Where Do I Go?

by Neta Jackson

  My mother beamed.

  “There she is!” hollered Lucy. “Carolyn’s been buggin’ the daylights outta me to play her some Scrabble, but them word games ain’t my thing. C’mon over here, Miz Martha, and take her down a peg or two.”

  In spite of feeling like my life was spinning out of control, I had to laugh. You’d think my mother was a regular fixture at Manna House, the way the residents had taken her under their wing. And Lucy, of all people! Here it was, hiking into the nine-ties today, and Miss Disappearing Act was still hanging around the shelter. Thank You, God. That’s all I can say . . . thank You.

  Estelle was banging around the kitchen, already working on lunch, when I came downstairs. I tried to sneak into my office with Dandy without her seeing me, but no sooner had I shut the door and got Dandy settled than it opened again, and Estelle stuck her head in. “I know when I’m being avoided. What’s goin’ on, girl?”

  I shook my head, but all that did was slosh out the tears that I’d been holding back for the past twelve hours, and the next thing I knew, I was bawling into Estelle’s broad bosom, her warm, brown arms around my shaking shoulders. When I finally got hold of myself, I told her about the catch-22 I was in. “. . . And even if I—hic—quit my job here,” I added, “I still don’t know how I’m going to take care of the—hic—boys and take my mom back to North Dakota. I mean, it might take me a week or more back there to line up the care she needs until her—hic—name comes up on the list for assisted living.”

  “Mm-mm-mm.” Estelle brushed my hair back off my damp face, tucking a misbehaving curl behind my ear. “Now listen, Gabby Fairbanks. I don’t believe God brought you this far to leave you now. He’s gonna make a way, just you wait an’ see. Mm-hm. But I sure would like to give that man o’ yours a piece o’ my mind. Or . . .” She started to chuckle. “Maybe I oughta sic Harry on him. Now, there’s a man.”

  I sniffled and blew my nose. “Harry? Who’s Harry?”

  I could swear Estelle blushed, though it was hard to tell under her creamy brown skin. “You know. Harry Bentley. The doorman at your place who—”

  My mouth dropped open—and then I started to laugh. “His name is Harry? Bald Mr. Bentley’s first name is Harry?” My shoulders started shaking again, but this time it was laughter draining all the tension from my body. And before I knew it, Estelle was laughing too, laughing so hard she had to wipe away the tears.

  I was glad I’d spilled my guts to Estelle and got that out of the way. By the time Edesa Baxter came flying in the door to teach her Friday morning Bible study, her hair enveloped in a multicolored head wrap and Gracie riding in a sling made from a long length of cloth on her hip, I was able to give her a warm hug without falling apart. But I felt a pang as I held out my arms to the baby. Would this be the last time I’d see Edesa and Gracie for a while?

  “Where has your mama been keeping you all week, chica?” I said, smooching Gracie’s cheek and neck until she squealed with laughter. I turned to Edesa. “I haven’t seen you, ’Desa, since I got back from North Dakota. Did you finally have the hearing while I was gone? What happened?”

  Edesa nodded, her expression tentative. “Sí. Mabel Turner and Reverend Handley both came to the hearing to testify about the note Carmelita left me before she died.” Strain crept into her voice. “The honcho’s DNA test came back positive, though. As far as they know, he is Gracie’s father. The caseworker at DCFS tried to encourage us. He’s on parole and has no income right now, though the judge gave him a month to get his life together, and then she’ll make a ruling.” She swallowed. “But we are still praying. We . . . have to trust God.”

  “Oh, Edesa. I will keep praying too.” I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a long hug. Then . . . “Hey, come on. There’s someone I want you to meet. The residents have dubbed her Gramma Shep, can you believe it?”

  I left my mom in Edesa’s Bible study but didn’t stay, and I didn’t offer to look after Gracie either. I had too much to do. I tried Mabel’s cell several times that day, but only got her voice mail. I didn’t leave a detailed message, just asked her to call me at her earliest convenience, even on the weekend. I still had a few leads to call about my mom—one was like a “group home” for senior adults, only five other residents, and yes, they had an opening for one more. My heart beat faster. Was this our answer?

  I made an appointment for tomorrow—Saturday—at eleven o’clock.

  At the end of the day, I didn’t say good-bye to anyone. I couldn’t tell others I was resigning before I had even told Mabel. I would just have to come in on Monday. Philip would have to grant me that much, especially when he saw I had decided to resign. And to be honest, I still needed a couple of days to leave the program—such as it was so far—in good shape for someone else to pick up.

  I was surprised, however, when I picked up the boys and they talked as if they were going back to sailing camp next week. Didn’t Philip say anything to them? Well, I wasn’t the one who was going to break the news to them . . . and I told Philip as much when he got home that evening.

  “Don’t break into a sweat, Gabby.” Philip actually seemed in a good mood. “I’ve got a surprise for the boys that ought to make up for sailing camp. I was telling Lester Stone about the boys learning how to sail, and he invited me and the boys on a two-day sail this weekend—perfect for Father’s Day, eh? He said they’d learn more in two days of sailing his yacht than in four weeks on a dinghy.”

  I flinched. P.J. and Paul on a sailboat all weekend? “But what about the weather? Isn’t it supposed to rain this weekend?”

  “Don’t worry about it! You know Chicago weather—a thunderstorm rolls through, and then the sun comes out. Besides, Lester says if the lake gets too choppy, we’ll just pull into the nearest harbor.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but told him I had news too—a group home that might work out for my mom. “And I’ve decided you’re right. I need to resign from my job, or at least take an extended leave. But I couldn’t put in my resignation today. My boss had an emergency and was out of the office. I’ll have to go back at least one or two days next week to finish up.”

  Philip narrowed his eyes. “And what’s supposed to happen those days? You always do this, Gabby! Take a simple request and bend it like a pretzel to go your way.”

  “I’m trying, Philip! It’s not a simple request, and I’m doing my best!”

  “Yeah?” He snorted. “Well, as usual, your best just isn’t good enough, Gabrielle.”

  I was so glad Philip and the boys left early the next morning for their sailing date with Lester Stone. Philip’s words had stung, and I really needed some time to get my head together. Or my heart.

  Mom was still asleep, so I took Dandy out and then got another cup of coffee and curled up on the couch with my Bible. Hadn’t cracked it even once in the past week . . . where was I? Dandy jumped up and rested his head in my lap. I found my place at chapter twelve and started reading. Good grief, Jesus really lit into the religious leaders who kept finding fault with Him, calling them a “brood of snakes.” I laughed out loud. I’d have to remember that next time Philip criticized me. I mean, if Jesus could do it . . .

  As I read further, Jesus said He couldn’t expect anything else from them. Their hearts were evil. And, He said, the stuff that comes out of our mouths reflects what’s in our hearts. I thought about that. I didn’t think Philip was evil. Maybe that’s why I felt devastated when he said hurtful things—I kept expecting him to be good. That’s all I wanted, just to love my husband and be loved back, to be a family.

  Which is why I teared up at the end of the chapter when Jesus’ family interrupted what He was doing and wanted Him to come with them. Jesus basically said, “Who is my family? The people who love God and serve Him—that’s my family.”

  I closed the Bible and hugged it to my chest. Dandy snuggled closer now that there was more room on my lap. I remembered that scripture from my Sunday school days. I always thought Jesus’ reply was kind of rud
e. But it made more sense to me now.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned. “I don’t want to have to choose between my husband and kids and the new family You’ve been giving to me!” But I knew which “family” had been feeding my spirit and bringing me closer to God.

  chapter 40

  Mom took forever to sort out her various meds and vitamins into the seven-day pillbox, but at least I still had the rental car, so we made it to our appointment on time. This time I left Dandy behind. We weren’t going to be gone that long.

  The “group home” was a Victorian three-story in Rogers Park, with a wraparound porch, wedged between two six-flats. The whole neighborhood was oddly incongruent—older, once-noble homes in various stages of upkeep left standing here and there as apartment buildings crowded in.

  The houseparents seemed nice, a white couple in their mid-fifties, and the home was pleasant enough. Three meals a day and housekeeping. A social worker came once a week to assess needs and arrange transportation to medical appointments. But I was perturbed to learn that the other five residents were all men. “We’d be happy to accommodate your mother if she’d feel comfortable here,” the husband said.

  “What about Dandy?” Mom said. “My dog.”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman smiled. “No pets.”

  I should have seen that coming. “Mom, any retirement home we find will have the same rule. Maybe”—I went out on a limb—“we can take care of Dandy for a while.”

  But my mom was still shaking her head. “No. I would be the only woman. That wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Mom,” I said, lowering my voice. “It’s only for a few months. Then we can take you back to Minot when your name comes up on the list for the home there!”

  “A few months?” The male supervisor shook his head. “I’m sorry. We require at least a twelve-month contract—which, of course, is void if the guest, um, passes before that time. We try to keep our guest list as stable as possible. Turnover is always an adjustment in a home this small.”

  My mind scrambled. Should I sign up anyway? This was the only choice I had! But if Mom’s name came up back in Minot in three, or even six months, she might lose her place there if we didn’t take it right away. And if we took her back there when her name came up, we’d be stuck having to pay the unused months here!

  “Uh, thank you so much.” I stood up. “We need to think about this a bit more.”

  But I hit the steering wheel in frustration when we got back in the car.

  “I’m sorry, Gabby.” My mom’s lip trembled. “Why can’t I just stay with you?”

  “Oh, Mom . . .” How could I explain? “I wish you could.” But the wistfulness in my mother’s voice wrenched my heart. We were both in danger of losing it. “Hey. I’ve got an idea.” I’d seen a Supercuts near the El stop where I got on the train. “Let’s stop by the beauty shop and get your hair done. What do you say?”

  As we headed down Sheridan Road, it suddenly occurred to me that my mom hadn’t called me by the wrong name for a whole week. Maybe consistent presence and regular interaction helped her memory.

  The answering machine was blinking when we finally got back to the penthouse around two o’clock. “Let me check this, and then I’ll make some lunch!” I called out to my mom, who was laughing at Dandy’s excited welcome-home dance in the gallery.

  “Do you like my new hairdo, Dandy?” I heard her say. “You think it’s too short?”

  I punched the Play button. “You have one new message” . . . “Gabby? Are you there? It’s me, Henry. I just got off the phone with Bill Robinson, and we’ve got a problem. I know Philip’s out on the boat with Lester Stone, but I really need to get him on a three-way with Robinson before Monday. Do you know how to reach him? I tried his cell, but it didn’t even give me his voice mail. If he calls, or if Stone has a radio or something, just tell Philip it involves the Robinson deal and to give me a call ASAP—today if possible. Thanks, Gabby.”

  Oh, great! Why did Henry have to leave this in my lap? Philip had said their cell phones might be out of range, and I could contact the Coast Guard in an emergency. The boat had a ship-to- shore radio. But I didn’t think the Coast Guard would think a business call was an “emergency.” All I could do was—

  Wait a minute. I listened. The house was too quiet. “Mom? Dandy?” A quick look through the house confirmed my suspicion. Mom must have taken the dog down the elevator to do his business! I ran into the hallway and jiggled the Down button. Oh, Mom, please don’t get lost . . .

  But there she was, across the frontage road along the edge of the park, walking Dandy on his leash while the dog sniffed at bushes and lifted his leg. I laughed in relief and joined them until a light drizzle chased us inside. “My goodness!” Mom said as we rode back up the elevator to the thirty-second floor. “And I thought it was hot in North Dakota! But this humidity . . . I was already wet before the rain started.”

  By the time we ate our lunch, it was three o’clock, and Mom was ready for a nap. I took a peek out the windows in the front room—gray and rainy across the lake. Oh, dear. Not the greatest day for a sail. And then it occurred to me that I had a perfect excuse to find out how my kids were doing: Henry wanted me to contact Philip.

  I grinned as I dialed Philip’s cell. No one could accuse me of being an anxious mother. I had to deliver a message to my husband, right? But all I got was a funny beep. It didn’t even ring. Just in case, I tried leaving a quick message for Philip to call Henry ASAP and hung up. Okay, plan B. Philip had left Lester Stone’s cell number on the fridge along with the Coast Guard number. I dialed. It rang . . .

  “Yeah? Stone here.”

  “Oh! Lester? This is Gabby Fairbanks! Sorry to bother you. I need to speak to Philip. It’s business.”

  “Ha-ha. Knew we should’ve left our phones home. Your husband’s a little preoccupied right now. He and the boys are trying to bring down the jib. We’ve got some waves here . . . Can I give him a message?”

  My heart lurched a little at what “we’ve got some waves here” meant. But I said, “Sure! Tell him his partner, Henry, needs him to call ASAP. Something about the Bill Robinson deal.”

  “Hang on . . .” There was a lot of wind static in my ear, then Lester Stone came back on. “Did you say Bill Robinson?”

  “Yes! But Philip should call Henry about it, not Robinson, okay?”

  A slight pause. “Okay, got it. Gotta go.”

  I’d wanted to ask if they were going to pull into a harbor and get out of the weather, but the phone went dead. Oh, well. I delivered the message. That ought to earn me some brownie points with Philip.

  I turned on the TV and kept it on the weather channel the rest of the afternoon. And tried to remember the psalm that said, “When I am afraid, I will trust in God . . . I trust in God, why do I need to be afraid?”

  I swam up out of my dreams into consciousness the next morning, fighting off panic. Not about the boys. God had given me peace that they were going to be all right—wet, maybe, but not in danger. But I realized it was Sunday, Philip was coming home, and the only possibility I’d found for my mom had fallen through.

  It was all so unfair!

  I made coffee, rehearsing a speech in which I would ask Philip for more time. Begging for mercy was more like it. And I hated feeling that way.

  My mom came into the kitchen dressed in a navy blue suit and a white blouse with the tag sticking out. “What time are we leaving for church, Gabby?” I started to tuck it in when I realized she had the blouse on inside out.

  I put on a smile. “Uh, nine thirty. Church starts at ten.” I knew my mom would expect to go to church. At work on Friday, I’d looked at the schedule and realized that SouledOut Community Church was on for Sunday Evening Praise this weekend. Of all the groups who led the weekly evening service, so far SouledOut had been my favorite. But it was likely that Philip and the boys would just be getting home from their sailing trip Sunday evening. Why not go to SouledOut in the morning? It was just Mo
m and me. At least we’d see some familiar faces—Josh and Edesa, Josh’s parents, Avis and Peter Douglass, even Estelle!

  The directions I’d gotten from Estelle took me straight up Sheridan Road to Howard, and then west about a half mile to a shopping center by the Howard Street El Station. I pulled the minivan into the parking lot at five minutes to ten.

  My mother craned her neck. “I don’t see any church.”

  I pointed to a sign on one of the large storefronts: “SouledOut Community Church.” The air was still misty with leftover rain as we dodged puddles on our way across the parking lot. Drat. My hair would be totally frizzed by the time we got inside.

  When we walked through the double glass doors into the large friendly room, however, I forgot to worry about my hair. “Mrs. Fairbanks!” Peter Douglass gripped my hand, his smile warm, his dark eyes delighted. “What a pleasure to see you here. And who is this charming lady?” The well-groomed businessman took one of my mother’s pale hands in both of his brown ones. She seemed startled.

  Smiling big, I introduced my mother and added, “Mr. Douglass is one of the board members at Manna House.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely.” Mom gave me a quizzical look. “What’s Manna House?”

  I barely had time to remind her that that was where I worked, when Josh and Edesa Baxter swooped down on us, and right on their heels, Josh’s parents. Denny Baxter was carrying Gracie, his smile betraying the two large dimples in his cheeks. Edesa gave me a big hug. “Oh, Gabriela! I have good news! . . . Well, it’s bad news in one way, but good—”

  Just then the worship band launched into a song. and over the music a woman called out, “Good morning, church! Let’s find our seats and begin our worship this morning with ‘Shout to the Lord’!” I thought the voice sounded familiar and looked over Edesa’s head. At the front of the room I saw Peter Douglass’s wife, Avis, face glowing as the song began to roll: “Shout to the Lord, all the earth, let us sing . . .”