Who Is My Shelter? (39 page)

My astonishment knew no bounds. Fairbanks men didn't admit defeat, didn't say they were wrong. Didn't cry, “Uncle!” But Philip was not only admitting his failure to his sons but doing so in my presence. Or—was I really the one he was speaking to?

“Funny thing,” Philip said, “the first time I felt some real hope is when a couple of guys told me hitting bottom is a good thing, because the only way to go is up. But it means starting over. Not fix the old stuff, but start over, do it right. So that's what I'm trying to do.”

The boys listened intently as Philip told them he'd sold out his share of the commercial development business to Henry Fenchel, paid off his gambling debts, and got rid of the lawsuits hanging over his head. “But that's only the first step,” he said. “I've had to face the fact that I'm a gambling addict, so I'll be going to Gamblers Anonymous for a long while. Our old friend, Mr. Bentley, the doorman at Richmond Towers, has agreed to be my sponsor. But Bentley used to be a cop—did you guys know that? So I think he'll be breathing heavy down my neck.”

Paul giggled and even the corners of P.J.'s lips twitched.

“So, guys, I'm out of a job. That's why I'm going back to Virginia, to talk with your granddad and your Great-Uncle Matt, see if they can help me put together a new business plan. Start over. Soon as I know what step two is, you guys will be the first to know.”

We all just sat and looked at each other. Then P.J. nodded, a bit grudgingly. “Okay.” He picked up his half-eaten plate of food and pushed back his chair. “Can I heat this up in the microwave, Mom? C'mon, Paul. Let's go play that video game we started. Maybe Mom and Dad need to talk.”

Philip and I watched in silence as the boys headed into the kitchen with their plates, then two minutes later disappeared down the hallway toward the living room and their video game. Philip raised an eyebrow. “Either he's a good escape artist or extremely diplomatic for his age. Uh . . . do you want your food warmed up too?”

I let him take my plate, suddenly feeling exhausted. We did need to talk, but I was glad for a few minutes to sort through my thoughts. There was something I needed to say too—something I hadn't wanted to think about, much less put into words. But it had been festering in my subconscious for weeks, ever since Mabel Turner had said she'd been concerned about our relationship from the first time she'd interviewed me for the job.
Is this the time, God? If so, You've gotta help me!

When Philip returned with our plates of microwaved food and sat down across from me, I was the one who spoke first. “Philip, I”—
Oh Lord, I want to say the right thing here
—“I appreciate you telling the boys yourself that you were wrong to kick me out of the penthouse. Out of our marriage. Out of your life.” He winced, but I went on. “And I've been thinking about the letter you gave me last Monday. Thinking about it a lot. And I believe you. Believe that you're sorry.”

“Oh, Gabby. I am! If you only knew—”

I held up my hand. “Don't. It's my turn now.” I needed to keep going or I'd lose my courage. “This isn't easy for me to say, because you're right, Philip, you hurt me a lot. You hurt our family, you hurt our sons, and—you've hurt yourself.”

“I know.” The words came out strangled.

“But I've been praying a lot this week, struggling with how to respond to your letter. I didn't want to forgive you, because I don't know what forgiveness means. I don't even know what forgiveness feels like. I don't know what it means for us—for you and me—for the future. And to be honest, I still don't. Don't have a clue. But there is one thing I know. God has forgiven
me
, forgave me even before I got my life together. So I know I have only one option— and that's to forgive you. So I do. I forgive you, Philip.”

He struggled for words. “Gabby, I . . . I don't deserve—”

Again I held up my hand. “Wait. There's something else I need to say.”
Huh
. He thought
that
was the hard part. But the hardest part was still to come. The lump in my throat was so big I could hardly push the words past it. “You . . . you didn't ruin our marriage all by yourself, Philip. God has shown me—through a few say-it-straight sisters, just like the brothers God brought into your life recently—that there are some things I need to take responsibility for too. Especially—”

The lump got bigger. Oh, how easy it would be to talk myself out of saying this! To tell myself
anything
I'd done paled in comparison to the horror he'd heaped on me. But suddenly I realized that for Philip to truly be able to start over was to wipe the slate clean. I needed to own up to my failures and mistakes too. Put them on the table and let the blood of Jesus cover them all with forgiveness.

The lump seemed to dissolve with my resolve. “Especially the fact that I went ahead and did things behind your back, made decisions about things that affected
us
without talking with you about them ahead of time. Taking the job at Manna House. Bringing my mom and Dandy back from North Dakota without consulting you, even though I felt I had lots of good reasons. I was afraid you'd say no to everything I wanted to do. But . . . it still wasn't right. As a wise woman told me, no marriage can function that way for long, pulling in different directions.”

Philip stared at me. He seemed to be in shock. He shook his head, but no words came. And then his shoulders started to shake. Silent sobs racked his body from somewhere deep. I didn't know what to do, but something in my spirit said,
Touch
.

I reached across the table, took his hand, and just held it while he wept.

chapter 37

A loud crack of thunder made me bolt upright in bed. Rain washed against my bedroom windows, which were letting in a faint light. What time was it anyway? I reached for my digital alarm so I could see the lighted numbers—six fifteen. Almost time to get up anyway. I'd probably have to give P.J. a ride to school or he'd get soaked waiting for the city bus.

Swathed in my cozy fleece robe and waiting for the coffee to drip, I wondered if the storm would delay Philip's flight that morning. Hopefully they'd hold the flight if there was any danger. Didn't actually know what time his flight was due to leave. I'd asked him last night if he needed a ride to the airport, but he said Will Nissan had offered to give him a ride as far as the UIC campus, and he'd just take the Blue Line from there to the airport. A straight shot, and a lot cheaper than a taxi.

We hadn't said much after my confession and Philip's emotional reaction—just let the weight of the whole evening sit there with no conclusion. I sensed we both understood “it was what it was.” Significant but unfinished. Neither of us knew what it meant for the future. But I'd gone to bed feeling a strange sense of peace. After Philip's honest confession to his sons, I'd obeyed the prompting from the Holy Spirit to own up to my own failings in the marriage. “It's in Your lap now, Jesus,” I'd murmured as I turned out the light.

But the early morning thunder must've awakened Paul, too, because he padded into the kitchen in a mismatched pair of pajamas and bare feet and went straight to the back door, peering out the square window. “Mom! What if Lucy and Dandy are out in all this rain?”

The thought had crossed my mind too. Nighttime temperatures had fallen to low fifties. Not too bad, could be worse, but still.

I pulled Paul into a fleece-warm hug. “Betcha anything they came back last night and are snug as a bug in a rug at the shelter. But even if not”—I held Paul away from me and looked into his hazel eyes—“Lucy probably found shelter somewhere. She's smart that way.”

Well, maybe. The first time I'd “met” Lucy, she was camped under a bush, supposedly out of the rain, swathed in plastic garbage bags that didn't do much as far as keeping her dry.

“Go on, drag your brother out of bed,” I told Paul. “I'll give both of you rides to school today. What do you want for breakfast?”

Frankly, I didn't want to worry about Lucy until I had to, which turned out to be as soon as I got to work at Manna House after dropping off the boys.

“Lucy here?” I asked Angela at the front desk, shaking the rain off my umbrella.

“Haven't seen her.” She pointed to the sign-in book. “And she hasn't signed in since she signed out yesterday afternoon.”

I glanced at Lucy's wobbly signature. Even though the old woman could barely read or write, Carolyn had helped her learn to sign her name. “Oh, okay. So, how's Jin?”

The phone rang and Angela picked up. “Manna House Women's Shelter.” She covered the mouthpiece and gave me a sly grin. “He's coming to dinner at my parents' house this weekend!” Then into the phone: “I'm sorry. Who was it you wanted?”

I headed for my office, realizing I missed bringing Dandy to work and seeing the happy reunion between Lucy and the dog each morning. And I'd been so distracted this whole week with the most recent melodrama concerning Philip that I'd put off doing anything about my concerns for Lucy and Dandy with cold weather coming on, much less following up my suspicions about Lucy's identity—and now she was gone. And who knew when she'd show up again. Next week? Next year?

The cracks of thunder were coming closer together and the lights in the building blinked off and on several times. The storm was getting worse. I dialed Philip's cell but only got to leave a message. “Just wondering if you got off okay. Give me a call when you get to Petersburg. The boys will want to know you got there safely.”
Me too
, I almost added, but didn't.

Estelle Williams poked her hairnet-covered head into my office at five to ten. “Come on outta that hole, girl. We're goin' to Edesa's Bible study. You an' me both been pushin' people away all week, not wantin' to talk about all the angst we feelin' 'bout the men in our lives. But we can't push away the Man Upstairs. So c'mon.” She actually grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of my office and up the stairs to Shepherd's Fold. She had me laughing by the time we got to the circle of couches and chairs that had been pushed together for Edesa's weekly Bible study.

More people than usual had gathered, probably because of the rain keeping people inside. Edesa, looking a bit damp herself, raindrops still sparkling on her tight corkscrew curls, grinned at our presence. “
Buenos dias
, everyone! Looks as if the rain is blessing us with a good group to study God's Word today. Sister Naomi, will you pass out the Bibles? If you want a Spanish translation, we have those too . . . all right. As soon as you get a Bible, turn to the Psalms, chapter sixty-one. Will someone please read the first four verses?”

Monique, our fountain of religious clichés, waved her hand. “Praise Jesus, I'll read it. I just love the Psalms! I read one ever' mornin' an—”

“Just read dis one, Monique,” Wanda growled, rolling her eyes.

“I was just
sayin
' . . . oh, all right.” Standing up, Monique read in a preachy voice: “ ‘Hear my cry, O God! Attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I'—oh, yes,
Je
sus!—‘For You have been a shelter for me, a strong tower from the enemy. I will abide in Your tabernacle forever. I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.' The readin' of the Word, amen.” She sat down, beaming.

In spite of Monique's pontificating, I recognized the same psalm Jodi had encouraged me to read when I was all upset about Philip heading for the casino last week. Edesa's smile looked a little strained, but she said, “Let's pray before we talk about this important scripture.” And in her quiet, lilting Spanish accent, she thanked
El Señor
for hearing the cries of our hearts and comforting us with His promises. After her “Amen,” she asked, “How many of you are feeling overwhelmed right now?”

Hands all around me went up.
Well, that's me too
. I raised my hand. Estelle too.

Edesa nodded at the sea of hands. “There are a lot of reasons we feel overwhelmed—probably as many reasons as there are women in this room. At these times we just need something—or Someone—we can count on to hold on to . . . or to hold on to us. That's what this prayer of David is all about. He had a lot of stress in his life, and even though he was a
king
, the most powerful person in the country, he cried out to God to be his rock, to be his shelter from the storms of life swirling all around him.”

Heads were nodding all around the room, along with “You got that right” and “Mm-hm, say it.”

Edesa swept her hand around the room. “Sometimes we need a physical shelter, like Manna House here, to put a roof over our head and food in our mouths, so we don't have to be out in the cold and wet, like today . . .”