by Neta Jackson
I was able to catch a few minutes alone with Estelle in the kitchen while everyone was eating lunch. “How did the meeting about Leroy go yesterday? Did social services find a place for him?”
She nodded but kept on scrubbing a pan with baked-on cheese in the sink.
“Are you feeling good about that?”
No answer. Scrub, scrub, scrub.
“Estelle, don’t make me guess what you’re thinking. I care about you! Did something happen in the meeting to upset you?”
The scrubbing stopped. “Oh, the meeting was fine. They found a psychiatric facility for Leroy with a nursing unit. The doctors are happy. Harry’s happy. ‘Now you don’t have to worry about him, Estelle,’ he says. And that was that.” She glowered. “That’s the problem.”
She tackled the scrubbing again. “He’s my son, Gabby. Can’t just wash my hands of him like I done before.”
“Like you . . . whatever do you mean, Estelle?”
“When I moved out and let him stay in the house. I shoulda known them drug dealers in the neighborhood would take advantage of him. They just moved in, made my house a drug house, Gabby, and threatened to hurt Leroy if he said anything about it! That wouldn’t have happened if I’d stayed with him, now, would it?”
“But you can’t blame yourself, Estelle. You moved out because it wasn’t safe for you—he wasn’t safe. Look at what happened with the fire! Bad enough that he set the fire and got burned. But what if you’d been there? You could have been seriously hurt.”
“Wasn’t the way it was.”
I blinked. “What? But you told me earlier—”
“Harry’s been doing some sleuthin’—he an’ that former partner of his, Cindy. The day before the fire, I was worried ’cause Leroy wouldn’t answer his phone. I couldn’t go down to the house, so Harry said he’d check up on Leroy for me. That’s when he discovered all them druggies had moved in. Harry didn’t tell me, didn’t want to upset me. Just ordered them drug dealers to move out—or else. Now we findin’ out the fire was set in retaliation, made it look like Leroy did it.”
My eyes widened in shock.
“An’ you know what’s worse?” Estelle shook a spatula in my face. “Them drug dealers are sayin’ that Officer Fagan put them up to it, else he’d take away the ‘protection’ he’d been givin’ them.”
“Oh, Estelle.” Unbelievable! I hoped the jury would put that evil man away for a long time. Made me shudder, all the harm he’d done hiding behind his blue uniform. “I’m so sorry. But . . . isn’t it good that Leroy will be in a safe place now, can’t be taken advantage of ?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Lets me off the hook now, don’t it?”
“But what else could you do?”
“Nothin’ today. Ain’t got no place to take care of him. But I been thinkin’ . . . maybe when the insurance money for the house comes through, I could buy me a little Chicago bungalow. Except . . .” Estelle’s shoulders sagged and she leaned against one of the big counters. “Except, Harry an’ me, we’re engaged now. Supposed to get married. But he got DaShawn. No way he gonna agree to take Leroy in too. I dunno, Gabby. Maybe I should give Harry’s ring back, set him free.” Her eyes teared up. “Do my duty as a mama and take care of my boy.”
chapter 21
By two o’clock that afternoon Moby Van was crammed to the gills with fifteen bodies, two big coolers, several grocery bags of food, and assorted bags of clothes and personal items stuffed under seats, under feet, and anywhere else that didn’t block my view of the road in four directions.
It wasn’t exactly a peaceful send-off. Shawanda’s kids screamed bloody murder when their mom climbed into the van, and Celia Jones and her granddaughter, Keisha, had to carry them kicking and bawling back inside. Poor Dandy didn’t understand why he couldn’t go along—and I could tell Lucy was having a hard time leaving him. She climbed into the front passenger seat, slammed the door, and stared straight ahead, even when Dandy jumped up against the side of the van barking for her attention. Josh Baxter, who’d stopped by the shelter with Gracie to say good-bye to Edesa and pick up Dandy, held tight to the dog’s leash so he wouldn’t run after us.
But several staff and residents gathered on the steps to see us off. Estelle had exchanged her white kitchen hairnet and apron for one of her handmade caftans and head wraps, a gorgeous purple print, because Harry was picking her up for an early dinner date. “Oh, Estelle!” I whispered in her ear when I hugged her good-bye. “You aren’t really thinking about breaking your engagement, are you? Don’t do anything rash—promise me!”
“I’m just thinkin’, not doin’,” she huffed. “You can pray about it, though, ’cause it’s weighin’ heavy on my heart. Now go on! Git! Stop hangin’ on my neck or you gonna break it.”
We finally pulled away from Manna House at two thirty. “Good-bye!” . . . “Good-bye!” . . . “Call when you get there!” But we still got caught in early traffic heading out of the city for the northern suburbs. Lucy got tired of watching trucks roar past us on the highway and dozed off while I tried to keep an eye out for signs to Route 12, which would take us off the tollway and cut northwest toward Madison, Wisconsin. Huh. So much for someone riding up front who could help me navigate. But at least her snoring kept me awake, along with the excited chatter of the “city girls” behind me.
Glancing in my rearview, I saw the younger set—Naomi Jackson, Tawny James, Aida Menendez, and Hannah Something-or-Other, who ranged in age from eighteen to twenty—had commandeered the far rear seat, giggling and gossiping like typical teenagers. Tawny and Aida had been dropped from the foster-care system when they turned eighteen but had somehow managed to avoid the trap of easy drugs and living on the street. Naomi, on the other hand, was just two eyewinks on the other side of kicking her early drug habit and needed a lot of support, while Hannah . . . hm. What did I know about Hannah’s story? Not much.
The girl had bugged me to death when she first came to the shelter, as lazy as an old dog lying in the sun, interested only in painting her nails and doing hair. But the part-time job I’d found for her at Adele’s Hair and Nails had done wonders to help her straighten up and find some purpose. Or maybe the miracle-worker was Adele herself, who could straighten my hair just by giving me The Eye.
My other passengers were mostly in their thirties or early forties—except Shawanda, who, at twenty-five-with-two-kids, fell between the two groups. And Lucy, of course, still kicking at seventy-something. A few I knew pretty well, like Tina Torres and Wanda Smith. But several of my passengers were fairly new at the shelter, and I was doing well just to remember first names: Monique . . . Kikki . . . Sunny . . . Bertie. Of those four, Sunny was white, but I knew better than to assume the others were all African American just because of their brown skin. Heinz 57 Varieties had nothing on the ethnic variations in Chicago. Haitian . . . Jamaican . . . Nigerian . . . Ugandan . . . even South American. Look at Edesa Reyes Baxter. African Honduran to be precise.
But that was one of the reasons for this little trip, I told myself, finally flicking my turn signal and taking the exit for Route 12. By the end of the weekend, we’d probably all know each other a little more, for better or worse.
Uh . . . maybe for worse. Monique turned out to be a fountain of religious clichés, which she threw about Moby Van like holy water. “Girl, I’m too blessed to be stressed . . . Didn’t say being homeless was a blessin’. This just a test. No test, no testimony! . . . God ain’t through with me yet. I know I’m blessed and highly favored, oh glory! . . .”
I slid a CD into the player and turned it up. Loud.
Two hours into our trip—we’d crossed the Wisconsin border awhile back—I stopped at a gas station to fill up the van and let my passengers use the facilities. Didn’t realize it’d take half an hour. Angela and Edesa hung around the Mini-Mart inside the station to make sure we had no shoplifting incidents. When we finally got everyone rounded up, I talked Lucy into trading seats with Angela Kwon so the Manna House recep
tionist could help me with directions.
“I met a guy,” Angela murmured to me out of the blue as the boring miles passed.
“What?” My eyes swung off the road to glance at the beautiful young woman, her silky black hair falling coyly over one eye. “Who? Where?”
“At church.” She giggled. “He’s a doctoral student from Korea. His name is Jin.”
“Jin? That’s a nice name. So he’s a Christian?”
“Yes. Well, I think so. I met him at church.”
“Yeah, well, I met my first husband at church and he dumped me after two years,” I muttered, then realized Angela was looking at me, wide-eyed. “Sorry. Just—be sure. You’re so special, Angela.” I gave her a smile and then turned my attention back to the road. “You deserve the best.”
“Are we almost there yet? I’m hungry,” Shawanda whined from the middle seat.
“Nope! Just halfway,” Angela said cheerfully. “But we’ve got snacks. Coming up!” She dug into one of the coolers wedged between the front seats and passed around soft drinks, chips, and raw veggies. The soft drinks and chips went fast, but the bag of veggies came back nearly full.
“Give me those,” I said, grabbing some raw carrots. “I need help staying awake.” Wasn’t sure why I was so tired. Maybe it was all the emotional stress of the past week. Feeling anxious about Shawanda moving into the House of Hope . . . Philip getting that threatening note, then saying he couldn’t keep the boys this weekend . . . the Baxters coming to the rescue at the last minute. And Estelle! That woman nearly tied my nerves in a knot, talking about giving Harry’s ring back.
We were deep in the countryside now, and the turning leaves lay like a colorful afghan over the hillsides. Angela gave me directions as we got close to Devil’s Lake State Park, and I turned onto a narrow, two-lane paved road. The retreat house we’d rented was on a tiny private lake just outside the park.
I glanced at my watch as the sun disappeared behind the wooded hills and twilight began to settle. Almost six. Josh and the boys should be picking up Philip about now. What were they going to do this evening? Would Philip drive the Subaru to P.J.’s cross country meet in the morning or would Josh? Maybe I should call, see how it’s going—
“That was it, Gabby!” Angela pointed at a narrow dirt driveway we’d just passed, leading into the trees. With my Subaru I would have just made a U-turn, but with the fifteen-passenger van I had to wait for another driveway and turn around.
There. A painted sign beside the driveway said, “Pine Tree Retreat.” We bumped along the winding driveway and pulled up in front of a rustic, two-story log house, nearly hidden under the towering pine trees. Well, we’d unload and then I’d call home, just to check that everyone got connected.
But a quick glance at my cell phone killed that idea. No signal.
I stifled a laugh. Okay, God, I get it. Trust You—and keep out of it.
Angela and Edesa set out a quick supper of cold fried chicken and potato salad while the women chose beds—two to a room— and I carried in wood from the shed next to the house and tried to get a fire started in the big stone fireplace. The wood was damp and smoked a lot at first, but I finally got it going. I smiled smugly. Hadn’t lost my North Dakota genes after all.
“Now tha’s nice.” Lucy sank into a padded chair, kicking off her worn shoes.
“Why’s it so dark outside?” Hannah wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and huddled close to the fireplace.
“Because it’s night?” I teased.
Hannah frowned. “But it ain’t this dark at night back in Chicago.”
“That’s just because of all the city lights. Actually, let me show you something I bet you’ve never seen in Chicago. Anyone else want to come?” I shrugged into my jacket and stood by the glass sliding doors that faced the nearly invisible lake.
“Whatchu gonna show us?”
“Can’t see nothin’ in the dark!”
“I ain’t goin’ out there! There’s bugs and wild animals and stuff out there.”
Even Edesa and Angela seemed a little dubious about going outside at night.
“Come on, people! It will be spectacular, I promise! That’s what this weekend’s all about, to experience some of God’s beautiful natural world. So who’s coming?”
Half the group wouldn’t budge, including Lucy, who muttered she knew good and well what “outside” looked like at night. But Edesa said she’d come, along with Tina, Monique, Aida, Tawny, and even Naomi, who held on to my hand in a death grip. At the last minute Kikki yelled, “Hey, wait for me!” and hustled after us, but seeing her stop to light a cigarette, I figured it was mostly an excuse to get a smoke than anything else.
Monique clucked at Kikki in disapproval. “God ain’t gonna bless no mess,” she muttered to the rest of us. I decided to ignore her.
As our eyes adjusted to the sliver of moonlight, I led the way down the solid wood stairs built into the sloping hill leading to the lake. The quarter moon in the clear sky shone bright enough to guide us out onto the modest pier at the edge of the lake, though Aida and Naomi squealed and clung to each other as if they were walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls.
But once at the end of the short pier, which broadened into a square float, I swept my hand at the sky. “Look.”
Heads gradually took eyes off their feet and turned upward. Then I heard first one gasp, then another as we drank in the thick carpet of stars above.
“Are all them stars? How come there’s so many more up here than back home?”
I had fun explaining that these same stars hung over Chicago, too, but the light pollution from all the city lights hid them from us.
“Oh, El Señor,” Edesa breathed. “What an amazing world You have created!” Then a moment later, “We used to see stars like this in my village in Honduras . . . but I’d almost forgotten.”
The hoot of an owl floated out of the woods. Naomi screamed. “What’s that?!”
“Oh! Oh! Let’s go back!” Aida had heard it too.
I tried to explain it was just an owl that slept during the day and came out to hunt mice at night, but the frightened girls practically stampeded back to the log house and its glowing windows. The rest followed, shuffling through the pine needles, picking their way around fallen branches and up the wooden stairs.
I brought up the rear reluctantly and turned back for a last look before going inside. Seeing the sky crowded with ancient stars, so majestic, always there, even if hidden behind clouds or city lights, filled my spirit with a deep peace I hadn’t felt for a long time. God had flung those stars into space. God was a big God! Made my problems seem puny. Or at least not insurmountable.
I finally rejoined the Manna House ladies in the cozy log house with its crackling fire. We stayed up late playing Whist and Rummy and a loud game of Trivial Pursuit—all except Lucy, who managed to get a room to herself where she could snore to her heart’s content. The house finally quieted around midnight. Only when I crawled into bed in the room I was sharing with Edesa did I allow my mind to drift back to the realities I’d left behind.
If only I could hold on to that sense of God’s-in-control and let God worry about getting Philip out of the mess he was in—a mess that bothered me more than I liked to admit. His gambling debts and the very real threats from Matty Fagan’s cronies—and from his business partner, too, for that matter—complicated our already stressed relationship. Could I forgive him? He seemed to be trying. God had forgiven me and taken me back, after running from Him for so long. But even if I did forgive Philip, what did it mean? Could we ever be a family again?
A family.
Philip and our boys were together at my apartment. And he was probably asleep—in my bed. Was he bare-chested, wearing only a pair of silk shorts, his usual sleepwear? Smelling faintly of the last remnants of his Armani aftershave?
No, no. Couldn’t go there!
But as I drifted off to sleep, I had one last thought. Where did Lee Boyer fit into this fuzz
y picture . . . ?
“Miss Gabby! Miss Gabby! Wake up!”
I felt someone shaking me. “Uhhh . . . what?” I mumbled.
“That noise? Did you hear it—there it is again! Oh, Miss Gabby, what is it? I’m scared!” Fingernails dug into my arm.
Now fully awake, I pried the fingernails off my arm and sat up. The shadowy figure trembling on her knees beside my cot took the shape of Naomi Jackson. Figured.
“Shh. Don’t wake Miss Edesa. I don’t hear anything . . . oh.” Something metal was rattling and scraping near the house. “Oh, that. Don’t worry, Naomi. Probably just a raccoon getting into the garbage can.” Drat. I knew better than to put those chicken bones out there.
“A raccoon!? But, but . . . what if it’s a bear! Oh, Miss Gabby, can I sleep with you? I don’t want to go back to my room by myself.” Without waiting for an answer, Naomi dove under my covers, nearly pushing me out the other side of the narrow cot.
I groaned and mumbled, “Oof . . . okay, okay, just for a few minutes.”
It was going to be a long weekend.
chapter 22
Sometime during the night I managed to get Naomi back into her own bed and get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. We’d decided to let the ladies sleep in until eight as a small luxury, since the schedule at Manna House got them up at six o’clock every morning in order to get showers, breakfast, and chores out of the way before their appointments for the day.
So the log house was fairly quiet as Edesa and I crept down the rustic stairs at seven to make coffee and plan the day. The small lake below us sparkled in the new-day sun and birds chirped merrily, promising a good day weather-wise, even though the air was a bit nippy. As we prayed together, I was impressed that my Honduran friend wanted to pray for each woman by name, which took some time, but it did help me focus on God’s purpose for bringing each woman there that weekend.