The Sisterhood of the Queen Mamas by Annie Jones Page A

to Jan.”
    “I’ll go,” Jake said, taking a long stride forward.
    I sighed in relief, but deep down, I felt anything but relieved. Was this what I really wanted? Was this the real Odessa Pepperdine, who talked a good game but then, when it came down to it, did not have the nerve to ride in a tethered balloon or even walk up to the door of a member of her own church family? Suddenly I wondered if my hairdresser, when throwing that white streak in my hair, hadn’t been trying to make my outsides match my insides. Odessa Pepperdine, coward. Or skunk.
    I didn’t like the implication of either one. No, not one bit. How could I have not seen it before this instant? If I couldn’t meet this small, everyday challenge, then I didn’t deserve to chair a committee, much less claim that I was willing to make myself part of God’s plan for someone else’s life, as I had with Bernadette.
    “No, I should go.” And just like that, with my lips still rounded to speak the word go, I took off up the sidewalk that led to the steps that led to…me stopping cold in my tracks.
    “What are you waiting for? One of us to whip out a little toy trumpet and go…” Maxine formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, pressed it to her lips and sounded out a fanfare.
    “Charge!” Chloe thrust her arm in the air. When she looked around and saw that no one else had joined her, she lowered it again, more than a bit sheepishly.
    And in those few sweet gestures, the girl got to me, endeared herself to me entirely, and I smiled. She really did want to be a part of this, or at least a part of something larger than herself. Bigger than the flea market. Better than her relationship with Sammy the belligerent balloon ballyhooer. She didn’t look the type at all, but this girl was something I was not—brave. She had not just come along on a mission to help a woman she knew would reject her out of hand, but had done it by joining a lot of old fuddy-duddies. (Do they still use that word? I don’t care if they don’t, it fits us right down to a T and I don’t want to imagine what other words kids might use these days to describe a bunch of over-the-hill-ish do-gooders.) She had come knowing that we were all Christians and that we suspected she was anything but a member of our faith. Brave girl. And bravery like that had to be rewarded.
    It was that feeling of goodwill and good humor that enabled me to take those steps and cheerfully knock on the Belmonts’ door.
    No answer.
    Well, the man had suffered a terrible accident. You couldn’t expect him to up and bound over to the door. I knocked again.
    Still nothing.
    I drew a deep breath and turned my head, not to peer into the window a few feet away, but to check the expressions of my companions, who were still standing by the van in the driveway. “Is he still just standing there?” I mouthed, and threw in a jerk of my thumb to indicate poor Morty.
    Everyone nodded. All at once, you know, like those joke videos they make of cats watching Ping-Pong.
    “‘Ask, and it shall be given you,’” Maxine urged, using the familiar verse from Matthew 7:7.
    “Hello? Mr. Belmont? Um, Morty? Can we talk?”
    “‘Seek, and you shall find.’” Jake picked up in the verse where Maxine had left off.
    I leaned over, peeked into the window, then motioned toward the door. Mr. Belmont’s seemingly unseeing gaze bore down on me.
    “‘Knock, and it shall be opened,’” Maxine finished up.
    “I did knock,” I protested.
    “Is the door open?” she asked.
    I held my breath. It couldn’t be that easy. “I couldn’t just try the knob and stick my head in, could I?”
    Maxine cocked her hip. If she had had that umbrella, I think she might have waggled it around like a fencing sword to help make her point. “Honey, at this point you’ve already stuck your nose in. Might as well go for the whole head.”
    Jake laughed.
    Bernadette gave me a look that dared me to challenge Maxine’s statement.
    So I did