Who Do I Talk To? (30 page)

For the next couple of hours, Carolyn and I wandered around the Taste of Chicago, running into some of our orange-shirted residents in twos and threes from time to time. Some of them had pooled their leftover dollars and bought more food tickets. Carolyn and I stood in line for fresh-squeezed lemonade and ended up thirty minutes early at Buckingham Fountain, one of Chicago's breathtaking landmarks. We sat on nearby benches, gawking at security personnel riding around on Segways—those funny two-wheeled vehicles that looked like motorized pogo sticks—and little knots of Japanese tourists taking pictures of each other in front of the fountain. A menagerie of dogs on leashes trotted past.

Carolyn poked me. “Ever notice how many owners look like their dogs?” A tall, thin woman with straw-colored hair floated by behind a long-legged Saluki. I giggled right into my lemonade, snorting it up my nose and splashing it onto my tan capris and sandals . . . so it was several seconds before I realized my cell phone was ringing.

“Oh! My phone!” I snatched it out of my shoulder bag and scurried away from the fountain so I could hear better. “Hello? Hello?”

I couldn't tell if the static in my ear was from the phone or the noises all around me. But I finally heard “Gabby? Gabby? Can't hear you!”

I stuck a finger in my other ear and hunched over the phone. “Celeste? Is that you? Oh! I'm so glad you called! You got my message?”

The connection from Alaska was a little erratic, but I caught the drift. “Mother's with you in Chicago? What did you mean, Philip kicked you out? Gabby! What's going on?”

At the sound of my sister's voice, sudden tears clouded my eyes, and I had to wipe them on my orange T-shirt. I tried to bring my older sister up to date on all that had happened the past month, but it was hard. She kept saying, “What? Slow down . . .” and I had to repeat myself.

When I finally stopped to gulp a breath, Celeste blistered my ear. “I can't believe you've got Mom in a homeless shelter, Gabby. She's got a perfectly good home in Minot! You've got to take her back there.”

My hackles rose. “But she can't stay alone! That's why I brought her home with me in the first place. She's had a couple falls—and left the stove on.”

I could all but hear Big Sister's practical brain wheels at work. “Well, since Philip's being a jerk and you don't have a place to stay right now, why don't you just go home to Minot with Mom? That way she wouldn't be alone! Honestly, Gabby!”

Go home with Mom? That option had never occurred to me. “Can't do that, Celeste! I'm trying to get my boys back, and I need to be
here
so I . . . Celeste?” The static went dead. “Celeste? Are you still there?”

Nothing.

I closed the phone and stood at the far edge of Buckingham Fountain, feeling as if I'd just been cut loose, adrift in space. Celeste was
family.
Didn't she know I needed her right now? But Denali National Forest wasn't exactly on the cell phone highway.

If I couldn't talk to my own sister, who
could
I talk to?

Three o'clock came and went as our crew with orange T-shirts drifted to the fountain. “Will we stay to watch the fireworks?” Althea said in her careful English. “That is what you do on Independence Day, yes?”

“I'm sorry, Althea,” I said. “I think the fireworks were last night.”

“Yeah, too bad we missed it,” Carolyn offered. “They play music to go along with the show, an' shine colored lights on the fountain, water going up and down in time to the music . . .”

Fireworks . . .
we'd never missed taking P. J. and Paul to watch the fireworks back in Petersburg. It was practically unpatriotic not to celebrate the Fourth of July in the heart of historical Virginia, and we'd always made it a huge family event—grilling hot dogs and hamburgers over at the Fairbanks' grandparents' with the other relatives early in the day, then joining the throngs at Fort Lee for music, food, and the nighttime show. Were the boys doing the same thing with Philip's parents today?

Diane shook her big Afro impatiently. “I'm tired. Let's go.”

I ignored Diane's whining. Our people were still straggling in.
Next year,
I thought. Next year I'd take P. J. and Paul to the Taste of Chicago on July third, and we'd stay till it got dark to watch the fountain dance as the big-city fireworks burst overhead.

We waited an extra half hour but still only counted fourteen noses. “Who's missing?” I pulled the list out of my bag. “Anyone seen Chris and Alisha?” Both were newcomers to the shelter. Late twenties or so. Hard faces. I didn't know their stories.

Aida Menéndez piped up, “
Si.
I saw them talking to two men—tough hombres
.
Gold . . .
cómo se dice
?” She made necklace motions with her finger.

“Oh yeah. Loaded with gold jewelry.” Sarge snorted. “You guys go on. I'll wait around and see what's going down. But those two know their way around. If they want to come back by curfew, fine. But if they came out here just to pick up some johns . . .” She drew a finger across her neck.

They'd better come back, or Mabel might dock my pay for their T-shirts. But now I was feeling impatient to get back to the shelter after my aborted call with Celeste. I still had minutes on my phone card. Maybe a land line would work better.

When we finally dragged ourselves in the front doors of Manna House, Precious McGill was at the front desk, covering for Angela, who had the day off. “You guys still hungry? Estelle left food for ya downstairs.” I practically got run over in the stampede. Sure enough, the kitchen counter on the lower level was covered with a platter of watermelon, skinny slices of leftover apple pie, and a sign that said potato salad was in the fridge. I loaded my own paper plate and dug in.

Maybe we should have stuck around.

Celeste's comment about taking Mom home to Minot bugged me all night. Is that what I should do? On one hand, it made a lot of sense. I could just imagine how crazy it must sound to my sisters that Mom and I were staying in a homeless shelter. And I'd never wanted to come to Chicago in the first place!

But . . . that was before I got the job at Manna House, which was more than just a job. I really loved my work, felt as if I was doing something important for people who often got ignored. Even more important, my main priority was getting my sons back, and North Dakota seemed light-years away from Virginia. Philip
might
agree to the boys coming back to Chicago, near both of us, but he'd fight me tooth and nail if I took them to Minot.

I kicked the sheets off in the dark, stuffy bunk room. Should I pray about it? Something in me resisted. I didn't really want to ask God what He thought. What if He didn't agree with me? Besides, God gave me a brain. A mother's responsibility was to her children first . . . and Mom wasn't unhappy here. She even seemed to like it. And now we had a possibility to get a real apartment, so I could take care of my boys
and
my mom. Wasn't that God at work?

I pressed the button on my watch to make it glow . . . ten past one. Already Wednesday. I was supposed to have a meeting with Lee Boyer at Legal Aid this morning. I'd call and ask him if I could sign the contract for the apartment today.

Lucy, however, was all over me the next morning about getting Dandy back to the vet to get his stitches out. “He still ain't himself,” she growled. “Lookit that; he's still all stiff. What if them cuts ain't healed right?”

“And how are we going to get him there?” I shot back at her. “I don't have a car—and I can't afford cab fare these days.”

Lucy shrugged. “Call that nice cop 'at took Dandy in the first place. He gave you his card, didn't he?”

Yeah, right.
I was pretty sure Chicago cops didn't do cab service.

I called Lee Boyer instead. “Lee, I have a huge favor to ask . . .”

To my surprise, Lee agreed to use my eleven o'clock appointment and his lunch hour to pick us up at Manna House and take Dandy to the vet. “And could we swing by the apartment you showed me? I'd like to bring my mom, too, see what she thinks. If she likes it, I think I'm ready to sign the rental contract.”

“Great. I'll give him a call.”

Lee showed up in that snazzy Prius of his, and my mom and Lucy climbed into the backseat, with Dandy between them. “Thanks, Lee. I really appreciate this.”

“Hey, gotta treat my girls right . . . right, Lucy?” He tossed a grin into the back seat, then winked at me behind his wire rims.

“Humph,” Lucy growled. “I ain't your girl. An' Gabby ain't your girl either. She's a married woman—even if her husband is a jerk. Humph.”

My face burned, but Lee just laughed.

Dandy, as it turned out, was coming along just fine. He only whimpered a little as the stitches came out, then jumped up and licked the vet in the face. The vet laughed. “Not every day I get kissed by a celebrity.” He handed me the bill. “We usually ask for payment in full at the time of service. But you can pay in installments if that'll help.”

I looked at the total and winced. “Thanks. I'm going to need it.” I felt a little disgruntled. All that money in the Dandy Fund, and Dandy could sure use some of it. Did I dare ask—

Lee plucked the bill out of my hand. “Let me take care of this.”

“What? No, you can't do that! Give it back.”

Lee held it out of my reach, dug a credit card out of his wallet, and handed both to the receptionist.

“Lee,” I hissed on the way back to the car. “You can't do that.

You're my
lawyer
. I'm sure it's illegal or something.”

“Nothing in the rules says your lawyer can't be your friend.”

He looked at me sideways, that little shock of hair falling over his forehead. “I want to be your friend, Gabby.”

I didn't know what to say. I felt confused. Lee
had
been more than a lawyer these last couple of weeks. When I talked with Lee, he listened. Made me feel like a real person, with valid concerns and feelings. He'd gone out of his way to go to bat for me.

Oh God, it feels so good that someone
wants
to be there for me.

But I wasn't ready to give up on my marriage yet, was I? What I really wanted was for Philip and me and the boys to be a family again. All of us. Together. That . . . that madman who'd thrown me out wasn't the man I'd married. If I didn't do anything rash, if I gave him some time, Philip would come to his senses, realize he'd made a big mistake, and maybe . . . maybe we could work it out.

Oh dear God! For the boys' sake, I hope so!

We rode in silence to the building with the For Sale sign in front of it. I turned to the backseat. “Mom? This is the apartment I told you about. Would you like to see it? You too, Lucy. Dandy can stay in the car.”

“Nah. Don't wanna see no apartment. Leave those windows down,” Lucy snapped. “Dog needs some air.”

I pressed my lips together. The woman could be a real pain sometimes.

Workmen were in the apartment, scraping walls and painting, but we picked our way around the drop cloths. “See, Mom? Three bedrooms. One for you, one for the boys . . . and a nice sunroom. On the first floor too. What do you think?”

“My head hurts, Celeste.”

I grimaced at Lee. “Must be the paint smell.” I really did need to get my mom to a doctor and get those headaches checked out.

Fortunately, the owner hustled in, tie askew, with the contract in his briefcase. Lee had told me to bring a paycheck stub and proof of my mother's income or savings. I had a copy of her Social Security check and monthly annuity, plus her savings passbook. “We'll be sharing the apartment,” I explained.

The man frowned. “Are you both signing the contract?”

I shook my head. “I'm her power of attorney. I handle her affairs.”

He shrugged. “All right. But you won't be able to move in for another week and a half—maybe two weeks. Got a lot of work to do here.”

“Fine with me.” I needed time to work out something with Philip about household furnishings anyway.

I signed and wrote a check for the security deposit.
Ouch.

Lee grinned and gave me a hug. “Congrats, Gabby! Now let's get those boys back to Chicago.”

I hugged him back. “Thanks, Lee,” I whispered. But the touch of his arms and the warm smell of his aftershave lingered as we got back in the car. I watched as he helped my mother into the backseat, buckled her seat belt, and then slid into the driver's seat in those down-home jeans and boots he always wore.

I turned my head away.
Stop it, Gabby. What do you think you're doing?
In all the years I'd been married to Philip, I had never looked at another man
that
way.

Until now.

chapter 31

I woke the next morning with Sarge's bell, realizing I'd slept the entire night without getting up once. The square of daylight framed in the one window tried to lift the dim interior, outlining the four bunks, one on each wall. Even as the other bunks creaked and feet hit the floor, I stretched and lay on my bunk a few more minutes—a disastrous decision, I knew, since the bathrooms, showers, and sinks would get more and more congested the longer I waited.