by Neta Jackson
Well, praise the Lord. If interest remained high, maybe they’d just continue on through the fall and use the whole series. The committee would probably say yes. She wasn’t the only one who felt the challenge of coming up with a new event each month for women’s ministry meetings.
As much as she would’ve liked to just kick off her shoes and vegetate that afternoon after her busy day yesterday, there was still . . . grocery shopping. Better just do it and get it over with. She usually shopped the big Dominick’s grocery store east of them on Howard Street, but the Jewel store had some nice sales this weekend and wasn’t much further in the other direction.
Pushing her cart through the produce section, Michelle felt frustrated at how crowded it was . . . then realized she’d forgotten that this Jewel catered to a large Jewish clientele. Women in long skirts and gym shoes, hair bundled in caps or scarves, many with a toddler in the cart and one or two more children tagging along, filled the aisles. Men in black hats or yarmulkes, some with the fringe of their prayer shawls showing beneath the hem of their black coats, chatted with great animation in front of the “kosher fish” display case, others trailed along behind their families.
Of course they shopped on Sunday. Saturday was the day Jews attended their religious services.
Well, another good reason for her to not shop on Sunday and avoid the crowd.
She hadn’t had time to make a shopping list before heading out to the store, and was already in line at the checkout when she remembered they were out of Dr. Pepper. Three people were still ahead of her, and at least three more behind her in line . . . should she forget it? No, Jared really counted on that pick-me-up at work. But getting out of line might turn into another half hour of waiting.
The woman behind her, hair bundled in a knitted snood, was sing-songing to a baby in the child seat and shushing a restless little boy and girl hanging onto opposite sides of her full cart. “Excuse me,” Michelle said. “Would you mind if I just ran back to the soft drink aisle and got some pop for my husband? I’ll only take a minute.”
The young woman looked at her strangely. “Michelle?”
Startled, Michelle really looked at the woman’s face for the first time. Of course! Her neighbor at the end of the block on the other side of the street, the one who’d decorated their front porch for one of the Jewish holidays. “Oh my goodness. Rebecca, right?” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you at first. I don’t usually shop here on Sunday . . .” Michelle stopped. She had no idea what to say next.
Rebecca gave a pleasant laugh. “To tell you the truth, I don’t usually either. I usually go midweek when Ruthie and Jacob are in Hebrew preschool. But Benjy was sick this week—teething I think—so . . . here I am.” The young mother cast a sideways glance at the whining duo hanging onto the cart. “I always give in to too many treats when the you-know-whos are with me.”
Michelle had a strange sensation. In three sentences, Rebecca Horowitz had told her more about herself than Michelle had known the entire time the Horowitzes had lived in the neighborhood, which was two or three years at least. And she seemed so . . . normal. Her baby teething. Trying to do her shopping when the kids were in school. Giving in to the begging of preschoolers.
“I know what you mean.” Michelle made a face. “I don’t like to take my teenagers grocery shopping for the same reason—or my husband.”
At that Rebecca laughed right out loud. “Now you’re talking! . . . Oh, look. The line is moving. Go on, go get whatever you need to get. I’ll push your cart forward.”
Giving her a grateful nod, Michelle scurried to the soft drink aisle, hefted a twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper into her arms, and hurried back to the line. “Thanks so much, Rebecca.”
They chatted back and forth until it was Michelle’s turn to check out, then she waved good-bye as she pushed her loaded cart out of the store. As someone who worked with all kinds of people day in and day out, why had she let the Horowitz’s odd dress—okay, distinctive dress, identifying their strict religious beliefs—make her think of them as so “other” that they wouldn’t have much in common?
Probably the same reason she’d never gotten to know Farid-the-lawn-service-guy’s wife. Couldn’t even remember the woman’s name, though she knew she’d heard it mentioned. The headscarf. The long skirt. The Middle Eastern accent. So . . . “other.”
Pulling the minivan to the curb in front of their house on Beecham, Michelle got out and stood looking up and down the street, trying to see if she knew who lived in each house. She prided herself on working well with a wide diversity of people at Bridges Family Services. At Lifeline Care Center too. Treating everyone with respect. No discrimination, no prejudice—she made sure of that. But that was at work. Her own neighborhood, even just this block on Beecham Street, had people of all different ethnicities and religious backgrounds too. But to be honest, she made very little personal effort to get to know any of them. Even if she wanted to, she always felt too busy.
What kind of Christian was she?
Chapter 27
Monday . . . the last week of school—and already the third week of June. Michelle didn’t remember having to go to school so long into the summer when she was a kid. Once Memorial Day came and went, kids were so restless teachers considered each day of school a lame duck except for final exams and end-of-year parties.
“Don’t you listen to the news, Mom?” Destin said when she brought it up at breakfast—well, what passed for breakfast as each kid grabbed a toasted bagel and glass of juice between stuffing books and school papers into their backpacks. “Hot summer, more shootings. School officials think they’re keeping kids safe by keeping us in school longer. But if you ask me, feels like they’re punishing thousands of us ordinary kids just ’cause the gangbangers and wannabes ain’t got nothin’ better to do than carry on their stupid feuds.” He headed out of the kitchen munching on his bagel.
“I’m goin’, Mom!” Tavis yelled from the front door.
“Wait for me!” Tabby was right on her brother’s heels. “’Bye, Mom! Tell Dad good-bye, ’K?” Then Michelle heard, “Only one more week till cheer camp! Woo-hoo!” . . . just before the front door slammed.
Where had Destin gone off to? “Destin? Aren’t you going to the bus with the twins?”
“Gonna ride my bike today!” His yell came from the basement. Michelle stepped to the top of the basement stairs to say good-bye just as her eldest came running up the steps to the landing halfway and started out the side door. “’Bye, Mom!”
“Wait a minute.” Destin’s backpack bulged, its seams straining. “What in the world are you taking to school? The entire works of Shakespeare?”
“Ha ha, funny. See ya!” And he was out the side door, heading for the garage where he kept his bike.
Michelle went down the few steps to the landing and poked her head out the side door in time to see Destin come out of the garage with his bike and head off down the alley, slightly wobbling because of the load he was carrying on his back. What in the world was that about?
But it was time for her to leave for work too. Jared was just getting ready to get in the shower as she headed for the bedroom to get her purse and briefcase. “I’m going, hon!” she called out. “See you later tonight. Have a good day!”
“You too!”
She heard his electric shaver go on. Except for his trim mustache, which wasn’t all that visible since it blended in with his dark skin, Jared had always been clean shaven. Michelle was tempted to wait till he was done to give him a good-bye kiss, just to get a whiff of that great aftershave he wore . . . but nope, she didn’t want to be late first thing Monday morning. And besides, she was hoping to get to the office early so she could do some research on summer day camps in the Albany Park neighborhood.
But what she found when she actually got on her computer at work were just a lot of sports camps: T-ball, soccer, basketball . . . nothing much for kids Candy’s age. That was disappointing.
Well, she’d figure out a time to drop by this week with Tabby’s box of books and games. Maybe toward the end of the week, sort of a “school’s out” gift.
* * *
Jared was still at work when Michelle got home—his Monday swing shift as usual—and only Tabby was home, fixing herself a box of macaroni and cheese.
“Hi, honey. Where’re the boys?”
Tabby shrugged. “Dunno where Destin is. Tavis got detention, had to stay after school.”
“Detention! What for?” The school was supposed to phone her if a child misbehaved and disciplinary action was needed. Michelle dug in her purse for her cell phone. Uh-oh. She’d missed a call from the school around 1:15. The message on the voicemail said Tavis Jasper had been disruptive in the lunchroom and was being assigned same-day afterschool detention. If she had any questions, blah, blah, blah . . .
Michelle tossed her phone on the kitchen counter. “What happened?”
“It’s just that jerk in eighth grade who’s always bugging Tavis. I think he was bothering Tavis in the lunchroom and Tavis tripped him or something. I didn’t see it, I was eating lunch with Nina an’ LaToya. But it wasn’t Tavis’s fault, Mom. The lunchroom monitor was so unfair to give him detention.”
Michelle sighed. “All right. You got your homework done?”
“Don’t have any homework this week. Just gotta study for tests.” Tabby sailed out of the kitchen with her gooey bowl of hot mac ’n cheese . . . just as Michelle heard the front door open and close quietly.
“Tavis? Come in here.”
Five long seconds went by before Tavis poked his head around the archway that led from the living room into the dining area and kitchen. “Mom, I can explain . . .”
His story was pretty much the same as Tabby’s. Spitballs blown from a straw at his head from the table behind him. Boys laughing. One of the big boys sauntered behind him on the way to the trash can, making snide remarks and calling him nasty names—
“Like what?” Michelle interrupted.
Tavis looked horrified. “Mom! You don’t wanna know!”
“Okay, okay.” She sighed again. “What happened?”
“I just . . . didn’t really think about it, just stuck out my foot and tripped him. Oh man, he went down flat on his face.” Tavis started to laugh. “It was so funny.”
Michelle struggled to keep the smile off her face. She was so tempted to say, Good for you! . . . but instead she said, “Tavis. I know it hurts to be laughed at and called names. But you can’t retaliate. It doesn’t solve anything. And, as you know, then you’re the one who gets in trouble.”
“I know.” Tavis was still grinning. “But, Mom, it was really worth it to see him go down—”
“Tavis. You think that’ll end it?”
The grin disappeared. “Okay, okay. I’ll try. Uh . . . are you gonna tell Dad?”
Was she? As far as she was concerned, the detention was punishment enough. Would Jared think so? But Jared wasn’t home. She was the parent in charge. “Just . . . go on now. Supper will be ready in an hour.”
* * *
She almost had supper on the table when she heard the side door open. “Destin? That you?”
“Yeah, Mom. Be up in a minute.” He headed down toward the basement—but not before she got a glimpse of his backpack. Half the size it was when he went out this morning.
Destin came back up the stairs two at a time. “Supper almost ready? I’m starvin’!” He reached for a piece of cornbread from the basket she’d already put on the dining table.
“Where’ve you been? And put down that muffin. You haven’t washed up yet.”
Too late. Half the muffin was already in his mouth. “You know . . . job stuff,” he mumbled, his mouth full. Destin chewed and swallowed. “Dad’s on my case about getting a job, so that’s what I’m doin’ after school.”
Made sense. “But don’t forget you’re supposed to call me if you don’t come right home after school and let me know where you are.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” The other half of the muffin disappeared. “I’ll go wash up.”
“Wait.” Michelle brought the steaming hot hamburger-noodle casserole to the table, then took off the hot mitts and put one hand on her hip. “I want to know what was in your backpack this morning—and not there when you came home just now.”
Destin kept edging toward the hallway. “Nothin’ much. Just, uh, some cans of that energy drink Mr. Singer is sellin’ now. We were talkin’ the other day, and I told him I’d take some to school, thought maybe the guys on the track team an’ baseball team might try it out. You know, make some sales for him.” His mouth curved in a half grin. “It worked too. The guys liked it.”
“Oh.” Michelle blinked. That would explain the bulging backpack. And Destin didn’t usually lie if asked a direct question. “Well, that was nice of you . . . I guess. But, what does the school think of you selling stuff to the team on school property? I mean, seems like they’d have a policy against something like that.”
Destin shrugged, still edging out of the room. “I dunno. Actually, I didn’t sell it. I just gave out samples, you know, to see if they liked it. That’s what Mr. Singer says he does. I was just kinda helpin’ him out. ’Cause he said athletes would probably be good customers, an’ Lane Tech is crawlin’ with athletes. Uh . . . can I go now? Looks like supper’s ready an’ I still gotta wash up.” He disappeared toward the bathroom.
“Don’t think you should feel obligated to help Mr. Singer with his business!” she called after him. “After all, it’s his business!”
To her surprise, Destin stuck his head back around the archway. “Oh, well, that’s the thing . . .” He followed her back into the kitchen and lowered his voice. “This was kind of a test to see if I could sell the stuff. ’Cause, you know, I haven’t had any callbacks on all the job applications I’ve filled out. Thought I could do something like this in the meantime, at least make a little money. But . . .” Now his voice had fallen to a whisper. “Don’t tell Dad yet, okay? I kinda want to see if it’s something I could do, let it be a surprise if it works.”
“Honey, you know I don’t like to keep secrets from your dad.”
“I know, I know! Just don’t tell him yet, okay? And I promise, I’ll keep lookin’ for a regular job, but it’s not easy with me goin’ away to camp so soon. At least with SlowBurn, I can do some selling now, and some more when I get back. To, like, fill in the gap. Good idea, don’t you think?”
“I . . .” Michelle didn’t know if it was a good idea or not.
Destin grinned big and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best. Hey, want me to tell the twins supper’s ready?”
Chapter 28
A crack of thunder sat Michelle upright in bed, awakened out of a sound sleep. Jared was snoring softly beside her—she hadn’t even heard him come in. A lightning flash lit up the bedroom window, followed by another crack of thunder, but this time farther away.
She slid back down under the sheet and snuggled up against her husband’s broad back as she listened to the pitty-pat-tap of rain against the window. At least he was home, not at work having to deal with planes trying to land in a storm. Pity the poor guys on night shift tonight.
The storm had passed by the time she got up Tuesday morning. The early morning temp was a cool sixty degrees under cloudy skies. She let Jared sleep. Tonight would be a short night switching from swing shift to day shift. He might as well get a few extra z’s.
Destin went off to school with his backpack bulging again, but she said nothing. Let him try. If he sold some energy drink for Greg Singer, fine. If he didn’t, well, nothing was lost. But if he did start selling, she was going to remind Destin every penny had to go toward paying back his basketball camp tuition.
Michelle’s cell phone reminder dinged at ten while she was still at the office: Prayer tonight w Estelle & Grace. Yikes. Good thing she’d put the reminder into her phone. She’d forgotten they�
�d decided to get together Tuesday nights to pray. But Michelle looked forward to it. She was going to add Candy and her family to their prayer list.
She’d put another reminder into her phone recently . . . what was it? Michelle scrolled through her reminders. Oh, there it was. Call doc on Monday, make appt for physical. Why hadn’t she gotten the reminder yesterday? She looked at the time she’d set for Monday: 1:00. Right around the same time she’d missed the call from the school . . . Oh, no wonder. Her supervisor had called a staff meeting right after lunch, and she’d left her purse and phone locked in a bottom drawer of her desk.
Well, she’d just call for an appointment now.
The medical receptionist was all business. “Let’s see . . . Dr. Craven’s first opening is July twenty-first at two thirty.”
“July twenty-first! That’s five weeks away! There’s nothing sooner?”
“Not unless you’re sick. Dr. Craven likes to allow a good hour to ninety minutes for a yearly physical and the last one you had was”—the phone went silent for several long moments—“hmm, two years ago. So he’s going to want to allow the full time.”
Michelle sighed. “All right. Put me down. But if someone cancels earlier and you need someone to fill the slot, will you call me?”
“Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Jasper. See you in five weeks.”
A call from the doctor’s office came as Michelle was driving to a foster home inspection that afternoon. When she saw the caller ID, she pulled to the side of the road and answered the phone.