Who Do I Lean On? by Neta Jackson

Author:Neta Jackson [Jackson, Neta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, ebook, Christian, book, Fiction
ISBN: 9781418561666
Google: uZkg_R5vPhEC
Amazon: B0052HL1V8
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

chapter 22

Turned out the picnic was a blast. The bikers were downright gentlemanly, helping us set up the Baxters’ grill, adding their sandwiches and bags of chips and coolers of colas to the feast. One of the bikers—a smaller guy who actually wore a safety helmet— even hopped on his bike and roared down the highway, and by the time the coals were ready he was back with more hot dogs and buns to throw on the grill.

I cornered Lucy. “What were you doing in Michigan? I mean, you just up and disappeared! What did that biker mean, you got tired of picking? Blueberries?”

“Humph. Grew up pickin’. Gotta make some money somehow to see me through the winter, don’tcha know. Now, how ’bout another slice of that melon. I gotta go sit with Dandy so Paul can play some ball.”

Josh had produced a couple of bats, a softball, and mitts— he’d been thinking of the kids—and we ended up with two rowdy teams made up of both bikers and “maidens,” as our residents had been dubbed by the God Squad. Since the picnic and ballgame were no longer mostly female, the boys—even Paul—looked like they were having a great time.

“Look at God,” Estelle murmured to Jodi and me as we cleaned up paper plates, leftover buns, and searched for missing caps to the plastic containers of catsup and mustard. “We make our plans, but God comes up with an even better idea.”

I decided not to comment on Estelle cleaning up on a Sunday. “Yeah, and I was worried about security, you know, all these women out here in the middle of nowhere, with only a few guys to stick up for us if anything happened.”

Jodi swooped up Gracie, who had discovered a bag of marshmallows. “Oh no, sweetie. Let Grammy get those out of your mouth—”

“Look, look, Gracie!” I screeched. “Your mama just knocked a home run! Way to go, Edesa!”

We clapped and hooted from the picnic shelter as Jodi’s daughter-in-law rounded third base, which consisted of somebody’s T-shirt. As the pretty Honduran girl slid into home plate—another T-shirt— Jodi sighed. “Please keep praying for Edesa and Josh. Things are really stressful for them with you-know-who in that tiny apartment. Can’t even call it an apartment, it’s so small!” She nuzzled Gracie’s loose curls, then looked at Estelle, who’d resumed cleanup. “Speaking of our grown kids, Harry said you guys weren’t at church this morning because you went to visit Leroy. How’s he doing?”

Estelle shook her head. “Humph. They say he’s doing good, but it ain’t a pretty sight for a mother to see her boy suffer like that.” The older woman heaved a sigh and sat down on one of the picnic table benches. “Gotta pray for me, sisters. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with him when he does get better, now that he done burned the house down. Jus’ never wanted to put him in an institution. But . . .”

“Oh, Estelle,” Jodi said. “Of course we’ll pray.

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