The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught (5 page)

I snorted. “Oh, he's a big help. Keeps coming up with all these statistics off the Internet about higher risk of death for pregnant women over forty. Or developing diabetes. Or the baby having low birth weight, stuff like that.”

“He's scared, Jodi. For all his bluster, Ben loves Ruth.”

“Yeah, well, he sure has a funny way of showing it. He's making her miserable. Nagging her to death about going to Planned Parenthood or a women's health center. She won't hear of it, says they're just abortion mills. Frankly, I think he just doesn't want the bother of becoming a daddy at age sixty.”

Denny grunted again but said nothing for several minutes. Then, “Hey.Where's Andy? Is he still here? I've got something for him.”

“I think he's watching videos. I heard the TV upstairs.”

Denny rummaged in the pockets of his cargo shorts. He pulled out a skinny box. Sparklers.

“Denny! Where'd you get those? Illinois doesn't sell fireworks!”

The dimples in his cheeks appeared. “Yeah, but the guy with his coat of many pockets hanging around the el station does.”

ANDY AND DENNY HAD A SQUEALING GOOD TIME with the sparklers in our backyard when it got dark. I fired up the charcoal grill and invited Becky and Andy to eat with us on the back porch, just hanging out and working our way through grilled lemon chicken, early corn on the cob, and root beer floats. In the distance, we could hear
boom boom boom
from nearby suburbs shooting off their own Fourth of July fireworks.

I was glad Denny got the sparklers. This was a boring weekend for Andy to visit his mom, with Josh and Amanda gone, and Stu too—though I heard her Celica pull into the garage late Saturday night. At least she and Becky were able to take Andy to church on Sunday morning. Becky had gotten permission from her parole officer to attend weekly services once Pastor Clark wrote a letter on her behalf on church letterhead. When we got to church, Carla Hickman, age nine, was swooning over Andy like a doting little mama. For a girl with two big brothers, here was a little boy who didn't boss her around or tell her to get lost. And cute to boot.

Uptown's worship service that Sunday didn't quite measure up to last week's double celebration,what with two of our best worship leaders gone—Avis visiting her grandkids and Rick Reilly chaperoning our youth at Cornerstone. But even with several families away for the holiday, the upstairs room we used for worship as nearly full.
And
stifling hot, even with fans in the windows.

Florida tracked me down right after the benediction. “You heard from the kids, Jodi? They still gettin' back tomorrow? Both Carl and I gotta work. You think you could see Chris get home? Don' want him hangin' out
anywhere
till we got us an understandin'what's goin' down and what's
not
goin' down till school starts—Carla! You put that baby down 'fore you drop him on his head!” Without waiting for any answers, Florida hustled after Carla,who was trying to carry Andy like a baby doll in spite of the little boy's indignant protests.

I tried to grab Stu and ask about her family reunion, but she just sidled off. “Can't talk now. Tell you later. It was . . .” She waggled her hand in a so-so motion before disappearing down the stairs and out the door.

I stared after her flowing blonde hair and red beret. “Don't you go getting all distant on me again, Leslie Stuart,” I muttered at her back.

Denny and I tried to make the most of our last day
sans
teenagers.We drove up to the hospital to visit Mark after church, then took a bike ride along the lake front. I was pooped by the time the bike path ended at the north end of Northwestern University's Evanston campus—and then we had to turn around and go the same distance to get home. By the time we hung the bikes in the garage, I could've fallen into bed and slept around the clock, even if it was only. But Denny ordered Chinese, which we ate in the living room with three fans blowing on us while we watched two of our favorite Bogart movies back to back:
Casablanca
and
The African Queen.

And then it was Monday. And the kids came back.

AT FIVE P.M., Uptown Community's fifteen-passenger van double parked in front of the church—a two-story storefront on Morse Avenue that had been remodeled twenty years ago into office and classroom space on the first floor, and a kitchen and large, all-purpose room that served as a “sanctuary” on the second floor. Rick Reilly's Suburban pulled up behind the van, and sleepy-eyed teenagers tumbled out of the two vehicles. Amanda climbed out of the van clutching her pillow and her threadbare Snoopy dog.'t believe she took that worn-out stuffed animal! A grin tickled my insides. She might be almost sixteen, but a little girl still lurked in that womanly body.

And then José Enriques climbed out right behind her, carrying Amanda's backpack.My inside grin faded. The girl-woman—and her first serious boyfriend—was taking over the child faster than I was ready for.

I reached for my daughter and gave her a big hug. “Mm.Missed you, kiddo.”

“Hi,Mom.Hi, Dad. How's Wonka? ” Amanda's voice was muffled by her dad's bear hug.

“He's been missing you, pumpkin. Slept in your room every night. Tried to get up on your bed, but no way was I going to actually
lift
him up there.”

“Aw. You should've, Dad. José! Did you hear that? Wonka missed me so much he tried to sleep in my bed.”

José, who'd been lurking two steps behind Amanda, grinned widely, as if relieved to be included. “
Buenos dios, Señora
Baxter.
Señor
Baxter.”

“Hi yourself, José,” Denny said. “How'd you like Cornerstone? You need a ride home? ”

“Aw, that's OK,
Señor
Baxter. I can take the el.” José's grin widened. “Cornerstone was
magnifico!—
except they need more Latino bands.”

“Well, hang on a moment. I think we're supposed to take Chris Hickman home and that's halfway there. Might as well take you. Where's Chris? ”

While Denny was offering taxi service, I looked around for Josh, then saw him unstrapping the large tarp on top of the van covering luggage and camping gear. Pete Spencer was helping him, handing down duffle bags to outstretched hands.Did Pete need a ride home too? Yo-Yo hadn't said anything. Ben Garfield usually chauffeured Yo-Yo's brothers when they needed a ride somewhere—Oh.

A large, pearly green Buick pulled up and double-parked across the street. The driver's window rolled down. “Pete!” bellowed Ben. “Get in the car! I can't find a parking space within three dang blocks—” The rest of Ben's bossiness was mercifully cut off by the automatic window rolling back up. I grinned. Ben and Ruth Garfield, bless 'em, had taken Yo-Yo and her half brothers under their wings a few years back, though Ben sometimes acted as if he was being forced to swallow worms.

Pete rolled his eyes and pulled out his own bag. “Sorry I can't stay to help,” he called to Rick Reilly, Uptown's youth group leader. “My ride's here.”

Rick slapped him on the shoulder and waved him off.

Wow. Thank You, Jesus,
I thought.
Only You know the effect this Christian music festival had on all these kids. And Pete . . .
I frowned. He was a nice enough kid, but basically a likeable pagan, giving Yo-Yo, his sister-guardian, a big headache recently. Pete was seventeen. Going to be a junior. Thought he was too old to have to obey the house rules, like curfew and telling her where he was going. Yo-Yo herself had been a Christian less than a year—and only baptized two months ago. It wasn't as if Pete had a lot of Christian training coming up.

And then there was Chris Hickman. At least
his
mom was an out-and-out, in-your-face believer, trying to raise her kids up right. Florida would tell you in a minute that she was “six years saved and six years sober!” Her husband, Carl, too—though he was a lot quieter about it. But those early years when their family was in disarray had to have been disaster on the kids. DCFS took the kids away. That's what really shook Florida sober. Even then, it took her five years to find Carla, her “baby.” Only got her back a year ago.

“Hey,Mom. Dad—catch.” Josh, eighteen and newly graduated, tossed his duffle bag at his dad. “Take this home for me, will ya? I gotta run some kids home.”

“Not so fast!” I protested. “Welcome home, you.” I gave him a hug.

He grinned and hugged back, looking more like our “normal” Josh now that he had quit shaving his head. His sandy hair had grown out about an inch. Needed a trim over the ears, but still—

Wait a minute.
Was that a
tattoo
peeking out beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt? “Josh!” I grabbed his arm. “What's this? ”

Josh pulled his arm loose. “Nothing much,” he called over his shoulder, trotting off. “Tell you later. Mr. Reilly! Who are the kids who need a ride? ”

Later? I wanted to see it now! A tattoo? A forever design needle pricked into my son's skin that would
never
wash off?
My
kid? I thought sending Josh and Amanda to Cornerstone would be safe! It was a
istian
music festival, for heaven's sake!

“Jodi? ” Denny interrupted my inner muttering. “Have you seen Chris? I can't find him.”

I did a quick glance around. “Uh, no. Ask Rick. Or Josh. They had to bring him home in one of the vans.”

We trailed after Josh,who was talking to the youth group leader. “Either of you know where Chris Hickman is? We're supposed to see that he gets home.”

“Oh. Didn't know that.” Rick Reilly pulled on the brim of his Cubs cap. “He was riding with me in the Suburban, took off just as soon as we got here. Said he was taking the el home.”

I eyed Denny.
Oh, brother.
Florida was going to be as mad as a bee with its stinger in backward.

4

C
hris, I learned later, didn't get home until midnight. I called Florida right away to let her know we'd failed to hook up with him, but I had to leave the message on their answering machine. She called me back around seven, fuming. “That boy gonna be grounded for the rest of his natural life! —which ain't gonna be long if I get my hands on him. I
tol'
that boy he was s'posed to go straight home an' wait. Lord, help me!”

Guess I should've asked Flo to call me when Chris got home, just to be sure he got there safely, but I was a bit distracted by all the dirty laundry and the huge appetites Amanda and Josh brought home from Cornerstone.Not to mention the tattoo etched permanently into Josh's right arm.

“OK, show me.” I held up my hand like a traffic cop when he came through the back door after dropping off José and the other kids who needed a ride home.

“Chill,Mom.” Josh snitched a handful of grapes I was about to toss into a fruit salad. “I'm eighteen. A high school grad. I don't need permission to get a tattoo.”

“I didn't say you did.” OK, I'd been thinking it. “Just . . . show me.”

He popped another grape in his mouth, gave me that amused smile he reserved for his maternal parent, and pulled up the left sleeve of his T-shirt. I squinted at the deep blue-green calligraphy etched into the bulge of his left arm. Looked like an “N,” a “T” linked to the “N” with a circle, and a jazzy “W.”
N . . . circle/T . . . W . . .

I gave up. “I don't get it.”

He grinned. “That's the whole point. You don't get it. You ask me what it means. I tell you NOTW—stands for ‘Not of This World.' If you're a kid on the street who's clueless, I tell you that I'm
in
the world, but not
of
it—you know, a conversation starter to talk about Jesus.”

“Oh.” I resisted rolling my eyes. “Couldn't you have just bought a T-shirt? ”

“Mom! That's wimpy. You wear it a few days, toss it in the dirty clothes, and put on a Bulls shirt or something. They challenged us at Cornerstone to lay our bodies on the line one hundred percent for Jesus—like He did for us.” He pulled down his sleeve. “What's a few needle pricks compared to Jesus getting pierced by railroad spikes and the pointed end of a spear? ”

I was having a hard time making the connection between Jesus laying down His life for us and Josh getting a permanent tattoo, but I bit my tongue. At least he didn't put something stupid on his body like
Born to Booze
or
Josh Loves Edesa
. In fact, I had to admit I was touched by his all-out faith. Not that I wanted to encourage any more tattoos!

I swatted his hand as he tried to snitch more fruit salad. “Glad you're home.”

THE HOLIDAY WEEKEND FADED into Chicago history, and the summer rut took over. Denny and Josh left first thing the next morning for their jobs coaching summer sports for the Chicago Park District. Amanda slept in while I took messages from Uptown and neighborhood moms who wanted her to babysit. Most of them had figured out by now they had to get their bids in early. I was proud of Amanda's knack with children. She got raves from both kids and parents as a top-notch babysitter.
Maybe she'll be a teacher someday, Lord,
I thought, scribbling yet another message.
Like me.