The Life List (26 page)

“This is Jean Anderson from Joshua House. You’re expected to be here at nine, but I need you to come early.”

My hackles rise. What is it with this woman, thinking she can
order me around? “Sorry, I’ve got plans. I could probably be there around eight, but I can’t promise.”

“It’s Sanquita. She’s bleeding.”

I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and whip a U-turn. Two cars blast their horns at me, but I ignore them. All I can think of is that girl with the hazelnut eyes and the baby she’s willing to die for.

“Don’t let the baby die,” I pray aloud, over and over until I reach the center.

J
ean jumps from her white Chevrolet when I pull up to the curb. She trots over to meet me as I race up the driveway.

“I’m taking her to Cook County Memorial,” she says. “I’ve left a note with all the instructions for tonight.”

I reach the car and open the back door. Sanquita lies in the backseat, massaging her belly. Her bloated face glistens with sweat, but she smiles when she sees me. I squeeze her hand.

“Hang in there, sweetie.”

“You coming back tomorrow? I gotta take those exams.”

Despite all she’s going through, she’s still determined to finish school. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Whenever you’re ready. Don’t you worry. Your teachers will understand.”

Her eyes implore mine. “Pray for my baby, Miss Brett.”

I nod and close the car door. As the car pulls away, I say another prayer.

I
find Jean’s note in the office, along with details of a feud that’s brewing between two of the guests. She’s hoping I can mediate, if time allows. But before I do anything, I need to call Petterino’s and page Garrett. I’m searching the desk for a phone directory
when I hear shouting from the TV room. I leap from my chair, throw open the office door, and step into a battlefield.

“You got no business gettin’ in my shit!” Julonia screams, her face crimson. She’s inches from Tanya’s face, but Tanya’s not backing down.

“I told you, I ain’t been in your drawer. Get a life.”

“Calm down, ladies,” I say, but my voice is shaking. “Just stop right now.”

Like my students at Douglas Keyes, they pay no heed. Guests scurry in from other rooms to watch the spectacle.

“I got me a life!” Julonia says, her hands on her hips. “I don’t gotta steal other people’s money! I got me a job, unlike you, who do nothing ’cept sit on yo fat ass all day.”

A collective “Oooh” goes out from the spectators. In the background Judge Judy gives someone a severe reprimand on television. I try to channel her authority.

“Ladies, stop!”

Tanya starts to walk away, then backs up a step. With the agility of an acrobat, she pivots and drives her fist into Julonia’s jaw. Momentarily stunned, Julonia dabs at her mouth. When she lowers her hand, she sees blood on her fingers.

“Bitch!” She grabs a fistful of Tanya’s hair and yanks. A chunk of Tanya’s weave falls to the carpet.

Tanya screams obscenities and lunges for her. Lucky for me, Mercedes grabs Tanya from behind. I seize Julonia’s arm and, with a strength that stuns me, pull her into the office. I kick shut the door and lock it behind us with trembling hands. Julonia curses and the veins in her forehead bulge, but at least she’s contained. From beyond the door I hear Tanya, still hollering, but her voice is losing its fire. I drop onto the desktop and point to the bed.

“Sit down,” I say, and draw in a ragged breath.

Julonia perches on the edge of the bed, raking her teeth over
her bottom lip and clenching her fists. “She stole my money, Ms. Brett. I know she did.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Seven dollars.”

“Seven dollars?” I’d assumed it was hundreds, judging by the fury. Once again, I’m humbled. To someone who has nothing, seven dollars is their fortune. “What makes you think Tanya took it?”

“She the only one who know where I keep my cheddar.”

I look at her blankly.

“My bills. My money.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you spent it and forgot. That happens to me all the time. I open my wallet and think money’s missing, but when I really stop and backtrack, I realize I just spent it.”

She cocks her head at me and scowls. “Uh-uh. That don’t happen with me.” She lifts her face to the ceiling and blinks quickly. “I was gon’ buy Myanna a new book bag. Hers be all tore up. They got one at the Walmart cost fourteen dollar. I be halfway there ’fore that lazy ho stole it from me.”

My heart breaks for her. I want to open my wallet and give her all I have, but that’s against the rules. “I tell you what. I’m going to find you a little safe. I’ll drop it off tomorrow. That way nobody can take your cheddar.”

She smiles at me. “That’d be straight. But that still don’t bring me back my money. You got any idea how long it took me to save up seven bills?”

No, I don’t. For reasons I cannot explain or possibly justify, I was dealt a lucky hand, a hand that included love and money and education. I’m flooded with guilt and gratitude, humility and heartbreak.

“This book bag you’re looking at, what color is it?”

“She want the purple one.”

“And it’s from Walmart, in the kids’ department?”

“That right.”

“Julonia, I think I’ve got that very book bag. I bought it for my niece, but she already had one. It’s never been used. Would you like it?”

She studies me, as if deciding whether I’m telling the truth. “The purple one?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her face blooms. “That’d be real nice. Right now Myanna be carrying her books in a plastic bag. She need her a book bag.”

“Okay then, I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“The safe-bank, too?”

“Yes, the safe-bank, too.”

I
sit at the desk and massage my temples. Finally, I find the strength to retrieve an incident report and begin to fill it out. Date: January 5. Time: I look at the clock and start to write seven fifteen. Then I drop my pencil. “No!” I fling open the desk drawer and yank out the telephone book, scanning it as quickly as I can. Finally, I find the number to Petterino’s.

“Hello,” I say to the maître d’. “I was supposed to meet a friend tonight. I’m hoping he’s still there. Dr. Garrett Taylor. He’s a gentleman …” It occurs to me, I have no way to identify Garrett. “He’s alone.”

“Might you be Ms. Bohlinger?”

I laugh, relief pouring over me. “Yes. Yes, I am. Could I please speak with him?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bohlinger. Dr. Taylor left five minutes ago.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
call the hospital nearly every hour. By three
A.M
., Miss Jean assures me that Sanquita will be fine. The next morning, I’m loading breakfast bowls into the dishwasher when I hear her car pull into the drive. I dash from the kitchen. Before the ignition’s off, I throw open the car door. Sanquita lies slumped in the backseat, her head propped against the window.

“Hello, sweet pea. How are you feeling this morning?”

Dark circles shadow her glassy eyes. “They give me some medicine to stop the contractions.”

With her arms draped around our necks, Jean and I hoist Sanquita up the porch steps and into the house. When we reach the stairs, I lift Sanquita into my arms. She feels lighter than Rudy. I take her to her room and lay her on her bed.

“I gotta take my exams,” she mumbles.

“We’ll worry about those later. Get some sleep now.” I kiss her
forehead and turn out the lamp. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Jean pulls off her head scarf, setting free a bonnet of black curls.

“I’ve tried to reach her mother all night, but her phone’s out of service,” she says. “That poor girl’s all alone.”

“I can stay with her.”

She removes her boots and slips into a pair of practical black pumps. “Don’t you have other students?”

“Yes, but I can reschedule them.”

She waves me off. “Nonsense. I’ll be here today. Just stop by later if you can.”

She turns in the direction of her office, but stops, keeping her back to me. “Sanquita talked about you last night. Said you took her to a specialist.”

I shake my head. “I apologize for that. I didn’t realize Dr. Chan would recom—”

“And she said you’ve been providing homebound services every day, not just the two appointments required.”

My defenses rise. What is she implying? “I have no problem giving up my lunch hour. Look, if there’s a problem—”

“She told me nobody’s ever cared about her like that.” She shuffles away. “That child thinks you’re mighty special. I figured you should know.”

My throat constricts. “I think she’s mighty special, too,” I whisper, but Miss Jean is already halfway down the hall.

O
n my way to Amina’s, I phone Dr. Taylor’s office. Like before, his machine picks up. I hang up without leaving another message. Damn.

I go through my daily motions in a mechanical way, my mind
filled with thoughts of Sanquita and the baby. At the end of the day, I hustle back to Joshua House gripped with anxiety. I race up the stairs expecting to see a failing patient, but instead Sanquita sits propped against her pillow in the brightly lit room, sipping a glass of juice. Tanya and Mercedes loiter at her bedside, telling stories of their own labor. Sanquita’s eyes go wide when she sees me at the door.

“Hey, Ms. Brett. Come in.”

“Hi, ladies.” I bend down to hug Sanquita. Instead of the stiff, awkward response I usually get, she hugs me back. “You’re looking much better, sweet pea.”

“I feel better, too. I just have to stay off my feet, that’s what them doctors told me. If this baby can just wait till the end of April, around my thirty-sixth week, everything’ll be all right.”

“Wonderful,” I say, trying to believe it.

“You got my exams?”

I laugh. “Don’t worry about your exams. I spoke to your teachers. We agreed you should focus on your health for now.”

“Ain’t no way I’m giving up now. I’m about to graduate. You told me you’d help me.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, smiling. “If you’re sure you can manage, we’ll start your exams tomorrow.”

She grins. “I can manage, you’ll see.”

I wrap her in my arms. “You’re something special, you know that?”

She doesn’t say anything in return. And I don’t expect her to. It’s enough that she lets me hug her.

Before leaving the house, I knock on Julonia’s bedroom door.

“Julonia?” I say, pushing past the partially open door. I step inside the spotless room and walk to a set of twin beds. On the green quilt I position a sturdy little safe-bank. On the Snow White bedspread, I leave Myanna’s new purple book bag.

——

I
’m meeting Brad for dinner at Bistrot Zinc, a cozy French restaurant on State Street. Since our New Year’s Eve fiasco we’ve talked on the phone, but aside from letting me know he and Jenna are “working things out,” we’ve kept the conversation focused on my life list. Tonight we’ll actually meet face-to-face, which has me jittery. Oh, God! Even now I cringe, thinking of that lonely, reckless girl driving across town with such high hopes.

On my way to the restaurant I call Garrett’s office again.
Come on. Answer the phone, Garrett
.

“Garrett Taylor,” he says.

“Garrett, it’s Brett. Don’t hang up.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t hang up on you. I got your message this morning, and I see you called about seven more times today.”

Great. He’s just added obsessive-compulsive to my list of diagnoses. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to explain what happened.”

“You did. And I completely understand. How’s the young lady doing—Sanquita?”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Much better, thank you. I just left her. Have you heard anything about placement for Peter?”

“Yes. I spoke with the director of special education this afternoon. The age requirement at New Pathways is still an issue. I’m afraid it could be a while.”

“That’s okay. I need a little more time with him.”

I pull my car over to a curb and we chat for another five minutes. Finally he asks, “Hey, you’re in your car, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’re finished with work for the day?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you say we go have that drink now?”

I smile, and it hits me: I’ve got a crush on Garrett Taylor. And I think he’s got a crush on me, too.

“I’m sorry,” I say, hearing the silly smile in my voice. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, right. Okay then. I’ll talk to you after your next session.”

I’m taken aback by how abruptly he ends our conversation. I guess he didn’t have a crush on me after all. My chest tightens. Will I ever find someone?

I replay our conversation … 
I’m meeting a friend
. Oh, no! Garrett thinks I’ve got a date. And that smile in my voice probably sounded mocking. I need to set him straight!

I grab the phone, too anxious and impatient to wait for our next phone conversation. Maybe we can meet tomorrow night. What should I wear? Punching in his number, I catch sight of myself in my rearview mirror. My eyes look wild, and my face has a frantic look of desperation.