Who Do I Talk To? (7 page)

Thankfully, the knitting club was putting away their projects in a corner of the dining room, so I didn't have to look far for my mother. But when I went to get her, I noticed her pale eyes were wet. “Mom? What's wrong?”

“I c-can't do it anymore, Celeste.” Her lip trembled.

Uh-oh.
Calling me by my sister's name was always a red flag. I gently took her knitting needles and the lump of pale green knitting attached. Dropped stitches and erratic knots were hopelessly tangled. “Oh, Mom.”

One of the other knitters, a heavy-chested black woman named Sheila, shrugged sympathetically. “Last week, Gramma Shep was helpin' alla us. Today . . . dunno.”

“It's all right, Mom. Let's put it away for now. We'll fix it later.”
As in, ask Estelle to knit a few rows with the green yarn and let Mom start over when she wasn't feeling confused
. Steering my mother into the lunch line, I helped fill her plate with the fixings for tacos and was getting her settled at a table when I noticed Tanya's eight-year-old son sitting by himself at the end of our table, poking at his food. His usual shelter playmates—Trina and Rufino, seven- and six-year- old siblings—were throwing food at one of the other tables.

“Your mom not back yet, Sammy?”

Poke, poke.
“Nah. Diane s'posed ta be watchin' me.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of a dark-skinned woman with a big, loose Afro, like a throwback to the sixties. “But she say she gotta go out after lunch, even if my mama not back.”

That was strange. Tanya had said she had an appointment at nine o'clock and she'd be back before lunch. The pole-thin young woman with the flawless caramel skin barely looked old enough to have a kid Sammy's age, but she'd always seemed to keep an eye on him. “Well, I'm sure your mom will be back soon. Come on and eat with Gramma Shep and me.”

Sammy moved down a few chairs and grinned. “Yeah. Can't wait till she get back. Mama say we gettin' our
own
place now.”

But Tanya wasn't back by the time the dishwashers started cleanup—and Tanya had traded her breakfast chore for Lucy's lunch assignment. “Hey, come on, Sammy, help me wipe these tables, okay? You start there while I get Gramma Shep settled for a nap.” I winked at him. “Babies and grammas need their naps, you know,” I stage-whispered. He giggled.

I didn't dare take my mom up to the bunk room, in case she woke up and tried to come down the stairs by herself, so I helped her stretch out on a sofa in the multipurpose room before I went back to the dining area. She'd be fine. My mom could sleep with a party going on, and it was better if there were people around anyway.

Still no Tanya. “Do you like to draw, Sammy?” I asked as we dried the last table. A smile lit up his face. So I found some scratch paper and a bunch of markers left over from the ad hoc “after-school program” Precious had supervised and let him color on the floor of my once-again-crowded office. At first he was a little timid to have Dandy curled up on the floor, too, but the next time I looked, dog and boy were nose to nose as if consulting how best to paint the Sistine Chapel.

My throat caught. What were my boys doing today? Should I try calling them now? No, more likely to catch them around suppertime. I tried Precious again—and this time she answered.

“Hey. Whassup, Gabby.” Her voice was flat, tired. Didn't sound like the Precious I knew, ready to jabber about whatever trivia had caught her fancy in the paper that day, or—even more likely—never missing an opportunity to rib die-hard football fans that her Carolina Panthers had “whupped” the Chicago Bears in the divisional play-offs last season.

I decided against unloading my melodrama up front. “That's why I'm calling
you
, Precious. Haven't seen you around since I got back from North Dakota.” I knew I'd told her I was taking my boys to see their grandmother—though she probably didn't know I'd brought my increasingly confused mother back to Chicago with me. “Are you okay?”

A pause. “I ain't gonna be frontin' ya, Gabby. I'm all tore up.”

“Precious, what's wrong?”

I heard a long sigh in my ear. “Sabrina got all mad 'cause I wouldn't let her go to the prom with some baggy-pants gang banger. That girl up and went anyway—an'
I
got so amped, I showed up at the hotel and dragged her out.” She snorted. “Wasn't a good scene, know what I'm sayin'?”

My eyes were so bugged out, all I could do was make a strangled noise I hoped sounded like “uh-huh.”

“Anyway, she up an' ran off, jus' disappeared . . . Didn't nobody there tell you this, Gabby? Estelle and Edesa and they Yada Yada Prayer Group cooked up an all-night prayer meetin' a week or so ago, prayin' God to protect my girl! You wasn't there?”

I gulped. “Sorry, Precious. I must've still been out of town.” I didn't say that when I got back a week and a half ago, things got “all tore up” at the Fairbanks household too. If someone at Manna House told me that Sabrina had run away, it definitely didn't penetrate the fog in my brain.

“Yeah, well. Girl, I was goin' outta my mind! Then I get a call from the state cops—they picked up Sabrina hitchhikin' with some no-good hustler 'bout a hundred miles outside a' Greenville. Still got a slew o' cousins here. Jesus, help me! Don' know what Sabrina was
thinkin'
—”

“Did you say ‘here'? Where are you, Precious?”

“Greenville. South Carolina. Where I grew up, girl! Now Sabrina sayin' she don' wanna come home with me, wants to stay with the cousins. So I gotta stay here awhile till we get things worked out. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

I waited a beat or two. “But what, Precious?”

Another long sigh. “That ain't the worst of it. She's pregnant.”

I sat at my desk with my head in my hands for a long time. My heart ached for Precious. She was only thirty—which meant
she
had gotten pregnant at fourteen. I knew she wanted a different life for Sabrina. Look how far she'd come! Before the fire that had taken down the old Manna House building, Precious had been a resident here. Now look at her! She had a job waitressing—or did. No telling how long a restaurant would hold her job for a family emergency. She'd gotten her own apartment with a Section 8, worked the lunchroom at Sabrina's high school,
and
volunteered here at Manna House. And she was so smart! No telling how far she could go given half a chance.

Now this.

I felt a tug on my arm. “Miz Gabby? Is my mama back yet? I gotta go real bad.”

“Oh, Sammy.” I'd almost forgotten about the little boy. “Come on, I'll take you.”

I stood outside the bathroom until he was finished, then sent him back in to wash his hands while I picked out a copy of
Curious George
from the bookcase in the rec room, which was usually noisy this time of day—or had been before school was out. The other four shelter kids must be out with their moms. “Come on, kiddo.” We climbed the stairs to the multipurpose room on the main level. Good, my mother was awake, just sitting patiently on the couch, hands in her lap, watching people come and go.

“Mom, would you mind reading to Sammy? He's waiting for his mother.”

She seemed delighted. But she crooked a finger at me. “Where's Dandy?” she whispered. “Does he need to go out?”

Oh brother.
The dog had been shut in my office all day. How long had it been since he'd been out? The headache threatened to send tentacles snaking over my head again. But I assured Mom I'd take care of Dandy, then hurried into the foyer and knocked on Mabel's office door.

“Come in.”

I poked my head in. “Um, we've got a situation. Tanya never came back from her nine o'clock housing appointment. My mom's reading to Sammy at the moment. But it's already two thirty. Should we be worried?”

chapter 7

Mabel pulled Tanya's file. “Hm. Stephanie's her case manager.” Stephanie Cooper was a social worker who volunteered two mornings a week doing case management for Manna House. “Her housing sheet says . . . here it is. ‘Deborah's Place, Wednesday, June 21, 9:00 a.m.'” The director looked up. “I'll make a call, see if she showed up for her appointment this morning. We don't normally go chasing after people, Gabby. If they're a no-show by curfew, their bed goes to someone else. But leaving Sammy here is a different story . . .”

I nodded and backed out.
Tanya better not be a no-show.
I had too much on my own plate to take her kid under my wing too. Slipping past my mother and Sammy, who were both giggling at
Curious George,
I headed back to my office. I really needed to get some work done . . . Oh, good grief ! I'd just volunteered for dog duty too.

Except my office was empty. No Dandy. The door was shut . . .
How did he get out?!
I groaned. I did
not
have time to go looking for the dumb dog! And if he did his business somewhere in the shelter, that was
it.
I'd send him to the pound myself! I'd—

That's when I noticed that Dandy's leash was gone too.

I sank down into my desk chair. Lucy had probably taken him out. Or somebody. Right now, I didn't care who. I was too close to losing it. I needed to get a grip.

Pray.
That's what Edesa and Mabel and Estelle always encouraged when the devil grabbed life by the tail. And I wasn't the only one with heartaches. Look at Precious! And Edesa nearly lost the baby she and Josh were trying to adopt when Gracie's ex-con daddy showed up. And Mabel's nephew who lived with her—the kid couldn't be more than fourteen years old—got so much ragging at school because of his small size and effeminate ways, he'd tried to commit suicide.

In every case, seemed like the first thing they did was get people together to “pray up a storm,” as Precious put it. And God seemed to answer their prayers.

Why not mine?

Wish I had someone to talk to. To help me pray.

Somehow I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon, checking on my mother and Sammy from time to time. Caught them playing checkers. The next time I checked, they were watching
Jeopardy
in the TV room. Well. That was one small blessing, anyway. Seemed to be doing as much good for my mom as for Sammy. Not to mention it gave me time to do some research online into museum fees and events going on in Chicago that summer that might make good outings for the residents. Two measly day trips a month. Was that too much to ask?

Printing out my proposed “day trip budget”—which included a fifteen-passenger van—I looked at my watch. Five o'clock. Virginia was an hour ahead . . .

I picked up the phone, using the calling card I'd bought yesterday, and dialed Philip's parents in Petersburg.

“Fairbanks residence.”

My stomach tightened. Philip's mother. Probably the last person I wanted to talk to right now. “Uh, hello, Marlene. This is Gabby. May I speak to P. J. and Paul, please?”
Ugh!
It galled me to even say
please
. The woman had never liked me, never thought I was good enough for her charming son. It wouldn't surprise me if she and Philip had engineered the whole debacle of getting me out of the penthouse and spiriting away my kids.

“I'm sorry, Gabrielle—”

Yeah, I'll bet.

“—The boys are out with their grandfather right now. I'll tell them you called.” The phone went dead in my ear.

I held the receiver at arm's length and gaped at it. The nerve of that woman! She hung up on me! She had to know the boys were at her house without my permission. If she didn't, she would have been more gushy, more chatty, filling in the blanks with what a
glorious
time the boys were having.

My thoughts smoldered like old electrical wires on overload.
Kidnapped.
That's what it was. Could I file kidnapping charges against my husband and his parents? Taking my kids across state lines without my knowledge or permission? But I had to wait two whole days before I could even talk to a lawyer! Maybe I should've just called the police last night. Could still call them. But . . . would they just think I'm crazy?

Oh, God.
I buried my head in my arms.
I don't know what to do.

I feel so alone!
But even as
kidnapped
and
police
and
crazy
settled like jagged glass shards into my spirit, I suddenly remembered the words Edesa had written in the note I'd found last night . . .

“I will not forget you.”

I lifted my head. Where was that note? I searched my desk, then remembered I'd left it under my pillow in the bunk room. Didn't matter. I'd look it up . . . Isaiah, chapter 49. In fact, Edesa had said there was more I should read.

I reached for the Bible I'd found that morning when I sorted through all the stuff my husband had tossed out into the penthouse foyer. By the time I got done reading the chapter four or five times, I felt strangely comforted—and even vindicated.