2-in-1 Yada Yada by Neta Jackson

behind her ear. “But maybe not everyone has e-mail. Let’s see hands of those who don’t.”
    Yo-Yo and Chanda were the only ones who waggled their hands.
    â€œNot to worry, Yo-Yo. My e-mail is your e-mail.” Ruth patted Yo-Yo’s knee. “I’ll bring it to the café when I get my rugelach.”We had no idea what rugelach was, but the rest of us couldn’t help but laugh.
    â€œBut what about Delores and Edesa?” Stu pressed. “What if they don’t have e-mail?”
    â€œI’ll call them and find out.” I lobbed the ball right back into her corner. “Did you get Delores’s phone number last night?” I dug around in my tote bag and pulled out my notebook. “Look, I’ll send this around and everyone can put down their e-mail addy and their phone number. Snail-mail address, too. Then we can make a list—can’t tell when it might come in handy.”
    â€œYou are the queen of list-makers, girl!” Florida crowed.
    â€œUm,” said Hoshi. We all looked at her. The Japanese student had said so little in the group that even “um” got our attention. “I have e-mail, fine. But if we create a group list in our address book, we need a name. Not just ‘Number Twenty-Six.’ ”
    Chuckles rippled around the circle again.
    â€œJust call it Prayer Group,” said Stu. She sounded annoyed.
    â€œPrayer Group, yada yada, whatever,” said Yo-Yo.
    Ruth twisted her motherly self to the side and looked at Yo-Yo like she’d just said something brilliant. “I like that. The Yada Yada Prayer Group. It means something, I think.”
    â€œYeah. ‘Whatever,’ ” echoed Adele. She shook her head as though she couldn’t believe we were having this conversation.
    I snatched back the initiative. “Yada Yada it is—whatever it means.” I wrote it at the top of the page of my notebook, scratched my address, phone, and e-mail on it, and started it around the circle. “I kinda like it, too.” It kinda fits this motley crew, I didn’t say. And we’ll never agree on a name, so “whatever” is fine.
    Avis smiled. “Well, I don’t know about Yada Yada as a name, but keeping in touch and sharing prayer requests by e-mail is a good idea. Jodi, will you send that list to all of us by e-mail? But we still have Yo-Yo’s question to answer. What are we going to do about Delores? I think it would mean a lot if a few of us—wouldn’t have to be everybody—could visit José in the hospital. And the rest of us could call Delores and share a promise from the Word or pray with her on the phone.”
    â€œNow you’re talking,” said Yo-Yo. “Sign me up to visit José.”
    I TENTATIVELY SIGNED UP to visit José Enriques with Avis on Monday night if he was still in the hospital—pending Denny’s schedule, since he sometimes had to coach late afternoon sports at West Rogers High School. As we packed our luggage and said our good-byes to Flo, I felt really weird. We’d been thrown together for three days and two nights, right down to our toothbrushes and sleep shirts . . . and now I wasn’t sure when—or if—I would see Florida again. Our lives were about as different as two people’s could be, but I liked her. Really liked her. I could only imagine everything she’d been through, but she was so . . . so upbeat. So close to God. Where did that come from?
    â€œSorry about the snoring,” I told her sheepishly as we folded up the sleeper sofa and returned the cushions to their rightful place. “Next time you take the bed, and I’ll take the floor.”
    â€œNext time?” Flo wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, girl, you come visit me, and for sure I’ll take the bed and give you the floor.” She laughed. “Only got one bed, anyway. The kids are already sleeping on the floor.”
    I