Where Do I Go? (5 page)

As the taxi pulled away, a stab of doubt weakened my resolve. I didn't see a sign anywhere saying “Women's Shelter.” Several broad steps led up to a set of double oak doors, flanked by stained-glass windows on either side. High above the doors, cradled by the peak of the building, the wooden beams of a cross stretched top to bottom and side to side inside a circular stained-glass window.

Not far away I heard the metallic rattle of the elevated train, catching my eye as it passed over the street a couple of blocks away. I craned my neck to see what else was on the block. Most of the buildings seemed to be two- and three-story apartment buildings, though to the right of the church building was a Korean grocery, a Pay-Day Loan, and a twenty-four-hour Laundromat, with apartments above.

A young couple with a baby in a stroller turned the corner by the Laundromat and walked briskly toward me. He was white; she was black.
Interesting.
That would raise a few eyebrows back in Petersburg. I stepped aside to let them pass, but they stopped.

“Hi.” The young man spoke first. “Can we help you?”

“Oh. Well, yes, maybe you can. I'm looking for a”—
How
dumb was this going to sound?
—“um, a women's shelter that's sup-posed to be around here.”

The young black woman laughed as she bent down to pick up the baby from the stroller. “Well, you found it!” She tipped her chin toward the oak doors of the church, cradling the baby on her hip. “Come with us. We're going in.”

She spoke with a Spanish accent, sounding like the cleaning woman, but Camila had creamy tan skin as I supposed most Hispanic-Americans had. This woman was dark skinned, with loose, black corkscrew ringlets caught back from her forehead by a broad, bright-orange cloth headband. And her whole face seemed to laugh—a wide, bright smile and dancing dark eyes.

“Josh, grab the stroller, will you?” The young mother skipped up the stairs. “Come,
niñita
, let's go find Auntie Mabel.” She pulled open one of the oak doors and disappeared inside.

Was Josh the baby's father? He seemed so fair, sandy hair down around his collar, looking more like a college kid than any-thing else. The mother was definitely black, and the baby . . . hard to tell. Creamy tan skin, dark hair, but loose and curly. Well, daddy or not, Josh obediently folded the little umbrella stroller with a kick to the brace between the wheels, darted up the stairs, and caught the door before it closed, holding it open for me.

I followed, but only as I got to the top step did I see the simple brass plaque beside the doors that said Manna House.

chapter 4

Inside, the stained-glass windows on either side of the double oak doors filled the foyer with prisms of color and light. Large plants standing on the floor softened the large square entryway. In the open doorway of an office to my left, the young mother, still bouncing the baby on her hip, stood talking to an older black woman in a black skirt and soft, lime green sweater.

“Hi, Mabel. We have a guest,” the young man announced.

“Oh, I am sorry. I did not introduce myself!” The younger woman shifted the baby and extended her hand. “My name is Edesa Reyes Baxter”—she dimpled at the young man—“and this is my husband, Josh Baxter. And this is Mabel Turner, the director of Manna House.”

The baby in Edesa's arms let out a squeal and grabbed her mother's ear for attention.

“Oh, hush, hush,
mi niña.
” Edesa Baxter unhooked the baby's fingers, laughing. “I would not forget you! This is Gracie. God's miracle gift to Manna House.”

What an odd thing to say,
I thought.
Wait a minute. Does the baby
belong to the couple? Or is she homeless and staying at the shelter? No,
that couldn't be. But why—

My thoughts were interrupted by the director, who shook my hand firmly. “Can we help you in some way, Mrs. . . . ?”

She must have seen the wedding ring on my left hand. “Gabby Fairbanks. Actually, um, I was looking for an older woman I ran into yesterday. She had a cough and was sitting under a bush in the rain. She said her name was . . . um, her name was—” For some reason, I totally blanked.

“Ah! You must mean Lucy.” Mabel smiled. “So you're the mysterious person who sent her here by taxi. I think she's still here. Josh, would you check to see whether she signed out?”

Josh Baxter sauntered over to the receptionist's cubicle on the other side of the foyer—a glass-enclosed cubby with an open window into the foyer, and a wide ledge on which lay a big notebook. Suddenly I felt foolish. What in the world was I doing here? I half hoped the old woman had signed herself out. If she was here, what would I say?
How are you? . . . Fine. . . . How's your cough? . . . Fine. Or
worse. Whatever.
And then our “conversation” would be over.

Oh, suck it up,
I told myself. I was here now. Might as well just do it. I smiled, trying to look self-confident. “That would be nice. I was just concerned about her. Uh, do you have many women staying here?”

Mabel Turner shrugged. “It varies. We have beds for forty-eight residents—but that includes a few with kids, who we try to put in a room together as a family, if possible. Some stay for two weeks or two months. Longer than that, we try to find transitional housing. Sometimes they just disappear back onto the street. Especially when the weather gets warmer.”

Residents.
She called them residents. I needed to remember that.

“Lucy didn't sign out,” Josh called over. “Guess she's still here.”

“I'll find her.” Edesa shifted little Gracie to her other hip. “I've got fifteen minutes until I lead Bible study. Would you like a tour of Manna House, uh—I'm sorry, I forgot your name already.” She seemed genuinely flustered.

“Gabby. Short for Gabrielle.” I smiled reassuringly. “That's all right. You've got your hands full.” I followed her through the double swinging doors into a large room. “Gracie . . . that's a pretty name. How old is she?” I was fishing, I knew.

“Eight months. Or thereabouts.” Edesa kissed the top of the baby's soft black hair. “Her mother was a drug addict, and she never actually told us a birth date. Josh and I are adopting her. Takes a long time, though.” She made a face at me. “Too long.”

Well, okay. That was a successful fishing expedition.

“This is our multipurpose room.” Edesa swept a hand around the large, bright room. Several women of various ages and colors were looking at magazines or talking in “seating groups” created by overstuffed chairs and small couches draped with colorful covers. A large woman—Mexican maybe?—hovered over a cabinet by the wall, pumping hot coffee from a large carafe into an over-size Styrofoam cup. Two young women barely out of their teens played cards at a table along the opposite wall.

“Yeah,” fussed a voice, lounging somewhere within the cushions of the closest love seat. “An' Edesa been sayin' for months we gonna rename this room. Sheeze Louise! What kinda name is ‘multipurpose,' I axe you?”

Edesa laughed. “Okay, Precious. Show yourself. Have you seen Lucy?”

A dark face appeared over the back of the love seat, a woman I guessed was somewhere in her thirties. Rows upon rows of tiny braids clung tightly to her head and hung down to her shoulders. “Take a guess where Miz Lucy's at! Down in the kitchen, eatin' breakfast leftovers. . . . Oh, 'scuse me.” The woman hopped up, came around the couch, and held out her hand to me. “Name's Precious McGill. Didn't mean to be rude.”

I shook her hand. “I'm Gabby Fairbanks.”

“What are you doing here?” Edesa asked her. “You don't usu-ally come till three.” She turned to me. “Precious is one of our volunteers. She and her daughter Sabrina help supervise our after-school program—such as it is—three days a week. We need more tutors.”

I blushed slightly. I'd assumed she was one of the “residents.”

“Girl, ain't no school today, an' ain't no after-school program, neither. It's Good Friday. An' Jewish somethin' too—oh, yeah, Passover. Wait till Gracie starts school. Then ya gonna be scrambling' for child care two, three extra times a month 'cause it's this or that holiday again. Equal opportunity religious holidays, ya know. Can't ya hear them kids downstairs?”

Now that she'd mentioned it, I did hear muted squeals, thumps, and the general hubbub that goes along with kids at play coming from below.

Edesa made a face. “Speaking of Good Friday, I'm supposed to lead a Bible study on those scriptures in a few minutes, and I was giving Mrs. Fairbanks here a tour. Could you . . . ?” She looked hopefully at Precious.

I almost said,
“Please. Just call me Gabby.”
But I gave up. Did I have “Mrs. Fairbanks” tattooed across my forehead or something?

“Oh, sure. Got plenty of time till I need to throw lunch together. Fillin' in for Estelle today.” Precious reached for Gracie. “Gimme that baby too. She need changin' or anything?”

And so Gracie and I were both handed over to Precious McGill, who cheerfully chatted nonstop as she showed me the toddler playroom populated by two toddlers and one mother on a cell phone, a schoolroom with two computers (deserted), a small TV room with a news station blabbing away to no one, and a small prayer chapel, all on the first floor. On the second floor, six medium-sized bedrooms held four bunks in each, plus showers, bathrooms, and a small central lounge. I felt embarrassed peeking into the sleeping rooms when someone was there, even though the doors were open, and Precious didn't bother to intro-duce me to anyone. She just said, “Hey there,” or “Say hi to Tanya, Gracie,” waving the baby's hand.

My tour guide did a quick change of the baby's diaper, using a stash of disposables in the second-floor lounge. Then we headed for the basement, where we peeked into a large recreation room. A handful of kids ranging in age from maybe six to eleven were sprawled in the beanbag chairs, watching cartoons, though a teenage girl and a little boy were playing foosball. Precious poked me. “That's my Sabrina over there, getting whupped by little Sammy.”

The lower level also boasted a well-equipped kitchen and dining room, and that's where we found the old woman I'd met yesterday, hunched over a paper plate, wiping up the last drips of syrup with a rolled-up pancake.

“Someone to see you, Miz Lucy . . . Nice to meetchu, Miz Gabby. I'm gonna go catch Edesa's Bible study while I have a chance. Don't get to sit in too often, 'cause I'm usually waitressin' at this café, but this week they give me Friday off. Come on up later, if you want.” And Precious disappeared up the stairs with the Baxter baby.

Lucy looked up at me with her watery eyes. “
Humph
.” The old woman finished mopping up syrup, coughed a couple of times into a napkin, stuffed the last bite of pancake into her mouth, then looked up at me again. “You gonna jus' stand there? Go on. Siddown.” It was the same raspy voice. “You hungry?”

“No, I'm fine.” I pulled out a molded plastic chair and sat. “I . . . I just came to see if you made it okay to the shelter last night. I was worried about your cough. And . . .” I felt my face flush. “I wanted to apologize for my husband's rudeness yesterday. I didn't know he'd be home.”

Lucy just stared at me again. She was wearing different clothes than yesterday, a pair of yellow pants, gym shoes with no socks, a large white T-shirt, and a brown, nubby-knit cardigan. Her frowzy hair looked as if it had been washed. Good. At least she'd gotten a bath and clean clothes. And food. I smiled inwardly.

Finally she spoke. “Yeah, well. He can't help it. I shoulda known better'n ta go up ta that fancy penthouse wit' you.” She coughed and cackled a laugh. “Man, that was some highfalutin place you got there. Ain't never seen one o' them. An' that bath-room smelled mighty good. Didn't have no bathtub in it, though. You must be payin' through the nose for that place, an' they don't even put a bathtub in there?”

I laughed, feeling more at ease. “Don't worry. It has two more bathrooms with bathtubs
and
showers.” I didn't mention the Jacuzzi tub. “But I'm sorry the situation was awkward. We just moved here to Chicago, and my husband was entertaining his new business partner. And then we come in, all drippy wet, and me barefoot, bleeding on the rug . . .”

Lucy grinned, showing a few missing teeth. “Heh-heh, gotta admit. The look on they faces was priceless.” And then she laughed, a series of snorts and guffaws, punctuated by a few more raspy coughs. I couldn't help it. I started to laugh too. It
was
funny. I just hadn't had anyone to laugh about it with yet. Until Lucy.

After a few moments, she wiped her eyes with a well-used napkin and struggled upward out of her chair. “Well, I'm goin' upstairs to sit in somethin' more comfortable than this plastic chair. You comin'?”