Who Is My Shelter? (19 page)

The thunder was getting louder. My mind scrambled.
Play down the bike, Gabby
. “Yes, I got your surprise! Couldn't imagine
what
it was when that delivery truck pulled up this morning. But the Belfort Signature table? Oh my, it's so beautiful! Did you see it set up in the dining room?” I leaned the bike against the closest wall and headed down the hallway, talking all the while, leading the entourage. “I was so surprised! We certainly need a table, but I never imagined getting one this elegant. You can be sure I got rid of that old makeshift table we've been using quicker than—oh my, what's this?”

We'd arrived in the dining room where the table and chairs stood in all their glory, and in the center of the table on a cut-glass pedestal cake server—one of our wedding presents, used only for special occasions—stood an elegant bakery cake. Three layers at least. “Double fudge with almond icing,” Philip murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your favorite.”

He remembered
.

Several wrapped birthday gifts surrounded the cake. “And we ordered Gino's pizza!” Paul broke in. “You shouldn't have to cook on your birthday, right, Dad?”

“Absolutely not,” he agreed. “I wanted to order Chinese, but I was outvoted.”

I almost laughed aloud. Good thing. I wasn't sure I could eat Chinese takeout two nights in a row.

“But where'd you get the bike, Mom?” P.J. insisted. He was frowning and exchanging looks with his father.

“It's on loan from a friend until I can get one of my own. Remember, I said I wanted to go for a bike ride with you guys before the weather gets too cold.”

“Looks new, though.” P.J.'s tone was just this side of challenging. “How did that lawyer guy have a brand-new bike to loan you?”

So they
had
seen me drive up with Lee. “Belonged to his sister, but she moved out of state and left the bike with him. I'm just borrowing it.” I laughed it off and clapped my hands. “How about if we get this table set with Grandma's china before that pizza gets here. Or can we have dessert first and open those presents now?” I tousled Paul's hair and headed for the china cupboard in the kitchen.

The rain finally arrived, complete with lightning and thunder, but we hardly noticed it in the back of the apartment. And when all was said and done, I realized I'd had the best fortieth birthday party I could have wished for, but hadn't even considered was possible: supper around the same table with my family. Just the four of us. I tried to enjoy it simply for what it was, pushing aside awkward thoughts about Philip giving me such an expensive gift and
being
there, given the dubious nature of our current relationship.

At their request, I did indeed open the boys' presents first, which turned out to be scented pillar candles in different sizes and a couple of decorative candles in jars. “We know how much you like candles, Mom,” Paul blurted. “We actually wanted to—ow!” He glared at his brother, whom I surmised had kicked him under the table. What was
that
about?

Let it go, Gabby
. I lit all the candles and turned out the lights, bathing the room in candlelight, then cut the cake, finishing up with Gino's stuffed pizza when it arrived. P.J. told us all about the regional meet that day—both the boys' and girls' cross country teams at Lane Tech had qualified for the sectional meet next weekend—and I mentioned that Lucy Tucker wanted to go on the Manna House Fall Getaway the following weekend and might need someone to look after Dandy.

“I will! That'd be cool,” Paul said, mouth full of pizza.

“Well, we'll see,” I said. “Have to work out what you'll be doing next weekend.”

Philip finally pulled out his keys and said he'd better get home. “Wait a doggone minute!” I said. “How'd you guys get here? Philip Fairbanks, don't tell me you
drove
.”

He shrugged. “I did all right, didn't I, boys? Had to start sometime.”

Shaking my head, I walked him out to the foyer. He declined my offer of an umbrella. “Thanks again for the table, Philip. I mean that. You didn't have to do it, you know. What are you going to do for a dining room table now, anyway?”

Philip's eyes shifted to the dripping trees outside along the sidewalk. “Don't need a table like that for just me, do I? And I'm thinking of getting out of the penthouse anyway, Gabby. Can't really afford it right now.”

Gabby
. He'd been calling me that a lot lately instead of Gabrielle.

“I'm sorry about that, Philip.” Not knowing what else to say, I took a chance on bringing up the next weekend. “Say, I'm wondering if next week you could keep the boys all weekend? I'll be gone until Sunday on this Fall Getaway. Of course, they'll be with you half the time anyway, so I was just wondering . . .”

He didn't answer immediately.

“Don't worry about the dog,” I hastened to add. “If the boys stay with you, I'm sure Lucy can find someone else to look after Dandy—maybe even someone here in the building. Edesa Baxter is going, but Josh will be here.” That was fairly presumptuous, since Josh would also be taking care of little Gracie all weekend, but I didn't say so.

“Can I get back to you? It might work out, but let me think about it.”

“Sure, of course. If it's too much, you know, while you're still on the mend, just say so. Uh-oh. It's still raining. Are you sure you don't want the umbrella?”

Philip didn't seem to hear. Turning to me he said, “Thought you might want to know the boys really wanted to get you a bicycle for your birthday. They even pooled their allowance but came up short. They asked me to help them out, but . . .” He almost seemed to wince. “I had to tell them I couldn't. I've been advised to cut up my credit cards so I wouldn't be tempted to use them until I get my finances straightened out. P.J. got pretty mad about it, reamed me out about gambling myself into a hole.” His mouth twisted sardonically. “Nothing like having your own kid give you a lecture. But he's right, of course.”

I was too startled by Philip's honesty to say anything.

“So maybe you can understand why P.J. got upset when that Boyer fellow drove up with you and unloaded that fancy bike. Have to admit, I felt like a heel that I wasn't able to help the boys get a bike for you—but
he
was.”

My throat caught, realizing the boys had wanted to do something special for me.

“It's just a loan—” Philip held up his good hand to stop me.

“I know. You said. But what I'd like to know, Gabby . . . is Lee Boyer the reason you haven't been able to forgive me and talk about mending our relationship?”

chapter 18

The usual before-service hubbub swirled around me as I sat by myself in one of the folding chairs at SouledOut Community Church the next morning waiting for worship to begin. But I barely noticed. My mind was still wrestling with Philip's startling question the night before. It was the first time the subject had come up again since he broke down in the hospital and begged me to forgive him for how he'd messed everything up.

When I finally got my tongue untangled, I'd said something lame, like,
“It's more complicated than that, Philip
.” I could tell he was frustrated, but he didn't say any more, just pulled his London Fog over his head and injured arm and made a dash for his car.

I'd slept badly, confused by my own feelings. Lying in the dark, I'd tried to remember Lee's gentle kiss that day in the car after the closing on the six-flat and the teasing as we'd splashed in the fountain at Millennium Park. But as I fell asleep, it was Philip in my dreams, twirling me in the rain beside the Fountain of Three Graces where we'd first met in Montpellier, France.

But by the light of day, my head cleared by two cups of strong coffee, I knew it wasn't just my feelings for Lee that kept me from being able to say “I forgive you” to Philip. I wanted more from him than just “I messed up.” I wanted him to admit he'd been
wrong
to not welcome my mother into our home,
wrong
to lock me out of the house,
wrong
to cut off my phone and credit cards,
wrong
to disappear with our boys without telling me where they'd gone. Frankly, I wanted him to grovel.

“Gabby! Happy belated birthday, girl!” Jodi Baxter plonked herself down in the chair beside me and gave me a quick hug. “You got my message, right? So sorry I wasn't here to help celebrate your birthday. I'd love to take you out for lunch, just you and me. I know it's kind of last minute but—” Jodi stopped and frowned at me. “Are you okay, Gabby? Don't tell me you had a rotten birthday.”

I made a face. “I didn't have a rotten birthday, but I'm not okay.” The praise team looked as if they were just about ready to start. “Can't talk now.”

The sax player, a fine-looking young black man with a trace of a Jamaican accent, spoke into his mike. “Praise the Lord, church. Can we all find our seats? Except don't sit down yet, because we're getting ready to praise the Lord! Most of you know this song by Percy Gray, and if you don't know it, you should! Ready, one, two . . .”

As the keyboard, drums, sax, and electric bass launched into the first praise song, Jodi grabbed me and pulled my ear close to her mouth. “Then we are definitely going out to lunch together, no excuses.”

I let it go till later. I'd made a big deal with the boys about going for a bike ride this afternoon, now that I'd “borrowed” a bike, but the thunderstorm last night had left a light drizzle in its wake this morning. If the rain stopped . . .

The words to the gospel song began to work their way into my thoughts.
When trouble's around me, I can go to the Rock .
. . The sax was wailing lustily and the praise team headed into the vamp:
“Jesus, my waymaker . . . strong tower . . . heart fixer . . . I can go to the Rock!”
Again and again we sang,
“I can go to the Rock!”

I had to smile. Nothing like God confirming what He'd been trying to tell me about building on Christ the Solid Rock.

The sax player—his name, Jodi whispered, was Oscar Frost— then read the morning scripture in his slight Jamaican accent. “From Psalm 91 . . . ‘He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.' ” Oscar laid aside his Bible. “Are you trusting Him, church? Are you resting in His shadow? Are you living in His shelter?” He adjusted his saxophone and nodded to the woman at the keyboard, launching into another song.

“God is my everything! . . . A shelter in the time of storm! . . . God is . . .”

A shelter
. The word flashed like a neon light inside my head. I'd been glad to get
out
of the Manna House women's shelter when I'd finally found a place of my own. But there was something about that word that touched a tender place in my spirit. I still needed a shelter, a safe place for my broken heart to be mended. The scripture and the songs were obviously talking about finding shelter in God, the Solid Rock Who cannot be moved.
And I am drawing closer to You, aren't I, Lord?

But if I was honest with myself, what I truly missed was that safe place of having a man's arms around me, my knight in shining armor, making me feel he would protect me from any storm or dragon or danger or evil that threatened to snatch me away.

The way Philip used to make me feel.

The way Lee wanted me to feel—if I'd let him.

But something was holding me back. That Voice in my spirit.
Wait. Wait, Gabby. Let Me be your everything
.

The boys were not interested in riding bikes in the drizzle, which looked like it might keep up all day. So I sent them home with Josh and Edesa and met Jodi at The Common Cup coffee shop on Morse Avenue near the church.

The coffee shop was typical—small tables that wiggled, customers sitting by twos or alone working on their computers or reading, a tiny library of books in a back corner with a couple of overstuffed chairs. We each ordered a large, fresh bagel and cream cheese with our coffee and found a free table near the front window.

Jodi had brought me a birthday gift—a beautiful leather-bound journal. “To write your prayers in,” she said, smiling. “I don't know about you, but I often write my prayers to keep my mind from wandering and making to-do lists!” She made a face as if embarrassed. I envied the way her medium-length bob swept her shoulders. Jodi had soft brunette hair, bangs that brushed to one side, and warm brown eyes—the kind of pretty teacher I imagined third-grade students would all be in love with.

I opened the journal reverently. “Write my prayers in
this
? My prayers are way too discombobulated for such a nice book. Right now all I've got is a scribbled prayer list.”

Jodi laughed at my big word. “Doesn't matter. Write your prayers anyway, they don't have to be fancy. It's a good thing to do because later you can go back and see all the prayers God has answered. Try it. I double-dog dare you!”