by Neta Jackson
Avis smiled wearily. “Thanks, Estelle. We want to dial down the hysteria, not pump it up. But thanks for offering your man. I’m sure he doesn’t need more to do.”
Estelle raised her eyes heavenward. “I need him to have more to do. Can’t stand to have a man under my feet all day. Thank God for that security job he’s got part-time.”
Chuckling, Avis chose a seat. It wasn’t as if Estelle was home all day herself. The woman still worked part-time as a cook at the Manna House Women’s Shelter in the Wrigleyville neighborhood, where several SouledOut members were either on the board, on staff, or volunteered.
Jodi plonked herself in the seat next to her. “Surprised to see you here after all that’s gone down at school this week. You okay?”
Avis just squeezed Jodi’s hand and nodded. As much as she loved her friend and third-grade teacher, she just didn’t feel like talking any more about the drama at school. “Where’s Denny?”
“Oh, you know. Boys’ wrestling match tonight at West Rogers High. Says the athletic director should be there for the boys. Ha. I know Denny. He can’t stand to not be at a game or match or what have you.”
Peter slid into the seat on the other side of her just as Pastor Clark announced the topic for that evening would be “Our Identity in Christ.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Peter whispered. “Phone kept ringing up to the last minute.”
She squeezed his hand. “We just started. But better shut off your cell phone.”
The study was a good one, though Avis felt her identity as a child of God wasn’t an area where she struggled. But she could tell that Gabby and Philip Fairbanks, who were working to repair their marriage, were listening intently and looking up every scripture. Well, praise God. If they kept Jesus at the center of their relationship, they might make it. “A cord of three strands is not easily broken . . .” Maybe she’d share that verse from Ecclesiastes with Gabby to encourage her.
As soon as the study was over, Avis and Peter followed Pastor Clark back to the pastors’ office. Joe Cobbs had been preparing for his Sunday sermon during the Bible study, but he jumped to his feet and welcomed them when they knocked on the door. As they settled into the chairs he offered, Pastor Cobbs raised his eyebrows at them. “So what’s this about? You guys finally deciding to get married?”
That got a laugh. He knew good and well Pastor Clark had married them at Uptown a few months before the two churches had merged.
“I think it took the first time.” Peter grinned, but Avis could tell he was nervous by the way he leaned forward in his chair, forearms on his thighs, rubbing his hands together. “We want to talk to both of you about some decisions we need to make, but—”
“It’s complicated,” Avis said, then wished she could take it back. Good grief. She knew better than to finish her husband’s sentences.
But Peter just said, “Honey, do you have that invitation from the Sisulu-Smiths? Why don’t you read it for the pastors.”
Avis pulled the envelope with the South African postmark out of her purse and read the note from Nonyameko. Both pastors knew the Sisulu-Smiths, who had been members of Pastor Cobbs’s church before the two churches merged, and then members of SouledOut. They had stayed close to the couple when the tragic beating had almost taken Mark’s life, and their move a year later to South Africa had been a loss for the whole church.
“Wow.” Pastor Cobbs shook his head when Avis had finished reading the letter. “That’s an amazing invitation from Nony and Mark. Are you two seriously considering going to South Africa? I’m jealous.”
“Well . . .” Peter glanced at Avis. “There’s more.” She listened as her husband admitted the restlessness he’d been feeling, realizing the two of them had some good years left and maybe they should choose how to spend them, rather than just drift along the same old paths. He noted the falling sales at Software Symphony, and then the amazing offer of a buyout. And finally, the confidential notice Avis had received from the school board about possible school closures, including Bethune Elementary—right after getting this invitation.
Hearing it all laid out like that, Avis had a strange sensation. What was happening in their lives bore a striking parallel to what had happened to the Sisulu-Smiths. Nony and Mark had struggled for years with different visions of what they should be doing. Then a tragedy, loss, uncertainty—and pieces of their life had been taken away. But in the end it had opened the door for something new.
Was that what God was doing?
Both pastors listened in silence and sat quietly for several moments after Peter was done, as though considering all they’d heard. Finally Pastor Cobbs spoke. “I appreciate your willingness to include your pastors as you two face this decision. I’m certainly willing to pray with you as you consider the implications.” He smiled wryly. “Can’t say I’m excited about losing one of my elders and one of our best worship leaders though.”
Pastor Clark had said nothing so far. He sat hunched over, a bit like a scarecrow losing its perch, rubbing his bony chin. When he did speak, he addressed her. “Sister Avis, you said, ‘It’s complicated.’ Is there something more you’d like to share with us?”
A lump caught in Avis’s throat. It was as if the older man could see into her heart. She nodded gratefully. “There’s one thing that makes it hard for me to even consider such a life-changing invitation right now—which has caused some stress between Peter and me.” She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on Pastor Clark’s kind face for courage. “My daughter Rochelle and our grandson, Conny. They’re missing. We haven’t heard from them for, well, it’s three months now.”
“Rochelle . . . She was diagnosed with HIV, wasn’t she? I remember she shared once here at SouledOut. A brave girl.”
“Yes. Infected by her philandering husband.” Avis spit it out, fresh anger rising in her throat. “We got a restraining order against him because he was getting abusive. She was doing all right for a while, being monitored at a clinic, taking her meds. But then . . . things just started falling apart. And now . . . we’ve lost touch.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Avis saw Peter shift in his chair, as if a bit edgy at the turn the conversation was taking. Both pastors expressed concern, agreeing it was definitely a priority to make sure her daughter and grandson were safe and in a good place. “If there’s anything we can do to help you find Rochelle, please let us know,” Pastor Clark said.
“Absolutely.” Pastor Cobbs tented his fingers thoughtfully. Avis noticed that the flecks of gray in his close-cropped hair added a distinguishing touch, even though the pastor was several years younger than Peter. “But it does seem that God is doing something new. I don’t have a clear sense of what you ought to do, but I think I speak for both Pastor Clark and myself, we want to pray with you and stand with you as God reveals what your next steps should be.”
After promising to keep them posted and spending time praying together, Avis and Peter walked out to the parking lot. She wondered if he was disappointed. The pastors had been open and supportive, but they had given no clear direction. Well, they could talk when they got home. They’d driven separately, and Avis walked toward her car. “See you at home. You need something to eat.”
“Yeah, thanks, I’m starving.” Peter pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. “Huh, got a message . . .” He started for his car, phone to his ear. But as Avis unlocked her door, she glanced toward his car and saw him frowning in the stark illumination of one of the parking lot lights. Suddenly he came striding toward her, clearly upset.
“Here. Listen to this.” He punched a couple buttons and thrust the phone at her.
She pressed his phone to her ear. “Peter. Jack Griffin here. I’ve been crunching some of the numbers you gave me, and, well, we’ve got a few problems with doing the buyout. Call me when you can and we’ll talk.”
Eyes widening, Avis stared at her husband. With sudden force he slammed his hand on the hood of her car. “See? Should’ve told Griffin yes when th
e door was wide open! What are we going to do if this falls through?”
Chapter 14
Kat stopped at the wide entrance of The Chip and did a 360 of the booths ringing the student center café. The café was crowded this Friday afternoon with families in town for graduation tomorrow. Spying a hand waving at her from a booth in the corner, she managed the obstacle course around several knots of young siblings and grinning parents of soon-to-be graduates. “Whew!” She scooched into the vinyl seat, shoving her backpack into a corner. “I’m surprised you got a booth, Ms. Vargas.”
The dark-eyed woman smiled. “No problem. I just told a few of my students it was their booth or their grade.”
Kat laughed. She’d had Ms. Vargas for Spanish her first year here at CCU as a transfer student and enjoyed her sense of humor—one reason she’d signed up for the Urban Experience program, where the lively middle-aged woman served as advisor.
“So.” Sipping from a tall, frosty glass of iced something, Ms. Vargas eyed Kat. “What’s this about? You wanted to see me. Como esta?”
Kat laughed. “I’m good! For one thing, finals are over. I graduate tomorrow. Just picked up my cap and gown.” She patted her bulging backpack. “Although I’m staying for mini-term, taking a refresher Spanish course. Seemed like a good idea when I signed up for it, because I’d love to teach ESL. But right now? The thought of another class fries my brain!”
Ms. Vargas opened her mouth as if to say something, but Kat rushed on. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I’m staying in the city this summer! You inspired me to not just do the tourist thing in Chicago, but to actually get involved. Not just me, but Nick Taylor and Brygitta Walczak too. And maybe Livie Lindberg. We’re looking at an apartment this weekend—practically fell into our laps! You see . . .” And Kat rattled on about visiting SouledOut Community Church as part of their “urban experience” and how they found out about an apartment to sublease for the summer. She finally paused for a swig of her water bottle. “This will give us the opportunity to, you know, get involved in the church this summer. Maybe work with kids. I’d like to find a job tutoring if I can.”
Ms. Vargas let a few quiet moments pass before responding. “And?”
Kat blinked uncertainly. “And . . . what?”
“What are you hoping to learn from this experience, Kat?”
“Well, uh . . .” Kat wasn’t sure what Ms. Vargas was driving at. “I’m sure we’ll learn a lot. Getting to know people in the neighborhood. Finding out what we can do at the church. It’s pretty different from the Phoenix suburb where I grew up, and SouledOut . . . well, it’s pretty exciting. So diverse. Really energetic. You must’ve been there, since it was on your list of recommended churches to visit.”
Ms. Vargas nodded. “Yes, I have a friend who’s a member there. Edesa Baxter. You’ll probably meet her if you do attend SouledOut this summer. I knew her as Edesa Reyes, originally from Honduras. We . . . Never mind, that’s neither here nor there.” The UE advisor leaned forward, her dark eyes locking on Kat’s. “Kat, let me say something. You are a vivacious, idealistic young woman. Brimming with enthusiasm for your latest passion, whether it’s a new theory of teaching, or being green, or . . . or eating vegan, or whatever it is you call it.”
Kat shook her head. “I’m not exactly vegan. More like—”
“Whatever. Let me finish. I—” An insistent beeping suddenly distracted the UE advisor. She fumbled at her watch and pushed a button. “Uh-oh. I totally forgot I have a meeting with a student and parent in five minutes. Lo siento . . . I’m sorry.”
The woman slid out of the booth but paused. “So I’ll just say this, Kat. Talk less. Listen more.” Then she grinned. “And come talk to me at the end of the summer. Adiós, mi amiga!” With a laugh, Ms. Vargas disappeared among the warm bodies still crowding into the café.
Talk less. Listen more. Huh. Ms. Vargas’s comment made Kat feel like a sixth grader again. Her middle school teachers were always telling her to shut up and sit down. In fact, going over the brief chat with the UE advisor, Kat felt her face flush hot. Sure, she’d done most of the talking in the café, but the prof had asked her what was up, hadn’t she? She thought Ms. Vargas would be excited that four of her students were taking the whole “urban experience” thing seriously. But all she had to say was, “Talk less, listen more”?
Kat wished she hadn’t bothered letting the UE advisor know what they were doing this summer. She hadn’t seemed all that impressed.
Well. So be it. If Ms. Vargas thought she talked too much, she’d keep her mouth shut. Though if she left the talking to Nick or Brygitta or, heaven forbid, Olivia, they wouldn’t even have an apartment to check out this weekend. After all, she was the one who let the people at SouledOut know they were looking for a place to live in the city this summer. And at least she wasn’t like Olivia, always asking anxious questions or stating the obvious.
Kat generally avoided her friends that evening and the next morning. Wasn’t hard. Graduation on Saturday was by ticket only for family and friends, and Brygitta and Nick had both been given tickets by other graduating friends whose families couldn’t come for one reason or another. “See you there! We’ll cheer when they call your name, Kat!” Brygitta promised.
But Kat was having second thoughts about attending graduation at all. What was the point? Her parents hadn’t come. She’d get her diploma whether she did or didn’t attend. And to be honest, the party atmosphere and hoopla on campus was annoying. All these undergrads had come to CCU to get a Christian education, but most of them basically ignored the big city around them except to shop in the Loop or go out for Gino’s Pizza. Now they were graduating. They’d get their diploma and go back to their lives in small-town America without ever having to deal with “the big city.” Even the Urban Experience program was extracurricular, not required. A big mistake, in Kat’s humble opinion.
Besides, it was a gorgeous spring day—temps climbing toward the seventies and a blue, blue sky. And, good grief, mini-term started on Monday, which didn’t give much of a break. Kat didn’t feel like sitting for hours in the auditorium while alphabetical lines of undergrad and graduate students crossed the stage. She felt like getting out of there. Doing something. Maybe she’d . . .
Eyes gleaming with her sudden idea, Kat went back to her dorm room, dumped books and notebooks out of her backpack, and repacked it with a fresh water bottle, granola bars, a windbreaker . . . and the Google map Brygitta had made of the address they were going to visit tomorrow.
Getting off the El at the Howard Street station, Kat deliberately walked to the shopping center where SouledOut Community Church was located, intending to follow the map from there to see how long it would take to walk on Sunday. It wasn’t necessary. She was sure they could make it by one o’clock after church. According to the map, the address was only a mile or so away.
She hadn’t expected anyone to be at the church—after all, it was Saturday, almost noon—so she was surprised to see a rental moving truck parked alongside the walkway in front of the church “storefront” and a good-size group of people inside: teenagers and young adults, along with some kids and parent-types. And as usual—for SouledOut, anyway—it was a mixed crowd of blacks, whites, and everything in between.
Not like campus, where “minorities” were still a minority.
What was going on? The moving truck . . . oh yes. There’d been an announcement last Sunday that one of the families was moving. Away? Or just in the neighborhood? A glance at the back of the truck showed that it was empty. So the move must be done already, and they were feeding the work crew who’d showed up to help.
Watching from the parking lot, she felt a little left out. She briefly considered going inside. They’d probably welcome her. But she hesitated. She hadn’t helped with the move, so maybe it was a little presumptuous to show up at lunchtime.
Kat pulled out the map they’d printed out. Go down Clark street, turn on Pratt, head toward the lake, then go sou
th a few blocks, turn again . . . okay, maybe it was a mile and a half. But it was a gorgeous day and she was up for it.
Clark Street was a trip. She’d never seen so many different tiny restaurants and grocery stores—mostly Mexican food—and little carts on the street corners selling hot ears of corn, an assortment of tamales, and a drink called arroz con leche—to name a few. A bustling fruit market. Shops with quinceañera and prom dresses. Even a western-wear store with cowboy boots, hats, and belts with big silver buckles. Kat bought one of the ices from a cart with a big orange and white umbrella, using her smattering of classroom Spanish. She felt giddy. Staying in this neighborhood was going to be so fun!
Turning east on Pratt, then making a few more turns onto residential streets containing a mix of big old houses, two-flats, three-flats, and six-unit apartment buildings, Kat consulted her map, looked up . . . and realized she’d arrived. There it was. A brick three-flat. Well maintained. In fact, flower beds in front of the bushes that lined either side of the cement steps looked as if they’d been freshly dug, and rows of pink and purple petunias—or were those pansies?—nodded in the noonday sun. The big stone urns on either side of the steps were filled with red geraniums and some long vines.
Kat grinned inside. Nice, very nice. Glancing about and seeing no one nearby, she ventured up the steps and into the small foyer. Three mailboxes. Three sets of buttons. Three names. “First floor, Logan. Second, Candy. Third, Douglass,” she murmured. She didn’t really want to run into the Candy lady, since they didn’t have an appointment until tomorrow, but for a brief moment she was tempted to push the button that said Douglass. Were they home? It’d be fun to see their apartment. It would give her an idea of what the Candys’ apartment was like. But she hesitated. Probably a bad idea to show up without—
The outside door to the foyer opened and Kat turned quickly, feeling caught. But it was a young black woman, no one she recognized. Pretty, skin on the creamy side, lots of hair. Seeing Kat, the woman stopped, as if startled. They stared at each other. Funny, Kat thought, the girl’s hair was almost like her own, full and long and wavy. Darker, though. Black with brown and gold highlights.