulette’s glares. “I went to this other church once with my girlfriend—one of those multicultural churches—and they put the emphasis on ‘everyone has a mother’ and gave out boutonnieres to everyone.”
“Everyone!” Paulette spouted. “It’s Mother’s Day, for God’s sake.”
“Now, Sister Paulette,” Mavis said sternly. “We don’t take God’s name in vain.”
“Oh, for—” Paulette pressed her lips into a line.
“Just let me finish,” Shareese said. “That church gave out red carnations if your mother was still alive, and white carnations if she had passed. So everyone got to be included, but mothers were still the guests of honor. I thought it was real nice.”
Michelle nodded. “We’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, Shareese.” She wrote down, Red and white carnations for everyone?
It was time to move on. “Thanks, sisters. These are good suggestions for next year. But we should move on, because we need to decide what to do for our monthly events during the summer. The second Saturday of June is just around the corner.”
Shareese was beaming again. “I have an idea. We could start a women’s book club!”
Objections immediately peppered the air. “A book club? Who has time to read!” . . . “Would we have to buy a book?” . . . “Don’t book clubs go on for months? That could get boring.” . . .
“We wouldn’t have to do it at our monthly event. This could be something extra, maybe just during the summer on some other night. Could even meet in someone’s home. I’d be glad to host it.”
“Every week?” someone squeaked.
“No, no. We’d pick a book, maybe something by Beth Moore or . . . or Tony Evans’s daughter—Priscilla, I think her name is. Churches all over study their books. We’d all read the book on our own time and then meet at the end of the month to discuss it.” Shareese tossed her long weave. “Women really should read more.”
Michelle stifled a groan. Another night gone? She, for one, wasn’t buying it. But as head of the women’s ministry, she had to say something. “Well, thanks, Shareese. That’s one idea. Let’s see if there are other ideas. Anyone?”
Chapter 4
All three kids had sour faces as they piled into the minivan. “Why do you guys always schedule meetings after church? It’s so late!” Tabitha could put on a good whine.
“Because,” their father said, “everyone’s already at church and it saves time.”
“Your time,” Tavis muttered from the third seat.
Michelle took a deep breath. Be calm. Ignore the grouchiness. They’re just hungry. “Where should we go for lunch? Old Country Buffet?”
“We always go there.” Tabitha again.
“Then Old Country Buffet it is!” Jared grinned sideways at Michelle.
“Hey. If we brought both cars to church, I could drive the twins home and you guys could come later,” Destin said hopefully. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have a driver’s license yet.” Praise Jesus, Michelle thought.
“Well, soon’s I finish driver’s ed in two weeks, I can get my license.”
Jared grunted. “You still need more practice behind the wheel, son. No license until your mother and I think you’re a safe driver—and can afford the extra insurance.”
“But, Dad! You guys never take me out! You’re always too busy!”
Michelle looked out the side window.
“We’re all busy, Destin,” said his father. “Even you. I know you’re just doing track now to stay in condition for basketball, but you’ve got practice nearly every day after school and meets every other weekend.”
“Yeah, I know. But . . . how ’bout this afternoon? We could go over to the cemetery and do some driving.”
Michelle glanced at Jared. “Would they let you do that? In the cemetery?” Beecham Street came to a dead-end at the cul-de-sac because of St. Mark’s Cemetery, which sat right behind the “McMansion.” A section of the cemetery also ran behind their own house along the alley. Made for quiet “neighbors.”
“Wait a minute!” Tabitha protested. “Dad! Mom promised we could talk about cheerleading camp today. Did she talk to you yet?”
“Duh. You can’t be a cheerleader,” Tavis said. “Middle schools don’t have cheerleaders.”
“Some do! An’ anyway, I wanna be ready to try out next summer for high school.”
“I need to go to basketball camp this summer,” Destin cut in. “So wait your turn, twerp.”
“Okay, stop it, all three of you!” Jared’s voice was sharp. “Mom and I haven’t had a chance to talk about any summer plans. Let’s just go have lunch, no discussion in the restaurant, and we’ll talk about this stuff later.”
“And practice driving, right?” Destin added.
Jared’s hands tightened on the wheel. “I got it, Destin. Now let it go.”
* * *
Everyone seemed in a better mood after all-you-can-eat at Old Country Buffet. Getting out of church late even had its advantages, as the usual Sunday line had dwindled and they didn’t have to wait long. And when they pulled up in front of the house, Jared said, “Might as well get some driving practice now, Destin. That okay with you, Michelle?”
“Fine. Go.” Michelle waved them off and unlocked the front door for the twins.
“Mo-om . . .” Tabitha started.
“Honey, don’t worry. We’re going to talk about it. Go get your homework done.”
Still on the front stoop, Michelle glanced across the street at the Bentleys’ graystone two-flat a couple houses down. How was Mrs. Krakowski making out her first day back home in her old apartment? Her son had come earlier in the week with a rental truck bringing Mrs. K’s old furniture back, which had been cleared out when the house got sold. At least Michelle presumed that was her son—the same middle-aged man who’d brought the elderly woman back last night.
Should she go
over and welcome her back to the neighborhood? Michelle hesitated . . . maybe later. It’d been a long day already. She was ready to get out of her church clothes and into a pair of jeans. And she and Jared still had to talk about these summer camps Tabby and Destin were so pushy about. Besides, she should probably get the clean laundry sorted so the kids could fold and put away their clothes before the school week started. Most of it just got stuffed in their drawers, but she couldn’t worry about that. Maybe it was time for them to wash their own clothes too. Now that was a good idea. She could assign each a different day, and if they didn’t do it on their day, too bad.
Yeah, too bad . . . if she could stick to her guns. Seemed like all three kids knew which buttons to press to get her to make exceptions.
Michelle was putting away the last of her and Jared’s clean laundry when he came into the bedroom, tossed the car keys in the tray on his dresser, and pulled off his tie. “Hey. Got any clean sweats in there? I’m ready to get out of this suit.”
“How’d he do?”
Jared shrugged as his suit pants and dress shirt came off. “Not bad. He’s coming along. Not ready for that license yet though.” He pulled on the pair of sweats and sweatshirt she handed him. “Hope there’s a good game on. We got any snacks?”
“A game? Jared! Could we talk about Destin and Tabby before you turn on the TV? Or they’ll be bugging us the rest of the day.”
He groaned. “Yeah, right.” He sank into the only chair that fit into their small bedroom. “What about this cheerleading camp? They don’t have cheerleaders at Stone Scholastic, do they? And she and Tavis will only be in eighth grade next year.”
She took the bed. “Right. But Tabby’s got her heart set on trying out for cheerleader at the high school a year from now, and she thinks going to one of the middle school cheer camps this summer would give her some good experience. She says she’s found some camps in the Chicago area and wants to talk about them with us.”