The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Caught by Neta Jackson Page B

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    The doorbell rang, and the Yada Yadas started drifting in. Delores Enriques and Edesa Reyes, who usually came by el, were the first to arrive. Delores said, “Edesa, mi amiga , you play hostess at the front door. I will help Jodi in the kitchen.”
    I opened my mouth to say I already had iced tea and pretzels in the living room, but the mother of five children firmly propelled me down the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. “Jodi!” she hissed. “It is Edesa’s birthday in three days. Are we doing anything for her tonight? ”
    â€œTonight? No! I didn’t know!”
    She wagged her head. “ Perdóneme. I was hoping you knew. Things are still so crazy at our house that I didn’t—”
    I touched her arm. “Is Ricardo still saying José has to drop out of school? ”
    Delores rolled her eyes. “I will be in my grave first! What did we come to this country for? So our niños could get a good education! José wants to go to college! And he’s going to go, if I have to . . .” She made a face. “Never mind.What about Edesa? ”
    For a moment,my mind scrambled . . . and then I slowed down. “Next time we meet.We’ll do it then.We’ll have more time to do it right.”
    The round face brightened. “You are right, Jodi! Sí, sí, we must do it right. That girl, she is a jewel.” She hustled back toward the growing clamor in the front room. I followed with a pitcher of ice water and paper cups. Even though Delores and Edesa came from different countries—Delores from Mexico, Edesa a “black Honduran” —the two women were more like mother and daughter. And my daughter was crazy about Edesa and all of Delores’s children. Especially José. I sighed. What if Amanda and José got married someday? Delores and I would be—
    Whoa, Jodi. Those kids are only fifteen. OK, almost sixteen. But we are not going there.
    I counted noses in the living room. Almost everyone. Adele Skuggs . . . Ruth and Yo-Yo . . . Stu and Becky from upstairs . . . Hoshi (but not Nony, no surprise there) . . . Florida . . . Chanda . . .
    Avis was the last to arrive. She looked a bit frazzled, had even forgotten her earrings—though she did have her big Bible that looked like it was ready to fall apart if she sneezed. I pulled her aside. “Avis, are you OK? ” I whispered. “What’s with Rochelle and the baby? Surprise visit? ”
    She didn’t smile. “Could say that. The same day we got home from Ohio, Rochelle showed up with Conrad, saying she’s frightened. Dexter’s gotten verbally abusive, has threatened her physically several times. At least that’s what she’s saying. Dexter, on the other hand, has been calling frantically, begging her to come back, saying it’s all a huge misunderstanding.”
    â€œOh, Avis. That’s got to be tough.”
    She nodded grimly. “Understatement. I’m really worried about Rochelle. She cries all the time. But our apartment is not set up for three generations. I mean, I love Conny. But he’s upset too; he cries for his daddy. It’s getting on Peter’s nerves.”
    I could well imagine. Avis and Peter had only been married for two months. Ruth would be quick to point out that in Jewish culture, newlyweds were supposed to have a whole year before going to war or taking on the world.
    Avis rubbed her temples, as if she had a migraine coming. “This hasn’t been the best week for something like this to happen. I’ve had two meetings with the local school council, because the school board is threatening major budget cuts this year. But I’ve been so distracted, I can hardly wrap my mind around work.”
    â€œAvis! Jodi!” Ruth’s voice whipped around the corner of the living room like a lariat, catching us and pulling us in. “A prayer meeting we are having or what?