by Neta Jackson
“In fact”—Michelle’s mother was on a roll—“I happen to know one of the administrators of that camp. She goes to our church. Maybe she’ll make an exception.”
“Oh, Bibi, would you?” Tabby’s eyes went wide.
“Mom. Please don’t. We don’t need any favors. And don’t raise Tabby’s hopes like that. She can try out for the high school team next summer after she graduates from eighth grade.”
“It never hurts to ask. Tabby, get that plate of cookies for dessert. Now . . . what do you kids want to do this afternoon? There’s a beautiful botanical garden downtown—”
“The chocolate factory!” yelled all three kids in unison.
Babu chuckled. “Gets my vote.”
“And Mom said we could go to that laser tag place while we’re here,” Destin added. “Can we go tonight?”
Michelle made a face. “I did kind of promise we’d check it out.
“Awesome!” Tavis pumped the air with the cookie he had in his fist.
“But if we do,” she added, “Bibi and I get to choose what we do tomorrow after church, right, Mom?”
Chapter 16
Ugh. Why did she feel so lousy? Michelle opened her eyes to the morning light, taking a few seconds to remember that she wasn’t in her bedroom at home, but her old room on Drexel Avenue in Fort Wayne. It wasn’t like she’d played laser tag herself last night. Lazer X had a lounge area of sorts where parents and nonplayers could wait, with fountain drinks and hot snacks like pizza, nachos, and soft pretzels. There was even a table looking into the laser tag arena from which she’d been able to spot her three teenage terrors from time to time, though the flashing strobe lights soon gave her a headache.
Michelle’s mother had elected to stay home, but her dad had gamely accompanied Michelle and the kids to the gigantic laser tag building near the Glenbrook Mall. She was prepared for the laser tag tickets—but of course the kids wanted to do the “LazerMaze” and play the video games in the arcade as well. Oh well, this weekend had one objective as far as she was concerned: letting the kids have fun. Her dad had generously footed the bill for soft drinks and nachos for her brood, who’d insisted they were “starving,” even though her mom had stuffed them all at supper with ham and fried chicken, as well as mac ’n cheese, savory greens, and strawberry pie.
It was eleven by the time they got back to the frame house she’d grown up in, and even though she’d taken a pass on the nachos, the soft pretzel she’d eaten didn’t sit well in her stomach. She’d had to get up twice to go to the bathroom.
Pulling on a bathrobe, she woke the kids, swished the blahs out of her mouth with mouthwash, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Her mother was pulling a large egg-sausage-bread casserole out of the oven.
“Good morning, Micky! Fresh coffee in the pot.”
“Uh, thanks, Mom, but think I’ll make some tea this morning. Do you have some herbal peppermint?” Michelle turned the flame on under the teakettle.
“What? Tea for breakfast? You aren’t sick, are you?” Bibi bustled over and put a hand on her forehead.
Michelle made a face. “No, I’m not sick. You’d want tea too if you’d spent four hours at Lazer X last night.”
Her mother chuckled. “Knew I made the right decision to stay home. Are the kids up? We need to leave for church in an hour.”
“I woke them. I’ll check again after I call Jared. He’s giving his first sermon this morning.” She foraged for a mug and the box of herbal tea, then sat down at the kitchen table with her cell phone. They’d gotten home too late to call last night.
“Well, you tell that husband of yours we’ll forgive him this time since he’s preaching. But I don’t take kindly to him missing my cooking.”
Michelle laughed. “You spoil him as much as you spoil the kids, Mom.”
She dialed Jared’s cell number, but after four rings the call went to voicemail. Rats. “Hi, honey. I was hoping to catch you before church this morning. Just want you to know I’m thinking about you and praying for you. I want to hear what you decided to preach on this morning. Will anyone record it? Okay, talk to you later. Love and kisses.” Disappointed, she ended the call. She should’ve called him last night, even if it was late.
Getting the kids up and ready on time for church was like pulling taffy on a cold day, but they were finally in the car, following her parents to the large Baptist church they attended. She’d begged off the rich breakfast casserole, saying her stomach was a little upset—which was true, but she also wanted to avoid all those calories her mother mixed into everything. If she weren’t careful, she’d end up waddling home to her husband like plump penguin.
A few of the “old folks” at St. John the Baptist Tabernacle remembered Michelle, but she’d been gone twenty years and the congregation had seen one pastor retire, another move on to “bigger and better pastures,” and the current pastor was barely thirty and looked like an NBA basketball player. “He’s attracting more young people, which is a good thing,” Michelle’s father said in an undertone as the six of them filled a pew. “But with all this newfangled music, just hope we don’t lose all the good ol’ gospel songs.”
“Not that your father can carry a tune,” her mother said with a wink.
Growing up at Baptist Tab, all the kids stayed during church. But the new pastor had instituted children’s church and a teen group during the sermon time. That was different. All three Jasper teens elected to stay in the worship service rather than go to the teen group, which didn’t surprise Michelle. They didn’t visit Bibi and Babu often enough to know any of the kids at Baptist Tab. But they seemed to enjoy the spirited choir in their black robes and African-print stoles, even though they smirked at the young pastor’s animated pacing and arm flailing during the sermon.
Michelle was distracted. How was Jared’s sermon going? She didn’t even know his sermon topic. In fact, had to admit she’d been pretty selfish about the whole weekend, looking at it only from her point of view, not his. If she could “Beam me up, Scotty,” she’d love to be sitting in her regular pew at Northside Baptist at that moment listening to Jared’s first sermon.
After the service, Michelle noticed her mother talking to a tall, willowy woman and pointing out her visiting family. Oh no, was this who she thought it was? Sure enough, her mother waved her over and introduced her. “Michelle, this is Trisha Burns, the woman I was telling you about who’s one of the administrators of the Christian Cheer Coalition here in Fort Wayne.” Bibi craned her neck, looking around the sanctuary. “Where did Tabitha go? I wanted Sister Trisha to meet her.”
Michelle felt her face flush. “I’m sorry, Ms. Burns. We know participants who come to your camp need to be part of a cheer squad, and Tabby’s not—”
“It’s all right.” The woman smiled graciously. “In fact, Sister Coral’s call last night was the third call I’ve had this week about girls wanting to come to our program who aren’t part of a cheer team yet. I’ve been thinking about possibly putting together a temporary ‘team’ of unattached girls for camp week. But that’s not a promise,” the woman added hastily. “I’ll need to talk to my staff and get their input.”
Coral Robinson patted her arm. “Well, it’s a wonderful idea. You can put my granddaughter Tabitha down as a ‘for sure’ if you put together a temporary team.”
As they walked away, Michelle said under her breath, “Mom, don’t get ahead of me here. She didn’t promise anything. I’d hate for Tabby to get all excited and then be disappointed again.”
“Oh, Micky, I’m perfectly confident Sister Trisha will make this happen. When is the camp? We’d love to have Tabitha stay with us that week. In fact, I’m sure your father and I will be happy to help with the tuition fee.”
“Well, don’t say anything to Tabby until we hear something more definite—”
Too late. Tabby was making a beeline for them. “Mom! Bibi! I saw you talking to that lady! Is that the cheerleading person you know, Bibi? What did she say?
Can I go?”
“She just—” Michelle started.
“She’s working on it, sweetheart,” Bibi cut in. “Just be patient. Come on, let’s go home and put our picnic lunch together. We’ve got lots of cold chicken left from last night’s supper and we can pick up some deli potato salad on the way. It’s a day of rest, right? Even grandmothers get one day off from cooking!”
* * *
The kids didn’t complain too much about going to the botanic gardens since it involved Bibi’s large picnic basket—but once they arrived, even they seemed mesmerized by the incredible butterfly exhibit in the indoor showcase garden. “Mom, Mom! Look at this one that looks like it’s got owl eyes on its wings!” and “Ohhh! That one’s so blue!” African drums and other percussion instruments lent an exotic air to the annual display . . . and that was only one of the many gardens they wandered through.
While her parents and offspring wandered through the tropical display, Michelle found a quiet corner to call Jared. Almost two o’clock; he should be home by now. But again her call went to voicemail. Strange. Was he mad at her for being gone this weekend? No, not mad—that wasn’t like Jared. Disappointed, maybe. She, on the other hand, had been angry at him for putting church before the family but had finally realized it didn’t help anything to stay mad.
She was relieved to see his caller ID when her phone rang an hour later as they strolled through one of the outdoor gardens, full of blooming azaleas, rhododendrons, and lovely purple heather. “Hey, Gumdrop. Sorry I didn’t answer the phone a while ago. Mother Willa dragged me home after church to feed me when she realized the family was gone this weekend.” He chuckled. “Your call came right in the middle of chowing down on jerk chicken, black beans, and plantains.”
Gumdrop . . . Michelle smiled at the pet name, something he used to call her all the time. Maybe she should go away more often. “I better not tell my mother you’re being fed by Miss Willa’s Jamaican cooking. She thinks your biggest loss this weekend is missing out on her soul food.”
“Well, your mom can cook, that’s for sure. Did she make strawberry pie?”
“She did.”
“Hmm. I don’t suppose—”
“The kids finished it off. Sorry.”
He sighed. “Dang. Oh well. Hey, your voicemail this morning said you wanted to hear about my sermon. I—”
“Honey? I . . . I do. But right now I’m standing in the middle of the botanic gardens here, and I’ve lost sight of the kids. Can I call you later when we get back to the house?”
“Oh. Okay. Talk to you later. Give my love to the kids—and to your folks too.”
Michelle pocketed her phone and hurried along the path where she’d last seen her parents and progeny. Playing phone tag wasn’t any fun . . . though sometimes it wasn’t any better back home, what with Jared’s crazy schedule during the week and their weekend commitments. She brushed away an involuntary tear. Passing like ships in the night—more like ships in a fog—pretty much described their marriage right now.
* * *
She intended to lie down for just a few minutes after they got home from the conservatory and then call Jared . . . but the next thing she knew she heard Tavis yelling up the stairs, “Bibi says supper’s ready in two minutes!”
What? She looked at the bedside clock. Six thirty already? She hadn’t realized she was so tired. Stumbling into the bathroom, she dashed cold water on her face, touched up her lipstick, and then made her way downstairs. “Supper” consisted of a big bowl of popcorn, chips and salsa, raw veggies and hummus, pizza rolls straight from the freezer to the oven to the table, and cans of pop—all of which the kids were loading on sturdy paper plates before heading into the living room to watch the Survivor reality TV show with Babu.
“Told you I didn’t cook on Sunday,” her mother teased, but her eyes gave Michelle a good once-over. “Are you okay, Micky? You don’t look so good.”
“Just tired, Mom. Told you I needed a vacation! You know what my job’s like—can be really stressful. Now that I have a few days to relax, it’s catching up with me is all.”
“Hmm. Stress can take a real toll on your body, sweetheart. When was the last time you had a checkup?”
“Oh, a year or so ago. Don’t remember exactly.” Michelle filled the teakettle and turned the gas burner on under it. She didn’t feel like chips or pizza rolls. Tea. Maybe some toast.
Going out on the front porch with her tea, she called Jared, all set to apologize for not calling when they first got home—and again got voicemail. She left a message for him, but he still hadn’t called back by the time she climbed the stairs to her old bedroom at nine thirty.
Where in the world was he? Probably had the TV on, didn’t hear the phone.
Okay. She’d call in the morning before they started for home. His Monday shift didn’t start until two—morning ought to be a good time to talk. She hadn’t planned to leave Fort Wayne until after lunch, but what if they left right after breakfast? Maybe they’d get home in time to see him before he left for work . . .
No. The kids were still downstairs playing a cutthroat game of Monopoly with their granddad, which might go till midnight, and they were counting on sleeping in at least one day of the holiday weekend, especially since they’d had to get up early the last two mornings. And even if they did arrive home before Jared left for work around one fifteen, there’d only be time for hi and good-bye.
Michelle turned out the light and crawled into bed. Better just stick with the plan. It took her a long time to fall asleep, even though she felt exhausted.
Chapter 17
The kids were still asleep when Michelle came downstairs the next morning. Her mother was alone in the kitchen, oiling the old waffle maker. “Morning, baby. How’d you sleep?”
“Okay, I guess.” She made a face. “Don’t sleep so good when Jared’s not in the bed. You going to make waffles?”
“Whenever those kids get up . . . and by then it’ll be brunch instead of breakfast. Here, you want to cut up those strawberries to go on top?”
“Sure, after I make some tea. Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, puttering around in the garage. Who knows what he’s doing.” Coral Robinson frowned. “You still off color? Baby, you’ve been working too hard. You need to see a doctor.”
“Mom, please . . .”
“Now, you listen to your mama. Stress can elevate your blood pressure, sap your energy, give you headaches, ruin your digestion, mess with a good night’s sleep, and . . . oh, you name it. I’m sure it’s on the list.”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I feel better already.”
“Oh, don’t be so stubborn. I’m serious.” Her mother’s voice softened. “Just make a doctor’s appointment and get a checkup.”
Michelle didn’t argue, finished making her tea, then picked up a paring knife and started taking off the stems of the washed strawberries and cutting them in half. Maybe she should make an appointment with her doctor. A checkup wouldn’t hurt. It’d been a year or two. Should probably schedule a mammogram too, now that she was over forty.
Strawberries finished, she glanced at the kitchen clock. Nine thirty. Perfect time to call Jared. Taking her phone out to the front porch, she settled into a plastic chair. Ugh. Plastic. This porch could sure use a nice wooden porch swing too.
She heard the phone pick up. “Jared? Hi, honey. Sorry we missed each other last night. Everything okay?” She heard what sounded like the TV in the background.
“Last night? Oh, yeah, yeah, everything’s good. It was such a beautiful evening I went for a run along the lakefront. Had to work off Mother Willa’s big meal, you know. Been awhile since I’ve been over to the lake. It felt good—real good. But when I got back, wouldn’t you know it, I fell asleep in front of the TV . . . Say, are the kids around? I’d like to say hi. It’s too quiet around here.”
“Sorry. The kids are sleeping in this morning. It’s quiet here too, for a change. Thought it might be a go
od time to hear about your sermon yesterday.”
“Okay, sure. Let me get my notes . . .” The TV noise in the background shut off and in a minute Jared was back. “Well, since it’s Memorial Day weekend, I thought we ought to acknowledge it somehow, especially since we’ve got several veterans at Northside, but without getting all political—you know, God and country and all that.”
That sounded like Jared. Like many black men, he’d experienced his share of discrimination growing up, even after the civil rights movement of the sixties. As grateful as he was for the progress we’d made as a nation, he didn’t have too many romanticized notions that we’d arrived at the promised land.
“But after you guys left on Saturday,” he was saying, “I had the house to myself and all day to prepare . . . but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. To tell you the truth, Michelle, I was starting to worry. Yeah, my first solo sermon, and I was going to fall flat on my face.”
“Oh, Jared.”
“So I went out for a walk in the cemetery—there’s that gate behind Lincoln Paddock’s big house, you know. Wandering around the gravestones reminded me that Memorial Day—unlike Veteran’s Day, which honors our service men and women who made it back—is really for remembering those who gave their lives to preserve our freedom. And suddenly it felt like God dropped this thought into my spirit: ‘I sent my Son to die for your freedom.’”
The way he said it took her breath away. “Oh, Jared. That’s perfect.”
“Right. I practically ran back home, and started looking up scriptures having to do with the freedom God gives us because of what Jesus did. You know, Isaiah 61:1, the scripture that Jesus quoted in the synagogue—”
“The one about proclaiming freedom for the captives and release for the prisoners?” She could feel his excitement.
“Exactly. Spiritual freedom as well as physical. And then I came across the first verse in Galatians five . . . here, let me read it in the NIV version. ‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.’ Paul was talking about circumcision in particular, but he meant anything people try to add to the gospel—you know, all the extra rules and expectations we set up to judge whether somebody’s really saved.”