by Neta Jackson
She rang the doorbell at 7333 and was surprised when the door opened mere seconds later.
“Oh!” Grace seemed surprised. “I thought you were—” She laughed and looked over Michelle’s shoulder. “Never mind. Here she is now.” Grace waved and Michelle turned to see Estelle Bentley bustling across the street.
“I’m sorry. Looks like I chose a bad time to bring these to you. I can just drop them off.” Michelle held out the heavy plastic bag, then stepped aside to make room for Estelle as she came up the steps.
“What’s this?” Grace took the bag and peeked inside. “Oh, great! The brochures from Lifeline. Thanks so much!” She looked up. “No, no, it’s not a bad time. In fact, it’s perfect. Look, Estelle . . .” The young woman reached into the bag and pulled out one of the brochure packets to show their new neighbor. “Michelle brought the brochures I need for my Memorial Day weekend concerts.”
Estelle Bentley, clothed in a lightweight caftan with a big swirly purple-and-white print, chuckled. “Just in time to pray over them. Can you stay, Sister Michelle?”
“Stay?”
As Grace stepped back inside, Estelle took Michelle’s arm and ushered her into Grace’s house. “Mm-hm. Was just comin’ over to pray with Sister Grace about her concerts next weekend, and to my way of thinkin’, two is good, but three is even better.” But she paused before closing the door. “If you can stay, that is.”
“Well . . . sure. I guess. Better let the family know where I am.” Well, Jared knew, but she’d said she’d “be back in a sec.” Pulling her cell phone out of the pocket of her capri pants, she sent a quick text. Staying to pray. Be back—she hesitated, then typed—when we’re done.
Grace had a frosty pitcher of iced tea and two glasses on the coffee table. Disappearing into the kitchen, she came back with a third glass, looking a little sheepish as she poured out the tea. “Okay, Estelle, I tried to make sweet tea the way you make it, but I’m not sure it tastes like yours.”
They all laughed and Michelle accepted a glass, even though she’d just had some at the Singers. “Feel like I’m barging in here.”
“No, no. I’m glad you came.” Grace, dressed in casual white slacks and a sleeveless black tank, curled up with her iced tea in the lone living room chair, leaving the couch for her guests. Her black-and-white kitty wandered into the room and hopped up into Grace’s lap. “I know everyone gets busy during the week, so I asked Estelle if she’d come pray with me this afternoon about the upcoming concerts. And having you show up at my door with the brochures at the same time—well, I think Estelle would say—”
“Ain’t no such thing as coincidences,” Estelle chuckled. “So how can we best pray for you, honey?”
Grace absently stroked the fur of her cat. “Well, safety for travel on a holiday weekend, first of all. I . . . I still haven’t flown anywhere since my January tour, and the train to Indianapolis gets in too late at night. So Sam and I are driving Friday, will meet the band there. Then I have two concerts in Louisville the same weekend—well, a Saturday night concert and then Sunday morning worship in the same big church—but that’s only a two-hour drive from Indy. Then we’ll drive home on Monday, which means we’ll be hitting holiday traffic.” She made a face. “But my tour in late June starts in Denver, so I need to decide whether to take the train, like I did for the West Coast tour a few weeks ago, or . . . whether I’m brave enough to fly again. Would appreciate prayer for that.”
Michelle looked from one to the other. Grace was afraid of flying?
Estelle caught her glance. “Grace had an upsetting experience last time she flew.” The older woman reached out and squeezed Grace’s hand. “But God is healing you in his own good time, isn’t he, baby.”
Grace nodded, giving Estelle a grateful smile. “I know I can’t live in fear. So . . . just keep praying about that, okay? Besides”—the singer reached across the cat for the bag of brochures she’d set on the coffee table—“I like Estelle’s idea of praying over these brochures. That God will touch the hearts of young people who pick up one of these after listening to the Just Grace concert, and give them whatever encouragement or courage they need since we don’t know each one’s story.”
“Amen to that!” Estelle waved a hand in the air, then raised her eyebrows at Michelle. “And how can we pray for you, sister?”
Michelle was taken off guard for a moment, then blurted, “Well, to be honest, I’m struggling with disappointment right now. We were supposed to go visit my parents in Fort Wayne for the holiday—and then our pastor asked Jared to fill in for him next Sunday because of a family funeral on the weekend.” She grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I think my husband should’ve stood up to the pastor, told him no, his family comes first. I mean, let someone else bring the message!”
“Oh, Michelle. That’s a real bummer.” Grace looked genuinely distressed. “Can you and your kids still go to your folks?”
Michelle nodded. “We are. It’s just . . . it’s so hard with our busy work schedules to ever get away or do things as a whole family! I’m having a hard time not being mad at Jared . . .” She stopped. She shouldn’t have said that. It was true, but not very loyal to her husband in front of these women. “But he does have his reasons,” she added hastily. “I need to respect that.”
Estelle patted her knee. “Don’t worry, honey. These family tensions are not always right versus wrong. Sometimes it’s two good things competin’ for the same time an’ space! But that’s a good reason to pray about it, that God would work this out for the good of all of you.”
Michelle wasn’t quite ready to give up the right-versus-wrong version, but didn’t say so.
“What about you?” Grace asked Estelle. “How can we pray for you?”
Estelle gave a little snort. “Hmph! Don’t get me started! But . . .” Her eyes got a troubled look. “Guess I’d like prayer for my Leroy. Oh, he’s grown an’ all, but he has his struggles, dealin’ with some serious mental health issues. Had to put him in a home to keep him safe from himself, but I still feel guilty sometimes not havin’ him with me, like I’m not being the mother I should be.”
“Oh, Estelle.” Michelle’s social-worker genes fired up. “I’m sure you’ve done all a mother could do. And you and Harry are raising DaShawn—”
“I know, I know. It’s just . . . sometimes I can’t help thinkin’, if we can raise Harry’s grandson, why can’t I be takin’ care of my boy?” The older woman’s eyes glistened and she fished in the roomy folds of her caftan for a tissue.
Harry’s grandson . . . my boy . . .
Michelle realized those few words hinted at complex family dynamics. Whatever their history, the Bentleys were dealing with a blended family with all its complications.
Estelle blew her nose and took a big breath. “Now, there, I’m fine. Anything else we should pray for? Let’s keep our Beecham Street neighborhood covered in prayer—’specially Miss Mattie, now that she’s back. Harry an’ I thought she’d enjoy havin’ her old apartment remodeled, but I think it confuses her. Not her ol’ familiar space. Plus she’s got some dementia goin’ on, makes it hard to have a straight conversation sometimes.” Estelle wagged her head. “Just pray for her, sisters. For Harry an’ me too.”
Well, if they were going to pray for the neighborhood . . . “We should pray for the Singers,” Michelle offered. “Greg and Nicole and their two kids, in the house second from the corner. Greg is making a job change, but it sounds like he quit his job without knowing exactly what’s next, and Nicole’s a stay-at-home mom, homeschools their two kids. I think it’s kind of a shock for her.”
Both Grace and Estelle stared at her. “She told you this?”
Michelle nodded. “Just this afternoon.” She suddenly wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Their news wasn’t hers to share with the other neighbors! In fact, the Singers probably wouldn’t have told them if Jared hadn’t gone there to accept Greg’s offer of tickets to one of his expos. After all, they ba
rely knew each other. “Uh . . . I’m sorry. I may have spoken out of turn. Please don’t say anything to them.”
Estelle patted her knee. “I know you’re just concerned about them, but we need to be careful not to pass on this kind of news without their permission. ‘Holy gossip,’ my pastor calls it.”
Michelle groaned. “I know, I know. I should’ve known better.”
“But since we do know, we should certainly pray for this family. Father God, you know our every thought, our every word, so you already know the burdens and concerns we have on our hearts . . .”
Estelle had moved right into a prayer without even closing her eyes, as if God was the fourth person sitting in Grace’s living room with them. Michelle wasn’t sure whether to shut her eyes or keep them open, but she was used to closing her eyes when she prayed, so she quickly bowed her head. It touched her when Estelle prayed for “the Jasper family” and the upcoming weekend, as if they really mattered to her. While the older woman was praying, Michelle mentally threw in all the other “Jasper concerns” she hadn’t even mentioned—summer plans for the kids, Destin needing a summer job, their tight finances, all her clients at Bridges she worried about, the girl she’d met that morning at Lifeline who’d been sexually abused by her relative, feeling overwhelmed and tired too often . . .
How long they prayed, Michelle wasn’t sure, though between the three of them they eventually covered all the requests that’d been mentioned. It felt good to pray. Felt right. Maybe she needed something like this, sisters getting together to help each other pray. Sharing their burdens. Being honest about their struggles in a safe environment . . .
Huh. No way could she share the struggle she was having with Jared at the prayer meeting at church. Talk about feeding the “holy gossip” machine!
“Amen!” Estelle heaved herself up from the couch. “Guess I better get on back an’ feed my menfolk.” But at the front door she turned back. “Oh, Sister Michelle, did you have a chance to think about comin’ to the shelter an’ talkin’ to the young ladies about the Lifeline Care Center an’—oh!” Estelle put her hand to her mouth—and then started to laugh. “Here I am, starin’ at a pot o’ gold in the middle of the room without even seein’ it!”
Grace and Michelle exchanged glances. What in the world was she talking about?
Estelle was still chuckling. “See, a couple days ago I asked Sister Michelle here if she’d come to Manna House and talk to our young girls—and some not so young—who are either poppin’ out babies left an’ right with no means of support, or else usin’ abortion as birth control. Either way, we got some sad cases who don’t know about the resources available to them. But”—she wagged her head—“crisis pregnancy centers like Lifeline provide help for young women who are already in trouble. What I’m realizin’ is, these girls need to catch a vision for who God created them to be, so they don’t just keep repeatin’ the same ol’ destructive cycle. You know, that thing you told me you like to say at your concerts, Grace . . . ‘You’re worth the wait,’ or somethin’ like that.”
Grace smiled, but it seemed like a sad smile. “Used to say. I changed the theme of my concerts, remember? Now I tell them about God’s gift of amazing grace, even when they mess up.”
Michelle felt slightly bewildered. Obviously, more was going on here than she knew about.
“I know, honey, I know,” Estelle said. “All I’m sayin’ is, can you both come to the shelter one of these days soon? Maybe you could sing for the ladies, Grace, and share a bit of your own story, the way you encourage those young people who come to your concerts. An’ Michelle, you could tell them they’ve got choices, an’ there are people willin’ to stand with ’em if they choose life. And there’s healin’ to be had if they do make a bad choice. So many of these girls just let life happen, don’t feel they’ve got a choice. Then they drown their guilt and shame with drugs and alcohol or a series of johns.”
“I . . . well, I guess I could.” Grace went to the secretary desk and picked up her DayTimer. “Next weekend is out obviously. It’d have to be sometime in June before I leave for my next tour. Are you thinking during the week or on the weekend?”
Estelle tossed the question to Michelle with a raised eyebrow.
“Would have to be a weekend for me. Maybe the first weekend in June? That’s two weeks from now.” She’d work it out somehow.
Grace shrugged. “I don’t have any concerts that weekend. But . . . let me think about it a little more, okay? I haven’t shared my personal story with very many people. Not sure I’m there yet.”
“Absolutely, honey.” Estelle wrapped Grace in a big hug, her caftan wrapping up the slender woman like a cocoon, then unwrapped her and gave Michelle a hug too.
But as Estelle and Michelle started for the door, Grace said, “Wait. Actually, I would like to come to Manna House sometime soon—especially if Ramona is still there. I’d really like to see her again. Our last interaction was so . . . unfinished.”
Estelle nodded with a knowing smile. “She’s still there. Will be for a while.”
They said their good-byes and the door shut behind them. Estelle headed across the street and Michelle cut across the tiny front lawns to her own house next door. Who was Ramona? And why did Grace know someone staying at the Manna House shelter?
Well, guess she’d find out.
Chapter 14
Only two days into the workweek and Michelle already felt desperate for the weekend. She’d spent most of Monday in court on behalf of a child in a custody dispute, half of Tuesday at a group home trying to calm a staff member who was threatening to remand one of her boys back to the juvenile justice system for rule violations, and she missed her lunch hour trying to set up a meeting between the principal, homeroom teacher, and foster mom of a kid who’d been skipping school. Not to mention the temperature had hiked up into the low nineties, dragging the humidity with it.
On top of all that she got a call Tuesday afternoon from the assistant principal at Stone Scholastic saying Tavis had been sent to the office for improper school attire, and since this was his third warning, he was contacting the parents.
“Improper . . . ? Improper how?” Michelle was incredulous. “He went to school in a pair of black pants and a plain white polo shirt we got from the school store.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Well, the pants he’s wearing right now are at least three sizes too big, no belt, and pulled down around his butt, gangbanger style.”
“Tavis?” She was about to say, Put that boy on the phone! But this wasn’t the time. “All right . . . I appreciate you calling me. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll deal with it.” Michelle hung up and massaged her temples. Not we . . . she’d have to deal with it. Jared didn’t get home till eleven on Tuesdays—if he came home at all. His day shifts started on Wednesday at six, so he either slept at the airport or had to leave the house by five. Either way, it’d be tomorrow night before Jared could deal with it.
Tavis was holed up in his room when she got home. “Are you gonna tell Dad?” he asked sullenly when she cornered him behind the closed bedroom door.
“You bet.” But she wasn’t going to tell his dad until tomorrow night. No point upsetting an air traffic controller on duty. As empathetic as her husband might be toward those kids who’d come off the street during prayer meeting last week, she’d also heard him verbally blister a few church kids. “Pull those pants up, boy! Don’t let me see you dressing like some fool gangbanger!” He had a thing about giving the wrong impression by the way a kid dressed and carried himself.
Michelle pulled out the wooden chair from the boys’ desk and faced her youngest, who’d flopped on his brother’s lower bunk. She noticed he’d changed into his usual afterschool clothes—athletic shorts, T-shirt. “What’s going on, Tavis? Where’d you get the clothes you were wearing at school today? And sit up when I’m talking to you.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up but didn’t look
at her.
“Tavis!”
“Okay, okay. They’re . . . Destin’s.”
“Destin’s!” Michelle threw up her hands. “For heaven’s sake, why?”
Tavis shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Not good enough. Why? You know the rules. Even if the school didn’t have a dress code, you know your father and I don’t want you dressing ‘street.’”
A mumble. “You wouldn’t understand, Mom.”
“Try me.”
Tavis just shook his head sullenly. The alarm clock ticked on the desk.
Finally she sighed. Maybe she should’ve left the whole thing for Jared to sort out. But she’d started this, had to finish it now. “Well, this conversation isn’t over. But you’re grounded for the rest of the week. No TV, no video games, no playing outside with DaShawn or any other friends.”
Tavis looked up, alarmed. “The rest of the week? But we’re going to Bibi and Babu’s house this weekend!”
Michelle pursed her lips. She didn’t want this hanging over the holiday weekend either. She drummed her fingers on the bedroom desk for a moment. “The weekend’s on probation. If you cooperate with the grounding until we leave and I don’t get any more calls from the school, I’ll cancel the grounding for the weekend. But you still have to answer to your dad.”
She stood up, but before leaving the room, she laid her hand on his nubby head for just a moment. Her baby . . . only thirteen. What was going on in his mind? I don’t want to lose my boy, Lord!
* * *
Jared got home late and crawled into bed. Michelle had had trouble falling asleep and was grateful he came home instead of staying out at the airport. She snuggled up to his broad, firm back in spite of the warm evening and sweaty sheets. How she wished she could talk to him about Tavis! But she could tell he was exhausted after his swing shift and knew he had to get up early.