by Neta Jackson
“Uh, I think so.” Mabel would know but she wasn’t here. “It’s a Christian homeless shelter for women.”
“A Christian shelter.” Precious sniffed.
“Hey, wait a minnit!” Lucy elbowed her way to the front of the Manna House crowd and looked Mr. Leather Pants up and down. “Ain’t you the guy gave me a ride on that big bike t’other day in Michigan?”
I stared at Lucy. She’d been in Michigan? And this biker dude had given her a ride?
The bearded man broke into a wide grin and waggled a finger at her. “Lucy Tucker, right? Yeah! You was hoofin’ it along that two-lane road, tryin’ ta find the bus station. I see ya made it back to Chi-Town okay.”
Lucy turned to Mr. Bentley and me, cackling like an old hen. “Heh, heh, heh. You guys don’t hafta worry. These dudes are all right. They just a bunch of Jesus freaks on wheels.”
The big guy grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “Show ’em, fellas!” He turned around, along with the rest of his motley crew—and there, emblazoned in big red stitching on the back of their black leather vests, were the words God Squad and beneath them, Christian Motorcycle Club.
“Hey! That’s fantastic!” Josh said, stepping forward and extending his hand. Within moments, the group of leather-clad bikers were shaking hands and greeting the women from Manna House, some of whom still looked frightened at all these tough-looking men.
“Well, now, isn’t this a pretty how-d’ya-do,” murmured a familiar voice in my ear. “Wonder which group is gonna turn the other cheek?”
I turned. “Estelle! What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t do picnics on Sundays!”
“I said I don’t cook on Sundays. Didn’t say I don’t come to picnics. Besides, you got Harry to sign up. What was I s’posed to do? Sit home an’ twiddle my thumbs?”
“Ma’am?” Big Dude interrupted. “Sorry me an’ the boys took your spot. We’re travelin’ from Michigan to a Christian Biker Rally and needed a place to eat our lunch. We’ll be movin’ on since you got a permit an’ all that.”
“Well, now, what’s the big problem?” Precious butted in. “Lookit this shelter. ’Nuff picnic tables for a hunnerd folks or more, an’ what we got? Forty . . . maybe fifty all together? We all God’s children, ain’t we? Well . . .” She glanced around at the Manna House residents. “Well, maybe not all of us, but enough to count. Jesus said if two or three folks get together in His name, He shows up too. So to my way of figurin’, we all just one big family. I’m gettin’ hungry, so I say let’s eat!”
Big Guy looked at me. I shrugged. Not exactly what I’d planned, but . . .
chapter 22
Turned out the picnic was a blast. The bikers were downright gentlemanly, helping us set up the Baxters’ grill, adding their sandwiches and bags of chips and coolers of colas to the feast. One of the bikers—a smaller guy who actually wore a safety helmet— even hopped on his bike and roared down the highway, and by the time the coals were ready he was back with more hot dogs and buns to throw on the grill.
I cornered Lucy. “What were you doing in Michigan? I mean, you just up and disappeared! What did that biker mean, you got tired of picking? Blueberries?”
“Humph. Grew up pickin’. Gotta make some money somehow to see me through the winter, don’tcha know. Now, how ’bout another slice of that melon. I gotta go sit with Dandy so Paul can play some ball.”
Josh had produced a couple of bats, a softball, and mitts— he’d been thinking of the kids—and we ended up with two rowdy teams made up of both bikers and “maidens,” as our residents had been dubbed by the God Squad. Since the picnic and ballgame were no longer mostly female, the boys—even Paul—looked like they were having a great time.
“Look at God,” Estelle murmured to Jodi and me as we cleaned up paper plates, leftover buns, and searched for missing caps to the plastic containers of catsup and mustard. “We make our plans, but God comes up with an even better idea.”
I decided not to comment on Estelle cleaning up on a Sunday. “Yeah, and I was worried about security, you know, all these women out here in the middle of nowhere, with only a few guys to stick up for us if anything happened.”
Jodi swooped up Gracie, who had discovered a bag of marshmallows. “Oh no, sweetie. Let Grammy get those out of your mouth—”
“Look, look, Gracie!” I screeched. “Your mama just knocked a home run! Way to go, Edesa!”
We clapped and hooted from the picnic shelter as Jodi’s daughter-in-law rounded third base, which consisted of somebody’s T-shirt. As the pretty Honduran girl slid into home plate—another T-shirt— Jodi sighed. “Please keep praying for Edesa and Josh. Things are really stressful for them with you-know-who in that tiny apartment. Can’t even call it an apartment, it’s so small!” She nuzzled Gracie’s loose curls, then looked at Estelle, who’d resumed cleanup. “Speaking of our grown kids, Harry said you guys weren’t at church this morning because you went to visit Leroy. How’s he doing?”
Estelle shook her head. “Humph. They say he’s doing good, but it ain’t a pretty sight for a mother to see her boy suffer like that.” The older woman heaved a sigh and sat down on one of the picnic table benches. “Gotta pray for me, sisters. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with him when he does get better, now that he done burned the house down. Jus’ never wanted to put him in an institution. But . . .”
“Oh, Estelle,” Jodi said. “Of course we’ll pray. All the Yada Yada sisters are praying already. In fact, let’s pray right now.” Jodi looked at me. “How about you, Gabby? How can we pray for you? Yesterday you said Philip was late picking up the boys. Do you think he did that on purpose since you told him you wouldn’t loan him any money?”
Another cheer went up from the makeshift ball field. Mabel’s nephew had hit the ball and was heading for first base. The outfield fumbled it, and I heard P.J. yell, “Run to second, you wuss!” But others yelled, “Stay there! Stay there!” Jermaine looked confused, ran, and got tagged out.
I winced, trying to remember Jodi’s question. “No-o, I don’t think Philip would deliberately take it out on the boys like that. But it was kind of weird. When I got him on his cell phone, he said he got stuck with a business client, somebody named Fagan, I think, who—”
Estelle’s head snapped up. “Stop. Gabby, did you say Fagan?”
“Well, yeah, I think that’s what he said. Don’t know if it was a first name or last name. But somebody told him to hurry up on the phone and Philip said something like, ‘Just a minute, Fagan!’”
Estelle got to her feet faster than I’d ever seen her move. “Girl, if that’s the Fagan I think it is, that man of yours is in real trouble now. I gotta tell Harry.”
I didn’t know what had gotten Estelle’s tail in a knot, but whoever Philip’s client was, he wasn’t my problem. I had all I could handle getting everyone to clean up the picnic grounds and get the vans loaded for our trip back home. The “God Squad” escorted our vans halfway back to the city, much to the delight of the shelter residents and kids, then peeled off when the highway signs pointed north to Wisconsin.
Once we got back to Manna House, Lucy marched off with Dandy and her wire cart, and I noticed Paul sulking on the front steps. I sat down beside him. “I know you feel sad, kiddo. But maybe it’s just as well. You’re starting school in two days and Dandy would be alone all day. At least with Lucy, he’s got a companion twenty-four/seven.” Paul got up and stomped off, hands jammed in the pockets of his cargo shorts. Didn’t blame him. My words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
What Paul needed was his own dog.
As for P.J. . . . that boy was going to hear from me about calling Jermaine a “wuss” in front of everyone.
However, it turned out to be serendipity that we had our picnic on Sunday, because the Monday holiday woke up cloudy and wet. I made coffee and took it back to bed, curling up with my Bible. A good time to make good on my promise to God to “abide” in His Word, since I didn’t have to go in to work that
day. I actually read several more chapters in Matthew’s gospel before my phone rang at eight o’clock.
Jodi was on the line. “Didn’t you say you could use a work crew over there in those two empty apartments? We were going to barbecue today with Josh and Edesa, but with weather like this—ha. I don’t think so! Can you use some help?” She laughed. “After all, it’s Labor Day!”
No way was I going to turn down a volunteer work crew. I called over to Manna House and talked to Precious, told her we weren’t ready to paint yet but could use a cleaning crew.
“You talk to Tanya yet?” she asked.
“Uh, no. Kinda wanted this House of Hope idea to be a sure thing before I got her hopes up. Mabel’s not there today, is she?”
“Nope. But Tanya’s a big girl, Gabby. She could use a little hope right now. Want me to talk to her? I’m sure she an’ Sammy would love to come help out.”
We finally decided Precious would recruit Tanya, I’d pick them up in an hour, and once we got back here to the six-flat, then I’d tell her my dream for the House of Hope. We didn’t even ask Sabrina, since we were starting on the third-floor apartment, and Precious said no way was she going to push that girl and her big tummy up all those stairs.
When I pulled up in front of the six-flat, Precious wisely disappeared inside with Sammy, but I held Tanya back to tell her about my dream of developing this building as second-stage housing for homeless single moms. “You and Precious are first on our list if it all comes through,” I said. “But we’re still working on it, so don’t tell Sammy yet.”
The next thing I knew, Tanya had thrown her arms around my neck and started to cry. “Oh, Miss Gabby,” she sniffled, her braided head tucked tight next to my auburn mop. “That would be the answer to my prayers.”
I held her for a few moments, and then untangled myself from her hug. “Don’t stop praying yet, Tanya. We’ve still got a few hurdles. Come on, I’ve got to wake up my boys if Sammy hasn’t done it already.”
P.J. and Paul complained at first about having to work on a holiday, but when the Baxter clan showed up at ten o’clock, it started to feel like a party. Jodi had brought a whole slew of cleaning supplies—buckets, a mop, rags, and several different kinds of cleaners—so with what I also rustled up, we assigned tasks and set to work. Edesa, Precious, and Tanya tackled the filthy kitchen on the third floor, Jodi volunteered to do the bathroom, and I put all three boys to work with garbage bags just collecting all the trash left in the various rooms and on the back porch. Denny Baxter had brought his toolbox, and he and Josh went room to room repairing windows that wouldn’t stay open, the dripping kitchen faucet, sagging rods in the closets, and who knew what else.
Repairs I’d never thought of that would need to be done in every apartment as they became available.
“Oh, brother,” I sighed, sinking down on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom where Jodi was scrubbing the gritty ring around the bathtub. “I think I’m in over my head. Painting the apartments is one thing. But seeing Denny and Josh doing all that fix-it stuff, I realize the owner of a building is responsible for all kinds of repairs! Electrical wiring gone bad . . . rusted pipes . . . broken fixtures . . . rotting porch railings . . . aagh! I can’t do that stuff !”
“Well”—scrub, scrub, scrub—“just ask Denny or Josh to help you out when you need it. Or hire somebody.”
“Oh yeah, right. What were we thinking, Jodi—six apartments full of women and kids? We need a man!”
Jodi blew a stray lock of hair out of her face and grinned up at me. “We? You’re the one who . . .” Jodi’s voice trailed off and she got a funny look on her face. “Wait a minute. You need a man, and I know a certain man who needs an apartment.” She rolled her eyes and tipped her head “out there” toward the rest of the apartment.
My mouth dropped open. “You mean . . . Josh and Edesa? But . . .” My mind did cartwheels. “But the whole idea is to turn the building into second-stage housing for homeless single moms.”
Jodi popped up and sat on the edge of the tub. “Sure. But you’re the owner and you live in the building, kind of like a housemother. And you just said yourself you need a property manager—someone to do all that stuff you can’t do and would have to hire out. Why not Josh? He’s pretty good at that stuff.”
Good grief. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Having Josh and Edesa Baxter living in the building would be a godsend! Still, hurdles kept rising up in my mind like an animated obstacle course. “But, Jodi! There are only two available apartments right now, and I promised Precious and Tanya they were tops on the list. Especially Precious, because Sabrina’s baby is due in a couple of months.”
“Gabby Fairbanks.” Jodi closed the bathroom door and lowered her voice. “Have you really thought this through? I mean, does Tanya need a three-bedroom apartment? It’s just her and Sammy! Now Precious and Sabrina could probably use one after the baby comes—but even that is more than most families are able to afford. Maybe Precious and Tanya could share an apartment for the time being until another one opens up. It’s still a whole lot better than a bunk room at the shelter.”
I ran a hand through my hair, absently untangling a few snarls as I tried to “think this through,” as Jodi said. “What about the rent? Could Josh and Edesa afford it? It’s ridiculous—thirteen hundred a month! But I’ll need the rent from all the apartments— one way or the other—to cover my mortgage. Though I should probably reduce it in exchange for the work he’d do.”
Jodi got back down on her knees by the tub and turned the water on to rinse the scrubbing she’d been doing. “Yeah, well, the rent’s a good question. You’d have to talk to Josh and Edesa about that. In fact”—she grimaced at me guiltily—“I think I need to drop out of this conversation. I’m a little biased about wanting them to find a bigger place to live. Sorry. I probably misspoke.”
“No, no, it’s a good idea, Jodi. Makes a lot of sense all the way around. I really do need a property manager, and the fact that Josh and Edesa are also volunteers at the shelter makes them perfect candidates! But I don’t quite know what to do next.”
Jodi turned off the water. “Well, we could pray about it. Want to? Right now?”
So there we sat, on the toilet and the tub, praying about whether to ask Josh and Edesa to be property managers for the new House of Hope, when someone pounded at the door. “Mom? You in there?” P.J. hollered from the other side of the door. “It’s past lunchtime! You want me to order some pizza?”
chapter 23
Tanked up on Gino’s pizza and root beer, my volunteer cleaning crew had made Apartment 3A look fairly presentable when Lee Boyer showed up with the keys to the two empty apartments. It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d kissed me, and I felt a flutter of panic. At least my heart was tripping double time. He gave me a wink when no one was looking, but otherwise he was a model of decorum. “Hm. Nice,” he said, glancing around 3A. But as he was leaving, he pulled me aside. “Gabby. I’m not sure you should put in all this work until you actually own the building. What if—”
“Have some faith, Lee!” I gave him my brightest smile and a wave, then turned to the tired crew and held up the keys to 1A. “Ta-da! Who wants to take a look?”
Nobody moved. I heard a few groans. “Huh! If that apartment downstairs be a big mess like this one? . . . uh-uh.” Precious shook the tiny twists covering her head. “My joints already hurtin’ after all this scrubbin’.”
“Okay, okay. We don’t have to clean it today. Just look.” Though I knew I wouldn’t have the nerve to ask this volunteer crew to come back a second time.
But I was pleasantly surprised. Apartment 1A had been completely cleared out, floors had been swept, and both the bathroom and kitchen were basically clean. “Ready to paint, I’d say,” Jodi said happily, rubbing hand cream into her water-wrinkled fingers.
Her husband gave her a look. “Right. After preparing the walls, filling in the nail holes, taping the wood trim, and”—he jig
gled the light switch in the living room, which did nothing— “repairing this light.”
“Oh, stop it, Denny.” Jodi backhanded his arm. “Don’t discourage Gabby. It’s probably just a burned-out bulb.”
“Maybe.” Denny wandered off to check out the other room lights.
Jodi winked at me and murmured, “Or maybe just confirmation that you need a maintenance person on site.”
“Shh!” I hissed back at her. “Don’t say anything to Josh and Edesa until I have a chance to talk to Mabel in private. It, um, might be a little sticky.” I tipped my head toward Precious and Tanya, who were already arguing about who got the first-floor apartment.
I was just as glad we didn’t have a big cleaning job in that apartment, because as soon as everyone left, I had to focus on the other “big job” at hand—getting the boys ready for their first day of school the next day. Book bags, jeans, new underwear and T-shirts laid out, and bag lunches made and in the fridge . . . though the next morning I wondered why I bothered. P.J. showed up for breakfast in an old T-shirt (“You want me to look like a twinky new kid?” he growled), and after Mabel picked him up, I discovered his lunch still sitting in the fridge.
Well, let him go hungry. He wouldn’t forget tomorrow.
Scattered clouds dotted the sky over Chicago, but the temperature was a pleasant seventy degrees as Paul and I walked toward Sunnyside Magnet School. Suddenly my heart felt so full, I felt like doing a little jig right there on the sidewalk . . . but I settled for giving Paul a sudden sideways hug.
“Mo-om!” My twelve-year-old pulled away, looking around in a panic. “What if somebody sees you?”
“Sorry, kiddo.” I meekly resumed walking straight ahead, but couldn’t help the big grin on my face. “I’m just so . . . so grateful that you’re here, that I get a chance to walk you to school today, that I might just burst—and then you’ll have a big mess to clean up right here on the sidewalk.” I laughed and he rolled his eyes, but I was rewarded with a grin as he shook his head at his hopeless mother.
