Who Do I Lean On?

by Neta Jackson

  So much for Lee always being there to lean on.

  I cried myself to sleep.

  Paul showed up for breakfast in his pajamas saying he didn’t want to volunteer at the shelter today, maybe tomorrow if it stopped raining and we could take the kids to the beach in the afternoon. I didn’t push him. Frankly, I didn’t feel much like going to work either, but I sucked it up like a big girl and sailed into the Manna House foyer only five minutes late after dropping off P.J. at the high school.

  Mabel came to her office door as I was signing in. “You all right, Gabby?”

  I put on a bright smile. “Sure, Mabel. Sorry I got a little emotional yesterday. I’ll be fine. Oh . . . I’ve got an eleven o’clock appointment with the realtor. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  That’s right, Gabby, just move on. Don’t let Philip’s rants goad you—or even Mabel’s opinion of what went wrong in your marriage. After all, that was in the past. What’s done was done. Good things were happening now—the House of Hope idea was still afloat, I was moving ahead on buying the building, I’d be seeing Lee in a matter of hours . . .

  Lee was waiting for me at the realtor’s office, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with open collar, khaki jeans, and boots. His version of business casual. He gave me a quick hug—the professional kind, sorta sideways, since we were standing in the waiting room of Coldwell Banker realty. “Gabby! Sorry I didn’t get your message last night. My cell phone battery died and I didn’t realize it until later. Are you all right?”

  I nodded, realizing his warm concern could easily pull the plug I’d stuck in my emotional dike. “Just cold feet, I guess. I realize I don’t have a clue how to navigate this thing. Glad you’re here.” All of which was true . . . just not why I’d called last night.

  His light brown eyes crinkled behind his wire rims. “Don’t worry. I’m not a real estate lawyer, but I think I can get us through this. And I happen to know the owner would much rather get a deal now than have that building sit on the market for six months waiting for his asking price.”

  I let Lee do most of the talking. Twice the agent representing the building stepped into another office and made a call to the owner . . . but when it was over, the owner had accepted our offer, which was less than the asking price, because I was willing to put 30 percent down instead of the usual 5 or 10 percent.

  There was one glitch. Two of the tenants—not one—were moving out on Labor Day weekend, just days away. The apartments needed to be rented—but I didn’t want new tenants in there, since I had plans for the building. Normally, the apartments would stand empty for a few weeks while they were refurbished for new tenants, but the current owner didn’t want to put out the expense now that I’d signed the first papers. And I didn’t legally own the building until the closing date, which had to wait for a title search, application for mortgage, all the red tape.

  We finally agreed on a rider that I could do basic cleanup and painting—at my expense—but no structural changes or major repairs before the closing date in case the sale fell through for some reason.

  The rain had stopped. Outside the realtor’s office, Lee grabbed me and swung me around. “Wahoo! This calls for a celebration, don’t you think? Let’s do lunch. On me.”

  I laughed, grabbing for his arm to keep the world from spinning. “It’s always on you, Lee. Maybe this one should be on me—as thanks for being a great tugboat.”

  “Hey! Who are you calling a tugboat? Okay, you can pay, but let’s take my car. I’ll bring you back to get yours.”

  Lunch at Hing Wang Restaurant for Chinese was giddy, and we laughed a lot. Which was good, since I avoided dragging up my last fiasco with Philip and yesterday’s shocker with Mabel. Until we were back in Lee’s Prius, that is.

  “Say, what happened when you turned down Philip’s request for a loan? You did tell him no, right, Gabby? . . . Hey, watch it, buddy.” He blew his horn at a pizza delivery van that cut in front of us.

  I nodded, hoping that would suffice, but Lee had his eyes on errant traffic. So I said, “Yep. Told him no. Thanks for the good advice.”

  “And . . . ?” Lee glanced over at me.

  I turned my face toward the window, but a tear escaped and slid down my cheek.

  “Hey, hey . . . what’s wrong, baby?” Lee pulled out of traffic and into a No Parking space along Broadway. He reached for me and pulled me into his arms. “What did that bully do that’s making you cry?”

  So there it was. Lee’s safe arms around me. The plug came out, and I ended up blubbering all over his white shirt. Bit by bit he drew out of me what Philip had said when I gave him my answer to his request for a loan.

  “Don’t cry, Gabby,” he murmured into my hair, pulling me closer. “Don’t let him mess with you. You don’t owe him anything! And as for that other crap—that’s just what it is. Don’t let it get to you.”

  Tell that to Mabel, I thought. Should I tell Lee what she said?

  I opened my mouth, but Lee murmured, “Shh . . . shh . . .” and laid a finger on my lips. Then he turned my face up, touching my lips softly with his.

  And I let him.

  chapter 19

  I was still slightly giddy when I finally got back to the shelter. Precious was manning the reception desk and Mabel’s office was empty, which meant people were still at lunch.

  “You missed lunch,” Precious said, handing me the logbook. “Taco salad.”

  “Oh, I ate out . . . You got a pen?” I hummed a little non-tune.

  Precious eyed me suspiciously from beneath the row of kinky twists that fell over her forehead. “What you all hum-happy ’bout?”

  “Oh, nothing much . . .” The memory of Lee’s kiss still tingled on my lips. Still humming, I made a pretense of paging through the logbook. “Except, oh yes, we did make an offer on the six-flat, and—”

  Precious snatched the logbook away. “And what?”

  I grinned at her. “And the owner accepted our offer!”

  “Praise Jesus!” Precious threw her hands in the air. “Hallelujah! Look at God, movin’ that mighty mountain. So when can me an’ Sabrina move in?”

  Voices were rising on the other side of the double doors. I lowered mine. “Not until we close. We have to apply for a mortgage, and they’ve got to do a credit check and a title search, all that stuff. Not sure how long it’ll take. And meantime, Mabel’s got to work it out with the city how you apply for the rent subsidy. She’s going to handle that end of it.”

  Precious stuck a lip out. “I knew it. That baby gonna come out and we still gonna be here at the shelter. Can’t we hurry this along a little?”

  “Don’t think so. Oh! There is one thing we can do.” I beamed at her. “A couple of tenants are moving out Labor Day weekend, and Lee worked it out so we can fix up those apartments before closing. How about a painting party? Want to help choose the colors?”

  “Wait a minute. Lee who? And what’s all this ‘we’ and ‘our’ business? I thought you was the one buyin’ this building.”

  I felt my face color. “Uh, I am. Lee is just my lawyer. Lee Boyer. You know.”

  “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout no Lee Lawyer.” She eyed me closely. “That why you missed lunch?”

  “I told you. We ate out. A little celebration.” I could feel the tips of my ears getting hot—and was relieved when Mabel came through the double doors talking to two women I didn’t recognize, but who had the depleted look of “just off the street.” Must’ve come in this morning. I used the interruption to escape through Shepherd’s Fold and down to my office . . . only to run into Estelle bossing the cleanup crew.

  “There you are! Saved you some taco salad. In the fridge. An’ you got—”

  “Oh. Thanks anyway, Estelle. I ate out.” And I zipped toward my broom-closet office.

  But before I could unlock the door, Estelle hollered after me. “—a visitor in there. And ain’t you s’posed to tell me when you not gonna be here for lunch? I gotta plan these things, ya k
now.”

  My “visitor” turned out to be Dandy, wiggling his rump and bestowing wet kisses on whatever bare skin he could find. Fending him off, I poked my head back out. “I’m sorry, Estelle. I didn’t know ahead of time. I’ll be sure to let you know next time. And what’s Dandy doing in here?”

  “Don’t ask me! Lucy just said to tell you she had to go someplace and could you take care of Dandy for a couple of days.”

  A couple of days? That’s when I noticed she’d left his dog dishes and the bucket of food. Huh! She could’ve at least asked.

  I blew out a long breath. Well, Paul would be happy about it anyway.

  I was tempted to tell Estelle about my meeting with the realtor— she was one of the few who knew about my House of Hope idea outside of the board—but getting into any conversation with Estelle was likely to lead to questions about my talk with Philip, and I just didn’t want to talk about it with her. Or Jodi. Or anyone at Manna House, for that matter. Not after Mabel jumped all over me about “taking responsibility” for my part in the marriage bust-up. Once was enough.

  My eye caught my Bible sitting on the desk. But I left it there. Didn’t really feel like talking to God about it either.

  But Dandy? Now there was a good listener with no opinions. “Hey there, Dandy. Good dog,” I murmured as I scratched his rump. “Remember that guy who kicked you out of the penthouse? Well, he’s still being his same jerk self . . .”

  To my relief, Mabel didn’t try to follow up on our conversation from Monday. In fact, my mood brightened with the sun peeking through the clouds on Wednesday. Paul had been ecstatic when I brought Dandy home for a visit and willingly came to the shelter with me and Dandy when I promised one last “beach day” with the shelter kids.

  It felt good to stay busy. I went to the bank and applied for a mortgage. Carolyn showed up twice more that week to work with me on the afterschool program. And I started calling forest preserves to see if I could get a picnic permit for a group of thirty or forty folks for Labor Day.

  Not a chance. Seemed like every group-size picnic site in the Chicago area had been booked for months. Huh. Maybe I should book one now for next year. But Friday morning I finally found one—though only available Sunday, not Monday—at a forest preserve called Sunset Bridge Meadow along the Des Plaines River, which wound its way through a whole string of forest preserves just west of the city. Some family reunion had cancelled at the last minute—their loss, our gain. Sunset Bridge had a large picnic shelter, restrooms, an open meadow surrounded by woods, and the river running through it. Perfect.

  But a picnic meant food, which meant I had to talk to Estelle. She didn’t usually work weekends—and this was a holiday weekend at that. We hadn’t spoken much that week, but I could always plead “busy.”

  Estelle came in about ten. I waited until she had tied on her apron and stuffed her loose topknot under the required poufy cap, then popped out of my tiny office and leaned casually over the counter between kitchen and dining room. “Hi, Estelle! I’ve got a big favor to ask you.”

  The older woman eyed me, and then dumped a large sack of corn on the cob on the counter in front of me. “If you gonna lean on me for a favor, you can start shuckin’.”

  I obediently picked up an ear of corn and started pulling off the husk. “I’m trying to put together a Labor Day picnic for the ladies, but the only day I could find a picnic site is Sunday. And obviously we need food. I’m wondering—”

  “Nope.” She shucked two ears of corn to my one. “Not Sunday. I don’t work on Sunday. That’s the Lord’s Day.”

  I was taken aback. And got huffy. “Well, somebody has to work on Sunday, don’t they? Because these ladies have to eat on the Lord’s Day too. But don’t get your tail in a knot. I was just asking. I’ll find somebody else.” I tossed my stripped-down ear of corn on the pile, turned on my heel, and stalked back to my office.

  Dandy got up and wiggled a welcome like I’d been gone five hours instead of five minutes. “Move, dog,” I snarled. Where was Lucy anyway? She’d been gone three days already. I plonked myself down in the desk chair and pressed my fingers to my eyes. I wanted to be mad . . . but instead I started to cry. How did Estelle and I get to be at odds?

  I heard my door open and knew it was Estelle. Reaching for a tissue, I blotted my eyes and blew my nose before looking up. “What do you want?”

  She sank into the folding chair beside my desk. “To say I’m sorry. Look, Gabby. I know when somebody’s been avoiding me. Just got my goat that you came askin’ for a favor after blowin’ me off all week. But eye for an eye wasn’t called for. What you doin’ for the ladies is real nice. They’ll enjoy getting out . . . Tell you what. I’ll put together some picnic food on Saturday—shouldn’t be too hard. Mostly shopping for a couple of melons, brats and buns, some deli potato salad, lemonade—stuff like that. I’ll leave it in the fridge and you can take it in the coolers we got back there. Sound okay?”

  I nodded, but now the tears started up again. Gag, I hated being such a crybaby! I grabbed for another wad of tissues . . . but found myself wrapped in Estelle’s arms and my head on her ample bosom. “Come on, now, Gabby girl,” she murmured, “what’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happened when you talked to Philip, didn’t it? Come on, now, you can tell Mama Estelle. I ain’t gonna bite you.”

  For a few minutes, all I could do was cry. Wasn’t even sure why. I’d gotten beyond Philip’s mean words, hadn’t I? The New Gabby wasn’t going to be blown away every time the man who’d kicked me out tried to kick me again. He’d done his worst and I’d survived, hadn’t I? I had my boys back, we had a nice apartment, they were starting school here in Chicago soon, the House of Hope idea was moving ahead . . . So what was the big deal?

  But Estelle had put her finger on it. I’d been avoiding her . . . and Jodi . . . and everyone who’d become my friend. And I felt so alone. Why? Why was I afraid to tell them what Philip had said to me? Afraid to tell anybody about my conversation with Mabel? Why? Why?

  Because I was afraid it might be true.

  chapter 20

  I finally got hold of myself long enough to give Estelle a brief rundown of what Philip had dumped on me when I gave him my “no” answer. “I’m s-sorry I’ve been avoiding you, Estelle. Just didn’t want to talk about it.” I blew my nose and reluctantly reached for my car keys. “There’s more, but I’ve gotta run—P.J.’s last day of preseason practice.”

  “Hm.” Estelle hefted herself out of the folding chair. “Just remember one thing, honey. The truth will always set you free. But there are a lot of things masquerading as truth these days, an’ Satan, he’s whisperin’ a lotta nonsense in our ears he’d like us to believe ’bout ourselves an’ other people. But there’s only one place to get your truth. Here, look this up an’ read it when you got some time.” She scrawled something on a scrap of paper and stuck it in my Bible. “Now, shoo, get on outta here so I can get cookin’.”

  I was halfway up the stairs to the main floor when she hollered after me. “An’ since you gonna pick up P.J., bring him on back to the shelter for lunch. I’m fixin’ a surprise back-to-school lunch for all the kids of residents an’ staff.”

  My spirit felt lighter after crying on Estelle’s shoulder, even though I didn’t quite tell her everything, like what Mabel had said. It wasn’t intentional, I told myself as I pulled into the Lane Tech parking lot. I just ran out of time.

  “How’d it go, kiddo?” I asked as P.J. jumped into the front seat of the Subaru.

  “Good.” My oldest fiddled with the radio until he found a pop station and hiked up the volume. “We find out next week who Coach is putting on the varsity team, but there’s a good chance I’ll make it. The first meet on home turf is coming up in a few weeks, September something.” He glanced at me sideways. “Will you and Dad come?”

  “Absolutely—but only if you turn that thing down twenty decibels! . . . Ahh, thanks, that’s better. As for your dad, you’ll have to ask him. Might depend o
n when it is. But you’ll see him tonight, right?”

  P.J. shrugged. “Guess so. He hasn’t called all week.”

  Which was true. I’d been just as glad, figured Philip was mad at me for turning him down—and I had nothing to say to him since he made that stupid “you owe me” remark. But it hurt knowing stuff between us was hurting the boys too.

  “Be patient, kiddo. Your dad’s going through a hard time right now . . . Hey, is it okay if we go back to the shelter? Estelle’s making a special back-to-school lunch for everybody—staff kids too.”

  P.J. didn’t answer, just pumped up the music again and turned his head away.

  True to her word, Estelle had made a special kid-friendly lunch—hamburgers, chips, corn on the cob, and ice-cream bars. Harry showed up with his grandson and Mabel’s nephew. I noticed Jermaine put his food tray down across from P.J., but there was no interaction between the two until Paul plopped his tray down beside Jermaine and started jabbering away. Probably talking music.

  Mabel surprised Paul by naming him “Volunteer of the Month” and presenting him with a poster that had a photo of Paul in his volunteer T-shirt with all the shelter kids. Sammy, Keisha, Trina, and Rufino wanted to sign the poster, and even Dessa and Bam-Bam, the toddlers, added their scribbles. Paul covered his embarrassment by acting the clown, but I knew he was pleased.

  The second surprise was a backpack filled with school supplies for each kid, donated by one of the big insurance agencies in the city—the company logo boldly emblazoned on the bag, of course. Sammy and the other schoolkids excitedly dug through the contents. P.J. and Paul, however, looked at the bags and then at each other. I could read the look between them: “No way.” Sabrina didn’t take one either.

  I made an announcement about the Labor Day picnic—“On Sunday, not Monday!”—and said whoever wanted to go should sign up today and I’d be back tomorrow to pick up the list so I could work out transportation. I started the list with my name and my boys, and then handed the clipboard to Harry Bentley. “You and DaShawn are invited too, Mr. B.” I lowered my voice and teased, “You used to be a cop, right? We could use some security.”