I HATE you, Philip Fairbanks!
My emotions seethed as I tossed in my bunk that night, unable to sleep, listening to Lucy’s heavy breathing across the room. How could the man I’d just spent fifteen-plus years of my life with let my kids think I was the one who wanted to move out so fast, I didn’t even have time to tell them good-bye? Let them think I just wasn’t answering my cell phone? Had them actually help pack up my things because Mom and Grandma were moving out?
You pig! I slugged the pillow I’d been clutching, wishing it was his face. You slimy snake! I threw in a few other dirty names, punching the pillow with each one.
I finally fell back, blowing out the dregs of tension. At least . . . at least Philip had said their grandma needed me “real bad” right now—not that I didn’t love them anymore, or something equally devastating.
Still!
Lucy’s heavy breathing hiked up a couple of notches into a rumbling snore. I flopped over on the skinny bunk and smashed the pillow over my ears. In the dark cocoon I created, the phone call with my sons played over and over again in my head . . .
Philip Jr.’s voice had been guarded. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey there, kiddo.” It was so tempting to blurt out that their father had stolen them from me, and I was going to bring them back the very next day! But . . . back to what? I needed time!— time to figure out my options, to make a plan.
“Is Paul still there? Listen, both of you. I want to tell you something. Your dad and I . . . there’s been a misunderstanding. I found a place for Grandma to stay, but your dad didn’t know that. But I want you to know that I never, ever meant for you to go back to Virginia so suddenly, especially without saying good-bye. I—I want to be with you so bad.” My voice caught, and I had to stop.
Paul jumped in. “Why can’t Grandma and Dandy just live with us, Mom? I don’t mind sleeping in P. J.’s room.”
“Says you,” his brother shot back. “I want my room back. I’m almost fourteen, you turkey.”
“So? We have to share a room here at Nana’s. Why not—”
“Boys!” I had interrupted. “It’s . . . it’s not possible for Grandma and Dandy to live with us right now.” Because your dad’s a selfish pig, I’d wanted to add, but bit it off. “But I want to get you back home with me as soon as possible.”
“Gee, wish you guys would make up your mind!” P. J. had stormed. “Granddad just said he could sign me up for a summer lacrosse league! I’d be sure to make the spring team when I go back to GW if I could play this summer.” GW . . . George Washington Prep, “where all the Fairbanks boys” had gone to school.
“So? Go ahead and stay here. I’ll go back with Dad, and we’ll both have our own rooms!”
“Stupid. Dad just left for the airport.”
That news had hit me like cold water in the face. So Philip was on his way back to Chicago. Well, Henry Fenchel had said he’d be back in the office on Wednesday. Tomorrow . . .
I rolled out of the bunk. Rehearsing the phone call with my kids would never let me sleep. Usually when I couldn’t sleep, I’d get up, make some chamomile tea, and read something for a while. What did one do in a homeless shelter?
Dandy popped up from his rug beside my mother’s bunk and tried to follow me. “Stay, boy,” I whispered. “Lie down. Stay.” I squeezed out the door, shut it behind me, and padded quietly down the stairs. Or so I thought.
Sarge met me at the bottom step on the main floor. “Mi scusi! Back upstairs now—oh. It is you, Mrs. Fairbanks.” The night manager folded her arms across her chest. “So, you do not abide by resident rules, no? And I know you still have that dog upstairs. Against all kind of rules, if you ask me.”
I thought fast. “Uh, I need to go to my office for a minute. Sorry I disturbed you.” I hustled down the next flight of stairs to the lower level, made my way by the dim EXIT-sign glow to my office, and flipped on its light. Maybe I should do some work, give me something else to think about. Mabel rehired me, after all. Better start earning my keep—That’s when I noticed the envelope propped against the computer, my name on the outside. Easing myself into the desk chair, I pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope. Edesa’s handwriting . . .
Dear Sister Gabby,
My heart breaks for you, mi amiga, to have your children taken away so fast. But you are not forgotten! My Yada Yada sisters gave me this precious word from the Lord when it looked as if we might lose our Gracie:
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me. Your sons hasten back, and those who laid you waste depart from you.” (From Isaiah 49. There’s more. You might want to look it up!)
Dear Gabrielle, your parents gave you the right name! Live it!
¡Te amo!
Edesa Reyes Baxter
My heart beat faster as I read the note. I read the Bible verse again, and then again. “. . . Your sons hasten back . . .” Was this a promise for me? But it was from the Old Testament! Written thousands of years ago. How could it . . . ?
I pressed the note to my chest, turned out the light, and schlepped up the two flights of stairs to the bunk rooms, strangely comforted. “Your sons hasten back . . .”
Lucy was still snoring when I opened the door to the room we shared. Tiptoeing to her bunk, I felt for the old woman’s body, put both hands under her side, and rolled. With a grunt and a groan, the “bag lady” heaved over onto her side, smacking her lips in her sleep. I waited, holding my breath.
Sweet silence.
Crawling into my own bunk, I slid Edesa’s note under the pillow. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered, what did she mean about living my name?
The six o’clock wake-up call grated on my nerves after my short night. Didn’t homeless women ever get to sleep in? On the other hand, breakfast was ready at seven, prepared by the night staff—oatmeal and toast this morning—and the coffee was hot. I needed at least two cups to pry my eyelids awake.
I had just finished telling my mother I would get the rest of her clothes and personal things situated up in our bunk room, when Sarge rang the big handbell for attention. “Listen up, signore! Here is the chore list for today. Wanda and Gabby, breakfast dishes. Martha Shepherd and Tanya, wipe tables and sweep. Lunch . . .”
Drat! I’d forgotten about the chore list. How was I supposed to take care of my mother, put in my hours as program director, and start the uphill battle to get my kids back while washing dishes for thirty-some people? I sighed. Couldn’t very well complain. All the residents helped with the daily chores in one way or another. At least my mother hadn’t been saddled with heavy duty, like the dishes.
“Hey!” Lucy’s crusty voice broke into my thoughts. “What if I don’ wanna be here at lunchtime! Cheese Louise. A body’s got things to do, places to go. Can’t hang around all day just ’cause you put my name up there to push a broom after lunch.”
“Trade with someone, then,” Sarge shot back. “Just so it gets done.”
Which was just as well, because Lucy ended up trading chores with Tanya, who had a nine o’clock interview at one of the housing agencies and wanted to get out of there. That put Lucy and my mom working together, so I just left them to it, while Wanda tried to teach me the ins and outs of the huge industrial dishwasher—though her Jamaican accent was so thick, I had a hard time understanding half of what she said.
“No problem, Sistah Gabby! You spray off de food, mi stack de dishes in de trays, slide dem in dis way, slide down de door, push dat button . . . see? All dere is to it!”
Except there was no such thing as “spraying off ” cold oatmeal stuck inside the multiple bowls, which meant I did a lot of scraping and scrubbing before Wanda could load the trays.
By the time I’d dried and stacked the heavy coffee cups that came out hot and steaming from the dishwasher, my curly hair had frizzed up like a Brillo pad under the required white hairnet, and my hands were beet red. Delores Enriques, the nurse from the county hospital who came in once a week on Wednesday, was already setting up her makeshift nurse’s station in a corner of the dining room. I gave her a wave as I hurried upstairs to check on my mom. She was sitting in a far corner of the multipurpose room chatting with Carolyn, the shelter’s self-appointed “book maven,” who’d been trying to set up a library with donated books. To my surprise, Dandy sat on his haunches, pressed close to my mother’s knees, her hand lightly stroking his head.
I looked nervously about. “Mom! I don’t think Dandy should—”
Carolyn put a conspiratorial finger to her lips. “Shh. We saw Sarge leave, so Lucy brought Dandy up. Nobody’s gonna care for a few minutes.” The middle-aged resident, who wore her long, brownish-gray hair slicked back from her pallid face in a straggly ponytail, grinned at me. “Say, Gramma Shep is the first person I’ve met at Manna House who’s also read Robert Browning’s poems. How come you never told me that?”
Just then Estelle breezed through the double doors from the foyer, loose orange caftan flying, carrying two bulging bags with yarn and needles sticking out of the top. Without breaking stride she called out, “Mornin’, ladies! It’s Wednesday—knitting club gonna be startin’ up in a few minutes. Sure could use your help again, Gramma Shep.” The colorful black woman disappeared down the stairs to the lower level.
I grinned. Looked like the knitting club I’d suggested Estelle pioneer was off and running for its second week, giving women something to do while waiting for the nurse to see those who signed up. Pleased, my mother struggled up out of the overstuffed chair to follow. I started to help her, but Carolyn got there first. “Nah, let me. I’ll get your mom downstairs and put the dog in your office. Just don’t ask me to take him out and pick up his poopies. No sir. That’s where I draw the line.”
I tried not to laugh. “Thanks, Carolyn.” I knew Lucy had already taken Dandy out once, and with Mom busy for the next hour or two, I should be able to get a few things done. First stop, Mabel’s office.
As briefly as I could, I brought the director of Manna House up to speed on my visit to Richmond Towers yesterday, the status of my finances, and the phone call with my children, including the fact that Philip was probably back in town and expected at his office. “At least I know where to find him,” I said wryly. “But I need a lawyer, Mabel—someone who does family law. Problem is, I don’t have any money.”
Mabel flipped her old-fashioned Rolodex and wrote down a number. “Legal Aid. Ask for Lee Boyer. He’s done work for some of the shelter residents before. He’s a good man.”
“Thanks. Oh, before I forget . . .” I handed my boss the intake form I’d filled out. “Never thought I’d be checking off any of those boxes. Pretty humbling. Always thought homeless people were, well, like Lucy, bag ladies or winos living out on the street for years. But now look at me.” I shook my head.
Mabel arched an eyebrow, the only wrinkle in her maple-smooth skin. “You’re not the only person with a college degree we have in here. Look at Carolyn. She’s got a master’s degree in literature! Had a string of bad luck financially, lost a lucrative job, didn’t have any close family, got evicted for some reason—”
“Yeah. That’s me. Evicted by my own husband.” I knew I sounded sarcastic. I stood up quickly. “Thanks, Mabel. I’m going to call Legal Aid and then get to work.”
“One more thing, Gabby.”
I paused. “Yes?”
“Sarge says we have to do something about the dog. She’s right. What if every resident wanted to bring her dog or cat into the shelter?”
I groaned. “I know, I know. It’s just . . .” I dreaded telling my mother she couldn’t keep Dandy. “What am I going to do? He’s been Mom’s constant companion since Dad died! I’d keep him myself if I had my own apartment, but . . .” I shook my head in frustration. Dandy wasn’t the only reason I needed to find an apartment—soon!
“Well, maybe we can find a foster home for him. I’ll start asking around.” A slow smile spread over Mabel’s normally businesslike features. “Lucy sure seems to have taken a shine to him.”
“I know! She took him out three times yesterday and again this morning. Don’t know where they go—there aren’t any parks close by that I know of.”
I started to leave when she called me back again. “Gabby?”
Now what? I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Don’t be thinking about showing up at Philip’s office today.”
I gave her a look. I’d been toying with that very thought. Oh, how I wanted to give that man a piece of my mind, and do it in front of his partner and any clients who happened to be there too!
She jabbed a finger at me. “See the lawyer first. Know your rights. Until then, you’ll just be acting the fool, and he’ll feel justified walking out on you.”
Now I did roll my eyes, jerked open her door, and let it close—hard—behind me.