Who Do I Lean On? (40 page)

I smiled. So this was the “work” being done over the weekend behind the yellow construction-taped doors. No wonder Florida had almost freaked out last night when she thought I'd met with the board here over the weekend.

Only then did I see a little brass plaque over to one side. I bent closer to read it:

In memory of Martha Shepherd, fondly known as “Gramma Shep.” A resident of Manna House from June 19—July 10, 2006.

Tears streamed down my face. “Lucy should see this,” was all I could say.

chapter 38

Speaking of Lucy, she showed up during lunch and it wasn't even raining.

“Wonkers!” she said, appearing in the dining room on the lower level with Dandy in tow. “Now
that's
more like it.” Her gray eyes glittered as she jerked her thumb upward toward Shepherd's Fold.

The tables erupted in clapping and whistles. “Ya shoulda seen Miss Gabby's face when
she
came in this mornin'!” Hannah laughed. I had to smile. I rarely thought of the young woman as Hannah the Bored any more, because Adele's Hair and Nails had increased her afternoon hours to four days a week, Wednesday through Saturday.

Lucy loaded up a plate with Caribbean rice and beans and Mexican sausage at the lunch counter and sat down with an
“Oomph!
” at the table where Mabel, Estelle, and I were sitting. “So who done it?” She grabbed the bottle of hot sauce on the table and liberally sprinkled her rice and beans. “That wall thing, I mean.”

Mabel told her about Florida Hickman overhearing her complaint after Sunday Evening Praise a week ago—

“I seen the lady. Who is she?”

“One of my Yada Yada prayer sisters,” Estelle put in. “Her family's been renting half their second floor to Josh and Edesa, place no bigger'n a shoebox. Guess Flo was here when SouledOut came to Sunday Evening Praise last week.”

“Yeah, yeah, yada, yada . . . whatever. Go on.” Lucy poured on more hot sauce.

Mabel picked up the story. “So that's when Florida got the idea to ask her son, Chris, about doing a mural for Shepherd's Fold. The young man is in a special art program for talented teens at Columbia College and he jumped at the chance.”

Lucy guffawed when she heard the boy had first used his artistic talent “tagging” the walls of buildings and elevated train underpasses . . . but Estelle jumped in with even more juicy details. Even Mabel hadn't heard the story of Jodi Baxter volunteering to be a drama coach at the Juvenile Detention Center when the regular JDC English teacher got sick, which is where she saw Chris's talent come alive painting the large backdrop for a dramatic piece the kids wrote themselves and acted for staff and parents.

That was the first time the Hickmans realized their son had
real
talent, since up to that point all it had gotten him was doing time at the JDC.

“That's a fantastic story,” I murmured when Mabel and Estelle were done. “I hope we get a chance to thank this young man in person one of these days.”

Lucy shoveled more rice and beans into her mouth. “Well, maybe we oughta have some kinda dedication or some-thin' for Shepherd's Fold, now that ya got a decent plaque an' ever'thing.”

“Good idea, Lucy. A
really
good idea.” I slipped my last bite of sausage under the table to Dandy, who was parked by my knees, collected my empty dishes, and started to get up. “Well, time to get back to work.”

“Hey, don't run off, Fuzz Top. You the one me an' Dandy come here to see. Just got sidetracked by that mural thing upstairs.” The old woman pointed her fork at me. “You an' me gotta talk. But somewhere private like.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. What in the world was this about? “Well, okay. When you're done, just come into my office.” But by the time I'd scraped my dirty dishes and sorted them into the heavy plastic dishwasher bins, Lucy and Dandy were already parked in my office.

I closed the door and sat down at my desk. “So what's up?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Your boys okay? I didn't see 'em up at Richmond Towers all weekend. Not their dad, neither.”

Now I raised both eyebrows. “You
are
spying on them!”

Lucy pulled herself up indignantly. “So? Just makin' sure they all right when they not with you. Can't seem to forget how I found you that night when that mister of yours kicked you out, cryin' your eyes out on that park bench . . . an' don't forget who found Dandy here, wanderin' 'round the park after bein' lost all night an' all day. So you got a problem with me keepin' an eye on your boys? Huh?”

I shook my head with a rueful smile. “No . . . no, I'm grateful, Lucy, really I am. But I think it freaked Paul out a little. He doesn't know why you're ‘spying' on them.”

Lucy leaned forward. “Well . . . I ain't tellin' you the whole truth, neither. Fact is, I been seein' some strange characters hangin' around Richmond Towers, overheerd 'em askin' 'bout the mister, where he lives an' stuff.”

My breath caught. “What kind of strange characters?”

She shrugged. “Don't belong there is all. One was an undercover cop, 'nother was a man in a suit . . .”

I blew out my breath. Why would a cop and a man in a suit be asking around about Philip? Had he done something illegal? “How do you know it was an
undercover
cop? I thought the whole point was not to look like a cop.”

Lucy snorted. “Huh. When you live on the street long as I have, you can smell an undercover a block away.”

I frowned. “Are you sure they were looking for Philip? Though I suppose it could be one of Philip's creditors trying to find him. He's, uh, run up some big debts. But I appreciate you keeping an eye on my boys.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Lucy pushed herself out of the chair. “Mostly wanted to know the boys was okay since I didn't see 'em this weekend up at the Tower.”

“That's because they stayed with me this weekend. They're okay.” I grabbed a pen and scribbled on a notepad. “But here are my phone numbers—both home and cell phones. Call me if you're concerned about anything, okay?” I held out the note.

“Now, Fuzz Top, whatcha think I'm gonna do with that? You know I ain't got no cell phone.”

“Just take it, Lucy. If you need to call me, you'll find a way.”

When Paul showed up at the shelter after school, I told him he was right after all, Lucy and Dandy
were
keeping an eye on them when they were staying at Richmond Towers, just wanting to make sure they were okay. When I said Lucy
and Dandy
were keeping an eye on them, he seemed to feel better about it. But I made a mental note that I should probably talk to Philip about the “strange men” Lucy had seen. Who were they? What did they want? Or was she just imagining things?

But it seemed as if Thursday showed up on the calendar before I even had time to blink. Closing day! I was so nervous Mabel told me not to bother coming in to work that day until it was over, because I'd be virtually useless. Lee had called me at work several times during the week to let me know what to expect at closing and to make sure I brought the necessary bank draft to cover the down payment, title fee, and other expenses.
Whew
. Taking out that bank draft sent my savings account plummeting to a low water mark. I'd be barely wading in my inheritance money now instead of swimming.

As many times as we'd talked that week, I thought it was strange that Lee didn't say anything about my invitation to come to church last Sunday, so I finally asked if he'd gotten my message. “Oh gosh, Gabby. I'm sorry. I did, but I thought . . . well, obviously I didn't make it. To be honest, I'm not really a church kind of guy. But I hope it was everything you wanted it to be.”

“What do you mean, you're not a church kind of guy? I wasn't asking you to join the church, just come to something that was meaningful to me.”

“Hey, down, girl. Don't jump all over me. It sounded like an afterthought when you turned down
my
invitation to go out to dinner last Friday. I didn't think it was that big a deal.”

I'd hesitated. “You're right. It was an afterthought. But it was a big deal—to me anyway. Becoming a member of the church, I mean. But . . . never mind. What's the address of the title company where we're doing the closing? Eleven o'clock, right?”

“Don't worry about finding it. I'll pick you up at your house.”

After we hung up, I'd picked up one of the floppy stuffed dogs still hanging around my office and went nose to nose with it. “Hey. Remind me next time not to mix business with pleasure. There're probably plenty of blogs out there about not getting romantically involved with your lawyer.”

Still, I was glad it was Lee who sat beside me at the big conference table at the title office Thursday morning at eleven. He squeezed my hand before the owner of the building and his attorney and the title company rep came in, giving me an encouraging smile. I squeezed back. Lee Boyer had helped me through one of the roughest periods of my life, and the fact that he knew it all and still thought I was special, well . . .

An hour later we all shook hands, the attorneys and title guys packed up their briefcases, and we headed out into the parking lot to go our different ways. I started to lean against Lee's Prius to regain my equilibrium, but it set off his car alarm and I leaped away in shock as the horn began blaring. Grinning, Lee used his clicker to shut off the alarm and then we both collapsed against the car.

“Uh, Lee? Did I just hand over a check for two hundred grand?”

“More. All those fees, remember?”

“And all those papers I signed. You read them, I hope.”

“Uh, they're pretty standard. I have read them at one time or another.”

“Uh-huh. And now I own a very large building.”

“Mm. Medium I'd say. Just a six-flat. But if you want, now you can move out to the suburbs and join the fine tradition of Chicago's absentee slumlords—ow!” He threw up his hands to defend himself against another slug on the arm. “Just kidding.”

I looked at him sideways. His easy grin, wire-rim glasses, and brown hair falling over his forehead gave him a perpetually boyish look that made me feel like kicking off my shoes and running barefoot in the grass—except the parking lot was concrete.

“Let's go buy a kite,” I said suddenly.

“What?” Now he started laughing.

“I feel like flying a kite! Come on!”

“You're crazy, Gabby Fairbanks, you know that?”

I was still glowing and windblown when I finally got back to Manna House at three o'clock. We almost didn't find a kite, since all the stores were already stocked with Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving decorations. But we finally found a big, black bat-shaped kite in the Halloween section of a discount store and took it to Lincoln Park along the lakefront. The wind off Lake Michigan had been nippy, but it sent the kite flying high and gave us rosy cheeks and red noses.

“Friday?” Lee said hopefully when he dropped me off at the shelter.

For some reason Chanda's snippy comment at Sunday's Yada Yada meeting niggled at me.
“Just trying to figure out how to walk the talk . .
.” But I'd already blown Lee off last weekend. What could it hurt? “Sure, Friday,” I promised and ran up the steps.

Precious and Tanya took one look at the grin on my face when I came in the door and started screeching with joy. “We can move! We can move!” . . . “We got us a real apartment! Oh, thank You, Jesus!” They both grabbed me and dragged me down the stairs to the lower level. “C'mon—Estelle's got some-thin' for ya!”

“Something” turned out to be a large sheet cake Estelle and her Thursday afternoon cooking class had made and decorated with “Congratulations!” The cake and fresh coffee brewing drew residents and staff from all corners of the building, and by the time the schoolkids joined us, we had a regular party going. Even eye-rolling, pregnant Sabrina finally seemed excited that she was going to have her own bedroom at last.

I called Josh and Edesa on their cell phones and told them the move was a “go” on Saturday. But it wasn't until the boys were climbing into their dad's Lexus at six o'clock Friday evening that I realized I hadn't called Philip about Lucy's report of “strange men” hanging around Richmond Towers. I didn't want to say anything in front of the boys, so I just asked Philip to call me later that evening when he had a chance.

His call came when Lee and I were slow-dancing to a live band at one of the popular country-western venues around the city.
Okaay, this is awkward
, I thought, trying to find a corner of the room farthest from the band. Plugging one ear I held the cell phone to the other. “Philip? Thanks for calling. Just wanted to tell you that, uh, Lucy Tucker said she's seen some strange men hanging around Richmond Towers asking for you. She wanted me to tell you.” I felt silly even as I relayed the message.