Who Do I Lean On? (37 page)

“Martha's plaque! A big mural on the wall! The name in lights . . .
some
thin'!” Lucy planted her fists on her hips. “This room got a new name, ain't it? But I don't see
nothin
' yet sayin' ya named it after Martha Shepherd.”

“Oh, Lucy,” I broke in. “It's only been a few weeks since we chose the name. We haven't had time—”

“Somebody say somethin' about needin' a mural on the wall?” Florida, Jodi's Yada Yada friend, poked her head into the group. The African-American woman was maybe ten years older than Precious, who was thirty, but she had the same in-your-face way of talking, as well as a scar running down the side of her face. The woman had been around.

“Well, Lucy was just wanting something in this room to let people know why we named it Shepherd's Fold,” I said.

“Which was . . . ?” Florida pressed, simultaneously calling out, “Hey, Jodi, any more of that lemonade left?”

So I found myself explaining why Manna House had renamed the multipurpose room after my mother, as Precious and Lucy and several of the other residents chimed in bits and pieces of the story.

“Hm. Plaque would be nice with the lady's name an' all, but . . .” Florida Hickman surveyed the room, much as Lucy had done. “That wall there.” She waved a hand at the wall opposite the double doors leading into the foyer. “As people come in, it'd be real nice to have a mural of the Good Shepherd, don'tcha think?”

“Uh-huh” . . . “That's it” . . . “You talkin' now, girl,” murmured several of the residents.

Florida turned to Jodi and smirked. “You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?”

“That's the trouble 'round here,” Lucy grumbled, jerking her cart out of the circle that had formed around her. “People do too much thinkin' an' not enough doin' . . . Where's Dandy?” She stalked over to where Paul was brushing the dog's matted coat with a plastic brush from the Lost and Found. “Hey, now, that looks real good.”

I followed, realizing leaving Dandy behind when we went home wasn't going to be easy for Paul. It never was.

He looked up at Lucy, his eyes challenging. “I saw you, you know.”

“Did ya now!” Lucy said.

“Yeah. Saw you last week, saw you again yesterday in the park outside Richmond Towers where my dad lives. Like you're spying on us or something.”

“Paul!” I gasped.

Lucy held up a hand before I could say anything else. “You got a real smart kid there, Miss Gabby. Real smart . . . C'mon, Dandy. Time fer us ta be goin'.”

To my surprise, Dandy obediently got up, gave Paul a lick on the face, and followed Lucy out into the front foyer. When we left the shelter five minutes later, the rain had stopped and Lucy and Dandy were nowhere to be seen.

Paul was triumphant. “Did you hear that, Mom? Lucy didn't deny it! She even called me a smart boy, maybe 'cause I figured it out.”

“Nonsense.” I assured Paul that Lucy wasn't “spying” on them. Why would she? It was actually a rude thing to say, did he think of that? She probably thought his accusation was so farfetched it wasn't worth responding to . . . but Paul had his mind made up, so I finally dropped it.

Boys!

That third week of September started to feel like fall, as the temperature dipped into the forties at night and the rain continued off and on for a couple of days. Both boys were settling into their school and homework routines—not to mention Paul and Jermaine seemed determined to practice music on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in the shelter's rec room. It tickled me to hear snatches of the praise songs from Sunday night in their growing repertoire.

The bed list at Manna House also began to fill up because of the change in weather, meaning a new crop of residents to introduce to the various activities we were already offering— and now that fall was here, definitely time to initiate some new ones. I told the staff I wanted to schedule another brainstorming session to hear needs and ideas from the residents, and started making calls to get some field trips on the calendar. The Shedd Aquarium . . . Adler Planetarium . . . Field Museum of Natural History . . .

“Don't forget all those requests to open up the afterschool program to the neighborhood kids,” Carolyn reminded me.

Expand Afterschool Program
, I wrote on my to-do list. This Saturday was the monthly Manna House board meeting. I'd try to get it on their agenda. And good grief ! Had they gotten the go-ahead yet from the city for HUD's Supportive Housing partnership between Manna House and “Gabby the Landlady” to create this fledgling House of Hope? My closing was next week and people wanted to move in!

Definitely needed to meet with the board this weekend.

Estelle was back on deck for all her activities this week, including her knitting club during the nurse's visit on Wednesday morning. “Harry doing okay?” I asked, bringing her a fresh cup of sweetened coffee while she juggled the task of picking up somebody's dropped stitches while handling the clipboard with sign-ups of residents waiting to see Delores Enriquez behind the portable partition. “And how's your son?”

“Both of 'em comin' along, comin' along—if they'd both just do what they're supposed to do.
Humph
. What I got are
two
immature boys trying to be tough guys . . . Here ya go, honey.” She handed a wad of knitting back to one of the new residents, and then picked up her own crocheting from the bulging yarn bag.

“What are you making?”

“Another hat for Lucy. I figure the first one is
definitely
gone and buried.” She grinned at me and I grinned back. Lucy had tucked her original Estelle-creation into my mother's casket as a final farewell gift to her friend.

“So what's this?” I picked up a finished crocheted hat sticking out of her bag made of multicolored yarn with a cute wavy brim and crocheted flower on the side.

“Made that for Jodi Baxter. Her birthday was yesterday, but Yada Yada isn't goin' to celebrate it till we meet next Sunday—Oh, hey there, Delores. You ready for the next sign-up?” Estelle looked at the clipboard. “Sunny Davis! You're up!”

I moved back toward my office to let Estelle do her job. Jodi's birthday was
yesterday
? How did I not know that? Some friend I was.

I called Jodi that night. “Happy belated birthday, you sneaky thing you. Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?”

She groaned in my ear. “When you're closer to fifty than to forty, you're not exactly announcing it to the world. Can't believe I'm forty-seven. Sheesh.”

“That's not so old. I'm going to be forty next month . . . oh, you're right. That does sound really old! Still, look at it this way— you've earned a celebration!”

“Well, Josh and Edesa and Gracie came over last night with Chinese takeout and Denny picked up a pie at Baker's Square. At least I didn't have to cook.”

“Sounds like nobody cooked.”

She laughed. “Hey, been meaning to ask, what's going on with Philip? Last I heard you were pretty worried he was mixed up with a loan shark or something.”

“Don't know. Haven't heard from him since we talked a week ago at P.J.'s cross-country meet. Maybe I overreacted. It's probably okay. He hasn't said anything more about changing the visitation schedule either, so I'm presuming he's dropped it.”

“Okay. But don't stop praying for him, Gabby. God knows what's happening, even if we don't.”

I sighed. “Yeah. Thanks. Guess I need that reminder. Doesn't come natural to me to pray
for
Philip . . . but you're right. God knows.”

“Oh. Meant to tell you I have to cancel my typing class at the shelter this Saturday. I've got a parent open house at school I've got to get ready for. But I'll see you on Sunday—you
are
still becoming a member at SouledOut this Sunday, right?”

“Yes—if I don't chicken out. Every time I think about getting up in front of everybody, I get jelly knees. Hey . . . will you stand up with me?”

Jodi laughed. “You're not getting married!”

“Feels like it. Please?”

“Sure. Of course I will. See you then!”

Josh Baxter showed up at the six-flat Thursday evening to do some trim work and said they were cooking up another painting party on Saturday to finish up the two apartments. “But I was wondering . . . is Paul home? I want to ask him something.”

“Sure. Come on in. The boys are doing homework in the dining room. Paul! Josh Baxter wants to talk to you!”

“Thanks. This won't take long.”

I hovered in the kitchen, making a snack while Josh grabbed a chair and straddled it backward, chatting with P.J. and Paul for a few minutes. Then I heard . . . “You guys coming to the Youth Jam this Saturday night at SouledOut?”

“Yeah, guess so,” P.J. said. “Mom? Okay with you?”

I stuck my head around the door. “Sure. They announced it last Sunday, right? Kind of an outreach party to neighborhood kids?”

Josh nodded. “Yep. And I've got a favor to ask, Paul. You and Jermaine did a great job last Sunday at the Sunday Evening Praise at Manna House. So I wondered if you wanted to play for the Youth Jam.”

Paul seemed speechless. P.J. snorted. “You've
got
to be kidding. The electronic twins here? Oh brother.”

Josh grinned. “I'm not kidding. We want as many kids involved as possible running the show. Whaddya think, Paul?”

“Well . . . sure,” Paul sputtered. “But only if Jermaine can do it too. He and his Aunt Mabel don't come to SouledOut, you know.”

“Doesn't matter. Lots of kids will be there whose folks don't attend SouledOut.” Josh unstraddled the chair with his long legs. “Okay! I'll call Jermaine and let you know if it's a go. Bye, Mrs. Fairbanks . . . um, Gabby. See you guys Saturday night.”

P.J. rolled his eyes. “I forgot. I think I'm busy Saturday.”

The phone rang as I started after Josh to let him out. “Get that, would you, P.J.?” At the front door I said, “Ignore P.J. He's got a burr under his saddle.”

Josh just grinned. “No problem. Maybe I'll keep him busy on the soundboard. He's a smart kid—he'll pick it up real fast.”

When I got back to the dining room, both boys looked glum. “What's the matter? Who was on the phone?”

“Dad.” P.J. shrugged, playing with his pen. “Says he can't pick us up this weekend, something ‘important' came up.”

“What?” I couldn't believe it. “He's been wanting to spend more time with you, and you don't have a cross-country meet this weekend!”

“Yeah.” P.J. flipped a pen across the room. “But . . . who cares?”

chapter 36

Honestly, I considered calling Philip back and cussing him out. What was so important that he couldn't spend even twenty-four hours with his two sons this—

Jodi's voice popped into my head, urging,
“Don't stop praying for him, Gabby. God knows what's happening, even if we don't.
”

Pray for Philip?
Huh
. What I wanted to do was rip Philip apart verbally for blowing off his kids, especially the one weekend this month when no cross-country meets were scheduled . . . but instead I counted to ten—slowly—and gave both boys hugs. “I'm so sorry, guys. You know your dad loves you. He must have a good reason.” Though I didn't believe the “good reason” bit for a minute.

After promising we'd do a movie or something together tomorrow night, I left the boys to finish their homework at the dining room table and curled up on the window seat in the front sunroom, lights off, only a few flickering candles on the windowsills. The rain of the previous days had left the air clean and sweet-smelling and I opened a window, even though it was chilly enough to need one of my mom's afghans wrapped around me.

Pray for Philip
? Well, I could try . . .

“God,” I whispered, “You know what's going on with Philip. I don't understand it, Lord. But if it has anything to do with that Fagan guy, I—I don't want him to get hurt. The boys need their dad. And Philip needs You. All he's got is himself, and he's finding out that's not enough . . .”

I surprised myself at the words that popped out of my mouth. That was the prayer I needed to pray for Philip. That he would find God, or that God would find him. Whatever it took. Because it was going to take a big, big miracle to get Philip out of the massive mess he'd created.

The cell phone vibrating in my pocket interrupted my candlelight prayers. I looked at the caller ID.
Lee Boyer
. But I had an idea what he was calling for, so I let the call go to voice mail and listened to it later.
Would I like to go out Friday night to dinner and a movie?
My heart tugged. We'd had such a good time last week . . .

I waited until the next day to call him back and got his voice mail, so I left a message. “Sorry, Lee. Philip can't take the boys this weekend, so I need to do the movie-thing with the kids tonight. But I'd love a rain check; maybe next weekend?” I don't know
what
possessed me, but heard myself adding, “I'm becoming a member at SouledOut Community Church this Sunday. Do you want to come?”