Where Do I Go?

by Neta Jackson

  And then the battery died. Drat! Tomorrow’s appointment was my last chance.

  Trying not to be panicky, I picked up a pizza and a video for the boys on the way home, and let them stay home with Dandy and the TV remote while I drove Mom to church.

  Only a smattering of people were at the prayer meeting at the little stone church, maybe fifteen max. I didn’t know anyone there, for which I was glad. My parents had changed churches shortly after Damien dumped me nineteen years ago. The scandal of a divorce in a “no divorce—ever” church had been too much for them. A few people shook my hand and murmured, “That’s nice,” when my mom introduced me as “my daughter from Virginia.” I didn’t bother to correct her. Someone started a song a cappella, and I was surprised how quickly the words came back to me . . .

  What a friend we have in Jesus,

  All our sins and griefs to bear

  What a privilege to carry

  Everything to God in prayer . . .

  A stack of prayer request cards were passed out. I got two—someone’s sister who had breast cancer, and another for a husband who drank too much. I was surprised when everyone got down on their knees along the wooden pews, and I heard murmurings all around me as people prayed aloud. But I got down on my knees, too, wishing I’d worn slacks instead of a skirt, and dutifully prayed silently for the cards in my hand.

  But Jesus’ words kept rolling around in my mind. Ask and you will receive. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will open. I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. Okay, Jesus, I’m asking. What should I do about my mom?!

  I stayed on my knees, head buried in my hands, listening to the rise and fall of the murmured prayers all around me. I kept thinking about my mom living alone, thinking about having to get the boys back by Sunday night so they could start sailing camp, realizing there wasn’t enough time to do everything I needed to do to get my mom set up here and keep her safe . . .

  “Come to Me.”

  The words were so clear, they seemed to echo in my head. Where did that come from? Was that supposed to be God’s answer? What kind of answer was that? That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it—coming here to prayer meeting to pray?

  But I couldn’t get the words out of my head. “Come to Me.” Not even the next morning—the last day of our visit before heading back to Chicago—while I read another three chapters from Matthew. “Come to Me.” I shook them off. What I needed to do was get up, get dressed, and get Mom and me over to the agency to see what my options were.

  That was before my mom backed into Dandy, who was standing underfoot in the kitchen as we made breakfast, and tumbled backward over the dog and thumped her head on the floor.

  Mom! Mom! Are you okay?” I tried to get to her, but the dog “ still stood in the way, looking confused. “Dandy, get out of here, you stupid mutt.” I grabbed the dog by the collar, pulled him across the kitchen floor, and shoved him outside. Oh God, no . . . what if Mom broke her hip . . . I should call 9-1-1 . . .

  My mom sat up, rubbing her head. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a bump.” She looked at me reproachfully. “Go say you’re sorry to Dandy, Gabby. It’s not his fault.”

  I blew out a relieved breath. “Okay, I will. Later.” I helped my mother up from the floor. “Are you sure you’re okay? Come on, I want you to lie down on the couch with an ice pack.” After I checked her pupils to make sure she didn’t have a concussion, she let me lead her into the living room, prop her feet up with some pillows, and make an ice pack for the back of her head. I told the boys to get their own breakfast, then went back into the living room to sit with my mom. Concussion or not, I decided I had my answer.

  Mom was going back to Chicago with me.

  I made my peace with Dandy, who wagged his forgiveness and promptly curled up on the couch with my mom. But the dog was a problem. I called Aunt Mercy at the library, told her I was taking my mom back to Chicago, and could she please keep Dandy?

  “Oh, Gabby. I’m sorry. My apartment complex doesn’t allow pets. But I’ve got a key to the house. I’ll be glad to check on things and water her plants. You better have her mail held—on second thought, she has a slot in the door, so I’ll just collect it and for-ward anything that’s important. How’s that?”

  It would have to do.

  I took the boys upstairs and told them Grandma was coming back with us. P.J.’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where’s she going to sleep?”

  I’d steeled myself for that question. “In your room for now. Paul’s still got a bunk bed. You can sleep there—”

  “That’s not fair!” P.J. yelled. “I’m the oldest. Let Grandma sleep in Paul’s room.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed. “And don’t give me that look, young man. You and Paul share a room at your Nana Marlene’s house. It’s not going to kill you for a few weeks.” Who was I kidding? A few months was more like it. “Grandma just can’t stay by herself right now.”

  P.J. flopped on one of the twin beds, his back to me. “Still not fair. You and Dad didn’t ask us if we wanted to move to Chicago. Didn’t want to come on this dumb trip, either.” He buried his face in the pillow.

  I almost snapped, “Dad didn’t ask me if I wanted to move either!”—but P.J. suddenly rolled back over and faced me, his eyes challenging.

  “How come Dad didn’t come with us to Grandma’s?”

  “Well, uh . . . he had to work. You know, just starting the new business and all.”

  P.J. glared at me a long moment, then rolled back over. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

  My eyes blurred. I pushed Paul out of the bedroom and started down the stairs. This trip wasn’t turning out like I had hoped. I’d wanted to spend some special time with my sons, get-ting to know them again, just having fun together. But P.J. seemed so distant, hard to reach. The move had been tough on me . . . what else should I have expected from him? But now I felt so consumed trying to figure out how to care for my mom that—

  Paul was tugging on my arm. “Can Dandy come too?”

  “What?” I stopped on the staircase.

  “You know, back to Chicago.”

  I hesitated.

  “Mom, please! Grandma would cry without Dandy. I’ll help take care of him. I can run him in the park. I’ll even pick up his poops.”

  I pulled my youngest into a bear hug and rumpled his curly head. If only it were that simple. But what other choice did I have? My mom would never agree to leave her dog locked up in a kennel for a couple of weeks, much less three months. She’d fuss about the cost, anyway.

  I canceled the appointment with the Agency on Aging and spent the rest of the day washing clothes, packing a suitcase for my mom, cleaning the house, and even packing a duffel bag for the dog: leash, brush, food and water bowls, sleeping rug, bag of dog food, plastic bags. “Guess that makes you official,” I muttered to Dandy, who seemed quite anxious about the suitcase on my mom’s bed.

  The weather was still coolish, with occasional drizzles, so the boys didn’t even beg to go to the pool. They discovered an ancient Monopoly game with most of its parts, which helped kill the afternoon and kept my mom company in the living room while I made a quick trip to the Miracle Mart for trip food.

  But I knew I was stalling.

  I had to call Philip.

  Tonight.

  chapter 37

  The car was a little crowded with four of us plus a dog in the minivan, but Dandy turned out to be a good traveler, curling up on the floor under Paul’s feet, only getting up from time to time to check on Mom in the front passenger seat. Paul was true to his word, snapping on the leash and taking the dog for runs at rest stops, a plastic bag in his back pocket in case the dog did his business.

  My mom still had a lump on her head, but otherwise she seemed fine, sitting quietly in the front passenger seat, taking in the scenery, a little smile on her face. Casting an occasional glance her way, I realized she probably hadn’t been anywhere since my father had died two years ago.

 
“Did you tell Dad that Dandy is coming too?” Paul asked. “What he’d say?”

  I glanced at my youngest in the rearview mirror. Did he have a sixth sense that his father was not going to be happy with this whole plan? “Ah . . . I had to leave a message.” Which was true. The house phone rang seven times last night, and then voice mail picked up. At first I thought God must be smiling on me, because I was able to leave a matter-of-fact message, saying my mom and Dandy were coming for a visit, even adding that my mom really couldn’t stay alone any longer. But then I realized it just put off the inevitable: Philip’s reaction.

  Still, when he hadn’t called back by the time I locked the house Saturday morning and got everybody into the car, I began to relax. My cell phone was dead. I had a whole day before I had to try calling again from the hotel tonight. I started to hum. Might as well enjoy the trip.

  Funny thing, though. When I tried to call the penthouse that evening from our hotel room, I only got voice mail again. I sucked up my courage and tried Philip’s cell. Same thing.

  Odd.

  We were a wilted bunch when we piled out of the minivan in front of Richmond Towers Sunday evening. I sent Paul over to the park with Dandy on a leash and asked P.J. to get a luggage cart from the weekend doorman while I helped my mother out of the car. P.J. was back in five minutes, holding the nonrevolving door open for Mr. Bentley, pushing a luggage cart.

  “Mr. Bentley!” I was so happy to see him, I threw decorum to the wind and gave him a big hug. “What are you doing working on Sunday? I thought the door-dude—”

  Mr. Bentley burst out laughing. “The ‘door-dude,’ as you so aptly call him, got himself fired. I have to fill in until they hire his replacement. And who is this lovely lady?” He tipped his head in a little bow toward my mother, who stood beside the car trying to juggle her sweater, pocketbook, a plastic bag of car trash, and a magazine.

  “Oh . . . This is my mother, Martha Shepherd, from North Dakota. Mom, this is Mr. Bentley. He’s the doorman here at Richmond Towers, and also a good friend.”

  Mr. Bentley doffed his cap. “I’m very pleased to meet you, ma’am—”

  A happy bark, followed by a breathless Paul, announced the rest of our crew. “And, uh, this is Dandy, my mom’s doggy companion,” I finished. The little yellow mutt danced and turned circles in front of my mother until he got his rump scratched and a pat on the head, then Dandy bounced over to Mr. Bentley and sniffed his shoes.

  “I see. You’ve multiplied.” Mr. Bentley replaced his cap and glanced at me with a twinkle. “Are you expected?”

  I flushed. I knew what it must look like, Gabby Fairbanks bringing home more strays. Mr. Bentley knows me all too well. “Uh, I hope so. It was kind of a last-minute thing. I left a message . . .”

  “Mm. A message.” Mr. Bentley helped P.J. lift bags out of the rear of the minivan and pile them on the cart. Then he straightened. “Would you like me to call upstairs and tell Mr. Fairbanks you’ve arrived?”

  My brain cha-chinged in light speed. Appear en masse at the penthouse front door . . . or have Philip meet us down here in public? “Uh, that would be great. Thanks, Mr. Bentley. We can load the rest of the bags.”

  The boys wanted to go right up, but I made them pick up all the trash in the car, brush out all the crumbs as best they could, and then wait with their grandmother while I parked the rental in a “Visitor” space until Enterprise could pick it up. When we finally pushed the luggage cart into the lobby, Mr. Bentley shrugged. “No answer upstairs.”

  A funny feeling prickled the back of my neck. Should I be worried?

  We were sitting around the dining room table an hour later, passing around the makings for tacos, when I heard the front door open and close, then a bag being dropped in the gallery, and Philip appeared in the doorway. Tan. A stray wisp of dark hair falling over his forehead. Sunglasses. Open-necked silver-and-black silk shirt. Gray slacks. As if he’d just stepped out of GQ magazine.

  “Dad!” Paul screeched, jumping up from the table and throwing himself on his father. Dandy immediately came to life, barking at this stranger.

  “Dandy! You hush,” my mom said. “Come here, boy. Lie down.” Dandy obeyed, still rumbling throaty little growls.

  I saw Philip’s face twitch, but he hugged Paul and then walked over to P.J. and rumpled his dark hair. “Hey, guys. Good to have you home. Save any of those tacos for me?” He pulled out a chair by the empty plate and sat down, removed his sunglasses, and stuck them in his shirt pocket.

  My husband did not look at me. But he nodded at my mother. “Mom Shepherd. You’re looking well.”

  “And you.” My mom gave him a smile. Then she stage-whispered to me, “You have a very handsome husband, Gabrielle.”

  I flushed, my eyes hot, afraid I was going to cry. But I smiled. “You bet.” I forced myself to look right at Philip. “Hi, honey. Looks like we beat you home. I’ve been trying to call—”

  “I got your message.” His voice was even. Emotionless. “Tried to call your cell.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry about that. The battery died, and I forgot the charger.” I forced brightness into my voice. “The boys are excited about sailing camp tomorrow. Couldn’t wait to get home.”

  “Yeah, Dad!” Now even P.J. jumped in. “What kind of boats do we get to sail?”

  Philip disappeared into the den after supper. I put clean sheets on P.J.’s bed and got my mom bedded down after promising to take Dandy out one last time. P.J. was still bent out of shape that he had to give up his bedroom, and I heard the boys squabbling over who was going to sleep in which bunk. Well, it’d take a few days to work out the kinks . . . maybe I could rearrange Paul’s room so P.J. could have space for some of his own stuff . . . plus Mom would need a couple of drawers for her clothes and personal things . . .

  On the way out of the house with Dandy, I saw Philip’s leather overnight bag still sitting in the gallery. Huh. He had some explaining to do too.

  It felt weird to take Dandy down the elevator and across the frontage road for his last “outing” in the dark. I saw a couple other Richmond Tower residents out with their dogs. A pit bull. A Pekinese with a bow in its hair. Come to think of it, most of the dogs I’d seen at Richmond Towers were actual breeds. Not another mutt in sight. But as far as I was concerned, Dandy was cuter than any of them. I wasn’t sure how he related to other dogs, so I kept him on a tight leash and didn’t venture far into the park, even though the night was mild. How did people do this in the dead of winter? Or in the rain?

  Back in the penthouse, I put Dandy into P.J.’s room. The dog sniffed at my mom, then curled up on his rug beside the bed. “Good dog,” I whispered and closed the door.

  The light was still on in the den. Might as well face the music. I tapped on the door and peeked inside. Philip was at the computer, his back to me. I went inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. “Hi.”

  Thirty seconds went by. Then Philip slowly turned around in his swivel chair and leaned back. The desk lamp outlined his striking features with light and shadow. More seconds went by as he looked at me. Finally he said, “Just tell me, Gabby . . . Do you get a kick out of turning our household upside down? No warning, just showing up here with your mother. And the dog too! Good grief ! What were you thinking?”

  I held on to the doorknob behind me. “I didn’t plan it this way, Philip. But when we got to Minot, it was obvious my mom shouldn’t be living alone any longer. She—”

  “That’s what retirement homes are for.”

  “She’s on a waiting list, Philip.”

  “What about your Aunt Grace, or Mercy . . . whatever. She lives right in town.”

  I shook my head. “I asked. She works full-time—”

  “Like you don’t?” His voice was hard.

  “She doesn’t have a spare bedroom, either. She lives in a—”

  “And you think we do?”

  I counted to five. “Look. Will you let me finish? I spent most of the week trying to
line up in-home care for Mom—something to fill in the blanks until her name comes up for assisted living. But it wasn’t like I had two or three weeks! I only took a week off, and I had to get the boys back here in time to start sailing camp. And then Friday morning she tripped and hit her head—”

  “How long?”

  “How long what?”

  “Until her name comes up on the list for assisted living.”

  “Ah . . . maybe only three mon—”

  “Months?! Three months!” Philip vaulted out of his desk chair. I flinched. But he just threw up his arms. “Uh-uh. No! There is no way this penthouse is designed to be a mother-in-law apartment!” He stopped and jabbed a finger at me. “You know what the trouble with you is, Gabby? You just up and do whatever you want to do without considering anyone else. You go off half-cocked to see a homeless bag lady and end up with a job. You pine for the boys to come here, then leave them alone to get in trouble. You say you’re going to Minot for a visit, then you bring your mother and her mutt here, without even discussing it with me.”

  I pressed my lips together. He flopped into the chair again, one elbow on the armrest, rubbing his chin. After a few moments, I spoke. “I left you three messages—two here at home, one on your cell. Where were you this weekend?”

  His face darkened. “What does that have to do with any-thing? Did you expect me to sit around babysitting the phone all weekend?”

  “But I couldn’t get hold of you.”

  “I wasn’t here, Gabby. The Fenchels invited me to spend the weekend with them.”

  “At the casino again, no doubt.” It was a stab in the dark. But I could tell by the way his eyes twitched that I’d hit the bull’s-eye.

  “And the problem with that is . . . ?”

  “It’s gambling, Philip. Is that what we’re working for, to throw our money away like that?”