Where Do I Go? (45 page)

He shook his head. “Didn't ask me to call a cab. But they came through the lobby,
mm
, maybe 'round two o'clock, and went out that door.” The doorman jerked a thumb toward the frontage road exit. “Car must've been parked outside.”

My heart was pounding so hard I could hardly get a good breath.
No, no, he wouldn't—!
But Philip's words a few nights ago stabbed me with vicious reality:
“Maybe I'll just have to send the
boys back to Virginia . . .”

I grabbed my purse off my shoulder, dumped the contents on the half-moon counter, and snatched up my cell phone. I had to catch them before they got on that plane! I punched Philip's speed dial . . .

“Mrs. Fairbanks. What's the matter? Are you—”

I held up my hand for silence. But even when Mr. Bentley stopped talking I couldn't hear any rings. I ran outside to the front-age road for a better signal and tried again. Still nothing. Dead.

I stared at my phone. Had he—? He had! Philip had cut off my cell phone too!

That's when I lost it. I threw the phone as hard as I could as a wail ripped from the bottom of my gut. “
No, no, no, nooo . . . !
Oh God, Oh God, he took my boys away!” I collapsed against the building, bent over, hands on my knees, sobs coming so hard I thought my lungs would turn inside out.

A few moments later I felt big hands lifting me up and pulling me into his arms. I struggled, beating my fists on Mr. Bentley's chest, but he held on, the fingers of one hand threaded through my mop of curls, holding my face to his chest, the other around my waist, holding me up until I went limp in his arms and just cried and cried and cried.

Finally spent, I pushed Mr. Bentley away and stumbled across the frontage road to the nearest park bench.
Oh God, oh God, what
am I going to do?
A few minutes later, Mr. Bentley followed, handed me a bottle of water, my purse, and my cell phone, which had landed in the grass. I took a few gulps of water and then muttered dully, “He's gone. The boys too. I'm locked out. Can't get in.” I lifted raw eyes to the kind, brown face. “You don't happen to have a master key or something?”

Mr. Bentley nodded slowly. “But don't get your hopes raised. A service guy came in this morning, said he had an appointment with Mr. Fairbanks. I didn't think anything of it, just called the penthouse and your husband buzzed him in. Honey, if your key doesn't work, I don't think mine will either. But come on . . . come on now. Let's check it out.”

Reluctantly, I let Mr. Bentley lead me by the hand back into Richmond Towers and up to the thirty-second floor. Neither one of us spoke. I was embarrassed for him to see all the suitcases, bags, and boxes—the shreds of my life—piled up against the wall of the foyer. One lone clog lay on the sparkling ceramic tile floor where I'd bounced it off the door.

The doorman pulled out his master ring and tried several keys. None of them worked. He surveyed the piles, absently scratching the grizzled gray beard along his jaw line. “What are you going to do?”

“I—I don't know. I need to think.”

“Well, come on now. Come down to the lobby and sit. You can have my chair at the desk.”

“No, no . . . you go on.” I grabbed both sides of my head. “I need to think!”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Please. Just . . . leave me alone.”

When the elevator door closed behind him, the suitcases and piles of bags and boxes began to taunt me. I paced back and forth, unable to stay still.
Did the boys see Philip bagging my stuff and tossing
it out here? . . . What did they think? . . . Did they try to stop
him? . . . What lies did he tell them? . . . Why didn't they call me to say
good-bye? . . . Are they on a plane heading for Virginia? . . . Do they
think I have abandoned them?

I had to get out of there! Frantically, I pushed the elevator button. On the way down, the elevator stopped at three other floors and people got on. But I turned away, my back rigid, willing no one to speak to me—or I might lose it again right there in the elevator. On the ground floor, I managed to slip through the lobby and out the revolving door without Mr. Bentley seeing me, then walked in a daze across the frontage road to the park and along the jogging path until I found an empty bench out of sight of Richmond Towers. I sank into it . . .

Joggers ran past, plugged into their iPods.

The evening air was sweet, still warm after washing Chicago with sunshine most of the day.

A gentle breeze off the lake ran its fingers through my hair.

The only sounds were the drone of traffic on Lake Shore Drive and the trill of birds darting here and there in the trees.

I felt as though I could sit there forever . . .

I might have to.

That thought jolted my numb brain and a hundred questions crowded into my head. What was I going to do? My phone was dead . . . Did I have any money? I fished in my purse, all a-jumble after Mr. Bentley had stuffed everything back in. Thirty dollars in my wallet. A couple of credit cards. A debit card to my household account . . .

How much was in my household account? Philip and I didn't have joint accounts. I was supposed to use a credit card for every- thing from groceries to clothes, and Philip paid the bills. Other than that, he put a hundred dollars into a household account every week that was mine to use for anything that required cash. My paychecks from Manna House had gone into that account too—though I'd used a good deal of that for the trip to North Dakota.

I groaned. The checkbook for that account was up in the penthouse.
Okay, Gabby, don't panic. You have your debit card.
But if I remembered correctly, there was only a couple hundred left. And I'd just quit my job.

I fingered the credit cards. Had he frozen my credit cards too?

I already knew the answer.

“Oh, God!” My head sank into my hands. “What am I going to do?!”

“Come to Me, Gabby . . .”

I looked up, startled. The words were so clear I thought someone had spoken them out loud. But the path in front of me was empty. That Voice in my spirit . . . Jodi Baxter had said it was God calling me. Just like that verse in the Bible, the one where Jesus said anyone who was weary and carrying a heavy burden could come to Him, and He would give them rest.

Pulling my feet up onto the bench and hugging my knees to my chest, I held on for dear life. “Help me, Jesus! I don't know what to do! . . . I can't lose my boys! . . . I'm so tired of fighting, trying to keep my life from unraveling . . . But I can't do it by myself! . . . I need You, God!
I need You!
”

A cold nose poked itself between my ankles and then nudged my arm. Startled, I looked up. A muddy yellow dog very much in need of a bath was pushing its muzzle into my lap, the rest of its body wiggling all over. I blinked in disbelief. The dog was now trying to crawl into my lap. I gasped. “Dandy!”

That's when I noticed a bandana knotted to the dog's collar—and another knotted to it, and another, making a rope. I followed the bandana rope with my eyes and found myself staring at a wrinkled face wearing a purple knit hat.

“You an' God havin' yourselves a private tête-à-tête, or can a body sit down on that there bench too? My feet are tired.” Lucy Tucker plopped all six layers of her clothing down on the bench beside me.

“You found Dandy!” I croaked. By this time the dog
was
in my lap, and we were both a muddy mess. I pushed Dandy off and wiped my eyes and nose with the back of my hand. I felt like laughing hysterically. I'd just told God I needed Him—and He sent
Lucy
?

Lucy eyed me skeptically. “So what's wrong with you? You look worse'n the day I first found you in this park, wet as a drowned rat and bleedin' like a stuck pig.”

Now I did laugh hysterically.
Who found who?
My shoulders shook from the sheer insanity of it all, the tears started again, and my story came out in little gasps. No penthouse. No husband. No kids. Locked out. Nowhere to go. Just a bunch of suitcases, bags, and boxes sitting in the foyer on the thirty-second floor of Richmond Towers.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lucy said, patting me awkwardly. “It's gonna be all right.” She sat beside me for a while until the shaking and crying died down once more. Then she rose stiffly from the bench. “C'mon, let's go. You got enough for cab fare? My feet are killin' me.”

“Go?” I blubbered. “Go where?”

“Manna House, of course. Nobody's ever locked outta Manna House.”

Dandy's ears perked. He tugged on his bandana leash and barked.

I stared at her. But I didn't move. “What about my boys? I can't just let Philip take my boys!”

“That's right. But one day at a time, Missy. Them boys are all right. Now, you got cab fare or not?”

I nodded, stood up on wobbly legs, and let Lucy the bag lady walk me back along the jogging path toward Richmond Towers. Handing me Dandy's bandana leash, the old woman in her unmatched layers of clothes pushed through the revolving doors. I could see her gesturing to Mr. Bentley, who got on the phone. Within minutes, a cab pulled up on the frontage road. Mr. Bentley came out and opened the rear door.

“Hey!” the cabbie said. “I don't take dogs.” I saw Mr. Bentley slip him a folded bill. “Well,” the man grumbled, “maybe this once.”

Mr. Bentley leaned into the backseat before shutting the door. “Don't worry about those suitcases and stuff upstairs, Mrs. Fairbanks. I've got a car. I'll bring it all later tonight when I get off work.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The cab pulled away, and we rode in silence down Sheridan Road. Lucy rolled her window down, and Dandy stuck his head out, his mouth open in a doggy-smile. Within ten minutes, we pulled up in front of the shelter that had been my workplace for the past two months.

Now it would be my home?

I fumbled in my purse, paid the cab, and the three of us walked up the steps to the double oak doors. “I—I think I still have my key. Forgot to turn it in.”

“Good,” Lucy muttered. “What time is it, anyway? Did we miss supper?”

I turned the key and opened the door. Late evening light still shrouded the peaceful foyer with muted colors from the stained glass windows. The receptionist's cubicle was empty. Beyond the swinging doors, sounds of chatter and laughter came from the multipurpose room. And music. Turned up loud.

I stopped and listened. Someone was playing my CD! I closed my eyes as fresh tears slid down my face, but strangely, this time they felt like a spring rain washing out the crud as the familiar words sank deep into my spirit . . .

. . . The earth all around me is sinking sand

On Christ the Solid Rock I stand

When I need a shelter, when I need a friend

I go to the Rock . . .

reading group guide

1. The Yada Yada House of Hope series introduces a new primary character. Who
is
Gabby Fairbanks? Describe her as a person—her personality and character . . . her emotional strengths and weaknesses . . . her spiritual assets and debits. How do you
feel
about Gabby? What do you want to say to her?

2. What do you think has happened internally to Gabby between the time she first met Philip in the Prologue, and when we meet her sixteen years later in Chapter One? Are there ways
you
feel you've lost part of “who you are” or had to give up hopes and dreams while simply coping with life's circumstances? If you could get back that lost part of yourself, what would it be?

3. How would you characterize the tension in Gabby and Philip's marriage? In what way does Gabby feed into this tension? Do you see yourself or your marriage in their relationship in some way? What feelings does it bring up for you?

4. Mr. Bentley and “Mrs. Fairbanks . . . penthouse” are probably as different as two people can be. And yet, why do you think Gabby thinks of the doorman as her “first—and maybe only—friend” in Chicago? Who in your life has proven to be an “unlikely” but genuine friend?

5. In Chapter 10, Lucy the “bag lady” asked Gabby, “Why ain't you prayin' for me 'bout this bronchitis?” Gabby assured her that she, um, had been (intending to make it “retroactive”). What do you think Lucy meant by, “Huh. Ain't what I meant”? What is
your
usual response when someone asks you to pray for them?

6. Even though Josh and Edesa Baxter—whom you met in the original Yada Yada series—are quite a bit younger than Gabby, in what ways do they help open Gabby's spiritual eyes and heart? Even though they have a temporary reprieve in their efforts to adopt Baby Gracie, what challenges do you anticipate they may face in the future as a multicultural family?

7. Gabby is caught in the “sandwich generation”—parenting not only her two growing sons, but “parenting” her mother as well. In reacting to the crisis in her mother's life, how is she missing what her kids need? In what ways have you experienced (or are experiencing) a similar family squeeze? If you are discussing this question as a group, how can you encourage and support one another in times of family stress?