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

through the day’s mail. “ I think it’s hilarious. Seems like I remember you telling me you’d pack your bags and go home to Mother if I ever dragged you to one of those things again.”
    I swatted him with a potholder. “Yeah, that’s because you saw it as a cheap date . Not to mention that you got thrown out by those two bouncers because you threatened to enlighten ‘the other suckers’—the phrase you used, I believe—about the so-called free gifts we’d been offered. I was mortified.”
    â€œHey. Just doing my civic duty. That car phone they promised for showing up was free all right. Just didn’t work unless you bought the installation package for thirty bucks.”
    â€œI know, I know.” I groaned. “But I’m not good at this sort of thing. Maybe you should go with Chanda, keep her from making a big mistake.”
    â€œAw. It’ll be all right. A lot of people buy time-shares these days. It’s probably legit. And she’s got the money. Let her enjoy.” Denny planted a kiss on my forehead. “OK, I’m off. If you’re gone before I get back” —he waggled his eyebrows— “have fun.” He made for the back door.
    â€œWait!” I plucked a sticky note from the refrigerator. “You got a call from the high school. They want you to call back.”
    â€œOh, brother.Was it the AD? ” Denny and the athletic director at West Rogers High had their, um, differences.
    â€œNope. A woman. She just said call the high school office.”
    Denny digested this. He took the sticky note and studied the number, frowning. Then he shrugged. “Too late to call today. I’ll call tomorrow.” And he was out the door for his run.
    I watched him disappear into the alley. Why would Denny get worried about a call from the high school office? My own anxiety kicked into gear again. Last summer Denny hadn’t known until two weeks before school started whether he had a job or not. Budget cuts. But he’d kept his job as assistant coach for boys’ soccer, basketball, and baseball. He’d wanted to stay with “my boys,” as he called them, building on what he’d tried to develop the year before.
    But now . . . was it all going up for grabs again? Along with my job?
    CHANDA WAS DECKED OUT in a two-piece, bone-colored pantsuit—the kind with a tailored jacket worn long to midthigh. Chunky bone-and-black earrings and a matching necklace were perfect against her warm, brown skin. Only problem was, I forgot to ask what I should wear. I’d shed my shorts but had just pulled on a denim skirt and a clean white T-shirt. Even forgot my earrings.
    Oh, well. This was Chanda’s evening. Let her shine. Or not. I really didn’t care.
    I pulled into a self-pay parking lot around the corner from the address Chanda had given me right at seven o’clock. Six bucks after six. Not too bad. But I handed the ticket to Chanda to avoid any confusion about who was paying.
    â€œTwo plane tickets to Hawaii, all expenses paid, mm-hm.” Chanda was floating. “Wish Dia’s daddy would straighten up his sorry self.We could get married an’ dis be our honeymoon—”
    â€œChanda! Dia’s daddy is not going to ‘straighten up’ in time to use that ticket to Hawaii! Girl, don’t let DeShawn mess with your head. You know better than that. Come on.” I locked the minivan, and we headed out of the lot.
    â€œYou right, you right, Sista Jodee.” She giggled. “Smooth as butter, ’bout as spineless.” She sighed. “But dat mon one good dancer. Sure would like to see ’im do dat hula.”
    That struck us both funny, and we were still laughing as we followed two couples through the door of the brick building that said GLASS SLIPPER VACATIONS. A man in a dark suit held a clipboard. “Your names, please? ” he asked the two couples,