Where Do I Go? (11 page)

“Hello again, Mrs. Fairbanks. Welcome!” Angela's sweet voice, carrying only a slight trace of a Korean accent, met me in the cool foyer. “Everyone is downstairs. Mrs. Enriquez the nurse is here.” She laughed behind the open window of the reception cubicle and went back to her computer.

“Thanks.” I smiled. For some reason, a sense of—
of what?
well-being?—
settled over me as I headed into the multipurpose room. Maybe it was just familiarity. After all, this was the third time I'd been here in less than a week.

Well,
everyone
wasn't downstairs. A thin person, covered by a gray trench coat, was sacked out on one of the couches, a brown hand hanging limply over the side. The ponytailed woman named Carolyn and another resident with a big, loose Afro were hunched over a game of chess near the coffee carafes. I gave Carolyn a wave as I headed for the stairs, but her attention was obviously on how to slaughter her opponent with her knights and pawns.

Downstairs, the dining room resembled a Greyhound Bus Station waiting room. Fifteen or more women sat scattered around the tables, chatting or talking in a loud voice to someone across the room. Several were filling out forms, while two or three jiggled a young child on their knees. A bored-looking young black woman sat in a corner, leg crossed and swinging, filing her nails. Another, lighter-skinned, maybe Latino, tight-lipped and nervous, paced back and forth. She probably needed a cigarette.

I pulled out the closest chair, hoping to see someone I knew by name, but came up zero. A “privacy booth” had been created in one corner of the dining room with a simple room divider. Nearby, an array of medical supplies had been stacked on the closest table. A fifty-something African-American woman wearing a food worker's hairnet sat at the end of the table, knitting something blue and bulky from a bag of yarn at her feet, her elbow resting on a clipboard.

The pacing woman was making
me
nervous. They needed some activities going on while people waited. Something to entertain the kids . . . a “learn to knit” group . . . a nail salon . . . a book club . . .

A woman wearing typical blue hospital scrubs came out from behind the screen, pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves. “Who is next, Estelle?” The nurse had dark, wavy hair and a round, pleasant face. A motherly look about her.

The knitting lady peered at the clipboard. “Aida Menéndez . . . Aida? You here?”

A young girl—she looked eighteen at the most—got up and let herself be trundled behind the screen by the nurse. The two began talking a rapid stream of Spanish.

“Hey! Miz Delores! You said I was next!” The loner in the corner waved her nail file.

“Pipe down, Hannah. She said no such thing.” The woman named Estelle thumped the clipboard with a knitting needle. “I got your form right here . . . three more ahead of you.”

The bored young woman shrugged and went back to doing her nails.

“Ya gotta fill out a form if you wanna see the nurse,” a growly voice said in my ear. I jumped and turned. Rheumy blue eyes met mine.

“Lucy!” I couldn't help grinning. “Where'd you come from?”

“Question is”—the old woman squinted at me suspiciously—“where'd
you
come from? Seems like you poppin' up all over the place.” She turned her head, hacking a few jagged coughs into a faded red bandanna.

I decided to make light of it. “Came to ask if you wanted to go out for coffee. Couldn't find you under the bush in the park, so I decided to try the next best place.”

She darted a look sideways at me, bandanna still over her mouth, and a sudden pang clamped my mouth shut. What if she thought I was making fun of her? But before I could say anything, Estelle called out, “Lucy Tucker? Lucy! Get over here, darlin'.”

Lucy shuffled off, muttering into her bandanna.

“Be sure to use the cream on that rash,” the nurse was saying to the young girl as she left the makeshift examining room. Then her attention turned to Lucy. “About time you got yourself in here, Lucy. Still got that cough, don't you?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes behind Lucy's back.
“Obstinada.”

They disappeared behind the screen—but Lucy was anything but quiet. “All right, all right, don't rush me! . . . Get that thing outta my mouth, I'm gonna choke . . . whatchu mean, hold my breath? A person's gotta breathe, don't ya know . . .”

Estelle hollered over her shoulder, “Don't make me come in there, Lucy! You want lunch or don'tcha?” Several of the women waiting for a turn snickered.

After a while, Delores Enriquez came out alone, bent down, and talked in a low undertone to Estelle. Estelle frowned and scanned the room. “Anyone know where Miz Mabel is?”

“She's out,” someone said. “Saw her leave a while ago.”

I made my way over to the table. “Is something wrong? Can I help?”
And just how do you think you can help, Gabby Fairbanks?

The nurse straightened up. “And you are . . . ?”

I held out my hand. “Gabrielle Fairbanks. I'm, uh, a friend of Lucy's.”

“No she ain't!” a raspy voice hollered from behind the screen.

Estelle looked at me with a smile of recognition. “Oh, that's right! Precious told me about you.” She turned to Delores. “This is the lady who found Lucy out in the rain, sent her here last week.”

“She cut her foot an' I was helpin'
her
!” Lucy hollered.

“Actually, that's right,” I admitted.

Delores raised her eyebrows hopefully. “Do you have a car?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I walked.”

The eyebrows fell. “Lucy needs to go to the clinic at Stroger Hospital. She's running a fever, could be pneumonia or bronchi-tis. And she needs someone to go with her.” She lowered her voice. “To make sure she
goes.
”

“That's all right. I'll take her. We'll get a cab or something.”

I had no idea what I was doing. But it couldn't be that hard, could it? Just give the cabbie the name of the hospital, no sweat.

chapter 10

The clock on the clinic wall of the county hospital inched its way toward four thirty and Lucy's name still hadn't been called. I couldn't believe this! The waiting room still looked as full as when we came, though maybe half of those were family members of people waiting to see a doctor. A huge percentage of the people in the waiting room were Latino, if the swirl of Spanish going on around me was any indication.

“G'wan, Gabby,” Lucy growled. “Get outta here. I don't need no babysitter.”

It was tempting. If I left now and took a cab, I could get home before Philip . . . but I'd promised. And the fever must be sapping Lucy's strength. She'd been quiet for a long time—though this was the fourth time she'd told me to leave.

“Nope. I'm fine. They've got to call you soon—”

“Lucy Tucker!” a nurse barked from the doorway.

“See? What did I tell you?”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Lucy hauled herself out of the molded plastic chair and took her sweet time following the nurse. The door closed behind them.

I waited. The clock passed four thirty. Sighing, I realized I couldn't avoid the inevitable. Fishing for my cell phone, I walked out into the hall for some quiet and called Philip.

His voice mail gave me a beep. “Hi, Philip. It's me. Just wanted to let you know I might not be home when you get there and don't want you to worry. I'm at Stroger Hospital, just brought someone to the clinic down here. I can explain later. Sorry about supper. But maybe you could get some takeout or something, okay?”

I flipped the phone closed.
Whew.
Philip was not going to be a happy camper.

Well, so what. He left me alone all day to my own devices. He could manage a few hours by himself in the evening.

A few more people were called in, then a nurse came out and said, “I'm sorry. The clinic is closed. The rest of you, go on home and come back tomorrow.” Her announcement met with groans and protests. “If you can't wait until tomorrow, go to the ER. That's it, folks. Go on home, now.” I felt badly for the families who had been waiting several hours already. Some all afternoon. At least Lucy got in to see the doctor.

It was nearly five thirty when Lucy finally came out, clutching a sheaf of papers. “Bronchitis,” the nurse said. “Make sure she follows those instructions.”

“Any prescriptions?”
Anything to make her well instantly?

The nurse shook her head. “No antihistamines, decongestants, or cough suppressants, either. She just needs an expectorant to get that mucus up. A vaporizer and hot showers will help. And drink plenty of water, Ms. Tucker. You can take Tylenol for the fever.”

But as we walked the long halls toward the main entrance, the nurse's words to the other patients rang in my ears:
“Go on
home, now.”
Trouble was, Lucy didn't have a home. Hot showers? A vaporizer? Drink lots of water? That meant you had to pee a lot. Where was a sick homeless woman supposed to do that?

I thought of the two extra bedrooms in our penthouse, waiting for the boys, the unused bathroom . . . and quickly dismissed the idea. Philip would never stand for it. And he'd probably be right. You didn't just take homeless people off the street into your home. The police, the mayor—and surely Mr. Bentley!—would all say it wasn't wise. What did I know about this woman, anyway?

It had started raining while we'd been in the clinic. “You'd think we moved to Seattle,” I muttered, holding my umbrella for Lucy as the taxi finally pulled up. I gave the driver the address of Manna House. I didn't know if they could put up someone who was sick. Lucy really needed a private room. But where else were we going to go?

The
swish-squeak, swish-squeak
of the windshield wipers and Lucy's sporadic coughs were the only sounds inside the cab for the next ten minutes, lulling me into a kind of stupor, so I was startled when Lucy poked me with her elbow. “How come you ain't praying for me 'bout this bronchitis? Ain't that what the Bible says to do when someone's sick?”

“Uh, sure, Lucy. I've been praying for you.” That was a lie, but maybe I could send up a prayer now and make it retroactive.

Lucy turned her head toward the other window. “Huh. Ain't what I meant.”

Good grief, what did she want me to do, pray out loud right here in the cab? The driver would think we were nuts!

Silence reigned until the taxi pulled up in front of Manna House. I asked the cabbie to wait and tried to hustle Lucy into the doors of the shelter, though Lucy wasn't hustling. To my relief, Mabel Turner's office door was open, and she was talking to Estelle, the knitting woman. Estelle's hairnet was gone, revealing loose, kinky hair with streaks of silver, caught into a knot on the top of her head.

“Oh, thank goodness you're back.” Mabel came quickly into the foyer. “Delores Enriquez said you'd taken Lucy to the clinic, but she didn't get your cell number, so we couldn't call.” She turned to Lucy. “What's going on?”

“I'm hungry, that's what,” Lucy snapped, but the coughs took over.

“Come on.” Estelle took her arm. “They're serving supper downstairs. Meat loaf and baked potatoes tonight. How's that sound, Your Highness? You hungry too, Mrs.—? Sorry, I forgot the name.”

“Just Gabby is fine. Thanks anyway, but I need to get home and the cab is waiting.”

Estelle shrugged and followed Lucy, who was heading for the lower floor. “Hey, Aida. How ya doin'?” Estelle called out to the young Latino girl curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs. I'd seen her earlier in the shelter's makeshift clinic. The girl glanced at Estelle with dull eyes, but said nothing.

I wanted to ask about her—she seemed way too young to be out on the street, or even here in the shelter—but Mabel was looking at me expectantly. “So . . . ?”

“Nurse said bronchitis. No medication, but she's supposed to drink plenty of water. They said hot showers and a vaporizer would help.”

Mabel frowned. “She needs a separate room.
Hm.
Can't do that here right now. But maybe . . .” She turned back into her office, got on the phone, talked a little while, then came back out into the foyer, smiling. “The Baxters will take her for a few days. He's driving down to get her and Estelle.”

I was confused. “Josh and Edesa Baxter? He said they lived in a tiny studio. How do they have room for—”

“No, no, not Josh.” Mabel laughed. “His
parents
, Denny and Jodi Baxter. They were here Sunday night. You met them, I think. Josh told me on the sly to call them if I ever needed temporary space. With Josh married and his sister at college, they have a couple of empty bedrooms right now.”

“Wow. That's generous.”

Mabel laughed. “Well, Josh said his mom might not officially
volunteer
to take in somebody but would probably say yes if asked. And Estelle lives upstairs in the same two-flat. So she can look in on Lucy during the day.”