Who Do I Lean On? (22 page)

I was halfway up the stairs to the main floor when she hollered after me. “An' since you gonna pick up P.J., bring him on back to the shelter for lunch. I'm fixin' a surprise back-to-school lunch for all the kids of residents an' staff.”

My spirit felt lighter after crying on Estelle's shoulder, even though I didn't quite tell her everything, like what Mabel had said.
It wasn't intentional
, I told myself as I pulled into the Lane Tech parking lot.
I just ran out of time
.

“How'd it go, kiddo?” I asked as P.J. jumped into the front seat of the Subaru.

“Good.” My oldest fiddled with the radio until he found a pop station and hiked up the volume. “We find out next week who Coach is putting on the varsity team, but there's a good chance I'll make it. The first meet on home turf is coming up in a few weeks, September something.” He glanced at me sideways. “Will you and Dad come?”

“Absolutely—but only if you turn that thing
down
twenty decibels! . . . Ahh, thanks, that's better. As for your dad, you'll have to ask him. Might depend on when it is. But you'll see him tonight, right?”

P.J. shrugged. “Guess so. He hasn't called all week.”

Which was true. I'd been just as glad, figured Philip was mad at me for turning him down—and I had
nothing
to say to him since he made that stupid “you owe me” remark. But it hurt knowing stuff between us was hurting the boys too.

“Be patient, kiddo. Your dad's going through a hard time right now . . . Hey, is it okay if we go back to the shelter? Estelle's making a special back-to-school lunch for everybody—staff kids too.”

P.J. didn't answer, just pumped up the music again and turned his head away.

True to her word, Estelle had made a special kid-friendly lunch—hamburgers, chips, corn on the cob, and ice-cream bars. Harry showed up with his grandson and Mabel's nephew. I noticed Jermaine put his food tray down across from P.J., but there was no interaction between the two until Paul plopped his tray down beside Jermaine and started jabbering away. Probably talking music.

Mabel surprised Paul by naming him “Volunteer of the Month” and presenting him with a poster that had a photo of Paul in his volunteer T-shirt with all the shelter kids. Sammy, Keisha, Trina, and Rufino wanted to sign the poster, and even Dessa and Bam-Bam, the toddlers, added their scribbles. Paul covered his embarrassment by acting the clown, but I knew he was pleased.

The second surprise was a backpack filled with school supplies for each kid, donated by one of the big insurance agencies in the city—the company logo boldly emblazoned on the bag, of course. Sammy and the other schoolkids excitedly dug through the contents. P.J. and Paul, however, looked at the bags and then at each other. I could read the look between them:
“No way
.” Sabrina didn't take one either.

I made an announcement about the Labor Day picnic—“On Sunday, not Monday!”—and said whoever wanted to go should sign up today and I'd be back tomorrow to pick up the list so I could work out transportation. I started the list with my name and my boys, and then handed the clipboard to Harry Bentley. “You and DaShawn are invited too, Mr. B.” I lowered my voice and teased, “You used to be a cop, right? We could use some security.”

“Might just do that.” Harry signed, and I chuckled. He obviously hadn't checked with Estelle, who didn't
do
Sundays.

Lucy still hadn't come back to pick up Dandy. “I think Lucy should just give him back to us,” Paul pouted as he packed his duffel bag for the overnight with their dad. “Maybe she's never coming back. He's practically my dog anyway . . . hey! Can he come with us to Dad's?”

I lifted a knowing eyebrow at Paul.

“Oh, right. Well, will you promise to feed him? And walk him?”

Assuring Paul I would, I hustled the boys so they'd be ready by six o'clock when Philip usually picked them up. But six came and went, then six thirty . . .

I didn't particularly want to talk to Philip, but I dialed his cell phone and got his voice mail. But when he hadn't shown up by seven, I tried again. Again I got voice mail—but this time he called back just as I was telling him what I thought of a father who stood up his own kids.

“Gabby, I can't talk right now . . . Look, can I call you back?”

“Philip! It's seven o'clock! The boys have been waiting for you for an hour.” The background on his end was noisy. Other voices. Some music.

“I know. I thought I'd be done here. Something got delayed.”

“Something-
what
got delayed? Something more important than your kids?”

“Just some . . . business I had to attend to. And no, it couldn't wait.” Philip's tone got tight. “I wouldn't have to do this if you had—” In the background I heard someone yell his name. He tried to muffle the phone, but I heard him say, “I
said
, just give me a minute, Fagan.” Then he came back on. “Look, Gabby, I have to go. I
will
pick up the boys. Just ask them to sit tight.” The phone went dead.

Irked, I went ahead and fed the boys some boxed macaroni and cheese and hot dogs, but I had a hard time trying to cover for their dad. I was mad, and the boys knew it. Finally the front door buzzer sounded at eight o'clock. Philip was already back in the car when the boys clomped out the front door and down the steps. “See you tomorrow night, guys,” I called after them, watching P.J.'s dark hair and Paul's red-gold curls disappear into the backseat of the Lexus.

Only after I went back inside did I realize the significance of
both
boys climbing into the backseat.

Well, good
. Philip needed to know the boys had feelings too. What kind of business was he doing, anyway, on a Friday night?
Huh
. Probably out drinking with Henry Fenchel and some business client, Fagan-somebody. Except, what did he mean he wouldn't have to do this if I had . . . if I had what? Given him the loan? Was he getting a loan from somebody else? Well, let him. It wasn't my responsibility.

“Come on, Dandy; guess it's just you and me.” The yellow dog flopped by my feet as I tried to watch TV, but another Friday night by myself made me feel depressed. Turning it off, I curled up on the window seat in the sunroom at the front of the apartment and stared at the streetlights shining through the trees. Holding two fingers together, I touched my mouth, trying to remember Lee's soft kiss . . .

Good grief! If Lee felt that way about me, why didn't he ask me out on a date? I'd love to see a movie or go out to dinner or . . . or even bowling! What did Lee like to do on weekends? I had no idea. Why had I let him kiss me when I still hardly knew the guy!

Well, I wasn't going to call him and whine. It was almost ten. I should just walk Dandy and go to bed. Would it be safe? I got the dog's leash and stepped outside, glad to see at least two other dog walkers. The night air was mild. Warm, not hot. Nice for September first. But it'd soon be fall, with winter not far behind. “What are you and Lucy going to do then, huh, boy?” I murmured to Dandy, as he lifted his leg for the tenth time, marking every tree along the sidewalk.

As we returned to the six-flat, I saw bright lights in the first-and third-floor apartments on the left side of the building. Windows open. I could hear loud voices from the third floor. An argument. Those were the people moving out tomorrow.

My spirit revived a notch or two. It'd be fun to fix up those apartments for Precious and Tanya and their kids. Maybe I could get a work party together on Monday. “Labor Day,” I snickered at Dandy as he curled up on the scatter rug beside my bed. “Get it? Labor . . . work . . .”

I was just about to turn off the light when I spied my Bible I'd brought home from my office and realized I hadn't read the note Estelle had stuck in it. I pulled it out. All she'd scrawled was a Bible verse:
John 8:31–32
. Plumping up my pillows, I found the Bible passage and read it aloud to Dandy. “Then Jesus said to those Jews who believed Him, ‘If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'”

Huh
. That's what Estelle had said to me . . .
“The truth will set you free
.” What was she trying to tell me? Something about Satan telling us lies about who we are and who other people are. And the only place to get the truth was God's Word—just like these verses said. I read them again.
“If you abide in My word”—
hmm, definitely hadn't been doing much “abiding” in God's Word lately—
“you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free
.”

I shut the Bible, turned out the bedside light, and slid down beneath the sheet. “God,” I whispered into the inky darkness, “I've been kind of afraid to know what You think about all this mess with Philip. Afraid maybe You'll end up on Philip's side and I'll be the person in the wrong again. But if the truth sets us free, guess I shouldn't be afraid, right? I'm sorry I've been avoiding You. Not wanting to pray, not reading my Bible. You've done a lot already to free up my spirit, now that I found You again at Manna House. I want to be Your disciple, Lord, like it says in those verses. So I'm going to try to be a little more faithful about ‘abiding' in Your Word . . .”

As sleep overtook me, I found myself wondering what “abide” meant.
Funny word . . . kinda archaic . . . My kids would say, “Huh?” . . . Maybe it just means “hanging out” with God . . . no, more than that. Soaking in His words? Soaking, that was it .
. .

I woke up to thumps out in the stairwell and voices cursing. Moving day. Standing by the open back door with my coffee, I winced as I saw broken furniture, an old box spring, and bags of trash get dumped out in back by the alley. Who was going to pick
that
up? Shuddering at the prospect of being the future owner and having to deal with all that, I decided to get out of there until the move was over.

Top on my list of things to do was picking up the picnic list and making sure we had enough transportation. I drove to the shelter—and ran into Jodi Baxter on the front steps, just about to ring the doorbell. Right on time for her typing class. She was wearing a denim skirt and had pulled her brown shoulder-length hair into a short ponytail. “Hey,” I said and fumbled for my Manna House key. “I can let you in.”

“Hey, yourself.” Jodi didn't move, even when I got the door open. “I was hoping I'd see you. I left a couple of messages this week but you haven't returned my phone calls. Did I . . . I mean, are you upset with me for some reason?”

I let the door wheeze shut again and sighed. “No . . . well, yeah, kind of.” I sank down onto the top step. She sat down beside me. “But not just you. Just ask Estelle. I've been avoiding her too. Avoiding everybody, I guess. Even the Big Man Upstairs.” I rolled my eyes heavenward and made Jodi smile. “I'm sorry, Jodi. You're a good friend. And a good prayer partner. It's just . . . you got so excited about Philip and me ‘fixing' our marriage, I didn't feel like you were really listening to me.”

She winced. “Ouch. Okay. I'm listening now.”

We sat outside for several minutes while I tried to tell Jodi everything that had happened since I told Philip I wouldn't give him the loan. It came out all in a jumble, but she put her arm around me and pulled me close. “Oh, Gabby, I'm so sorry. You're right. I was too quick to jump ahead, hoping things could get resolved between you and Philip, and didn't take time to put myself in your shoes.” She glanced at her watch. “Ack, I'm late. The ladies are probably waiting on me for class, if they haven't given up already. But I really do want to hear more. I promise to shut up and listen this time.” She gave me another hug and stood up. “I'm glad we bumped into each other. I've really missed you, my friend.”

I stood up too. “Yeah, missed you too . . . Uh, by the way, what are you and Denny doing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Besides church you mean?” She squinted as if reading her schedule on the bright sky. “Nothing much, far as I know.”

“You guys want to go on a picnic? Can we borrow your grill . . . and your Caravan?”

chapter 21

Not counting people who had their own cars—Harry Bentley and the Baxters and Mabel—twenty-five ladies had signed up for the Labor Day picnic. “Your minivan won't be enough,” I moaned to Jodi before she left. “And Moby Van only holds fifteen.”

“Talk to Josh,” she suggested. “Maybe he can borrow the SouledOut van.”

I didn't tell Josh his mother had suggested it—but he seemed excited about bringing Edesa and Gracie to the picnic when I got him on the phone. “Sounds like fun. Don't know of any reason we couldn't use the church van. I'll let you know.”

“You're a prince, Josh,” I gushed. Frankly, having another man on hand made me feel more secure herding a large group of streetwise females, many of whom, I was told, had never been to a forest preserve. I didn't want to lose anybody in the river.