Who Is My Shelter? (22 page)

“Yes. It went to the jury today. But apparently he's still got his goons on Philip's tail, trying to get his money back.”

“So what is Philip doing about it? Paying the money back, I mean. They're obviously not going to leave him alone until—”

“I don't
know
, Jodi! That's not my business. Right now I'm just trying to get things covered for the boys while I'm gone this weekend. And they want to stay with their dad—rather, they want their dad to stay with them. I've got to decide something tonight, or cancel the whole thing.”

A pause. “You're right. I'm sorry. Okay, what do I think about Philip staying at your place this weekend . . . basically sounds like a good idea, works out for everybody all around—if the boys would be safe, that is. But, Gabby, what I think isn't important.
You
need to feel at peace about it. You know, the whole boundaries thing you mentioned. Why don't we pray about it? There's a scripture in Philippians that says something like, ‘. . . let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God that goes beyond understanding will guard your heart and your mind.' Fourth chapter, I think. You need that peace, no matter what you decide. So . . . okay to pray?”

Which she did. But right in the middle of her prayer, I butted in. “Jodi! Pray for Philip's safety too. Frankly, after what's happened already—the horrible beating he got that put him in the hospital and then Fagan threatening to shoot his knees out—I don't blame him for taking it seriously. I've been so focused on my plans for the boys falling through this weekend that I haven't been concerned enough about the reason for it.”

“Of course,” she said, and added impassioned prayers for Philip's safety. But she was quiet for several moments after she said, “Amen.” Then . . . “You know what, Gabby? All of us ought to take this threat seriously. I'm going to talk to Denny and see if he and maybe some of the other guys could hang out with Philip and the boys this weekend—just so he's not alone with them. I mean, if he's not at the penthouse or hanging around there, he'll probably be okay. But like you said, their threats need to be taken seriously.”

“Oh, Jodi, do you think . . . I mean, would Denny do that? I wonder what Philip would think about that. He hasn't exactly been Mr. Sociable, if you know what I mean. I mean, he
can
be— he used to be Prince Charming, you know. But he doesn't know Denny or Josh
that
well, and to tell the truth, I think he's kind of embarrassed by all this. You know, the gambling debt and threats and everything.”

“Well, let me talk to Denny anyway. You need to decide what you want to do about Philip staying with the boys at your place. Just one thought: We prayed over that building, remember? Not just the building but all the people in it. At some point, Gabby, you've got to let go and trust God for your family.”

I surprised myself by inviting Philip to stay with the boys in our apartment at the House of Hope—and by feeling it was the right thing to do. I was also surprised how quickly he accepted. “That's generous of you, Gabby. Are you sure?”

When Josh heard about the plans, he got the brainy idea of leaving little Gracie with Grandma Jodi on Saturday so “all the guys”—Josh and his dad and Philip and Paul—could go see P.J. run with the Lane Tech cross country team. “Then we could grill steaks in my folks' backyard or something.” That got the boys excited—how could Philip say no? And so it was decided.

Sammy was disappointed that he wasn't needed to take care of Dandy for the weekend, but since he and his mom lived right across the hall, Paul said he could help take Dandy for walks, which seemed to satisfy the little boy.

I decided to leave my Subaru with Josh while I was gone— much better than leaving it parked all weekend near Manna House—in exchange for a lift to work the next morning with my suitcase, as well as picking up Dandy and taking him back to my apartment. That gave Josh an idea. “After the boys get home from school, we could use the Subaru to pick up their dad and bring him here. If Mr. Fairbanks leaves his car at Richmond Towers, that'll confuse anyone who might be on the lookout for his car leaving the parking garage.”

Even Philip thought that was a smart idea.

With the whole Baxter family covering my family—God's peace in skin is what it felt like—I was able to concentrate Friday morning on last-minute details for our trip to Wisconsin. Estelle was back and helped Angela Kwon pack up the food for the weekend while Edesa led her regular Friday-morning Bible study, then Edesa and I checked with all the ladies who were going, to be sure they had adequate sweatshirts, socks, and other warm clothes in case the weather got cold. Once again I had to tell Lucy she could
not
take her wire cart in the van—there was just no room. For a few minutes I thought she might back out of the trip altogether rather than part with all her worldly goods, but she finally agreed to store her cart in my office, taking what she needed in a pillowcase.

I was able to catch a few minutes alone with Estelle in the kitchen while everyone was eating lunch. “How did the meeting about Leroy go yesterday? Did social services find a place for him?”

She nodded but kept on scrubbing a pan with baked-on cheese in the sink.

“Are you feeling good about that?”

No answer.
Scrub, scrub, scrub
.

“Estelle, don't make me guess what you're thinking. I care about you! Did something happen in the meeting to upset you?”

The scrubbing stopped. “Oh, the meeting was fine. They found a psychiatric facility for Leroy with a nursing unit. The doctors are happy. Harry's happy. ‘Now you don't have to worry about him, Estelle,' he says. And that was that.” She glowered. “
That's
the problem.”

She tackled the scrubbing again. “He's my
son
, Gabby. Can't just wash my hands of him like I done before.”

“Like you . . . whatever do you mean, Estelle?”

“When I moved out and let him stay in the house. I shoulda known them drug dealers in the neighborhood would take advantage of him. They just moved in, made
my
house a drug house, Gabby, and threatened to hurt Leroy if he said anything about it! That wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed with him, now, would it?”

“But you can't blame yourself, Estelle. You moved out because it wasn't safe for you—
he
wasn't safe. Look at what happened with the fire! Bad enough that he set the fire and got burned. But what if you'd been there? You could have been seriously hurt.”

“Wasn't the way it was.”

I blinked. “What? But you told me earlier—”

“Harry's been doing some sleuthin'—he an' that former partner of his, Cindy. The day before the fire, I was worried 'cause Leroy wouldn't answer his phone. I couldn't go down to the house, so Harry said he'd check up on Leroy for me. That's when he discovered all them druggies had moved in. Harry didn't tell me, didn't want to upset me. Just ordered them drug dealers to move out—or else. Now we findin' out the fire was set in retaliation, made it look like Leroy did it.”

My eyes widened in shock.

“An' you know what's worse?” Estelle shook a spatula in my face. “Them drug dealers are sayin' that Officer Fagan put them up to it, else he'd take away the ‘protection' he'd been givin' them.”

“Oh, Estelle.” Unbelievable! I hoped the jury would put that evil man away for a long time. Made me shudder, all the harm he'd done hiding behind his blue uniform. “I'm so sorry. But . . . isn't it good that Leroy will be in a safe place now, can't be taken advantage of ?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Lets me off the hook now, don't it?”

“But what else could you do?”

“Nothin' today. Ain't got no place to take care of him. But I been thinkin' . . . maybe when the insurance money for the house comes through, I could buy me a little Chicago bungalow. Except . . .” Estelle's shoulders sagged and she leaned against one of the big counters. “Except, Harry an' me, we're engaged now. Supposed to get married. But he got DaShawn. No way he gonna agree to take Leroy in too. I dunno, Gabby. Maybe I should give Harry's ring back, set him free.” Her eyes teared up. “Do my duty as a mama and take care of my boy.”

chapter 21

By two o'clock that afternoon Moby Van was crammed to the gills with fifteen bodies, two big coolers, several grocery bags of food, and assorted bags of clothes and personal items stuffed under seats, under feet, and anywhere else that didn't block my view of the road in four directions.

It wasn't exactly a peaceful send-off. Shawanda's kids screamed bloody murder when their mom climbed into the van, and Celia Jones and her granddaughter, Keisha, had to carry them kicking and bawling back inside. Poor Dandy didn't understand why he couldn't go along—and I could tell Lucy was having a hard time leaving him. She climbed into the front passenger seat, slammed the door, and stared straight ahead, even when Dandy jumped up against the side of the van barking for her attention. Josh Baxter, who'd stopped by the shelter with Gracie to say good-bye to Edesa and pick up Dandy, held tight to the dog's leash so he wouldn't run after us.

But several staff and residents gathered on the steps to see us off. Estelle had exchanged her white kitchen hairnet and apron for one of her handmade caftans and head wraps, a gorgeous purple print, because Harry was picking her up for an early dinner date. “Oh, Estelle!” I whispered in her ear when I hugged her good-bye. “You aren't
really
thinking about breaking your engagement, are you? Don't do anything rash—promise me!”

“I'm just thinkin', not doin',” she huffed. “You can pray about it, though, 'cause it's weighin' heavy on my heart. Now go on! Git! Stop hangin' on my neck or you gonna break it.”

We finally pulled away from Manna House at two thirty. “Good-bye!” . . . “Good-bye!” . . . “Call when you get there!” But we still got caught in early traffic heading out of the city for the northern suburbs. Lucy got tired of watching trucks roar past us on the highway and dozed off while I tried to keep an eye out for signs to Route 12, which would take us off the tollway and cut northwest toward Madison, Wisconsin.
Huh
. So much for someone riding up front who could help me navigate. But at least her snoring kept me awake, along with the excited chatter of the “city girls” behind me.

Glancing in my rearview, I saw the younger set—Naomi Jackson, Tawny James, Aida Menendez, and Hannah Something-or-Other, who ranged in age from eighteen to twenty—had commandeered the far rear seat, giggling and gossiping like typical teenagers. Tawny and Aida had been dropped from the foster-care system when they turned eighteen but had somehow managed to avoid the trap of easy drugs and living on the street. Naomi, on the other hand, was just two eyewinks on the other side of kicking her early drug habit and needed a lot of support, while Hannah . . .
hm
. What did I know about Hannah's story? Not much.

The girl had bugged me to death when she first came to the shelter, as lazy as an old dog lying in the sun, interested only in painting her nails and doing hair. But the part-time job I'd found for her at Adele's Hair and Nails had done wonders to help her straighten up and find some purpose. Or maybe the miracle-worker was Adele herself, who could straighten
my
hair just by giving me The Eye.

My other passengers were mostly in their thirties or early forties—except Shawanda, who, at twenty-five-with-two-kids, fell between the two groups. And Lucy, of course, still kicking at seventy-something. A few I knew pretty well, like Tina Torres and Wanda Smith. But several of my passengers were fairly new at the shelter, and I was doing well just to remember first names: Monique . . . Kikki . . . Sunny . . . Bertie. Of those four, Sunny was white, but I knew better than to assume the others were all African American just because of their brown skin. Heinz 57 Varieties had nothing on the ethnic variations in Chicago. Haitian . . . Jamaican . . . Nigerian . . . Ugandan . . . even South American. Look at Edesa Reyes Baxter. African Honduran to be precise.

But that was one of the reasons for this little trip, I told myself, finally flicking my turn signal and taking the exit for Route 12. By the end of the weekend, we'd probably all know each other a little more, for better or worse.

Uh . . . maybe for worse. Monique turned out to be a fountain of religious clichés, which she threw about Moby Van like holy water. “Girl, I'm too blessed to be stressed . . . Didn't say being homeless was a blessin'. This just a test. No test, no
test
imony! . . . God ain't through with me yet. I
know
I'm blessed and highly favored, oh glory! . . .”

I slid a CD into the player and turned it up. Loud.

Two hours into our trip—we'd crossed the Wisconsin border awhile back—I stopped at a gas station to fill up the van and let my passengers use the facilities. Didn't realize it'd take half an hour. Angela and Edesa hung around the Mini-Mart inside the station to make sure we had no shoplifting incidents. When we finally got everyone rounded up, I talked Lucy into trading seats with Angela Kwon so the Manna House receptionist could help me with directions.