by Neta Jackson
And . . . maybe she was worried about nothing. Teenagers in every generation annoyed their parents with their ideas about what was cool, didn’t they? Even her mother had told stories about rolling up her waistband to look like a miniskirt back in the sixties. And Michelle herself had worn baggy sweaters off her shoulder and garish neon tights with bulky leg warmers—the mismatched eighties look—when she hit thirteen.
Well, tomorrow. She’d talk to Jared tomorrow. Maybe he’d know what to do . . .
The alarm cut into her consciousness in what felt like mere moments after she fell asleep. Daylight had already brightened the bedroom in spite of the closed blinds and the digital clock said 6:01. She flung out an arm—but Jared’s side of the bed was empty. Already gone and starting his new shift at the airport.
Michelle sighed as she stuffed her feet into her slippers, pulled on her robe, and headed for the bathroom in the basement. Three more days to plow through and then they’d be on their way to Indiana. A three-day vacation! Except . . . knowing Jared wouldn’t be going took a lot of the air out of her joy.
So did finding out that Jared had to lead prayer meeting that night at Northside, since Pastor Q and First Lady Donna were already on their way to Rantoul to help Donna’s sister with funeral arrangements. Well, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Setting Tabby to work loading the dishwasher after supper and reminding Tavis that he was grounded, she left Destin in charge and told Jared she was coming with. It’d be a chance anyway to check in with Sister Norma about her research on that video series they’d discussed for the summer women’s events. And she’d at least have the ride to and from church to catch Jared up on what was going on with their youngest son.
“He what?” Jared snorted in disgust when she told him about the assistant principal’s phone call. “Sounds like that boy needs his britches warmed.”
Michelle flipped his arm with the back of her hand. “Oh, right. He’s too big for a spanking. But I did ground him for the rest of this week—including no TV or video games. But what bothers me, Jared, is he wouldn’t say anything when I asked him why? He was sure to be noticed at Stone, which has a strict dress code just a hair shy of uniforms. I mean, it doesn’t make sense!”
Jared drove silently for a few minutes. Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll talk to him tonight when we get home. Did you ask Tabby about it? She probably knows what’s going on.”
“Believe me, I was tempted! But I don’t want to put her in the position of being a tattletale on her brother. And for some reason she hasn’t said anything, which isn’t like her. She’s usually quick to spill the beans about stuff that happens at school, whether Tavis wants her to or not—like when that bully was messing with him.”
“Hmm. You think it’s related?”
Michelle shrugged. “Wish I knew.”
Jared turned into the church parking lot. Only a few cars. And to her husband’s credit, he kept the meeting to an hour, spending the first fifteen minutes giving a short devotional on God’s never-failing presence even when we go through tough times. “The psalmist included this promise in the Twenty-Third Psalm: ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me’ . . . ”
Michelle smiled to herself. A number of Northside members still preferred the old King James Version with its “thees” and “thous,” even though she and Jared and others used modern versions. Still, there was something lyrical and beautiful about the old English language for those old familiar passages.
Jared passed out blank index cards—there were only about twenty people in attendance—and asked everyone to jot down a prayer request, which they could sign with their names or not. He then asked everyone to gather in groups of three or four, trade cards, and pray for one another.
Nice, Michelle thought as she scooted over in the pew to pray with Mother Brown and Sister Mavis. Pastor Q always did prayer meeting the same old way—stand up, state your prayer request (some of which often bordered on “holy gossip”), while Pastor Q jotted down a list. Then he’d appoint someone to pray for each request. And sometimes those prayers got long and fervent, almost as if each person was trying to outdo the previous one.
“I liked that,” she told Jared on the way home. “It was more personal.” Made her think of the prayer time she’d had at Grace Meredith’s home last Sunday.
He glanced at her and grinned. “Glad to hear it. Didn’t hear any complaints—yet. But I’ve been thinking we need to change something about these midweek prayer meetings. Seems like fewer people come every week.”
She poked him playfully. “Mm-hm. So the mouse comes out to play while the cat’s away, is that it?”
Jared chuckled. “Something like that.”
But as he parked the Altima in front of the house ten minutes later and shut off the engine, he just sat for a few minutes before getting out, shoulders sagging. “Think I’ll get to bed. Had a really short night last night and have to get up early again. And then it’s night shift tomorrow night.”
So what else was new? He did this crazy 2-2-1 schedule every week. Barely caught up on normal sleep over the weekend and then it started all over again. “Thought you were going to talk to Tavis when we got home. Find out why he’d do such a stupid thing, knowing he was just going to get in trouble.”
Jared snorted as they got out of the car and walked toward the front door. “Why? Huh! Don’t see any reason to make a big deal about ‘why.’ He broke the rules, he’s grounded, that’s the way it is. Period.” He opened the front door with his key, then muttered, “Don’t worry. I intend to talk to him. I’m going to read him the riot act for trying to dress like some gangbanger. No son of mine is going to feed the negative stereotype of young black males as thugs and hoods!”
Chapter 15
By the time Friday rolled around, Michelle was tempted to throw the kids and suitcases into the minivan and head out of town as soon as she got home. Which was ridiculous, she told herself, because she hadn’t even packed yet—in fact, she still had a few loads of laundry to do tonight so they could take clean clothes to her parents’ house. Not to mention the usual holiday traffic tying up the interstates on Friday night, and the fact that she felt tired. Really tired.
A better idea. She’d phone Jared and suggest they all go out to eat tonight, something special to do together before leaving him alone for the weekend. And she wouldn’t have to cook. Michelle glanced at her watch . . . three thirty. Jared had gone to bed almost as soon as he got home that morning from his night shift, but if he wasn’t up by now, he should be or he wouldn’t sleep tonight.
Pushing aside the reports she was filling out, she called the house. No answer. She tried his cell phone . . . and got a sleepy, “Jared here.”
“Hi, hon. Sorry if I woke you. Hope you had a good sleep.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Uh . . . . Need to get going anyway. What’s up?”
She heard rustling and movement as if he was getting out of bed and pulling on some clothes. “Thought it might be nice for the five of us to go out together tonight for supper since you’re not going with us to Fort Wayne. Wanted to run the idea by you before the kids got home. We can decide where later.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess . . .” More rustling and grunting. “What about Tavis being grounded?”
She felt a twinge of annoyance. Couldn’t he be more enthusiastic? As for Tavis . . . “Dinner out with the family is different. Especially in view of the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
Now she heard the unmistakable sounds of the coffeemaker starting to drip.
“Us going away for the weekend,” she said, trying to sound patient.
A long pause on the other end.
“Jared?”
“Wish you weren’t going. The timing is lousy.”
Now she was the one who let silence sit between them. Anything she said at that moment was going to come out wrong. Or nasty. Finally she said, “The timing. Uh-huh.
It’s never a good time, Jared.”
He sighed in her ear. “Look. I know going to see your folks is a good thing. But maybe Destin should stay home with me. The boy should be spending the weekend looking for a summer job. We made a deal, remember? And he hasn’t done squat to look for work.”
The twinge had grown to full-fledged irritation now. “Don’t put this on me at the last minute, Jared. You’ve already pulled yourself out of our family trip. I’m not going to let you pull Destin out too.”
“I’m just sayin’ . . . it’s lousy timing.”
“No. The pastor asking you to fill the pulpit this weekend was the lousy timing.” Okay, she knew that didn’t help anything, but it came out anyway.
“Yeah, you made that clear.” Another pause.
Argh. Did she even want to go out to supper with Jared and the kids now? She took a deep breath. “Look, I gotta go. I have a few more reports to do before I can leave the office.” She hung up before she said what was really on her mind.
But as she drove home a couple of hours later, she had to admit Destin needed to take more initiative. There weren’t that many summer jobs for teens out there, and it was usually the go-getters who got hired. School would be out in a few weeks and it’d be great to have something lined up. But keeping Destin home this weekend only penalized the whole family.
Oh Lord . . . ! Sitting at a red light, she almost closed her eyes, feeling an urge to cry out to God to work out all the details they were trying to juggle—but a car horn behind her reminded her she’d better pray with eyes open. She had a green light. Lord, I really want to go to my folks this weekend . . . really need a break . . . and I want the kids to come with, so we can just spend some fun time together. So, please, Lord, provide a job for Destin even if he’s not out looking this weekend.
By the time she parked the minivan in front of their house on Beecham Street, her irritation had dissipated, and she was able to give Jared a genuine glad-to-be-home kiss and get the laundry started before they headed out to the Flat Top Grill—the kids’ choice, which won three to two over Red Lobster. The kids were excited about leaving early the next morning, and she sat back, enjoying the everyone-talking-at-once banter and laughing at their bungled attempts to use chopsticks to eat the big bowls of made-to-order stir-fry . . . though she noticed that Jared seemed somewhat subdued.
Only later as she fell into bed—laundry finally dried and folded, suitcases packed—did it occur to her that maybe there was something else behind Jared’s “lousy timing” comment. This was the first time her husband would be preaching in front of the whole church . . . and she wouldn’t be there to give him moral support.
“Honey?” she whispered, laying a hand on his bare chest. “I’m really sorry I won’t be here when you preach on Sunday. I’d love to hear your sermon.” But all she heard from the other pillow was a soft snore.
* * *
Hot coffee in her travel cup. Bottles of water and snacks in the picnic cooler. Three sleepy teenagers belted into the minivan. A promise to stop at the first McDonald’s they came across once out of the city limits for Egg McMuffins. Cheery waves to Jared, standing on the curb in the cool, early morning sunshine to see them off.
Hopefully he’d find the note she’d written to him, saying she was sorry to miss his sermon on Sunday and would be praying for him, which she’d tucked into his underwear drawer.
Michelle was grateful they’d waited till Saturday morning to make the drive to Indiana. She felt more rested. Traffic was minimal. They sailed through the city along Lake Shore Drive, the magnificent glass and steel buildings of the Loop catching brilliant flashes of the early morning sun rising higher over Lake Michigan. Only scattered clouds, no rain in the forecast. A perfect day for driving.
“I can drive if you get tired,” Destin offered hopefully from the front passenger seat.
“Sorry, buddy. Your permit says you can only drive with one adult. You haven’t driven on the highway yet.” And frankly, she’d rather he not practice with the twins in the car. But she playfully punched his arm. “Maybe your grandpa will take you driving this weekend.”
Michelle slid a mix of favorite gospel music into the CD player and the minivan rocked as the kids bounced in their seatbelts and clapped to the music. But after their breakfast stop, all three kids retired behind their own earbuds and iPods—Christmas gifts from Bibi and Babu, of course.
Near Valparaiso, she got off the toll road and took Route 30, the most direct route to Fort Wayne, though a little slower than the interstate. Both routes took about the same time, however, and she pulled up in front of her parents’ home in the southeast part of the city by ten thirty—though with the time change it was already eleven thirty in Indiana.
“There they are!” The screen door of the two-story, white-frame house slammed behind Michelle’s parents as they crossed the porch and came down the steps. All three kids piled out of the minivan to give their grandparents hugs. “Come in, come in. Got some lemonade ready, bet you’re thirsty . . . Now, now, what’s this?” Coral Robinson held Tabitha at arm’s length, eyeing her critically. “You letting your hair grow out, young lady? You better learn how to take care of it then. None of this bushy stuff. Mm-mm.”
“Will you braid it for me, Bibi? It’s long enough now. I like how you do it.” Tabby tucked her hand into the crook of her grandmother’s elbow and happily disappeared with her through the screen door.
Martin Robinson grabbed Destin to help unload the suitcases from the back of the minivan. “Don’t mind your mother, Micky,” he muttered to Michelle. “She’s just looking for an excuse to do the hair thing with Tabby like she used to do with you.”
Michelle grinned at the childhood nickname and glanced up and down the street of older frame houses, mostly painted white or yellow, with the occasional pale blue or weathered green thrown in, plus the one with the daring red trim. Across the street a couple of older folks sitting out on their wide porch waved. Here and there bicycles and riding toys had been left sprawled on the grass or parked on the cracked sidewalks.
The old, familiar neighborhood. Probably still mostly African American. Some things never changed.
She followed her dad and Destin into the house, pulling her own carry-on suitcase. Warm, savory smells drifted from the kitchen. Her mother probably had a pot of greens and smoked ham hocks on the stove already for tonight’s supper. Frosty glasses of lemonade in hand, Tabby and Tavis were helping themselves to homemade oatmeal cookies cooling on the kitchen counter.
“I said they could take a couple since it’s not quite lunchtime yet,” Coral Robinson said, daring anyone to contradict her.
“Mom, they’ll be spoiled rotten by the time I take them home.”
“That’s the idea.” Her mother winked. “What else are grandfolks for? Now come here, Micky, and give your mother some sugar. Haven’t had a hug yet from my baby.”
Michelle realized it only took about five minutes of coming home before she felt about twelve again. Still “Micky.” Still their little girl. Not that she minded totally. Maybe, she admitted to herself, that’s what she came home for. Being Mom-in-Charge at home and Caseworker-on-Call at work felt overwhelming at times. A little motherly TLC might be just what the doctor ordered.
As usual, Michelle settled into her old room with the full bed, while the boys took over her brother Martin Jr.’s old room and Tabby got the guest room that doubled as her mother’s sewing room, all on the second floor. She texted Jared telling him they’d arrived safely, and then flopped back on the faded flowered bedspread.
Her folks looked good. She got her own warm, caramel complexion from her parents. In their early seventies, both Martin and Coral Robinson had let their hair go silvery-grey, though her mom probably used a silver rinse too, making her short “natural” look perky and elegant, especially with the big silver hoop earrings she liked to wear. Dad’s hairline had receded, but his wrinkles were all in the right places, laugh lines crinkling at the side
s of his eyes and creating long dimples on either side of his mouth.
“Bibi says lunch is ready!” Tavis yelled up the stairs. “Hurry up! I’m hungry!”
Over gooey toasted cheese sandwiches, pickles, potato chips, and apple wedges, the grandparents wanted to hear all about Destin’s track meet and what kind of plans they had for the summer.
“I’m going to one of the Five-Star Basketball Camps!” Destin enthused. “That’s where Michael Jordan was discovered. College scouts come there an’ everything, Babu.”
“Great! What about you, sport?” Babu pointed a pickle at Tavis.
Tavis shrugged. “I dunno. Nothin’.”
“What? That’s a good recipe for trouble, young man. Don’t you usually go to day camp?” He sounded stern but he winked at Michelle. “Send him down here, Micky, and we’ll keep him busy mowing the lawn, painting the porch, picking up trash—”
“Babu!” Tavis protested. “I’m a kid! Kids don’t have to work.”
“Hmph. They did in my day.”
“Well, I wanted to go to cheerleading camp, but I can’t. It’s not fair.” Tabby stuck out her lower lip.
“Why not?” Michelle’s mother aimed the question at her. “Why, there’s an excellent Christian cheer camp right here in Fort Wayne. Tabitha could stay with us if it’s too expensive to stay onsite.”
“See, Mom?” Tabby said.
“Tabby, you know that’s not it.” Michelle gave her daughter The Look before turning back to her mother. “Mom, all the cheer camps we researched—including the one here in Fort Wayne—require that participants come as a team with their coach. Tabby’s school doesn’t have a cheer squad, so she needs to wait till high school.”
“Yeah, but it’s still not fair,” Tabby muttered.
“Well, I agree with Tabitha.” Bibi looked offended. “You’d think these camps would help prepare young ladies like Tabitha who want to try out for high school teams.”
“See, Mom?”