THREE WEEKS LATER, AUGUST 2006
For the umpteenth time, my twelve-year-old jumped up from the living room floor where he and his older brother had been squabbling over last Sunday’s newspaper comics and peered out the front bay window. “Mom! When’s Dad coming? He said six and it’s already six thirty!”
“Yeah, and wherever we’re going for supper, it better be air-conditioned.” His older brother’s voice rode the edge between whining and wilting. “All that fan’s doing is moving hot air around, Mom.”
I’d been hanging around the living room for the past half hour, rearranging books in the built-in bookcase on either side of the painted brick gas fireplace and watering the new houseplants my coworkers at the Manna House Women’s Shelter had given me as housewarming gifts, not wanting to miss even one minute of precious time with Paul and P.J. before their dad came to pick them up. I bit back the first words that rushed to my mouth— “Ask him why he’s late!”—and instead chirped, “He’ll be here any minute, I’m sure. Friday night traffic can be a beast, you know.”
Like a prophecy fulfilled, we heard two short honks outside. “See? There he is.”
Both Paul and P.J. grabbed their duffel bags and scurried for the front door. I followed them outside, trying to imprint the backs of their heads in my mind to last me for the next twenty-four hours until Philip returned them. Free from boarding school regulations, Paul’s hair had grown back into the tousled chestnutred curls that reminded me of my own at that age. P.J.’s hair was dark and straight like his dad’s, but the two inches he’d added over the summer were still a startling revelation, as if his new height had been attached to his fourteenth birthday—the birthday I’d missed.
I’d missed Paul’s birthday too, for that matter. But that was going to change this weekend.
“Hey!” I called after them. “I need a good-bye hug.”
“Oh yeah! Sorry, Mom.” Paul did an about-face, ran back to give me a smack, then disappeared into the backseat of the Lexus. P.J. waited until I caught up to him on the sidewalk and let me give him a hug, then he opened the front passenger door and lowered his lanky body inside.
I gave a little wave as the car pulled away, a lump crowding into my throat.
So this is my new reality.
I should be in that car too, all of us going out together for pizza, or whatever they were going to do tonight.
Instead, I turned and looked at the three-story six-flat that was now my home. A classic Chicago brick with bay windows at the front of each apartment. Late afternoon sun—still muggy and warm—trickled through the leaves of the trees lining the mostly residential street, casting speckled light and shadows dancing on the brick facade. My new apartment was on the first floor—a gift I gratefully embraced every time I looked out the front windows and saw the ground only seven feet down. No more dizzying heights.
I brushed a damp curl off my forehead. No use moping. I had more phone calls to make if I was going to pull off this welcome-home-birthday-party surprise that Jodi Baxter and I’d been cooking up. The boys had arrived last weekend from Virginia, where they’d been staying with Philip’s parents the last six weeks, but I’d wanted to give them a week to get adjusted to the new apartment and the new situation between Philip and me before I invited people over to celebrate. Frankly, as hard as it was to let the boys out of my sight, Philip’s taking the boys for tonight and tomorrow gave me time to make party food and do some shopping. I’d better get to it.
I ran up the six wide steps leading into the building and into the small foyer with its six gleaming mailboxes, three on each side—and stopped. I’d come out without my keys! The inside foyer door was locked—and there was no one in my apartment to buzz me in.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I peered through the glass panels of the foyer door. My apartment door to the right stood open. Well, that was half the battle. If I could get through the foyer door, I was in. The only thing standing between me and getting inside were the glass windowpanes in the door. Huh. All I had to do was break one, reach inside, and open the handle—
Nope. A broken windowpane in the door would be an open invitation for any stray Tom, Dick, or Harry to walk into the building too.
I walked back outside and looked at my bay windows. The fan sat in the open window closest to the steps—but would still be a long reach, even if I got up on the wide cement “arms” of the low wall on either side of the outside landing where I stood. Even if I could reach it, I’d have to find a way to take the screen out first. If only I had something sturdy to stand on so I could reach it from below.
Rats! I sat down on the top step and buried my face in my hands. This was so . . . so stupid! How in the world was I going to get in? Even my cell phone was inside the apartment—but a lot of good it’d do me, even if I had it. Anybody I called wouldn’t have a key to my place anyway. Guess I’d have to sit here until one of the other residents in the building came home, and— Wait a minute! I stood up, went back inside the foyer, and pushed the buzzer of the apartment above me. I waited thirty seconds—no response. I pushed the third-floor buzzer. Still no response. Oh, please, please, somebody be home. I crossed to the other side of the foyer and pushed the buzzer for the other third-floor apartment and waited. Suddenly the intercom crackled.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Gabby Fairbanks in the first-floor apartment! I—”
“Who?”
“Gabby Fairbanks! First-floor apartment! I—”
“You got the wrong apartment. No Fairbanks up here.”
“No, wait—” The intercom went dead.
I pushed the buzzer again and leaned on it this time.
The intercom came alive. “What?”
“I’m locked out! Can you let me in?”
“Oh. Wait a minnit . . .” The intercom went dead.
I waited a good five minutes, but finally a black dude in a big T-shirt, baggy jeans, and bare feet came down the stairs and pulled open the foyer door. “Thank you so much,” I gushed, slipping inside before he changed his mind. “Gotta remember to take my keys. So sorry to bother you.”
The young man, maybe late twenties, jerked his head at my open door. “That your apartment?”
“Yes. I just moved in a few weeks ago. My name’s Gabby. You are . . . ?”
“Cinco. My brother lives up on third. He’s letting me crash there.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you. Thanks for helping me out.” I held out my hand and he shook it awkwardly, then I slipped into my apartment and let out a long breath. I really should get to know my neighbors in the building.
Although I’d have to hurry up, because if my dream came true, I might have new neighbors before long.