Who Do I Talk To? (35 page)

Mr. Bentley chuckled. “Sounds like my mama. Except the guests invited themselves.”

Estelle gave him a poke. “Hush. This ain't about your mama. Go on, Gabby. Tell us about Christmas.”

“Oh yeah . . . One time my dad wrapped up only one new slipper for Mom's Christmas present, because only one of her old ones had a hole in it. Mom laughed so hard she got a stitch in her side! And
then
he made her hunt for its mate—can't remember where he hid it, but it took her two days to find it.”

Now everyone was laughing.

“I was always bringing home pathetic stray cats and dogs—drove my dad nuts, but Mom usually stuck up for me. But seeing how much she dotes on Dandy, I realize she has a soft heart for four-legged creatures herself. Of course, that doesn't explain the snake she let me keep—”

“Snake? Whatchu talkin' 'bout snakes?” Lucy and Mabel had returned, and Lucy pushed herself in and parked herself in a chair on the other side of the bed. “Hey there, Miz Martha. It's me, Lucy. Just wantcha to know, Dandy's missin' ya real bad, so don't pay these people no mind. Just come on home.”

“Lucy—” I started, but Estelle gave me a leave-it-be shake of the head. That's when I saw Jodi and Denny Baxter leaning in the doorway—Josh must have called his parents. When I started to get up to greet them, Jodi shook her head. “Go on, Gabby. We want to hear the stories.”

Mom's breathing had slowed, each breath coming farther and farther apart. “Guess the thing I remember most about my mom,” I murmured, stroking her hand, listening to the ragged breaths, “is all the books she read to us after supper, at bedtime, on car trips—even when we were older. I was the youngest, and one winter she read all the
Little House
books by Laura Ingalls Wilder—and Celeste and Honor would ‘just happen' to hang around to hear them, too, even though they were teenagers.”

Carolyn and Precious looked at each other. “That 'splains it,” Precious said.

“Explains what?”

Carolyn pulled a dog-eared paperback from her backpack. “The book Miss Martha was trying to give me when she . . . you know . . .” The Manna House book maven choked up and couldn't say any more.

Precious took the book from Carolyn and held it up so we could all see the title.
Little House in the Big Woods.
My eyes watered. I'd read a lot to my boys when they were younger. That had stopped when Philip sent them to boarding school. But, I vowed, if I got them back under my roof, I'd make sure we read aloud together, even if I had to read a Harry Potter book or—“Miz Martha!” Lucy's voice rose in alarm. “C'mon, now, breathe!”

I rose quickly and leaned close to my mother's face. A long silence—and then suddenly another long, slow breath.

“That's right. C'mon!” Lucy's wrinkled face under the purple knit hat twisted with anxiety.

The room hushed as the people who'd been family to both of us in the last few weeks seemed to hold their collective breaths. I leaned closer, my face on the pillow beside my mother's, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Mom,” I whispered. “I love you. I love you so much . . .”

The silence grew . . . one minute . . . two . . .

But this time—nothing.

My mother had slipped away as gently as that last breath.

Midnight. The hospital waiting room was empty now except for Jodi Baxter and me. Bless them! Josh's parents had offered to wait with me while I finished necessary paperwork with the hospital and help make phone calls, so everyone else could go home and get some sleep. Denny had taken charge of making arrangements with a reputable funeral home to pick up my mother's body and hadn't come back.

I played with the gold wedding ring I'd gently slipped off my mother's hand. Even now, I could still hear the voices of our friends—our Chicago family—as they'd gathered around Mom's bedside, held hands, and recited the Lord's Prayer. Then Estelle began to sing “Amazing Grace.” The impromptu chorus of male and female voices joining in had been tender and sweet. My mother would have loved it.

And then they'd left quietly—all except Lucy, who'd stormed out during the song, anger masking her grief.

My cell phone rang, and I snatched it. “Celeste? . . . Oh, thank God Aunt Mercy got through to you! . . . Yes, she's gone, about two hours ago . . . I'm still here at the hospital . . . I know, I know . . .” We cried together on the phone. I tried to imagine my sister, ten years older than me, whom I hadn't seen since our father's funeral two years ago. All three of us girls had cried together then, holding each other, united for the moment in our grief—Celeste's thick brunette hair pulled back, hazel eyes and freckled nose both red and running . . . Honor's bare-faced California tan under her bleached-blonde shag, looking forlorn . . . and me, the baby, feeling like Little Orphan Annie—and I don't mean the hair—once Daddy's funeral was over and we'd gone our separate ways.

Now it was our mom. After wiping my face with the back of my hand, I tried to answer Celeste's questions as best I could, but I felt on the defensive. After all, I was the one who was here, trying to handle everything by myself. I tried to make her understand it was a
massive
hemorrhage . . . The doctor had given no hope of recovery, even if they put her on life support . . . Yes, I had power of attorney, but Mom's living will was clear . . . Of
course
Celeste was the oldest, but it wasn't exactly easy getting in touch with her in the middle of Denali National Forest . . .

Finally we got to “what next.” “Yes, I know there's a plot beside Daddy back in Minot, but . . . All right. Yes . . . Call me tomorrow, please? Maybe we can get on a three-way with Aunt Mercy to decide what to do. And try to get hold of Honor, okay? It's already after midnight here.”

As I closed the phone, Jodi handed me a tissue and I blew my nose. I looked up at her through bleary eyes and sighed. “I don't know what to do, Jodi. I'm sure my mom would want to be buried beside my dad, and we already have a plot in Minot. But how do I get her there?” I ran my fingers through my tangled mop. “I
know
I can't afford to bury her in Chicago.”

Jodi pulled a chair next to mine and took both my hands. “Gabby, you've done everything you can do tonight. Come home with us. Get some sleep. I'll take you back to Manna House in the morning. I'll keep the car, and we can do any running around you need to do. Okay?”

I nodded wearily and stood up. Suddenly I felt more exhausted than I'd ever felt in my life. Jodi took my arm and I let her lead me through the hallways and down the elevator until we found Denny, who said the funeral home would be there shortly. I could go tomorrow to pick out a casket and make arrangements.

Denny went for the car and picked us up at the main entrance of the hospital. Thankfully, Jodi and Denny didn't try to talk as he drove their minivan the half mile to Lake Shore Drive and turned north. I sat slumped in the seat behind Denny, gazing out the window in a half stupor. A full moon shone over the lake on the right, bathing the trees and parks along the Drive in silver gossamer, competing with the bright neon lights of the city on our left.

The lakeshore was beautiful, even at night. In spite of everything that had happened, Chicago was growing on me. Maybe when I got the apartment and the boys had settled in, we could explore the city and its wonders—

The apartment.
I stiffened, coming wide awake like a jolt of caffeine as streetlights flashed by. Mom and I had been planning to share the apartment, pooling our money! That was the only way I could afford it. But now . . .

Oh God! What am I going to do now?
New tears sprang to my eyes, and I started to weep silently, feeling hope drain out of my spirit. It wasn't just being homeless again, forced to stay longer at Manna House—which was about as good a place as an emergency shelter could be, even if I did have to sleep in a bunk room with four to six other women.

It was my sons.

Without an apartment where I could provide a home for them, my petition for guardianship would go down the toilet.

chapter 36

It took me a long time to fall asleep in Josh Baxter's old bedroom, but at least I wasn't awakened at six o'clock by Sarge's wake-up bell. The bedside clock said 8:36 when I finally opened my eyes, the whirring fan in the window the only noise. Reluctantly I dragged myself out of bed, clad only in the big Bulls T-shirt and pair of shorts Jodi had handed me to sleep in. Finger combing the snarls out of my hair, I wandered into the kitchen, where Amanda Baxter was perched on a tall kitchen stool wearing blue-and-orange-plaid pajama bottoms and a rumpled tank top, trying to keep the calico cat on her lap from getting into her cereal bowl.

“Oh. Mrs. Fairbanks!” she burbled, quickly swallowing her mouthful. “I'm so sorry to hear about your mom . . .” She dumped the cat and hopped off the stool to give me a hug. “I'm so glad I had a chance to meet Gramma Shep last Sunday. She reminded me of my grandma—the one in Des Moines, not New York. My dad's mom doesn't even want to be called ‘Grandma,' go figure . . . Oh, Mom said to tell you she took Daddy to work, but she'll be back soon. Coffee's hot—you want some?”

I nodded, hiding a smile at Amanda's monologue as the girl poured a mug of coffee. I added milk from a jug sitting out on the counter and sipped. The hot liquid felt good going down, waking up body parts still sluggish from my five short hours of sleep.

Amanda took the elastic band out of her honey-blonde hair, shook her head, and regathered the tousled locks back into the band. She eyed me tentatively. “What's going to happen to your mom's doggy now?”

I shook my head.
Dandy . . .
just one more worry in the long list of decisions I had to make.

“Wish I could take him. Peanut and Patches are okay, but I miss having a dog. You would've liked Willie Wonka, our chocolate Lab—he was a sweetheart. But I'll be going back to U of I in August, my second year.” Amanda eyed me cautiously. “But my folks might take him if you need a home.”

I gave her a wan smile. “They already offered. Sweet of you to be concerned about him, Amanda. But speaking of Dandy, I need to get back to the shelter. He's probably really confused that my mom isn't—” A sudden lump in my throat cut off my words, and I scurried for the bathroom before I blubbered in front of Amanda.

Jodi was back when I reappeared in the same slacks and top that I'd worn yesterday, my hair damp and frizzled. I held up my cell phone and made a face. “Dead. I need to get back to Manna House and charge it before I can make any calls.”

“Use our phone, Gabby! It's fine.”

I waggled the cell. “Unfortunately, all my numbers are in here.”

“Well, let's get going, then.” She held up two travel cups. “Have coffee, will travel. Oh—grab that bagel and one of those bottles of juice, if you'd like.”

True to her word, Jodi put both herself and their Dodge Caravan at my disposal for the day. But I wasn't really prepared for the grief-stricken faces of many of the shelter residents when we came into the multipurpose room. The women who weren't already out for the day gathered around, bombarding me with questions and comments. “What happened, Miss Gabby?” “But she wasn't sick!” “It's good, ain't it? I mean, that she didn't die of cancer or somethin' painful, right?” “Gonna miss her powerful.” “Gramma Shep—can't believe she gone.” “Hope I go that way—
bam
. Gone.
My
gramma got sick and was in the bed for months . . .”

Jodi finally rescued me and spirited me away to my office. She ran up to the bunk room and brought down my charger, and while the cell phone was recharging, we made a list of things I needed to do. Call Aunt Mercy. Decide what we should do about a funeral. Try to get on a conference call with my sisters. Go to the funeral home, choose a casket, make arrangements.

“What arrangements?” I wailed to Jodi. “I'm sure my sisters and Aunt Mercy want to have the funeral back home—and we have to bury her beside Daddy. But what's it going to cost to ship my mom's body all the way back to Minot? And how long would that take, Jodi?” I threw down my pen, grabbed a wad of tissues, and pressed them against my eyes to stem the tide of new tears rising to the surface.

Jodi scooted her chair close to mine. “Gabby . . . Gabby, let's stop a minute and just pray, okay? I've been trying to learn to pray first, before I get into a big stew . . . Wait. I think I hear Estelle in the kitchen. Let me get her, and the three of us can pray.”

Sure enough, Estelle had come in to make lunch, but she crowded into my tiny office in her big, white apron and hairnet, shut the door, and the two of them laid hands on my head and started to pray. Jodi prayed for God-given wisdom and peace in the middle of this painful loss. Estelle prayed that God would pull everything together—all those decisions to be made, all the jagged pieces of my life—and “knit them together in a way that's
good
for Gabby and her family.”