Stand by Me

by Neta Jackson

  Avis smiled her thanks for the heads-up.

  Pushing the door open, at first she didn’t see anyone. No one sitting in the guest chair in front of her desk. Then she saw the person—a young woman—standing behind her desk at the window, back to her, looking out, somewhat silhouetted in the bright sunlight streaming in through the blinds.

  Avis’s heart leaped. Full, dark hair, rippling in frizzy waves past the young woman’s shoulders and down her back.

  She gasped. “Rochelle, honey!”

  The person turned. Avis’s shock turned to confusion. The girl had white skin and blue eyes—not her Rochelle’s dark eyes and honey-brown complexion. How could she have been fooled like that? “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here, Kathryn?”

  Kathryn Davies seemed flustered. “I’m sorry. You thought I was—”

  “My mistake. The bright sun and shadows . . . never mind.” Avis strode to her desk chair and indicated the chair on the other side of the desk. “You came to see me about something?”

  Kathryn moved away from the window and sat in the chair. “Um, yes. I came to ask if you still need tutors for your STEP program. I’m only working part-time, so I’d have some time to volunteer.”

  “Yes, well . . . will you excuse me a moment? I’ll get the information.” Avis left her office, closed the door behind her, and stepped into the empty hallway. Leaning against the wall, she fought back tears. For those few seconds in time, she’d thought Rochelle had come back, had wanted to see her, had come to make things right between them.

  But it was only Kathryn Davies. Kathryn Davies! Who seemed to show up whether Avis wanted her to or not. She’d never realized how similar their dark hair was, only slightly different in color. Kathryn usually wore hers bunched up or pulled back. But today it was down. And silhouetted against the brightness of the window . . .

  Or had she unconsciously sensed a similarity between Kathryn and Rochelle that she’d resented? Kathryn living under her feet, popping in and out of her life, when it should be Rochelle.

  Oh God, she moaned. What kind of cruel joke is this?

  Chapter 36

  Kat fidgeted as she waited for Mrs. Douglass to return. Did she really think I was her daughter at first? Weird. She eyed her backpack resting on the floor by her feet. The small box wrapped in brown paper and red ribbon that Rochelle had given her was still in there. Should she leave it on Mrs. Douglass’s desk? What a golden opportunity! She’d be sure to get it then.

  Kat reached for the backpack—and then stopped. Even if she were able to sneak it onto the desk, Mrs. Douglass would know who put it there. Who was the last person in her office? Duh.

  Wish I’d thought of doing this earlier. If she’d left the box and slipped out without Mrs. Douglass seeing her, that would’ve been perfect! Then she wouldn’t have to figure out how to sneak into the woman’s bedroom. That was not going to be easy.

  But too late now. Still, what was taking the principal so long?

  Just then the office door opened and Mrs. Douglass returned. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Kathryn. Here’s the information about STEP.” She handed Kat a packet of papers before sitting down at her desk. “And, yes, we can always use more tutors. The tutoring program runs from nine till twelve each morning, afternoon sports three afternoons a week, and field trips the other two afternoons. At least that’s the plan. It all depends on volunteers and resources contributed by the business community.” She eyed Kat across the desk. “Have you done tutoring before?”

  Kat nodded eagerly. “Yes, back in high school I tutored in a summer program. It was one of the things that made me change my major from premed to education. And I had to do a certain number of hours tutoring other students at CCU as part of my master’s requirements.”

  “What subjects?”

  “Oh, most anything. I had to take a lot of science and math for premed at the University of Arizona, so that’s what I tutored at CCU.” Kat beamed. Hopefully Mrs. D was impressed with her résumé.

  “And your work schedule at The Common Cup?”

  “Well, it changes from week to week. But I’ll ask for afternoons and evenings. If I get assigned to mornings, maybe Brygitta would trade with me.”

  Mrs. Douglass nodded and seemed to be thinking about it. “Well, if you’re free Monday morning, show up here at nine for our volunteer training day. We start the actual program on Tuesday.” She stood and held out her hand across the desk. “Thanks for coming in, Kathryn. We need all the help we can get.”

  It felt funny to shake hands, as if they’d never met before, but Kat shook the principal’s hand, picked up her backpack, and headed for the front doors of the school. Guess the woman had to keep things “professional” at school. At the far end of the wide hallway, a janitor was busy mopping the floor, erasing the week’s collection of footprints and dirt.

  Elation quickened Kat’s steps as she headed back to the three-flat. Her summer was coming together. A half-time job, half-time tutoring. Perfect! Should she call home and tell her parents? She’d promised herself to call at least once a week and it was almost the weekend. But imagining the phone call, the elation seeped out of her spirit like air from a pinhole. Her father would tell her she was foolish to settle for a half-time job. At a coffee bar at that. And her mother would probably want to know if the children she’d be tutoring were clean and disease free.

  No, better send an e-mail.

  Walking quickly along the damp sidewalks, her loose hair continuing to frizz in the rising humidity after the storm, Kat put her mind to the puzzle she had to solve: how to get Rochelle’s birthday gift to her mom without Mrs. D knowing who put it there.

  Saturday was sunny, warm, and clear—but Kat had to work the afternoon shift at The Common Cup. When she’d left the apartment, Nick, Bree, and Livie were talking about taking the El downtown to see Millennium Park. Bummer! At least working in her dad’s office, she’d had weekends off . . . No, she wasn’t going to go there. Wasn’t this job a gift from God?

  Keeping busy helped. Most of the orders that day were for iced coffees, flavored iced teas, cold juices, and yogurt parfaits. Kat put on a smile and cheerfully greeted customers, trying to learn the names of regulars. Checking the schedule for next week, she was pleased to see that she was scheduled for two afternoons, two evenings, and only one morning—which maybe she could trade.

  But when Bree showed up at five o’clock to take the evening shift, Kat groused, “Don’t wanna hear how much fun you had.”

  “We didn’t go.” Bree tied the apron Kat had just taken off around her own waist. “Decided to go tomorrow when we could all go. Besides, Livie wanted to shop for some craft supplies to use with her new charges. Something besides video games.”

  “Oh, you! I wasted a whole afternoon feeling sorry for myself!” Giving Bree a quick hug, Kat headed out the door. Maybe she’d go for a good brisk walk along the lakefront just to enjoy the beautiful evening before heading home. She was glad she’d worn her gym shoes to work—made it easier to be on her feet all afternoon.

  But what Bree said was true. As soon as Kat got back to the apartment, Livie told her they’d decided to pack a lunch and head for Millennium Park right after worship the next day. “Oh . . . my sister e-mailed me today. Elin says she’s really homesick for me.” Her smile faded a bit. “I don’t know, Kat. Maybe I should have gone to Madison, stayed with Aunt Gerty and Uncle Ben like she did—”

  “Livie. Don’t second-guess yourself. Staying in Chicago is good! Why don’t you invite Elin to come visit you here? It’d be fun.”

  Olivia shrugged. “Maybe. Guess I could ask her.”

  A thunderstorm rolled through the city as they got up the next morning, but had passed by the time the four friends walked to church, and the sky was starting to clear by the time the service was over. Kat and Livie grabbed their lunch out of the refrigerator in the church kitchen and headed for the front doors where Nick and Brygitta were already waiting. And then Kat saw Edesa Ba
xter, bouncing Gracie on her hip, talking to that curly redhead who was program director or something at Manna House.

  “Livie, give me a minute, okay?” Kat handed her backpack with their lunch to Olivia and sidled over to where Edesa and the other woman were talking.

  “Miss Gato!” Gracie squealed and held out her arms to Kat. Kat took the little girl in her arms.

  “Buenos tardes, Kathryn!” Edesa flashed her wonderful smile. “Have you met Gabby Fairbanks?—oh.” The redhead had already waved good-bye and hustled away. “Too late.”

  “It’s you I wanted to see. Do you have a second?”

  “Of course. Right, niña? Here . . . go find Papá.” She took Gracie from Kat’s arms, set her down, and shooed her away. “Shall we sit?”

  Kat pulled up a chair. “I only have a minute. But I wanted to ask if you’d thought any more about teaching a nutrition class together here at the church. I think we’d make a great team.”

  Edesa’s face grew thoughtful. Finally she said, “Kat, we need more than a minute to talk about this. I appreciate your eagerness to teach good nutrition to families in the neighborhood—but that would be like taking a scripture verse out of its context and trying to make it say something the context doesn’t support. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “Um, not really.”

  “How can I explain? It’s just that . . . nutrition is fine-tuning the whole area of people getting adequate food. There are things that have to happen first—getting something to eat—anything!—on a regular basis. Getting enough to eat. Getting food that tastes good so that kids will eat it . . . and so on. It’s like Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs—you’ve studied that, I’m sure.”

  Kat nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brygitta beckoning to her with a frustrated look on her face.

  “Then you know a person isn’t really interested in talking about self-respect or creativity or other areas of self-actualization until truly basic needs have been met—like food, shelter, safety. It’s much the same when addressing the very real needs of adequate food for people with limited means. Nutrition would need to be taught within a broader context addressing even more basic needs.”

  “Oh.” Kat saw Brygitta rolling her eyes. “Okay. I just thought . . . well, maybe we can talk more another time. Uh, thanks, Edesa.” She walked quickly to where her friends were waiting. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to take so long. Come on, let’s go.”

  The afternoon at Millennium Park was fun—though on the way downtown on the El, Kat felt frustrated by her brief talk with Edesa. Did she mean you can’t even talk about eating good food until you’ve taken care of all the other humongous social issues? That seemed dumb. Maybe she’d figure out some way to do something on her own . . . maybe work it into her tutoring at the STEP program.

  The flowers in Millennium Park were in full bloom, like walking through an English country garden. The “Bean”—the futuristic Cloud Gate sculpture that looked to Kat like a huge stainless steel kidney bean resting on the plaza—dominated the park, and it was fun to see the Chicago skyline reflected in it. They ate their packed lunch on the lawn of the pavilion, an outdoor stage hosting concerts through the summer. “Let’s get a schedule of concerts,” Nick said. “It’d be fun to come down here at night.”

  But the most fun was Crown Fountain, a pair of fifty-foot towers sitting at each end of a shallow wading pool with enormous video images of real faces spitting water into the pool. The faces changed and their mouths “spit” water at intervals, and kids were having a ball splashing and squealing as the water hit the pool.

  “Come on!” Kat tossed her sandals onto a stone bench along with her backpack. “Let’s get wet!” It had to be eighty degrees at least. The water would feel good.

  “I’ll watch your stuff!” Olivia yelled after them.

  Kat and Bree and Nick cavorted like juveniles themselves in the shallow pool, chasing each other from one end to the other.

  “Time out!” Bree gasped finally. “I’ll go relieve Livie.” She headed for the bench.

  Kat started to follow, but Nick grabbed her. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not wet enough.” Laughing, he dragged her under the latest stream of water pouring from the closest tower.

  Kat screeched and struggled—but not too hard—realizing Nick’s arms around her felt . . . warm and wonderful. She grabbed him back and they both got soaked before finally making their way back to the stone bench, laughing and gasping.

  Olivia shook her head. “You two are nuts. We should go so you two can get some dry clothes.”

  Yeah, Kat thought, toweling off her hair with the sweatshirt in her backpack. The weekend’s almost over and I still have to figure out how to get Rochelle’s gift to her mom.

  Chapter 37

  When the four friends arrived back at the three-flat around five o’clock, the perfect opportunity presented itself. Kat had just gotten out of the shower and changed into dry capris and a tank top when she heard the door buzzer ringing in the apartment upstairs and footsteps and voices tromping past their apartment on the way to the third floor. Then the buzzer again and more voices. And then a knock at their door.

  Edesa Baxter stood on the landing holding a large, flat bakery cake. “Shh,” she said. “May I come in?”

  “Of course!” Kat opened the door wider and Edesa set the cake on their dining room table. “What’s up?”

  Edesa giggled happily. “It’s Estelle Bentley’s birthday next week, and our Yada Yada Prayer Group is meeting at Avis’s apartment tonight. You know who Estelle is, don’t you? From SouledOut? Sister Estelle won’t suspect a thing since we’re a week early, but we don’t want this cake to show up yet. Would you . . . would you be willing to bring it up when I call you on your cell phone?”

  Who could miss Estelle Bentley? An imposing presence, the attractive middle-aged black woman, and her husband, the ex-cop. Kat grinned. “Absolutely. Your . . . what group?”

  “The Yada Yada Prayer Group. Some of us from SouledOut belong to this group, but there are women from other churches too. We meet every other week in different homes. Just happens to be here at Avis’s tonight—but God is good, si? You live just below to help us with our surprise!” She gave Kat a hug. “Thank you so much, Sister Kathryn. I better go—but can you give me your cell number? I will call you.”

  When she was gone, Brygitta, Olivia, and Kat crowded around the sheet cake. It had been decorated with purple icing swirled to look like balls of yarn and knitting needles in gold icing, along with “God has knit us together, Estelle!” in purple and gold.

  “She must be a knitter,” Bree murmured.

  “You think?” Kat gave her a teasing shove. But her mind was racing. It sounded like a large group of women up there—and she was supposed to bring the cake up. Maybe Mrs. Douglass would be so distracted, she could sneak Rochelle’s gift box into the bedroom—if Mr. D wasn’t holed up in there. But it seemed like her best chance. Even better if Bree helped—surely it wouldn’t hurt to tell her that Mrs. Douglass’s daughter wanted to slip a gift into her mom’s bedroom.

  “You carry the cake,” Kat told Brygitta once she’d filled her in. “I’ll look for an opportunity to sneak the gift into her bedroom.”

  They heard singing upstairs. Laughter. More singing. Forty-five minutes later a text arrived on Kat’s cell. All it said was “Now.”

  Kat and Bree carefully mounted the stairs to the third floor with the cake. Kat tapped lightly on the door. It opened immediately, and as they walked in with the cake, the roomful of women shouted, “Surprise!” And someone began singing, “Happy birthday to youuuu . . .”

  Estelle, dressed in a royal blue caftan and matching head wrap—Kat had heard she sewed her clothes herself—clapped her hands and laughed. A few moments later Mrs. Douglass and another woman Kat had never seen before disappeared into the kitchen—probably for plates and ice cream or whatever. Now!

  She guessed the master bedroom was at the end of the hall,
similar to the master bedroom in their apartment, but Kat stepped into the bathroom first in case anyone was watching her. A moment later she peeked out toward the living room. No one was looking. Slipping down the hall, she pushed open the bedroom door, already slightly ajar.

  Glancing quickly around, she took in the room. Queen bed with a royal blue duvet and baby-blue-and-cream flowered bed skirt, matching pillow covers plumped up against the wooden headboard. Two dressers—one, tall and masculine on the far side of the bedroom, the other on the near side, wider, lower, with a mirror held by a wooden “scroll.” That must be Mrs. D’s.

  Quickly Kat slipped the box out of the roomy pocket of the hoodie she’d put on just for this purpose and set it on the dresser. No, she’d half hide it behind the photo of her and Mr. D on one side . . . there.

  Now to get out—quick!

  No one in the hall . . . no one looking this way from the living room . . . but just in case, Kat slipped back into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, ran the water in the sink, and came out again.

  Uh-oh. The women in the living room were sharing prayer requests while eating their cake. Awkward. She hesitated in the hallway, wondering what to do.

  “Any word from your daughter?” Jodi Baxter was saying.

  Mrs. Douglass, sitting with her back to Kat, shook her head. “No. Just that one note in our mailbox. I . . . It’s been four months now, still don’t know where they are. Please keep praying, sisters. And pray for Peter and me too. Once we find Rochelle and Conny, he and I need to come to more agreement about how much to help them. It’s been . . . difficult.”

  “Tell me about it.” Estelle wagged her head. “Grown kids comin’ back home? When your own marriage is just a few years old? Mmmm . . . Well! No time like the present to pray.” The “birthday girl” set her cake aside and took the hands of the women on either side of her. Hands joined, heads bowed . . .