by Neta Jackson
Michelle wasn’t sure what to say. She could certainly understand how things could be “up in the air” at the Singer household if Greg was between jobs, but she wasn’t sure how that had anything to do with Tabby and babysitting. So all she did was nod sympathetically and say, “I’m sure things will work out.”
Greg Singer came around the side of the two-flat just then. “There they are! Thought you three would be all the way home by now . . . What’s this?” He crouched down to admire Nathan’s snake-dragon, and then wandered out to the sidewalk to see what Becky and Tabby were doing.
Nicole touched Michelle on the arm, her voice low and soft. “Would you mind asking Tabby if she’d like to babysit? That way she’d be free to say yes or no without me putting her on the spot.”
“Well, sure. If you’d like.” Michelle watched as the father took both kids by the hand and started for home. Nicole hurried to catch up. Both Nathan and Becky turned back and waved good-bye to Tabby.
“Cute kids,” Tabby said as she and Michelle headed for their own house at the north end of Beecham.
“Their mom wants to know if you’d be interested in babysitting some time.”
Tabby stopped midstreet. “For real?” Her dark eyes danced as her face broke into a wide smile. “Yeah! Like, would they pay me money?”
“Shh.” Michelle glanced back to be sure the Singers were far enough away not to hear. “I’m sure they would. Mrs. Singer doesn’t have any specific time in mind. She was just wondering.”
“Cool.” Tabby bounced on into the house, but Michelle sank into one of the lawn chairs on their small front porch. The momentary bump in her energy while at the Bentleys now seemed to drain right out the soles of her feet . . . and the delicious ribs with their rich, spicy sauce weren’t digesting that well either. It was too early to go to bed—still light out, and the boys wouldn’t be home for another half hour. But the earlier high of eighty-plus degrees was now in the comfortable low seventies. Maybe she’d just sit out here for a while till the boys came home.
Would be even nicer if they had that porch swing.
But could they afford it? She should at least go online and check out what porch swings cost. It looked as if the cheerleading camp would work out for Tabby after all, but that meant another camp fee—except her parents were offering to pay half. Jared wouldn’t want to take it, but they still needed to find some kind of camp for Tavis. And the cheerleading camp was only one week. They still had all of July and August to cover for the twins, a patchwork of other programs and activities. Most of which would cost money.
She sighed. All of which she and Jared needed to talk about . . . soon. School would be out in three weeks. Michelle felt a flutter of anxiety. It was hard enough making plans for the kids each summer, but finding time to talk about it was the real sticking point. Given Jared’s schedule, Wednesday would be the soonest—he got home at two that afternoon, though she didn’t get home till six and then there was prayer meeting at church. So maybe Thursday evening, before he had to leave again at ten . . .
She groaned. Why did life have to be so complicated?
“Do not be anxious about anything . . .”
The familiar phrase from the New Testament flitted through her mind just as a warm breeze kissed her face and ruffled the leaves of the trees all up and down Beecham Street. “Do not be anxious . . .” She should read that whole passage before going to bed. But even without looking it up, she knew it talked about “praying with thanksgiving” about everything instead of worrying, and promised a peace greater than her own understanding.
Michelle stood up and looked at her watch. Eight thirty. Maybe she’d go back to the Bentleys and chase the boys home so she could go to bed.
As for thanksgiving . . . at least she and Jared had jobs, unlike the Singers right now.
Chapter 19
Michelle was asleep by the time Jared got home that night, but woke long enough to feel relief as his familiar bulk climbed into bed next to her. “Missed you,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her close.
“Missed you too,” she murmured, pressing her back against his bare chest, stroking the strong arms he wrapped around her. “Let’s not do separate weekends again.”
“Mmm, good idea. ’Night, Gumdrop.”
All the things she wanted to talk about with him started to flood into her consciousness—but she stuffed each one back into its mental cubbyhole. He’d just come off a twelve-hour shift. And she needed sleep too. Patience, Michelle. All in good time—
Wait. She had to know. “Jared? Did Bucky’s baby arrive? Boy or girl? Is his wife okay?”
No answer. His breathing was already slow and deep . . .
Oh, brother.
Michelle awoke two minutes before her alarm rang the next morning and she shut it off so as not to waken Jared. He was still asleep when she tiptoed in later to say she was leaving for work. She stood for a few extra moments at the side of the bed just looking at him . . . his smooth dark skin, mouth slightly parted, eyes closed, perfect ears, a bit stubbly around the chin line. How’d she snag this guy? Still a head-turner, even at forty-two. She leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Mmm.” He shifted but didn’t awaken.
She called later in the morning, but he said the baby hadn’t arrived by the time he’d left the tower last night. However, once he got to work for his two-to-ten shift he sent her a text: Mother and baby girl doing fine. Father a wreck.
That made her laugh . . . but the next text wasn’t so funny. Sorry, sweetheart, but I might as well sleep over tonight since my shift change starts at six tomorrow morning.
At the supper table she could tell the kids were feeling his absence too. They’d all been in bed when he got home last night and had left for school before he got up. Which meant they hadn’t seen their father since Saturday morning when he’d waved good-bye, and now it was going to be another twenty-four hours.
O God, this is crazy.
Scooting her chair back, she started carrying the leftover rice and lonely pork chop back to the kitchen. “Destin, your turn to load the dishwasher.”
Destin came into the kitchen carrying his empty plate in one hand and some papers in the other. “Hey, Mom, forgot to give this to you last week.”
She took a quick glance. A crumpled copy of Lane Tech’s newsletter. “Oh, thanks. Put it on the counter. I’ll look at it later.”
“No, Mom. Thought you’d be interested in this . . .” Destin turned to one of the inside pages and handed it to her.
Lane Tech Boys Basketball Summer Camp, the page title said. Week One—June 28–July 2 . . . Week Two—July 12–16 . . . Time: 9th grade 8:00—10:00 am . . . Cost: $40.
“Forty dollars!” Her eyes widened. “You mean you could’ve done this basketball camp for forty dollars? Wait . . . it says ninth grade. Don’t they have one for incoming seniors like you?”
“Mom.” Destin had that be-patient-she’s-just-a-mother tone. “You’re missing the point. Look . . .” He pointed beneath the initial headline. Grades 4–9. And then to where it said, 4th–8th graders 10:30—12:30.
She looked at him. “Tavis.”
Destin patted her on the shoulder and grinned. “Thatta girl.”
“Oh you.” She swatted him with the newsletter. “You knew about this? And you’re only just now telling me?”
Destin shrugged. “Sorry. They only do these summer camps for middle school and incoming freshmen. It didn’t apply to me, so I didn’t really think about it. Till one of my buddies at school said his little brother was going to sign up.”
“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven . . . Finish up, will you?” Michelle walked out of the kitchen with the newsletter. “Tavis? Come here a minute!”
Tavis no sooner heard about the basketball camp than he ran the newsletter across the street to see if DaShawn wanted to go too. When he came back, he handed his mother a note. “Miz Estelle said give this to you.”
She unfolded the note, smi
ling at the lovely, large handwriting. So like Estelle’s personality. Talked to Grace. She says Sunday afternoon or evening would work best for her. Is that okay for you? In fact, this might be the best after all! Manna House has a worship service for the ladies Sunday evenings, different people come in to lead it. We could just turn that hour over to you and Grace. What do you think? Estelle.
* * *
Michelle hardly knew what to think. Sounded like a bigger deal than it had at first. A worship service? How did what she had to offer fit in with that? But she couldn’t back out now. Hopefully she could talk to Grace and at least get an idea of what she’d be doing.
At least by the time she and Jared got a chance to sit down together Thursday evening for a real talk before he left for work at nine for his weekly night shift—ten to six—she had the three summer camps marked in pencil on the big kitchen calendar.
Jared snorted when he heard about the forty-dollar basketball camp. “Well, that’s a no-brainer. Okay, let’s see how this is gonna work . . .” He studied the calendar. “School’s out on the third Friday of June—man! No wonder the natives are restless. That feels so late! How are kids like Destin supposed to get any summer jobs starting so late?”
“I know, hon. But let’s talk about that later. Right now we have to finish making a decision about Tabby and Tavis.”
“Okay, okay.” Back to the calendar. “This cheerleading camp business starts the Tuesday after school’s out, so guess we’d have to drive Tabby to your folks’ that weekend—”
Michelle noticed that Sunday said “Father’s Day” on the calendar. Too bad. Driving to Indiana wouldn’t be Jared’s idea of a great Father’s Day. But the upside was, it’d give her a chance to celebrate Father’s Day with her dad.
“—and pick her up the following weekend. Man . . .”
Michelle could guess what he was thinking. That was a lot of driving two weekends in a row. “Yeah,” she acknowledged. “And then Destin’s Five-Star Basketball Camp starts midweek the next week. So we have to get him to the South Side on Wednesday and pick him up on Saturday.”
Jared leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his hair. “Gonna take some coordination, but it’s a start. Guess we should say okay to the camp for Tabby—though that’s a lot of driving to Indiana two weekends in a row. Picking Destin up on Saturday is no problem . . . Not sure how we’ll get him there in the middle of the week though. Romeoville’s way on the South Side, a good hour, maybe more if there’s traffic.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.” Michelle laid her hand on top of Jared’s. “At least Tavis’ basketball camp the next week is at Lane Tech—I could take him on the way to work, or he could ride the city bus like Destin does. That’s right after the Fourth of July holiday, see? At least each of the kids can start the summer with a sports camp. After that . . .” She shrugged, and then sighed. “Wish I could take the summer off and just be here for the kids.” She started to add, Could really use a break from work. But it sounded so whiny. Jared’s work schedule was even more demanding than hers.
“Huh. Not sure you’d want three teenagers underfoot all day even if you could.” Jared tossed her a pen. “Might as well write those dates on there in ink. And tell your folks we’ll take them up on their offer. Frankly, it’s the least they can do after your mother overrode all the usual camp rules and regulations, but don’t tell her I said that.”
Michelle couldn’t help but laugh—and then remembered Estelle’s note a couple of days ago. “Oh, something else I need to ask you about. Estelle Bentley asked me to come to the women’s shelter where she works and talk to some of the women there about the resources that Lifeline Care Center offers. Grace Meredith is going too, and it looks like Sunday evening would be the best time for her. What’s your weekend look like? Any conflict you can see?”
He shrugged. “Sounds like a great ministry opportunity. The men’s prayer breakfast meets this Saturday—first Saturday in June. Not sure about Sunday yet. Pastor Q phoned, said he wants to meet with the deacons this weekend—probably to catch up on what happened while he was gone. Didn’t say when. Hope it’s not on Saturday, though, because after the men’s breakfast, I’m going to ride Destin’s tail the rest of the day to get out there hustling about that summer job, even if I have to drive him around to do it.” Jared stood up and stretched. “We done here? I’d like to relax a little before I have to leave for work.”
Her husband headed downstairs to the family room and a moment later she heard the TV go on. She’d like to relax too, but . . . She sighed. Probably should make a few calls to her women’s ministry committee about what needed to be done to be sure things were moving along for their monthly women’s event the second weekend in June.
* * *
Jared sat Destin down Friday evening at the computer and they searched for summer jobs in the Chicago area open to teenagers. Some had applications he could fill out online, but Michelle overheard her husband lecture their oldest that going in face-to-face was always the best policy.
Hauling a basket of dirty clothes to the basement to get a head start on the laundry, Michelle felt grateful that Jared was the one on Destin’s case. She had enough nagging opportunities without adding another one.
Like these school pants of Tavis’s! She held up a pair of dark blue pants to examine a new rip in the knee. And so dirty! Honestly! Didn’t the boys wear sweatpants or shorts for outdoor P.E.? What had he been doing—sliding into home base in his good school pants?
Michelle took the pants back upstairs to find Tavis, then remembered he was outside riding his skateboard in the street with DaShawn. She didn’t really like them playing in the street, though with Beecham being a dead-end because of the cemetery, it was relatively safe. Opening the front door, she saw the boys sitting on the curb with a screwdriver, fixing something on the bottom of a skateboard. Tabby was on her bike, watching the operation.
“Tavis? Come here a minute.”
Tavis looked up, sighed, and got to his feet. “Whassup, Mom?”
She waited until he came up onto the small porch, then held out the pants. “Don’t ‘whassup’ me. What happened here? These are your good school pants.”
Tavis shrugged. “Uh, just tripped and fell down on the way home from school yesterday. Sorry about the pants. Forgot to tell you.”
Michelle looked at the rip. The material below the damage was stiff. Her tone changed to concern. “This looks like blood. Did you hurt yourself?” She glanced at his knees but he had on a pair of jeans—some protection for skateboarding at least.
Tavis shrugged again. “Scraped my knee a little. It’s okay.”
“Well, the pants are not okay, but I’m not going to buy you a new pair until next fall—you’ll be needing a new size then anyway. So I’m going to iron on a patch for now, and I don’t want to hear any complaining about it.”
“Didn’t either fall down.” Tabby had leaned her bike against the steps and stood on the porch, arms crossed. “He got pushed.”
“You shut up, Tabby.” Tavis glared at his sister, then said defensively, “It’s no big deal, Mom. We were just foolin’ around and I fell down.”
Tabby rolled her eyes and disappeared into the house. Michelle looked after her tattletale, then turned back to see Tavis already back at the curb with DaShawn tinkering with the skateboard.
Michelle opened her mouth to call him back, then shut it again. Was that bully messing with Tavis again? She ought to get him alone and get to the bottom of it before he really got hurt. Or . . . would she be making a mountain out of a molehill? He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, acted like it was no big deal. Maybe she’d better just leave it alone. Jared would probably tell her boys would be boys.
Still, if something like this happened one more time . . .
Michelle sighed and went back inside to finish the laundry. Right now she had more important things to worry about than ripped pants—like Hannah West, the new client at Lifeline she�
��d met two weeks ago. Hopefully she’d come back again tomorrow and Michelle could tell her about the next Hope and Healing group that would be starting soon.
Chapter 20
“Where can I put this so Destin will be sure to see it?” Jared held up a note he’d written on a sheet of notebook paper as Michelle poured coffee into a travel cup for him the next morning. “In case you’re gone by the time he gets up.” The note said: Destin—Gone to men’s prayer breakfast. Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be back at 10:00. Dad.
She opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a roll of tape. “Stick it on the bathroom mirror.” She grinned as Jared headed down the hall with the note and tape. Destin was seventeen and body conscious. He’d see it.
A few minutes and a quick kiss on her cheek later, Jared headed out the front door with his coffee. The men from Northside met on the first Saturday of each month from eight o’clock till nine thirty at Sanders Restaurant—their version of “men’s ministry.” A core of eight to ten men usually came, others showed up from time to time. But Jared had mentioned again just today that the prayer breakfast was a good spiritual anchor for the guys, even for him. “Nothing as powerful as a group of brothers praying together,” he said. “Okay, praying and eating.” Then he laughed.
But it made her think of the couple of times she’d prayed with Estelle and Grace. There was something compelling about praying with a group of “sisters”—something she wished she could do more often. “Yeah, like I need something else to shoehorn into my schedule,” she reminded herself as she shut off the coffeemaker and put on water for tea. Coffee just didn’t sound good this morning for some reason.
An hour and two laundry loads later, she left another note on the bathroom mirror, since all three kids were still asleep, and headed for the Humbolt Park neighborhood in the minivan. As usual, Bernice was already at the reception desk when Michelle got to the Lifeline Care Center at nine, and a new crew of volunteers was sorting and folding contributions to the Wee Welcome Shop. As she passed the supply cabinets, Michelle suddenly stopped. Brochures. She should take a bunch of brochures to leave with the women at the Manna House shelter tomorrow. But now they’d definitely need to order more.