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 thumping 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?”
“Yeah, some. Sure will be glad to get rid o’ them crutches. What a pain! Worse’n the ankle.”
“Well, here’s hoping the doctors agree.” I drove a few more minutes, the thump, thump, thump of the wipers and the warmth of the heaters creating a cozy cocoon in the car. Then I subtly shifted conversational gears. “Did you ever twist your ankle or break a bone when you were a kid?”
“Oh sure. Lotsa times. Sprained my ankle, I mean. Never broke anything. But I was always climbin’ trees an’ jumpin’ creeks an’ stuff. My ma said I was a bad influence on the other kids, ’cause I was the oldest an’ the younger ones was always wantin’ ta do what I did.”
Oh my goodness. What a perfect segue. “You have many other brothers and sisters?”
“Ha. Too many, if ya ask me. But that’s the way it was with migrant families—we needed all the hep we could get pickin’, so had to grow ’em ourselves. Leastwise, that’s what my paw used ta say.”
I was so excited the speedometer had crept upward without me realizing it. Whoa, slow down, Gabby. Didn’t want an accident. The Drive was slick with rain. Tapping the brake, I let the needle fall below the speed limit. “So tell me some of their names.”
“Well, lessee. Maggie was next ta me, then came Tom an’ Willy an’ George, one after t’other . . .” She drifted into a silence.
“So there were five of you?” I prompted.
She shook her head. “Nah. My ma got sick an’ lost a few— two, I think. But then came the babies. Betty an’ John, I think.” She wagged her head. “Not real sure about them last two. I left home when they was real small.” Her voice faded. “Been a long time now.”
Seven kids. Whew. I needed to tread carefully here. “Have you been in touch with any of your family? Your, um, next closest sister, for instance?”
“Who, Maggie? Nah. I knew she’d be mad at me fer leavin’, ’cause she’d hafta to pick up all the chores an’ stuff families put on the oldest kid. Can’t blame her. But I had to leave. Had my reasons.”
By this time, I’d turned off the Drive and was headed west on the Eisenhower Expressway. But our exit was coming up fast. “Had to leave?” I glanced at Lucy in the passenger seat. “Thought you told my mother you ran off with a boy.”
“Yeah, well, I did. But let’s just say it was complicated. Besides, when them two babies came, it was jus’ too many mouths ta feed. None o’ the rest of them was old enough ta fend for themselves. Had to be me.”
I was so astonished at this bit of news, I almost missed our exit, but I made it up the ramp at the last minute.
Lucy had left home so her family would have one less mouth to feed?
I could hardly breathe. From what Will had shared, it sounded as if the rest of the kids had done all right. At least his grandmother had gotten married and raised a family, and her daughter had married and raised a family—including a brilliant young man named Will who was going to college at the University of Illinois Circle Campus, studying architecture and business.
If Lucy was his grandmother’s long-lost sister, that is. Could all be just a coincidence. I’d know better after Josh got together with Will this week.
We only had to wait an hour before Lucy’s name was called this time. Her ankle was plenty black and blue when the young intern unwrapped it, but after gently manipulating the foot, he said the ankle was coming along nicely and told Lucy she could begin to put weight on her foot, whatever she could tolerate. “But keep those crutches awhile longer and use them when you need to,” the doctor advised.
He replaced the elastic bandage with a padded air cast—all plastic and Velcro—and gave Lucy an appointment card for next week.
We were back at Manna House by twelve. When I realized we’d be back a lot sooner than I’d anticipated, I called Philip on his cell and said I could do lunch after all. Did he want me to pick up some takeout and meet him at the penthouse?
Philip gave a short laugh. “Uh, a certain Japanese businessman might be surprised if you walked into the penthouse today. I’m staying at the Baxters’, remember?”
Duh. Of course. “Right. Just slipped my mind for a minute.”
“But I’m actually downtown right now—had a doctor’s appointment today and, uh, some other business. I’ve got my car, so let’s meet somewhere. You name it, I’ll be there. Someplace we can talk, okay? And thanks. I appreciate you making it earlier, Gabby.”
We agreed to meet at Baker’s Square on Western Avenue at one thirty. The lunch crowd probably would’ve thinned by then and they had booths—they’d be fairly private.
I signed Lucy in, took Dandy out for a short walk in the relentless drizzle so he could do his “business,” apologized to Estelle for skipping out on lunch without advance warning, and signed myself out again.
But at the last minute, I scribbled a note, ran it back downstairs to the dining room, and handed it to Estelle. The note said: Pray, okay? Philip wants to talk. He needs a plan NOW. Hope that’s what this is about!