Who Do I Lean On? (41 page)

“Lucy? The old lady who's got your mom's dog?” I heard him snort in my ear. “What's
she
doing snooping around here? Look, tell her to mind her own business . . . Where are you anyway? I can hardly hear you with all that racket in the background.”

“Good-bye, Philip.” I flipped the phone closed and moved back across the dance floor to where Lee was waiting for me, a welcoming grin on his face.

It wasn't any of Philip's business where I was.

The second call came at six thirty the next morning.

I almost didn't hear the phone ring, because I'd left the cell in my shoulder bag, which I'd tossed in a corner of the bedroom. But consciousness finally dawned and I scrambled out of bed, snatched up the purse, dumping the contents out on the bed to find the phone. “Uhh . . . hello?”

“Gabby.” The voice was scratchy. Gruff. “Get over here and pick up your boys.”

I was suddenly wide-awake. “Wha—? Lucy? Is that you? What's going on?”

“Dandy an' I found your mister beat up in the walkin' tunnel under Lake Shore Drive—”

“The boys! Lucy, where are they?”

“Up in that penthouse sleepin', far as I know. Your man was out joggin' early is my guess—”

“Did you say beat up? How bad is he? Did you call 9-1-1?”

I could hear Dandy barking in the background, and Lucy's voice pulled away. “Dagnabit! I'll give it back to ya. Just a minnit!” Then she was back on. “Yeah, I called 9-1-1. Now this jogger guy wants his phone back.”

I could hear faint sirens in the distance on Lucy's end of the phone. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't believe this. “How bad, Lucy?”

“Pretty bad, Fuzz Top. He's unconscious. Lotta blood, but still breathin' . . .”

“Stay there, Lucy. I'm coming. Just find out where they're going to take him.”

chapter 39

The boys and I huddled in the waiting room of the ER. Why wasn't someone coming out to tell us how badly Philip was hurt? Lucy had gone outside to walk Dandy, who didn't understand why he couldn't come inside too . . .

The frumpy bag lady and yellow dog had been waiting for me just outside Richmond Towers when I came screeching into the frontage road and pulled the Subaru into a Visitor Parking space. She said the ambulance had left just five minutes ago and was taking “the mister” to Weiss Memorial Hospital.

“Do the boys know their dad's hurt?”

She wagged her head. “Don't think so. He was wearing them fancy jogging clothes—ya know, them silky shorts an' matchin' jacket—like he'd gone out early for a run while they was still sleepin'.”

“Don't disappear, Lucy,” I commanded. “I want to know what happened—but right now I've got to get my boys. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Muttering thanks to God that I still had my security pass and keys to the penthouse—once management had insisted that Philip replace the original locks—I rode the elevator to the thirty-second floor and let myself in. All was quiet. Trying to ignore the schizophrenic feeling of walking around in the high-priced penthouse that used to be my home, I found the boys sprawled in discount store twin beds in one of the bedrooms, dead to the world. Waking them gently, I told them to get dressed quickly. We had to go to the hospital . . .

I couldn't answer any of their questions. Lucy rode in the front seat with me, Dandy between the boys in the back. “Now tell me, Lucy! What happened?”

“Like I said . . .” She and Dandy were taking their early morning walk in the park, staying close to Richmond Towers. As they came through the lighted pedestrian tunnel that gave joggers and residents of the luxury high-rises along Lake Shore Drive access to the beach, Dandy suddenly started to whine and pull on his leash. A man was crumpled on the ground in the tunnel. “Thought at first it was just a wino passed out on the ground. But when I saw them fancy jogging clothes, I knew this wasn't no wino.” Then Dandy had stiffened and started to growl. The light wasn't that good in the tunnel, but when Lucy got close, she realized who it was.

“Another jogger came along an' let me use his cell phone, so I called 9-1-1, then I called you.” She'd snorted in disgust. “The guy didn't want to wait around till the ambulance got there. Had to finish his run. Made me give the phone back.”

“Did the paramedics tell you
anything
about how badly Philip was hurt?”

“Nope. Cops came, asked me a couple of questions since I was the one who found 'im. Never let on I knew who he was, though.”

When we came flying into the emergency room, I'd rushed to the desk and asked if a Philip Fairbanks had been brought in by ambulance. The receptionist looked at a clipboard. “Relation to the patient?”

I hesitated a nanosecond, then blurted, “His wife. These are his children.”

“Have a seat.”

Now we sat in the waiting room . . . waiting. Two uniformed policemen came out of the double doors marked Hospital Personnel Only and spoke to the receptionist, who nodded at me. They wanted to know what I knew about what happened. I shook my head. “Nothing! We're . . . separated. Someone called me, told me he'd been found beaten unconscious while he was out jogging. I . . . the boys were with him this weekend. I picked them up from their dad's place and came here.”

The police treated it as a routine mugging, jotted a few notes. Left.

Who to call? I should call somebody! I called Jodi Baxter . . . Wondered if I should call Philip's parents but decided to wait until we knew something about his condition. I asked the boys if they'd like to get something to eat. Both of them shook their heads. The clock's second hand labored toward 7:40 . . . 8:05 . . . 8:30 . . .

The move
. My new tenants were supposed to be moving into the six-flat this morning. But I just sat. They'd have to figure it out for themselves.

Jodi and Denny Baxter pushed through the revolving doors into the ER waiting room at nine o'clock. “Gabby! What happened? Is he going to be all right?”

I shook my head. “Don't know yet . . . Oh.”

A young doctor in a white coat flapping open to show his pale blue shirt and blue striped tie, stethoscope sticking out of one coat pocket, came through the double doors and looked at our little group, the only people standing. “Mrs. Fairbanks?”

I nodded. The doctor motioned us into a nearby conference room, and I insisted that the boys and the Baxters come too.

“We've done our preliminary exam. Whoever worked him over did a bang-up job.” I winced and glanced at my boys. A crude choice of words. “Your husband has several broken ribs, a broken arm, possible internal injuries from being punched in the stomach, a severe laceration on his head caused by striking concrete, a badly broken nose that will cause a lot of bruising, a possible concussion . . . but the good news is, none of it is life-threatening. We need to do more tests to determine the extent of any internal injuries, and he'll have to be hospitalized for several days. Maybe a week. But”—the young doc actually smiled—“he's going to be fine.”

Paul drew his legs up onto the chair with his arms, put his head down on his knees, and started to cry. P.J. put his arms around his brother and murmured, “Hey, hey. It's okay. He's gonna be okay, didn't you hear?”

“Thank you,” I said to the doctor. The words barely came out in a whisper.

Jodi and Denny took the boys to the hospital cafeteria to get some breakfast and brought me a bagel and a large coffee. “With cream,” she pointed out with a sweet smile. Then she and Denny left, taking Lucy and Dandy with them, to check on the move.

“They should just go ahead,” I told them. “Josh has the building keys. They've waited long enough.”

It was almost three before Philip was moved to a private room. They'd sedated him to set the broken bones and deal with the pain, so he wasn't aware when the boys and I tiptoed into the room to sit with him. He seemed swathed in bandages—his rib cage was bound, his right arm had been set and was held away from his bruised body with some kind of contraption, and his head had been shaved and was wrapped in bandages except for his face, which was a mess—swollen nose and eye, scrapes and cuts.

He looked awful.

Estelle Williams and Harry Bentley peeked into the room. “We're not stayin', honey,” Estelle said, sweeping me into a big hug. “Just wanted to let you know there are a whole lot of people prayin' for Philip right now. An' if you need anything—
anything
— you let us know, you hear?”

I blubbered into her soft bosom and nodded, even though I could hardly breathe, she was hugging me so tight.

Harry motioned me out into the hall. “You know who did this, don't you?”

I shook my head . . . then slowly nodded. “If you're right about Matty Fagan.” I fished for a tissue and blew my nose.

“I know I'm right. What's it been . . . four weeks since Philip met with Fagan? Fagan never gives anybody that long to pay back what he loaned 'em. I've got my ex-partner on the case, seeing what she can find out.” Harry shook his head. “The sooner Internal Affairs gets that rogue off the streets, the better for everybody.”

Harry and Estelle left. We sat some more. “Look, Mom!” P.J. cried. “His eyes are open!”

Philip's eyes were mere slits. I leaned close. “Philip? It's me, Gabby. And the boys are here.”

“What . . . where am I? . . . What happened?” he croaked.

I told him briefly. He closed his eyes and seemed to think about it a long while. Then he opened them again. “Are . . . boys okay? I—I left them alone, just going for a short run . . .”

“We're fine, Dad.” P.J. bent close into Philip's line of vision.

“Don't worry about us. You're going to be fine too. Doctor said.”

Philip raised his left hand and crooked a finger at me to come close. I bent over him. “I don't . . . want . . . boys . . . here. Don't want them . . . to see me like . . . this.”

Too late for that
. But I nodded. “They're going home soon.”

Jodi and Denny Baxter returned later that afternoon and said the move was done—including picking up household and personal things Precious had stored here and there with friends. But everyone was worried about her and the boys and Philip. The Baxters offered to take the boys back to our apartment and stay with them until I came home. “Not a hardship for us,” Jodi assured me. “After all, Josh and Edesa and Gracie are right upstairs now!

I'm sure they can use some more help getting settled. But . . . why don't you come home for the night? Get some sleep. You can come back tomorrow.”

We were standing out in the hallway. I looked back into the room where Philip lay on the hospital bed attached to all kinds of wires and tubes and IVs. I shook my head. “No. Think I'll stay here tonight.”

Jodi looked ready to argue, but I held up my hand.

“The thing is, Jodi, he doesn't have anyone right now . . . except me.”

chapter 40

I dreaded making the call but couldn't wait any longer. Once the boys had left with the Baxters, I found a family waiting room and dialed the Fairbanks' number in Virginia. Marlene Fairbanks went ballistic when she heard we'd been at the hospital since early that morning and I was just now calling them.

“I'm sorry, Marlene. We didn't know for a long time what his injuries were, and I knew you'd want to know. The boys needed my attention; they're upset, of course, and—”

I don't think she heard me, because she was still calling me every name she could think of while telling me this was all my fault.

“Get off the phone, Marlene!” snapped Philip's father. I heard the senior Fairbanks arguing, then one extension went dead and Mike Fairbanks came back on the phone. “Now. Tell me again what happened, Gabby. He got mugged while jogging? Of all the—!” Mike Fairbanks let loose with a few choice expletives, and then checked himself. “Sorry. But I
told
that bull-headed son of mine not to move to Chicago. So, what are the doctors saying?”