2-in-1 Yada Yada (45 page)

As the Chicago skyline loomed out of the horizon, I smiled to myself, thinking about our personal “worship service” that morning in the cabin. Too bad the snoopers hadn't come back—they would've gotten an earful! We played some gospel and praise music on Josh's CD player and tried to sing along. Okay, it was a little hard to keep up with Kirk Franklin and the Family, but it was fun anyway. And our prayers changed when I said, “You know what, Denny? I always thank God
after
He's answered my prayers, but when we pray at Yada Yada, Avis and Nony and some of the others—they're always thanking God
before
He answers. Like, ‘Thank You, Jesus, because we know it's already done,' or ‘Thank You for what You're going to do.' ”

So Denny and I tried it—just started thanking Jesus for what He was going to do—but it was hard to hang on to the richness of our weekend as our borrowed car joined the ever-increasing herd of semis, delivery trucks, cars, and minivans funneling back into the city. We'd left Starved Rock at noon on Sunday to give us plenty of time to get back home before Yada Yada, which started at five. But as I-55 slowed to a crawl, I wasn't so sure. Even weirder, I felt an odd relief. I might have a perfectly good excuse not to go tonight. . . . Why was that?

Deep down I knew. It would be awkward to face Adele at prayer group. Did she know Avis had told us about MaDear? How could it
not
come up? Not only Avis, but Stu and Florida had been at the shop that afternoon too.

Yet I'd promised Edesa I'd give her and Delores a ride—

My meandering thoughts were jolted by a thunderous roar overhead that felt like it was going to take the car roof right off. “Wow! Did you see that?” Denny shouted, poking his head out the driver side window and twisting his neck to look behind us.

“What?” I couldn't see a thing.

“A stealth bomber! I totally forgot—this is the weekend for the Air and Water Show.”

Oh, great. Just great,
I thought.
We'll never get home at this rate.

“Is it too late to take the Dan Ryan and stay west of the Loop?”

“No, no!” Denny's eyes practically glowed. “Let's take Lake Shore Drive. We still have time. Might get to see some of the air show!”

7

A
s it turned out, Denny and I got to see a lot of the air show as we crept up Lake Shore Drive. He tuned in WBBM radio, and a sportscaster's voice identified the low-flying planes screaming overhead—breaking eardrums if not the sound barrier—as an F-16 Falcon . . . an Apache helicopter . . . the Red Baron Squadron . . . and a finale by the Blue Angels. Guess we'd missed the aerobatics and parachute teams, much to Denny's disappointment. What did he expect? The show had been going on all day.

“I bet Josh is in that crowd somewhere,” Denny moaned, scanning the thousands of bodies, shades, and sun hats populating the lakeshore. I was tempted to kick him out on the curb and drive home myself.

We finally pulled into our garage around four-thirty.
Sheesh.
Not early enough to freshen up before Yada Yada; not late enough to stay home. Oh well.

Amanda was already home, serving glasses of ice water for Edesa Reyes and Delores Enriques, who had come up on the El together. Left to themselves, Edesa and Delores often spoke rapid Spanish to each other, the younger woman obviously adoring her motherly mentor. It was easy to think of them as mother/daughter—except that Edesa had the rich, dark coffee-bean complexion of her Honduran heritage, while the Enriques family was “Mexican latte.”

Willie Wonka was beside himself with joy that his family was back. He kept running from one to the other, leaving wet kisses on our knees and ankles. Denny was right; a note from Josh on the dining-room table said he'd gone to the air show. I hated to take off again without seeing him, but . . .
Hey,
I reminded myself.
At
least he left a note.

I splashed water on my face, dabbed on another layer of deodorant and a whisk of blush, and then came back out to the living room where Amanda was raving about worship at Iglesia del Espirito Santo that morning. “I understood a lot of the Spanish, Dad!” Our budding beauty then pounced on me. “Mom! Yada Yada
has
to go visit Edesa's and Delores's church! And when you do, I want to go with you.”

Delores Enriques's round face beamed. “Why not next week?It's the last Sunday in August—time for Yada Yada to do another church visit. We can invite the others tonight.” The older of the two women gave Amanda a warm hug. “Amanda, Amanda . . . she suits her name,
si?”

Edesa laughed at Amanda's red face. “Amanda means ‘lovable' in Spanish.”

Amanda blushed. “Mom! Don't tell Josh. I'll never hear the end of it!”

Lovable.
Well, my daughter could be at times. And to tell the truth, I'd rather stay home right now with my “lovable” daughter than get back in that clunker car again. Yet I held out my hand to Denny for the keys and turned to my Yada Yada sisters. “Ready?” I smiled, hoping I sounded more cheerful than I felt.

“Are you sure?”
Denny mouthed at me as we trooped through the dining room on our way out to the garage. I gave him a halfhearted shrug and left him sorting through Saturday's mail.

I MADE IT FINE to Nony's house, even though my fingers tensed on the wheel as we approached the intersection at Clark and Howard streets, where I'd had the accident. Today was hot and sunny—nothing like the downpour that day, which had matched my ugly mood. For a brief moment, Jamal Wilkins's startled face rose up in my mind's eye, like a hologram—there but not there. The light was green, but I crept cautiously through the intersection, looking both ways, and then finally let out my breath. Edesa and Delores probably didn't even realize we'd just passed the site of the accident.

Evanston picked up where Chicago left off, and the Sisulu-Smiths lived on the north side near Northwestern University. We found Nony's home easily enough, a lovely two-story brick home on Lincoln Avenue with beds of impatiens hugging the house, and ivy clinging to the bricks and framing the windows. The house was modest by North Shore standards, but it was roomy enough for raising a family and “tastefully decorated,” as Denny would say.

Nony met us at the door in a loose, caftan-type dress and gold-strap sandals, still managing to look like a
National Geographic
cover photo of African royalty even in her at-home attire. She led us past the polished wood stairs, through the spotless kitchen where Hoshi—who had been staying at the Sisulu-Smith home since NU dorms had closed last June—handed us glasses of iced tea on our way to the family room in the back, which looked out over a nice-sized yard with sturdy wooden play structures, big pots of flowers, and a tall hedge all around.

I sighed. Willie Wonka would
love
that backyard.

Most of the floors in Nony's house were polished wood, covered with patterned area rugs I presumed were African designs. On a trip to the bathroom I peeked into the dining and living rooms, both of which looked untouched by living human beings. I mean, did anyone dare sit on a white damask-covered couch?

Avis was already there, with Ruth Garfield and Yo-Yo Spencer. “Whoa,” Yo-Yo sputtered. “Look at Jodi's new hairdo!”

After four days, I knew my hair didn't look quite as good as when I got out of Adele's beauty chair, but the little twists had held over the top and sides, and I'd actually rolled the back on some big curlers that morning to give it some bounce.

“Well, look at
you,
” I tossed back. “Your overalls in the wash?” It was one of the few times I'd seen the twenty-something Yo-Yo in anything
but.
Tonight she had on khaki shorts and a rumpled Bulls T-shirt. With her short, spiky hairdo, she looked like an ad for preworn Gap casuals. Yo-Yo just smirked. “A picture she is! Denny had to beat off the competition, yes?” Ruth Garfield beamed at me from beneath her own frowzy bangs and planted a big kiss on my cheek that I was sure left red lipstick marks. “So!” she went on, giving me a big wink. “You and your
bubbala
had a—you know—great anniversary?”

The front doorbell ding-donged just then, and a moment later Florida Hickman and Chanda George tromped in. “Jodi! You back, girl?” Florida plopped down on a big floor cushion. “I thought maybe you lovebirds would still be at it.” She grinned up at me.

“All right you guys, lay off. Denny and I had a great weekend, and that's all you're going to hear about it.” I settled myself on the large, comfy couch beside Avis, knowing that everybody thought they knew what I meant. Truth was, I didn't want to admit that the incident with MaDear had threatened to derail our weekend big-time.

As it turned out, I didn't have to worry about prying questions, because Chanda had been practically dancing ever since she came in. “You gotta go to the bathroom, girl?” Yo-Yo butted in. “Go! You makin' me nervous.”

“Nah, nah.” Traces of Chanda's Jamaican accent spiced up her persona, which tended to be on the dumpy side, like the shapeless skirt and sweater hugging her extra pounds. A grin practically split her round face. “Nobody askin', so I'm a-tellin'.” She paused for dramatic effect then squealed, “I won! I won!”

We all gaped. None of us took Chanda's weekly lottery tickets seriously, and the only time I'd worked up the courage to suggest she use her money more wisely met with unabashed optimism.

Ruth reacted first. “What are you now, a millionairess?”

“Nah,” Chanda's smile was nonstop, “but I matched me t'ree numbers in the Pick T'ree game and got a hundred sixty dollars!

Whoo-oo!” She did a little victory dance on Nony's African rug.

“Me and the kids uppin' to Great America next weekend.”

“That's
it?
A hundred sixty bucks?” Yo-Yo shook her head, probably thinking the same thing I was:
Bet you spent more than
two hundred bucks winning that hundred-sixty.

Chanda shrugged and sat down, still beaming. “My luck turnin' now.”

Avis's eyebrows raised a hair—a twitch that usually meant,
Not
going to go there. I have to pick my battles.

Stu was the last to arrive, but she had the farthest to come, all the way from Oak Park. At least her silver Celica would be relatively safe in this neighborhood. “Aren't you tired of all that drivin' yet?” Florida wagged her head at Stu. “You goin' to church at Uptown, and you drivin' an hour each way to Yada Yada. You need a crib in the city, girl.”

“Maybe when I change jobs.” Stu took a seat next to Chanda, crossing her long, slender legs. “Right now most of my real-estate showings are in Oak Park—
what?”
she said to Chanda, who was grinning at her. “You win the lottery or something?”

Chanda's mouth fell open. “How'd you know?” Everybody cracked up.

Yet as I watched Chanda, something niggled at my mind— besides the fact that she'd cleaned my house from top to bottom after my accident and wouldn't take any pay, even though cleaning houses is how she made her living. Then I realized what it was. Chanda had come in with Florida, which meant she'd ridden up on the el. Didn't she usually get a ride with Adele?

Adele wasn't here.

Avis must have had the same thought, because she said, “Guess we should get started. Adele's the only one missing. Anybody hear from Adele?”

“Yah.” Chanda sighed. “I call her for a ride, but she say she not comin'. So I met up with Florida.”

“She not coming”
hung in the air for only a heartbeat, but I felt my mind pull two ways. Relief that Adele wasn't coming. But
why
wasn't she coming? Was she upset? At who?

I felt guilty—and resented the fact that I felt guilty.

Avis opened her Bible to the Gospel of Luke and read the passage in chapter 22 about the Pharisee who asked Jesus what was the greatest commandment of all. To which Jesus replied, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

“What?” Yo-Yo, who rarely brought the Bible I'd given her, grabbed Ruth's Bible off her lap. “Let me see that.” She silently read the verse Ruth pointed out and then smacked her forehead. “You mean I gotta love my neighbors? But I
hate
my neighbors. I think they ate my cat for Thanksgiving!”

We couldn't help it. Every single one of us totally lost it. Nony's boys stuck their heads around the corner, no doubt wondering why all these women were laughing so hard. Even Avis's shoulders shook with helpless mirth. Florida kept howling, “I love it! I love it!” Yo-Yo was barely on the other side of her decision to “do the Jesus thing,” and frankly, she didn't dress up her words any more than her clothes. When was the last time I was honest enough to admit I didn't like my neighbors? It wasn't the kind of thing a “good Christian girl” from Des Moines said out loud.

When we'd finally dried our eyes, Avis encouraged Yo-Yo to read the rest of the story when she got home, the story of the Good Samaritan who
did
love his rotten neighbor, but suggested that right now we move on to prayer.

I opened my mouth to ask for prayer about the messy situation with MaDear and Denny—after all, half the Yadas had been there when MaDear threw a fit; why shouldn't the others know about it?—then closed it again.
MaDear is Adele's mother, not mine.
Maybe it isn't my story to tell.
On the other hand, Denny was my husband, the victim of mistaken identity—so wasn't it my story to tell too? I opened my mouth again, like a goldfish mouthing underwater O's. My hesitation cost me, because I heard Avis say, “Hoshi, have your parents arrived yet from Japan?” I closed my mouth and swallowed a sigh.