Where Do I Go? (39 page)

“I see. You've multiplied.” Mr. Bentley replaced his cap and glanced at me with a twinkle. “Are you expected?”

I flushed. I knew what it must look like, Gabby Fairbanks bringing home more strays.
Mr. Bentley knows me all too well.
“Uh, I hope so. It was kind of a last-minute thing. I left a message . . .”

“Mm. A message.” Mr. Bentley helped P.J. lift bags out of the rear of the minivan and pile them on the cart. Then he straightened. “Would you like me to call upstairs and tell Mr. Fairbanks you've arrived?”

My brain
cha-chinged
in light speed. Appear en masse at the penthouse front door . . . or have Philip meet us down here in public? “Uh, that would be great. Thanks, Mr. Bentley. We can load the rest of the bags.”

The boys wanted to go right up, but I made them pick up all the trash in the car, brush out all the crumbs as best they could, and then wait with their grandmother while I parked the rental in a “Visitor” space until Enterprise could pick it up. When we finally pushed the luggage cart into the lobby, Mr. Bentley shrugged. “No answer upstairs.”

A funny feeling prickled the back of my neck. Should I be worried?

We were sitting around the dining room table an hour later, passing around the makings for tacos, when I heard the front door open and close, then a bag being dropped in the gallery, and Philip appeared in the doorway. Tan. A stray wisp of dark hair falling over his forehead. Sunglasses. Open-necked silver-and-black silk shirt. Gray slacks. As if he'd just stepped out of
GQ
magazine.

“Dad!” Paul screeched, jumping up from the table and throwing himself on his father. Dandy immediately came to life, barking at this stranger.

“Dandy! You hush,” my mom said. “Come here, boy. Lie down.” Dandy obeyed, still rumbling throaty little growls.

I saw Philip's face twitch, but he hugged Paul and then walked over to P.J. and rumpled his dark hair. “Hey, guys. Good to have you home. Save any of those tacos for me?” He pulled out a chair by the empty plate and sat down, removed his sunglasses, and stuck them in his shirt pocket.

My husband did not look at me. But he nodded at my mother. “Mom Shepherd. You're looking well.”

“And you.” My mom gave him a smile. Then she stage-whispered to me, “You have a very handsome husband, Gabrielle.”

I flushed, my eyes hot, afraid I was going to cry. But I smiled. “You bet.” I forced myself to look right at Philip. “Hi, honey. Looks like we beat you home. I've been trying to call—”

“I got your message.” His voice was even. Emotionless. “Tried to call your cell.”

I grimaced. “Sorry about that. The battery died, and I forgot the charger.” I forced brightness into my voice. “The boys are excited about sailing camp tomorrow. Couldn't wait to get home.”

“Yeah, Dad!” Now even P.J. jumped in. “What kind of boats do we get to sail?”

Philip disappeared into the den after supper. I put clean sheets on P.J.'s bed and got my mom bedded down after promising to take Dandy out one last time. P.J. was still bent out of shape that he had to give up
his
bedroom, and I heard the boys squabbling over who was going to sleep in which bunk. Well, it'd take a few days to work out the kinks . . . maybe I could rearrange Paul's room so P.J. could have space for some of his own stuff . . . plus Mom would need a couple of drawers for her clothes and personal things . . .

On the way out of the house with Dandy, I saw Philip's leather overnight bag still sitting in the gallery.
Huh.
He had some explaining to do too.

It felt weird to take Dandy down the elevator and across the frontage road for his last “outing” in the dark. I saw a couple other Richmond Tower residents out with their dogs. A pit bull. A Pekinese with a bow in its hair. Come to think of it, most of the dogs I'd seen at Richmond Towers were actual breeds. Not another mutt in sight. But as far as I was concerned, Dandy was cuter than any of them. I wasn't sure how he related to other dogs, so I kept him on a tight leash and didn't venture far into the park, even though the night was mild. How did people do this in the dead of winter? Or in the rain?

Back in the penthouse, I put Dandy into P.J.'s room. The dog sniffed at my mom, then curled up on his rug beside the bed. “Good dog,” I whispered and closed the door.

The light was still on in the den. Might as well face the music. I tapped on the door and peeked inside. Philip was at the computer, his back to me. I went inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. “Hi.”

Thirty seconds went by. Then Philip slowly turned around in his swivel chair and leaned back. The desk lamp outlined his striking features with light and shadow. More seconds went by as he looked at me. Finally he said, “Just tell me, Gabby . . . Do you get a kick out of turning our household upside down? No warning, just showing up here with your mother. And the
dog
too! Good grief ! What were you thinking?”

I held on to the doorknob behind me. “I didn't plan it this way, Philip. But when we got to Minot, it was obvious my mom shouldn't be living alone any longer. She—”

“That's what retirement homes are for.”

“She's on a waiting list, Philip.”

“What about your Aunt Grace, or Mercy . . . whatever. She lives right in town.”

I shook my head. “I asked. She works full-time—”

“Like you don't?” His voice was hard.

“She doesn't have a spare bedroom, either. She lives in a—”

“And you think we do?”

I counted to five. “Look. Will you let me finish? I spent most of the week trying to line up in-home care for Mom—
something
to fill in the blanks until her name comes up for assisted living. But it wasn't like I had two or three weeks! I only took a week off, and I had to get the boys back here in time to start sailing camp. And then Friday morning she tripped and hit her head—”

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“Until her name comes up on the list for assisted living.”

“Ah . . . maybe only three mon—”

“Months?!
Three months!”
Philip vaulted out of his desk chair. I flinched. But he just threw up his arms. “Uh-uh. No! There is
no
way
this penthouse is designed to be a mother-in-law apartment!” He stopped and jabbed a finger at me. “You know what the trouble with you is, Gabby? You just up and do whatever you want to do without considering anyone else. You go off half-cocked to see a homeless bag lady and end up with a job. You pine for the boys to come here, then leave them alone to get in trouble. You say you're going to Minot for a visit, then you bring your mother
and
her mutt here, without even discussing it with me.”

I pressed my lips together. He flopped into the chair again, one elbow on the armrest, rubbing his chin. After a few moments, I spoke. “I left you three messages—two here at home, one on your cell. Where were you this weekend?”

His face darkened. “What does that have to do with any-thing? Did you expect me to sit around babysitting the phone all weekend?”

“But I couldn't get hold of you.”

“I wasn't
here
, Gabby. The Fenchels invited me to spend the weekend with them.”

“At the casino again, no doubt.” It was a stab in the dark. But I could tell by the way his eyes twitched that I'd hit the bull's-eye.

“And the problem with that is . . . ?”

“It's
gambling
, Philip. Is that what we're working for, to throw our money away like that?”

He started to laugh, a mirthless sound that was more like a sneer. “Good job, Gabby. Turn this around, make me the bad guy, just because I got to relax this weekend after putting in sixty hours at the office. But let's get down to the bottom line. Tomorrow morning. I go to work. The boys go to camp. You'll probably waltz off to work. So . . . just what are your plans for your mother—who, according to you, can't stay alone? Drag her to the shelter with you? They'll love that for sure.”

“Exactly. For a start.”

Philip rolled his eyes. “Of
course
. That's your plan. Well, get this, Gabrielle Fairbanks.” He stood up abruptly and stabbed his finger at me again, making shadows on the wall that pierced the dim light. “You have one week to find another place for your mother and her mutt.
One week.
Or she goes back to North Dakota.”

chapter 38

We spent the night with our backs turned to one another. I woke up at two and couldn't get back to sleep. Sliding out of bed and pulling on my robe and slippers, I felt around in my backpack for my Bible and tiptoed toward the living room, hoping I wouldn't wake up the dog. I hadn't kept up with my Bible reading the past two days, and I doubted the morning would be conducive, get-ting everyone up and out the door. On the way, I heated a mug of milk in the microwave, doctored it with honey, then curled up on the couch with just one lamp on.

So quiet. Peaceful.

Unlike the knot in my spirit.

I had to do something to get my mind off that disastrous conversation with Philip the night before. Even though I was only half-awake, I found my bookmark at chapter eleven of Matthew's gospel, and plodded through the verses—until suddenly three words leaped off the page.
“Come to Me . . .”

There it was! That
was
God talking to me, after all. I feasted on the verses at the end of the chapter.
“Come to Me, all you who are
weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you
and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find
rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

A yoke. I knew enough about farm animals to know that a yoke was a wooden frame that harnessed two oxen together so they could pull a load. I read the verses again and again, wanting so much to know what they meant. But all I knew for sure was that I fit the description of someone who was “weary and burdened.”
Oh, God. I am so tired. Tired of the tension between Philip and
me. Tired of trying to keep the peace. Tired of trying to live up to
Philip's expectations.
And now, a big load on my shoulders. My mom needed care—but what? It felt like it was all up to me. And Philip had given me
one week
to figure it out?

I turned out the light and pulled an afghan over me right there on the couch.
God, I sure could use some of that rest . . .
And I fell asleep, dreaming that a voice kept whispering in my ear,
“Come to Me.”

Philip took the boys to Burnham Harbor for the Youth Sailing Camp on his way to work the next morning, but he asked me to pick them up at four. “Call Enterprise and tell them we need the minivan for another week. Maybe we'll lease a second car for the rest of the summer so you can cart the boys around.”

Philip's announcement both surprised and pleased me. I didn't mind taking the El to work, but we really did need a second car now that the boys were here. And if he was willing to take the boys to camp in the morning, I could work with that. Now all I needed to do was figure out what to do with my mother.

“Mom, would you like to see where I work? I plan activities at a shelter for homeless women. I know the staff would love to meet you—no, no, Mom. You already took your meds today. Those are for tomorrow, see? It has a
T
for Tuesday.”

“Oh.” She stared at the pillbox. “Would we be gone all day?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much.” Especially by the time I picked up the boys.

She shook her head. “I can't. I need to stay with Dandy. I wouldn't want to leave him in a strange place all by himself.”

She had a point. Could Dandy hold it all day? Would he get frustrated and chew up the furniture? But there was no way I was going to leave my mother alone all day either. Which is why the three of us ended up in the rental, heading down Sheridan Road toward Manna House, while I tried to devise some kind of brilliant excuse for showing up at work with a dog.
He's a therapy
dog . . . I'm thinking of having a class in pet care . . . a watchdog would
be a good idea for a women's shelter . . .

In the end, I did what I always did—threw myself on Mabel Turner's mercy. We showed up in the foyer of Manna House and I introduced my mother to Angela in the reception cubby, while making soothing noises to Dandy.

“Oh, what a sweet dog!” Angela came out of the cubby and bent down, letting Dandy lick her face. Instant friends. The Asian-American girl stood up. “And how nice to meet you, Mrs. Shepherd. Gabby keeps things interesting around here.” She laughed.

I could have kissed her. A perfect welcome.

Mabel heard the commotion and came out of her office. She looked professional as always—black slacks, tangerine short- sleeved sweater that brought out highlights in her warm, brown skin. Her eyebrows went up at the sight of the dog, but I hastily introduced her to my mother and then said, “We, uh, have a situation. I'll explain later. But for right now, can I keep Dandy down in my office?”