by Neta Jackson
He started to laugh, a mirthless sound that was more like a sneer. “Good job, Gabby. Turn this around, make me the bad guy, just because I got to relax this weekend after putting in sixty hours at the office. But let’s get down to the bottom line. Tomorrow morning. I go to work. The boys go to camp. You’ll probably waltz off to work. So . . . just what are your plans for your mother—who, according to you, can’t stay alone? Drag her to the shelter with you? They’ll love that for sure.”
“Exactly. For a start.”
Philip rolled his eyes. “Of course. That’s your plan. Well, get this, Gabrielle Fairbanks.” He stood up abruptly and stabbed his finger at me again, making shadows on the wall that pierced the dim light. “You have one week to find another place for your mother and her mutt. One week. Or she goes back to North Dakota.”
chapter 38
We spent the night with our backs turned to one another. I woke up at two and couldn’t get back to sleep. Sliding out of bed and pulling on my robe and slippers, I felt around in my backpack for my Bible and tiptoed toward the living room, hoping I wouldn’t wake up the dog. I hadn’t kept up with my Bible reading the past two days, and I doubted the morning would be conducive, get-ting everyone up and out the door. On the way, I heated a mug of milk in the microwave, doctored it with honey, then curled up on the couch with just one lamp on.
So quiet. Peaceful.
Unlike the knot in my spirit.
I had to do something to get my mind off that disastrous conversation with Philip the night before. Even though I was only half-awake, I found my bookmark at chapter eleven of Matthew’s gospel, and plodded through the verses—until suddenly three words leaped off the page. “Come to Me . . .”
There it was! That was God talking to me, after all. I feasted on the verses at the end of the chapter. “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”
A yoke. I knew enough about farm animals to know that a yoke was a wooden frame that harnessed two oxen together so they could pull a load. I read the verses again and again, wanting so much to know what they meant. But all I knew for sure was that I fit the description of someone who was “weary and burdened.” Oh, God. I am so tired. Tired of the tension between Philip and me. Tired of trying to keep the peace. Tired of trying to live up to Philip’s expectations. And now, a big load on my shoulders. My mom needed care—but what? It felt like it was all up to me. And Philip had given me one week to figure it out?
I turned out the light and pulled an afghan over me right there on the couch. God, I sure could use some of that rest . . . And I fell asleep, dreaming that a voice kept whispering in my ear, “Come to Me.”
Philip took the boys to Burnham Harbor for the Youth Sailing Camp on his way to work the next morning, but he asked me to pick them up at four. “Call Enterprise and tell them we need the minivan for another week. Maybe we’ll lease a second car for the rest of the summer so you can cart the boys around.”
Philip’s announcement both surprised and pleased me. I didn’t mind taking the El to work, but we really did need a second car now that the boys were here. And if he was willing to take the boys to camp in the morning, I could work with that. Now all I needed to do was figure out what to do with my mother.
“Mom, would you like to see where I work? I plan activities at a shelter for homeless women. I know the staff would love to meet you—no, no, Mom. You already took your meds today. Those are for tomorrow, see? It has a T for Tuesday.”
“Oh.” She stared at the pillbox. “Would we be gone all day?”
“Well, yeah, pretty much.” Especially by the time I picked up the boys.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to stay with Dandy. I wouldn’t want to leave him in a strange place all by himself.”
She had a point. Could Dandy hold it all day? Would he get frustrated and chew up the furniture? But there was no way I was going to leave my mother alone all day either. Which is why the three of us ended up in the rental, heading down Sheridan Road toward Manna House, while I tried to devise some kind of brilliant excuse for showing up at work with a dog. He’s a therapy dog . . . I’m thinking of having a class in pet care . . . a watchdog would be a good idea for a women’s shelter . . .
In the end, I did what I always did—threw myself on Mabel Turner’s mercy. We showed up in the foyer of Manna House and I introduced my mother to Angela in the reception cubby, while making soothing noises to Dandy.
“Oh, what a sweet dog!” Angela came out of the cubby and bent down, letting Dandy lick her face. Instant friends. The Asian-American girl stood up. “And how nice to meet you, Mrs. Shepherd. Gabby keeps things interesting around here.” She laughed.
I could have kissed her. A perfect welcome.
Mabel heard the commotion and came out of her office. She looked professional as always—black slacks, tangerine short- sleeved sweater that brought out highlights in her warm, brown skin. Her eyebrows went up at the sight of the dog, but I hastily introduced her to my mother and then said, “We, uh, have a situation. I’ll explain later. But for right now, can I keep Dandy down in my office?”
Mabel gave a slight roll of her eyes but waved us off with a tolerant smile. The woman had the patience of Job—though I figured she’d used half of it up just on me in the past two months. So far, so good. I’d park Mom in the multipurpose room, take Dandy down to my office, and—
What I hadn’t figured on was the terrified screech that met us when we walked into the multipurpose room. “Eeek! Get that dog out of here! I’m scared of dogs!” A heavy-chested black woman I’d never met before jumped up, grabbed the nearest per-son, who happened to be Carolyn, and hid behind her, still yelling, “Go ’way! Go ’way!”
I don’t know who was more upset—the new resident, my mother, or Dandy. I expected Mabel to come bursting in any second and order us out.
“Oh, gimme a break, Sheila.” Carolyn untangled herself from the woman’s grip and came over to us, bending down and stroking Dandy’s head. “Atta boy. Good dog.” She called over her shoulder, “See? This dog’s a sweetie pie. What’s his name?”
Carolyn, bless every hair in her ponytail, chatted with my mom and glared at Sheila every time the woman started to freak out again. We finally made it downstairs, where I shut Dandy into my office, got two cups of coffee—black for my mom, cream for me—and tried to wrap my mind around catching up on the activity program after a week away while I had a dog underfoot, a list of senior facilities to call, and two boys I was supposed to pick up at four o’clock at Burnham Harbor, wherever that was.
As it turned out, Burnham Harbor was a straight shot down Lake Shore Drive, just beyond Soldier Field, the Chicago Bear’s “remodeled” football stadium. I snickered when my mom murmured, “Oh my. Looks like a flying saucer landed on top of a Roman coliseum,” because that’s exactly what it looked like. But at least there was no way I could miss my turnoff, and I managed to get to the harbor at ten after four.
The boys bragged all the way home about their new “expertise” handling a two-man 420 sailing dinghy. “And then we get to try a one-man Pico all by ourselves!” Paul was excited that Dandy had come along to pick them up, and immediately took the dog to the park for a good run when we got back to Richmond Towers.
I’d had a good long talk with Mabel before I left work, trying to bring her up-to-date on my latest crisis. She gave me her blessing to bring my mom to work that week and make calls to various senior facilities. I needn’t have worried about entertaining my mom. She seemed content to read or watch television or just sit, playing audience to the comings and goings at the shelter—much like many of the residents did between their case management meetings and trips to public aid. That is, until Carolyn the game-meister discovered that “Gramma Shep,” as the younger residents soon dubbed her, liked to play Scrabble and
old card games, like Rook. My mom started to look forward to “going to work” each day.
As for the dog . . . I really needed to find another solution. So far we’d had no major problems at home except for an excess of dog hair and Dandy’s tendency to growl when Philip first got home. But the dog was developing a real attachment to Paul. I even discovered Dandy on Paul’s bed one night when Mom’s door wasn’t tightly closed.
On Wednesday, the dining area outside my office clucked like a henhouse since the nurse was there. I put my mom’s name on the list and kept my office door cracked to hear when her name was called. Dandy kept wanting to nose the door open to check out all the excitement, but I finally got him to lie down and stay under my desk.
Estelle had a regular knitting club going with several of the women as they waited for their turn with the nurse. My mom’s eyes glittered, and she ended up helping two or three of the residents untangle the messes they made and pick up their stitches. But she was surprised when Delores Enriquez called out, “Martha Shepherd? You are next.”
I shut the door on Dandy and went behind the makeshift privacy booth with my mom, watching as Mrs. Enriquez gently did a brief workup—heart, breathing, reflexes, weight and height, eyes, organs. “You seem in good health, Señora Shepherd.” The sweet-faced nurse smiled encouragingly. “But your daughter says you had a fall last week?”
“Oh, that.” Mom seemed embarrassed. “It was nothing. Dandy didn’t mean to.”
Mrs. Enriquez eyed me curiously.
I nodded. “The dog was in the way, and Mom fell backward, hitting her head.”
“Mm. Probably should have had her checked out, but—”
“Hey!” a familiar voice croaked on the other side of the privacy divider. “What does a lady gotta do to see the nurse around here?”
I didn’t have to peek to know who it was, but I did just the same, and grinned.
Lucy Tucker, purple knit hat and all. And wet. It must be raining.
“That lady with the purple hat is interesting.”
“What?” I’d been thinking about the calls I’d made that day as we drove down Lake Shore Drive, windshield wipers on, to pick up the boys. All the retirement homes had waiting lists. Huh, big surprise. I did have a couple of good leads for in-home care, as well as elder day care—if Philip would back off his one-week ultimatum. Big if.
“That lady with the purple hat is interesting,” she repeated.
“You mean Lucy?”
“Yes. Her real name is Lucinda. Isn’t that a pretty name? She ran off with a boy when she was only sixteen because she got tired of moving from place to place every few months. I think they were migrant farm workers back in the thirties and forties. But she said Romeo—isn’t that funny? That’s what she called him, ‘Romeo’—dumped her when they got to Chicago. Never did find her family again, poor soul.”
I stared in astonishment at my mom as we pulled up to the clubhouse at Burnham Harbor. How did my mom know this? She’d only met Lucy this morning, yet she knew more about my favorite bag lady than I’d managed to discover in two months!
I wanted to ask if Lucy said anything about how she ended up on the street, but just then P.J. and Paul jumped into the mini- van, grousing about not being able to go out on the boats because of the rain. They’d spent the day tying sailors’ knots, learning how to pack sails, and touring some of the big yachts moored at the harbor. Don’t know what they were complaining about. A day at the docks sounded like fun to me.
Fortunately for the boys, the sun was out again the next day . . . but I was surprised to see Lucy still at the shelter. “Why shouldn’t I stick around, Fuzz Top? Somebody ’round here needs ta spend time with your mother, her bein’ a guest an’ all. Respect your elders, ya know? Come on, Martha, we can watch us some TV.”
I kept a straight face. Respect your elders? If I figured right, Lucy was at least five years older than my mom, maybe more. I peeked into the TV room an hour later, and the two of them were trying to outguess each other how the TV judge was going to rule in one of those civil courtroom shows. Correction: uncivil, by the tone of the plaintiff.
That day was the warmest we’d had so far, mid-eighties. Too nice to be inside all day. I let the boys take Dandy and their grand-mother for a walk in the park before supper, as long as they took my cell phone and promised to call if Grandma got too tired.
I was just about to call them to say supper was almost ready when the front door opened. “P.J.? Paul? That you?”
Philip appeared in the kitchen door, loosening his tie. “No, it’s me. Where are the boys?”
“Out in the park with my mom and the dog. I was just going to call—”
“Don’t.” My husband parked his briefcase on the counter. “We need to talk. It’s not that easy, you know, with a houseful of other ears.”
“O-kay.” I turned off the stove under the pan of pasta water and leaned against a counter. I had a feeling what was coming.
Philip sat on one of the counter stools. “So . . . have you found a retirement home for your mom?”
I felt like rolling my eyes. “You have to know they all have waiting lists. But I did find some good possibilities for in-home care—or, if we want, elder day care. I could drop her off every morning and pick her up after work. Really, Philip, she’s coming up on the list back in Minot. All we have to do is fill in a few months until her name—”
“No!” He got up and paced. “You said it might be three months. Might. I know how that goes. Three if we’re lucky, but probably six or eight or, who knows.” He stopped pacing and threw an arm wide. “Have you looked at this penthouse lately, Gabrielle? Dandy underfoot. Dog hair on the couch. More bickering because the boys have to bunk up when all could be solved if they had their own rooms again. And coming home to peace and quiet? Forget it. Everywhere I turn, there’s a warm body! Dog on the couch. Your mom watching some lame rerun on the plasma when I want to relax and watch TV.” He sat down again on the stool. “No. She’s got to go back.”
“Go back to what? She still shouldn’t be alone. She’s had two falls, Philip!”
“I don’t know. Get her a live-in companion. Whatever.”
“And how am I supposed to do that from Chicago? I’m already taking time from work to make calls. My boss has been very patient.”
“So quit the job already, Gabrielle. How many times do I have to tell you?”
I could feel my spine stiffening. “Why? According to you, my mom has to be out of here this week. The boys are perfectly happy at sailing camp for the next month. What am I supposed to—”
He snorted. “That’s just it. They’re not.”
I blinked. “They’re not what? Not happy?”
“Not going to sailing camp next week.” Philip’s jaw muscles tightened. “Some goofball got our application mixed up and put the boys down for only a one-week camp. Now they tell me the four-week camp is filled. There’s not another one until late July.”
I stared at him, speechless. Finally I licked my lips. “And you were going to tell me this when?”
“I’m telling you now. Good grief, Gabby. I just found out this morning.”
I felt like I was gasping for breath. “But . . . I can’t quit work just like that. I’d need to at least give two weeks’ notice, find people to cover my responsibilities, give them time to find some-one else.”
“Oh. Well, then”—his tone was sarcastic—“maybe I’ll just have to send the boys back to Virginia where there is someone who wants to take care of them.”
chapter 39
As I lay awake in bed that night, I kept telling myself Philip didn’t really mean it. Sometimes he threatened stuff just to bully his point. But the news about sailing camp was a huge blow. Humph. Was it really some administrative “goofball” who messed up? Maybe Philip had filled out the wrong application and didn’t want to admit it.
Does it matter, Gabby? Whatever happened, come Monday, the boys had no activities scheduled. Not to mention I
was under the gun to find a place for my mom, or send her back to North Dakota . . . no, I couldn’t just send her. I’d have to take her. Oh God, I groaned. What am I going to do? I felt as if walls were closing in on me, pressing in, no windows, no light, and I only had a fraction of airspace left . . .
In the bright light of day, as Mom and I drove to Manna House the next morning with Dandy sitting in the backseat, pressing his nose to the two-inch window opening, I realized I only had one choice. I would have to quit my job—or at least take several weeks off, maybe even the whole summer, until I got my family stuff squared away. Would Mabel hold my job for me? They’d been looking for a program director when I fell into the job. If I took off too much time, they might have to get someone else.
For some reason, the thought of not returning to Manna House was almost a physical pain, like a stab wound to my gut. Get a grip, Gabby. It’s just a job. I blinked away the tears before I ended up blubbering in front of my mom. Just do it, Gabby. Sit down with Mabel and tell her what you have to do. See what she says.
Except . . . Mabel wasn’t in. Again. “What?” I said to Angela at the front desk. “But I have to talk to her! Today!”
Angela shrugged, her black silken mane falling over one shoulder. “Sorry, Gabby. She’s at the hospital. Something about her nephew.”
“Her nephew?” I’d almost forgotten about the boy she was raising. She called him C.J., or something like that. “Was he in an accident?”
Angela shrugged again. “She didn’t say. Just said she wouldn’t be in today and couldn’t use her cell at the hospital.”
Oh, great. Now what was I going to do? Philip was in no frame of mind for me to tell him I couldn’t quit because my boss wasn’t in. But I couldn’t just not show up next week without talking to Mabel first! How unprofessional was that?
“Hola, Gramma Shep! You too, Dandy dog.” Aida Menéndez hopped off a chair as we came into the multipurpose room and gave my mother a hug. “Would you like some coffee? Black, right?”