2-in-1 Yada Yada (22 page)

But the temperature was creeping upward in the garage; it was going to be a warm Memorial Day weekend. Better get the cold stuff into the fridge right away—especially those packages of chicken for Florida's party tomorrow.

Sorry I'm late,
I rehearsed telling Denny in my mind,
and I just
spent twenty-five dollars we probably don't have—but it was worth it. Adele Skuggs is coming to Florida's party tomorrow, and she promised
to bring Chanda
—
“minus Chanda's three kids if God has any mercy at
all,”
was the way Adele put it.

Trying to be careful of my newly polished nails, I scuttled toward the back door, a gallon of milk in one hand and a bag of chicken in the other. “Sure hope Josh or Denny is around to help me haul in all these groceries,” I mumbled. “And Josh and Amanda better have their rooms clean, too.”

Willie Wonka was on hand to greet me, poking his nose into the bag of chicken before I even got inside the door. I swatted his nose. “Anybody home?” I yelled. “I need help with the groceries!”

No answer. But I heard the shower running. Peeking into the dining room, I saw a couple of notes on the table, one in Amanda's pretty cursive, the other in Denny's scrawl.

“Finished my room. Dad said I could go to the mall with Trisha's family. They promised they'd get me back by 4:00.”

“Jodi—Gone for a run. Josh playing ball at the park. Love you. D.”

Humph. Denny must be back from his run and in the shower. So much for help lugging in groceries. But they got points for at least leaving a note.

I picked up the bag of chicken and opened the refrigerator door . . . and felt my own temperature rise. It had been almost empty when I'd left this morning. Plenty of room to store all that chicken until tomorrow. But now the lower shelf was full—with two six-packs of beer. Minus one bottle.

23

I
hauled in the rest of the groceries like a queen bee with her stinger in backward. Now Denny was not only “having a beer with the guys” while watching a game, but stocking up the refrigerator!
(Stomp, stomp, stomp
across the back porch.) What was he stocking up
for?
Florida's party? Over my dead body.
(Slam
the car door.) How did he buy them anyway?
I
had the car.
(Slam
the back door.) And what's with the missing bottle? Drinking by himself? In the middle of the day?
(Slam
the refrigerator door)—

“Jodi? What in the world . . . ?”

I whirled around. Denny was standing in the kitchen doorway in his jeans, barefoot and shirtless, leaning on one arm against the doorpost. He looked pretty yummy—but I was
not
going to be distracted from my anger.

I flung open the refrigerator door and pointed. “That.”

He didn't move from the doorway but folded his arms across his chest. “That. Uh-huh. All this slamming of doors is because I bought some beer.”

“Some
beer? Looks to me like you laid in quite a supply . . . for what? Not Florida's party. She's a recovering
addict,
for goodness' sake, Denny.” He wanted stubborn? He was going to get stubborn. I folded my arms across
my
chest.

A little grin tipped one corner of his mouth. “Hey. You got your nails painted.” The grin widened. “Jodi Marie Baxter, Miss Simplicity herself, has gotten herself—”

“Don't change the subject.” I tucked my nails under my folded arms . . . but I could feel tears gathering behind my eyes, like an anxious teenager who didn't get asked to the prom. I'd wanted Denny to notice my nails, to like it that I got dolled up—but not in the middle of an argument. I tilted my chin up. “When did you buy this stuff?
I
had the van. Why so much? You got a party planned I don't know about? And looks like the party's already started—”

“Good grief! Give me a break, Jodi!” The grin disappeared, and he half-turned to go—Denny's usual defense when I rode in with six-shooters blazing. But he pointed a finger at me. “You're right. You had the van and took your own sweet time getting home, too. Did you ever think I might have errands to do? But no problem, I decided to go for a run down at the lake. Beautiful day for a run— or hadn't you noticed?” Sarcasm dripped off his words as though sweating from the heat in his voice. “Worked up a real thirst on my run. Stopped in at the Osco on Morse on my way home to get something to drink. And you know what, Jodi? They had a special on cold beer. Buy one six-pack, get one free. And you know what else, Jodi? That cold beer looked mighty good and I drank one. One measly beer . . . and my wife wants to take it all the way to the Supreme Court. Sheesh.” He threw up both arms in disgust and this time completed his exit.

I watched him disappear into the hallway beyond the dining room, trailed by Willie Wonka, who'd been standing between us, watching us with worried wrinkles above his doggie brows. My tears came out of hiding, pursued by silent sobs as I tackled the plastic grocery bags all around my feet.

Okay, so I probably didn't handle that the best way.
I stuffed frozen orange juice, frozen vegetables, and hamburger into the freezer.

Should've waited till we could talk about it instead of jumping all over
him.
Canned goods, pasta, and cold cereal went into the cupboards.

Should've known that would backfire; always does.
I dumped the bags of onions and potatoes into their little plastic bins under the sink.

Didn't say anything last weekend when he had a beer at the Bagel
Bakery . . . huh! Look where that got me. Gave him an inch, and he took
a yard.
Paper towels, toilet paper, and napkins got squeezed into the tall cupboard by the back door.

What does this say to the kids? It's okay to have a beer? And he better
not give me that “but even you drink wine sometimes” bit. Last time I
read the papers, it was “beer parties” that got busted, not dinner parties.
I pulled out the crisper and dumped in carrots, celery, and lettuce.

I paused with the refrigerator door open again, staring at the offending six-packs. It bugged me to have my refrigerator full of beer. I wanted them
out
before the kids got home. Not only that, but I didn't want them there with Yada Yada coming to my house tomorrow. People like Avis and Nony probably thought
any
alcohol was wrong. And it might be a stumbling block to someone like Hoshi, who was new in her faith . . . or Chanda, who seemed rather borderline when it came to Christian behavior.

I hauled out the six-packs and took them to the garage, setting them in a corner under an old bushel basket. I'd tell Denny before he “discovered” they were gone and . . . well, we'd deal with it later.

EDESA DECLINED OUR INVITATION to stay for supper after her tutoring session with Amanda at four o'clock—said she was going to babysit for Delores and Ricardo that night so they could get out of the house.

“Isn't José too big for a babysitter?” I teased.

“Absolutely!” she laughed. “But . . . he cannot take care of his younger brothers and sisters yet. Besides, he is bored. He likes me to play cards.”

“What about tomorrow—can you and Delores come to Florida's party?”

She smiled.
“Si!
Wouldn't miss it. Can we bring Emerald?”

More
kids. “Uh . . . sure.” Emerald was sweet. She wouldn't be any trouble.

Josh, bless his heart, walked Edesa to the Morse Street el stop. While he was gone, I asked Denny if we could talk privately a minute. Amanda was on the phone talking to a girlfriend, so we went out on the back porch and sat down on the steps.

“Denny, I . . . I'm sorry I jumped all over you about the beer.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, but didn't say anything.

“But I really don't want it in the house for Florida's party. The women in Yada Yada come from a lot of different churches and might . . . I just don't want to offend anybody.”

He shrugged. “Sure. I'll put it down in the basement.”

“Uh . . . I already took it out to the garage.”

His smile tightened. “Fine. Garage.”

The tension between us had deflated somewhat but still hung there, like a helium party balloon hovering two feet off the floor. “Do you want to talk about the beer?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Maybe some other time.”

I felt relieved. I didn't really want to talk about it now, either. But I didn't like the distance between us. Any crack, no matter how small, always felt like a huge canyon. “But . . . do you forgive me for yelling at you?”

“Yeah.”

We sat on the steps a few more minutes, listening to the
thump,
thump
of kids playing basketball in the alley beyond our garage, punctuated with the
caws
of several large black crows flying around a big elm one street over.

“I ran into Adele this afternoon—you know, the lady that squashed me like a bug the first night of our prayer group.” I made my tone light, chatty. Maybe Denny and I just needed a bit of time to close the gap. “She has a beauty shop right on Clark Street— I didn't realize it was so close.”

“That where you got your nails done?”

“Yeah. Feet, too.” I giggled and pulled off one shoe and sock. “Whaddya think?”

I was relieved to see Denny grin as I wiggled my coral-tipped toes. “You sat still long enough for someone to give you a pedicure? Your mom always said she couldn't even play ‘This little piggy went to market' without you screeching bloody murder.”

“It wasn't easy. In fact—”

The back screen door banged open. “Mom. Dad. I'm back. When's supper? Somebody from Habitat for Humanity is going to talk to us tonight about the Mexico trip. Do you realize we leave in exactly one month?”

I made a face at Denny. Oh well. I had a lot to do to get ready for the party tomorrow anyway. I'd find some other time to tell him how freaked I got about that pedicure—and not because I was ticklish, either.

“Edesa get on the train okay?” I asked, rising reluctantly and following Josh back into the kitchen.

“Yeah. I hung around by the ticket booth till a southbound train came. Didn't hear any screams, so I'm pretty sure she got on okay.”

“Oh, get out of here,” I said, snapping him with a dishtowel. “I take it back. Set the table.”

I pulled some catfish fillets out of the freezer and popped them into the microwave to defrost. Through the screen door I could see Denny still sitting on the back porch steps. Probably wishing he had one of those beers I'd hidden in the garage . . .

Stop it, Jodi. Drop it till you have time to talk.

24

T
hank You, God,” I murmured, pulling open the blind on the bedroom window the next morning and seeing blue sky above the garage roof. The prospect of having all twelve members of Yada Yada plus assorted husbands
and
children underfoot in the house if it rained today had filled me with anxiety, akin to the claustrophobia I'd felt the time I got stuck in an elevator with ten other sweaty people.

But blue sky and sunshine . . . that would help a lot. Our backyard wasn't very big—I could probably count the blades of grass —but at least Denny could grill the chicken out there and any husbands who came along could yak outside while Yada Yada had our prayer time together in the front room.

Kids, hmm. Maybe Josh and Amanda could haul them down to the lake and fly a kite or something. Didn't we have a kite somewhere?

Unfortunately, that was the extent of my prayer time that morning.
I'll make it up to You, Jesus,
I promised, flitting from room to room like film footage that's been speeded up, munching a bagel while picking up magazines, shoes, schoolbooks, mail, and anything else that gave our house that “lived-in look.” At least Avis would make sure we got prayer time at the party this afternoon . . . that would have to do.

I ended up making everybody wait in the car as I ran back to the house to set out a gallon glass jar filled with water and tea bags for “sun tea.” When I climbed back into the car Denny said, “Relax, Jodi. It's going to be great. I'm looking forward to meeting the rest of Yada Yada. But . . .” He gravely fingered one of my earlobes. “. . . is this a new style? You're only wearing one earring.”

BESIDES THE FACT THAT Denny saved me from looking foolish two Sundays in a row, his good-natured laughter as I ran back into the house for the missing earring had felt like a soothing ointment on the raw place between us. We walked up the stairs at Uptown hand in hand while Josh parked the minivan this time.

“Wonder if anybody from Yada Yada will come to church this morning?” I whispered, glancing about the upstairs sanctuary. I checked out the third row. “Whoa, you mean we got here before Stu this time?” My day was picking up.

“Mom, look! It's Edesa!” Amanda made a beeline for a couple of women whose backs were turned toward us, and sure enough, Edesa turned around and gave her a big hug. I could see her introducing Delores and Emerald to my daughter.

I pulled Denny in their direction. “Delores!” I gave the shorter woman a hug and bestowed one on Emerald, too. “I didn't really think you'd be able to come to church as well as the party this afternoon.”

Delores's round face dimpled. “Good excuse to have a girls day out.” She rolled her eyes and tapped the side of her head with her finger. “My Ricardo
with
a job is a trial to live with. Unemployed? He is driving me—” She drew little circles at her temple with her finger.

We laughed but couldn't talk more because Avis was giving the call to worship. Some people moved over a couple of chairs so we could have seats together. I noticed Emerald, her jet black hair caught back from her face with a baby blue ribbon, jockeying for position between Edesa and Amanda. What a cutie.