Mabel had already gone home by the time I signed in at Manna House at five forty. Rats. Was she gone for the whole weekend already? I had to talk to somebody before next Monday! Mabel was the one who’d steered me to the lawyer at Legal Aid. I wanted to debrief what Lee Boyer had told me and figure out what my next step should be.
Didn’t immediately see my mom, so I headed upstairs to change out of my pantsuit. Actually, what I really needed to do was think through what had happened at Philip’s office. Already I was kicking myself for barging ahead. What had I accomplished? Nothing—except a flippant promise to let me pick up my sewing machine sometime next week. We didn’t talk about the boys, about what he’d told them when they left, or how they felt about being jerked back to Virginia so suddenly. Didn’t talk about when P. J. and Paul were coming back, or what was best for them in the middle of our mess. The hundred and one important questions.
I wiggled out of my pantsuit. Ugh! I didn’t even get the satisfaction of making Philip squirm. Evidently, my husband was missing the squirm gene. Probably incompatible with the Fairbanks DNA, always right, always top dog—Dog. Oh good grief. Dandy! Had Mabel found a foster home for Dandy? . . . No, of course not, or I’d have heard about it by now.
Quickly pulling on a pair of jeans, I scurried downstairs. What in the world was I going to do? Sarge usually showed up at seven, and she would no doubt ask when I’d have Dandy out of there. This weekend . . . I’d just have to work on that this weekend.
Several women in orange-and-black Manna House volunteer T-shirts—some church group, no doubt—were bustling around the kitchen, setting big pans of covered hot food into the steam table section of the kitchen counter. I found my mother and Carolyn sitting at one of the tables, sorting clean flatware from a dishwasher rack into their appropriate buckets—forks, knives, spoons. It was a good thing Carolyn was working with my mother, or she’d be there till midnight at the rate she was going. I peeked into my office . . . no Dandy.
“He’s out with Lucy, if you’re wondering,” Carolyn called out. “Been gone most of the afternoon. Speaking of gone . . . I’m here filling in for you. You’re supposed to be on setup with your mama here.”
“Oh, Carolyn. I’m sorry. I had an appointment right after lunch and didn’t even look at the chore list.”
The book lady smirked. “Works for me. I just traded with you. You got my spot on supper dishes.”
Oh great. That’s when I usually tried to call P. J. and Paul. Maybe I should try during supper.
After making sure my mother was settled at a table with a plate of food, all the proper utensils, and Aida Menéndez nearby to look after “Gramma Shep,” I took my own plate of sliced ham, scalloped potatoes, and chopped salad into my office. Using my phone card, I dialed the Virginia number for Philip’s parents.
“Fairbanks residence.” Male voice. Philip’s father.
“Hello, Mike. It’s Gabby.”
“Oh. Hi there, Gabrielle.” He sounded uncomfortable. Maybe at least one Fairbanks male had the squirm gene. “Guess you want to speak to the boys. They’re outside riding their bikes right now. Can you call back, maybe an hour?”
I fought with my disappointment. “All right. Sure. But . . . Mike? Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Mike, you know Philip brought the boys there without my knowledge and without my permission, right?”
His silence definitely squirmed. Then, “Yeah, yeah. I pretty much figured. But Philip told his mother you two are having some marriage problems. Maybe it’s better if the boys are here right now, instead of, you know, in the middle.”
The bald truth of it hit me square between the eyes. I shook off his words. “But that’s kidnapping, Mike. Across state lines, no less.” Not exactly true, but I wasn’t ready to give up ground yet. “I don’t want to press charges if I can get my sons back.”
Now the silence at the other end stretched long and deep. Finally a heavy sigh. “Gabrielle, I don’t want to get in the middle of stuff with you and Philip. You know I didn’t approve of him moving up there to Chicago in the first place. As far as I’m concerned, the boys are Virginia born and bred and belong here. But I’m not their parent. What do you want? You want me to put the boys on a plane back to Chicago? You feel okay with them traveling by themselves? Just say the word and I’ll do it.”
Now it was my turn to be speechless. Did I hear right? I could have my sons back, just like that? Mike Fairbanks would go around his son on my say-so?
“Mike, I . . . I appreciate that. But I don’t have any money for plane tickets right now. Long story.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for it, and you can pay me back whenever.”
My heart was beating so fast, I felt as if I’d just sprinted the quarter-mile. This weekend?! I could have the boys back with me by this weekend?
And then what, Gabby?
I finally found words. “Mike . . . thank you. But you’re right. It’s not simple. Can I call you back? I need to think it through.”
“All right. But call me tonight, or first thing tomorrow morning. If you decide to leave them here, P. J.’s chomping at the bit to sign up for lacrosse summer camp the four weeks of July. Tomorrow’s the last day to get his name on the list.”
My hand was shaking as I hung up the phone. “If you decide to leave them here . . .” The decision was in my lap.
I joined the cleanup crew after supper in a daze. The church group volunteers put away leftovers and took the trash bags out the side utility door that accessed the gangway between buildings, and then they were gone—scuttling back to their own homes and families somewhere in the ’burbs. Hannah the Bored—my private name for the gum-chewing girl who was forever doing her nails—elected to wipe tables and sweep the floor, the easiest after-meal cleanup. That put me on dishes with two of the new residents, which meant I had to show them how to run the monster industrial dishwasher, leaving me no time to think.
I finally escaped into a sink full of large serving pans that needed scrubbing. A one-woman job. My mind spun around Mike Fairbanks’s offer with every swirl of the scrub brush. On one hand, a no-brainer! Of course! Send the boys back! I’d take the Blue Line out to O’Hare Airport and meet them myself.
And then what, Gabby? Bring them here to Manna House? That was the rub. Even if the boys were willing to stay here—big if—it wasn’t even possible. The shelter only allowed mothers with boys up to age eleven, and P. J. was almost fourteen. Well, what about someone else taking them until I find an apartment—but who? The only people I know here in Chicago I met here at the shelter . . . Wait. An idea danced in my brain as I sloshed suds in the sink. Josh’s parents—Jodi and Denny Baxter—had taken Lucy for a few days when she had that cough. Josh said they had extra bedrooms now that he and his sister were out of the house. Would they—?
This is ridiculous! Even if the Baxters agreed, would my boys? Leave their grandparents to stay with total strangers? Not a chance. And Philip would have a fit.
Oh God, what am I going to do?
I glanced at the kitchen wall clock. Quarter to eight. An hour later in Virginia. I had to call Mike back, soon! The rest of the cleanup crew had already finished. Draining the sink, I took off my apron, flipped off the kitchen lights, and started for my office—when I noticed my mother standing in the middle of the dimly lit dining room, wringing her hands. “Mom! You okay?”
“Dandy.” Her lip trembled. “I can’t find him.”
“Oh, Mom. Lucy took him out.” Like hours ago. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon. You know Lucy!” Yeah, but if “soon” wasn’t the next few minutes, Sarge would lock the doors at eight, and that would be it.
As if on cue, we heard a commotion on the main level and a sharp bark. I gave my mother a hug. “See? There he is! Come on, let’s go see him.” I tried not to show my impatience. I needed to call the boys’ grandfather—and I still had no idea what I was going to say. All I knew was that I wanted my boys back, now.
In her haste, my mother stumbled a bit going up the stairs, and I had to slow her down. But as we came into the multipurpose room, she was rewarded with a dynamo of yellow hair jumping all around her, whimpering happily. “Oh, Dandy, good boy, good doggy. Are you hungry? You are? Oh, look at your red bandanna. Look, Gabby, Lucy dressed him up! . . . Yes, yes, good doggy. I missed you too.”
But I was looking at Lucy’s purple knit hat squaring off in the middle of the room with the night manager. Lucy planted her fists on her lumpy hips. Sarge folded her muscular arms across her bosom as the two women went nose-to-nose.
“That dog ain’t goin’ ta no pound,” I heard Lucy say.
“Rules are rules, Lucy Tucker. No pets at the shelter. Capisce?”
“This ain’t the army, and you ain’t commander in chief.”
“And this ain’t no pet hotel. The dog goes—tomorrow.”
Lucy shook a finger in Sarge’s face. “Dandy’s family. Miz Martha’s family. Her mean ol’ son-in-law already kicked the dog an’ Miz Martha out. Ya gonna do it again? Huh? Huh?”
“’Course not. Miss Martha can stay. But the dog gotta go. Sabato. ”
“Humph!” Lucy waved her hand in disgust and stormed past us, heading for the stairs to the bunk rooms. “Over my dead body,” she muttered.
My mother tugged on my arm. “Celeste? Celeste? What does the night lady mean, the dog has to go? Not Dandy. She’s not talking about Dandy, is she?”
By the time I calmed my mother down, gave Sarge a piece of my mind for talking about the dog in front of her, and got my mom upstairs and ready for bed, it was almost ten o’clock. Eleven in Virginia! Was it too late to call? I ran down to my office and picked up the phone . . . and then put it back in its cradle.
What was I going to say?
Early tomorrow. Mike said I could call early in the morning. All right. I’d sleep on it and call first thing in the morning.
Except . . . I couldn’t sleep. The bunk room felt stuffy and crowded. Tanya and Sammy took up the fourth bunk. Lucy’s snoring grated on my raw nerves. And seeing Mom’s tears as she’d hugged Dandy good night before crawling into her bunk was about the last straw. The next day loomed like a hangman’s noose outside my prison cell. I had to decide one way or another about the boys . . . had to find a foster home for Dandy before the Battle Ax called the pound . . . and it was the weekend! No Mabel to talk to. Would Estelle be in to cook lunch? I had no idea. Edesa and Josh had no reason to come in, unless Josh just happened to drop by to hang out with the kids. Even Harry Bentley didn’t work at Richmond Towers on the weekend.
Wait. Jodi Baxter was scheduled to teach a Saturday typing class at eleven. Maybe I could talk to her! Except . . . eleven o’clock would be too late.
I needed to talk to someone now. But who?
“Come to me . . . all you who are burdened and carrying heavy loads . . .”
I remembered the Voice in my spirit and the verse I’d read in Matthew’s gospel. That left God. I’d have to talk to God.
Slipping quietly out of bed, I tiptoed to the door, opened it, and listened. All was quiet. Maybe I could sit in the tiny lounge here on this floor if no one was sleeping out there, which sometimes happened. As I slipped out, Dandy squeezed out right behind me. “No, no, go back, Dandy,” I hissed, trying to shove him back into the bunk room. But he wouldn’t budge. I sighed. “Oh, all right,” I whispered. “But if you alert Sarge, your name is mud.”
The lounge was empty. Just a few stuffed chairs covered with cotton throws, a futon that had seen better days, and a table lamp. I wished I had my Bible, but it was downstairs in my office. Well, just as well. I’d keep the light off and just pray.
Curling up on a chair, I pulled the cotton throw around my shoulders. Dandy stretched out at my feet. God, I prayed silently, You’ve been calling me to come to You. But it seems like I keep getting kicked off the path! Please . . . please lead me down the right path. I don’t know what to do!
My prayer drifted into rehearsing the options I’d already discarded. The boys couldn’t stay at the shelter—and probably wouldn’t want to. Probably wouldn’t want to stay with the Baxters either, even if they were invited. Well then . . . the boys could stay with Philip! Except . . . he was moving out of the penthouse next week. But where? Would he have room for the boys? Or would he take them right back to Virginia?
God! I’m going in circles here!
And then the answer dropped into my spirit, like a flashing road sign. Leave the boys in Virginia for the month of July. I’d resisted the idea with every fiber of my being. It felt like I’d be giving in, letting Philip win! But . . . if I asked myself, What’s best for the boys right now? given that I was living in a shelter and didn’t know how soon I could get an apartment, or how quickly Lee Boyer could push through the custody petition—the answer was clear. Don’t keep jerking Paul and P. J. around. Let them stay with their grandparents. One month wasn’t the end of the story. I still had two months to get them back here in time for school. And P. J. could go to lacrosse camp, like he wanted—A low growl broke my concentration. “Dandy! Hush!” I hissed, kicking at the dog with a bare foot. But he was already on his feet, nose pointed toward the stairwell. I reached for him and felt his body tense. The rumble in his throat persisted, and he padded silently toward the stairwell.
Scrambling out of the chair, I tried to stop him. He probably heard Sarge or the other night assistant—a social work intern from a local college—doing their rounds. But I was too late. Dandy had already disappeared down the stairwell.
I followed as quickly as I could. Good grief ! Just what I needed, for Dandy to tangle with Sarge in the middle of the night. Animal Control would be here at daybreak.
Aha . . . there he was, crouched at the staircase leading down to the lower level. One good grab and—I stopped. Muffled noises and several thumps from below was followed by a voice snarling, “Shut up.” My heart triple-timed. A man’s voice!
At that instant, Dandy scrabbled down the staircase like a cougar after its prey. I tried to scream, “Dandy! Come back!”— but nothing came out of my mouth. Instead I heard Dandy barking fiercely, and then—
“Call him off ! . . . Umph!” A man’s voice! “Get that dog off me—Ow! Ow! My hand! You—” A string of gutter words filled my ears as I stood frozen on the stairs. “Call him off, I tell you, or I’ll cut him!”
And then a yelp of pain.
Dandy!