Who do i talk to, p.23
Who Do I Talk To?, page 23
A lot or a little . . . I qualified on that score. But had I reached grateful yet? Huh. I sure had a lot to learn about this business of being a Christian. Never thought my current role models would be people at a homeless shelter, though.
With a promise to come back to Manna House next week to talk about starting a book club, Carolyn gave me a hug and I headed back toward Manna House. I felt a little teary as I eased Moby Van onto the Eisenhower Expressway heading back into the Loop. People came and went from Manna House all the time. Why did Carolyn’s leaving feel like such a loss?
Maybe because her story wasn’t all that different from mine. Minus the husband, but still. Middle-class woman, educated, good job, whose life had suddenly spun out of control, nowhere to go. Except to God and God’s people. Now she was taking her life back, one step at a time. But even Carolyn had admitted she was scared.
Me too.
As I drove through the Loop and turned onto Lake Shore Drive, I could see the huge Aon Center, which housed my husband’s office, its white granite facade standing out from all the steel and glass buildings surrounding it. My last visit to Philip’s office tasted like bile in my mouth. But . . . it was time to walk through my fear and get to the other side. I had a sudden urge to pull off the Drive, head for the Aon Center, and ride the elevator to the sixty-second floor. Philip and I needed to talk!
It’s Saturday, nitwit. I kept driving.
As I approached the Irving Park exit, which would have taken me to Manna House within a few minutes, I drove past and took the next exit, turning right onto Montrose Harbor Drive. I parked and got out of the big van. A lot of sailboats, a few small yachts in the protected harbor. Rock wall out by the lake. Not much sand. But just being near the water felt good. Traffic noise along the Drive faded into the background as seagulls screeched overhead.
Mmm. If I missed anything about living in the penthouse at Richmond Towers, it was being able to walk through the pedestrian tunnel under Lake Shore Drive and magically be at the beach.
The penthouse . . . Why not call Philip right now and make arrangements to get some of our stuff for my apartment? I’d be able to fit quite a bit into Moby Van. Maybe I wouldn’t even need to rent a truck. I sat on the rock wall, pulled my cell phone out of my shoulder bag, and punched in our “home” number.
Heard my chipper voice on the answering machine. “Hi! You’ve reached the Fairbanks. Sorry we missed your call. Leave a message . . .” Like a ghost out of my past, haunting my present. The Fairbanks . . . we . . . I flipped the phone closed, losing my nerve. I didn’t want to leave a message on the home phone. Philip would just ignore it anyway.
Get a grip, Gabby. It was time to quit hiding from Philip. If he backed me into a corner on the phone, I could just hang up and wouldn’t answer the next time. But we needed to start talking, the sooner the better. Taking a deep breath, I tried his cell. Got his voice mail. This time I left my new cell number and asked him to call.
But by Sunday evening I still hadn’t heard back from Philip.
It had been a busy weekend. When I got back to Manna House with Moby Van after moving Carolyn, Angela was standing at the window of her cubicle, clipboard in her hand, talking testily with two women who looked vaguely familiar. “Do you want to be put on the wait list or not? As I said, the bed list is full right now.”
“What about them other two, come in just ’fore us? Betcha put them on the bed list.” The darker-skinned of the two women stabbed a finger in the direction of the multipurpose room as I tried to creep past.
“That’s right.” Angela was obviously trying to keep her cool. “We had two empty beds, but they came in first.”
The lighter-brown-skinned woman, black hair pulled tight into a stubby ponytail, got in Angela’s face. “Those beds ’sposed to be ours! Chris an’ me was stayin’ here just a few days ago. We left our stuff to hold our place!” The woman glowered at me. “Ain’t that right? You ’member—we went to the Taste!”
I caught Angela’s eye. Uh-oh. Chris and Alisha. The two who did a disappearing act at the Taste of Chicago.
“It doesn’t work like that.” Angela was losing patience. “You didn’t come back, so we had to put your stuff in storage. I’ll be happy to get it now.” Angela came out of the cubicle and headed resolutely for the double swinging doors. “Gabby,” she hissed at me, “stay with the phone.”
“Yeah!” Alisha yelled after her. “You better get our stuff, Chingy Chong, an’ nothin’ better be missin’ or I’ll—” The street woman muttered a string of profanity as the doors swung closed behind Angela.
I sweated out the next five minutes, but finally the two women were gone with their “stuff ” . . . without filling out the forms for the wait list. Angela blew out a breath as she took back the reception cubicle. “That was close. Look who got the last two beds.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the multipurpose room. “Thank God!”
Precious was getting herself a cup of coffee and loading it with powdered cream and sugar, surrounded by a couple of overstuffed backpacks and a bulging black plastic bag.
“Precious! What happened? Did you get evicted?” I cried.
Precious shook her head. “Ain’t gonna wait to get evicted. Uh-uh. Them sheriff ’s officers just dump your stuff in the street, rain or shine. I packed it up, storing some stuff at a friend’s. Good timin’, though. I think we got the last two beds.” Precious pulled me aside. “Sabrina, though, she real upset. Don’t wanna have her baby at a shelter. She threatenin’ to run off again, live with the dawg who knocked her up.” Precious practically spit. “Humph. Over my dead body. She do that? Somebody’s gonna die.”
I followed her eyes to the black teenage girl across the room, slumped in one of the overstuffed chairs, arms folded over her voluptuous chest, her pretty features tight. How far along was Sabrina . . . three months? Four months? And now she and her mom were homeless again? She was right—a shelter was no place to have a baby! Huh. Maybe we should have taken advantage of all the media attention Dandy’s “hero act” had created to raise money for another building, some second-stage apartments for homeless moms like Precious . . .
“Precious—” I wanted to say I’d do everything in my power to help them find a place to live before Sabrina’s baby was born, but just then Lucy Tucker came into the multipurpose room with my mother’s dog on a leash. Under the purple knit hat, the old woman’s crafty eyes took in Precious, then swung across the room to Sabrina. With a shrug, she lumbered over to Sabrina’s chair, unsnapped Dandy’s leash, and ordered, “Sit. Stay.” Dandy sat, his eyes following Lucy as she shuffled out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen-dining area.
The whole time I was talking to Precious, Lucy didn’t come back. Dandy sighed and lay down, right where he’d been put, head lying on top of Sabrina’s feet. I took a step in their direction, afraid the sulking Sabrina might kick him away. But Precious grabbed my arm and turned us away, as if we weren’t watching. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sabrina lean down and tentatively stroke Dandy’s silky gold head.
“That crafty old airbag,” Precious murmured. “She did that on purpose!”
Even though I felt badly for Precious and Sabrina, for some reason my spirit lifted having Precious around. Next to Edesa and Josh Baxter—and Gracie, of course—Precious was one of the first people I’d met here at Manna House. She’d given me the official tour, with a lot of unofficial “facts” thrown in. The woman seemed to know everybody’s story—and wasn’t at all shy about sharing her own! “Girl,” she’d told me, “somebody gonna write a book about me someday. Be a best seller! Oh Lord, what I been through.”
Mom had another headache Saturday afternoon, but the new medicine Dr. Palma had given her seemed to help. After a short nap she wanted to play Scrabble and somehow talked Tina and Aida into playing with her after supper. “A good way to learn English,” she scolded when Aida resisted. I wasn’t so sure about that. The last time I’d played with Mom, she’d spelled several of her words backward.
But after getting the Scrabble board set up for them, I excused myself to call Aunt Mercy and bring her up to date. She totally agreed about getting the CAT scan and said she’d call Mom’s doctor first thing Monday morning about getting her records sent to Dr. Palma. “But about the apartment you found, Gabrielle. Celeste called me . . .”
I knew what was coming. Now they were both going to get on my case to forget the apartment, bring Mom back to Minot, and stay with her at the house. “Aunt Mercy, look, it’s more complicated than that. I’m trying to get my boys back with me, and I have to stay here in Chicago right now. But keep praying, okay?
God’s going to work it out somehow.”
Somehow was right. I just wished He’d give me more than one clue at a time.
chapter 33
Mom insisted on going to church the next morning. “Don’t want to spoil my perfect attendance,” I heard her tell Precious. I decided I didn’t need to remind her we’d both missed last week.
The SouledOut church service started at ten. Normally I’d allow an hour to take the Red Line up to Howard Street—especially with Mom—but at breakfast I had an inspiration. “Anybody want to go to Estelle’s church this morning?” I announced. “Same church that comes here on third Sundays. If we get at least eight people, I’ll drive Moby Van.” Getting residents to church surely qualified as a program.
To my surprise, it wasn’t hard. Precious was the first to shoot a hand up, and with Sabrina that made four. Tanya and Sammy made six. And after playing Scrabble with my mother last night, Tina and Aida had a hard time resisting when Mom sweetly asked them to go with her too. She even got a noncommittal grunt out of Lucy.
Tina, however, seemed anxious. “Señora Gabby,” she hissed. “Any Puerto Ricans at that church? Some people think we’re Mexican or assume we’re all ilegal. I get nasty comments sometimes. Don’t usually go to places that are just black or white.”
Big-boned Tina didn’t seem the type to be intimidated, and her comment took me aback. SouledOut had seemed very multicultural to me—but come to think of it, I hadn’t noticed any Latinos, though I wasn’t sure. “It’ll be all right, Tina. I promise.” If one could promise something like that.
Lucy, however, managed to disappear with Dandy when it was time to leave. My mother wanted to wait, but I knew those two could stay out for hours. “Maybe next time, Mom. We need to go.”
Driving Moby Van up to the Howard Street shopping center was easier than I’d thought—a straight shot up Sheridan Road. It was fun unloading my crew in front of SouledOut. Josh and Edesa Baxter came outside to greet us and laughed when I told them what Carolyn had named the van. “But so far I’ve been lucky,” I confessed. “I haven’t had to parallel park the Big White Whale.”
A lot of people already seemed to know Precious and Sabrina, and they warmly welcomed the others. Jodi Baxter’s face lit up when she saw us. “Gabby! I’m so glad you came! I want our daughter to meet you and your mom. I’ve told her so much about you both . . . Amanda! José! Come here a minute.” In a sly undertone she murmured, “José is Delores Enriques’s son . . . might be mine, too, one of these days.”
Amanda Baxter had butterscotch-blonde hair caught back in a knot with an elastic hair band in that just-got-out-of-bed look of the young, and her daddy’s easy smile. José’s dark eyes drifted often to Amanda’s face. Their fingers lightly intertwined. Uh-huh. I could see what Jodi meant, though neither one looked even twenty yet. “Oh, Mrs. Shepherd, I heard what happened to your dog,” Amanda squealed, giving my mother a hug. “I wish I could meet Dandy. Is he all right now? Tell us about him . . .”
Across the room, I saw Mr. Bentley hovering near Estelle, so I left my mother with the young people and headed in their direction. I so badly wanted to ask my Richmond Towers doorman friend if he’d seen my husband at all that weekend, until I remembered Harry Bentley didn’t usually work weekends.
“Mm-hm, what did I tell you, Harry? They just couldn’t stay away from my cookin’!” Estelle lifted an eyebrow at me as I joined them. “You are staying for the potluck today, aren’t you, Gabby girl?”
Potluck? Sure enough, right after the two-hour service, chairs were pushed back, tables set up, and food set out for a potluck meal. I felt a little anxious about staying, since we hadn’t brought anything but appetites . . . but the rest of the Manna House crew obviously had no qualms, filling their plates and going back for seconds. Even Sabrina seemed to be having a good time, hanging out with Amanda, while José Enriques kept Tina and Aida laughing with his rapid Spanish.
By the time we finally climbed in the van and headed back down Sheridan Road, it was going on three o’clock, and I, for one, was peopled out.
I skipped Sunday Evening Praise that night. I saw Rev. Liz Handley come in—hers was some kind of liturgical church group, if I remembered right. But Mom seemed extra tired, barely touching her supper, so I took her upstairs early and helped her get ready for bed. Even Dandy seemed glad for an early night after staying out nearly all day with Lucy. He curled up in his borrowed dog bed and let out a long doggy sigh.
“You’re a good girl, Celeste,” my mom murmured, patting my hand as I tucked her into her lower bunk. “Isn’t she, Dandy?” Dandy declined comment, probably thinking, Who’s Celeste?
I kissed her cheek and gently brushed back her soft, gray hair as she fell asleep, thinking it was time for another trip to the beauty salon for a cut and set. I’d be so glad to get my mom into that apartment, to do right by her . . . maybe she wouldn’t even need to go to assisted living.
One step at a time, Gabby.
By the time I turned out the light and went downstairs, the Sunday Evening Praise service was half-over. I slipped into the empty prayer chapel instead. I needed some time alone to think. And pray.
Even after the multipurpose room had cleared out and Sarge had locked the front door, I realized Philip still hadn’t returned my call. I let myself out onto the front steps, making sure I had my key. The night was muggy and warm, and an almost full moon scuttled in and out of patchy clouds tinged orange from the city lights. Taking a deep breath, I tried calling the penthouse again.
Still no answer. Again I left a brief message. “Philip. This is Gabby. Please call this number. We need to talk.” I bit my tongue before I said anything more. But I wanted to say, “Are you all right? I’m worried about you.”
My cell phone rang at nine thirty the next morning . . . but the caller ID said Palma, MD. “Mrs. Fairbanks, can you get your mother to Thorek Memorial on Tuesday at two? Just bring her Medicare card. I’ve got her registered for the CAT scan.”
I wrote it down. Maybe I could borrow Mabel’s car again.
But still no call back from Philip. Mabel wanted to have regular staff meetings Monday mornings at ten . . . did I have enough time? I sucked up my courage and called his office. The sure place to get him. “Fairbanks and Fenchel,” came the bright voice of the new secretary. “How may I direct your call?”
“Philip Fairbanks, please.” I tried to sound businesslike. I didn’t need to be afraid; I could live into my name, “Strong woman of God,” as Jodi and Edesa had encouraged—
“I’m sorry. Mr. Fairbanks isn’t in. Would you like to speak to Mr. Fenchel?”
Philip wasn’t in? What in the world—? I hesitated. The last time I’d talked to Henry Fenchel, he’d backed off. Way off. But I heard myself say, “Yes.”
A moment later a line picked up. “Fenchel speaking.”
“Henry? It’s Gabby.”
“Gabby! Hey, are you all right? Mona and I have been worried about you.”
I stifled a snort. Mona Fenchel worried about me? I doubted it. “I’m fine, Henry.” Let him figure out what fine meant. “But I need to talk to Philip. I thought I could catch him at the office this morning, but—”
“Philip.” Henry’s voice got tight. “He’s supposed to be here this morning. We’ve got a meeting with a key account at eleven, but I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t called either. If Prince Charming blows this off, I’ll—”
“You mean you don’t know where he is?” Oh God, has something happened? He hadn’t gone to Virginia. At least the boys hadn’t said anything about their dad when I called them on Sunday. So where—
“Humph. Didn’t say I don’t know where he is—or was. We did the Horseshoe Saturday night, but Mona got her, you know, female thing, and didn’t feel too hot, so we came on home. But Philip decided he was on a roll, told me not to worry, he’d be here for the meeting Monday morning.”
“Philip stayed at the casino by himself ? Didn’t you guys drive down together? He wouldn’t still be there this morning, would he?”
“Huh. Meet the new Philip Fairbanks,” Henry snapped. “Dashing casino man. Thinks he’s got a lucky pinkie . . .” He stopped.
There was an awkward pause on the other end.
“Henry?”
I heard a sigh. “Look, Gabby. Forget what I said. Buses run back and forth from Chicago to the casino all the time. He’ll probably show up fresh as a daisy for the meeting, and he’d be livid if he knew I’d said anything about . . . you know.”
“That’s priceless, Henry. You and Mona were the ones who first took him to the Horseshoe when I was gone Mother’s Day weekend, remember?”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me. Didn’t think he’d get so obsessed . . .
But, hey, I gotta go. You sure you’re okay, Gabby?”
I softened. Henry was basically a good egg, even if his wife and I had gotten along like two Brillo pads. “Yeah, Henry, I’m okay. Real good, in fact . . .” Someone was knocking at my door.
“Look, Henry, I’ve got to go too. I’ll try Philip later.”
