Who Do I Talk To? (16 page)

Lucy turned and stomped off like Billy Goat Gruff across his wooden bridge. “Huh. Of all the dang-blasted . . .”

I didn't hear the rest of her muttering. Probably just as well. My mother seemed bewildered by the sudden upset to her shelter routine, and I realized with a guilty stab that Martha Shepherd hadn't been outside the building the entire week—not since Mabel had agreed she qualified as “homeless” and could sign up on the bed list. But when Mom realized Dandy was coming along, she meekly submitted to me snapping her into the seat belt in the second seat of the Dodge Caravan.

“Wait!” I told Jodi as she started the engine. “Didn't Estelle come with you? Where is she? I didn't see—”

Jodi laughed. “Don't worry about Estelle. Harry Bentley and his grandson took her home.”

Harry Bentley.
Jodi and I looked at each other. “Ah. Young love,” she said, and we both cracked up.

Jodi found a through street that took her to Lake Shore Drive and headed north. I leaned back against the headrest of the front passenger seat and watched the parkland next to the lake fly by, the paths full of joggers, people walking dogs, parents pushing strollers, and bikers in Spandex and helmets weaving in and out, somehow managing to avoid running over anyone. And beyond that, Lake Michigan, a peaceful, flat line against the far horizon.

The second wind that had kept me going so far that day started to fizzle, and I felt my eyelids getting heavy.
Oh God, thank You . . . It feels so good to just sit, to be taken care of just a little bit . . .

chapter 16

“Gabby? We're here.”

“What?” I opened my eyes. Jodi was pulling the minivan into a two-car garage, next to a candy-apple-red Hyundai. “Oh, I'm sorry! I must have fallen asleep.” I glanced back into the second seat. “Good grief. We all slept like zombies—except you, I hope.”

Jodi laughed. “Got you here, didn't I? Come on. I'll see if Denny's here to carry Dandy inside.”

I shook my mom awake and helped her out of the car. “Nice car,” I murmured as we threaded our way past the Hyundai. “Denny's?”

“Ha! Doesn't he wish. No, it belongs to Stu, our friend who lives upstairs. Estelle's housemate.”

Denny Baxter, it turned out, was sprawled in a recliner in the living room, watching Saturday afternoon sports with two young cats parked on his chest, and he didn't seem the least bit fazed that his wife showed up with three extra warm bodies who were going to “stay the weekend,” as she put it. “Hey, great,” he said, dumping the cats. “And you brought Hero Dog? Ha! About time these two got dethroned.” He jerked a playful thumb at the disgruntled cats. Two big dimples creased his cheeks.

Jodi got iced tea for Mom and me, while Denny brought up a large cushiony dog bed from their basement and put it on the back porch near the porch swing. “I knew we'd need this again someday,” Jodi said. “Couldn't bear to throw it out after Wonka died.”

Denny carried a whimpering Dandy from the backseat of the minivan and settled him gently on the dog bed while Jodi showed us to our “guest rooms.” “Take your pick,” she said. “Sorry about all of Amanda's stuff in here. Even Josh left some of his stuff here when he got married. Can't blame him, though—their apartment is no bigger than a postage stamp . . . Say, do you guys want to finish your naps? You've had a long day—hey! Patches! Peanuts! Get out of here.” She snatched up the two cats—big kittens really, one calico and the other mostly black with white paws—and disappeared.

I was so tempted to crash. But it was already four o'clock. Told myself I should probably gut it out and just get a good night's sleep that night. But I encouraged Mom to lie down in Josh's old room—it had the least paraphernalia to trip over—with a light afghan over her, then made my way back through the Baxters' dining room and kitchen and out onto the back porch to check on Dandy.

Jodi was in the porch swing, husking corn on the cob. “I think the squeak of this old swing put Dandy to sleep.” She grinned, stopped the swing, and patted the seat beside her. “Come sit. You okay?”

I sat. The Baxters' backyard was narrow, with straggly flower beds running along the fence on both sides. The neighboring buildings were a combination of similar two-flats—brick, tidy, their garages facing an alley running behind the houses—and three-story apartment buildings. Trees lining the next street over and the occasional backyard softened the cityscape. A bird feeder hung from the corner of the Baxters' garage, and flower boxes decorated the railings of the back porch.

A far cry from the Fairbanks' parklike suburban home in Virginia, the lush lawn spilling over with flowering bushes and flower beds. And yet this tiny urban yard felt like an oasis of peace. “Incredible,” I murmured.

“Yeah, well, my family likes to pretend I have a green thumb. Denny made the flower boxes, and Amanda stenciled them—but the flowers would all be dead if Stu and Estelle didn't help me out.”

I shook my head. “Didn't mean the flower boxes. You and your husband . . . I mean, you brought me
and
my mom
and
a sick dog home without even telling him, and he didn't bat an eye.”

“Oh, Denny. He's pretty unflappable.” She laughed—then stopped herself when she saw the tears sliding down my face. “Sheesh. I'm sorry, Gabby. Me and my big mouth . . . Do you want to talk about it?”

I mopped my eyes with a bedraggled tissue I pulled out of my jeans pocket and shrugged. “Don't even know where to start . . .”

Jodi laid a hand on my arm. “Try the beginning. When did you two meet?”

Jodi was a good listener, asking a question from time to time, but mostly just letting me talk. And once I started, I could hardly stop. Not sure how she put it all together, because I jumped all over the place. Even told her about getting jilted by Damien, my high-school Romeo who turned out to be Casanova instead. “But Philip was different. He never messed with other women. I thought he really loved me . . .” I bit my lip. “And I loved him. Still do, I guess. My heart used to do flip-flops every time he walked in the room. He used to hold me, whisper in my ear, tell me I added spice to his life . . .”

Jodi handed me a clean tissue and waited patiently through another torrent of tears.

“But then . . . I dunno. He and his dad didn't get along in the business. Philip started trying to prove himself or something. Now he . . . he's like a different person! Not overnight or anything—guess that's the problem. Not sure when things started to go south. I got used to feeling like I was in his way, started second-guessing everything I said or did, worried about how he might react. And then . . . then this move to Chicago. Suddenly I felt like I'd landed on Mars, gasping for air . . .”

It was hard telling Jodi about Philip refusing to let my mother stay with us, deliberately losing the dog, and then locking me out of my own home. Jodi with her “unflappable” husband. Kind Denny. Funny Denny. Easygoing Denny . . .

I blinked back the hot tears that seemed to lurk behind my eyeballs.
What did I do wrong to get treated like a dog?!

I shook my head, trying to regain my composure. The
squeak, squeak
of the porch swing and birds flitting in the trees played like a simple melody against the far-off drone of traffic. I finally sighed. “Really, if I hadn't run into Lucy and ended up with the job at Manna House, I don't know what I would have done. Jumped off the roof or something.”

“From what I've heard, Manna House considers you a blessing.”

I looked sideways at Jodi. “Huh. Don't know about that. But . . . do you know what Mabel said to me when I applied for the job of program director? She said she believes God brought me to Chicago because He has a purpose for me at Manna House. Like that's the
real
reason God brought us here.”

“Really?” Jodi's eyes went wide. “She said that?”

I nodded. “Sometimes that's the only thing I hold on to. That, and this note Edesa left for me the other night.” I pulled the crumpled note out of my jeans pocket and handed it to her.

Jodi read it, absently tucking a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind one ear, a smile softening her pleasant features. She looked up. “Sounds like Edesa, all right. Isn't she something? She's older than Josh, you know—just a couple of years, but I think he fell in love with her while he was still in high school.” She looked at the note again. “Hm. Isaiah 49. Yeah, I love that verse. ‘See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands . . .' Powerful stuff. Did you read the rest of the chapter?”

I nodded. “Like a dozen times. But I don't know what she meant by that.” I pointed to the last line of the note.

Jodi read it aloud. “‘Dear Gabrielle, your parents gave you the right name. Live it!'” Now her smile widened. “Well, let's find out!”

“Find out? What do you mean?”

She jumped up and pulled me off the swing. “Come on.”

Two minutes later Jodi had booted up the computer in their dining room, which seemed to double as the family office, and was clicking through Web sites. I hunched over her shoulder, wondering what she was doing. “How do you spell your name?” she murmured. “Gabrielle, not Gabby.” She typed it into a search box as I spelled it out.

A moment later a page came up.
Feminine Names and Their Meanings
, it said. Jodi read it aloud: “‘Gabrielle. Meaning: Strong woman of God.'”

She turned away from the computer and, to my surprise, took my face in her hands. “‘Strong woman of God' . . . Yes, that's it, Gabby. Live your name.”

A male voice sailed down the hall from the living room. “Jodi! When's supper?”

“When you fire up the grill so we can throw on some chicken!” Jodi yelled back. She looked at me sideways and snorted. “Men!”

I was glad for the interruption.
Strong woman of God?
Maybe somebody else. How was I supposed to “live my name” when right now I felt about as courageous as an overcooked noodle?

We had a pleasant evening, just hanging out on the Baxters' back porch. Denny donned a big apron and wielded a mean pair of tongs over the hot charcoal grill set a few feet from the porch.

Stu and Estelle invited themselves for supper, thumping down the back outside stairs with a fresh fruit salad to go with the corn on the cob. My mom looked bright eyed, her cheeks pink after her nap, though she had a hard time keeping up with all the banter.

While we were eating, Dandy whined and struggled to get up, so Denny managed to get him into the yard, and the dog actually peed a little. Everyone on the porch clapped. “You go, Dandy!” Estelle yelled—and we all laughed at the pun.

And then I slept, curled up like a baby with one of Amanda Baxter's old teddy bears hugged against my chest . . . the first night I'd slept without nightmares or waking in panic since Philip locked me out of his life.

We went to church the next morning with Jodi and Denny. Estelle and Stu pulled out right behind us in the candy-apple-red Hyundai. As Denny drove into the parking lot of the shopping center that housed SouledOut Community Church, I felt as if I'd entered a time warp. Had it only been a
week
since Mom and I had come to church here while Philip took the boys on a sailing weekend with one of his clients? Only a week since he brought the boys home early, accusing me of losing that client over some dumb phone message I'd tried to deliver, and told me it was the last straw?

The longest week of my life.

I shook off the troubling thoughts. Didn't want to go there. Didn't want to lose the sense of peace that had surrounded me ever since Mom and I had walked through the Baxters' back door yesterday.

“Oh look, Gabby.” Mom pointed shamelessly as we came into the “sanctuary” that had been created out of a large storefront. “That nice Mr. Bentley is here too. And he has his son with him. About Paul's age, isn't he?”

“Grandson, Mom. And he looks a little younger than Paul.” Just the mention of my youngest wrapped coils of regret around my heart, but we smiled and waved at Mr. B, who was proudly introducing DeShawn to everyone who came within reach.

The music team started playing right then, and a young white man invited everyone to find a seat—“But don't sit down yet!”— and join in singing the first song.

“I thought Peter Douglass's wife was your worship leader,” I whispered to Jodi.

“Avis? She's one of them. People take turns.”

The young man did all right, I guess, but I'd kind of looked forward to the dignity and passion the middle-aged black woman had brought to the service the previous week. I had to smile as the keyboard, guitars, drums, and saxophone filled the room with music, inviting shoppers to peek in the glass windows along the large storefront. I'd been in Chicago for two and a half months, and in that time I'd gone to church more than I had in two and a half years—if I counted the Sunday Evening Praise at the shelter—and still hadn't stepped inside an actual church building.