I pulled the Subaru into a Visitor Parking space on the narrow access road between Richmond Towers and the park that ran along Lake Shore Drive in the distance. The trees in the park were still full and green this first weekend of October since the weather was fairly warm. But I imagined the park would be dressed in beautiful reds and golds in a few weeks . . . before the lakefront turned to ice and the Windy City lived up to its name during a sharp, biting Chicago winter.
And what would Lucy and Dandy do then?
Following my boys toward Philip’s building, I glanced back over my shoulder on the off chance I might see my bag lady friend and the yellow dog she’d adopted after my mom died. This park was one of Lucy’s favorite hangouts and where I’d run into her the first time we’d “met” last spring. Didn’t see either of them . . . but I did catch a glimpse of the opening to the pedestrian tunnel that ran beneath Lake Shore Drive, allowing dog walkers and joggers access to the shores of Lake Michigan on the other side.
The tunnel where Philip had been viciously attacked and beaten a week ago today while out jogging.
A cold shudder ran down my spine as the boys and I pushed through the revolving door into the lobby of Richmond Towers. Lucy had seen some suspicious characters hanging around the luxury high-rise for several days before the beating took place. Since the attackers hadn’t taken his watch or anything valuable, it looked like a “warning” from the loan shark who’d been threatening Philip.
Those brutes obviously knew where Philip lived. Was he safe coming back here?
Using the key card I still had in my purse, I swiped the security pad that let residents into the small elevator lobby. A few minutes later the boys and I stepped out of the elevator into the marble foyer of the thirty-second floor. The penthouse was the only living unit on this floor. Even though I still had a key, I pushed the doorbell. No way was I going to walk in if Philip was already there.
The door opened. But it wasn’t Philip framed in the doorway. A young man stood in the gallery, sandy hair sticking out from under a Cubs baseball cap, a curious grin on his face. “Hi!” he said. “You looking for Mr. Fairbanks? C’mon in. He’s in the living room. Guess that’s what you call it. Wow! Never seen such a view.”
P.J. and Paul both stared at the stranger, then Paul ran inside. “Dad? Dad! You okay?” P.J. and I followed.
Philip was sitting in his recliner, facing the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that wrapped around one corner of the large room. He turned his head as the boys came close. “Hey, guys,” he said, wincing as though the movement took too much effort.
Even though I’d been at the hospital at least once a day since the beating, it was still a shock to see Philip’s shaved head—that beautiful head of dark brown hair, always so carefully groomed— with the ugly red gash on the right side held together by a railroad track of stitches. The bruises from his broken nose were still spreading and now filled his eyes, giving him a brooding look. His broken right arm in its cast and sling rested on the arm of the recliner, but he managed to give both boys an awkward hug with the other arm.
“Hey,” I said, standing a few feet away. “You okay? We got to the hospital and you weren’t there.”
“Yeah. Doc said I could heal just as well at home.” He barely moved his mouth as he talked, as if his jaw hurt to move it.
“Yes, but—” I was wondering how he was going to cook his meals and dress himself with only one arm and those broken ribs.
But Philip interrupted. “So you met Will here?” He tipped his head toward the young man who’d opened the door and had followed us back into the living room. “He brought me home from the hospital.”
“Not officially.” I politely held out my hand. “Hi, Will. I’m Gabby Fairbanks. This is P.J. and Paul.” I wasn’t giving up any more until I had a better idea who this “Will” person was.
“My pleasure.” He shook my hand with a nice grip and grinned at the boys. “I just met Mr. Fairbanks this morning at the hospital. I was visiting my grandmother on the same floor and we got to talking just before the doc discharged him. Didn’t look like he had a way home and I had Nana’s car . . . and here we are.” He shrugged. “But now that your family’s here”—he directed this comment at Philip—“maybe I should hustle on out of here.”
In spite of myself, I liked this guy. “No, that’s okay. We can’t stay long. Just wanted to check on the boys’ dad, make sure he’s all right.” I turned back to Philip. “Do you have any prescriptions that need picking up? And I can check the cupboards, make sure you have enough food—”
“Oh, we got it covered,” Will said. “Stopped at Dominick’s on the way here to get his meds filled and we picked up some frozen dinners—easy stuff—ought to keep him for a few days anyway.”
Who was this Good Samaritan? “Oh. Well, uh, that’s good. Thanks.” If I was honest with myself, my nose felt a tad out of joint. After stepping up to the plate to make sure my husband was going to make it through this ordeal, I suddenly felt “kicked to the curb,” as the kids liked to say. But maybe it was a good thing. I mean, did I really want Philip depending on me right now? It complicated our relationship, made it hard to figure out what was real and what was just . . . necessary. We still hadn’t talked after Philip had begged me to forgive him for his despicable behavior— my words, not his—saying he wanted to try to patch together the broken pieces of our marriage.
That was after he’d landed in the hospital. I knew better than to respond to something that emotional in the middle of a crisis.
“Will’s a college student at UIC,” Philip was saying, but it was hard to hear him. The boys had turned on the flat-screen TV—three times as big as the old standby at my apartment—and were watching some nature program about alligators and other slimy reptiles.
“Hey, turn it down, guys,” I said, then turned to Will. “What are you studying?”
“Architecture. And business. Not sure what I want to do.”
I smiled. “Well, Philip’s your man. He works with architects all the time. He’s got his own commercial development business.”
Will nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I know. He was telling me. I think I was wearing him out when you guys showed up. But I’d like to come back when you feel better, Mr. Fairbanks, and pick your brain . . . if you wouldn’t mind. I’ve got a major project I have to do for school—it’d be great to have your input. Thanks for your business card.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Philip did seem tired. Exhausted, really. But he murmured, “You’re a good kid, Will. Hope you find your Great-Aunt Cindy.”
Will laughed. “Then what would keep Nana occupied? It’s the Grand Search that keeps her busy. Otherwise she’d be all in my business.”
Philip grunted and shut his eyes wearily.
What was that all about? It was obvious it was time to go. “Come on, boys.” I picked up the remote and clicked Off.
“Aww, can’t we just finish this?” Paul grabbed unsuccessfully for the remote.
“Nope. Gotta get you to the Lock-In, remember? Say goodbye to your dad.”
“ Bye, Dad.” Both boys gave their father another awkward hug, then headed for the front door.
I started to follow, but heard Philip mumble my name. “Gabby? Can . . . you come back? Maybe stay?”
I hesitated. I was worried how well he was going to manage on his own. But stay? It was one thing to stay with him the first couple of nights at the hospital when he was in crisis. But now that he was home . . .
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Philip. But I’ll come back tomorrow to see how you’re doing. After church. Is that okay?”
His eyes flickered open. He seemed agitated for some reason. But then his eyes closed and he turned his head away. “Yeah, yeah. That’s okay. Just call from the desk downstairs before you come up so I’ll know it’s you.”
Well, fine. Whatever. I touched Philip’s arm to let him know I was leaving, then picked up my purse and followed Will and the boys out into the marble foyer.
“What’s this about a missing aunt?” I asked Philip’s new friend as we waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Oh, that. I’m staying with my grandmother since I started UIC. Nana moved to Chicago to look for her sister who went missing when she was a teenager. Ran away, actually. Last they heard from her, she was here in Chicago, but it’s been, like, sixty years. Nana still thinks she’ll be found one of these days.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. P.J. and Paul hustled inside. This was interesting. For once I barely noticed as the elevator sank rapidly down all thirty-two floors.
“You’re worried about her?”
“Who? Great-Aunt Cindy?” Will shrugged. “Not really. Never met her or anything. Mostly I’m just humoring my grandmother. But I don’t mind.”
As we got off the elevator, the boys and I headed for the main lobby, but Will turned toward the door that led to the parking garage. “Will? This way. That’s for residents only.”
He looked sheepish. “I know, but I’m parked in the garage. Actually . . .” He looked beyond my shoulder and saw that the boys were already out in the lobby. “Actually it was kind of weird. I pulled up outside the revolving door, was just going to let him out, you know. But then Mr. Fairbanks saw these two guys sitting on a bench in the park, kinda facing the building. Not homeless guys or anything. In fact, one of the guys was wearing a suit. But when Mr. Fairbanks saw them, he slid down in the seat and said, ‘Go! Go!’ and made me pull into the parking garage for the residents. He had a key card in his wallet—he was so nervous I had to find it for him. Once we got in, he asked if I’d bring his stuff up to the penthouse. Which was no problem. In fact, we got to talking about architecture and stuff. Before you came, I mean.”
My mind was spinning as Will talked. Could the men they’d seen be the same guys who’d beaten him up? Philip said he hadn’t gotten a good look at them—they wore hooded sweatshirts that hid their faces. But still.
“Do you think you could identify the men on the bench?” I asked Will.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Why? Who are they?”
I hesitated to mention my suspicions. “I’m not sure. But they obviously upset him. Do you mind giving me your phone number in case I need to contact you?”
“I guess.”
I scribbled the phone number he gave me on a scrap of paper from my purse. But as we went our different ways, a lightbulb flicked on in my head.
Now I knew why Philip wanted me to stay.
He was afraid.