Read Online Stand by Me by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online

drawer. When her husband came to the table, he eyed the chopsticks suspiciously. “If you don’t mind, honey, just give me a fork. I’ll do the chopstick thing when we actually eat out in a Thai restaurant, okay?”
    Peter said a brief blessing over the food and dug in. Avis toyed with her chopsticks until he’d almost cleaned his plate, then said, “I’d like to try to contact Rochelle this afternoon—before the workweek starts. Any ideas where we should start?” She knew she was asking a lot. Peter liked to take a nap on Sunday afternoon and then watch a basketball game on TV, especially if the Bulls were playing.
    Peter sat back in his chair and pursed his lips, which he often did when he was thinking. “Well, first things first. Have you tried her cell? Left her a message?”
    â€œI did that for a couple weeks back in February, practically every day! But she never returned any of my calls, so I stopped. You said don’t chase her, and she’d call me. But . . . she hasn’t.” Avis blinked back the hot tears that suddenly threatened.
    He patted her hand. “I know. I know, honey. So I think it’d be okay to try again now, since several weeks have gone by. She’s got pride, Avis. Probably hoping you’ll call and make the first move now that she’s simmered down. But if she doesn’t answer, leave a message, see if she calls back.”
    Peter took his plate to the sink, rinsed it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. “You okay with that, honey?” Getting a nod from her, he headed for his favorite chair in the living room with the Sunday paper.
    All right. It made sense. Avis put her own dishes in the dishwasher, then took her cell phone into the bedroom, propping herself with several pillows on their queen bed. But she hesitated. Lord, You said the Good Shepherd left the ninety-nine sheep who were safely in the fold, and He went out looking for the one lost sheep. Can You make that two, Lord? Rochelle is lost, and Conny too. And I don’t know how to find them .
    She hit the speed-dial number for Rochelle and held her breath while it rang. Once . . . twice . . . then an irritating squeal and computerized message. “This phone number is not currently in service .”
    What? Maybe she’d dialed the wrong number . . . no, she had Rochelle’s number on speed dial, same as always. Still, she tried the number again and got the same message. Unwilling to give up, the third time she typed in the number, digit by digit. Same message.
    Avis felt like throwing the phone across the room. Not in service? What did that mean? Now she couldn’t even leave a message!
    Avis marched into the living room, ready to say, So what now, Peter? But Peter was asleep in the recliner, snoring softly. Watching the slow rise and fall of his chest and his slippered feet resting on the footrest, her resolve melted. The man was tired. He’d put in a six-day week running his business. It wasn’t his fault that Rochelle hadn’t paid her phone bill. She’d asked him for advice because she wanted finding Rochelle to be his priority too. But . . . he was asleep. And she wasn’t helpless.
    Avis made herself a cup of lemon tea with honey, sipping the hot liquid as she leaned against the kitchen counter. So, what next, Lord?
    But the voice she heard in her head was her father’s. Something Buck Thomas had said when she’d phoned him as a new mom, panicked because she’d lost Charette in the Marshall Field’s store at Christmas. “Go back to the place where you last saw her, Avis. Start there. Don’t go running off in a dozen different directions.”
    Okay, so where was the last place she’d seen Rochelle and Conny?
    The Manna House Women’s Shelter. She’d taken her daughter and grandson there the day after Valentine’s Day. But they hadn’t stayed more than a day . . . Still, it was a place to