by Neta Jackson
Mrs. Simple approached slowly, clinging to Will’s arm. I quickly brought a chair next to Lucy’s couch, and the elderly woman sat down on the edge. Lucy’s face was expressionless, her eyes focused somewhere else. Dandy started to get up and sniff at the newcomers, but Lucy’s hand gripped his collar and held him back. He whined and sat back down, as if confused.
Make that two of us. What was going to happen here?
But oh my goodness. It was like looking at aging twins—or would be if Lucy’s hair had a wash and a good cut. Same squarish, wrinkled face, same hazel eyes and heavy lids, same body build. Lucy’s skin, however, was rough and leathery from years on the streets, while Maggie’s had the soft, natural pink of a healthy woman in her seventies.
“Cindy? Is that you?” Mrs. Simple’s voice wavered.
“Name’s Lucy,” Lucy muttered. “Don’t nobody call me Cindy.”
Will spoke up. “Lucy, you remember me from last night, right? My name’s Will Nissan, and this is my grandmother, Maggie Simple. She’s been looking for her sister, Lucinda Tucker, for a long, long time. We think we’ve found her.”
Lucy said nothing for several moments, then growled, “Don’t got no family.”
“But it’s me—Maggie! Your sister!” Tears had started to puddle in Mrs. Simple’s eyes. She fished for an embroidered handkerchief tucked up her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of family! Brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. Ma and Pa, they’ve been gone now, oh, twenty years. But most of us children got married, had a passel of kids and grandkids—like Will here.” She looked up into her grandson’s face and smiled through the tears.
Lucy’s lip seemed to tremble, just for a moment, but she still didn’t look Maggie Simple in the face.
Will’s grandmother wagged her head. “Things were bad back then, Cindy. I know that. But all that’s past. No one thinks about . . . about what happened. Tucker family’s doin’ well now. ’Cept for one thing—our missing sister. Everybody thinks you’re dead. But not me. I knew one day we’d find you. Will and me, we come to Chicago to look for you, and here you are.”
No one spoke. But women around the room were looking curiously our way and starting to make comments. I slipped away from the reunion and moved from group to group. “Lucy’s got visitors and needs some privacy. Just leave them alone right now, all right? Thanks.”
I returned to Lucy’s couch just in time to hear Lucy mutter, “Been a long time. Too long. Can’t nothin’ be different now.”
“But—” Maggie Simple started to say, but Will stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I think maybe we should leave now. Maybe we can come back soon.” He helped his grandmother to her feet. But then he stepped forward and squatted down beside Dandy, taking the dog’s face in his hands. “Thanks for looking after my Great-Aunt Cindy, Dandy. Tell her it’s a big job for a dog, though. Tell her we’d like to help you out, look after her now. Tell her we want to bring her home. Can you do that, fella?”
Without another word, he stood and walked his grandmother out into the foyer. Maggie kept looking back, as if she was afraid to leave, afraid the sister she’d just found would be lost again. But she clung to Will’s arm as I followed and opened the front door for them. As they stepped outside, Will turned back and gave me a lopsided grin. “That went well for the first visit, don’t you think?”
chapter 40
Lucy refused to talk to me about her visitors. I wanted to tick off all the clues that led Will and me to realize she was his missing great-aunt, or . . . or shake her, the stubborn old fool! Didn’t she realize what an amazing miracle this was?! That her family had not only found her but wanted to provide a home for her?
But after a few tries that got me nowhere, I gave up and decided to leave her alone. Maybe she was in shock.
Paul was ecstatic when I brought Dandy back home with me. True to her word, Lucy had let me take the dog home with a message for Paul, asking if he’d take care of him for her this winter. “Jus’ bring him ta see me when ya come ta work, promise?” she’d fussed at me. “When I’m here, that is.”
I’d promised, thanking God I worked in a place that let me bring a dog to work—well, this dog, anyway, who’d become the Manna House mascot after saving Sarge that night from a knife-wielding intruder. But it bothered me when Lucy said, “When I’m here, that is.” She obviously wasn’t planning to change her come-and-go lifestyle anytime soon.
Well, we’d see about that.
When I got back to the House of Hope, Josh Baxter was already at work prepping walls in 3B, and Celia Jones stopped by to let me know she and her granddaughter were going to spend the rest of the weekend on the South Side with her brother’s family, giving Keisha a chance to spend a little time with her mom who lived nearby. “We babysat Bam-Bam and Dessa last night so Shawanda could have a night out, didn’t we, Keisha? So she should do all right while we’re gone.”
“How about you?” I asked. “You doing okay sharing the apartment with Shawanda? You need to let me or Mabel know if you have any problems.”
Celia shrugged and smiled. “We’re doing all right. And I’m sure it’ll get better. Shawanda’s still young. She just needs some stability.”
Philip had called while I was out and talked to both boys. I was sorry I’d missed his call, but decided to wait until his next call to ask how his business consultation with his father and uncle was going. He hadn’t directly answered P.J.’s question the other night about whether he was going to move back to Virginia for good, but I had my own suspicions about what might happen. Either he’d come back here and start up a new company, which would be in direct competition with Henry Fenchel, or he’d hop back into the family business there in Petersburg. Both options would affect me and the boys—but right now, I needed to take things one day at a time.
I hadn’t called Lee back either. But P.J. and Paul were both antsy to get out of the house for our movie-and-pizza date, and by the time we got back, I was so pooped, I couldn’t wait to take a long soak in the tub and fall into bed.
Tomorrow. I’d call Lee tomorrow.
A loud clatter woke me several hours later. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. What was that? Sounded like something tumbling down the outside back stairs and breaking. I squinted at the glowing numbers on my digital clock. 2:12. Fumbling in the dark, I found my robe, pulled it around me, and peeked though the blinds on my bedroom window overlooking the back porch. A shadowy figure was bent over on my landing, picking up the pieces of . . . something.
Feeling my way, I moved quickly into the kitchen, sidled up to the back door, and moved the curtain on the window an inch. The hunched figure was a man. Could it be Josh? The tenant still in 2B coming home late? Or had Maddox Campbell come back for something? Not likely. He’d given the apartment keys back to Josh before he left.
Just then the man straightened and looked back up the stairs. By now my eyes had adjusted to the glow coming from the alley light. Youngish, slender, dark skin, shaved head—whoever it was, I didn’t recognize him. Drat! Why hadn’t I grabbed my cell phone? I should be calling 9-1-1 and reporting a stranger on my property! I was just about to run for the phone in the hallway when I heard footsteps coming down the back stairs and another figure appeared on my landing. What in the world?
Shawanda!
The two young people giggled surreptitiously, and I heard the word “flowerpot.” They kissed, then the young man hustled down the last few steps to the walk that led to the alley, tossed something into the dumpster, and the girl ran back upstairs.
Of all the nerve! Shawanda had snuck a man into her apartment tonight while Celia was gone.
I shuffled back to my bed. Good thing I hadn’t called 9-1-1. But Shawanda would have to face me tomorrow, and as far as she was concerned, that might be even worse.
The next morning I was out at the dumpster before breakfast, picking out pieces of the flowerpot Lover Boy had knocked over as he snuck out last night. Thank goodne
ss trash didn’t get picked up on the weekend. Fortunately, the broken pot sat on top of the numerous bags of trash Maddox Campbell’s moving crew had tossed. If the dumpster had been empty or even half full, I’d never have been able to reach the bottom.
Pieces in hand, I marched up the back stairs and knocked loudly on the kitchen door of 2A. I had to pound on the door two or three minutes before Shawanda peeked through the curtain, hair wrap knotted on her head, eyes bleary. She opened the door two inches. “Miss Gabby? Uh . . . whatchu want? Ain’t it kinda early?”
I held up the pieces of the broken flowerpot. “We need to talk.”
The door opened another couple of inches, and she pulled her thin robe around her body. “Oh, sorry ’bout that. Was it yours? I, uh, knocked it off the porch rail last night by accident.”
“Cut the crap, Shawanda,” I snapped. “I don’t care about the pot. Wasn’t mine, might be Celia’s. What I do care about is the young man who left your apartment shortly after two this morning— the one who knocked this over and woke me up.”
She squirmed. “Oh, uh . . . sorry that woke you up. He, uh, he’s just a friend, came by to drop somethin’ off for me, an’ I told him it was too late, but—”
“Shawanda.” No sense getting angry, I told myself. Speak calmly. “Look, don’t make this any worse by lying about it. You know the rule: no men in the apartments after ten p.m. The first time Celia’s gone overnight, you broke the rule. That’s serious.”
Shivering in the doorway, Shawanda’s face morphed into a pout. “Don’t see why it’s anybody’s bizness. Celia and Keisha, they gone, we didn’t bother them none.”
“It’s the rule, Shawanda. You signed an agreement to live by the rules here at the House of Hope.”
“But you treatin’ us like little kids! I’m grown! What I do shouldn’t make no difference to you.”
I realized this was getting us nowhere. And now I was shivering in the damp morning air. “I’m not going to argue with you, Shawanda. We’ll talk about the consequences later. But I’m disappointed. I was hoping this arrangement would work out for you and the kids.” I shoved the pieces of flowerpot into her hand. “Better let Celia know she’s minus a flowerpot when she gets back.” I turned and started down the stairs.
“Wait!” Shawanda came out the door and leaned over the railing as I descended. “You not gonna kick us out, are you, Miss Gabby?” Her voice had lost the pout and was shrill with anxiety. “You can’t do that! No way can I go back to the shelter!”
But I just slipped back into my apartment and shut the door.
“I told her the truth,” I said to Jodi Baxter after the worship service at SouledOut later that morning. “I am disappointed. I was hoping the House of Hope could be a turning point for Shawanda.” I hadn’t seen or talked to Jodi since the previous Sunday when she’d told me her husband and Harry were planning a gutsy talk with Philip, so we’d grabbed a couple cups of coffee and were huddling in a corner, trying to catch up with each other.
“Is that it? Break one rule and she’s out?” Jodi seemed surprised.
I sighed. “I don’t know. We didn’t say definitely. But Shawanda’s the kind of person if you give her an inch, she takes a mile. Poster kid for the cliché.” I smiled wanly. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk with Mabel and the Baby Baxters before I—what?”
Jodi looked shocked, then she burst out laughing. “The Baby Baxters? Is that what you call Josh and Edesa?”
“Oops. Did I say that?” Now I was laughing. “Uh, that’s what Precious calls them. Guess it kinda stuck. Anyway . . .” I took another sip of weak coffee, made a face, and set it aside. “I don’t want to talk about Shawanda. You probably know what’s going on with Philip, since he was staying at your house before he left for Virginia—”
Jodi nodded. “Pretty much. He and Denny talked a couple more times last week, and I know he decided to sell out his share of the business and pay off the debts and everything. It’s amazing. But Denny kind of hinted that Philip’s had a couple of serious talks with you, right?” She raised an eyebrow. “Anything you want to tell me?”
I brought out the two notes Philip had written to me, trying to fill her in on the roller coaster of emotions I’d been through that week. We talked a long time, so long that Denny finally gave P.J. and Paul a ride back to the House of Hope along with Josh, Edesa, and Gracie, while Jodi and I ended up at The Coffee Cup for a couple of lattes and oversize cranberry-nut muffins so I could also bring her up to date on the drama going on with Lucy and her long-lost family.
“It’s a miracle, Jodi! Think about it. Philip meets Will his last day in the hospital, Philip agrees to mentor Will in some of his classes, Will casually mentions his grandmother is looking for her long-lost sister—who turns out to be Lucy Tucker, of all people! After sixty-plus years! But Lucy’s being weird about it. Almost as if she didn’t want to be found. Or doesn’t want to give up her independence— or something.”
“Well, like you said earlier, maybe she’s just in shock.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Jodi. Lucy’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
She snorted. “Except maybe Estelle. You know she gave Harry his ring back.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. And I noticed they didn’t even sit together in church this morning. How silly is that? They’re crazy about each other! But Estelle’s got this notion in her head that it’s either Harry or Leroy.”
Jodi shook her head, glanced at her watch, and sighed. “I know we better go, but if you’ve got a few more minutes, Gabby, I think we should pray. Let’s put the whole kaboddle in God’s lap and let Him sort it out!”
After dropping Jodi off at her house, I thought, Should’ve told Jodi about Lee too. I still needed to return his call. Just thinking about all the tangled relationships in my life was a recipe for a sure-fire headache—but after my long talk and prayer time with Jodi, I felt more at peace than I had all week.
Shawanda was at my door Sunday evening, all penitent, begging for another chance. I told her breaking the rule about no men at night was a serious matter and I had to talk to Mabel Turner about whether she’d disqualified herself for housing at House of Hope. She ran upstairs in tears and slammed the door. For two seconds my resolve to be “fair but firm” wavered and I almost followed her, wanting to say, Okay, okay, we’ll give you another chance—which we might, but I made myself close my door and stick to my guns about talking to Mabel before I did anything. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for Shawanda to feel a little holy fear for a while.
Philip called while I was making supper and I was the one who answered the phone. “Oh, good, you’re home tonight,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you too.”
I tensed a little. “Well, how’s it going? Have you talked with your dad and uncle about a new business plan?”
“Not yet. Dad set up a meeting with Uncle Matt tomorrow morning. Not sure how long I can stay here at the house with the folks, though—it’s kind of tense with my mother. She got all bent out of shape when I returned the money she’d given me. She’s also mad that I sold out my half of the business to Fenchel, even though I explained it was the only way to get the lawsuits and the debt monkey off my back. She can’t understand that, told me she could’ve bailed me out and I’d still have the business.”
I bit my lip, determined not to say anything. But Marlene Fairbanks’s response didn’t surprise me one iota. Then it just slipped out. “Proud of you for sticking to your guns, Philip. Time to move out of the nest.”
“Ouch. That’s what I was trying to do by moving to Chicago. Thought it was Dad wanting to run my life, because Mom championed the move, you know. Don’t know why it took me so long to realize why she was always taking my side against Dad— almost like divide and conquer. I got out from under Dad’s thumb, but she still had her hooks in me. Always wanting to throw me a safety net.” He chuckled in my ear. “Wish you could’ve seen her face when I gave her money back—with interest. It wasn’t pre
tty.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed aloud. “Oh dear. I better let you talk to the boys before I get myself in trouble . . . P.J.! Paul! It’s your dad!”
“Gabby, wait. There’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
“Oh. Okay.” I scrunched the phone under my ear and resumed work on the chicken wraps I’d been making with leftover chicken and large flour tortillas. Paul poked his head into the kitchen, but I waved him away again.
“I went to church this morning.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “You—what? Went to church? Where?”
“Same one we used to attend from time to time. Briarwood Lutheran. But it seemed . . . different this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the boys probably told you I went to SouledOut that Sunday you were out of town and I was staying at your place. They wanted to go, so—”
“Yeah, they told me. I was glad you took them. But you didn’t say anything about it, and you didn’t come last Sunday when you were staying with the Baxters. So I figured it probably wasn’t your thing.”
“Well, SouledOut was certainly different than anything I was used to. A bit loud. But I could see why the boys liked it—and why you like it. Everybody was so into it—the singing, everything. Not an audience with performers up front doing the religious stuff, but everybody participating. Like it was the greatest thing to spend Sunday morning with God and each other. I’ve thought about it several times since then—and this morning I just decided to go to church. Not sure exactly why . . . okay, it was partly to get out of this house since my mother is barely speaking to me. But—”
I could hear several clicks in my ear. Another call coming through.