Where Do I Go? (44 page)

“Don't ask.”

It was hard pretending that this was a normal day. I gave a wave to Estelle as I scurried for my office, but she leaned over the kitchen counter, hairnet covering her usual topknot, apron covering her roomy dress. “I hear you the one told the board I should get paid for all the cookin' I do.”

“What? Oh! Estelle!” I'd totally forgotten that the Manna House Board was supposed to meet last Saturday and consider new staff. “They offered you a job?”

“Yep.” A wide grin pushed her dark eyes into half moons. “Twenty hours a week. Which means I got a few extra hours left over for them cookin' and sewin' classes you talked to me about.”

“That's wonderful! I'm so glad, Estelle.” I leaned across the counter and gave her a hug.
And really, really awkward,
I thought, as I escaped into my broom closet office.
Now what am I going
to do?

I booted up the computer. Well, I would type up a proposal for the cooking and sewing classes, ask Estelle to list materials needed, suggest a time slot, and turn it in to Mabel with my resignation. Estelle could probably launch those classes by herself and wouldn't need me to look over her shoulder.

But first, I needed to type up my resignation. After addressing the letter to Mabel Turner and the Manna House Board, how-ever, my resolve faltered.
If I quit this job, I'll wither up and die.
My head sank into my hands. It wasn't just the job. It was the living faith of the staff and volunteers. I'd lost my way, but I was beginning to find it again . . . here, in this unlikely place! Here I'd felt accepted, needed, appreciated. I'd made all kinds of mistakes, and they still loved me.

What was I going to do once I walked out of those doors tonight?

I got another cup of coffee from the kitchen to steady my nerves, punched the Play button on the CD player sitting on my desk to distract my thoughts, and started typing again as gospel music filled up my little office. But I flipped it off when the Dottie Rambo song came on.
“Where do I go when there's no one else to turn
to . . . ?”

It hurt too much.

My phone rang just before lunch. It was Angela at the front desk. “Mabel's here.”

I took a deep breath, folded my resignation letter and the proposal for Estelle's classes, and went upstairs. A small circle of shelter residents were clustered around my mother, and I heard Lucy mutter loudly, “What kinda lowlife would kick out yer dog?”

I slipped through the room and through the double doors. Angela looked up from the desk. “She said go right in.” I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Mabel Turner's eyes had bags under them, and I suddenly remembered what she'd been through the last few days. “I . . . heard about C.J. Is he okay?”

The director nodded wearily. “He's going to be all right. Physically. But . . . I don't know. You've met him, Gabby. He gets teased a lot at school, called ‘pretty boy' and ‘faggot'—all the cruel things kids say. He's had a real tough time—but I didn't expect this.” She sighed. “He really needs your prayers. Me too.” She was quiet a long moment, then seemed to remember I was there. “Anyway, Angela said you needed to see me. What's up?”

I sat down, though I was tempted to flee. Mabel didn't need more bad news. But I had no choice. I spilled it all . . . and used up thirty minutes and a whole wad of tissues in the process.

“I'm so sorry, Mabel. I wanted to tell you Friday, to give you more warning, but I don't know what else to do.” I blew my nose, sure by now that I looked a sight. “In fact, even if I resign today, I'm still in a fix. Unless I find a situation here, I'll probably have to take my mom back to North Dakota, but—”

A loud commotion suddenly erupted in the foyer, and then Mabel's door burst open. Lucy Tucker stood there, purple knit hat crammed on her grizzled head, dragging my mother in by the hand. Several other residents crowded in behind them.

“So why can't Gramma Shep stay
here
, is what I wanna know. That scumbag Gabby's married to—don't mean no offense to you, Gabby—already kicked Martha's dog out, now he's sayin' Martha can't stay. She don't wanna go back there anyway, an' she don't have nowhere else to go right now. Don't that make her homeless? Ain't this a shelter for homeless ladies? Ain't I right, girls?”

“Yeah, that's right.” . . . “They's a couple beds open up­­stairs.” . . . “Uh-huh.”

I looked in astonishment from Lucy, to my mom, then to Mabel. I practically stopped breathing. Had the answer to the dilemma about my mom been under my nose all the time?

“Oh, Mabel, if . . . if she could. Just for a few days, or maybe a few weeks, or—” What was I saying? This was my mother! I turned and looked at her. My mother had a triumphant look on her face. “Mom?”

“I like it here. They're my friends.” She held up her hand, locked in Lucy's.

I went out the double oak doors into the late afternoon sun, my heart and my feet lighter than they'd felt in weeks, even though my backpack was heavy with stuff I'd cleaned out of my desk. I'd hunted high and low for the CD Josh had given me, but someone had borrowed the CD player from my office—must have had the CD still in it.

Didn't matter. I'd be back soon. Manna House was willing to give my mom shelter up to the usual limit—ninety days—as long as I was working on alternative solutions. Surely I'd find some-thing before then, or maybe her name would come up on the assisted living list back in Minot.

I told my mom I'd be back later that night with her clothes, but just in case, Estelle rustled up the basic “kit” that was given to women just coming off the street: personal-size toiletries, new underwear, and pajamas. Estelle had even offered to stay a night or two to help get my mom settled, walk her through the routines, and make sure she took her meds, which Mom always carried in her purse, at the right times. She'd brushed off my profuse thanks. “Hey, might as well piggyback my jobs. I'm still licensed to do in-home elder care, ya know.”

I had turned in my resignation letter, though Mabel said she was willing to consider it an “extended leave,” depending on what happened at the Fairbanks household in the next few weeks. Just before I got ready to leave, Mom tugged on my arm. “Please look for Dandy, won't you, Gabby?” Her lip trembled a little.

I wrapped her in a hug. “Absolutely, Mom. I'm sure we'll find him.” At least she'd used my right name. A good sign. “Where's Lucy? I want to say good-bye.”

My mother shook her head. “I don't know. She went out. Said she had to do something. She'll come back, won't she, Gabby?”

Drat.
After making that big show about my mom staying here, the least Lucy could've done was hang around! “I'm sure she will, Mom.” Well, she always did—sooner or later. I would've felt better leaving my mom if her new buddy, Lucy, had been there.

Still, I felt eager to get home, impatient with how slowly the El rattled along during rush hour, loading and unloading scores of passengers at every stop. I'd tried calling home with the news, but only got voice mail. Philip and the boys were probably out doing a museum or something. Just as well. I wanted to see Philip's face when I calmly announced I'd found a place for my mom, he didn't have to worry about her staying with us anymore . . .
Where, you ask? Oh, a homeless shelter.

The scumbag. Let him live with
that
on his conscience.

But that, and the news that I'd turned in my resignation, ought to calm things down on the home front. Give me time to focus on the boys. And find Dandy.

“Hello, Mr. Bentley!” I threw the doorman a smile. “Guess what?
Estelle”—
I winked at him—“is looking after my mother at Manna House for a while. Ought to ease things upstairs—oh, did Dandy show up?” I looked toward the glass doors that faced the frontage road and the park, hoping to see a mournful mutt tied to the bike rack outside.

“Haven't seen him, Mrs. Fairbanks. Your boys went out looking after you and the missus left this morning, but they came back empty-handed . . . and then they took off on their trip, so I kept a lookout for the dog whenever I could. Never did see him, though. Sorry.”

I shrugged. “Well, thanks anyway. I'll go change my clothes and do another run through the park. Oh—the other big news. I quit my job at Manna House. Didn't want to, but I need to spend more time with the boys . . . long story.”

A puzzled look crossed Mr. Bentley's face, but I really didn't want to go into detail right then. “Tell you more later, okay? Right now I've got to run.” I gave him a wave, ran my card through the security door, and headed for the elevators. If Philip and the boys were still out, that would give me time to thaw something for supper and go outside to look for Dandy. Maybe make a few calls to nearby animal shelters. After all, a cute mutt like Dandy was sure to get someone's attention, and they'd see he had a collar and a tag, maybe even call the number. I should call my aunt, have her go to Mom's house and check any messages—

Ding!
The elevator slowed its upward journey, and the door slid open on the thirty-second floor. I pulled my house key out, still lost in thought as I crossed the foyer, so that at first I didn't notice the pile of stuff beside the front door. I stopped in mid-stride. What was all this?

My mother's two suitcases were standing next to the door, bulging and presumably filled with her things. Had Philip packed her clothes already? But I hadn't called. How did he know—?

Wait.
What was all this other stuff ? An even larger pile of suitcases, boxes, and bags stretched on either side of the door. I opened a box and stared at the contents. Dandy's rug, bowls, dog food, and leash.

And then I saw my suitcases. The tan-and-green set my parents had given me when I finally graduated from college several years ago.

Starting to feel frantic, I opened each bag and box. My coats. My shoes. A box with all my personal stuff from our bathroom—toothbrush, deodorant, makeup . . .

I stared at the door. What was on the other side? Trembling, hardly daring to think, I stuck my key in the lock and turned.

Nothing happened. The lock didn't budge.

And then I knew.

When Philip said, “That's the last straw,” he'd meant it.

My husband had thrown me out.

chapter 43

I just stood there, mouth agape, staring at my belongings stacked in the foyer. A growing fury gradually swallowed my dis-belief. I pounded on the door. “Philip?” I screamed. “If you're in there, open this door right this minute!” I pounded until my fist was red, but no answer. Was he in there, pretending not to hear? “
Paul! P.J.!
Are you in there? Let me in! It's Mom, and this isn't funny!”

Silence.

I grabbed one of my clogs and threw it as hard as I could against the door. “You've gone too far this time, Philip Fairbanks!” I screamed.

My words ricocheted like echoes in the Box Canyon.

Dumping my backpack, I pressed my back against the wall next to the elevator and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, trying to catch my breath.
Think, Gabby, think! . . . Okay. Okay.
So he and the boys were still out. He wanted me to get home first,
wanted
to shock me.
Well!
If he thought I was going to sit here bawling like a baby and lick his shoes when he got home, that . . . that
snake
had another think coming. I'd sit right here and wait for the dirty rat to show up. And then he was going to get an earful, and I didn't care if the whole building heard me! He had to show up sometime. He couldn't keep the boys out all night—

Wait.
My thoughts did a sudden tailspin. Mr. Bentley had said the boys had gone looking for the dog that morning, and then “took off on their trip.”
What trip?
I thought he just meant some day trip around Chicago—

My mouth suddenly went dry.

Scrambling to my feet, I punched the call button for the elevator, which took forever to arrive and even longer to reach the ground floor.
No, no, no, no . . .
I burst through the security door into the lobby. Mr. Bentley was chatting amiably with one of the other building residents, but I ran up and grabbed his arm. “Mr. Bentley!” And with a wild look at the other man, “I'm sorry! It's urgent!”

The other man shrugged good-naturedly and caught the security door before it closed.

I was practically hyperventilating. “What did you mean, the boys took off on their ‘trip'?
What
trip?”

Mr. Bentley gave me a strange look. “What did
I
mean? Don't you know? It just looked like they were going on a trip is all. Your man and the boys came out that security door each pulling a suitcase, you know, the kind with wheels—”

When?
When did they leave? Did they take a cab?” “