Who Do I Talk To?, page 20
So that was it. “Found a place. Not sure we can afford it, though.”
The tears came fresh. “Oh, Miss Gabby. Don’t know what I’m gonna do. You got a place, Carolyn’s got a place—”
“Carolyn?” How did I not know that?
“Yeah, yeah. Over at Deborah’s Place. One o’ them studios. Her name came up—she been waitin’ almost a year. But she ain’t got no kids. But me an’ Sammy . . .”
I wrapped my arms around the girl and just let her cry. What could I say? As bad as my situation was, I had more options than Tanya did. If my mom had the money to help with the rent, we’d be out of there faster than Lucy’s disappearing act. And, Lee Boyer assured me, once my court case came up, I could soak Philip’s assets. One way or the other, my homelessness—and hopefully, my financial straits—were temporary.
But what about Tanya? And Precious, about to lose her apartment?
I got up, got another paper towel, and wet it in the bathroom sink. My reflection nodded at me from the mirror, like we were having a conversation. So, Gabby, you’re having a staff meeting tomorrow. Why don’t you suggest that Manna House get an apartment building and do subsidized housing for moms with kids? . . . Huh. I tried once. Mabel pretty much shot it down. Way too expensive . . . But would it hurt to explore the idea? There have to be buildings for sale in this neighborhood—like the building you looked at today. Wasn’t it for sale—?
I felt my skin prickle.
Yeah, right. How much would a building like that cost. Half a mil? More?
I stared at the woman with the curly chestnut “mop” in the bathroom mirror and sighed. Who was I to get on some bandwagon about affordable housing? For the past fifteen years I’d managed my monthly household allowance—period. I let Mr. Big handle everything else—and look where that got me. Nowhere. Just like Tanya.
Except . . . Tanya had one thing I didn’t have. I took the damp paper towel back to the girl to wipe her face. “At least you’ve got Sammy with you,” I murmured. “He’s a great kid.”
I was floating a couple of inches off the floor when I headed for the staff meeting the next morning, eager to share my news. Mom’s headache seemed to be gone when she woke, so I’d put the question to her. Would she be willing to share the rent for an apartment with me and the boys? “And Dandy?” she’d said. “Of course, Celeste.”
Hopefully getting my name mixed up with my older sister didn’t negate her positive answer. I’d called Aunt Mercy to check on Mom’s Social Security and monthly annuity to be sure our two incomes could float the rent for a while. What I’d do when Mom’s name came up for the assisted-living retirement home back in Minot was another “if.” I couldn’t take her money then.
Well, we’d jump that fissure in the plan when we got to it.
Coming into the schoolroom, I was surprised to see Peter Douglass along with the usual staff—Stephanie Cooper, Angela Kwon, Estelle Williams, Liz Handley, and Sarge. Mabel said Peter was there as president of the board. Some of the long-term volunteers—Josh Baxter, Precious McGill, and Delores Enriques, the nurse—filed in too.
Mabel started the meeting with a prayer of thanks for all God was doing at Manna House, and a few others jumped in with their own thanksgivings. I still wasn’t used to this conversational-type prayer, where people talked like God was sitting with the rest of us in the circle. Didn’t mean I didn’t like it. I added my own silent Thanks.
Then Mabel got down to business. “Peter, would you like to present our first update?” A small smile played around the corners of her mouth, softening her brisk demeanor.
The African-American businessman rubbed his hands together like a kid about to dive into a chocolate cake. “You bet! As all of you know, our little incident with the intruder and Mrs. Shepherd’s dog got us quite a bit of media attention a week ago.” He looked over at me. “By the way, how is Dandy doing, Gabby?”
“Coming along. A little stiff. Supposed to get the stitches out on Wednesday.”
“That’s good. Anyway, as most of you know, it also generated some unexpected contributions . . . which have continued to come in.”
Murmurs went around the circle. Last Monday Mabel had said around two thousand. Had it doubled?
Peter was grinning. He wore middle age well. Touches of gray above his ears, always in a suit and tie. I’d always thought he and Avis, who’d led the Yada Yada Prayer Group when I was there, made a handsome couple. Somebody said they’d only been married a couple of years, a second marriage for her after her first husband died of cancer.
“We don’t know what the final tally will be,” he was saying. “These things tend to taper off pretty quickly when the story gets old. But right now, Dandy’s Fund, as we’re calling it, has a little over ten thousand dollars—”
“Ten thousand!” A cheer went up. “Hallelujah!” “Praise Jesus!”
I was stunned. Right away my mind started clicking.
“. . . so the board decided to act on a request that came to our attention recently, to get a fifteen-passenger van to assist our program director in—”
“Wait!”
All eyes turned on me. “Yes, Gabby?” Mabel said.
“Uh . . . uh . . . I know I requisitioned a van. Didn’t really think we’d get one, but—”
Laughter tripped around the room. “Know whatchu sayin’,” Precious hooted. “Guess the age of miracles ain’t past!”
I barreled on. “But can we talk about this a little more? I mean, ten thousand dollars?! Maybe we should use it on something more substantial, like buying another building, a six-flat or something, you know, to develop some second-stage housing for moms with kids—like Tanya and Sammy, who shouldn’t be staying in emergency housing for months on end, or—”
“Whoa. Slow down, Gabby.” Peter Douglass frowned. “Another building? It took us two years to raise the funds to rebuild this one!” He spread his hands out. “I can appreciate the idea, but these contributions don’t constitute that kind of funding.”
“But—”
Liz Handley, the former director, jumped in. “I like Gabby’s vision. I think we’d all like to see more options for homeless moms with kids . . .”
Thank you, Rev. Handley.
“. . . but Peter’s right. Minimum down payment on property is at least 5 percent. With ten thousand down . . .” Liz squinted, as if mentally running numbers in her head. “Biggest mortgage we could get would be $200,000.” She shrugged and shook her head. “Don’t think we could find even a two-flat for that. And then there’d be monthly payments.”
I pressed my lips together. For one skinny moment, I’d thought we could give Tanya some hope.
“Now a van . . .” Peter Douglass eased his grin back into the fray. “Ten thousand won’t buy a brand-new one, but I’m sure we can find a good used one for that.”
Heads nodded all around, and Mabel moved on to the next item on her agenda. I sighed. I should be grateful. Really I should. After all, I was the one who sent a requisition to the board. With a van, I could take residents to the museums, plan trips to special events in the city, like the Taste . . .
“Wait!”
Mabel rolled her eyes. “Gabby!”
Precious guffawed. Estelle covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, it’s just . . . is there any chance we could get that van today? I mean, tomorrow’s July Fourth, and it’s the last day of the Taste of Chicago. With a van I could take some of the residents and . . . what?”
Polite chuckles had turned to outright laughter. “Now, that would be a miracle,” Sarge snorted.
Josh Baxter came to my rescue. “Even if we had a van today, you don’t want to drive to the Taste, Mrs. Fairbanks. It’s a parking nightmare. Take the El.”
“But on Saturday . . . didn’t you—?”
“Nope. We took the kids on the El and picked up my folks’ minivan later.” The young man grinned. “That’s okay. It takes awhile to get used to Chicago.”
Mabel gave me the eye. “We appreciate your enthusiasm, Gabby. Sounds like a plan. But can we move on now?”
“Okay.” My head jerked up at a familiar sound. “Wait . . .”
“Gabby!” Several voices chimed together.
I held up a hand. “No, I mean it. Listen.”
The room quieted . . . and then we all heard it. Dandy barking. Angry voices. I sprang for the door, pulled it open, and ran down the hall and into the multipurpose room. A knot of resident women were clustered at the open doors leading into the foyer, fussing at the top of their lungs. Pushing through them, I saw two muscular police officers, one black, one white, with blue shirts and black bulletproof vests standing in the foyer. The black officer had Dandy’s leash, while the white officer held Lucy’s arm in a tight grip as the old woman struggled to pull her arm away, muttering every curse word she could think of. Dandy barked and growled, while several voices behind me complained, “Leave ’er alone” and “Dumb cops,” in loud voices.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, startling myself with my sharp tone.
The black cop stepped up. “You in charge here, lady?”
“No. But that’s my dog. What’s the problem?”
The man looked down at Dandy. “Is this the Hero Dog we’ve been hearing about on TV?”
“Some people call him that. Is there a problem?”
The two officers cast a quick glance at each other. “Depends. We saw this, uh, derelict person here with the dog, and she tried gettin’ away from us. We thought maybe she was stealing the dog. We brought them here in the squad car to check it out.”
Lucy jerked her arm from the officer’s grip. “I tol’ these uniforms I’m jus’ walkin’ the dog, but they treatin’ me like some two-bit looter, hoofin’ it with hot loot.”
I took the leash from the officer and handed it to Lucy. “She’s right. Lucy is Dandy’s caregiver.”
The two officers squirmed. “So why’d she run, then?”
Mabel, followed by Peter Douglass and several other staff, now pushed through the knot at the double doors. “I’m the director of Manna House. Is there a problem, Officer?”
Grateful to be let off the hook, I laid a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder. The old lady angrily shrugged it off and marched toward the multipurpose room with Dandy at her heels. The crowd in the doorway parted like the Red Sea, then closed after them.
The front door buzzer blatted. Good grief, it was like a zoo in the foyer. I tried to duck out, but someone yelled, “Somebody askin’ for Mrs. Fairbanks!”
What now ? Two strangers stood on the front steps, looking bewildered as the two policemen passed them. Beyond them I could see a van that said Pet Support for Seniors on the side. “Oh! Come on in. This is great. Hope it all fits in your van.”
Rounding up some of the residents to help, I showed the Pet Support people where the donated dog food was stored, and they set to work. As I went back through the multipurpose room, I saw Lucy refilling Dandy’s food and water dishes, which had been moved temporarily so he wouldn’t have to go up and down so many stairs.
I detoured to their corner. “Lucy? Are you all right?”
“Humph,” she muttered. “You the one tol’ me to avoid all them reporters and people makin’ a fuss over Dandy.”
“I know.” I hadn’t meant she should run from the police, but I bit my lip.
“Them cops always pickin’ on homeless folks. ‘Can’t be here.’ ‘Can’t go there either.’ ‘Don’t bother people.’ ‘Just go ’way.’”
“I’m so sorry, Lucy. They don’t know you like we do.”
Dandy finished his water, then laid down on the floor with a whumph. Lucy looked sideways at me from under her purple knit hat. “That true what you said?”
“What I said?”
“Yeah. ’Bout me being Dandy’s caregiver.”
I grinned. “True. Don’t know what my mom and I would do without you.” And this time she didn’t push me away when I gave her a hug.
chapter 29
I waved as the Pet Support people pulled away from the curb with their van full of dog food. If I hurried, I might catch the rest of the staff meeting. Just needed to put the donation receipt on Mabel’s desk—
But Mabel was back in her office.
“Everybody gone? Yikes. Sorry. Guess I missed the rest of the meeting.” I handed her the receipt. “But at least all that dog stuff got taken care of—except for the cuddle toys. Precious suggested we keep those for kids who end up at the shelter with their mothers.”
Mabel rubbed her forehead. “Mm. And which bunk room have you filled up with Pluto and Snoopy?”
“Uh, well, right now they’re in my office. Still looking for an extra closet . . . oh. Before I forget. Do you think we can use some of the Dandy Fund to give the ladies a bit of fun at the Taste of Chicago tomorrow? Ten bucks each? And CTA passes?”
“CTA passes are for trips to the doctor or public aid office—”
“And field trips! Field trips are in the program budget, you know.”
Mabel wagged her head and sighed. “You do have a way of keeping things on the edge around here, Gabby Fairbanks.”
“Well, good news, then. Instead of 24/7, I’ll only be here daytimes. I found an apartment.” I flopped down in her extra chair.
“Really?” Now Mabel looked interested. “Tell me.”
I ran through the details. “My lawyer at Legal Aid told me about it.” I didn’t say he’d taken me to see it and we had lunch afterward. “And if Mom and I put our money together, we ought to be able to make the rent.”
Mabel raised an eyebrow. “What happens when your mother’s name comes up on the assisted-living list back in North Dakota?”
Gee. Couldn’t she say, “That’s great!” or something? Why did she always get to the sticking point? “Well, uh, hopefully by then my court case against Philip will be far enough along, I’ll be able to get my fair share of assets. Or something.”
Angela stuck her head in the door. “Phone call for Gabby.” Mabel started to reach for her desk phone, but Angela shook her head. “It’s male,” she hissed.
I hid a grin. “Probably my lawyer. I’ll take it in my office, Angela. Tell him to hold.” Scurrying downstairs, I flipped on the light in my office and reached for the phone. Why’d he call on the Manna House phone? Had Lee lost my cell number?
“Gabby speaking.” Silence. “Hello?”
Then his voice. “Gabrielle.”
Philip! I caught my breath. Why was he calling?
“I see you were in the penthouse while I was out.” A statement. Not a question.
“Yes.” I matched his tone—crisp, level, with a slight challenge—and pressed my lips together to keep from explaining or making an excuse.
“How did you get in?”
“I still have a key to our penthouse, Philip.” I dropped “our” in there.
“Why? Did you want to see me? Get something?”
“I thought you were moving this weekend. But obviously not. Where were you?”
The pause lasted a full second. “That’s my business. I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“Nor to your mother or your sons, it seems. No one knew you were out of town.” Oops. I wouldn’t know either if Mr.
Bentley hadn’t said he’d seen him leave with a suitcase.
“Who said I was out of town?” Now his tone heated. “I don’t like this spying, Gabrielle.”
I kept my voice even. “I’m not spying, Philip. I thought you were moving. We need to talk about our household goods. I found an apartment, and I need to furnish it.” Which was true, even though I’d visited the penthouse before I knew about the apartment.
“An apartment?” He sounded off step. “How—”
“Like you said, Philip. My business.”
For the first time I could remember, Philip Fairbanks didn’t shoot back. And I was still standing.
I caught Estelle alone in the kitchen after lunch cleanup, making potato salad for the next day’s holiday, and told her about Philip’s phone call.
“Good for you, honey. ’Bout time you stood up to that man!”
“But it was strange, Estelle. I couldn’t figure out why he called. I mean, I thought he’d really yell at me when he found that glass with my lipstick on it. But he just asked why I’d been in the penthouse.”
Estelle chuckled as she cracked and peeled hard-boiled eggs under cold running water. “Humph. Probably wondered why you didn’t trash the place. He would’ve, if you’d tossed him out.” She shuffled over to the fridge, stuck the egg bowl in it, and grabbed a bag of potatoes.
“Yeah, well, that would’ve been stupid of me, wouldn’t it? Since it’s my stuff too. I told him I’m going to need my things when I get my apartment.”
She looked at me sharply. “What apartment? You know somethin’ I don’t know?”
“Yeah, well, I was going to tell the staff this morning, but we kind of got interrupted. My lawyer found it for me.” I gave her a quick rundown of Lee Boyer’s call and our Sunday rendezvous.
“Hm. Who’s this Lee Boyer? Sounds a bit overzealous to me.”
“Oh, come on, Estelle. He’s been really helpful.”
“Uh-huh. Really helpful.” She shook a potato peeler at me. “You be careful, young lady. Don’t you go runnin’ after the first man who sweet-talks you. You gonna need some time to untangle yourself from this Philip mess ’fore you be thinkin’ clearly.”
“Good grief, Estelle. He’s just my lawyer. He knows I have to get a place to live before I can get the boys back.” Was he just my lawyer? When I talked with Lee, I always felt so . . . safe. But maybe that’s how a good lawyer should make you feel.
The pile of peeled potatoes was growing.
“Uh, Estelle, how much food are you making for tomorrow? You know I’m trying to pull together a trip to the Taste. If Mabel agrees to spring some of that Dandy Fund for an outing, we’ll be gone most of the day. And fireworks . . . maybe we’ll even stay for the fireworks.”
“No you won’t.”
