Who Is My Shelter? (33 page)

Lee shook his head. “No, no, we're good. Thanks.” He dished up half of the appetizers onto one of the plates and handed it to me, then served himself. “Sorry about that. Go ahead, enjoy while the food's hot. Maybe we can talk after we eat, okay?”

I nodded, and for the next half hour we kept the conversation light as we tried the different dishes. The Hoi Tod mussels with hot sauce were a bit too exotic for me, but I enjoyed everything else. As we ate, Lee said he'd had to cut his Legal Aid work back to one day a week, as new cases piled up at his firm. I filled him in on the story of how Lucy sprained her ankle—he roared at the image of our favorite bag lady pretending to be a circus tightrope walker—and described her eightieth birthday party, complete with Pin the Tie on the Mayor, which got a big chuckle from Lee.

Finally the waiter cleared away our dishes, but by now the restaurant had filled up with more patrons and the noise level had risen. “Do you—would you like to walk a bit? There's something I'd like to show you,” he said. “If you won't get too cold.”

“I'm fine. Got a couple of layers on here.”

We put on our coats, and I pulled the hood of my raincoat over my head. Lee grabbed an umbrella from his car because the sky had clouded up and it looked like it might rain. I held on to his arm and we walked a couple of blocks south on Western and turned west on Montrose as he tried to pick up on our “talk” from earlier that evening.

“All I want to say, Gabby, is that I didn't mean to push you away that night. You were in a tough spot, and I should have been more understanding. It was overhearing your jerk of a husband asking you to forgive him that . . . well, it pushed me over the edge. The man doesn't deserve to be forgiven! What he did—”

“Lee—”

“Okay, okay. I know. Let's not talk about Philip. He's your kids' father, and for that reason alone, I guess you'll always have to deal with him. I just want you to know, Gabby, that I care for you a great deal. I behaved badly that night. But I don't want to lose you. Can you forgive
me
?”

I squeezed his arm with the hand I'd tucked into the crook of it. “Yes, of course I forgive you, Lee. And I care about you too. But it's not that simp—”

“Gabby, look.” He slowed. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

We had started to walk over a two-lane bridge that crossed the Chicago River. I looked around. Classic, old-fashioned streetlights lined the bridge and cast their light on clumps of trees below still clinging to their leaves. A misty fog seemed to be settling down over the river and the bridge. “It's like a fairy park!” I breathed with delight.

“It
is
a park right here. The river is narrow at this point and runs south through Homer Park before it heads through the city. It's pretty in the daytime too.”

We stopped in the middle of the bridge, leaning against the decorative iron railings. I picked up what I'd been trying to say. “I do care about you, Lee. You've been a good friend and . . . and I'd like to keep being your friend. But more than that? I don't know. It's not that simple.”

He tipped up my chin with a gentle finger. “Why not? You just said you care about me. And I've never met anyone quite like you.” His finger traced the side of my face, my mouth . . .

Desire rose in my body like a sweet hunger. My heart was beating so fast I was sure he could feel it. But I pulled back slightly and turned my head away, watching the streetlights sparkle on the water below, trying to recover so I could say what I wanted to say. “I . . . I've got a lot of things to figure out right now, Lee. I'm still married, you know—” I heard a brief snort from Lee and knew he was probably rolling his eyes. “Let me finish, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“The family thing—me, Philip, and the boys—it's complicated right now.” I knew Lee didn't understand that. As far as he was concerned, divorce was the only option, the sooner the better, and I had all the cards in my favor. Scratch Philip from the picture. Done. Move on. But funny thing, Philip and I had never once talked about divorce. Maybe we would've by now, if the crisis about his gambling debts, shady loans, and physical threats hadn't overwhelmed the situation.

“But that's not all.” I turned to face him. “Something new has been happening in my life, Lee. I grew up in church but let my faith drift for most of my adult life, for several reasons. But God has become an important part of my life again. Not just God, but Jesus. The whole Christian thing. Reading the Bible, praying. Church too. I need to be with other Christians so I don't drift away again.” My eyes searched his face. “Can you understand that, Lee? I can't be part of a relationship where God's not the main thing—”

“Gabby . . . Gabby.” Lee smiled, laugh lines crinkling beside his light brown eyes. “It's fine! It's all good. I would never stand in the way of something so personal as your faith. Just because God and I aren't on chummy terms, there's no reason why—uh-oh, here it comes!”

Large raindrops plopped onto the hood of my raincoat and the end of my nose. Lee laughed, popped open his big umbrella, and pulled me beneath its shelter, his arm holding me close. And the next thing I knew he was kissing my eyes, the tip of my wet nose, my mouth . . .

Oh, it felt so good to be wanted!
To be loved
. Letting go, I leaned into his embrace, kissing him back.

chapter 31

Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?

Lee and I barely talked on the way home. I'm sure my actions confused him, but I kept my face turned toward the passenger-side window, streaming with rain, as if the heavens were shedding the tears bottled up inside me. When we got to the six-flat, Lee didn't ask to come in, just walked me up the steps and into the foyer, brushed his lips on my cheek and murmured, “I'll call you,” before darting through the rain back to his car.

I kept myself together long enough to check on the boys. Dandy didn't even raise his head when I peeked into the room, probably hoping I wouldn't notice he was lying
on
Paul's bed, not beside it. I ignored dog-on-bed and went through the motions of getting ready for bed. But later, alone in my bedroom at the back of the apartment, the sobs finally convulsed my body, wetting the pillow with a torrent of tears.
Oh God!
My heart cried out into the darkness of my room.
I just need . . . I want someone to love me! And I want someone to love! Is that so wrong? Is it that important not to be “unequally yoked,” as the Bible puts it? Lee said he'd never stand in the way of my faith . . . he's kind and thoughtful . . . maybe we could make it work .
. .

As my sobs subsided, my mind started sorting through the rational possibilities. If Lee and I were a couple, maybe he'd start coming to church with me. I could be a good influence on him, bring him to God. But of course I'd have to divorce Philip first . . . give the boys time to get used to another man in my life . . .

But even as I toyed with the possibilities, I found it hard to put them into a prayer.
Argh!
Grabbing my pillow, I threw it across the room with such force it knocked something off my dresser, which fell to the floor with a crash.

Uh-oh
. Turning on the lamp on the nightstand, I got out of bed, retrieved my pillow, and reached for the object on the floor.

The framed photo I'd taken from Philip's study when I'd moved my things out of the penthouse.
Philip and me on our fifth wedding anniversary, cake smudges on our noses, me tossing my halo of red-gold curls as I laughed up at him mischievously
. Unbroken.

Bringing the picture closer to the light, I gazed at it a long time. In the photo, Philip was looking at me with the same look of adoration Lee had had on his face tonight. Loving me, laughing with me, enjoying me.

I gently set the picture down on the nightstand again, turned out the light, and crawled back under the covers, clutching the pillow. My heart twisted.
Oh God, I want Philip back! I want to be a whole family again! We loved each other once—couldn't we love each other that way again?

And then I started to laugh aloud—a mirthless laugh with no humor, my shoulders shaking at the irony of it. Even God would have a hard time sorting through my prayers tonight.
I want Lee . . . I want Philip . . . Lee . . . Philip . . . I want . . . I need . . . me, me, me .
. .

My mind and emotions finally wrung themselves out, and as I drifted toward sleep, exhausted, the scripture I'd taped to the kitchen cabinet and underlined in my Bible rose to the top of my thoughts and wrapped itself around my confusion.
“Trust in the Lord with all my heart . . . don't lean on my own understanding . . . In all my ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct my paths
.”

“Okay, God,” I murmured into my damp and wrinkled pillow. “Guess I don't know what I want. Or need. So I'm just gonna love You first and trust You to figure it out.”

The call from Philip came the next morning before I even left for work. “Gabby? I need to talk to you. Any chance we could have lunch today?”

For some reason, hearing his voice startled me. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I'd had dinner with Lee last night, and we'd kissed—and now my husband wanted to meet for lunch. Would my double life be written all over my face?

Still, I'd told Philip we needed to talk, and he was agreeing. “Lunch?” I grabbed the appointment book I'd been using lately to keep my schedule from getting all snarled up.
Monday, November 6 . . . 10:00 Staff mtg . . . 11:00 Lucy clinic checkup ankle .
. .

“I'm sorry, Philip, I don't think I can do lunch. I've got a staff meeting this morning, and then I'm supposed to take Lucy to the clinic to check on her ankle, and it's never in-and-out at the county hospital. Don't know how long it will take. Um, what about this evening?” I hated to be gone from the boys two evenings in a row, but this
was
important.

“Tonight? That's later than I'd like. There are some urgent things I need to talk over with you and I was hoping—but, all right. Can you call me when you're back from the clinic in case we can get together earlier?”

“Okay, call you later.”
Huh
. Later than he'd like? What could be so important that a few hours made a difference?

But my day changed when I walked into Manna House with Dandy on his leash and signed in. A sign written in magic marker was taped to the glass windows of Angela's reception cubby: “No Staff Mtg Today.” I pointed to the sign. “What's up?”

The receptionist blew a stray lock of glossy black hair off her face. “Mabel's sick. Sounded like the flu. I'm glad she's staying home—
I
don't want to get sick.” She grinned impishly. “Jin is taking me out to dinner tonight.”

“Ah, Jin.” I grinned. “I'm glad you brought him to the party the other night. He seems like a nice guy—a good sport, too, playing Josh's crazy games, even though he didn't know the rest of us.”

Angela made a face and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, even when he chose Dare and they dared him to kiss a girl in the room—
knowing
he'd kiss
me
. In front of you all!”

Laughing, I pushed through the double doors into Shepherd's Fold with Dandy clicking along at my heels. As soon as he spotted Lucy propped up on one of the couches, the dog pulled the leash out of my hand and made a beeline for the old lady. I gave the dog a chance to whimper his joy and lick her face, then said, “Hey, Lucy. You have a checkup at the clinic this morning. Staff meeting just got canceled, so . . . you up for going now? We might get out of there earlier.”

“
Today?
Oh, all right.” Lucy sounded as if I'd asked her to down a spoonful of cod liver oil, but she struggled to get up from the soft cushions.

It took us a good twenty minutes to get Lucy into her winter coat and down the outside steps—slick with the drizzling rain that had started last night—and into my Subaru. Might've taken longer except Angela left her post and helped Lucy with the steps while I got the car. But soon we were heading south on Lake Shore Drive, the windshield wipers
thump thump
ing as they chased raindrops back and forth.

It occurred to me that Lucy was my captive audience for the next twenty minutes until we got to the clinic. If there was any connection between this elderly street person and Will's grandmother, now would be the time to fish for it. “You still sleeping on the couch in Shepherd's Fold?” I asked, wanting to get her talking.

“Nah. A bed came up empty so I been goin' up an' down that box they call an elevator. Ain't so bad once I got used to it. But if it ever stops 'tween floors? I'm gonna yell bloody murder so loud they gonna hear me clear down at city hall.”

I chuckled. “Don't blame you. Glad you got a bed. Have you been able to put any weight on that foot yet?”