Who Do I Lean On? (33 page)

My heart beat faster with a childlike excitement. I'd speak to Pastor Clark or Pastor Cobbs as soon as the service was over.

“Gabby! That's wonderful!” Jodi said, when I told her I'd spoken to Pastor Cobbs about becoming a member of SouledOut Community Church. “Did he say when?”

“Two Sundays from now, the last Sunday in September. If I don't get cold feet before then. He gave me some papers to read about the church and a copy of the membership questions I'd be asked.” I was already wondering if I'd been too impetuous. Church membership at SouledOut definitely meant something more than it had at Briarwood, where we stayed on the church membership roll even though Philip and I had only shown up three or four times a year. Even the name—
SouledOut
, for goodness sake!—made me feel as if I was taking holy vows.

Jodi gave me a sympathetic hug. “You won't. This is definitely the right thing to do. Everyone who follows Jesus is part of the body of Christ on Earth—but those ‘body parts' are a lot more effective when they're connected with the other ‘body parts'!” She laughed. “Me, I'm a toe—but the foot needs me and I need the foot. We all need each other!”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help grinning at Jodi's “theology.” “Well, if you're a toe, maybe I'm a toenail.”

“See? That's exactly it! Just think where we'd be without toenails!”

I did think about it that afternoon as I wandered through the apartments across the hall from ours on the first and third floor while the boys did homework. A lot of wall prep had gotten done just in one day with a bunch of us working together. My heart seemed to crowd into my throat.
God, I know the House of Hope wouldn't be happening if I were trying to do this on my own. Thanks for giving me other parts of the body to—

“Yo! You de lady who buyin' de building?”

I jumped at the unfamiliar voice, a thick Island accent. A tall thin figure, dark skin, long dreadlocks caught back in a fat ponytail, poked his head into the third-floor apartment. How stupid of me to be up here by myself with the door unlocked! I tried not to let my apprehension show, even as I moved quickly to the door and squeezed past the man into the hallway, where I could yell if need be. The door across the hall was open. Reggae music bounced within. Now that we were standing face-to-face, I realized I'd seen the man going in and out of the building, but had never actually spoken to him before.

“Yes, I'm the new owner.” The sign out front said Under Contract, even though I hadn't closed yet. “And you are . . . ?”

The man jerked a thumb at the apartment across the way. “Mi livin' dere wit me woman and me mada. Yuh still be renting dese apartments or going condo?”

I began to relax. Just a tenant wanting to know what was happening. I shook my head as I locked the door of the empty apartment. “Neither. I'm working with a shelter program . . .” It would be hard to explain.
Just cut to the chase, Gabby. You know what he wants to know
. “I'm sorry. I won't be renewing any leases. When will your lease be up?”

The man's face fell. “January.” It sounded like
Jan-oo-wary
. “Dat not a good time to be wit'out a place to live.”

I suddenly realized this man and his family were being put out by my plans for the House of Hope. Could I make it easier somehow?

Impulsively I said, “Tell you what. If you find a place to move sooner, you can move out without having to sublet the apartment or breaking your contract.” That would work both ways, wouldn't it? It would give more options to the remaining tenants, as well as make the apartments available sooner to the House of Hope.

Or leave me with empty apartments and having a hard time paying the mortgage.

But I'd said it. And I would keep my word—to this man anyway.

The man nodded and turned to go. But I stuck out my hand. “My name is Gabby Fairbanks. You are . . .”

He shook my hand, his hand sinewy and thin. “Campbell. Maddox Campbell.” Then he pointed to my hair—which was probably a frizzy mess, since it had rained as we came out of church and caught me unprepared—and for the first time a slow grin spread over his face. “Dat be a heap of curly hair—like de poodle dog.”

I didn't know whether to be offended at being compared to a poodle or pleased that he was being friendly. I chose friendly. I laughed. “Yes. But did you ever see a
red
poodle?”

Now he laughed,
heh heh heh
, as he moved back into his apartment and I started down the stairs. But as soon as I got inside my apartment, I called Lee Boyer. “If the current tenants know I'm not going to renew their leases, can I allow them to leave earlier without having to sublet?”

“What are you up to now, Miss Moppet?”

I told him about my interaction with Maddox Campbell and Lee promised to do a little research. “I don't want you to get stuck with a lot of empty apartments before you're ready to fill them with your House of Hope tenants.” I could just imagine him shaking his head. “You can't save the whole world, Gabby. But you
could
save a lonely guy from eating takeout again. How about dinner tonight?”

I was definitely tempted. And I'd already turned him down on Friday after the custody hearing. But . . . “I'm sorry, Lee. It sounds great. But it's a school night for the boys and I want to spend some time with them. Rain check?”

Short pause. “Is that a promise?”

I laughed. “You sound pathetic. Yes, it's a promise. Next Friday? The boys will be with their dad.” I hoped. If the plan hadn't changed by then.

I'd promised the boys we could watch a movie if they got their homework done by seven, so we made popcorn, drank “orange Cokes,” and watched
The Pink Panther
—the Steve Martin version—with a pile of blankets and pillows since I didn't have an actual couch yet. We laughed ourselves silly, though I winced at some of the crude humor, and ended with a pillow fight. But once they'd gotten ready for bed, I stopped in P.J.'s room to say good night. “You figure out where to catch the bus tomorrow? Better give yourself extra time. It's going to take longer.”

“I'm good, Mom. It's just a straight shot down Addison.” He rolled over.

I leaned over the bed and kissed the back of his head. Smooth dark hair, so like Philip's. “Good night. Love you.”
Take care of him tomorrow, dear God . .
.

Next stop, Paul's room. He was propped up in the bottom bunk with a book. I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey, kiddo. What are you reading?” He held it up for me to see. “
Dog Stories
?” Uh-oh. I could see where this was heading.

“Yeah. Got it from the school library.”

“You'd really like to have a dog, wouldn't you?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but . . . not just any dog.” He hugged the book. “Wish you hadn't given Dandy away. He was practically like my dog.”

“I know, kiddo.” What else could I say? We'd been through the why-I-gave-Dandy-to-Lucy scenario before. I gently took the book and turned out the reading light as Paul slid under the covers.

“I see him, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I go to Dad's. When I look out the penthouse window, I can see Dandy and Lucy down in the park. Sometimes she's looking up at the penthouse. Seems like it anyway.”

“Really?” That was curious.

“Yeah. Why is she always in that park? I mean, it's not that close to Manna House. Doesn't she stay at the shelter too?”

“Sometimes. Usually when the weather's bad. Maybe that park is where she's used to hanging out. That's where I first met her, you know.” “Met” being a rather loose term for how I'd run into her cart sticking out from under a bush, smack-dab in the rain, me crashing onto the muddy ground and ending up with a bloody foot . . .

“Yeah, I know. But when I saw her and Dandy this weekend, I went right down the elevator and ran outside to see Dandy—but I couldn't find them. It was like they just disappeared . . .” I heard a sniffle in the darkness. “. . . or didn't want me to know they were there.”

chapter 32

True to his word, P.J. left the apartment fifteen minutes earlier the next morning to catch the bus that would take him to Lane Tech. He even remembered to take his lunch.
Well, good for him. He wants to make this work
. I tried not to think too much about the reason he'd rather take the bus than get a ride. His attitude would work itself out if I didn't make a big honking deal about it.

I hoped.

Mabel seemed a little put out now that she had to take Jermaine to school
and
pick him up, though she agreed that if P.J. didn't want to ride together, it was for the best.

I drove Paul to Sunnyside, reviewing the plan we'd made for him to walk Sammy and Keisha back to Manna House after school. He seemed upbeat, in spite of his “doggy mood” the night before. “What about Trina and Rufino?” he wanted to know. “I could walk them, since they have to go back to the shelter too.”

“Yes, but they're still pretty little, you know.” Trina was in second grade and Rufino just starting first. Their mother, Cordelia Soto, had been at the shelter for a couple of months, but was hoping to move in with her brother in the Little Village neighborhood, home to many Mexican and other Spanish-speaking Americans—which would mean having to change schools. A lot of upheaval for little ones. “Their mom wants to walk with them for a while.”

Much to my relief, frankly. It was one thing for Paul to walk back to the shelter with Sammy and Keisha, who were older. But round up and keep four kids out of the street? Two of whom were only six and seven? That was a lot of responsibility for a twelve-year-old.

I thought the shelter would be a bit quieter with the kids at school, but Angela rolled her eyes as I came in. “The day has barely started and already Sarge had to throw two women out who started a fight,” she muttered, pushing the sign in/out book at me.

I signed in. “Over what?”

“Who knows? Somebody dissin' somebody over something.”

“It wasn't Naomi Jackson, I hope.” If Naomi was still here, it meant the young girl had managed to stay off the street—and off drugs—for five whole days so far.

“No, a couple of cats who came in over the weekend. I think I remember the one named Alisha from before.”

I snorted. “Right. Bet it was Chris and Alisha. Figures.” The two women had been on the bed list at least twice since my sojourn at Manna House—streetwise prostitutes who tended to show up whenever there was a crackdown on the “business” by the cops. But they always seemed to kick up dust, staying out past curfew or breaking some other shelter rule, then raising a ruckus when they got tossed out. They were usually told they had to stay away at least thirty days before trying again.

“Well, at least they won't be back for another month.” I gave Angela a thumbs-up and pushed through the double doors into Shepherd's Fold, hoping there would be some fresh coffee in the carafes . . . and then stopped. Naomi Jackson was curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs in the big room, arms wrapped around her knees, head down, her shoulders shaking. Tawny was crouched by her side, saying, “Hey, hey. What's wrong, girl?” but getting no response.

I walked over and touched Tawny on the arm. “Thanks, Tawny. I'll talk to her.”

At my voice, Naomi jerked her head up, her face wet, her nose running, eyes accusing. “How come you ain't been around?!”

I sat down on the arm of the overstuffed chair. “Because I don't work on the weekend, Naomi. What's wrong?”

She wiped her face on her T-shirt. “Nothin' . . . I mean, ever'thing. You don't know what it's like . . .”

That was true. I didn't. “But you're still here. That's a good thing.”

“I dunno,” she said dully. “Dunno if I can make it. That Sarge! See, one of my homegirls—name Alisha—was here, an' felt sorry for me, was gonna give me a joint to help calm my nerves . . . but that Sarge yelled bloody murder an' threw her out.” Naomi sniffed. “She was jus' tryin' to help me.”

“Oh, Naomi. You don't need that kind of help.” I was sure of that, but what kind of help did she need? “Who's your case manager? Are you going to see her today?”

Naomi shrugged. “That Cooper lady—but I don't got an appointment till tomorrow.” She looked up at me hopefully. “Can I hang out with you today?”

I was taken aback. I had a couple of proposals for new activities I wanted to work on before the weekly staff meeting at ten, but . . . oh, why not. “I've got work to do, but if you want to hang out in my office, that's fine with me. You got a book to read or something?”

Naomi's weepy eyes actually got bright. “For real? Don't read much, but I like to draw sometimes . . . you got some paper an' stuff ?”