The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out Read Free Page A

fire. “Did I hear right? Did Rev. Handley say you were a former shelter resident?”
    â€œShe did!” Precious beamed. “Got me a good waitress job and my own address. Sabrina doin’ real well in high school too.”
    I had to grin. Waitressing. Not everybody’s cup of tea. But Precious loved to chat up strangers and dispense her wealth of trivia, whether it was sports, astronomy, or world travel, even though her claim to travel fame had been a straight line from South Carolina to Chicago. She’d probably get big tips just because she made people laugh.
    Precious lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t say nothin’, but I heard a rumor that Reverend Handley might just be a former shelter director too. She thinkin’ ’bout retirin’ once the shelter up an’ runnin’.”
    Huh. I hoped she’d hang in till the new Manna House got securely on its feet. I gave Precious another quick hug and scurried to join one of the groups getting a tour through the new building. Havah Garfield, riding on her mama’s hip, held out her arms to me, so I took the wavy-haired toddler to give Ruth a rest. “A ton she weighs,” Ruth groaned, fanning herself with a small paper plate. “And now I have hot flashes. There ought to be medals for mothers in their fifties. What’s this I hear about Nony and Mark coming back for Christmas? Has anyone heard from Hoshi? She ought to be here!”
    As usual, it was hard to follow Ruth’s rabbit hops from topic to topic. But the tour group was disappearing, and I wanted to see the rest of Manna House. “Let’s talk about it at Yada Yada tomorrow night—your house, right? Come on, Havah. I see some toys in the next room!”
    Behind the multipurpose room was a playroom, a schoolroom with computers and shelves of books, a TV room, and a small chapel. On the second floor, six medium-sized bedrooms held four bunks in each, plus showers, bathrooms, and a small central lounge. The basement boasted a well-equipped kitchen, dining room, and recreation room with Ping-Pong and foosball tables, TV and DVD player, stacks of board games, and beanbag chairs.
    After the tour, people gathered in the multipurpose room for more coffee and snacks. The Garfield twins, Isaac and Havah, practiced running away from their parents and were gleefully chased by Chanda’s girls and Carla Hickman, now a blossoming eleven-year-old. I lost Denny to a clump of Yada Yada husbands arguing about whether the Chicago Bears had a chance at the Super Bowl after a twenty-year slump.
    â€œYou going to sign up for Thanksgiving dinner?” I asked Florida, holding out my punch cup for a refill.
    â€œThanksgiving dinner? Nope.We need the family time. You?”
    I rolled my eyes. “If we want to see Josh and Edesa, we better sign up. I know they’ll be here.” I looked around. “Where are your boys?”
    Florida snorted. “Cedric’s just bein’ fourteen. Wants ta do his own thang on Saturday—mainly playin’ video games.” She shrugged. “At least I know where he is. An’ you know Chris has them art classes on Saturday, down at Gallery 27.” Her tone flipped from annoyed to proud.
    We were all proud of Chris. Two years ago, Florida’s oldest had been “tagging” walls with gang graffiti. Now he was enrolled in one of Chicago’s elite art programs for youth. “ Please let me know if he has a recital or show or whatever they call it for young artists—oh. Hi, Denny. You trying to tell me something?”
    My husband stood there holding my coat. Florida laughed. “I wish my husband would come rescue me from this punch bowl. Where he at, Denny?”
    I tried to sneak in a few good-byes to others, but Denny tugged my arm. “You don’t have to talk to everybody , Jodi. You’ll see half your friends at church in the morning and the other