Who Is My Shelter? (21 page)

We couldn't help chuckling. But Edesa said she was serious about talking to the young man. Precious kept shaking her head but finally threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. I'll pray about it. If God tell me to jump into the lions' den, I'll jump. Not before.”

We moved on to other House of Hope business. Tanya pointed out that next week was Halloween, what were we going to do with trick-or-treaters? We certainly didn't want them traipsing up and down the inside stairs. I finally asked if she and Sammy would be willing to pass out candy in the foyer on behalf of the whole building. Her eyes lit up. “We'll dress up! It'll be fun.”

Josh reported on how work was progressing in apartment 2A—slowly, since he was doing most of it himself after classes and at night—and I reported that Celia Jones and Shawanda Dixon had agreed to share the apartment, and their applications for assistance were in process with the city. Before we ended I was able to squeeze in my requests about needing somebody to look after Dandy this weekend so Lucy could go on the Fall Getaway, as well as needing backup for the boys if Philip couldn't take them the whole weekend.

Tanya offered to take care of Dandy. “He a sweet dog. Sammy will like that.”

And Josh agreed to look after the boys if Philip couldn't keep them the whole weekend. “But he's their dad, Gabby. Why wouldn't he take them for the weekend?”

Humph
. Good question. Why hadn't he called me with his answer either?

I found out when I got back to my apartment after saying good-bye to Mabel and Jermaine, who'd come to hang out with Paul again. “Mom?” P.J. came out of his room. “Dad called while you were upstairs. Wants you to call him back soon as you got done with your meeting.”

About time
. “Your homework done?”

“Mom! Like, he wants you to call him back
right away
!”

“Fine. I'll call him. Go finish your homework.” I picked up the handset and walked toward the kitchen to make myself some tea, pushing the speed dial for the penthouse.

“Philip? P.J. said you called.”

“Yes. Uh . . . Gabby, I can't take the boys this weekend—”

My dander flared up. “Why not? It's just another twenty-four hours, Philip.” After Josh's comment, I'd decided to push if Philip seemed reluctant. “You
are
their fa—”

“Listen to me, Gabby. I mean I can't take them
at all
this weekend. Something happened.”

Now I was getting mad.
Something happened?
Yeah, right. Sounded like the excuses he'd give me when he had the Horseshoe Casino on the brain. “What are you talking about, Philip? You can't take them
at all
? I'm not going to be here this weekend! I need you to—”

“I
know
. I know that. Please, just listen a minute. I can't take the boys because it's not safe here. Someone—I can guess who— left an anonymous note with the doorman tonight, threatening me with physical harm if I didn't pay Matty Fagan what I owe him by this weekend. I can't take a chance on the boys being here if something should happen to me.”

My anger dissolved into a puddle of outright fear. “Oh, Philip!” I took the phone into my bedroom and shut the door. Couldn't chance the boys overhearing. “I'm so sorry. What are you going to do? What about you? It's not safe for you either!”

There was a pause. “I don't know, Gabby. I can't stay here. I'll probably be okay tonight, but I need to get a hotel or something until I can figure out what to do. I just want to keep the boys out of this.”

My heart was tripping all over itself. “All right. I understand. Just . . . just keep me posted where you're going to be. Call me tomorrow, all right? I'm going to have to tell the boys something.”

Like what? I clicked the phone off and sank onto my bed. What in the world was I going to do? Philip was in danger . . . I was going out of town . . . I couldn't leave the boys here by themselves . . . But I didn't feel comfortable asking Josh to look after them
all
weekend when he was doing the solo-parent thing with Gracie too.

Arrrgh!
I flopped backward onto the bed. Maybe I should cancel the weekend, forget the whole thing!

chapter 20

I felt slightly panicked as I arrived at work Thursday morning. I'd told Estelle I'd go with her this morning to the hospital meeting about Leroy if she needed me, but I
had
to decide something— quick!—about the Fall Getaway. Especially if I needed to cancel. We were supposed to leave right after lunch tomorrow, trying to miss traffic. But no way could I leave town if I didn't have someone to look after my boys.

I need some help here, Lord
. I glanced at Mabel's closed office door as I came into the Manna House foyer.
Should I ask Mabel if the boys could—?
I immediately tossed out that idea. Wouldn't work. Not for P.J., anyway. Maybe for Paul. Should I separate the boys, find different places for them? Whoever P.J. stayed with would have to get him to his cross country meet on Saturday— “Gabby? Message for you.” Angela Kwon waved a piece of paper at me. “Hope you know what it means.” She grabbed the phone, which was ringing for the third time. “I wrote what she told me. Hello, Manna House Women's Shelter . . . Who?”

Unfolding the note, I read it as I headed for the stairs to the lower level.
“Jury's out. Harry has day off, going with me to hospital meeting. Pray. Please check if Mabel able to find someone to make lunch. If not, leftovers in freezer. Take your pick. Estelle
.”

A wave of relief calmed my jitters. Now I'd have time to figure out what to do about the weekend—but not if I had to rustle up lunch. Hopefully Mabel had found a replacement to cook lunch, and not leftovers either. Ugh.

I stopped at the coffee urns to get a cup of coffee, rereading the note. Good news—I hoped—about the jury being out, which meant Fagan's trial was almost over. But Estelle had said accusations against a police officer were never a slam-dunk. They might be deliberating for days. Probably why she wrote
“Pray
.” Or did she mean pray for her meeting at the hospital?

Stupid question, Gabby. Both, obviously—

“Miss Gabby? Miss Gabby!”

I looked up and saw Naomi Jackson waving at me across Shepherd's Fold. The young girl looked a lot better these days, her blond-streaked brown hair washed and pulled back into a ponytail, her face not so pinched and pale. She met me halfway across the room.

“What time we leavin' tomorrow, Miss Gabby? For the getaway, I mean.” She smiled shyly. “I ain't ever been to Wisconsin before. I'm real excited about it.”

“Right after lunch. That's the plan anyway.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. “We've got a few glitches to work out, though. Do you pray, Naomi?”

“Well, sure, sometimes. Ain't too good at it, though. Why you askin'?”

“We could use some prayer about working out those glitches. We don't want to have to cancel the trip.”

“Cancel the trip?” Her gray eyes widened. “No way! If prayin' can help, I'm gonna start right now!” She started off, then turned back. “Would prayin' in the chapel make it more, like, legit?”

I shook my head, smiling now. “You can pray anywhere, Naomi, and God will hear you. But it's quiet in the chapel”—a tiny prayer room, really, tucked away on the main level behind Shepherd's Fold—“real nice if you want to get away for some special prayer time, just you and God.”

“Then I'm gonna pray there.” Naomi marched off and disappeared into the back hallway.

I watched her go.
Take your own advice, Gabby
, I told myself. God had already answered my first prayer, giving me some time this morning to work on alternative plans for the weekend. A good reminder to pray about the rest of the mess Philip's phone call had stirred up. I wished I could call Jodi Baxter and ask her to pray with me, but she didn't get home from school until three o'clock. Estelle wouldn't be back until . . . who knew when. So I shut my office door and prayed by myself.

Then I talked to Mabel, who was encouraging as usual. “Canceling the weekend should definitely be a last resort, Gabby. I'm sure something will work out for your boys. Paul can spend the weekend with Jermaine and me if that'll help. Why don't you explain the situation to Josh Baxter and see what he says? P.J.'s fourteen, could pretty much take care of himself if he has someone who knows his comings and goings. Call me tonight, let me know, all right?”

“Thanks, Mabel.” She made it sound so reasonable. I got up to go.

“Oh, one more thing.” She laughed as I gave her a look. “Some very sweet ladies from Chicago Tabernacle are coming to make lunch today. You're off the hook with the leftovers.”

Paul showed up at the shelter after school as usual since he could walk from Sunnyside, got some help from Carolyn in the schoolroom on his math homework, then holed up in the rec room with Jermaine, who also came to the shelter after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The two of them were working on a jazz number they were creating together. I'd decided not to say anything to Paul
or
P.J. about the situation with their dad and the weekend until I had my ducks lined up for both boys.

But my supposedly reasonable intentions were shot to pieces the moment Paul and I walked into the apartment at five fifteen. “Mom!” P.J. met us five steps inside the door. “Why didn't you tell us we can't go to Dad's this weekend? What's going on? I asked him and he said you'd tell us. But you haven't!”

“We can't go to Dad's?” Paul echoed. “I thought you were going on that getaway thingy this weekend, Mom.”

“You talked to Dad?” I stalled, hanging my jacket in the hall closet.

“Yeah, just called him. I wanted to ask if he'd come see me run in the sectionals on Saturday. Might be my last race this fall if we don't go to State. But he said he didn't even know where he'd be this weekend. What's that mean? What's going on?”

I sighed. There was no avoiding laying it out for the boys. I ushered them into the sunroom—a misnomer today, which was again gray and drizzly—and we curled up on the window seats for a talk. As simply as I could, I said the same people who had attacked their dad before were threatening him again, and he was concerned it wasn't safe for the boys to come there this weekend. So I was looking for someone else they could stay with while I was gone.

“But what about Dad? He shouldn't stay there either!” P.J. spouted.

“True. He'll probably go to a hotel or—”

“Why doesn't he just stay here?” Paul asked. “You're gonna be gone.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but P.J. jumped in. “Sure! Then we could just stay here and wouldn't have to go anywhere. And we'd be with Dad for the weekend, like usual.”

The trouble was, it made sense—from the boys' point of view. How could I tell them I didn't even want them around Philip until that whole mess got straightened out? “I don't think—”

“And then I could take care of Dandy!” Paul grinned. “You said Lucy wanted to go on your trip and needed someplace for Dandy to stay.”

My boys were two steps ahead of me, ironing out all my problems. But would they be safe? I needed time to think! Besides, all I could think of in the moment was whether Philip would sleep in my bed, the twin I'd brought from my childhood home when my mother died. The thought unnerved me. I wasn't ready for Philip to share my bed, even if I wasn't here!

“Let me think about this, boys. I need to make supper and we can talk later, okay?”

I fed the boys tuna sandwiches, chips, and applesauce—the easiest thing I could throw together without having to think about it. My mind was a whirling dervish. It was already six o'clock on Thursday night, and I was supposed to leave town in less than twenty-four hours. Paul's idea was tempting. It would solve all the glitches in one fell swoop! The boys would get to spend time with their dad after all. Paul could take care of Dandy. I could pack and get ready for
my
weekend instead of spending all evening trying to patch things together. And Philip would get away from the penthouse—and not have to pay for a hotel room with money he should be using to get himself out of debt, which was no small thing.

Except . . . Philip in
my
space for a whole weekend? Would it be harder to keep the boundaries I'd established since I got back on my feet? And what would he do when I got home on Sunday? The danger at the penthouse would still be there—until he paid off his debt to Fagan, anyway.

I needed to talk to somebody.

I dialed Jodi Baxter.

When she answered, I spilled out the whole complicated mess with hardly a pause for breath. “So what do you think?”

“Whoa. Slow down, Gabby. You've got several things going on here. Philip's being threatened again? I thought that went away when Fagan got arrested. Isn't his trial this week?”