by Neta Jackson
“Sí! Sí!” Edesa cried. The others of us readily agreed. What was there to decide, anyway, if it was optional? But Edesa was so excited, she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, mi amigas, if you only knew how prayer can change the lives of all the women and children who come to live at the House of Hope! This may be the most important decision we ever make in this meeting!”
I thought the meeting had gone well. So far, Shawanda seemed to be settling in all right, though I wanted to check in with Celia privately to see how things were working out with sharing chores and Shawanda living up to her end of the responsibilities.
After saying good-bye to Mabel and Jermaine, I sent Paul to his room to finish his homework and knocked on the door of my bedroom to check on P.J. No answer, so I opened the door slowly. “P.J.? It’s me.”
My oldest son was propped up on my bed, staring at a picture frame he held in his hands. I shot a quick glance at the bedside table. The photo of Philip and me was gone.
“Dad called,” he said.
I sat down on the foot of the bed. Shouldn’t be surprised Philip had finally called. I still hadn’t responded to his letter. He had to be wondering what I was thinking. I’d call him tomorrow. I owed him that much.
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’s flying to Petersburg on Friday to talk with Granddad about some business stuff. But he wants to know if he can come over tomorrow night to see Paul and me. Wants you to call him.”
I nodded. “Of course he can. Would you like him to come for supper?”
P.J. shrugged. “I guess.” He stared at the picture some more, then turned it around and showed it to me. “Do you still love Dad?”
His question caught me off guard. Did I? Love had certainly taken a beating in the last six or seven months—maybe longer. I looked away, wondering what to say. But P.J. was a product of our love. He deserved an answer. I took a deep breath. “There’s a way I’ll always care for your dad, P.J. He’s your father, and we both love you very—”
“That’s not what I asked!” P.J. snapped. “Do you love him? Like this?” He stabbed a finger at the photo and held it in front of my face.
We stared at each other a long moment. Mother and son, both desperate to know the answer. Finally I sighed. “To be honest, P.J., I don’t know. I don’t know if he loves me anymore either. That’s something we’re trying to figure out. But some good things have happened recently, hopeful things—”
“Never mind.” P.J. tossed the photo frame aside, vaulted off the bed, and strode out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
I called Philip that night, saying of course he could come by the apartment to say good-bye to the boys and stay for supper too.
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry to invite myself over. I haven’t had a chance to tell the boys the decisions I’ve made, and I’d like to do it in person. I’d ask them to come to my place but, uh, I don’t have one yet.” He laughed a bit nervously.
“It’s all right. What’s happened with Henry Fenchel?”
“I’m going into the office tomorrow to sign the papers. Henry had his lawyer draw them up, and my lawyer’s going over them. I have Henry’s word that he’s dropping the lawsuit. Hopefully Fagan’s lawyer will do the same when I give them a cashier’s check tomorrow to pay off that loan.”
I snorted in his ear. “Humph. The money he loaned you was probably illegal drug money to begin with.”
“Don’t rub it in, Gabby. I should’ve been more careful. But at this point, I’m just trying to take care of my business. Put an end to it.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” We let silence hang between us for a moment or two. Working up my courage, I said, “I know I haven’t responded to your letter yet. I—”
“That’s okay,” he cut in. “I understand.”
“No, I want to. I shouldn’t have left you hanging this long. Maybe tomorrow night we can find some time to talk. Before you leave for Virginia.”
“All right. Just want you to know, I didn’t mean the letter to stand by itself. There’s more I wanted to say. More I need to say.”
“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow then.”
Thursday passed in a blur. The temperature actually hiked up into the low seventies, but I spent most of the day cooped up in my tiny office, one thought occupying my mind: What was I going to say to Philip when he came over tonight?
I kept hearing Estelle saying it seemed to her that God had got Philip’s attention, and he was actually listening. No way did I want to get in the way of what God might be doing with Philip Fairbanks—though it seemed to me God had a mighty long way to go.
At the same time, God had brought me a mighty long way too. From a different place, maybe. But what must God think of a girl who’d been brought up knowing the Bible, who’d sat in church and heard the gospel, who’d said she believed—and then chucked the whole thing? Not much different than the prodigal son who’d said, “Bye-bye, I can make it on my own!” I, too, had left the shelter of family and faith for the glitter of a romantic encounter in France, a Southern marriage, and all the comforts old money could buy.
As for Philip, he’d never pretended to be “born again,” and he didn’t have very good role models when it came to his parents. Their marriage was a constant contest of who could one-up whom.
If God was working on Philip, he wasn’t a “prodigal son,” but an adoptee with issues.
All these thoughts tumbled around in my head as the clock inched its way through the day. I caught a glimpse of Lucy at lunch, hobbling around a bit better with the air boot, but I couldn’t deal with that whole business about Will Nissan’s missing relative right now. Another time. Estelle seemed to be avoiding me—and maybe everyone else—after giving Harry his ring back. Well, I couldn’t deal with that right now either.
Paul poked his head into my office after walking Sammy and Keisha to the shelter after school, an arrangement that’d been working well since school started. “Mom? Where’s Dandy? I can’t find him anywhere—or Lucy either.”
I smiled at the oh-so-serious expression on my youngest son. “Oh, I’m sure they’re around. I brought Dandy with me this morning and I saw Lucy at lunch. Maybe they’re outside. It’s such a nice day today—practically Indian Summer.” Not that I’d taken advantage of it.
“But I’m supposed to take him for a walk after school. Lucy said!”
“Well, she can’t be far with that sprained ankle. Why don’t you go ask Angela at the front desk. Maybe she knows.”
Paul was back two minutes later, damp curls plastered on the worry lines in his forehead. “Mo-om! Miss Angela said Lucy went out with Dandy about an hour ago!”
“Well, see? It was probably just too nice a day to stay inside. They’ll be back soon.” I couldn’t imagine Lucy could walk very far, even with the air boot.
“No-oo! You don’t understand! Angela said she took her cart with her too!”
chapter 36
It was true. Lucy’s cart was gone. I couldn’t believe the old woman had just taken off without saying anything. But she still wasn’t back by the time five o’clock rolled around and I had to leave with Paul, Sammy, and Keisha.
Paul threw himself into the front seat of the Subaru and slammed the car door. “Lucy’s so mean, Mom! We’ve been taking care of Dandy ever since she hurt her foot. He’s been sleeping on my bed and everything! Why’d she just go off with Dandy without saying anything? It’s so unfair.”
I decided not to remind him he wasn’t old enough to sit in the front seat yet. It was only a mile to the six-flat. Glancing in the rearview mirror at Sammy and Keisha, I said, “Seatbelts, everybody!” Then I turned to Paul. “Honey, maybe she hasn’t really left. She just might be outside enjoying the day and hasn’t realized the time. After all, she’s been cooped up inside for a couple weeks. She’s not used to that.” But frankly, I had a sinking feeling Paul might be right—Lucy had just up and gone back to the streets, dog and cart in tow.
Ar
gh! It might be weeks before we saw her again! And this Indian Summer weather would definitely not last.
But at the moment I was more worried about Paul than I was about Lucy. His dad was coming over to talk to the boys and I didn’t want Paul all upset and distracted by the disappearance of the old bag lady and my mother’s dog. Those two had created enough drama in the past several months to last a lifetime—and I sure didn’t want this new wrinkle to overshadow our evening just before Philip left town.
But I did my best to cheer up the atmosphere at home, setting the Belfort Signature table with my mother’s wedding china with the tiny bluebells around the edges—a bit faded and slightly chipped here and there, but still special. I used royal-blue cloth napkins and arranged several pillar candles of different sizes on a round, etched mirror in the center. Maybe a bit fancy for lemon-baked chicken and roasted potatoes, but it was one of Philip’s favorite meals.
He arrived at six thirty on the dot, and I could hear the boys screeching. “You got the cast off, Dad! How come you didn’t tell us?” They dragged him down the hall to the dining room. “Mom! Did you know Dad got the cast off ?”
I just smiled and nodded. He was looking healthier by the day, except for the pallor of his skin, still pale and drawn.
Philip lifted the aluminum foil off the hot dish I set on the table. “Is that what I think it is? Mm, lemon chicken and roasted potatoes.” He winked at the boys. “Your mom’s got a good memory.”
I set the rest of the food on the table—apple-walnut salad and green beans—and lit the candles, which cast a lot of reflected light in the mirror. Philip and P.J. sat on one side of the table, Paul and I on the other. And now . . . the Awkward Moment. But at my gesture, we joined hands and I offered a short prayer of thanks for the food and asked God to bless Philip’s journey back to Petersburg.
When I opened my eyes, he was grinning self-consciously. “The Baxters are training me well. They hold hands and pray at mealtimes too.”
As the food was passed around, Philip tried to ask the boys what was going on at school, but P.J. cut to the chase. “How come you’re going back to Virginia? When are you coming back? Can we go back too?”
Philip glanced at me, then put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Fair enough. But first I’d like to back up and tell you boys something important. I didn’t mean to do this during supper, but first things first.”
My mouth suddenly went dry. What now? I thought he was just going to tell them about selling his share of the business, paying off his debts, and going to Virginia to consult with his dad about “starting over.”
The two boys stared at their father. “What?” P.J. said.
Philip cleared his throat and blew out a breath. “Five months ago I did something very wrong. Your mom and I were, well, having some problems, and I got angry. A lot of things felt as if they weren’t working out after moving to Chicago. Your summer camp fell through, which was supposed to keep you busy last summer, the penthouse felt overcrowded when Grandma Shepherd and her dog came back with you from your vacation to North Dakota. I was trying to get my commercial development business started, your mom had a new job that just seemed to complicate things, we weren’t communicating very well, and I lost it. I decided things weren’t working for us. So I took you boys back to Virginia to stay with your grandparents, and I—”
His face suddenly flushed and his jaw muscles tightened.
P.J.’s stony face was unreadable, and Paul picked at his food. I had stopped eating, too, my stomach in a knot.
Philip took a deep breath. “It’s hard to say it, but I basically kicked your mother and your grandmother out of the penthouse. I thought we needed a big shakeup around the Fairbanks household, that if I took drastic measures, I could get rid of all the distractions, get my business off the ground, and pick up the pieces later.”
I stared at Philip in total shock as the words poured out of his mouth. Get rid of all the distractions? That’s what we were? And just pick up the pieces later?
“But what I did was wrong,” he continued. “Very wrong. I didn’t even tell your mother that I’d taken you back to Virginia. I—”
“You told us we had to go so Mom could take care of Grandma Shep!” Paul blurted.
Philip nodded. “Like I said, I was angry, I didn’t do things the way I should’ve. Most of all, I hurt your mother very much.” For the first time since he’d started, Philip glanced at me, held my gaze for a long moment, and then looked back at his sons. “I’ve told her I’m sorry. Desperately sorry. And I want to tell the two of you I’m sorry too.”
Silence descended over the room. The food on our plates was growing cold. Paul shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Okay, I guess.”
But P.J. stood up so vehemently his chair fell over. “Sorry isn’t good enough! You hurt us, too, Dad! We’ve been jerked back and forth between you guys and the grandparents all summer long— no, ever since you up and moved here! Even now, we get jerked back and forth between ‘mom’s house’ and ‘dad’s house.’ Where’s our house? Huh? Have you ever thought about that?”
P.J. started to bolt from the room, but Philip stood up quickly and put a hand on his shoulder. “P.J., wait. Please. You have a right to be angry. But you asked me a question awhile ago and I want to answer it. Please—sit down.”
Breathing heavily, P.J. just stood there for several moments, then picked up his chair and sat down in it. “All right. What?”
Again, Philip took a deep breath and blew it out. “Obviously, things didn’t get better living on my own. I spent too much time at the Horseshoe Casino, gambling with money I couldn’t afford to lose. You know most of this part—that I got over my head in debt and took some loans to pay it off that got me in trouble. Big trouble. Kept gambling, thinking my luck would turn. It didn’t. Couldn’t pay back the loans. Ended up making some enemies who put me in the hospital.”
Paul’s lip trembled. “I was really scared, Dad.”
“I know, son. Scared me too. I’ve put you boys through a lot of trauma, and I’m truly sorry about that too. But I had a lot of time to think in the hospital. To take a long, hard look at the choices I’d been making, the direction I was going. For a while I thought I could patch it up, fix it, make it work. Figure out a way to pay off the debts, hold on to my business, and patch up our family too. But I couldn’t. I’d made a mess of things and didn’t know how to get out of it.”
My astonishment knew no bounds. Fairbanks men didn’t admit defeat, didn’t say they were wrong. Didn’t cry, “Uncle!” But Philip was not only admitting his failure to his sons but doing so in my presence. Or—was I really the one he was speaking to?
“Funny thing,” Philip said, “the first time I felt some real hope is when a couple of guys told me hitting bottom is a good thing, because the only way to go is up. But it means starting over. Not fix the old stuff, but start over, do it right. So that’s what I’m trying to do.”
The boys listened intently as Philip told them he’d sold out his share of the commercial development business to Henry Fenchel, paid off his gambling debts, and got rid of the lawsuits hanging over his head. “But that’s only the first step,” he said. “I’ve had to face the fact that I’m a gambling addict, so I’ll be going to Gamblers Anonymous for a long while. Our old friend, Mr. Bentley, the doorman at Richmond Towers, has agreed to be my sponsor. But Bentley used to be a cop—did you guys know that? So I think he’ll be breathing heavy down my neck.”
Paul giggled and even the corners of P.J.’s lips twitched.
“So, guys, I’m out of a job. That’s why I’m going back to Virginia, to talk with your granddad and your Great-Uncle Matt, see if they can help me put together a new business plan. Start over. Soon as I know what step two is, you guys will be the first to know.”
We all just sat and looked at each other. Then P.J. nodded, a bit grudgingly. “Okay.” He picked up his half-eaten plate of food and pushed back his chair. “Can I heat
this up in the microwave, Mom? C’mon, Paul. Let’s go play that video game we started. Maybe Mom and Dad need to talk.”
Philip and I watched in silence as the boys headed into the kitchen with their plates, then two minutes later disappeared down the hallway toward the living room and their video game. Philip raised an eyebrow. “Either he’s a good escape artist or extremely diplomatic for his age. Uh . . . do you want your food warmed up too?”
I let him take my plate, suddenly feeling exhausted. We did need to talk, but I was glad for a few minutes to sort through my thoughts. There was something I needed to say too—something I hadn’t wanted to think about, much less put into words. But it had been festering in my subconscious for weeks, ever since Mabel Turner had said she’d been concerned about our relationship from the first time she’d interviewed me for the job. Is this the time, God? If so, You’ve gotta help me!
When Philip returned with our plates of microwaved food and sat down across from me, I was the one who spoke first. “Philip, I”—Oh Lord, I want to say the right thing here—“I appreciate you telling the boys yourself that you were wrong to kick me out of the penthouse. Out of our marriage. Out of your life.” He winced, but I went on. “And I’ve been thinking about the letter you gave me last Monday. Thinking about it a lot. And I believe you. Believe that you’re sorry.”
“Oh, Gabby. I am! If you only knew—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t. It’s my turn now.” I needed to keep going or I’d lose my courage. “This isn’t easy for me to say, because you’re right, Philip, you hurt me a lot. You hurt our family, you hurt our sons, and—you’ve hurt yourself.”
“I know.” The words came out strangled.
“But I’ve been praying a lot this week, struggling with how to respond to your letter. I didn’t want to forgive you, because I don’t know what forgiveness means. I don’t even know what forgiveness feels like. I don’t know what it means for us—for you and me—for the future. And to be honest, I still don’t. Don’t have a clue. But there is one thing I know. God has forgiven me, forgave me even before I got my life together. So I know I have only one option— and that’s to forgive you. So I do. I forgive you, Philip.”