Who Do I Lean On? (28 page)

I pushed that image—a trail of broken hearts in P.J.'s wake— out of my head before it sent me into a deep depression and glanced at the messages as I headed downstairs to my office. A phone call from Peter Douglass, asking if the shelter could use a couple more computers. And a handwritten note from Sarge, saying a newbie had come in last night and asked for me by name. I squinted at the name: Naomi Jackson.

Naomi . . . Naomi Jackson
. I vaguely remembered a girl by that name. By the time I got to my office, I remembered. White girl, tangled brown hair with blonde streaks under a brown felt cap. Pierced nose—maybe her lip too, couldn't remember—and high as a kite on something! I'd only been working at the shelter a few days and did her intake, shaking in my shoes because I had no idea what I was doing. Mabel had been out, but took over when she came back, and I'd been impressed how straightforward she'd treated Naomi—no-nonsense, firm, kind.

But the kid had only stayed one day. The craving for a fix had been too strong.

That was almost three months ago. The staff had wondered if she'd come back. I was glad she had—but why in the world was she asking for me?

I went looking for her and found her curled up in an overstuffed chair in Shepherd's Fold, sound asleep. I gently shook her arm. “Naomi?”

The girl opened her eyes, seemingly confused about where she was. She still had the same stud in her nose—none in her lip, though—and streaked brown-and-blonde hair pushed up haphazardly under the same brown felt cap. But this time a black eye and facial bruise ran halfway down her cheek.

But she wasn't high. Recognition lighted her eyes and she half-smiled—only half because the swollen cheek hindered a full one. “Hey, Mrs. Fairbanks. You 'member me?”

I sat down in the chair next to her. “I do. I'm glad to see you came back, Naomi.”

“Yeah.” She wagged her head. “Shoulda come back sooner, but . . .”

“What happened to your face? Who beat you, Naomi?”

“Aw, it ain't nothin'. My pimp, he got a little excited when I told him I was leavin'—but I mean it this time, Mrs. Fairbanks. I gotta get off the streets.” She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, rocking it like a rag doll. “Them streets gonna kill me if I don' get off that smack.”

I watched her for a few moments, feeling helpless. How did one help a girl as far gone as Naomi? But I wanted to—wanted to gather her in my arms and hold her, rock her, kiss her hair, tell her it was going to be all right. But what did I know? I was the program director. Not a case manager or social worker. Not her mother either.

“I got a note from Sarge saying you wanted to see me. I'm surprised you remembered my name.”

The girl blushed. “Aw, that's 'cause you was the first person I met when I came here the last time. I remembered that. You talked to me like I was a real person.”

I had? All I could remember was being scared to death because she was high on drugs and might do something. “I'm glad . . .” I said, distracted momentarily by the double doors swinging open and Estelle coming in. I stood up, hoping to catch her. “Be strong, Naomi. It might be tough for a while to stick it out—but you'll be glad you did. I've seen some mighty big miracles happen here. Including me.”

The girl squinted up at me. “You? Naw. You look like a good person—not like me.”

“You don't have to be good to have God do a miracle in your life,” I murmured—and suddenly bent and kissed her on the forehead. Probably not kosher. But I didn't care. How long had it been since she'd had a kiss from someone who wasn't trying to get something from her?

chapter 27

Estelle had stopped to pour herself a cup of coffee from the coffee cart and thumped the carafe down when a mere few drops leaked into her cup. “Humph, can't even get a decent cup of coffee,” she snapped, gathering up her bags again as I arrived.

“I'll make you some fresh,” I said, quickly snatching up the empty carafes and following in her wake down the stairs to the kitchen. Within minutes I had a pot dripping and the rich, nutty aroma wafted through the kitchen like a lazy genie. I poured two steaming cups and doctored them with milk (for me) and sugar (for Estelle).

“Gimme that,” she said and added another heaping tablespoon of sugar. “Why you always so stingy with the sweet stuff ?”

I steered her to a nearby table and waited until she'd taken a few long sips. “So tell me what's going on with Harry. What's this emergency with his eyes? I'm worried.”

Estelle sighed. “You should be. Don't know if I understand it myself—but he started seeing flashes of light in his eye during the night, scared him silly. I got myself over to his apartment and tried to calm him down until we could call the Medical Center at U of I and get him in to see an eye specialist.” She wagged her head, both hands gripping her coffee cup. “He went last week and they did some laser treatment to pin down a retinal tear. Harry said it hurt like heck, but now they saying he's got a retinal detachment. They patched up both eyes and told him to stay still till they can get him in for surgery later tomorrow.”

“What? They patched up
both
eyes? How's he supposed to see? And what about DaShawn?”

Estelle snorted. “That's just it. He can't see nothin', not supposed to do nothin' either. We took DaShawn to school before heading to the Medical Center and Jodi brought him home with her till we got back. You know he's goin' to Bethune Elementary where Jodi teaches, right? Anyway, after I got Harry back home and settled, I picked up DaShawn and kept him with me for the night. Jodi took the boy to school this morning. I told Harry he can stay with me till he gets this eye thing taken care of. Between Stu an' me an' the Baxters, I think we can work things out for DaShawn.”

“But what about Mr. B?” This was worse than I'd imagined. “How's
he
supposed to manage?”

Estelle's eyes suddenly filled up and she fished for a tissue somewhere in the folds of her roomy tunic. “I don't know, Gabby. He needs somebody with him, that's what. Otherwise he gonna be liftin' off those bandages an' peekin', just to get around. But the doc said he has to totally rest his eyes so those retinal tears don't get worse.” She blew her nose and stood up. “That's why I'm gonna put lunch together an' get myself outta here. Who's on lunch duty today? I could use some extra help . . . What day's today anyway?”

“Thursday.” I headed for the chore chart Mabel posted on the dining room bulletin board each morning. “Uh, it's Kim and Wanda.”

“Mm, Kim and Wanda. Okay . . . wait. Thursday?” Estelle slapped her forehead. “I'm s'posed to teach cooking class this afternoon too! Well, I can't do it.
Somebody's
got to go sit with Harry. Denny Baxter's comin' this evening to hang out with Harry so I can go see Leroy. I been readin' to my boy from the Bible—seems to calm him some.”

No wonder Estelle was edgy, with the two men in her life
both
laid up. I assured her I'd take care of cancelling her class and hurried off to find Kim and Wanda and ask if they could come early to help Estelle with lunch. As I came into Shepherd's Fold, I spotted Wanda standing with Precious and several other residents in the center of the room, clapping and laughing. A gospel CD had been turned up loud on the CD player and the object of their amusement was soon apparent—little Gracie Baxter was gyrating and bouncing to the music like a toddler version of
American Idol
, egged on by the attention of her circle of “aunties.”

Her mom must be around somewhere
. . . which suddenly gave me an idea. I touched Wanda's shoulder. “Is Edesa here?”

“Mi t'ink she talkin' to Mabel . . . Now look at dat lil gal. She de cutest ting.”

Gracie was cute, but I had other things on my mind. “Estelle is in a bind and needs some extra help. Can you find Kim and go a little early to help with lunch?”

The big Jamaican woman shrugged. “No problem.” She sidled off, but first she gave Gracie a tickle under her chin, which set off a ripple of giggles.

I was just about to go off in search of Edesa, when Gracie's adoptive mother came through the swinging double doors, sized up the situation, and swept the one-year-old into her arms. “
Niña, niña
, are you showing off again?” She clucked reprovingly at the grinning women. “
Por favor
, don't encourage her. She gets too much attention as it is.”

“Pooh,” said Precious. “If we can't spoil Gracie, who will? Besides, if a girl gotta dance, she gotta dance!” Precious shimmied her shoulders and hips from side to side with a “Mmm-mm-mm” as the knot of women drifted.

I grinned at her antics but beckoned to Edesa. “Can I talk to you a minute? I need a favor.” I'd been meaning to ask her about teaching a class on nutrition for our residents from her Public Health studies. If she had time, maybe she could cover Estelle's cooking class today!

“
Sí
.” Edesa jiggled Gracie on her hip. “But, oh, Gabby!
Muchas gracias
for offering one of your apartments to our little
familia
! I could hardly believe it when Josh told me! What a blessing that will be. When do you think we can move?”

Even as the words spilled from Edesa's mouth, I saw Precious freeze in midshimmy and stare at us. Stare at me, rather—a startled look that took only a nanosecond to turn from question to accusation.

As the moment froze, I felt caught in a time warp, kicking myself that I hadn't talked to Precious and Tanya yet about the new plan. I gave Precious a pleading look, but she turned and marched out of the room.

Edesa hesitated. “Did I say something wrong,
mi amiga
?”

I shook my head. “No, no . . . It's my fault. I'll explain . . . but give me a minute, will you?” I ran after Precious, but no one was in the hall and the stairs were empty. Where had she gone? I ran up the stairs and peeked in each of the bunkrooms, but still no Precious. Then I heard a flush, and a moment later Precious came out of the bathrooms into the small lounge. She stopped when she saw me.

“Precious—” I said.

She folded her thin arms across her chest. “So. When was you gonna tell us you promised one of them apartments to somebody else?”

“I'm sorry, Precious. I meant to talk with you and Tanya this week. It's just that I realized how much work it's going to take to maintain the building, and Josh is pretty handy, and they've been looking for a bigger place, so I thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, I feel ya. Your heart all bleedin' for that poor little family, all crunched up in that tiny little apartment which, by the way,
they live in by they own selves
. But”—Precious shook a finger in my face—“you promised me an' Sabrina were top of your list for this so-called House of Hope. Tanya an' her Sammy too. But, hm, lemme see . . .” The arms crossed again and her chin went up. “. . . that's
two
apartments an'
three
families you done promised can move in. So. Which one of us was you gonna bump to make room for them Baxters?”

I sank down on one of the threadbare couches in the upper lounge. This had all made sense when Mabel and I talked about it in her office, but now I felt like a certifiable jerk. “You and Tanya are still at the top of my list, Precious. I was . . . I was going to ask you and Tanya if you'd be willing to share an apartment to start with—at least until another apartment opens up. And ask Josh and Edesa to move into the House of Hope as property manager. But”—my voice cracked—“I can see I went about this all wrong. I should have talked to you and Tanya before I said anything to Josh and Edesa. I'm so sorry.” I wagged my head miserably.

Precious just stood in front of me, arms still crossed. Finally she spoke. “But you didn't. So . . . what we s'posed to do now?”

I didn't know what to say. I'd done it again—running ahead of God with my “good idea.” When was I going to learn to “lean not on my own understanding” like those verses in Proverbs said? Mabel always said if my “good idea” was part of God's plan, it was going to work out in His time and in His way. I didn't have to rush it.

I looked up at Precious and heaved a sigh. “I think I need to go back to Josh and Edesa and tell them I spoke out of turn. That I'd already promised that apartment to someone else.”

Precious sat down on the couch beside me. “You'd do that?”

Suddenly it seemed simple. Just own up to my mistake. Start over. I nodded. “I could tell them they're first in line for the next apartment that opens up.”

“An' when would that be?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I'll try to find out.”

We just sat on the couch not saying anything for several minutes, but I could feel the tension dissolving between us. Then she said, “You serious about makin' this right?”