by Neta Jackson
Edesa giggled. “Nor do I. Reminds me of this song . . .” She hummed a few notes that sounded vaguely familiar. “It’s from Psalm 73,” she said. “ ‘God is the strength of my life, and my portion forever.’ ” She let the words sit in the air for a moment or two, then pulled a handful of colorful note cards out of her tote bag. “Okay, let’s do this.”
For the next half hour we worked on writing a blessing for each woman in the house. Finally we heard people moving about upstairs and showers running. “Guess we should get breakfast started.” I sighed and started to gather the cards when we heard thump . . . thump . . . thump and looked up.
“Oh, buenos días, Lucy!” Edesa cried. “How are you feeling this morning?”
The old woman was a sight. The scrapes on her face made her look like she’d been in a fight—and lost. She was hopping on one foot, balancing herself in the doorway. “What’s a body gotta do ta get some food ’round here?” she growled. “Sun been up a couple hours aw’ready.”
Breakfast, cleanup, and packing took the better part of the morning, so it was almost eleven by the time we gathered for our final worship time. The temperature was edging toward the fifties, but it still felt too cool to sit outside, so once more we gathered in the living room of the log house with its large windows overlooking the tranquil lake.
Lucy and her sprained ankle—which was starting to turn an ugly black and blue—took up the whole couch, so we had to hunt up a few more floor pillows, but finally all fifteen of us were seated around the fireplace, where I’d built a cozy fire. Angela, who let it slip that she sang in the choir at her Korean American church, led us in some simple choruses such as “This Little Light of Mine” and “O, How I Love Jesus,” ending with the soulful “Amazing Grace.”
At least I thought we were ending, until Edesa began singing the last song again, this time in Spanish. “Sublime gracia del Señor . . .” To my delight, Aida Menendez and Tina Torres—one Mexican, the other Puerto Rican—joined in. But the biggest surprise was Kikki—a.k.a. Kiersten from Cleveland, as white-girl as they come—who also sang along with perfect Spanish. “Took four years in high school,” she confessed shyly at the end of the song.
The things we learn about each other when we spend time together, I thought in amazement. I wished the whole staff of Manna House had come along to see another side of these homeless women.
Opening her Bible, Edesa picked up where she’d left off the day before about God knowing each of us by name, and read several Bible stories about blessing people based on the meaning of their names. Isaac blessed his twin sons, Esau and Jacob. Moses blessed each tribe according to their name. John the Baptist was named John, meaning “God is gracious,” instead of being named Zacharias Junior after his father. Even the Messiah—the angel said He should be named Jesus, because the name means “Savior.”
“So,” Edesa said, pulling out the colorful note cards, “we want to bless each of you according to your name.”
By the looks on their faces, the circle of women didn’t know what to make of this. But they listened intently as Edesa picked a card, knelt in front of Naomi Jackson, and took her hand. “Naomi, your name means ‘Pleasant,’ and even though your teen years have been rough, God wants to bless you with pleasant years ahead, which can be yours if you let God be your guide.”
Naomi threw her arms around Edesa and started to cry. “Oh, thank you!”
My turn. I picked a card, gulped a little when I read the name, and knelt down beside the woman who was always spouting platitudes at people. “Monique, your name means ‘Advisor.’ God invites you to fill your heart and your mind with His wisdom, which is found in His Word—not on the Internet—so that you can encourage others with His promises.”
Monique took the card, beaming. “Amen! Amen! I like that!” I knew she would. I just hoped she wouldn’t take it as permission to preach at everybody.
Back and forth, Edesa and I read the cards, holding the hand of the woman who was being blessed.
“Bertie, things may look dark today, but God wants to brighten your heart with the light of Christ, as your name implies!”
“Kikki, your real name, Kiersten, means ‘Follower of God.’ If you truly follow Him, He will restore your relationship with your children and your parents.”
“Shawanda, your name means ‘Graceful.’ As you let God fill you with His grace, you will grow more graceful in your speech, in your actions, and in your relationship with your young children.”
I knew Shawanda’s blessing sounded a little preachy—I wrote it—but she seemed to like the meaning of her name. “Graceful— how ’bout that,” she mused.
Soon everyone had their blessing card—even Lucy, whose card said, “Lucy, your name means ‘Light,’ and you do light up a room whenever you enter!” Chuckles circled the room and even made Lucy smile as the card was read aloud. We’d added, “Let God shine His light into every dark corner of your life so that you are free to be who He created you to be.”
I half expected Lucy to protest that she was already a free woman, or that she didn’t have any “dark corners,” but she just snatched the card and stowed it somewhere in a pocket of her multilayered clothes.
To close, Edesa prayed a prayer of blessing over the group, thanking God for each woman and praising God that He was still “working His purpose out” in their lives. But when she said, “Amen,” hardly anyone moved. Several read and reread their cards to themselves, and a box of tissues got passed from hand to hand.
But we finally did get all our gear cleared out of the log house, did a final inspection, and managed to get Lucy into the second seat of the van with her leg propped up on one of the coolers. We planned to stop along the way and get sandwiches or something for lunch rather than mess up the kitchen again.
But as the van bumped along the dirt road toward the highway, I started to worry. How in the world was Lucy going to manage when we got back? Even if she stayed at Manna House, the bunk rooms were on the second floor. If we could convince her to use the service elevator—big IF—she might be able to get up there that way.
And what if her ankle was broken? If she didn’t get decent medical care, it might never heal properly! But even if it was only a bad sprain, it was going to be a couple of weeks before she was on her feet again.
What were we going to do about Dandy?
As soon as I was able to get a cell phone signal, I told myself it was totally appropriate to call home to the apartment and let Philip and the boys know we’d arrive back at Manna House by four thirty or so and I’d be home soon after. And there was one thing we hadn’t talked about: what Philip was going to do once I got home. Go back to the penthouse? Get a hotel room? Hunt for another apartment?
But no one answered, so I left a message. Where were they?
As it turned out, it took longer than I’d anticipated stopping for lunch—especially getting Lucy in and out of the van—and we ran into stop-and-go weekend traffic crawling back into Chicago. When we finally arrived at Manna House, we had to unload everything, put away the food and coolers, and sweep out the van—not to mention getting Lucy situated on a couch in Shepherd’s Fold on the main floor and talking Sarge, the night manager, into letting her sleep there for one night until we figured out what to do.
“Where’s Dandy?” Lucy fussed. “Wanna see my dog.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Not tonight, Lucy. Not till we figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
“Dagnabit!” The old lady glowered at me. “When did you get so bossy?”
Thankfully, Edesa and I were outside still cleaning the van when Josh Baxter arrived in my Subaru with Gracie in her car seat and Dandy in the way back. “Leave him there!” I called out before he let the dog out. “He’s coming back home with me.”
Josh shrugged and wrapped his arms around Edesa, giving her a long, amorous kiss. Must be nice, I thought, taking my time locking up the van. But then Josh handed me the Subaru keys and folded his lo
ng legs into the front passenger seat while Edesa climbed in the back with Gracie.
“Thanks, Josh,” I said, starting the car and noticing that the gas gauge said Full. “Uh . . . is Philip still at the apartment with the boys?”
“Actually, no. We were at my folks’ for lunch, and Harry and Estelle joined us. Mr. Philip knew you were getting home soon and decided to go back to his place, so Harry Bentley offered to give him a ride to Richmond Towers.” Josh glanced at me with a conspiratorial grin. “I’m sure part of it was to make sure Mr. Philip got up to the penthouse safely, though Mr. Harry didn’t come right out and say so. Anyway, I brought the boys and Dandy back to the House of Hope with me and Gracie. I left them at your place doing their homework—supposedly.” The young man winked knowingly.
“Philip and the boys had lunch with you and your folks? How did that happen?”
“Well, we were already at church—”
“The boys went to church? Did you take them?”
Josh nodded. “Yep. And Mr. Philip too.”
I nearly ran a stop sign. “Philip? Went to church at SouledOut?!”
Josh chuckled. In the back seat I heard Edesa murmur, “Gloria a Dios!”
A zillion questions flooded my brain, but to tell the truth, I was in a state of shock. Like the world had turned upside down. Next thing I knew, the morning papers were going to say Mayor Richard Daley had suddenly given up politics for belly dancing.
chapter 24
The boys were playing a video game on their Xbox when I hauled my suitcase in the front door with one hand, holding Dandy’s leash with the other. Behind me in the hallway, Josh and Edesa were tromping up the stairs to the third floor with Gracie.
“I’m home!” I called out, which was totally unnecessary because Dandy bounced in like he hadn’t seen Paul in a month of Sundays instead of just half an hour.
“Dandy! You’re back!” Paul dropped his game controller and rolled on the living room floor with the yellow dog. “Hey, Mom, how come you brought Dandy back?”
“Well, hello to you, too, kiddo. C’mon, give me a hug and then I’ll tell you. You, too, P.J.! I’ve missed you guys!” I stole hugs from both boys and dropped into the rocking chair. “Lucy sprained her ankle so I said we’d keep Dandy for another day or so. Josh said he left you two doing your homework. Did you—?”
“Done!” the boys chimed in unison, grabbing up their controllers and sending their cursors flying on the TV screen. Dandy flopped on the floor beside Paul, panting happily.
“How was your weekend? Did you have fun with your dad?”
“Uh-huh . . .” Zap! Zap! Zing! “Got him!”
“Yeah, it was good . . . Argh! Where’d those robots come from?” Zing! Pow! Pow!
O-kaaay. Maybe later. I got up and pulled my suitcase down the hall to unpack and think about supper. I was suddenly ravenous. What could I make fast . . . quesadillas?
I stopped in the doorway of my bedroom. Philip’s leather overnight bag sat on the floor beside the bed. I gulped. He had slept in my room. We’d never talked about where he would sleep. I should have! Paul had a bunk bed. He could’ve slept there.
A wave of annoyance lapped at my senses. Why did he leave his bag here? Was he leaving me a message, like I did the time I left a lipstick smudge on a glass in the penthouse kitchen after he’d kicked me out? “You-know-who was here . . .”
I picked up his bag and set it out in the dining room. Okay, Gabby, don’t do the knee-jerk thing. After all, Josh said they went to church— don’t forget that—then to his parents’ house for lunch, and then Mr. B took him home. Philip probably didn’t realize he’d be gone all day.
Besides, it gave me a good excuse to call him and get Philip’s version of the weekend.
I cradled the phone in the crook of my shoulder as I coated a frying pan with cooking spray and tossed in a tortilla, covered it with grated cheese, and topped it with another tortilla. After a few rings, the phone picked up on the other end. “Philip? Hi, it’s Gabby. Wanted to tell you I’m home—”
“Oh, hi, Gabby. Uh, could we talk later? Harry Bentley’s here and we’re in the middle of something.”
What? Mr. Bentley was still there? “Oh. Well, sure, I can call back later. Or you can call me. Just wanted to let you know you left your bag here.”
“Right. Sorry about that. I thought I’d be back to pick it up. I’ll try to get it soon.”
“No, no, don’t bother. I’ll drop it off tomorrow after work. Okay? Bye.”
I took the phone off my shoulder and stared at it. Mr. Bentley was still at Philip’s place? Wasn’t he just going to take him home, make sure he got there safely? What was going on?
I flipped the quesadilla, took it out of the pan, made two more, and cut them into wedges—all the while trying to imagine what in the world Harry and Philip would be talking about. Neither one seemed to think much of the other—though Philip had thanked our ex-doorman/retired cop for sending aid when Fagan had cornered him in the alley a few weeks ago.
I poured milk and set out a jar of salsa to eat with the quesadillas, then yelled, “Boys! Come and get it!” toward the front of the house. No response. I finally marched into the living room and shut off the TV.
“Mo-om! Can’t we eat in here?”
“Nope. Supper’s on the kitchen table and you haven’t said ten words to me since I got home. Now, skedaddle, before I give your supper to Dandy.”
To their credit, the boys cheered up at the sight of food and, once I got them started, talked with their mouths full about the weekend with their father. “Will Nissan came over Friday night.” . . . “He was gonna take Dad to a movie, but he brought a DVD of Pirates of the Caribbean over here instead.” . . . “Yeah, the new one. It was really cool!” . . . “Dad ordered pizza . . .”
Will Nissan again. How come this college kid always seemed to show up on the weekend? He needed to get a life! Though . . . I had to remember he lived with his grandmother. Maybe Philip and the boys were his excuse to get out of the apartment.
I kept prodding. “How did the cross country meet go?”
“Cool! Mr. Josh drove us. It was at the lakefront. Kind of windy. But they let me take Dandy.”
“And guess what? Josh’s dad came to see me run too! We picked him up when we dropped off Gracie with her grandma.”
Yes, that was the plan, for Josh and Denny to hang out with Philip just in case Fagan’s goons followed him with mischief in mind.
“Did Lane Tech qualify for State?”
“Nah. But Dad said I ran great.” The smile in P.J.’s eyes told me that was as good, maybe better, than going to State.
According to the boys, “the guys” hung around the lakefront till mid-afternoon, then went back to the Baxters’ house and grilled steaks in the backyard. I’d seen that backyard. About as big as a postage stamp, but the boys talked about the cookout like it was the greatest thing since the Xbox. Guess it was the company that mattered.
“So you came back here Saturday evening and . . . ?”
Paul shrugged. “Nothin’ much. We just watched TV. Dad talked to Nana and Granddad on the phone. Dad seemed upset about somethin’, but he didn’t say what. But Mr. Josh offered to take us to SouledOut in the morning and invited Dad too.”
“Yeah. Tell you the truth, Mom,” P.J. said, stuffing his mouth with another wedge of quesadilla, “I didn’t think he’d come. But he did. He seemed kinda surprised when we got there. It’s not much like Nana and Granddad’s church back in Petersburg, you know, meeting in that store in the mall and everything. But he was impressed that I got to work the soundboard by myself.”
“That’s great, honey. What did Dad say about, you know, the worship service?”
Both boys shrugged. “I dunno,” Paul said. “Didn’t really say anything. But Josh’s parents invited us back to their house for lunch, and Mr. Harry and Miss Estelle came too. Dad said he didn’t want to impose, but P.J. and me wanted to go, so he kinda gave in. It was fun. We p
layed Monopoly with Dad and Mr. Harry all afternoon.”
“Yeah, but never again with those two.” P.J. shook his head. “They, like, took it so seriously! Like they were playing for real money or something.”
I almost snorted. Out of the mouth of babes. “Who won?” I asked.
“Dad did.” P.J. got up, his plate empty. “Can we go finish our video game now?”
I let them go, but before I took care of the supper dishes, I got the Manna House staff phone list and dialed another number. Delores Enriquez, the nurse who came to the shelter one morning a week, listened to my tale of woe about Lucy’s twisted ankle but interrupted when I said Lucy didn’t want to see a doctor. “Sister Gabby, take that stubborn old woman to the clinic first thing tomorrow morning. Tell her I said so! She needs to have that ankle x-rayed. Broken or sprained, doesn’t matter. It needs to be treated. At her age, an injury like that could set her back permanently. And, Gabby—call an ambulance if she won’t go!”
We didn’t have to call an ambulance to get Lucy to the clinic, but it did take Mabel and me and Estelle, and even Tina Torres and a few of the other shelter residents, to convince her on Monday morning that she needed to see a doctor. I’d brought Dandy to work with me and that cheered Lucy some, and finally she let several of us help her out the door and into Moby Van. It meant missing staff meeting, but Mabel told me to just go!
Unfortunately, a visit to the walk-in clinic at Stroger Hospital, Cook County’s state-of-the-art new hospital, still meant waiting. I found a machine that dispensed coffee and snacks, and finally Lucy’s name was called around two o’clock.
I insisted on going with her while she was processed.
“What is your full name, ma’am?” The intake staffer was politely professional.
“It’s ‘miss,’ not ‘ma’am,’ ” Lucy sniffed. “I ain’t married.”
“All right. Your full name?”
“Lucinda Tucker.”
“Age?”