Where Do I Go? (42 page)

Wait a minute.
I listened. The house was too quiet. “Mom? Dandy?” A quick look through the house confirmed my suspicion. Mom must have taken the dog down the elevator to do his business! I ran into the hallway and jiggled the Down button.
Oh,
Mom, please don't get lost . . .

But there she was, across the frontage road along the edge of the park, walking Dandy on his leash while the dog sniffed at bushes and lifted his leg. I laughed in relief and joined them until a light drizzle chased us inside. “My goodness!” Mom said as we rode back up the elevator to the thirty-second floor. “And I thought it was hot in North Dakota! But this humidity . . . I was already wet before the rain started.”

By the time we ate our lunch, it was three o'clock, and Mom was ready for a nap. I took a peek out the windows in the front room—gray and rainy across the lake.
Oh, dear. Not the greatest day for a sail.
And then it occurred to me that I had a perfect excuse to find out how my kids were doing: Henry wanted me to contact Philip.

I grinned as I dialed Philip's cell. No one could accuse me of being an anxious mother. I had to deliver a message to my husband, right? But all I got was a funny beep. It didn't even ring. Just in case, I tried leaving a quick message for Philip to call Henry ASAP and hung up. Okay, plan B. Philip had left Lester Stone's cell number on the fridge along with the Coast Guard number. I dialed. It rang . . .

“Yeah? Stone here.”

“Oh! Lester? This is Gabby Fairbanks! Sorry to bother you. I need to speak to Philip. It's business.”

“Ha-ha. Knew we should've left our phones home. Your husband's a little preoccupied right now. He and the boys are trying to bring down the jib. We've got some waves here . . . Can I give him a message?”

My heart lurched a little at what “we've got some waves here” meant. But I said, “Sure! Tell him his partner, Henry, needs him to call ASAP. Something about the Bill Robinson deal.”

“Hang on . . .” There was a lot of wind static in my ear, then Lester Stone came back on. “Did you say Bill Robinson?”

“Yes! But Philip should call Henry about it, not Robinson, okay?”

A slight pause. “Okay, got it. Gotta go.”

I'd wanted to ask if they were going to pull into a harbor and get out of the weather, but the phone went dead. Oh, well. I delivered the message. That ought to earn me some brownie points with Philip.

I turned on the TV and kept it on the weather channel the rest of the afternoon. And tried to remember the psalm that said,
“When I am afraid, I will trust in God . . . I trust in God, why do I need
to be afraid?”

I swam up out of my dreams into consciousness the next morning, fighting off panic. Not about the boys. God had given me peace that they were going to be all right—wet, maybe, but not in danger. But I realized it was Sunday, Philip was coming home, and the only possibility I'd found for my mom had fallen through.

It was all so unfair!

I made coffee, rehearsing a speech in which I would ask Philip for more time. Begging for mercy was more like it. And I hated feeling that way.

My mom came into the kitchen dressed in a navy blue suit and a white blouse with the tag sticking out. “What time are we leaving for church, Gabby?” I started to tuck it in when I realized she had the blouse on inside out.

I put on a smile. “Uh, nine thirty. Church starts at ten.” I knew my mom would expect to go to church. At work on Friday, I'd looked at the schedule and realized that SouledOut Community Church was on for Sunday Evening Praise this weekend. Of all the groups who led the weekly evening service, so far SouledOut had been my favorite. But it was likely that Philip and the boys would just be getting home from their sailing trip Sunday evening. Why not go to SouledOut in the morning? It was just Mom and me. At least we'd see some familiar faces—Josh and Edesa, Josh's parents, Avis and Peter Douglass, even Estelle!

The directions I'd gotten from Estelle took me straight up Sheridan Road to Howard, and then west about a half mile to a shopping center by the Howard Street El Station. I pulled the minivan into the parking lot at five minutes to ten.

My mother craned her neck. “I don't see any church.”

I pointed to a sign on one of the large storefronts: “SouledOut Community Church.” The air was still misty with leftover rain as we dodged puddles on our way across the parking lot.
Drat
. My hair would be totally frizzed by the time we got inside.

When we walked through the double glass doors into the large friendly room, however, I forgot to worry about my hair. “Mrs. Fairbanks!” Peter Douglass gripped my hand, his smile warm, his dark eyes delighted. “What a pleasure to see you here. And who is this charming lady?” The well-groomed businessman took one of my mother's pale hands in both of his brown ones. She seemed startled.

Smiling big, I introduced my mother and added, “Mr. Douglass is one of the board members at Manna House.”

“Oh, that's lovely.” Mom gave me a quizzical look. “What's Manna House?”

I barely had time to remind her that that was where I worked, when Josh and Edesa Baxter swooped down on us, and right on their heels, Josh's parents. Denny Baxter was carrying Gracie, his smile betraying the two large dimples in his cheeks. Edesa gave me a big hug. “Oh,
Gabriela
! I have good news! . . . Well, it's bad news in one way, but good—”

Just then the worship band launched into a song. and over the music a woman called out, “Good morning, church! Let's find our seats and begin our worship this morning with ‘Shout to the Lord'!” I thought the voice sounded familiar and looked over Edesa's head. At the front of the room I saw Peter Douglass's wife, Avis, face glowing as the song began to roll:
“Shout to the
Lord, all the earth, let us sing . . .”

“Tell you later!” Edesa kissed my cheek and scampered off with Josh.

“This must be your mother!” Jodi Baxter whispered, giving my mom a warm hug. “Come sit with us.” She found four seats, but everyone was standing, many arms lifting in praise as the music continued to swell . . .

“. . . Nothing compares to the promise I have in You . . .”

Still trying to take it all in, my eyes swept the room. Dark faces, creamy brown, fair-skinned . . . African braids, brunettes, blondes . . . wow, what a diverse congregation. And there was Estelle, decked out in one of her roomy caftans that hid her extra pounds! I tried to catch her eye and then did a double-take as the bald African-American man next to her tilted his head and winked at me.

My mouth dropped open, and I tried not to laugh. Mr. Bentley!

By the time the service ended, I was so full, I felt like I'd just eaten a ten-course meal. The songs were a mixture of upbeat and worshipful—I really did love that saxophone wailing beneath the melody on some of them—and the sermon by one of the copastors, a tall, gangly white man with thinning hair, was punctuated by “Amens” and even an occasional, “Thank ya, Jesus!” from the congregation.

My head was in a whirl afterward as Jodi and Edesa and Estelle tried to introduce me to several women—“our Yada Yada Prayer Group sisters,” they called them. Estelle's housemate was a stylish, slender blonde in a red beret she introduced as Stu. I could hardly imagine two people who looked more different. I was surprised to learn they lived upstairs in a two-flat over Josh's parents.

Edesa introduced me to the African-American family she and Josh rented their “studio” from. I'd seen Carl Hickman before—he'd come with Peter Douglass to our party at the shelter. His wife was a wiry woman named Florida. “How ya doin', Gabby?” She shook my hand in an iron grip. “We been prayin' for you at Yada Yada—'scuse me. Girl!” Florida's hand shot out and grabbed a youngster darting past. “You know better than ta be runnin' in the house of God!”

I was grateful when Jodi Baxter showed up with two cups of coffee and pulled me aside. Mr. Bentley, even without his uniform, had graciously taken my mom under his wing, keeping her company and her coffee cup refilled, so I sat down with Jodi, blowing out a big sigh. “This was quite a church service.”

“Yes, praise God! I love the worship here.” Jodi brushed her soft bangs back. She wore her brunette hair with its slight wave just skimming her shoulders.
Wouldn't mind hair like that for a
change.
“We used to be two different churches, but we merged because God told us we needed each other . . . long story.” She chuckled. “We're still in training, but we love it.” Jodi cast an affectionate glance toward her son, who was holding little Gracie in one arm, the other draped around Edesa, talking to an excited knot of people. “And it's good for our kids, who don't have to give up their own culture to feel at home as a family.”

I noticed Josh and Edesa seemed especially happy. “What's this bad news–good news Edesa was going to tell me?”

“She didn't tell you yet? Gracie's birth father violated his parole and landed back in prison. So his petition to take the baby got thrown out! I can still hardly believe it, after all the worry of the past few months—but God really answered our prayers.”

“Oh, I'm so glad.” That's what I said. But I felt a pang.
God
really answered their prayers . . . why not mine?

“Are you okay, Gabby? You look a bit strained. What's going on?”

And just like that I found myself telling Jodi Baxter my whole saga—moving, feeling adrift, finding the job at Manna House, tension with my husband, now triple complicated with needing to find a place for my mom and summer plans for the boys falling through. I shook my head. “I don't know what to do, Jodi. I was going to resign Friday, but Mabel wasn't there—”

“I know.” Jodi's face clouded. “Her nephew, C.J., tried to commit suicide.”

I gasped. “What?! That little boy? Oh, Jodi. I had no idea. Is he going to be OK?”

“I think so. We've been praying around the clock since we found out yesterday.”

I looked at her. “Does God really answer prayer, Jodi? I've been praying and praying about my mom and about my job and about what's going wrong with me and Philip, and it seems like the only answer I got was, ‘Come to Me.' ”

Her hazel eyes got round. “ ‘Come to Me?' God said to you, ‘Come to Me'?”

I felt embarrassed. “Well, those are the words that popped into my brain while I was at the prayer meeting at my mom's church. It didn't seem to make a lot of sense—not exactly an answer to my prayer about Mom. But a couple of days later I was reading my Bible—I've been trying to read Matthew—and I came to those verses, you know, the ones that go, ‘Come to Me, all you who are weary—' ”

Smiling, Jodi chimed in. “ ‘—and bearing a heavy burden, 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.' ”

I gave her a wistful grin. “Yeah. That's the one.”

Jodi Baxter took my coffee cup, set it aside, and took both my hands in hers. “Gabby, that
is
God answering your prayer! Don't you see? All these other things—your husband, your kids, even your mom—yes, they're important. And God really cares about them. But the thing God cares about most is
you
. I think . . . it sounds to me like God is calling you, Gabby. To come home.”

chapter 41

“There were a lot of black people at that church, weren't there?” My mom was still watching people spill out of the doors of SouledOut as I snapped her seat belt in place.

Her comment took me by surprise, but I tried not to show it. “Mm-hm. All kinds of people. It was nice, wasn't it? Maybe that's what heaven's going to be like.”

My mom nodded thoughtfully. “I didn't know there'd be so many nice people in Chicago. Mr. Bentley is very nice. And the lady named Estelle.”

I pulled out of the parking lot. “We didn't have much of a chance to know many black people back home, did we?” In Petersburg, either, for that matter. Our own fault. Everybody tended to stay in their own little neighborhoods and their own churches.

“But they're not really black, are they? Brown. And all different shades too.”

I felt a little impatient with Mom getting so chatty. It was nice that she was being observant, but what I really wanted was some time by myself to think about what Jodi Baxter had said—and get myself psyched up for the inevitable talk with Philip tonight. Maybe Mom would take a nap after lunch, and I'd have a few quiet hours to just think and pray before the sailors got home.

But to my surprise, the TV was on and the boys were sprawled on the wraparound couch, watching a
Pirates of the Caribbean
DVD when we got back to Richmond Towers. “Look who's here!” I gave them each a hug. “I didn't expect you back so early! The weather get too rough for sailing?”