Who Do I Talk To? (45 page)

There was a brief hesitation at the other end of the phone.

“The
building
? I think he's asking six hundred. Why, are you—”

“Six hundred thousand?” I repeated for Jodi's sake. “Really? I thought it'd be even more.”

“Are you thinking of buying? That must be some inheritance.”

I laughed, feeling a bit giddy. “Not that much. But I might have enough for a down payment. Manna House needs a six-flat for homeless mothers with children, and I thought—”

“Gabby. Gabby! Whoa, slow down. Don't go making any rash decisions! Hey, promise me? One thing at a time. You need to be smart about this.”

I felt a prickle of irritation. But what did I expect? It was a wild idea. “Well, don't worry. I don't even have the money yet.

What I do have is a van full of furniture and household stuff for my new apartment. Can I get in yet? Is Mr. What's-his-name done with the refurbishing?”

Lee said he'd check it out and let me know when I could get the key. “Glad you're back, Gabby. Glad the apartment is working out for you too. Now we can move on the custody petition ASAP.

As for the other . . . well, let's talk.”

“Okay. Thanks, Lee.” I closed the phone. “He thinks it's crazy.”

Jodi grinned. “It
is
crazy. The question is, is it
God's
crazy idea? If it is, it doesn't matter what Mr. Lawyer thinks.”

As we came into the city on the expressway, Lee called back on my cell and said I could get the key the next day—Thursday—and move in any time after that. “Well, at least we won't have to unload the van tonight,” I told Jodi. “Hope no one needs it before tomorrow night.”

“Denny and I'll come down and help you unload,” Jodi said as she turned off the expressway and headed for her Rogers Park neighborhood on city streets.

“You don't have to do that, Jodi.”

She grinned. “Oh yes I do. I want to see this building you're moving into, want to see just how crazy this idea of yours is, and”—her grin widened—“maybe even pray over the building too. You know, claim it for God.” Now she laughed. “That's what the Yada Yada sisters would do, anyway.”

I sighed. “I like that. Hope some of their faith rubs off on me.”

We dropped Jodi off at her two-flat in Rogers Park, our goodbye hugs wrapped with the realization that our week together on the road had deepened our new friendship for both of us. Lucy even let Jodi give her a hug—not her usual MO. Back in the driver's seat, I drove south on Sheridan Road, under the Red Line El tracks that crossed over just north of Wrigleyville, and pulled up a few blocks later in front of Manna House.

“Home again . . . more or less,” I told Lucy, shutting off the motor. I closed my eyes a weary moment, my heart full.
God, thank You for keeping us safe, for . . . for everything You've done the past few—
“My butt's sore,” Lucy grumbled. “Can you unlock these doors or what?”

So much for prayers. We straggled in the front doors of the shelter—even Dandy was limping, stiff from lack of exercise—and got a welcome screech from Angela Kwon in the receptionist cubicle. Mabel came out of her office to see what all the noise was about, and Lucy immediately insisted on trading in the borrowed suitcase for her wire cart. I left her busily rearranging her belongings in the foyer. Dandy and I tried to navigate our way through the multipurpose room but were cornered by a handful of shelter kids who fell on Dandy with hugs and kisses, which Dandy was happy to return.

I snuck off to unpack and clean up before supper, which was brought in that night by a service group from a local Kiwanis Club. The men, mostly middle-aged, looked pretty funny in the white hairnets required of all food workers, but they took the kidding with good humor. All the residents hooted and clapped when Mabel announced that Hero Dog was back. “Oh yes, and Lucy and Gabby too,” the director teased. “If you two don't mind, why don't we have coffee and dessert up in the multipurpose room after supper to hear about your trip and Grandma Shep's burial? Estelle baked brownies to celebrate your return and said to give you both a hug.”

Lucy shrugged off Mabel's attempt to pass on Estelle's hug. “Aw, c'mon, none o' that mushy stuff. But them brownies sound good.”

“I'll take two hugs then,” I grinned, holding my arms open.

Mabel gave me a warm hug, using the occasion to whisper in my ear, “And how about a meeting in my office tomorrow morning? Ten o'clock good?”

I woke the next morning in the bunk room before Sarge's wake-up bell and lay there a few moments as my new reality sunk in.
This could be my last time waking up here in the shelter . . .
I propped myself up on my elbow. Dandy's bed had been moved alongside Lucy's bunk. The bunk my mother had occupied had been filled with a new resident, a scrawny white woman with several missing teeth who'd raised a ruckus when she learned she'd be sharing a room with a dog.

“Tough,” Sarge had sniffed. “It's a warm night. You can sleep here in
Dandy's room,
or outside. Your choice.” The new woman stayed, turning her back on all of us.

I lay down again and closed my eyes. Maybe I should stay a day or two and move on Saturday. I still didn't know what to do about Dandy. Take him with me? Paul would be happy . . . but what about Lucy? Maybe I should leave him here at the shelter, since they'd dubbed him their official watchdog. But who would be responsible for him—Lucy? This was an emergency shelter, not a permanent residence . . .

I hadn't told anyone I was moving out yet. I wanted to bring Mabel up to date first. And I felt a bit guilty, having everything work out for me, while Precious and Tanya felt stuck here at the shelter with their kids. Should I tell them my hope? Or was it too soon to talk about a House of Hope—My eyes flew open. That's what we would call it! The House of Hope.

I wanted to bounce out of bed and call Jodi. Tell
somebody.
But it wasn't even 6 a.m. yet. I squeezed my eyes shut again.
Oh God, is this idea for the House of Hope really from You? Or am I going out on a limb here? Show me the path, Lord! And I could use some patience too. But I do want to thank You, Jesus! Thank You for helping me get an apartment so I can bring my sons back. Thank You for my mother, for her sacrificial love, her sacrificial gift . . .
My heart was so full, my prayers poured out in the silence, praying for Celeste and Honor, for Aunt Mercy, for P. J. and Paul having to deal with their parents' separation . . .

Suddenly remembering what Jodi had said, I added,
Guess I ought to pray for Philip too. That's kinda hard, God, 'cause . . . 'cause he's hurt me so much . . . I don't even know
what
to pray for him. Shake him up! Do something! But . . . I guess You know better than I do—
Sarge's wake-up bell and familiar bark shattered the silence.

Bodies rolled off the bunks, and the morning routine started. Jostling for space at the sinks in the bathroom . . . trying to pay attention during the obligatory morning devotions . . . breakfast of cold cereal, bananas, toast and jam, hot coffee . . . getting chore assignments for that day . . .

Dandy didn't seem like his usual lively self—missing Mom, no doubt—so I let him curl up in my office while I tried to re­orient myself by reading staff meeting minutes and a board report I'd missed while I was away. And I took him with me to the main floor when ten o'clock rolled around—bumping into a perspiring Estelle in the foyer as she came bustling in with her usual haul of bulging grocery bags for that day's lunch.

I was immediately swallowed up in her sweaty hug. “Oh, baby, baby . . . Jodi told me you're going to be able to get your apartment. Ain't that just like God? Making a way out of no way! Mm-mm, praise Jesus!” And then she was gone through the swinging doors as suddenly as she'd appeared, but not before she tossed over her shoulder, “Harry and I'll come help you unload that van tonight. I want to see the apartment!”

Whew.
I needed to tell the residents I was moving before Estelle did all my announcing for me. But at least Jodi had been circumspect and didn't say anything about our crazy idea about buying the whole building.

But after bringing Mabel Turner up to date on everything that had happened since my mom's funeral at Manna House, including the inheritance that made it possible for me to get an apartment and bring my sons back from Virginia, I leaned forward in my chair, resting my forearms on my side of Mabel's desk. “And . . . there's something else. Don't laugh, and just hear me out, okay? I don't know how to make this happen, and I don't have a proposal to present to the Manna House Board yet. I—I just want you to pray about this with me.” And in a big rush, I spilled out the crazy idea of using my inheritance money to put a down payment on the six-flat I was moving into, to create a House of Hope for moms like Precious and Tanya.

To Mabel's credit, she didn't laugh—though she did smile and wag her head. “So you've already got a name for this housing project of yours, hm? Well, it certainly won't hurt to pray about it. I'm happy to do that much.” And she did, reaching across the desk, taking my hands, and praying in that wise and winsome way that was Mabel's special gift. “God, if this is just a wacky scheme percolating under the cap of curls sitting in front of me, protect Gabby from making a big mistake. But if this wild and wonderful idea belongs to You, we know nothing is going to stop it, and help us to know how to get on board.”

I was stunned by Mabel's prayer. I even wrote it down as soon as I got back to my office so I could pray the same way. She'd called it a “wild and wonderful idea” . . . along with that “if,” of course. But she was right. I didn't want this to be just my idea. Huh! If it was, it'd fall flat faster than it took me to trip over Lucy's cart. If it was from God, I had to give it back to God, because it was going to take God's help to pull it together.

But my heart was tripping a little that evening as I pulled Moby Van up in front of the six-flat, which turned out to be a mere five minutes from Manna House—I timed it. Lee Boyer was there with the keys, his light-brown eyes twinkling behind those wire rims of his. A few minutes later Jodi and Denny Baxter pulled up in their Dodge Caravan with Edesa and Josh, minus little Gracie this time, followed by Mr. Bentley's RAV4 with Harry Bentley, Estelle, and that cute grandson of Harry's, DeShawn.

Looking at all my friends, I wasn't sure if I was going to laugh or cry. “With all this help, it'll take us about ten minutes.” Which was almost true, though once the van was unloaded, Estelle dragged me into the kitchen and insisted on opening the boxes of kitchen stuff and putting them into the newly refinished maple cupboards.

“Know you got a lot on your mind,” Estelle murmured as she unwrapped a box of glasses stuffed with newspaper and handed them to me. “But want you to keep Harry in your prayers.”

I looked at her sharply. “What's wrong with Mr. B?”

“Don't think he knows. But he been complaining about a blind spot in one of his eyes. I keep tellin' him ta see a good eye doctor, but you know Harry. Too busy with DeShawn these days. An' just between you an' me, I actually think he's scared. But don't say anything. Just pray.”

“Sure.” My heart squeezed a little. “Harry the doorman” had been my first real friend here in Chicago—and now he was so much more. But had I actually ever prayed for him? A blind spot in his eye! What did that mean?
God,
I prayed silently as I lined up the assorted odd glasses in a cupboard near the sink,
don't let me be so consumed with my own problems that I forget to pray for Harry . . . and Precious, and Tanya, and all my other friends who need You too.

When Estelle and I had emptied the last box and wandered back to the others, Denny and Josh had already put my old single bed together, and Jodi had made it up, while Mr. Bentley and DeShawn had rolled out the Oriental rug in the living room and brought in the wingback rocker. We had all worked up a sweat in the muggy July heat, and I made a mental note to buy some fans and at least one window air conditioner.

I was about to thank everybody when Jodi whispered something to Estelle and Edesa, and the next thing I knew they were gathering everybody into the living room to pray over my new apartment—“and the whole building,” Jodi slipped in. Everybody except Lee Boyer, that is. He disappeared, saying something about an evening appointment and he'd be in touch. The rest of us joined hands, even Harry's nine-year-old grandson, and several took turns praying for God's provision and protection, and that God would make this a true home for me and my sons . . . “and everyone else who takes up residence here,” Jodi added, squeezing my hand.

Oh, Jodi was good.

As people climbed back into their cars and pulled away, calling out congratulations and waving good-bye, Jodi and I still stood on the sidewalk, arm in arm, looking at the front of the brick building. I pointed out the wide stone lintel above the doorway. “Don't you think ‘House of Hope' would look good up there?”

Jodi grinned and squeezed my arm as I told her about the name that had popped into my head early that morning, and then about Mabel's prayer. Then I sighed. “But I can't think about that right now. Even with all the stuff we brought back from my mother's house, the apartment is still pretty empty. I'm going to need beds for the boys, a TV, more furniture . . . what?”

Jodi had pulled away and looked me in the eye, her face scrunched into a puzzled frown. “Gabby Fairbanks. I don't get it. You have all that good furniture sitting up there unused in that penthouse. It's
yours too
, Gabby. Didn't you tell me Philip had to put the original locks back? You still have a key. Just go get it, for goodness' sake! Why should Philip get it all? A judge will make you divide it up anyway.”