Who Do I Talk To? (15 page)

“Lucy!” I shook her awake. “Go upstairs and get a nap. I'll take over.”

Umph . . . gurkle
. . . huh? Whatchu want, Fuzz Top? I ain't “sleepin'.”

“It's okay. You had a short night.”
Huh. Didn't we all
. “Besides, I need to use my office.”

“Humph. Okay.” The phone rang just as Lucy hauled herself up from my chair. “You want me ta get that?” Without waiting for an answer, she snatched up the desk phone. “Miz Gabby's office . . . Oh yeah? . . . Okay, I'll tell her.” She hung it up. “You've got a visitor.”

I stiffened. A visitor? Philip wouldn't . . . would he? “Did whoever's on the desk say who it is?”

Lucy shrugged. “Only one way ta find out. C'mon.”

I followed meekly. If it was Philip, having Lucy pave the way wasn't a bad idea. She wouldn't take any guff from him. Or maybe it was just some reporter . . . Good grief. I'd almost rather talk to Philip. Didn't the media know they were stirring up a hornet's nest in my corner?

But my visitor was neither.

“Mr. Bentley!” I cried as Lucy and I came through the double doors into the foyer. The doorman from Richmond Towers—wearing slacks, a nice button-down shirt, and a tweed golf hat hiding his bald head, instead of his blue uniform and cap—stood holding a big bag of something. And next to him, carrying a couple of plastic store bags, stood his wide-eyed grandson. But the boy's name had slipped my mind. “Uh, hi, young man. What brings you guys here two days in a row?”

“We saw the story about your dog on TV!” the boy piped up. “Grandpa said it belongs to your mama.”

Mr. Bentley looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, DeShawn wanted us to bring something for the hero dog.” He hefted the load in his arms—a twenty-five-pound bag of dog food. “DeShawn has some stuff too—rawhide bone, dog toy, you know.”

“Yeah, but Grandpa! Who brought all that other stuff out there?” DeShawn tipped his head toward the front doors.

The boy had a beautiful face—large, dark eyes, smooth skin, an impish grin lurking beneath the surface. He looked up at Mr. Bentley with obvious respect. I stared, fascinated. Then what he said finally penetrated my brain. “Uh, what other stuff ?”

Lucy was two beats ahead of me, already pushing the doors open. “Uh-oh.”

“‘Uh-oh' what?” I peered over her shoulder, then pushed the doors open wider.

The steps of the Manna House shelter were stacked with bags of dry dog food, towers of canned dog food, dog toys, dog chews, dog treats, and homemade posters in childish scrawls:

Dandy the Hero! Chicago loves Dandy! Get well, Dandy!

And a plethora of stuffed toy dogs sat atop the doggy loot—big ones, little ones, yellow and brown and spotted ones, with cute faces and floppy ears—like a child's menagerie sprawled all over a lumpy bedspread.

chapter 15

I stared at the gifts piled high on the shelter steps, touched by the generosity of total strangers. But something felt out of whack. All this fuss over an injured dog—and I was grateful, I really was. But I felt embarrassed. Most homeless people in Chicago were invisible to the general population, except for the sleeping bodies here and there, dotting the parks or slumped in an out-of-the-way doorway. The
Streetwise
vendors were tolerated by most, even respected by some, but homeless families like Tanya and Sammy . . . who cared?

“Well, better get this stuff inside. Could rain this afternoon. C'mon, DeShawn.” Mr. Bentley put his load down in the foyer, then started hauling bags of dog food and stuffed toys inside. I saw a couple of people with cameras lurking across the street, snapping pictures before the piles disappeared.

Lucy and I started picking up the toys. “Aw, this here dog is cute,” Lucy said, holding up a floppy yellow dog with a big face and big paws.

“It's yours, Lucy,” I said. “From Dandy. Next to my mom, you're his favorite person.”

“Ya think so?” Lucy allowed a big grin, showing her missing teeth.

Once everything was inside the foyer, Mr. Bentley straightened, hand on his back. “Now, where do ya want this stuff, Mrs.

Fairbanks? Seems like all I'm doin' lately is hauling your stuff around.” He rolled his eyes—but then winked at me.

“You've done enough, Mr. B. I'll get some other volunteers to move this stuff once we figure out what to do with it . . . oh!

There's the lunch bell. DeShawn, you and your grandpa are invited for lunch. Estelle showed up this morning, decided to wrap up our hair-raising experience with a good meal.”

Mr. Bentley chuckled. “Sounds like Miss Estelle. Some woman.”

I noticed I didn't have to ask him twice.

Estelle's lunch perked up everyone's spirits. She put Jodi to work after the typing class, and they served up teriyaki chicken, rice, fruit salad, and pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. A couple of the board members who'd seen the news clips showed up—Liz Handley and Peter Douglass with his wife, Avis—to make sure everyone was all right and to huddle with Mabel about how to deal with the media. Estelle must have anticipated extra mouths, because she made everyone eat and still had leftovers.

I tried to save a couple of seats for Mr. Bentley and his grandson at the table where I parked my mom, but when I looked up, they'd been hijacked to the table with the Douglasses. When Jodi finally got to eat, she and Avis got their heads together about something. Even Mr. B and Peter seemed to be talking like old times. Huh. I invite Mr. Bentley
one time
to our Fun Night here at the shelter, and suddenly he's everybody's best friend.

Still, Jodi did say she'd like to talk to me, so I tried to hurry my mother along, hoping to grab Jodi before she left. But Mom would not be hurried. “Mm, that upside-down cake is good. But I need coffee with something sweet. Gabby, would you—?”

I jumped up to get the coffee, thinking it was as good as any time to speak to Jodi. But Mabel got to me first. “Gabby, better ask for some volunteers to help you move the stuff in the foyer. Guess you can put it down here in the rec room for now. But you better keep checking the front steps—I don't think we've seen the end of it yet.”

Oh brother.
I'd almost forgotten about the glut of “dog stuff ” upstairs. With a sigh, I got Mom's coffee, then caught Jodi Baxter on her way up to the counter with her dirty dishes.

“Jodi! I'd really like to talk to you, but I've got to do something about all the stuff total strangers have been leaving on the doorstep. And I don't want to keep you waiting . . .”

“Oh, that's okay. Let me help.” She grinned. “Denny and Josh are doing some plumbing thing over at their apartment. The only thing waiting for me at home is a dirty kitchen floor and two baskets of laundry to fold. I'd rather play with those stuffed animals—oh.” She dumped her dirty dishes and pulled me aside. “Actually, I'd really love to meet Dandy. Is he—?”

“In my office.” I eyed the closed door. “But let's wait till the dining room clears out. I'll grab a few more people to help haul stuff, and maybe by that time—whoa! What's this?”

Tina clattered down the stairs, hefting a bag of dog food over her shoulder, followed by several of the other residents, arms loaded. “Where does this stuff go?” Tina demanded. “I got one more trip.”

I pointed to the rec room. “Uh, Jodi, could you help organize stuff in there? I'll go upstairs and see what's going on.”

Squeezing up the staircase past several of the kids coming down, arms full of stuffed animals and posters, I ran into Lucy at the top, who'd planted herself squarely in the way of anyone coming up from the dining room. “Two trips, missy. With as much as you can carry 'fore you go to the beauty shop or take a nap, whichever is gonna revive that fuzz top o' yours—hey! Hey, Sheila! Ever'body's gotta take two loads a' stuff outta the foyer and get it downstairs 'fore they do anything else! Means you, sister! You signed the official mascot petition, din'tcha? Well?”

I scurried to the foyer and got my first armload. “Thanks, Lucy,” I said on my way back to the stairs.

“Huh. Don't thank
me
. Them that can run up an' down stairs get to carry stuff. Them that can't get to boss all the rest a' ya.” But she allowed a grin for the second time that day—then hollered after me, “An' ya better check the front steps! Bunch more stuff showed up during lunch!”

Many hands did make light work, to prove the cliché, and Estelle was shutting down the kitchen as we deposited the last bag of dog food in the rec room. Jodi had done a great job, storing most of it out of the way under the Ping-Pong table, the rest in black plastic garbage bags in the corners behind the bean bag chairs. On the spur of the moment, I grabbed an armload of the cutest stuffed doggies and went hunting for young Sammy. “Here, buddy, I have a job for you. Give one to each of the kids here at Manna House, okay? And choose one for yourself.”

I was rewarded with a high five.

“What are you going to do with all this?” Jodi asked as I unlocked my office.

I shook my head. “I dunno. Can't think yet. Well . . . there he is. The Manna House Hero.”

Dandy lifted his head as I turned on the light. Jodi immediately got down on the floor beside him. “Hey there, Dandy, good boy.” She spoke softly, crooning his name, gently stroking his matted neck hair. The dog licked her hand. “Aw, Gabby. He's so sweet.” Dandy laid his head back down under her gentle petting. “We used to have a dog. A chocolate Lab. We named him Willie Wonka. He died a couple of years ago, just old age. I still really miss him . . .”

I sat quietly in my desk chair while she petted Dandy. Then she turned her head to me, still sitting on the floor. “Gabby, I still want to hear why you and your mom and Dandy here are staying at the shelter. But I've been thinking . . . would you like to come stay at our house for the weekend? We've got a couple of empty bedrooms right now—I mean, Amanda's home from college, but she went with the youth from our church on a mission trip and won't be back for another week.”

“Oh, Jodi. That's so nice. But I can't leave Dandy right now. And my mom—”

“I meant all three of you! Actually, thinking about Dandy's injury gave me the idea. I mean, we've got a backyard, well, at least there's some grass, and it's only a few steps from the porch to the yard. We could make a bed for Dandy on the porch since the weather's decent, give him a few days to recover from his injury and a place to be outside when he's ready. Sheesh! Stay the whole week if you'd like.”

I stared at her. The idea of sleeping in a room all to myself instead of a bunk room with four other people, one of whom snored like a chainsaw, sounded like an ad for a vacation in Tahiti. The media couldn't find me or Dandy . . . maybe they'd go away.
Huh.
Philip couldn't find me either—I needed another phone call like the one this morning like I needed a root canal. Mom wouldn't have to climb stairs . . . and what Jodi said about Dandy being able to recover away from hordes of admirers and curiosity seekers was downright brilliant.

“Oh, Jodi. Are you sure? I mean, I have to come to work Monday—”

“So?” She got to her feet and brushed dog hair off her slacks. “Take the El. Josh and Edesa do it all the time from Rogers Park. I'm off for the summer. Your mom and Dandy can stay with me.”

Of course I could take the El. That's how I'd been getting to work before the fallout with Philip. I'd just have to allow a little more time. But leaving my mother with the Baxters during the day . . . that seemed like too much. Didn't Jodi have to check with her husband?

Still . . .

I grinned. “Okay . . . why not? At least for the weekend, I mean.” I jumped up and gave Jodi a big hug. “Thanks, Jodi.” I had to push the words past the lump in my throat. “Thanks so much. I can't begin to tell you what a gift this is.”

It still took us a good hour to let Mabel know the plan and check out for the weekend, pack a bag for my mother and myself, gather up a garbage bag of laundry to do, and enlist Tina's help carrying Dandy out to the Baxters' minivan. We took him out the lower side door into the gangway and met Jodi and the minivan in the alley to avoid dozens of questions about why the official watchdog was suddenly leaving—making sure the door got locked again this time, of course. But I did make a point to let Lucy know what was happening.

She was not a happy camper.

“Why all a' sudden you think that other lady can take better care o' that dog than me, huh? Didn't you say next to Gramma Shep that I was his fav'rite people?” The scowl on her face was deep enough to hide a quarter in.

“That's not it at all, Lucy! It's just a quieter place for a few days. Fewer people. A yard where he can get up and walk around without attracting lots of attention—you know, out there.” I pointed to the front doors. “And we'll be back in a few days.”