The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (12 page)

I snickered. “They're the lucky ones. I really hope we don't buy any more of those terrible folding chairs.”

“That option
did
come up.” Denny grinned. “But Pastor Clark said the real issue is whether it's time to sell the building and buy a bigger space.”

“Whoa. Isn't that something
all
the members should talk about? ”

“Don't get bent out of shape, Jodi. The pastor just brought it up as something we should be praying about. Except . . .” His words retreated, as if having a private conversation in his head.

“Except what? ” I prompted.

“Oh. Except Peter Douglass was there, and he said there was another option, one that God had already been speaking to him about the past couple of months.”

I held my breath. Peter Douglass's “suggestions” usually had the effect on you of being dangled over a roaring river from a high cliff. Either sink or fly.

“The option being to sell the current building and invest the money in New Morning—to finish off the remodeling of their new space, buy chairs and equipment, so that it can be used sooner.”

I blinked. “You mean . . .? ”

“Yeah. Merge the two churches. That's what he meant.”

HAD TO ADMIT I WAS STUNNED. True, Peter Douglass had brought up the idea of a merger before, when Mark Smith had been attacked after that White Pride rally. He said the incident could drive us apart, or we could thwart the devil and let it bring us together. But sell our building and put all the money into New Morning? I couldn't imagine the folks at Uptown agreeing to something that radical! I mean, that committed us big-time.With no escape hatch if things went south.

The idea stirred up both excitement and fear in my spirit. But I couldn't think about it now; had to send an e-mail to Yada Yada about Ruth ending up at the hospital. But the moment I hit Send, I realized some sisters might not look at their e-mail before Ruth got sent home. Had to make phone calls.We needed to be praying.

Mostly I got answering machines. Not too surprising on a Saturday afternoon. But as I dialed Avis's number, the excitement and fear in my bones took on a new face: excitement about Denny's job promotion, fear about losing mine. OK, so why didn't I just
ask
Avis? Be done with the guesswork. Might help Denny make his decision if he knew we were on the cusp of becoming a one-pay-check family.

“Hello, you've reached the Douglass household,”
said a masculine voice. Recorded.
“Please leave a—”
I hung up. No way was I going to ask about my job via voice mail. Then I realized I hadn't left the message about Ruth either, so I had to call back.

Becky Wallace was one of the few Yada Yadas who actually answered the phone. “So Ruth's goin' to be OK, right? ” she asked. “She must want that baby real bad. Don' know what I'd do if I was in her shoes. But I'll tell Stu when she comes in. Say, Jodi. You or Denny heard of any jobs yet? My PO says I gotta have a job inter view or appointment to go to; I can't just go wanderin' around lookin'.”

I stifled a groan. Only jobs I knew about were with the public school system. No way Chicago schools would hire someone with a violent felony on her record. Stu's contacts at DCFS wouldn't be much better. “I'm sorry, Becky. I really don't.” Silence on the other end. “Becky? ”

“Yeah. OK. It's just—
damn
it, Jodi. I wanna get a place of my own so I can get Little Andy back. I gotta get a job first, save some money. But I can't get no job with this” —she blistered my ear with a string of profanity— “around my blasted ankle.Might as well be hog-tied and dumped in the Chicago River.”

I felt really bad for Becky, but helpless too. She was caught in a web that
seemed
like freedom at first hoot—getting out of prison on early parole—but at this point felt like checkmate. Can't move this way; can't move that.Was tempted for a flash second to remind her that Stu's apartment was a presidential suite compared to a cell at Lincoln Correctional, but then I remembered how I felt when Denny and I “lost” Little Andy at the Taste of Chicago, how one minute without that little boy had felt like a hundred hours. Must be even worse for his mother.

DREAMED ALL NIGHT ABOUT SPIDER WEBS—mesmerized by their intricate patterns, delicate and iridescent in the morning dew. But in the dreams when I tried to move, I felt as if I was swimming through a gossamer maze. Deadly beauty . . .

Couldn't shake the dreams even as I woke to a beautiful Sunday morning—cloudless, low humidity, pearly pink sky, a sweet warm breeze off the lake rustling the leaves along Lunt Avenue. Not bad for late July. But the dreams—what was
that
all about? The feeling of wading through the webs persisted even as I let the dog out, filled the bird feeder, and started the coffee. Made me want to get into the shower and wash off all the sticky, clinging mess . . .

As I stood under the tepid water, letting it pour over my head, flattening and parting my dark brown hair into shoulder-length rivulets, I realized Becky wasn't the only one caught in a web that wasn't as shimmering as it first appeared. Look at Chanda. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about her lottery winnings, but when we'd finally staggered out of that time-share “sales reception,” seemed to
me
she'd gotten herself into a silver-lined trap. But what could I say? She seemed happy, so maybe that's what counted. Maybe I shouldn't worry . . .

Then there was Denny's job. I mean, seemed like we ought to be shouting and praising God for such a wonderful promotion. But we were still tiptoeing around the subject, like a relative who'd come to visit we were slightly ashamed of.
“Not sure if it's good news.”
Denny's words. Even though the budget-cutting axe was hanging over my job. Of course, I hadn't told him yet. Probably should. We needed to get this thing in perspective.

And Ruth. So ecstatic that she was finally pregnant. Should be a happy time for her. Baby showers. Pregnant woman jokes. Starting a college fund. Except, it was beginning to feel like a ticking time bomb instead of a baby that she was carrying around.How many more times would she end up in the hospital before—

I shut off the water. Ruth was laying up there in the hospital all by herself! Or maybe Ben was there, which could be worse, the old grouch. Either way, she had to be worried. Maybe frightened. While the rest of us just went off to church to sing praises.

Uh-uh.No way
.

Wrapping a towel around my wet body, I scurried down the hall to our bedroom. Denny was sitting up on the side of the bed, only half awake. “Denny, can I drop you and the kids off at church? I want to go see Ruth in the hospital.”

“Oh. S'pose so,” he mumbled. “Can't you go this afternoon? ”

“Nope.” I didn't say she'd probably get discharged by noon. For some reason it seemed important to go see her in the hospital this morning. For Ruth's sake? Or mine?

“HEY, YOU. Are you awake? ”

Ruth's eyes were closed when I peeked into her room at Rush North Shore Medical Center. But they immediately popped open, adding spitfire to the pale face and dark hair propped up on two starchy-white hospital pillows.

“How you doing? ” I asked.

Ruth beamed. “Never better. Especially since I put Ben on my ‘visitors not wanted' list. Blood pressure went right down.”

I giggled, setting the pink azalea I'd picked up at the grocery store on the windowsill. “Wow. A private room. How do you rate? ”

“Ben insisted. Me, I'm grateful. Fewer
nudniks.
Every nurse who comes through that door thinks she's the first one to notice I'm not twenty-five.”

I dragged a chair over to the bed and took her hand. On the way to the hospital, I'd decided not to beat around the bush. “Ruth. I want the real deal. How are you? How is the baby? And ‘fine' is not an acceptable answer.”

She looked annoyed. “What, you want bad news? We
are
fine.”

“No, no, I don't want bad news! I just don't want a one-word answer.What does the doctor say? Why were you spotting? Is the baby growing all right? How's your blood pressure? Any—”

“All right, all right. I get it.” She rolled her eyes at me. “As far as I know, everything is fine. So my blood pressure is elevated.What's to worry? I can't feel it. But salt I have to give up.What's food without salt? Like sex without love. But . . .” She fluttered her other hand. “For the baby, I give it up.” She winked. “Salt
and
sex.”

“So the baby is . . . ? ”

She kissed the tips of her fingers. “Good, good. They hear the heartbeat. I told my doctor I didn't want any of those tests, but here, they insist. The heartbeat they must hear. Everybody wants to listen—the nurse, the doctor, another nurse, another doctor—”

A knock on the door was followed by Stu's face and red beret. “Aha. I guessed right. Come on in, Flo.”

I looked at my watch. Ten fifty. Church wasn't over yet. “What are you guys doing here? ”

“Same as you.” Florida bounced into the room, pecked Ruth on the cheek, and swiveled her head, taking in the cheerful hospital room done in pastel colors. “Mm-mm.Nice crib.How long you get to stay up in here, Ruth? ”

“We saw Denny and the kids come in without you,” Stu said to me. “Figured you must be here. Florida and I decided to skip church too. Hang out with you two. Cheer up Ruth in case she needed cheering up.”

Nice timing,
I thought. Ruth was just beginning to open up. But by the rosy blush on Ruth's cheeks, I could tell the visitors were good medicine.

We had
schmoozed
—as Ruth called it—about ten minutes when two white coats with stethoscopes came in. There the similarity ended. The female doctor looked to be late thirties, pallid skin with no makeup, no-nonsense hair tucked behind both ears. The male doctor was dark in comparison: jet black hair combed straight back, black eyes, smooth coffee-no-cream skin, maybe Indian or Pakistani. The woman held out her hand to Ruth. “Mrs. Garfield. I'm Dr. Kloski. This is Dr. Anand.” She looked at the three of us. “Do you ladies mind? ”

“I mind.” Ruth's tone was mild, with a dash of horseradish. “Unless it's a matter of national security.”

Dr. Kloski shrugged. “All right. It's just a bit crowded. We'd like to check the baby's heartbeat with the fetal Doppler.” She took a small instrument from her pocket. Stu, Flo, and I crunched ourselves into the corner by the window.

I caught a flicker of anxiety in Ruth's eyes.My own heart caught in midflop. “Again? ” Ruth said. “Half the hospital listened to it last night.”

Dr. Anand spoke for the first time. A gentle voice. “Don't worry, Mrs. Garfield. The reports say there's a good heartbeat. But your case is a bit, ah, unusual. We would like to check it again.”

Ruth looked resigned. “Be my guest.” She pulled up her polkadotted hospital gown. “Belly up.” Florida poked me in the side with her elbow; I didn't dare look at her or Stu, or one of us might start giggling.

Without benefit of bedsheet or clothes, Ruth was definitely starting to look pregnant. Dr. Anand squirted some clear gel on Ruth's rounded tummy, then holding the monitor in one hand, he moved the Doppler wand here and there, concentrating on Ruth's left side.We all held our breath, trying not to make a sound.

Then he nodded to his colleague. “Got it,” he said. “Now over there.”

What was going on?

Now both doctors were using the small monitors, one on each side of Ruth's belly. Dr. Kloski nodded and finally straightened. “Definitely.Two heartbeats.”

“Two? !”
Ruth actually choked on the word.

Dr. Anand nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “That's right, Mrs. Garfield.Twins.”

11

F
or a nanosecond, the doctor's pronouncement sucked all the air out of our systems. Then Florida screeched, “
Twins?
Two babies in the cooker? Oh, Jesus. Glory halle
lu
jah! Ain't God somethin'. Your cup just runnin' over, Ruth. My, my.”

I found my voice. “Ohmigosh. Ruth! That's amazing!” —or something like that. All I heard was babble.

Dr. Kloski glared at us. “Ladies,
please
.” She turned back to Ruth, whose mouth hung open in a state of shock. “Mrs. Garfield, I'd like to say congratulations. But, medically, this actually presents us with a challenging situation, which I'd like to discuss with you privately.”

Little red flags sprouted in my brain. But Ruth fluttered her hand at us. “All right. But don't go far away,” she croaked. “And don't call Ben. Yet.”

“
Huh
,” Flo snorted as the door closed behind us. “What they gonna talk at her about? She needs some armor bearers in there— Jesus! Put a hedge of protection 'round that sister right now. Don't let her get bowled over by all that doctor-speak. An' we wanna pray for those two little babies in there. Oh my Lord. Put a hedge of protection 'round them too.”