by Neta Jackson
“I don’t think so.”
Peter stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She hadn’t planned on telling Peter what she’d overheard in the ladies’ restroom at the church. As long as Peter wasn’t picking up any racial undercurrents at the church, she hadn’t wanted to fan any embers. But now she felt he deserved to know.
“You’re kidding me,” he said when she finished. “Mary Brown doesn’t want the church to get ‘too black’?”
“That’s what she said.”
“What in the world does she mean by that?”
Avis made a face. “I didn’t ask her. I was cornered in the handicapped stall, remember?”
Shaking his head, Peter pushed his plate back. “Dear God. I thought people at SouledOut were beyond this.” A moment later he banged his fist on the table. “Tell you one thing, Avis. I didn’t sign up for this kind of mess!” He stood up abruptly, grabbed his dishes, and stomped into the kitchen. She heard him dumping his dishes into the dishwasher and a few other thumps and slams before he came back out again.
“Peter. Wait.” Avis got up and went to her husband. “I understand you’re upset. I’ve been upset too. But we can’t let the Browns dictate how we feel—and they probably don’t speak for anybody but themselves.” Except maybe that other woman Mary Brown was talking to, but Avis had to let that go. “Let’s pray about it, okay? We need to ask God to help us not let this influence our own attitude or what we do.”
Peter still looked grim. “I know. You’re right. But this job was going to be challenging enough without the race card popping up.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Okay, let’s pray. Humph. Guess that’s why Pastor Cobbs wants both of us to be interim pastors, so my wife can help keep my feet on the ground.”
“Keep you from flying off the handle, you mean.” She gave him a playful poke, and then, still standing with their arms around each other, she began to pray. “Lord Jesus, we need You in a special way right now . . .”
Even as she prayed, Avis realized this was the first time she was praying about the conversation she’d overheard, the first time it had occurred to her to pray for Mary Brown. Even though she was always the one telling the sisters at Yada Yada to “pray first!” Give the stuff to God, let God work it out rather than fussing about it.
But when she came right down to it, it was easier said than done.
Peter just squeezed her when she finished and said, “Amen.” Obviously willing to let her prayers stand in for both of them.
Avis moved back to her laptop. “Oh. I did go downstairs earlier this evening and invite the students to have dinner with us Saturday night.”
Peter’s eyebrows went up. “Good for you, girl. Kill ’em with kindness, eh?”
She made a face. “Don’t rub it in. Nick and the girl Olivia—the only ones who were there—seemed pleased. Said it’d be a good way to celebrate the end of their ‘mini-term’ or whatever they call it. Guess they’ve been commuting back to CCU every day.”
Peter rubbed his hands together. “Hey, I think it’s time we fired up the grill and did some ribs, whaddya say? And you, my queen, make the best mac ‘n’ cheese in the world. We’ll show those kids some real soul food cooking.”
With the fifth graders going on a field trip to the Adler Planetarium on Thursday, and a dress rehearsal on Friday for next week’s final assembly—including Derrick Blue and Sammy Blumenthal carrying the flags together down the middle aisle, stoically not speaking or looking at each other—Avis hadn’t done anything to prepare for the “celebration dinner” by the time Saturday rolled around. After two days sweltering in the high eighties, the weather forecast predicted a thunderstorm or two late in the day. She hoped it would happen early in the afternoon to cool things off and then clear up so they could eat out on the back porch.
Peter went to work Saturday morning but promised he’d be home in time to grill the ribs. He liked to grill them slow, three hours or more. But when the phone rang just after she’d put the pot of collard greens and smoked neck bones on the stove to simmer and the caller ID said Software Symphony, she muttered to herself, “You better not be calling to say you can’t get home to do those ribs, Peter Douglass.”
But the voice on the other end wasn’t Peter. “Hey there, Avis,” said a male voice. “Peter made me make this call, said I was an answer to prayer.”
It only took a nanosecond to place the voice. “Carl? Is that you? You’re at work?”
Florida’s husband chuckled in her ear. “Yeah. Ever since the brothers came and prayed for me last Sunday, I been doin’ real good. Decided to come over here in person, tell your man I plan to come back to work on Monday. Had to make sure he hadn’t given my job to someone else.”
“Oh, Carl! That is good news. Are you sure? I mean, did your doctor give the okay?”
“Yeah . . . Hey, man, you don’t have to grab. Avis, your man wants the phone back. See ya Sunday, I hope. Thanks for all the prayers—”
“Avis?” The next voice in her ear was Peter’s. “Isn’t this great news? Nearly fell off my chair when he walked into my office. He’s looking great. Oh, hold on . . .”
She heard him calling out, “Hey, man, thanks for coming in. See you tomorrow at church.” Peter came back on the phone, his voice lighter than she’d heard it all week. “Yeah, I did tell him he’s an answer to prayer—in more ways than one. He’s looking a lot better, and having him back will take a big load off my shoulders here at work. But . . . there’s another thing. To be honest, Avis, the last couple days I’ve been wrestling with God about whether I can hold this business together and take on more responsibility at church. And that thing with the Browns . . . huh. Don’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Been thinking about telling the pastor I can’t do this. And then—Carl walks in. Says he’s ready to get back to work. Not sure what it all means. Is God trying to tell me something? With Carl managing things, I suppose I’d be able to cut back on my time in the office—but I’m still not sure how things are going to shake down at SouledOut.”
Avis let this sink in. She’d been having similar thoughts, not so much about the time involved—though that was an issue—but, like Peter, whether she was up to facing a situation that might prove to be divisive. She didn’t want to be at the center of that kind of mess. She’d had enough of those racist attitudes when she was first appointed principal of Bethune Elementary. It wouldn’t be good for SouledOut either. But . . . was Carl coming back to work, freeing up Peter, an answer for her too?
Chapter 32
The promised thunderstorm still hadn’t materialized when the students from the apartment below showed up right at six. “Yay! Mini-term is over!” Brygitta crowed as they came in.
“No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks!” Kathryn and Olivia laughed as they chanted the childhood ditty.
Nick handed Avis a bouquet of mixed flowers, the kind they sell at the grocery store, but they were fresh and colorful. “With all due respect to the principal of Bethune Elementary, who I’m sure doesn’t give dirty looks.”
Avis had to laugh. “You might be surprised.” She smiled warmly as she took the flowers. “Daisies and alstroemeria! Some of my favorites. You didn’t need to do that, but thank you. Come on in . . . Peter’s out on the back porch hovering over the grill. You can go out there if you’d like.”
As Avis rummaged in a cupboard for a vase, she had a sudden pang. Flowers. Oh dear. With the hot weather this week and no rain, the flowers she’d planted out front of the building were probably dead. She should have watered them this morning at least!
“Anything we can do to help?” Kathryn had her thick brunette hair caught back in a fat ponytail, hands stuck in her jeans pockets.
Avis almost said, “Yes, go water my f lowers!” But it was supposed to rain . . . let the rain do it. So she said, “Sure. You can cut the ends of those stems and arrange the flowers in this vase, if you would. I need to take my mac ’n’ cheese out of the
oven.”
Nick, Olivia, and Brygitta wandered out onto the back porch, but Kathryn hung out in the kitchen with Avis as she took out the casserole and then tasted the greens. Mm, perfect. The cornbread needed another ten minutes though.
“Did you hear that Bree and I got a job?” Kathryn said, snipping the ends of the flower stems and sticking them one at a time into the vase. “Over at The Common Cup on Morse Avenue. It’s the coolest thing. They wanted a full-time person, but they’re letting us share the job.”
Avis set out a stack of soak-proof, heavy-duty Styrofoam plates, the kind you need if you’re going to serve ribs. “Part-time? That’s interesting. Does that give you enough . . . I’m sorry. Not my business.”
“No problem. We don’t have a lot of expenses since we’re sharing the rent for the apartment, so I think we’ll be okay. Nick and Olivia still need jobs though. To tell you the truth, I’d rather work part-time this summer anyway, because I’d really like to do some volunteer work too—maybe tutoring or even teaching a class at the church about good nutrition.” Kathryn stuck the last flower stem in the vase. “For poor families in the neighborhood, you know. I mentioned it to Edesa Baxter since she’s got her MA in public health, but we haven’t had a chance to really talk about it. What do you think about something like that, Mrs. D?”
Avis stood stock still, holding the stack of disposable plates, glad Edesa had given them a heads-up about this idea at Yada Yada last week. She recovered quickly. “I think talking to Edesa about it is exactly the right thing to do. Here—” She handed the plates to Kathryn. “Would you take these out to the table on the back porch? We’re almost ready.”
Kathryn took the plates but frowned at them. “Are these Styrofoam? Um, no offense, Mrs. D, but these are really bad for the environment. They’re not biodegradable. Can’t recycle them either. Do you have any regular plates? I’ll be glad to stay and wash the dishes, if that’s the issue.”
It was all Avis could do not to let her mouth drop. Of all the nerve! Hadn’t this girl ever heard that when you’re in Rome, you do as the Romans do? Especially if you’re a guest! But again she made a quick choice not to make an issue of it. “Yes, I do have regular plates. The stoneware in that cupboard. We’ll need six of them. But we are going to use paper napkins with ribs.” If that’s all right with you, Miss Opinionated.
“Ribs?” Kathryn got a funny look on her face, but she opened the cupboard, counted out six plates, and carried them out the back door to the porch.
Avis was so flustered she almost didn’t hear the oven timer beeping away. But after muddling around for a few minutes putting paper napkins in a basket and dishing up the greens, she suddenly remembered the cornbread and pulled it out of the oven. Still okay. Lord, You’re going to have to help me here. Because right now I’m ready to sit that girl down and teach her a few manners.
“Ribs are ready!” Peter called out. “And I’m starving! Let’s eat!”
In a few minutes the glass-topped table on the back porch was full of food—a heaping platter of pungent ribs, the creamy macaroni and cheese, the steaming dish of greens, hot cornbread, honey, butter, and a frosty pitcher of sweet iced tea. Avis had planned to use disposable plastic tumblers, but she brought out tall glasses at the last minute. The paper napkins, however, were going to stay.
Peter asked Nick to say a blessing, which the young man did, and Avis was touched that he prayed “for these good people who have been so kind to us.” Well, yes. She was going to be kind if it killed her.
“It’s nice out here.” Olivia settled into a wicker chair with her plate, on which she’d put a dainty serving of everything. “We haven’t used our back porch yet. Everything’s still covered with tarps or something. You can see quite a bit of sky from up here on the third floor. And I like all the flower boxes on those porches over there.”
Avis enjoyed having a place to sit outside too, though the view wasn’t anything to rave about. Just the paved alley behind the garage and the garages and back porches of the buildings across the alley that faced the next street over—a mixture of two-story homes, two-flats, and three-flats—though a number of backyard locust trees and flowering magnolias helped “green” the alley. Right now, billowing white thunderheads towered overhead, taking over the blue sky. But Olivia was right—many of the porches across the way already had flower boxes hung on the railings, full of petunias and trailing vinca vines and ivy. Something that would have to wait at the Douglass household until school was out next week.
“You like flowers, Olivia?”
“Oh yes!” The pale blonde was quite pretty when she smiled. Took away the deer-in-the-headlights look she often wore. “When I have my own home someday, I’m going to have hanging baskets in every window. But right now I’m taking care of Mrs. Candy’s violets and other indoor plants. I like it.”
Peter was serving up the ribs as the others filled their plates at the table. On a whim Avis said, “Hm. I could use some help with my flowers. The ones I planted in front of the building, I mean. Seems that I forget to water them when it doesn’t rain.”
“Oh, I’d be glad to do it!” Olivia beamed, a touch of pink coming into her cheeks. “In fact, I’ll confess. I saw that they looked a bit wilted this morning, so I watered everything. I hope that was okay.”
Avis chuckled. “Very okay. Thank you, Olivia.”
“What? No ribs?” Peter was saying. He’d stuck his barbecue fork into a nice rack of ribs and was offering it to Kathryn.
But Kathryn shook her head. “No thanks. I’m sure they’re good. But I don’t eat red meat. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll take that,” Nick said, holding out his plate. “Everything looks great.”
By the time they were all served and sitting in the wicker porch chairs, Avis noticed that Kathryn had only taken some cornbread and macaroni and cheese. Good grief. What was wrong with the greens? . . . Oh, right. The smoked neck bones. Avis supposed that was on her no-no list too. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes.
But Nick was obviously enjoying the food. “You make your own sauce, Mr. Douglass? You wouldn’t consider sharing your recipe, would you? . . . Hm. Didn’t think so.” Nick grinned as Peter slyly shook his head. “But let me tell you, I don’t get to eat like this living with three women!”
Everyone laughed, though Avis realized that Kathryn had disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a glass of water.
Avis made a concerted effort to keep the conversation light, asking about hometowns—Brygitta was from Detroit, Olivia from Minneapolis, Nick from Portland, Oregon, Kathryn from Phoenix—and areas of study. She was surprised to learn that Olivia had another year before getting her BA in sociology. The girl seemed too timid to go into social work. Maybe she’d do something else—research?
“Yeah, I don’t graduate until January,” Nick was saying. “I, uh, still need to do an internship, and I have a couple more classes to complete for my master’s in divinity.”
“He was actually hoping to do an internship at SouledOut,” Kathryn piped up. “But—”
“Kat. Don’t.” Nick glared at her.
“But—”
“Kat.” There was a warning note in Nick’s voice.
A sudden gust of wind blew some of the paper napkins out of the basket, and Avis felt a drop in the temperature. “Uh-oh. I think that thunderstorm is finally here. We better move all this food inside.”
The next ten minutes were a bit hurry-scurry, as everyone grabbed dirty dishes and the bowls and platters of food. Fat raindrops started to spatter on the porch railing just as the sky lit up with a lightning flash, followed several moments later by a loud crack of thunder that made everyone jump. But they managed to get everything inside before the heavens really let loose with sheets of rain blowing over the porch.
“Whew. That came on fast.” Kat started scraping the plates over the food disposal in the sink as Avis stuck two Bakers Square pies in the oven.
> Nick grinned. “Yeah. I like it. Not like Portland rain, which is mostly a wet mist that just hangs around for days. Uh, what can I do to help?”
“I’m washing dishes. You can dry.” Kat had already run a sink full of sudsy water and now ran hot water into the second sink for rinsing.
“Kathryn, we have a dishwasher.” Avis pointed. “Just rinse the plates and load them in there.”
“I don’t mind. It saves water if we just wash them.” Kathryn plunged the stack of dishes under the suds.
“Actually, it doesn’t, Kathryn. Our dishwasher is a new Energy Saver and uses less water than you’ve already drawn in the sink there. But since you’ve already started, go ahead this time.”
“Oh.” Kathryn hesitated. “Uh, well, electricity then.”
Focus on the positives, Avis told herself as she put leftovers away and got out pie plates and dessert forks. At least the girl is helpful.
When the dishes were done, Avis took the pies out to the dining room table, followed by Nick and Kathryn carrying the pie plates and forks. In the living room Peter was showing Brygitta and Olivia his Software Symphony website on a laptop. “You should come see this, Nick.” Brygitta waved him over. “You know more about computer software than we do. It’s really cool.”
But Kathryn stopped by the family pictures clustered on a bookshelf between the dining room and living room. “Are these your other daughters?” She picked up a photo.
Avis glanced up from the blueberry pie she was cutting. “Yes, that’s Charette, my . . . our oldest. That’s her husband, Tom, and their twins, Tabitha and Toby. They live in Cincinnati.”
“And this?”
“Our youngest, Natasha. She lives and works in Washington, D.C.”