Mabel did show up for the household meeting at House of Hope that evening, bringing Jermaine with her, much to Paul’s delight. The boys immediately began setting up Paul’s electronic keyboard to do some “jammin’.”
“Mom!” P.J. hissed at me as I gathered up my folders and notebook. “Why do they get to take over the living room on your meeting nights? I can’t study in my room when they’re making all that racket!”
I touched P.J.’s cheek gently with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, hon. I know it doesn’t seem fair. But I don’t think they’ll bother you if you study in my bedroom in the back. This won’t happen often. Ms. Turner won’t be coming every Wednesday night, she’s just helping us get started. Okay?”
P.J. shrugged off my hand. “Well . . . okay.” But as he lumbered off down the hall dragging his book bag, he gave me a half smile, as if he’d just needed reassurance that I understood he was the one having to make a sacrifice.
The door to 1A was open across the hall as I came out my door, and somewhere inside I heard Sabrina raising a fuss about why she had to babysit Bam-Bam and Dessa as well as Sammy and Keisha on Wednesday nights. “Why can’t Shawanda get ’em to bed by eight o’clock like little Gracie? I got homework to do, too, you know!”
“Uh-huh,” I heard Precious snap back. “Girl, you been on the phone since you got home from school—and now you wanna do your homework?” Precious flounced into the hallway in a huff, but then stuck her head back into the apartment. “Besides! Sammy an’ Keisha are big enough to help amuse the little ones. You just keep an eye out an’ make sure they play together peaceful-like.”
Precious pulled the door shut behind her, muttering as we walked up to the third floor together. “Humph. Maybe that girl learnin’ a thing or two about gettin’ babies into bed at a decent hour. Makes me wanna scream when I see little kids outside at all hours of the night or gettin’ trundled about till one or two in the mornin’, just ’cause they stupid mom or dad wanna go party somewhere.”
As we walked into 3A everyone else affiliated with the House of Hope had already gathered in Edesa and Josh’s front room—Tanya, Shawanda, and Celia Jones, as well as Mabel Turner—snacking on yogurt-covered peanuts and helping themselves to the tray of hot tea Edesa had prepared. But since we were all there, I asked Edesa to start us off with a prayer and then we got down to business. “Mabel, why don’t you review our list of Rules and Expectations? Everyone’s read and agreed to them, but this would be the time if anyone has questions or additions we need to make.”
Mabel had barely got through the list when Shawanda waved her arm in the air. “How come we can’t have mens in the apartment after ten o’clock on weekends? You guys treatin’ us like little kids.”
“You signed these rules and expectations, Shawanda,” I reminded her.
“Well, yeah. But you said we could ask questions. I’m just askin’.”
Mabel explained the reasons: for general safety in a building with mostly women and children, courtesy to their apartment-mate. “And because we’re a Christian facility, Shawanda, and want to conduct the House of Hope in accordance with biblical principles. You’re all single women and we don’t want men coming and going at all hours of the night.”
My cheeks felt a little hot. Oh Lord. How close I’d come—more than once—to inviting Lee into the apartment “for coffee” after a date. I’d had my own reasons for not inviting him in—but I hadn’t even thought about needing to be an example for the other single women in the building.
Shawanda wasn’t finished. “Can we get us a kitty? Don’t say nothin’ in here ’bout pets. Dessa wanted ta keep that poor kitty she found under the back porch on Monday. Now it’s gone an’ she all heartbroken.”
I doubted the three-year-old even remembered Monday. But we opened the topic for discussion. The list of concerns got lengthy: residents with allergies; ability to pay for shots, food, and litter for cats; scooping poops for dogs; obnoxious barking; damage to furniture or floors from ill-behaved dogs or cats.
“Yeah,” Shawanda muttered, “but Miss Gabby here already got her a dog. Don’t know what we need to keep talkin’ ’bout.”
“Shawanda, taking in a feral cat is not the same thing as Dandy staying here. Besides, he’s temporary,” I reminded her tersely. “Lucy sprained her ankle, remember?”
Mabel finally tabled the discussion “to be continued,” suggesting we form a small committee of staff and residents. Humph, I thought. We also better get clear what rules are for residents and what rules are for staff. Personally, I thought a dog or two owned by staff might be good security for the building, but allowing pets willy-nilly could get out of hand.
I reported that the tenants in 3B might be moving out this weekend, adding to our House of Hope apartments. But the apartment would also need renovation and repairs. We agreed to schedule another painting party on one of our household meeting nights soon. No, we didn’t know who’d be moving in yet.
Just before we closed the meeting—we were still trying to keep them to one hour—Edesa said she had a proposal. “Some of you know I’m part of a women’s prayer group we call Yada Yada, which meets every other Sunday evening. Estelle Williams is part of that group, too, and Jodi Baxter, Josh’s mom, and Avis Douglass, the wife of the Manna House board chairman. Well . . .” The black Honduran woman beamed her infectious smile around the circle. “I was thinking it would be so bueno to start another Yada Yada Prayer Group right here at the House of Hope—on the other Sunday nights.”
“You givin’ up the other one? Or gonna be part of both Ya Ya prayer groups?” Precious asked.
Edesa laughed. “Not Ya Ya . . . Yada Yada. It’s actually a Hebrew word that’s found in the Bible hundreds of times! It means ‘to know and be known intimately’—or something close to that. The way God knows us in Psalm 139. And yes, I’d like to be part of both groups. If God blesses this one as much as He has the original, well . . . none of us will be the same.”
Shawanda looked dubious. “Ya mean we’d hafta go? I ain’t all that religious, ya know.”
Edesa shook her head. “No. Entirely voluntary. For anyone who would like time to pray together with other sisters.” She eyed her husband. “Hombres not allowed.”
Josh threw up his hands. “No problemo. I’ve got my own men’s prayer group.”
“Sí, the Yada Yada Brothers.” Edesa laughed and gave her husband a hug.
Celia Jones spoke up for the first time during the entire meeting. “I’d like that very much. My kids are all grown, and there’s not much I can do about some of the poor choices they’ve made. Keisha’s mother, well, some would call my daughter a lost cause, which is why I have custody of my granddaughter right now. But I do know there’s one thing I can do—an’ that’s pray.”
“Sí! Sí!” Edesa cried. The others of us readily agreed. What was there to decide, anyway, if it was optional? But Edesa was so excited, she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, mi amigas, if you only knew how prayer can change the lives of all the women and children who come to live at the House of Hope! This may be the most important decision we ever make in this meeting!”
I thought the meeting had gone well. So far, Shawanda seemed to be settling in all right, though I wanted to check in with Celia privately to see how things were working out with sharing chores and Shawanda living up to her end of the responsibilities.
After saying good-bye to Mabel and Jermaine, I sent Paul to his room to finish his homework and knocked on the door of my bedroom to check on P.J. No answer, so I opened the door slowly. “P.J.? It’s me.”
My oldest son was propped up on my bed, staring at a picture frame he held in his hands. I shot a quick glance at the bedside table. The photo of Philip and me was gone.
“Dad called,” he said.
I sat down on the foot of the bed. Shouldn’t be surprised Philip had finally called. I still hadn’t responded to his letter. He had to be wondering what I was thinking. I’d call him tomorrow. I owed him that much.
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’s flying to Petersburg on Friday to talk with Granddad about some business stuff. But he wants to know if he can come over tomorrow night to see Paul and me. Wants you to call him.”
I nodded. “Of course he can. Would you like him to come for supper?”
P.J. shrugged. “I guess.” He stared at the picture some more, then turned it around and showed it to me. “Do you still love Dad?”
His question caught me off guard. Did I? Love had certainly taken a beating in the last six or seven months—maybe longer. I looked away, wondering what to say. But P.J. was a product of our love. He deserved an answer. I took a deep breath. “There’s a way I’ll always care for your dad, P.J. He’s your father, and we both love you very—”
“That’s not what I asked!” P.J. snapped. “Do you love him? Like this?” He stabbed a finger at the photo and held it in front of my face.
We stared at each other a long moment. Mother and son, both desperate to know the answer. Finally I sighed. “To be honest, P.J., I don’t know. I don’t know if he loves me anymore either. That’s something we’re trying to figure out. But some good things have happened recently, hopeful things—”
“Never mind.” P.J. tossed the photo frame aside, vaulted off the bed, and strode out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
I called Philip that night, saying of course he could come by the apartment to say good-bye to the boys and stay for supper too.
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry to invite myself over. I haven’t had a chance to tell the boys the decisions I’ve made, and I’d like to do it in person. I’d ask them to come to my place but, uh, I don’t have one yet.” He laughed a bit nervously.
“It’s all right. What’s happened with Henry Fenchel?”
“I’m going into the office tomorrow to sign the papers. Henry had his lawyer draw them up, and my lawyer’s going over them. I have Henry’s word that he’s dropping the lawsuit. Hopefully Fagan’s lawyer will do the same when I give them a cashier’s check tomorrow to pay off that loan.”
I snorted in his ear. “Humph. The money he loaned you was probably illegal drug money to begin with.”
“Don’t rub it in, Gabby. I should’ve been more careful. But at this point, I’m just trying to take care of my business. Put an end to it.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” We let silence hang between us for a moment or two. Working up my courage, I said, “I know I haven’t responded to your letter yet. I—”
“That’s okay,” he cut in. “I understand.”
“No, I want to. I shouldn’t have left you hanging this long. Maybe tomorrow night we can find some time to talk. Before you leave for Virginia.”
“All right. Just want you to know, I didn’t mean the letter to stand by itself. There’s more I wanted to say. More I need to say.”
“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow then.”
Thursday passed in a blur. The temperature actually hiked up into the low seventies, but I spent most of the day cooped up in my tiny office, one thought occupying my mind: What was I going to say to Philip when he came over tonight?
I kept hearing Estelle saying it seemed to her that God had got Philip’s attention, and he was actually listening. No way did I want to get in the way of what God might be doing with Philip Fairbanks—though it seemed to me God had a mighty long way to go.
At the same time, God had brought me a mighty long way too. From a different place, maybe. But what must God think of a girl who’d been brought up knowing the Bible, who’d sat in church and heard the gospel, who’d said she believed—and then chucked the whole thing? Not much different than the prodigal son who’d said, “Bye-bye, I can make it on my own!” I, too, had left the shelter of family and faith for the glitter of a romantic encounter in France, a Southern marriage, and all the comforts old money could buy.
As for Philip, he’d never pretended to be “born again,” and he didn’t have very good role models when it came to his parents. Their marriage was a constant contest of who could one-up whom.
If God was working on Philip, he wasn’t a “prodigal son,” but an adoptee with issues.
All these thoughts tumbled around in my head as the clock inched its way through the day. I caught a glimpse of Lucy at lunch, hobbling around a bit better with the air boot, but I couldn’t deal with that whole business about Will Nissan’s missing relative right now. Another time. Estelle seemed to be avoiding me—and maybe everyone else—after giving Harry his ring back. Well, I couldn’t deal with that right now either.
Paul poked his head into my office after walking Sammy and Keisha to the shelter after school, an arrangement that’d been working well since school started. “Mom? Where’s Dandy? I can’t find him anywhere—or Lucy either.”
I smiled at the oh-so-serious expression on my youngest son. “Oh, I’m sure they’re around. I brought Dandy with me this morning and I saw Lucy at lunch. Maybe they’re outside. It’s such a nice day today—practically Indian Summer.” Not that I’d taken advantage of it.
“But I’m supposed to take him for a walk after school. Lucy said!”
“Well, she can’t be far with that sprained ankle. Why don’t you go ask Angela at the front desk. Maybe she knows.”
Paul was back two minutes later, damp curls plastered on the worry lines in his forehead. “Mo-om! Miss Angela said Lucy went out with Dandy about an hour ago!”
“Well, see? It was probably just too nice a day to stay inside. They’ll be back soon.” I couldn’t imagine Lucy could walk very far, even with the air boot.
“No-oo! You don’t understand! Angela said she took her cart with her too!”