by Neta Jackson
Kat’s mouth fell open. “Oh no, no, that was just a story problem for my math students! Are they . . . oh dear. I was trying to make it personal, so I did phrase it like, ‘What if we had a dog wash here at the school . . .’ but I didn’t mean really!”
Mrs. Douglass’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Ah. No dog wash. Good. We’ll have to make that clear first thing next week—if word doesn’t spread this weekend and half the neighborhood doesn’t show up Monday with their dogs.” And then she chuckled. “Kids do take things literally, Kathryn. Be careful what you say.”
Kat nodded meekly. She’d taken Theory and Practice in Classroom Management, but all that theory was a bit different from actually teaching real kids. Especially kids as different from each other as Yusufu, Kevin, and Latoya. Worse, she had a master’s degree in education but felt as if she’d made a fool of herself. More than anything, she wanted Mrs. Douglass to respect her skills as a teacher.
Her parents didn’t. Obviously they were still miffed that she wasn’t doing her hospital residency by now. But just in case, she checked her e-mail again before heading for her afternoon shift at the coffee shop. Still nothing. Okay, she’d call after work, try to catch her mom before they went out for the evening or something.
But there was no answer on the home phone when she called, using her cell on the walk home. It went right to voice mail, and a digital voice announced that the mailbox was full. Good grief! Didn’t her mom ever listen to her messages? Kat glanced at her watch . . . five fifteen Chicago time, only four fifteen in Phoenix. She’d leave a message at her father’s office. They usually stayed open till five.
“Doctors Davies, Evans, and Campbell.”
Kat recognized her father’s middle-aged receptionist. “Uh, hi, Ms. Coalson. It’s Kathryn Davies. Is—”
“Oh, hi, Kathryn! We thought you’d be back in the office this summer! How’s Chicago?”
“It’s good. Uh, I’m trying to reach my folks, didn’t get through at home. Can I leave a message for my dad to call me? I know he’s probably still got patients.”
“Sure thing, hon. Want to give me your number just in case?”
Just in case what? That her father had somehow lost her number? But she repeated it anyway.
Kat’s alarm rang at five o’clock. In the other twin bed, Bree groaned and put a pillow over her head. Ughhhh. Kat felt like doing the same thing. This was her first day to work the six a.m. Saturday shift. It had sounded good at the time, because it didn’t conflict with tutoring at Bethune Elementary during the week. But she’d forgotten how early five o’clock was.
Stumbling into the bathroom, Kat turned on the shower, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror as the water warmed up. Supposed to be another hot day in the eighties. Maybe she should cut off all this hair and wear it short like Brygitta. Except Bree’s was straight and pixie-like with those wispy bangs and cute wisps in front of her ears. Hers would just frizz up like a Brillo pad. Well, she’d just wash it and get it off her neck with a clip per usual.
Friday evening had come and gone, and still no call from her parents. Well, darn it, she wasn’t going to chase after them. She’d sent an e-mail and left a message for her father. It was their turn. Besides, she had something else on her mind this morning.
Rochelle. Would she show up at ten o’clock like she’d promised? And even if she did, what would they do then? There was still the elephant in the room.
But once she was up and dressed, fortified with a glass of blended vegetable juice, Kat enjoyed the walk to Morse Avenue. Early morning runners and dog walkers were out in force. And once she had her apron on and took up her position behind the counter, she was surprised how many customers she’d served before seven o’clock.
The in-and-outers were mostly gone by nine. Then the sip-and-stay set drifted in, laptop, book, or newspaper in hand, ordered their favorite beverages, and settled down at a table for the next hour, lost in their own media world of choice. Kat was in the process of ringing up a café au lait and a blueberry scone for a middle-aged professor type when the hinges on the door squeaked and she glanced up.
Rochelle had pushed open the door and was beckoning to someone behind her.
Conny.
Quickly handing the man his change, Kat glanced at the clock—twenty to ten—and slipped from behind the counter. “Rochelle! You came.” She grinned at the little boy. “Hey, Conny. I’m glad to see you.”
The boy looked up at her with curious eyes. “Mama says you got ice cream here.”
“That’s true! You want to pick out your favorite flavor?” She held out her hand and Conny placed his in hers, letting her lead him over to the Swirl Freeze machine.
Rochelle trailed behind them. “Guess we’re early. Sorry ’bout that.”
“It’s okay.” More than okay! They were here! “I’ve got another twenty minutes to work, but you and Conny can order something and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” She turned back to the little boy, his eyes big at the display of candy bar chunks, cookie pieces, chocolate chips, fruit, and other delectables that could be mixed into vanilla ice cream and swirled together.
Rochelle chose a table toward the back of the shop, sitting with her back to the door, and Kat brought her the simple cup of tea she ordered and Conny’s peanut-butter-chips-chocolate-chip-cookie-dough frozen treat to the table with a strawberry on top. “Enjoy. I’ll just be another few minutes.”
Going back behind the counter, Kat paid the bill for her guests and realized her heart was pumping so hard she could feel it in her chest. Rochelle and Conny, sitting right there. And just a few blocks away . . .
Taking advantage of a momentary lull in customers, Kat stepped into the back room out of sight and hit a speed dial number on her cell phone. “Nick!” she hissed. “Rochelle showed up—with her little boy! Will you do something? It’s really, really important . . .” Thirty seconds later she said, “Please, Nick. Don’t think about it. Just do it! Gotta go.”
Kat was so nervous, she handed the next customer a ten and two ones for change instead of a five and two ones. Fortunately, the girl teased, “Wow, some coffee shop. You not only serve coffee but double my money back.”
“Whoops. Sorry about that.” Kat made the right change and turned to the next customer, keeping an eye on the clock. 9:50 . . . 9:59 . . . 10:02. Her replacement was late! Bree’s shift didn’t start till five—they had a split shift today. But seeing her distress, the owner said, “Go on. I’ll take over till Rob gets here.”
Gratefully, Kat took off her apron, made herself a cup of chai tea, and pulled up a stray chair at Rochelle’s table. Conny waved his empty dish. “More, please!”
“No way!” Rochelle snapped. “Here.” She pulled out a tablet and a pencil. “Draw something. Miss Kat and I are gonna talk.” She lowered her voice and tipped her head in Conny’s direction. “Can you be kind of vague? Big ears.”
Kat nodded. “Sure. Um . . . I talked to my friends and they’re good to go if you are. Anytime. Today if you want.”
Rochelle pulled a strand of her abundant hair and wound it around her finger. “Why would they do that? Or you, for that matter?”
Kat hesitated. Why? What could she say? But finally she murmured, “Because last week we had another person. And this week we don’t. And me meeting you and Conny where we did—that was kind of unlikely, don’t you think? So I think it was God who put the idea in my head. Everything coming together like that.”
“God.” Rochelle seemed to ponder that. “Yeah, but . . . it’s complicated, you know. And I don’t have any money right now.”
“I know, but—”
Conny suddenly jerked to attention, his eyes bugging. Jumping out of his chair, he ran toward the front of the coffee shop. “Grammy!” he screamed . . . and jumped into the arms of a startled Avis Douglass, who’d just come in the door.
Chapter 41
Avis could hardly breathe as she lifted the little boy, whose arms wrapped themselves tig
htly around her neck. “Oh, Conny, love!” she whispered in his ear. “Grammy has missed you so much!”
“Me too, Grammy!” The little boy pressed his face into her neck—and then he pulled back and looked up at her, a pout on his lips. “Where have you been?”
Oh, right here, right here, Conny, her heart cried. All the time. But she looked up—and saw Rochelle standing beside a chair toward the back of the coffee shop, watching them, her face a mixture of . . . what? Bewilderment? Distress? Fear? Maybe all of them. But Avis saw something else that made her heart wrench. Her precious daughter seemed bony and thin, her face pinched.
Rochelle wasn’t well. Oh God! Don’t let her lose her battle with HIV!
Hesitating just a moment, Avis put Conny down and walked slowly toward her daughter. For the first time, she noticed Kathryn Davies sitting at the table also. Was it only twenty minutes ago that she and Peter had been sitting in their living room talking to Nick Taylor when his cell phone had rung? When he flipped the phone shut, she’d hardly been able to believe what he said. “Mrs. Douglass, your daughter Rochelle is at The Common Cup. Kathryn’s working there this morning. She says to tell you to come right away. Like now!”
“Rochelle?! Kathryn’s sure it’s Rochelle?”
“Don’t quibble! Go!” Peter had said. Avis hadn’t taken time to change out of the sweats and T-shirt she’d put on that morning to work around the house. Had just run down the stairs and out to her car. Oh God, oh God, she’d prayed. Let Rochelle still be there when I arrive.
And now there she was. The familiar thick head of hair. Her honey-brown skin. Dark brown eyes wide, flickering uncertainly. One hand gripping the back of a chair. As they got close, Kathryn Davies rose and slipped away.
“Look, Mama!” Conny announced triumphantly. “It’s Grammy!”
Rochelle licked her lips and swallowed. “Hi, Mom.” Her voice was a mere whisper.
Avis let go of Conny’s hand. “Oh, Rochelle . . .” Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her into an embrace. “Oh, Rochelle, Rochelle, sweetheart,” she whispered into the mass of hair. “I love you so much.”
Rochelle’s body began to tremble. Her arms went around Avis’s waist and held on tight. “Oh, Mom! I’m so sorry about the earrings! I was mad because Peter wouldn’t give me any money, was going to sell ’em—but I just couldn’t. Oh, Mom . . .” She burst into tears.
“Shh, shh, you don’t have to say anything. It’s enough that you’re here.”
Mother and daughter held each other a long time, paying no attention to curious looks from other customers. But eventually Avis felt a tug on her sweatpants. “I have to go potty!” Conny announced.
“Never fails,” Rochelle groaned, untangling herself from Avis’s arms.
Avis smiled down at her grandson. “Tell you what, kiddo. You go potty and I’ll get us something to eat. Sound good?”
It was hard to let them out of her sight as they followed the sign to the restrooms. But Avis went to the counter and ordered a banana muffin and glass of milk for Conny, two cinnamon raisin bagels with cream cheese, tea for Rochelle, and coffee for herself. While she waited for the young man behind the counter to put their order together, Avis glanced around the coffee shop. “Where’s Kathryn Davies?” she asked him. “Isn’t she working here this morning?”
“Was,” he said, slicing the bagels. “She got off at ten. I think I saw her leave. Uh, you want your coffee now? The bagels will take a few minutes to toast.”
“Hold everything till the bagels are ready.” Avis stepped away from the counter to wait by the window. But outside a familiar figure caught her eye. Kathryn Davies was leaning against the building at the edge of the coffee shop window, back to her, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around herself, as if . . .
Avis stepped outside. “Kathryn?” she called. “Is something the matter?”
Head bent, the young woman flicked a hand as if brushing her off. But Avis walked up and touched her on the shoulder. “Kathryn?”
As Kathryn slowly turned her head, Avis could see she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” A nudge in Avis’s spirit prompted her to reach out and turn the girl toward her. “What’s wrong, Kathryn?”
The girl shook her head, brushing tears away, eyes not meeting Avis’s. “Nothing. I’m all right.”
Avis glanced back inside the coffee shop window. No Rochelle or Conny yet. Turning back to Kathryn, she said gently, “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Might help to talk about it.”
Kathryn bit her lip to keep it from trembling but just shook her head.
After a long moment Avis broke the silence. “I want to thank you for letting me know my daughter showed up here and encouraging me to come. It means a lot. We’ve had some problems, but I think we can make it now.”
Kathryn nodded. “I know. I could . . . could tell by that hug you gave your daughter. Made me”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“made me wish I was Rochelle.”
“You wish—?” Avis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Kathryn Davies, do you have any idea the kinds of challenges Rochelle faces? Or the pain she and I have been through lately?!” Avis gave a short laugh. If Kathryn’s comment weren’t so ridiculous, it would be funny.
Kathryn shrank back. “I know.” Her voice was small. “It’s just that . . . I can’t remember the last time my mother hugged me like that. Or hugged me at all.” And suddenly the tears welled up again and Kathryn’s body shook with sobs.
Standing there on the sidewalk, Kathryn’s words sank into Avis’s spirit. All this time, this well-meaning, annoying, impetuous, irritating young woman had just been needing some basic mother love. Oh God, how wrong I’ve been! Yes, things had been tough the past few months between her and Rochelle. But at least they had a relationship that could be restored. But Kathryn? It sounded like there wasn’t much of a relationship at all.
Remorse at the way she’d been holding the girl at arm’s length for so long felt almost like a physical pain.
Glancing inside the window, Avis saw that Rochelle and Conny had returned from the bathroom and were looking around for her. She was torn, feeling an urgency to go back inside and drink in the sight of her daughter and grandson, touch them, talk to them, listen to their voices. She had a zillion questions she wanted to ask. A desperate need to fill in the blanks. But . . . there was one thing she needed to do first.
“Kathryn, come here.” Reaching out, Avis Douglass pulled Kathryn Davies into her arms, laid her cheek against the girl’s hair, and just held her close as the girl cried.
“I thought you left!” Conny stuck his lip out at her when Avis returned to the table with the tray of their drinks and food.
“Oh no, baby. Grammy’s not ever going to leave my boy.”
“What happened to Kat?” Rochelle asked. “She and I were talking before you came.”
“She’s outside. She said she’d come in after a while to finish whatever you were talking about, but she wanted to give us some time first.” Avis looked at her daughter curiously. “What’s going on?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Rochelle toyed with her bagel. “She, uh, invited me and Conny to move in with her and her friends for the summer.”
Big Ears jerked upright in his chair. “You an’ me, Mama? Yeah! I wanna stay with you again!”
Avis’s heart beat a little faster. “Conny isn’t staying with you right now?”
Rochelle shifted nervously in her chair. “Not exactly—”
“Uh-uh. I hafta stay with Daddy so I can go to school.” Conny blew bubbles into his milk with a straw.
Now Avis nearly panicked. “Rochelle! Not with—” She stopped herself. Conny didn’t need to hear that his father had a restraining order against him because of physical and mental abuse of his mother. Rochelle had extricated herself from the abusive marriage five years ago. Why would she put Conny back into that situation?!
Unless she felt she had no choice.
“Roche
lle, where are you living right now? I went by your apartment—”
“I told you I got evicted. Didn’t you believe me? I—I’ve just been staying around. With friends. Where I can.” Rochelle’s voice turned almost fierce. “But Conny needed someplace regular, someplace he could keep going to school—isn’t that right, baby?” She leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Conny’s head. But Conny was still busy blowing bubbles with his straw.
Rochelle tipped her head up and looked Avis right in the eye. “Your man didn’t want us staying with you, so, yeah, I made a deal with Dexter that Conny could stay with him till the end of school. He hasn’t ever, you know—not to Conny.”
“Oh, Rochelle . . .” Avis’s emotions churned in her stomach, a raw mixture of fear for Conny spending even one more day with that man, gut-wrenching sorrow that Rochelle had been virtually homeless for the past four months, and anger at Peter. Yes! Anger at Peter. None of this would have happened if Peter hadn’t been so stubborn that night back in February, had been willing for Rochelle and Conny to stay with them until they got on their feet.
Kathryn Davies appeared, eyes dry, though a little red, with a smile for Rochelle. “Is it okay to tell your mom what we were talking about?”
“I kind of did. But maybe you can tell her.”
Avis looked from Kathryn to Rochelle and back again. What had Rochelle said? She’d gotten so upset at finding out that Conny was staying with his dad, she’d completely missed it.
Kathryn pulled up a chair. “Well, you know, Mrs. D, that Olivia moved back home this week. Which leaves us with some extra room in our apartment. Well, the Candys’ apartment. So anyway, knowing that Rochelle and Conny needed a place to live, we decided—Nick, Brygitta, and me—to ask Rochelle if she’d like to move in with us for the rest of the summer. And she’s thinking about it, right, Rochelle?”