by Neta Jackson
Monday at Mary McLeod Bethune Elementary School lived up to its reputation as “Wild Horse Roundup Day.” In every classroom Avis peeked into as she navigated the halls, teachers were having to corral kids who were practically bouncing off the walls after a weekend with too much TV, too much sugar, and too little attention from grownups. By Tuesday they’d be settling down, but in the meantime the row of chairs in the school office for kids being remanded for detention was full before noon.
After-school detention wasn’t an option at the elementary level, so Avis rotated all teachers and support staff to supervise a separate lunchroom, which meant each person had to be on duty only once or twice a month. If more than five kids were assigned to detention on a single day, Avis added herself to help supervise.
Like today.
By the time detention was over—seven disgruntled miscreants dawdling their way through the school lunch of tuna-noodle casserole, followed by a grade-appropriate extra math assignment—Avis had a headache.
And she still hadn’t had time to call Manna House.
Closing the door to her office, she sank into the padded desk chair, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, ignoring the stack of mail the school secretary had put on her desk. Her trip to the South Side yesterday afternoon had been fruitless. She’d found the apartment at the last address she had for Rochelle, but there was no name on the mailbox in the foyer of the apartment building, and no answer when she pressed the buzzer. Not knowing what to do, she’d hung around for a while, hoping someone would come out or go in who might know whether Rochelle still lived there. Two big dudes with tattoos and low-slung jeans were buzzed in by somebody about ten minutes apart, but they just shook their heads. Then a plump woman—she looked Hispanic—came out pulling a wire grocery cart and said, “Sí, I think I know who you mean. Pretty woman, skin like caramel candy, lots of hair? And a little niño about five or six?” Avis had nodded eagerly. But the woman had shrugged. “Haven’t seen them around lately. Maybe they moved.”
She’d given up then, but it was already after five. The Yada Yada Prayer Group would’ve started by then, and would be almost over by the time she drove back to Rogers Park from the South Side. She’d called Florida on her cell, apologized for her absence, and said Jodi could explain.
Peter had been upset that she’d gone to the South Side by herself. “You should’ve woken me up! That neighborhood’s crime statistics are going through the roof!”
Maybe she should feel glad he was concerned about her safety. But his comment irked her. Wished he felt that upset about Rochelle and Conny living there.
Avis pressed her fingers to her temple. She couldn’t let her mind go there. She needed to keep moving forward, take the next step: call Manna House. Avis pushed the stack of mail, requisitions to sign, and interschool memos to the side and picked up the phone.
“Mabel Turner, please,” she said when the regular receptionist at the shelter answered. Nice girl, recently engaged, she’d heard, to a young man at her Korean church.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Douglass! Hold on . . .” Avis waited a long minute and then heard, “Mabel Turner speaking.”
“Hello, Mabel. This is Avis Douglass. I’m—”
“Avis! What a nice surprise. Didn’t see you here last month when SouledOut hosted Sunday Night Praise. Everything all right?”
“Uh . . . yes, fine. I’d just lost my voice, had laryngitis. Hope the service went all right.” SouledOut Community Church was one of several churches that sent a small praise team and someone to speak at the shelter once a month on Sunday evenings. With Peter still on the Manna House board, he and Avis often came with the SouledOut team. “But actually, why I’m calling . . . I’m wondering if my daughter Rochelle has been on the bed list at Manna House lately? You may remember, I brought her there several weeks ago, the day after Valentine’s Day, but she and her little boy, Conny, only stayed one night, and”—Avis felt her throat tighten—“we haven’t heard from her since.” She reached for the water bottle she kept on hand.
“I’m sorry, Avis. That’s got to be hard.”
Avis took several swallows of water, hoping Mabel would say more, but that was it. “So . . . has she been back? I mean, has she been on the bed list since then? I’m worried about her—her health, you know. And Conny. I need to find them.”
There was an awkward silence. Then she heard Mabel sigh. “Avis, I’m sorry. The bed list is confidential. I mean, we can’t tell people over the phone if someone is here or not. Or whether they’ve been here. If Rochelle tells you, that’s fine. But . . .”
Avis gripped the receiver. She couldn’t believe this! Mabel knew her personally, knew Rochelle was her daughter. Valentine’s Day hadn’t been the first time Rochelle had been an emergency resident at Manna House. So what was this all about?!
“Avis? You still there? I’m sorry, your question about the bed list threw me. Even though I can’t tell you names on the bed list, I can tell you I personally haven’t seen Rochelle since she was here last. That’s not a hundred percent guarantee she hasn’t been here, especially if she came and went on a weekend, but I should have said that up front.”
A knock at her office door was followed by Jodi Baxter poking her head in. “Oh. You’re busy. I’ll come back,” the younger woman mouthed silently and started to pull back.
But Avis waved her in. “Thanks, Mabel. Guess that’s basically what I need to know.” It’ll have to do, anyway. She hung up the phone and turned to the third-grade teacher. “Hi, Jodi. What’s up?”
Jodi closed the door behind her and pulled up one of the visitor chairs. “That’s my question. You didn’t make it to Yada Yada last night. What’s up? Was that Mabel Turner?”
Avis nodded. “I was trying to find out if Rochelle and Conny have been back to Manna House in the past couple months, but she said the bed list is ‘confidential.’ ” She grimaced. “I’d think family would qualify for information.”
“Mm. I see your point—but also hers. Some women don’t want other people to know they’re at the shelter.”
“Thanks for the support.” Avis allowed an edge of irritation to slip into her voice but tried to soften it by asking what happened at Yada Yada the previous night.
“It was good. Everybody made it—except you, of course. But I shared that you hadn’t heard from Rochelle for a couple months and were looking for her. We prayed for you both.” Jodi looked at her quizzically. “So what happened yesterday?”
Avis told her about Rochelle’s phone being cut off so she couldn’t even leave a message, and the dead end when she went to Rochelle’s apartment. “Doesn’t sound like she’s been back to Manna House either. Mabel did say she hadn’t personally seen her. Guess that’s almost as good as saying she hasn’t been on the bed list.”
Jodi reached across the large desk and touched Avis’s arm. “I can hardly imagine how I’d feel if I hadn’t heard from one of my kids for a couple months and didn’t know how to contact them. And not knowing whether little Conny is okay either! You must be going nuts, Avis. Can I do anything? Help you look? Something!”
“Thanks, Jodi. I’ll let you know if there’s anything. I don’t even know what to do next.”
“Guess it’s prayer then.” Jodi grinned. “Seems to me my friend Avis once told me to pray first, not just when all my other options had run out.” She took Avis’s hand in both of hers and began to pray.
Avis appreciated Jodi’s heartfelt prayer, but only after she’d banished the irritating thought, Does she think I haven’t been praying?
After her “amen,” Jodi jumped up. “Oops, gotta get back to my class. My aide is probably wondering why it’s taking so long to photocopy the permission slip for our field trip to the Adler Planetarium.” But at the door she turned. “Oh, nobody last night has heard from Nony for a while. Have you gotten any news?”
It took Avis two seconds to reroute her thoughts. Nonyameko’s invitation. But she wasn’t quite ready to put that out on the
table for her Yada Yada sisters to pray about. Not yet. Because they’d all have an opinion first. Probably get all excited and muddy the decision she and Peter needed to make. But she could mention the card.
“Actually, Peter and I got an anniversary card from Nony and Mark a few days ago. It was made by the Women’s AIDS Initiative—one of the businesses they’ve started. Very artistic. I’ll have to bring it to show you.”
“Would love to see it—okay, gotta go.”
Avis stared at the door as it closed behind Jodi. What was wrong with her? All weekend she’d been getting irritated at the least little comment. Not like her—at least not the way Avis usually thought of herself. Calm. Confident. Focused. Knowing God’s in control. But now her thoughts and feelings jerked about like Mexican jumping beans. Not surprising on one hand, with Rochelle and Conny missing. But that wasn’t the only thing. Peter wanting to “do something new, different” in the next few years. Nony’s invitation to come to South Africa.
Even the missing ruby earrings. Not being able to find them—and not knowing if they were simply misplaced or truly gone—had left her feeling jittery. Anxious.
Breathing, Lord, I need You! Avis sighed and pulled the stack of mail toward her. It helped calm her mind to systematically work through the pile—a request from a parent for an early dismissal, another for additional testing for their child, supply requisitions to approve, evaluation forms from teachers, feedback on her school budget for next year—until she picked up the envelope from the Chicago board of education.
Slitting it open, she pulled out the single sheet on CPS letterhead. Skimming through the letter, she read it once, then again more carefully, until the words began to blur. Dropping the letter, she leaned her elbows on the arms of her desk chair, head dropping into her hands. Oh God, not again. Not now!
Peter worked late on Monday night, and Avis had a PTA meeting on Tuesday, which included a serious discussion on playground bullying and the importance of parents and teachers working together to put an end to it. On Wednesday evening they went to Pastor Clark’s midweek Bible study at SouledOut Community Church, a series on Jesus’ teachings about the kingdom of God, “present now, within you,” Pastor Clark kept emphasizing.
It was Thursday before she and Peter even had time to sit down together for supper. Avis felt almost too tired to cook, but they both needed a good meal. She thawed some chicken thighs and stuck them in the oven with a rub of seasoned salt, herbs, and smoky-flavored paprika, made a pan of cornbread, and pulled out a bag of green beans from the freezer. Easy. But hearty.
“Mm, looks great, honey.” Peter rubbed his hands together as she served up their plates. Offering a quick prayer of thanks, he dug into the food, slathering two pieces of hot cornbread with butter and honey.
“You’ll never guess what happened today,” he said after polishing off the first piece of cornbread. He pointed his fork at her. “Jack Griffin—remember him? He’s the guy in Indianapolis with a software business similar to Software Symphony, wanted us to merge our companies about three years ago as a partnership. I wasn’t interested at the time—but today, who shows up in person? Jack Griffin! Wants to make me an offer, buy me out! A nice offer, I have to admit.” Peter shook his head as he cut into his chicken. “Can’t believe it. Right out of the blue, just like that. Something to consider, don’t you think, honey?” He forked a man-size bite of chicken into his mouth.
Avis just stared at him. “Why would you do that? Sell the business?”
Peter chewed thoughtfully. “It’s just something to think about. The economy is still in big trouble—you know that. A lot of people aren’t able to make their mortgage payments. All those foreclosures. Gas keeps going up. Unemployment still high. I might be wise to sell before the economy bottoms out.”
Avis’s mouth went dry. “But . . . what about your employees? They depend on you. Florida’s husband, Carl, for instance. What would happen to him if you sell?”
Peter wiped his fingers on his napkin. “That’s a good point. Might make it a condition of the sale that current employees would keep their jobs. But . . . honey, don’t look so distressed. We don’t have to make a decision tonight. I want to think it over, talk to some people, pray with you . . . but I have to admit, when something like this drops into your lap, you wonder if God is telling you something.”
Avis shook her head. It was almost too much. “Not sure it is the best time to sell. I need to show you something.” She got up and rummaged through the large canvas bag she carried to school each day and returned to the table with a letter. “Been meaning to show you this.”
Peter took the envelope and frowned. “School board, eh?” He pulled out the letter and read it. She watched his face. A flicker of interest widened his eyes and smoothed out the frown. She could tell he was reading it a second time, just like she had—though she’d now read it a dozen times since she first opened it.
Finally he looked up. “So they’ve put Bethune Elementary on the list of possible school closings for next year.”
She nodded, her throat tightening. “They’ve come close a couple times, but praise God, we always squeaked through. Bethune is one of the best public schools in the Rogers Park area. I don’t see how they can even consider closing it!”
He nodded. “Worried about your job, honey?”
“Not just my job! My teachers . . . the kids . . . everything we’ve worked hard to develop at Bethune to give these kids a good preparation for middle school and high school. I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished!” Avis threw out her hands, the food on her plate mostly untouched. “What kind of screwed-up system would shut down a high-performing school rather than shake every tree possible to keep it open? And I find out through a form letter?”
Peter reached across the table and took her hand, holding it quietly for a few moments. Finally he spoke. “Honey, I hear you. I know it would be very hard for you. And tough for everyone—your staff, the kids, the parents. You’ve done a fantastic job at that school. You have a right to be proud. But . . .” A light seemed to turn on in his eyes. “. . . maybe God’s saying something to us through everything that’s happening. Nony’s letter. A prospective buyer for Software Symphony. The possibility that Bethune Elementary might be closed next year . . . Maybe God’s showing us this is the time to consider taking that mission trip to South Africa!”
Chapter 9
Kat Davies hustled up the stone steps and into the Memorial Student Center, which housed the student union, student newspaper, a game and rec room with a mega-size TV, and—her destination—the Chip Off the Block Café, commonly known as “The Chip.” Spying Nick in a corner booth, she swung her backpack off and slid into the padded bench seat across from him. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” The tall seminary student had his hands around a large paper cup with a straw poking through its plastic lid. “You gonna get something? Try the chocolate-caramel shake.” Nick waggled the paper cup. “Guaranteed to make you fall in love.”
She made a face. “No thanks. I’m good.” Yuck. All that sugar. She fished her water bottle out of her backpack. “Have you seen Brygitta?”
“Yeah, she said she’d meet us here—and speaking of pixie-haired gremlins . . .”
“Hi, guys.” Brygitta slid into the booth beside Nick, dropping an armful of books on the table while clinging to an identical large paper cup with lid and straw. “Oh, Kat. Water? You have to try their new chocolate-caramel shake. It is sooo good.” Kat’s roommate sucked on her straw happily. “Where’s Livie?”
Nick slurped the last of his milk shake. “I left her a message. Didn’t hear back, so I don’t know.”
“You guys talking about me?” Olivia arrived out of breath, blond wisps falling out of the clip where she’d bunched her hair on the back of her head.
“Yeah, we’re dissin’ you.” Kat laughed, masking a twinge of envy as she scooted over to make room for the younger girl. Olivia had “classic” features that looked good even w
hen she was a mess. Lucky guy who’d wake up to her. Kat self–consciously pulled a long strand of her own dark, curly hair taut and wrapped it around her finger.
Olivia slid into the booth beside Kat. “Sorry. I stopped to get coffee. So, Nick, what did you mean in your message, ‘Let’s talk summer’?”
“Just that.” Nick pushed his empty cup aside. “What are we going to do this summer? None of us has made concrete plans yet, and I, for one—and Kat, for two—are thinking about staying in Chicago instead of going home. Big plus for me—I could start looking for a summer job now instead of waiting till mini-term is over in June.”
Brygitta nodded. “Same here. Kat’s been talking to me ever since Sunday, and I think . . . I’m in. Just working up the courage to tell my family I’m not coming home.”
“Just do it, Bree,” Nick snorted. “You’re over twenty-one, for heaven’s sake.”
Brygitta rolled her eyes. “Ha. I’ll let you talk to my father. Have you ever won an argument with a Polish tatu? When you’re the only girl in a family with three brothers? And don’t get me started on my grandmother. She’s got my whole life planned already.”
Kat laughed with the others—but inside she winced. Brygitta wasn’t the only one who needed courage to talk to her father. Dr. Ken Davies was going to have a royal fit when she told him she wasn’t coming home to Phoenix this summer.
Olivia frowned. “So why do we need to talk about this—the four of us, I mean. It might be good for some, but maybe not everyone. Isn’t it an individual decision?”
“Of course, Livie,” Kat soothed. “If you decide to go home this summer, that’s fine. But we were thinking, if the four of us stayed and split the rent for an apartment, our expenses would go way down. And it’d be fun to hang out together in Chicago for the summer. Definitely taking our ‘urban experience’ to another level—actually living in the city instead of doing hit-and-runs from campus.”
Olivia was quiet for several long moments, toying with a saltshaker. “I don’t know . . . Mom and my younger sister are home alone. I think they need me to come home.”