by Neta Jackson
He struggled for words. “Gabby, I . . . I don’t deserve—”
Again I held up my hand. “Wait. There’s something else I need to say.” Huh. He thought that was the hard part. But the hardest part was still to come. The lump in my throat was so big I could hardly push the words past it. “You . . . you didn’t ruin our marriage all by yourself, Philip. God has shown me—through a few say-it-straight sisters, just like the brothers God brought into your life recently—that there are some things I need to take responsibility for too. Especially—”
The lump got bigger. Oh, how easy it would be to talk myself out of saying this! To tell myself anything I’d done paled in comparison to the horror he’d heaped on me. But suddenly I realized that for Philip to truly be able to start over was to wipe the slate clean. I needed to own up to my failures and mistakes too. Put them on the table and let the blood of Jesus cover them all with forgiveness.
The lump seemed to dissolve with my resolve. “Especially the fact that I went ahead and did things behind your back, made decisions about things that affected us without talking with you about them ahead of time. Taking the job at Manna House. Bringing my mom and Dandy back from North Dakota without consulting you, even though I felt I had lots of good reasons. I was afraid you’d say no to everything I wanted to do. But . . . it still wasn’t right. As a wise woman told me, no marriage can function that way for long, pulling in different directions.”
Philip stared at me. He seemed to be in shock. He shook his head, but no words came. And then his shoulders started to shake. Silent sobs racked his body from somewhere deep. I didn’t know what to do, but something in my spirit said, Touch.
I reached across the table, took his hand, and just held it while he wept.
chapter 37
A loud crack of thunder made me bolt upright in bed. Rain washed against my bedroom windows, which were letting in a faint light. What time was it anyway? I reached for my digital alarm so I could see the lighted numbers—six fifteen. Almost time to get up anyway. I’d probably have to give P.J. a ride to school or he’d get soaked waiting for the city bus.
Swathed in my cozy fleece robe and waiting for the coffee to drip, I wondered if the storm would delay Philip’s flight that morning. Hopefully they’d hold the flight if there was any danger. Didn’t actually know what time his flight was due to leave. I’d asked him last night if he needed a ride to the airport, but he said Will Nissan had offered to give him a ride as far as the UIC campus, and he’d just take the Blue Line from there to the airport. A straight shot, and a lot cheaper than a taxi.
We hadn’t said much after my confession and Philip’s emotional reaction—just let the weight of the whole evening sit there with no conclusion. I sensed we both understood “it was what it was.” Significant but unfinished. Neither of us knew what it meant for the future. But I’d gone to bed feeling a strange sense of peace. After Philip’s honest confession to his sons, I’d obeyed the prompting from the Holy Spirit to own up to my own failings in the marriage. “It’s in Your lap now, Jesus,” I’d murmured as I turned out the light.
But the early morning thunder must’ve awakened Paul, too, because he padded into the kitchen in a mismatched pair of pajamas and bare feet and went straight to the back door, peering out the square window. “Mom! What if Lucy and Dandy are out in all this rain?”
The thought had crossed my mind too. Nighttime temperatures had fallen to low fifties. Not too bad, could be worse, but still.
I pulled Paul into a fleece-warm hug. “Betcha anything they came back last night and are snug as a bug in a rug at the shelter. But even if not”—I held Paul away from me and looked into his hazel eyes—“Lucy probably found shelter somewhere. She’s smart that way.”
Well, maybe. The first time I’d “met” Lucy, she was camped under a bush, supposedly out of the rain, swathed in plastic garbage bags that didn’t do much as far as keeping her dry.
“Go on, drag your brother out of bed,” I told Paul. “I’ll give both of you rides to school today. What do you want for breakfast?”
Frankly, I didn’t want to worry about Lucy until I had to, which turned out to be as soon as I got to work at Manna House after dropping off the boys.
“Lucy here?” I asked Angela at the front desk, shaking the rain off my umbrella.
“Haven’t seen her.” She pointed to the sign-in book. “And she hasn’t signed in since she signed out yesterday afternoon.”
I glanced at Lucy’s wobbly signature. Even though the old woman could barely read or write, Carolyn had helped her learn to sign her name. “Oh, okay. So, how’s Jin?”
The phone rang and Angela picked up. “Manna House Women’s Shelter.” She covered the mouthpiece and gave me a sly grin. “He’s coming to dinner at my parents’ house this weekend!” Then into the phone: “I’m sorry. Who was it you wanted?”
I headed for my office, realizing I missed bringing Dandy to work and seeing the happy reunion between Lucy and the dog each morning. And I’d been so distracted this whole week with the most recent melodrama concerning Philip that I’d put off doing anything about my concerns for Lucy and Dandy with cold weather coming on, much less following up my suspicions about Lucy’s identity—and now she was gone. And who knew when she’d show up again. Next week? Next year?
The cracks of thunder were coming closer together and the lights in the building blinked off and on several times. The storm was getting worse. I dialed Philip’s cell but only got to leave a message. “Just wondering if you got off okay. Give me a call when you get to Petersburg. The boys will want to know you got there safely.” Me too, I almost added, but didn’t.
Estelle Williams poked her hairnet-covered head into my office at five to ten. “Come on outta that hole, girl. We’re goin’ to Edesa’s Bible study. You an’ me both been pushin’ people away all week, not wantin’ to talk about all the angst we feelin’ ’bout the men in our lives. But we can’t push away the Man Upstairs. So c’mon.” She actually grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of my office and up the stairs to Shepherd’s Fold. She had me laughing by the time we got to the circle of couches and chairs that had been pushed together for Edesa’s weekly Bible study.
More people than usual had gathered, probably because of the rain keeping people inside. Edesa, looking a bit damp herself, raindrops still sparkling on her tight corkscrew curls, grinned at our presence. “Buenos dias, everyone! Looks as if the rain is blessing us with a good group to study God’s Word today. Sister Naomi, will you pass out the Bibles? If you want a Spanish translation, we have those too . . . all right. As soon as you get a Bible, turn to the Psalms, chapter sixty-one. Will someone please read the first four verses?”
Monique, our fountain of religious clichés, waved her hand. “Praise Jesus, I’ll read it. I just love the Psalms! I read one ever’ mornin’ an—”
“Just read dis one, Monique,” Wanda growled, rolling her eyes.
“I was just sayin’ . . . oh, all right.” Standing up, Monique read in a preachy voice: “ ‘Hear my cry, O God! Attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I’—oh, yes, Jesus!—‘For You have been a shelter for me, a strong tower from the enemy. I will abide in Your tabernacle forever. I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.’ The readin’ of the Word, amen.” She sat down, beaming.
In spite of Monique’s pontificating, I recognized the same psalm Jodi had encouraged me to read when I was all upset about Philip heading for the casino last week. Edesa’s smile looked a little strained, but she said, “Let’s pray before we talk about this important scripture.” And in her quiet, lilting Spanish accent, she thanked El Señor for hearing the cries of our hearts and comforting us with His promises. After her “Amen,” she asked, “How many of you are feeling overwhelmed right now?”
Hands all around me went up. Well, that’s me too. I raised my hand. Estelle too.
Edesa nodded at th
e sea of hands. “There are a lot of reasons we feel overwhelmed—probably as many reasons as there are women in this room. At these times we just need something—or Someone—we can count on to hold on to . . . or to hold on to us. That’s what this prayer of David is all about. He had a lot of stress in his life, and even though he was a king, the most powerful person in the country, he cried out to God to be his rock, to be his shelter from the storms of life swirling all around him.”
Heads were nodding all around the room, along with “You got that right” and “Mm-hm, say it.”
Edesa swept her hand around the room. “Sometimes we need a physical shelter, like Manna House here, to put a roof over our head and food in our mouths, so we don’t have to be out in the cold and wet, like today . . .”
I winced. Except Lucy and Dandy were somewhere out there in the cold and wet. What kind of shelter had they found?
“And sometimes we need a shelter like this—” Edesa turned and looked up at the mural painted on the wall of Jesus cradling a small lamb in His arms. “Someone to love us and care for us, to make us feel safe. But I think I can safely say all of us have been let down by people who should’ve been that kind of rock, that kind of shelter.”
Now the nods and bursts of agreement got more vigorous.
“But this psalm tells us that there is a Rock, a Shelter, a Strong Tower that will always be there for us. And that is Jesus. Here, listen to this song . . . Sister Gabby, I think you will recognize this one.” Edesa cast a warm smile in my direction and pushed a button on a CD player plugged into the wall. The gospel song her young husband had once recorded for me filled the room. I listened, squeezing Estelle’s hand beside me—or was she squeezing mine?
Where do I go . . . when there’s no one else to turn to?
Who do I talk to . . . when nobody wants to listen?
Who do I lean on . . . when there’s no foundation stable? . . .
When I need a shelter, when I need a friend
I go to the Rock . . .
Edesa’s Bible study and the Dottie Rambo song stayed with me the rest of the workday, and I used up most of my box of tissues. Huh! I could be the poster child for a woman who’d been let down by the men in my life who should’ve been my protector, my shelter. I’d thought the well-connected Philip Fairbanks was the rock I needed after my ill-fated marriage to Damien Spencer right out of high school. But Philip had abandoned me too. Like many of the women here, Manna House had been a lifesaving shelter for me this year in more ways than one. But I’d also found my real Shelter when I’d renewed my faith in Jesus, the solid Rock who never moved even when I’d moved away from Him. The One who’d never stopped loving me and carrying me—even now. Even with Philip reaching out to me, and Lee Boyer pulling me away from him.
Obviously I couldn’t have it both ways. In fact, I had to face the possibility I might lose both men. But whatever happened, I knew I still had Solid Rock beneath my feet.
“Thank You, Jesus,” I breathed for the hundredth time that day. Glancing up at the clock, I realized it was almost time for Sunnyside Magnet School to be out. I could still hear thunder rumbling overhead and was just deciding I should probably pick up Paul at school when my phone rang. “There’s someone here to see you, Gabby,” Angela said.
Lucy and Dandy? I scurried up the stairs and burst through the double doors into the foyer—and stopped. “Will?” Will Nissan stood in the foyer, glancing up at the stained glass windows that made Manna House look like a church from the outside, and peeking beyond me at the wall mural he’d glimpsed when I’d come through the double doors. “What are you doing here?”
The young college student grinned at me. “Hi, Mrs. Fairbanks. I, uh . . . well, here.” He handed me a square card envelope that looked a little worse for wear. “I gave Mr. Philip a ride as far as Circle Campus this morning, and he asked if I’d give this to you on my way home from classes. I think he wanted you to get it today rather than put it in the mail. Told me where you worked.”
“Thanks, Will.” I took the envelope. But Will showing up on the shelter’s doorstep, today of all days, was giving me an idea.
He was still looking around, curious as usual. “I knew you worked at a women’s shelter, but I’ve never actually seen one. Do you, uh, give tours?” He smiled that engaging grin of his.
“I’d love to—another time,” I said. “But right now, I have a huge favor to ask of you. Angela? Sign me out, will you? I’m going to pick up the kids from school and then I’ve got an errand to do. Will, come with me.”
Maybe because he was young and adventurous, Will waited good-naturedly while I got my raincoat and bag, then we hopped into my car without much of an explanation from me. I didn’t want to say anything until after I’d picked up Paul and the other two kids and deposited them at the House of Hope. Fortunately, most of the House of Hope adults were home because of the constant rain, and Precious said she’d keep an eye on Paul until I got back.
“You okay?” She eyed me suspiciously.
“I’m fine. I owe you.” I ran back out to the car and jumped into the driver’s seat just as the skies let loose another downpour. “Drat! I think Chicago’s gonna float away if this keeps up.” I hoped Josh was checking the basement for flooding—especially with Philip’s good furniture down there.
“So what’s up?” Will still had that amused, curious look on his face.
I started the car and turned on the wipers and defroster. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ve got a missing person from the shelter— Lucy, the old woman I told you about?—and I need someone to help me find her.”
“The banana cake lady?” Will was grinning. “Still haven’t met her.”
“That’s the one. She’s got my mother’s dog and I’m, you know, worried about them.” But that’s all I said. I still hesitated to tell Will my suspicions—not until the three of us could sit down and talk together. But we had to find Lucy first.
But where to look? I drove back toward Manna House and we circled the streets in the Wrigleyville North neighborhood for a while, even stopping from time to time to ask passersby if they’d seen an old lady with a dog and a wire cart. No . . . no . . . no.
“She’s probably not out on the street—not in weather like this,” Will pointed out reasonably.
“I know!” I hit the steering wheel. “She could be anywhere!” I groaned aloud.
Pray, Gabby.
The Voice in my spirit was so strong, I pulled over and stopped the car. Duh! What was wrong with me? Jodi Baxter was always telling me, “Pray first, Gabby.”
“Will, hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to pray.” And I prayed aloud, a simple prayer that the rain would stop, that we’d know where to look, that God would help us find Lucy. Then I started the car again.
Will had laughter in his voice. “My grandmother would like you. She’s always praying.”
I grinned at him. “Well, I hope I get to meet her sometime. I could use some praying lessons.”
Will rode in silence as I turned north on Sheridan Road. “So, where are you going?”
Where was I going? “I know this sounds a little silly, but I’m going to the park up by Richmond Towers. That’s where I first ran into Lucy last spring. Might as well start at the beginning. She used to hang out there a lot.”
I pulled into a parking space on the frontage road, realizing that the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Thank You, Lord! With Will being a good sport, I headed down the path and turned off at the bush where I’d first tripped over Lucy’s cart. Maybe . . .
But no one was there. I looked around. The pedestrian tunnel! That could provide shelter.
But the tunnel under Lake Shore Drive was empty. And not that dry either. We sloshed through the puddles that had gathered in the tunnel, and I had to admit I was glad Will was with me. The place was eerie, with only about a third of the lights working, casting strange shadows as we passed.
Coming out on the other side, the lake was gray and wild, tossi
ng up white caps everywhere and sending waves smashing against the rocks. Not really knowing what I was doing, I headed toward the only other shelter within sight—the Foster Avenue Beach House. The sand was soggy, and I wondered why I hadn’t grabbed my gym shoes when I had the chance back at the six-flat. My leather ankle-boots were going to be a mess.
The beach house was shuttered and locked. Even the restrooms were locked for the winter. But between the men’s and women’s changing rooms was a wide walkthrough that housed a concession stand in summer. I pointed it out to Will. “Let’s go through there.”
I thought I heard voices as we came close to the walkthrough and I hesitated. No telling who was in there. Drug dealers or gang-bangers for all I knew. I put out my hand to stop Will and strained to listen, but it was hard to hear anything with the constant splashing of waves against the shore. Will held up his hand, as if he understood the necessity to be careful and inched closer under the eaves that led into the walkway. I followed. We stopped again and listened as the voice—voices?—grew louder.
The sound was low-pitched and gravelly, almost sing-songy. Will and I crept a few steps closer. Man? Woman? Was the person drunk? It was hard to tell.
A few more steps, and we could make out the words.
“An’ 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. See, Dandy? We gonna be fine. Someone’ll come. Don’t worry. Bless the roof an’ chimney tall, let Thy peace lie over all . . .”
My heart practically leaped into my throat. “Lucy!” I shouted. I grabbed Will’s coat sleeve. “C’mon! That’s Lucy!”