by Neta Jackson
I gritted my teeth. Did Josh have to be so doggone friendly?
“This is Will, Mr. Josh. He’s my dad’s friend. They met at the hospital.”
Will shook hands with Josh. “You look familiar—haven’t I seen you on Circle Campus? It’s my first year, but I remember faces.”
Josh shrugged. “Could be. I’m taking classes there. Maybe I’ve seen you around.” He sidled toward my open apartment door. “Well, my wife wanted me to hurry up with these tortillas. I’m not late, am I, Miss Gabby?”
I shook my head and forced a smile. “Not yet. Just waiting for Paul here. Uh, thanks for bringing him home, Will . . . I see your grandmother’s car out there.”
“Yeah, I thought she was getting discharged today, but now they’re saying they want to wait till Monday, so I dropped in to see Mr. Philip. He was just about to send Paul home in a taxi, but I said, hey, no problem, I can give him a ride—then we’re going to go out for a bite to eat. Between you and me, Mrs. Fairbanks, I don’t think he’s had a decent meal since you brought that soup a few days ago.”
Paul tugged on my arm. “Why don’t they just stay for our potluck, Mom? There’s always lots of food at these things.”
I started to shake my head, ready to protest that it was just for House of Hope residents—except that wasn’t exactly true, since Estelle and Harry had shown up—when P.J. poked his head out the door. “Hey, Dad! Guess what! I beat my best time at the city championships today and Lane Tech came in second. Regionals next week . . . oh, hi, Will. You two coming to the potluck? That’d be cool.”
“Can they stay? Please, Mom.” Paul hopped up and down. “I told Will about the House of Hope we started here, and he said he’d like to know more about it.”
Oh, right. Of course he would. Will wanted to know everything about everything. I felt outnumbered. Philip and Will had been invited to stay three times now. “I . . . well, it’s our first time eating together as residents, and others will be coming later for a house blessing. I don’t know if you’d be interested—”
“Sounds great, Mrs. Fairbanks—if you don’t mind. That okay with you, Mr. Philip?”
Philip had the grace to say, “It’s up to Gabrielle. It’s her party.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Why did all of my plans seem to skid off the runway, no matter how organized I was? I shrugged and nodded. Wimp, I told myself.
Gleefully, the boys pulled both Philip and Will into the apartment. I followed, fuming, realizing I needed to have a talk with both Philip and the boys about respecting boundaries and not putting me on the spot—and stopped short by the telephone table.
That message, still on the answering machine.
Philip was here, in the house—and Lee was coming!
Paul was right about one thing: we had plenty of food. Precious showed up with enough wings to feed the Cubs and the White Sox—though I don’t think she realized just how much “heat” she’d put in the sauce, probably while she was fussing at Sabrina. The girl wore an attitude as obvious as her burgeoning tummy, parking herself in my mom’s wingback rocker with a magazine and refusing to eat. “Ignore her,” Precious hissed in my ear, piling her plate with hot wings, mac-an-cheese, Estelle’s smoky greens, Edesa’s tasty tamales and deep-fried plantains, and even my not-so-exciting fruit salad and scalloped potatoes. Everyone else followed suit—though my stomach was in such a knot, I wasn’t sure I could eat. How was Philip going to manage a potluck with one arm in a cast and sling? I didn’t want to hover over him, serving up his plate—besides, I was still irked that he was even here—but I noticed Will Nissan had no compunction about loading a plate for him and getting him set up with a TV tray in the living room.
I was both relieved and annoyed. The kid unknowingly let me off the hook, but it bothered me the way he was weaseling himself into Philip’s life. And now he was here in my house having an animated conversation with Edesa about ethnic foods from her native Honduras. Didn’t the kid have a life?
Estelle bumped my ruminations off center stage by herding me into the kitchen. “Where is everybody?” She did not look happy. “I thought Mabel an’ the Baxters an’ some of the Yada sisters were comin’ to this party. And you didn’t mention you were invitin’ your ex and his new sidekick. What’s with that, Gabby girl?”
Didn’t know why it should be a big deal to Estelle, but I tried to reassure her. “The others are coming at seven thirty for the house blessing. We decided to do potluck just for the House of Hope folks and I forgot to tell you about the change in plans—but I’m glad you came,” I hastened to add, “because I didn’t invite Philip and Will. They just showed up, and the boys . . . well, you know. Still trying to get us back together, I think. Hopefully they’ll leave before the house blessing.” And before Lee gets here. Yes, yes, oh please, God. Yes!
Estelle’s face relaxed. “Well. That’s okay then.” She grabbed one of my dish towels, covered the large Tupperware container Harry had brought in, said, “Don’t touch those brownies, they’re for later!” and sailed out of the kitchen like the HMS Queen Elizabeth, leaving me staring at her back. Humph. Estelle was acting weird.
But a few quiet moments in the kitchen helped clear my head. I needed to be proactive. Refilling the pitcher of lemonade, I marched down the hall toward the living room. I’d refill people’s drinks—a friendly gesture—and matter-of-factly tell Philip and Will that more people would be arriving soon for a work-related event, thanks for coming, good-bye.
But before I could get around the room with my pitcher, I noticed that Will hopped up, dug his cell phone out of his pocket, and walked out into the foyer to answer it. When he came back, he headed over to me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fairbanks, but I’ve gotta run. That was my grandmother—she wants me to stop back by the hospital before visiting hours are over.” He grinned indulgently. “She’s got a whole list of stuff she wants me to bring so she can be decent when she gets discharged on Monday. I’d wait until tomorrow, but I need to spend the day on campus in the library. I was wondering . . . could somebody else give Mr. Philip a ride home?”
“Don’t worry about it, Will,” Philip growled. “I can take a taxi.”
Josh butted in, “My dad can take him home. They go up that way. Nice to meet you, Will. Maybe I’ll see you around on campus.”
Several people joined in, saying it was nice to meet him and good luck finding Great-Aunt Cindy. Good grief, did everybody know Will and his grandmother were doggedly pursuing their cold case for a person missing sixty-plus years? Well, at least one uninvited guest was out the door, one to go. I walked Will out to the foyer and held the door open. “Hope everything goes well with your grandmother, Will.” I shook his hand. “Best wishes.”
The young man gave a quick grin, then ran down the steps toward his car.
“Hey!” yelled a raspy voice from down the sidewalk. “Hold that door.”
I turned my head to see a familiar dumpy figure pulling a wire cart and jerking on a leather leash. At the end of the leash, a yellow dog was stopping to sniff at every tree along the sidewalk. For the first time that evening, a happy grin bubbled up from my spirit and spread out on my face.
“Hey there, Lucy. I see you got wind of my invitation!”
So many people started to arrive that I finally parked myself by the foyer door to welcome them and guide them into my apartment, where we were going to start before moving on to bless the other apartments. Lee arrived with a clump of other people, including Mabel Turner and her nephew, Jermaine, and she acted as if it was perfectly natural that I’d invited the Legal Aid lawyer who’d often done work for the shelter . . . though the bouquet of flowers he handed me felt a little awkward. He’d dressed for the occasion, trading in his signature jeans for khaki slacks and a nice pullover sweater.
“Thanks for coming, Lee.” I gave him a warm smile, took the flowers without comment, and turned to the two couples just arriving. “Welcome to the House of Hope, Peter and Avis. Hey, thanks for agreeing
to emcee on short notice . . . Hi, Denny! Hi, Jodi! What’s this?” Jodi was carrying a large basket filled with breads fresh from the bakery. “You weren’t supposed to bring gifts!”
“House blessing, house warming—why not?” Jodi gave me a quick hug and whispered in my ear, “Did you think we’d ever see this day? Seems like forever ago when we talked about it while driving Moby Van to North Dakota last summer!” She laughed and joined the growing crowd in my living room.
The Baxters weren’t the only ones to arrive bearing gifts, so Lee’s flowers just became part of the “blessings” people had brought. Breathing a sigh of relief, I finally slipped inside the apartment and whispered to Peter Douglass, “Guess we’re all here.”
The chairman of the Manna House board called for everyone’s attention and the room quieted. Peter presented a dignified picture of a middle-aged African American businessman—close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, neatly pressed pants, sport coat over an open-necked dress shirt. “Most everyone here probably knows the history of the House of Hope—”
“Pretty short history,” Precious cracked, sparking chuckles around the room.
“—but I’m going to ask Gabby Fairbanks, our program director at Manna House, to give us a brief review. Gabby?”
I could feel my face turning red as heads turned my direction. And I suddenly remembered that Philip was still here! How could I tell the history of the House of Hope without telling how my own experience of finding myself homeless and unable to have my children with me helped me understand how desperately homeless moms needed a place to call home? Tearing up, I shook my head and croaked, “Sorry. Can’t. Mabel?”
My boss, bless her, gave a brief “Manna House version” of how I’d come to her with the idea for second-stage housing, which had seemed rather grandiose at first, but with a lot of prayer God had brought all the pieces together. He’d provided a building and the means to buy it, rent support from the Chicago Low Income Housing Trust Fund, and Manna House to supply social services to the women who would live here. “But we have Gabby to thank for her vision and her persistence in believing this was God’s idea and God’s timing . . . and here we are today, to ask God’s blessing on the House of Hope.”
“Hallelujah for God and Gabby!” Precious cheered, and the room erupted in a hearty round of clapping. Now my face really was burning and tears threatened to open a floodgate. Jodi slipped me some tissues, but not before I saw Lee across the room giving me a private smile as he joined the clapping. I couldn’t see Philip . . . had he left after all? That, or he was sitting down someplace behind folks who were standing.
As the clapping died down, Avis Douglass opened her Bible. “As we bless this house, I want to read a scripture from Hebrews that has the House of Hope written all over it. ‘Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ Chapter thirteen, verse two.”
“Did she say angels gonna live here?” Sammy piped up. More laughter.
Tanya clamped a hand over her son’s mouth. “She didn’t mean you, pipsqueak.”
“Oh, but I did.” Avis smiled at the third grader. “Each mother and child who will live in the House of Hope may be a stranger before they walk in the door, but some may be God’s angels disguised as the homeless to bless this house.”
“Sí, sí! Amen! Right, Gracie?” Edesa nuzzled the little girl in her arms, making her laugh.
Peter Douglass cleared his throat. “Well said. Why don’t we pray a blessing over this apartment, then do the same in the other apartments—”
“I got a prayer,” Lucy announced.
Everyone stared as the old woman pushed her way into the middle of the room. Dandy started to follow, probably thinking his new mistress was getting ready to leave, but Paul pulled the dog back and made him stay.
It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. Lucy wanted to pray?
chapter 12
Without further ado, Lucy clasped her big-knuckled hands together, squeezed her eyes shut, and boomed in her raspy voice, “Bless this house, oh Lord, we pray. Make it safe by night an’ day. Bless these walls, so firm and stout, keepin’ want and trouble out . . .”
I smiled to myself. The prayer was obviously a poem of some sort she’d memorized.
“. . . Bless the roof and chimney tall, let Thy peace lie over all. Bless the door that it may prove, ever open to joy and love. Bless these windows, shinin’ bright, lettin’ in God’s heavenly light. Bless the folks who dwell within, keep them pure and free from sin. Bless us that we’ll dwell one day, oh Lord with Thee.” Lucy opened her eyes and grinned. “Amen. The end.”
Murmurs of appreciation circled the room. “Where’d you get that prayer, Lucy?” Estelle asked.
Lucy shrugged. “Dunno. Learned it as a kid. My mama used to pray it ever’ time we moved to new digs—which was ever’ couple months, seems like. Followin’ the crops, ya know. Seemed like it fit this here new House of Hope.”
My ears perked up. Lucy rarely, if ever, shared information about her former life.
“Sí, mi amiga,” Edesa said warmly. “And I want you to pray it again when we get up to our apartment, okay? Shall we go?”
“Our apartment first!” Tanya said. “Sammy, go open the door.”
I glanced at Peter Douglass. He’d been usurped. But the unflappable businessman gave me a wink and nodded. “Let the Spirit move,” he murmured as he followed the crowd across the hall and into apartment 1A.
I waited until the room cleared and approached Philip, who had been sitting on the window seat in the sunroom, his broken arm resting on a stack of throw pillows. “You go on,” he said. “I don’t do stairs too well.”
“Do you want me to call a taxi?”
“Just . . . go, Gabby. I’m sure they’re waiting for you.”
Fine. I left the apartment, but the only person waiting for me in the hall was Lee. He was frowning.
“What’s he doing here, Gabby? Have you two patched it up?”
I felt a flicker of annoyance. After our confrontation at the hospital, Lee didn’t exactly have any claim on what I did or didn’t do as far as Philip was concerned. At the same time, I wanted him to understand. “I didn’t invite him, if that’s what you mean. He brought Paul home, and Paul begged me to let him stay. That’s all.”
Lee’s face softened. He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Wish I could stay, but I’ve got some research to do for a case I’m arguing Monday. But this house warming—”
“House blessing,” I corrected.
“Right. House blessing. Anyway, it was very nice. I’m . . .” He reached out a hand and gently touched my cheek. “I’m proud of you, Gabby. What you’ve done here. You’re quite a woman.”
“Now can we serve your brownies?” I asked Estelle as our little throng returned to the first floor after blessing the other two apartments. I’d noticed that Avis had also quietly anointed the doors of the three apartments still occupied by other tenants.
Estelle smiled coyly. “As long as you stay out of the kitchen. Harry an’ I’ve got it covered. Right, Harry?” I caught a wink passing between the two of them. Hm. What were those two up to?
“Don’t anyone leave,” I announced. “We still have dessert and coffee.” I saw Denny Baxter in the sunroom talking to Philip. Probably offering to give him a ride back to the penthouse. Well, Philip and Lee had been here in the same room and the roof hadn’t caved in. I started to relax for the first time that evening. Thank You, God, for pouring Your peace over our house blessing. I didn’t think anyone had seen Lee touch my cheek out in the hall, even though I could still feel the exact spot on my skin.
After what seemed longer than necessary to set out a pan of brownies, Harry Bentley appeared in the doorway of the living room. “Dessert is served. This way, ladies and gentlemen.” He offered his arm to me. “May I escort you, Firecracker?”
“You’re being so formal,” I teased. “Except for that ‘Firecracker’ bit.”
We all forged our way down the long hall, past the boys’ bedrooms and bathroom to the dining room at the rear of the apartment. To my surprise, the makeshift plywood table had been cleared of my everyday tablecloth and the potluck dishes, and it now boasted a white damask tablecloth and elegant silver candlesticks. Tall white candles flickered cheerfully. On one end sat a silver coffee service with a silver creamer and sugar bowl and, on the other, china dessert plates and silver forks. All this for brownies and coffee?
I groaned silently. I really needed to get a decent table.
“Come in, come in, make room for everybody . . .” Mr. B glanced over the faces bunching into the room, whispered something to Paul, and a minute later my youngest reappeared with his father.
“Is it my mom’s birthday?” Paul asked, obviously as confused as the rest of us. “I thought it wasn’t till next weekend.”
Oh no. Harry and Estelle didn’t go to all this trouble for—
“No, son. Matter of fact, didn’t know your mom had a birthday comin’ up.” Harry winked at me. “But it is an important occasion. Just wanted all you folks to know . . .” Harry reached for Estelle’s right hand and pulled her close to him. “Show ’em, babe.”
Eyes shining, Estelle raised her left hand and turned it in the candlelight so we could all see the exquisite diamond ring sparkling on her third finger.
For a nanosecond, the whole room seemed to gasp . . . and then whoops, hollers, and “hallelujahs” broke out as if Harry Bentley had just scored the winning home run that gave the Cubs a pennant. Sensing something exciting was happening, even Dandy offered several joyous barks, and I was grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
“Yep!” Harry beamed. “Last weekend I asked Miss Estelle Williams to marry me—and she said yes.”
“ ’Bout time!” Precious snorted. Even moody Sabrina was smiling and clapping. The cheering hiked up another couple decibels when the ex-Chicago cop pulled his ladylove into a clinch and gave her a long, sensuous kiss.