by Neta Jackson
I smiled. “Last I heard he’s coming back here. In a day or two, in fact.”
“Hey, that’s great. He’s been a real help to me on some of my architecture projects. Could use some more of his advice. Well . . .” The young man grinned and lifted a hand in a wave. “Guess I better get back to my girls.” He laughed and disappeared up the stairs.
We watched him go. “That there is a nice young man,” Estelle murmured. “Hope Lucy knows how lucky she is to have family like that.” Then she eyed me with a lifted eyebrow. “So Philip’s coming back to Chicago. How come I think there’s more to the story than that?”
Philip called again that night to say he was arriving at O’Hare the following afternoon—Friday—and the Baxters had said he was welcome to use them as home base until he found an apartment. “I hate to ask, Gabby, but could I leave my stuff in your basement for a few more days? Another week at most. I’m sorry it’s been this long.”
Another week. But so far nobody in the building had complained. “I guess so. But you did say one week and it’s already been two.”
“I know. Guess I should have rented a storage locker. But at this point, I’d like to avoid moving it twice.”
An awkward silence hung between us for a few moments. I was just about to push him on whether he had a Plan B for a job when he said, “I’ve got some good news, though. My father has been surprisingly supportive of my decision to return to Chicago—Uncle Matt too. Told me I’d made the right choice to put family first. Not only that, they’re calling a board meeting to talk about creating a division of Fairbanks Commercial Development in the Midwest, probably Chicago. If so, they’d want me to head it up.”
Furniture in my basement seemed a piddly concern compared to this news. “That’s great, Philip! . . . I think. I mean, how do you feel about that? When you were working for your dad and uncle before, you were chafing at their traditional designs, feeling like they were stuck in the past.”
“Yeah, well, the old ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ mentality. You’re right. It would be a challenge to work under the old Fairbanks business model. But I have to admit, it doesn’t seem as important now to do my own thing. I had to eat crow just coming back here, admitting I’d messed up, asking their advice. But it wasn’t so bad. It’s hard to explain, Gabby, but there’s a certain freedom in not having to be right all the time.”
I hardly knew what to say. My entire experience with Fairbanks men had been they were right and it was up to you to admit it. Not just the men—his mother too. It infected the whole family. If Philip could break that generational curse, I really would believe in miracles.
“—maybe teach some day,” Philip was saying.
“What? I’m sorry, Philip. What were you saying? I didn’t catch that.”
“I asked if you’d heard anything from Will Nissan lately. Because I’ve enjoyed helping him with some of his student projects, and it made me think, maybe I’d like to try teaching at the college level some day. Architecture, maybe business . . . use my experience to develop a new generation of bright minds who are interested in city planning, commercial development, stuff like that.”
“That’s . . . that’s a fantastic idea, Philip. But you mentioning Will made me realize I haven’t told you something amazing that’s happened since you left. Will found his missing great-aunt!”
“Really? You’re kidding me. I mean, how long has she been missing . . . sixty years? I would’ve bet the farm it was impossible. So tell me where they found her.”
By this time I was laughing. “Are you sitting down?”
I wish I could’ve seen Philip’s face when I told him Will’s missing great-aunt was none other than our own Lucy Tucker. I had to go over the various clues we’d pieced together before he believed me—and then all he could say was, “Unbelievable!”
Couldn’t wait to tell Estelle about the latest revelations in Philip’s reality show broadcasting from Virginia either. She’d wagged her head in serious disbelief on Thursday when I told her he’d turned down a generous job offer from his father and uncle because he wanted to “put family first.” “Might just change my mind about that man,” she’d murmured as we’d thrown the last of the vegetables into the soup pot.
But when she hadn’t arrived at Manna House by mid-morning on Friday, I remembered she had a ten o’clock appointment to ask about extending Leroy’s stay at the psychiatric nursing facility until she was able to find an apartment or house where she could take care of her son.
And she’d asked us to pray!
I scurried upstairs to catch Edesa before she started her Bible study, and the group of ten or so women who’d gathered took the request seriously. One called on Jehovah Jireh, God our Provider, to “make a way out of no way!” Another said, “An’ we ast ya, Lord, to meet every need, known and unknown, for this poor boy an’ his mama.” Monique prayed on task, asking God to give Estelle favor when she asked for more time to find an apartment. “An’ lead Estelle to the exact apartment You’ve prepared for her and Leroy—not tomorrow, not next week, but today, Lord Jesus, because you said where two or three are gathered together in Your name, there You are in the midst!”
I squirmed a bit. Had to wonder how God felt about Monique telling Him exactly how our prayers should be answered.
Edesa’s prayer was almost the flip side of Monique’s, praying that Estelle would not “lean on her own understanding” in this situation but would trust El Señor to care not only for her son but for herself and Harry—“that precious couple,” she called them— as well.
Hoo boy. I wondered what Estelle would think if she knew we were throwing prayers for her and Harry into the same pot with her request to bless the path she’d chosen for herself and Leroy.
An hour later the Bible study was disbanding and I was talking to Lucy—who hadn’t exactly joined the Bible study circle but sat close enough to listen—about maybe getting a shower and into some fresh clothes before her sister and nephew arrived for their excursion that afternoon, when Estelle dragged in. Several of the residents said, “We prayed for ya, Miss Estelle,” and asked, “How’s that boy of yours doin’ today?” But she just shook her head, shrugged off her coat, and sank into one of the overstuffed couches in the big room. I excused myself to Lucy and sat down with Estelle. Edesa joined us a moment later.
“How’d it go?” I asked. Our diva cook didn’t look too happy.
Estelle frowned darkly. “That Leroy! Unpredictable as ever. Told me he didn’t want to live with me. ‘Stop treatin’ me like a baby, Mama!’ he said—right in front of the doctor an’ two social workers! How is wantin’ to do my duty as his mama, takin’ care of my baby proper-like, and makin’ sure no druggies or free-loaders take advantage of him, treatin’ that boy like a baby?”
I repressed a smile. “He doesn’t want to live with you? What does he want to do?”
“Humph. Told those social workers he wants to go live at that halfway house—the Lighthouse Care Center or whatever they call it—for folks with mental health issues. He said it’ll be a peer group, people like himself who take care of each other. Humph. What do they know about what my baby needs? And those social workers didn’t help a’tall! They nodded an’ smiled an’ said he was showin’ good decision making.” She glowered at no one in particular. “Good decision making, my big toe. Sounded to me like he was just parroting things those social workers told him to say.”
“So what’s going to happen?” I prodded.
“Well, he thinks he’s movin’ out of the nursing center tomorrow into that Lighthouse place. But all I need is a few more days, a week maybe, to find us a place to live. Then he’ll change his mind, you’ll see.”
Edesa and I looked at each other. The answer to our prayers was taking shape right before our eyes—and Estelle didn’t see it.
“Mi amiga,” Edesa said softly, laying her hand on top of Estelle’s. “Why are you insisting on finding an apartment for you and Leroy to live together?”
Estelle frowned. “Why? Because I need to take care of him, that’s why. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me, and look what happened! I won’t do that again. Lord, forgive me!”
“But, Estelle, don’t you see? God has provided a ram in the bush, just like He did for Abraham in the Bible! God tested Abraham, asked him to do something very hard. But God knew Abraham’s heart and at the last minute provided a new plan—one that gave life to his son!”
I saw where Edesa was going and eagerly jumped in. I took Estelle’s other hand. “God knows your heart, too, Estelle. He knows you’d do anything to help Leroy right now—even give up your engagement to Harry! But God is providing another plan for Leroy—a plan where Leroy will be taken care of properly, not living alone, but as an adult among peers. And He has a good plan for you too.” I couldn’t help the smile that was spreading on my face. “God brought a good man into your life, Estelle. His name is Harry Bentley. And I, for one, do not believe God has taken him away from you.”
Estelle sat perfectly still on the couch, blinking from time to time as if trying to process what we were saying. I hardly dared to breathe, but after a minute or two I broke the silence. “Go to him, Estelle. Go to Harry now. I’ll . . . I’ll even do lunch for you.”
At the word lunch, Estelle looked at me with a start, as if the word had broken the spell. “Then you better get started, girl! What are you just sittin’ there for?” She struggled up off the couch, grabbed her coat, and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. Heading for the double doors into the foyer like a runaway steam locomotive, she called over her shoulder, “Ham! Cheese! Sandwiches! Chips! Pudding! It’s all in the fridge!”
And she was gone.
chapter 43
The weekend seemed to speed by like the El during rush hour, in spite of gray clouds, chilly temperatures, and occasional heavy rains, which were getting a bit dreary as far as I was concerned. Lucy wasn’t back from her visit to Maggie Simple’s condo by the time I left work Friday evening, which I hoped meant the visit was going well. Then Philip stopped by to see the boys early Friday evening on his way in from the airport, bringing gifts to P.J. and Paul from their grandparents.
I studied him as the boys eagerly opened their gifts—waterproof sport watches with features that included a timer, a chronometer, alarms, the works. Philip’s dark-brown hair had grown back, and the scar on his head was nearly invisible now except for the inch that started on his forehead. All in all he was looking great. Even the desperate look in his eyes had given way to a kind of . . . peace.
“Oh yes, got something for you, too, Gabby.” Philip handed me a rectangular package wrapped in gold foil and ribbon.
I shook it. It rattled slightly. “Oh, ho! Bet I know what this is.” The ribbon and foil wrap came off in seconds. “Yay! Gourmet goodies!” I danced around with the package, which contained three jars of Virginia’s finest cashews, roasted peanuts, and blackberry jam. Philip was grinning at me. “Mm, thanks,” I said. “You remembered my favorite snacks.” I felt I should offer something in return. “Do you want to stay for supper?”
He shook his head. “I better get going. I told the taxi to wait. C’mere, guys, give your ol’ dad a hug. Wish we could do something tomorrow, but I need to get an early start looking for an apartment.”
I followed him out into the foyer. “Philip? We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner here at the House of Hope on Thursday. Everybody’s inviting family members. I know the boys would like to have you here. Can you come?”
For a few seconds Philip glanced away as if to get his emotions under control. Then he nodded. “I’ll be here,” he said, hustling down the steps to the waiting cab.
Saturday was a blur with a lot of the usual on my to-do list: shopping for groceries, cleaning the apartment, folding laundry, and phoning my sisters for our weekly gabfest. I gave the boys a choice of cleaning their rooms or helping Josh Baxter start painting in 3B. Ha. So much for getting their rooms cleaned. I could hear their music blasting all the way down the stairwell to the first floor.
Precious knocked on my door just as I was leaving for the grocery store, holding up a jar with slips of paper in it. “Draw one. That’ll be your Thanksgiving food assignment.”
I fished out a slip of paper. “What? Macaroni and cheese? What kind of Thanksgiving food is that? And greens? I don’t know how to cook greens.”
She looked at me funny. “Girl, ain’t no Thanksgivin’ dinner without mac-an-cheese. If you wanna throw in somethin’ the cowboys eat in North Dakota, too, feel free.”
“Who’s doing turkey? I’ll trade.”
Precious snatched the paper from me. “Oh, gimme that. Here. You can have Tanya’s and my slip of paper, which has turkey an’ cornbread dressing on it. We’ll do the mac-an-cheese an’ greens.” She flounced across the hall muttering something about “white folks’ food,” but I didn’t let it bother me. Turkey I could do.
I didn’t hear from Philip Saturday or Sunday, and he didn’t come with Jodi and Denny to SouledOut Sunday morning either. Not that I expected he would. Hoped, maybe. After all, he’d gone to church last week while he was in Petersburg.
“Just thank God for whatever baby steps you see, Gabby,” Jodi encouraged me after worship. “Right now, he’s concentrating on one thing—finding an apartment big enough so he can have the boys sleep over on weekends, but not too big or too expensive.”
“Okay, fine.” I started toward the coffee pot. Not sure why I felt a little snitty.
“Gabby, wait,” Jodi said. “I wanted to ask you something. That whole business about Will Nissan needing to move out of his grandmother’s condo so Lucy can move in—Estelle told me he needs someplace to stay till something opens up in student housing at semester break. What do you think about us offering to let him stay with us after Philip moves out? Amanda will be coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but there’s Josh’s old room—where Philip is staying now.”
My little snit about Philip not coming to church dissolved. “Oh, Jodi. That’s a fabulous idea. He’s such a nice kid—I know he wouldn’t be any problem.” I gave her a hug. “You and Denny are angels, did you know that?”
“Or selfish.” She grinned. “We might be the ones ‘entertaining angels unawares’—like the Bible says. And speaking of angels . . .” She jerked her eyes in the direction of Harry and Estelle, who were busy serving coffee to a cluster of nosy folks who clustered around them, probably wanting to confirm that the engagement ring was back on her finger. “Methinks a few angels were working overtime on Estelle and Harry’s case this weekend.”
We laughed—and then she pulled me into a “prayer hug,” whispering a blessing into my ear for our first-ever House of Hope Yada Yada Prayer Group that evening. “You can’t imagine how excited we Yada Yadas are about our new offspring.” She giggled.
Edesa had suggested we meet in Precious and Tanya’s apartment, since we’d been meeting at their apartment for the weekly household meeting, and meeting in Celia and Shawanda’s apartment might feel like pressure on Shawanda, when she’d sounded iffy about whether she wanted to come or not. Of course, there was the matter of who’s-gonna-watch-the-kids-and-where. We finally all chipped in to pay Sabrina ten bucks to watch the under-ten crowd in my apartment—much to P.J.’s dismay—but it worked out because they put in an old video of A Bug’s Life, which kept them all entertained for the duration.
Shawanda did come with Celia, saying she’d try it out but not promise anything. “Let us worship El Señor as we begin,” Edesa encouraged as the six of us women gathered. And she simply began to pray aloud, thanking God for His salvation, for His faithfulness, for His constant watchcare. Precious and Celia both joined in, praying aloud, while I prayed silently—I still wasn’t used to this everybody-praying-at-once form of worship. To transition, Edesa led us in a simple chorus of “Oh, How I Love Jesus,” which most of us knew.
Then it was time for sharing prayer requests. “Gotta pray for Sabrina,” Preci
ous said. “She ’bout ready to pop that baby. Was hoping he would wait till winter break so she wouldn’t miss the last few weeks of school, but he actin’ like he want outta there.”
“So it’s a boy?” Shawanda wanted to know. “Sabrina got a name yet?”
“We can talk names another time,” Edesa said. “Right now, let’s hear from everyone about what we need to pray for.”
Tanya was concerned that Sammy didn’t have a daddy—and she had no brothers to be active uncles. “He needs somebody to teach him how to be a man—a good man,” she said, getting teary.
Celia asked prayer for her daughter, that she’d get drug-free and be the mother she was supposed to be for Keisha. Shawanda passed, saying things were “fine.” Edesa asked prayer for Gracie’s adoption, which still hadn’t been finalized. I didn’t know how much to say about Philip, since only Edesa and Precious knew anything more than that we were separated. So I just said, “I want to thank God for answering a lot of prayers for my boys’ dad, but ask you all to keep praying for him. He’s looking for an apartment and needs a job.”
And then we prayed, simple prayers for one another. Celia prayed for Shawanda, too, even though she hadn’t asked for anything, and the girl seemed touched by it. And I added, “Lord, thank You for Josh and all the hard work he’s doing on 3B, and for the way he keeps this building ship-shape. And, Father, show us who is the next homeless mom to move into the House of Hope when that apartment is ready, because You are creating a family here. Give us open arms to love and serve our new sisters, whoever they may be.”
Our prayer meeting lasted only an hour, less time than the movie playing in my apartment, but since it was only sixish, I said the kids could stay and finish. Turning down the volume on the TV set, I stopped by the phone to listen to a couple of messages. The first was from a telemarketer, which I cut off in mid-sentence, and then let it go to the second message.