I shook my head. “Just tell her we don’t know—”

“Moriah.” Shemika’s voice was barely more than a breath, but we all heard it.

“Moriah,” Tad repeated into the phone. He laughed, then nodded. “Yes, it is a good name. I pray she’ll live a mountain life.”

“Me, too,” I whispered into the folds of Tad’s shirtsleeve as he held me up, too. “Live tall, little one. Live tall.”

Chapter four

Shalomsistah: You okay, Rochelle? I haven’t seen you on the list for a few days. Dana told me to check if you disappeared for too long.

I stared at my computer monitor with tired eyes. It was Austin, one of the newer members on the devotional list and Dana’s new best friend, on the other side of the computer. Usually, the list was a lifeline, both to the Lord and to my friends. Lately though, I’d come unplugged, both from the Internet and from my relationship with God.

After this memorable day—Moriah’s birth, Terri’s presence and Tad’s chin—I definitely needed to talk, but I wasn’t sure if Austin was the person to sing my blues to. I’d prayed about my attitude toward her and tried to figure it out, but still something about her just didn’t sit right. Perhaps the fact that, without trying, she’d taken my place in Dana’s life was the cause for my misgivings.

Sassysistah1: Shemika had the baby.

Shalomsistah: CONGRATULATIONS!

I stiffened. This was one of the things about her that got on my nerves. Austin had always been too perky, even when she’d just been the evening anchorwoman, a stranger on the news. At least Tad knew how to turn off his TV persona…most of the time anyway.

Sassysistah1: Thanks. I guess.

There’s a lot going on.

Shalomsistah: Want to talk about it? I know you don’t eat sugar, but I’ve got lots of chicken soup. My mother-in-law thinks it can bring world peace.

I had to smile at that. Mrs. Shapiro, so meticulous when she came in to select her shoes each season, certainly believed in the power of chicken soup. In truth, her matzo-ball variety had put the whammy on more than one of my colds and her words always warmed my heart. These days, I showcased the designs of other people’s shoes more than I made my own—except for Mrs. Shapiro.

“Shoes of peace,” she’d say. “Just like the name on the door, just like you. You make them with your own hands, with your heart.” Those words and the baskets filled with chicken soup, tea and vitamins always made me feel better. Stronger. Sometimes I forgot that Austin had married Mrs. Shapiro’s son. The girl couldn’t be all bad.

Sassysistah1: It’s hot outside, but soup sounds good. I’d come over there, but I’m too tired to drive.

Shalomsistah: Not a problem. I’m there.

Sassysistah1: Knock hard. I’ll probably be asleep.

Shalomsistah: Got it.

Sassysistah1: Wait! Do you remember where I live?

Shalomsistah is not signed on.

Hmm…Austin must have remembered the directions or she would have asked. I couldn’t muster the strength to get up and look for her number. I needed to go and dig my Bible out of the trash in the other room. Someone had actually dared to throw it away. Jordan maybe? I needed to fall on my face in prayer, but I didn’t. I pulled away from the computer to the creak of my bones.

The plan had been to come home from the hospital, change my clothes and rush right back, even though everyone advised against it. Especially Terri. I’m convinced she was stalking outside the hospital or something, but what did I know? Not much or I wouldn’t be trying to figure out how to be a single grandmother. As if being a single mother wasn’t job enough.

Shooting off a round of tangled prayers, I stretched my hands upward. Weariness poured down my legs, past my ankles and straight into my toes. With a thump, I dropped to the couch, the one that was just for decoration. It was time for that thing to earn its keep. As I sank back into it, my feet arched as if by their own will. I wiggled my toes, but it didn’t help. What I needed now was the foot washing I’d run from this morning.

Life is funny like that. What I try to outrun one minute, I needed the next. In truth, I could use a lot more from Tad than a soak in his kitty-litter container—a generous look or one of his steady prayers would do me just fine about now. Even when things had got bad after Shemika’s birth, the man hadn’t even flinched. He just stood there tall and strong, speaking loud and clear—

“We ask Lord, that this blood would stop, in the name of Jesus…”

When the room blurred into a rush of nurses and the smell of fear, there Tad was, rooted to the floor like a tree, his pecan skin glowing with sweat. The blood didn’t stop then, but the atmosphere did, and so did my attitude. This wasn’t my life all over again. No matter what happened, God was in control. Too bad Tad hadn’t been there the day I delivered Jericho. The outcome might have been the same, but maybe my heart wouldn’t have…

The doorbell sliced through my musings. I took a deep breath and hobbled for the door.

Behind it was Austin’s smiling face and two armfuls of low-carb goodies—almonds, teriyaki steak jerky, a veggie tray, some of Mrs. Shapiro’s chicken soup minus the matzo balls and a jug of diet V8 Splash. The tropical kind.

I hugged her inside. “Dana’s been telling you all my secrets, I see.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m just observant. It’s the reporter in me.”

We both laughed and put the spread on the table. She pulled two cold Diet Cokes from her purse and plopped onto the couch beside me. “We’ll get to that stuff later. Tell me about the birth.”

“It was something,” I said, sounding more like Jordan than I was comfortable with. My fingers gripped the cold drink while my lips refused to recount Moriah’s story. At least not yet. I looked back at the table, wondering which item would loosen my lips. Being on the receiving end of a girlfriend gift pack seemed strange. I’d been doing similar things for Dana and Tracey for years. I was used to it, being the one who gave, who smoothed things over. Having someone do it for me? Well, I didn’t know how to take it exactly. I sipped my pop anyway. Mine was vanilla, hers was lime.

It tasted wonderful. Much better than that bitter coffee, better than the story I had to tell. “This is good. And you got lime. Is it your favorite?”

Austin shook her head. “I don’t usually drink diet. This wasn’t about me though, so I just went along.” Her smile lit up the room like a candle.

“Sounds like a practice I should try.” I put my can on a coaster, suddenly deciding against my usual speech about being careful not to spill anything. If we made a mess, I could have it cleaned later. For once, I just didn’t care.

Austin took a coaster without being reminded and rested her can on it. She smiled at me, but made none of the usual chitchat or self-deprecating jokes that Dana provided. Not even any of Tracey’s goofy music and movie trivia that had nothing to do with anything. She just sat there sipping, ready to listen. This was a lot to get used to.

“Well, I’ll try and make this short,” I said.

“That’s your call. I’ve got four hours. The husband is fed, kissed and napping in front of ESPN. Pre-season games. He even has snackage. I left a note, but he’ll realize I’ve been gone after I walk back in the door.”

I made what must have been a horrible face. “Four hours? Please. I don’t talk to anybody that long. Not even God.”

Austin took another sip of her pop and curled her feet beneath her. “You’d be surprised.”

Five hours later, I was surprised…and full. I talked about everything from Jordan to the foot washing to the birth. I’d cried and eaten and cried some more. With Austin past due to be home, we were getting to the good part.