by Neta Jackson
As many times as we’d talked that week, I thought it was strange that Lee didn’t say anything about my invitation to come to church last Sunday, so I finally asked if he’d gotten my message. “Oh gosh, Gabby. I’m sorry. I did, but I thought . . . well, obviously I didn’t make it. To be honest, I’m not really a church kind of guy. But I hope it was everything you wanted it to be.”
“What do you mean, you’re not a church kind of guy? I wasn’t asking you to join the church, just come to something that was meaningful to me.”
“Hey, down, girl. Don’t jump all over me. It sounded like an afterthought when you turned down my invitation to go out to dinner last Friday. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
I’d hesitated. “You’re right. It was an afterthought. But it was a big deal—to me anyway. Becoming a member of the church, I mean. But . . . never mind. What’s the address of the title company where we’re doing the closing? Eleven o’clock, right?”
“Don’t worry about finding it. I’ll pick you up at your house.”
After we hung up, I’d picked up one of the floppy stuffed dogs still hanging around my office and went nose to nose with it. “Hey. Remind me next time not to mix business with pleasure. There’re probably plenty of blogs out there about not getting romantically involved with your lawyer.”
Still, I was glad it was Lee who sat beside me at the big conference table at the title office Thursday morning at eleven. He squeezed my hand before the owner of the building and his attorney and the title company rep came in, giving me an encouraging smile. I squeezed back. Lee Boyer had helped me through one of the roughest periods of my life, and the fact that he knew it all and still thought I was special, well . . .
An hour later we all shook hands, the attorneys and title guys packed up their briefcases, and we headed out into the parking lot to go our different ways. I started to lean against Lee’s Prius to regain my equilibrium, but it set off his car alarm and I leaped away in shock as the horn began blaring. Grinning, Lee used his clicker to shut off the alarm and then we both collapsed against the car.
“Uh, Lee? Did I just hand over a check for two hundred grand?”
“More. All those fees, remember?”
“And all those papers I signed. You read them, I hope.”
“Uh, they’re pretty standard. I have read them at one time or another.”
“Uh-huh. And now I own a very large building.”
“Mm. Medium I’d say. Just a six-flat. But if you want, now you can move out to the suburbs and join the fine tradition of Chicago’s absentee slumlords—ow!” He threw up his hands to defend himself against another slug on the arm. “Just kidding.”
I looked at him sideways. His easy grin, wire-rim glasses, and brown hair falling over his forehead gave him a perpetually boyish look that made me feel like kicking off my shoes and running barefoot in the grass—except the parking lot was concrete.
“Let’s go buy a kite,” I said suddenly.
“What?” Now he started laughing.
“I feel like flying a kite! Come on!”
“You’re crazy, Gabby Fairbanks, you know that?”
I was still glowing and windblown when I finally got back to Manna House at three o’clock. We almost didn’t find a kite, since all the stores were already stocked with Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving decorations. But we finally found a big, black bat-shaped kite in the Halloween section of a discount store and took it to Lincoln Park along the lakefront. The wind off Lake Michigan had been nippy, but it sent the kite flying high and gave us rosy cheeks and red noses.
“Friday?” Lee said hopefully when he dropped me off at the shelter.
For some reason Chanda’s snippy comment at Sunday’s Yada Yada meeting niggled at me. “Just trying to figure out how to walk the talk . . .” But I’d already blown Lee off last weekend. What could it hurt? “Sure, Friday,” I promised and ran up the steps.
Precious and Tanya took one look at the grin on my face when I came in the door and started screeching with joy. “We can move! We can move!” . . . “We got us a real apartment! Oh, thank You, Jesus!” They both grabbed me and dragged me down the stairs to the lower level. “C’mon—Estelle’s got some-thin’ for ya!”
“Something” turned out to be a large sheet cake Estelle and her Thursday afternoon cooking class had made and decorated with “Congratulations!” The cake and fresh coffee brewing drew residents and staff from all corners of the building, and by the time the schoolkids joined us, we had a regular party going. Even eye-rolling, pregnant Sabrina finally seemed excited that she was going to have her own bedroom at last.
I called Josh and Edesa on their cell phones and told them the move was a “go” on Saturday. But it wasn’t until the boys were climbing into their dad’s Lexus at six o’clock Friday evening that I realized I hadn’t called Philip about Lucy’s report of “strange men” hanging around Richmond Towers. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the boys, so I just asked Philip to call me later that evening when he had a chance.
His call came when Lee and I were slow-dancing to a live band at one of the popular country-western venues around the city. Okaay, this is awkward, I thought, trying to find a corner of the room farthest from the band. Plugging one ear I held the cell phone to the other. “Philip? Thanks for calling. Just wanted to tell you that, uh, Lucy Tucker said she’s seen some strange men hanging around Richmond Towers asking for you. She wanted me to tell you.” I felt silly even as I relayed the message.
“Lucy? The old lady who’s got your mom’s dog?” I heard him snort in my ear. “What’s she doing snooping around here? Look, tell her to mind her own business . . . Where are you anyway? I can hardly hear you with all that racket in the background.”
“Good-bye, Philip.” I flipped the phone closed and moved back across the dance floor to where Lee was waiting for me, a welcoming grin on his face.
It wasn’t any of Philip’s business where I was.
The second call came at six thirty the next morning.
I almost didn’t hear the phone ring, because I’d left the cell in my shoulder bag, which I’d tossed in a corner of the bedroom. But consciousness finally dawned and I scrambled out of bed, snatched up the purse, dumping the contents out on the bed to find the phone. “Uhh . . . hello?”
“Gabby.” The voice was scratchy. Gruff. “Get over here and pick up your boys.”
I was suddenly wide-awake. “Wha—? Lucy? Is that you? What’s going on?”
“Dandy an’ I found your mister beat up in the walkin’ tunnel under Lake Shore Drive—”
“The boys! Lucy, where are they?”
“Up in that penthouse sleepin’, far as I know. Your man was out joggin’ early is my guess—”
“Did you say beat up? How bad is he? Did you call 9-1-1?”
I could hear Dandy barking in the background, and Lucy’s voice pulled away. “Dagnabit! I’ll give it back to ya. Just a minnit!” Then she was back on. “Yeah, I called 9-1-1. Now this jogger guy wants his phone back.”
I could hear faint sirens in the distance on Lucy’s end of the phone. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t believe this. “How bad, Lucy?”
“Pretty bad, Fuzz Top. He’s unconscious. Lotta blood, but still breathin’ . . .”
“Stay there, Lucy. I’m coming. Just find out where they’re going to take him.”
chapter 39
The boys and I huddled in the waiting room of the ER. Why wasn’t someone coming out to tell us how badly Philip was hurt? Lucy had gone outside to walk Dandy, who didn’t understand why he couldn’t come inside too . . .
The frumpy bag lady and yellow dog had been waiting for me just outside Richmond Towers when I came screeching into the frontage road and pulled the Subaru into a Visitor Parking space. She said the ambulance had left just five minutes ago and was taking “the mister” to Weiss Memorial Hospital.
“Do the boys know their dad’s hur
t?”
She wagged her head. “Don’t think so. He was wearing them fancy jogging clothes—ya know, them silky shorts an’ matchin’ jacket—like he’d gone out early for a run while they was still sleepin’.”
“Don’t disappear, Lucy,” I commanded. “I want to know what happened—but right now I’ve got to get my boys. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Muttering thanks to God that I still had my security pass and keys to the penthouse—once management had insisted that Philip replace the original locks—I rode the elevator to the thirty-second floor and let myself in. All was quiet. Trying to ignore the schizophrenic feeling of walking around in the high-priced penthouse that used to be my home, I found the boys sprawled in discount store twin beds in one of the bedrooms, dead to the world. Waking them gently, I told them to get dressed quickly. We had to go to the hospital . . .
I couldn’t answer any of their questions. Lucy rode in the front seat with me, Dandy between the boys in the back. “Now tell me, Lucy! What happened?”
“Like I said . . .” She and Dandy were taking their early morning walk in the park, staying close to Richmond Towers. As they came through the lighted pedestrian tunnel that gave joggers and residents of the luxury high-rises along Lake Shore Drive access to the beach, Dandy suddenly started to whine and pull on his leash. A man was crumpled on the ground in the tunnel. “Thought at first it was just a wino passed out on the ground. But when I saw them fancy jogging clothes, I knew this wasn’t no wino.” Then Dandy had stiffened and started to growl. The light wasn’t that good in the tunnel, but when Lucy got close, she realized who it was.
“Another jogger came along an’ let me use his cell phone, so I called 9-1-1, then I called you.” She’d snorted in disgust. “The guy didn’t want to wait around till the ambulance got there. Had to finish his run. Made me give the phone back.”
“Did the paramedics tell you anything about how badly Philip was hurt?”
“Nope. Cops came, asked me a couple of questions since I was the one who found ’im. Never let on I knew who he was, though.”
When we came flying into the emergency room, I’d rushed to the desk and asked if a Philip Fairbanks had been brought in by ambulance. The receptionist looked at a clipboard. “Relation to the patient?”
I hesitated a nanosecond, then blurted, “His wife. These are his children.”
“Have a seat.”
Now we sat in the waiting room . . . waiting. Two uniformed policemen came out of the double doors marked Hospital Personnel Only and spoke to the receptionist, who nodded at me. They wanted to know what I knew about what happened. I shook my head. “Nothing! We’re . . . separated. Someone called me, told me he’d been found beaten unconscious while he was out jogging. I . . . the boys were with him this weekend. I picked them up from their dad’s place and came here.”
The police treated it as a routine mugging, jotted a few notes. Left.
Who to call? I should call somebody! I called Jodi Baxter . . . Wondered if I should call Philip’s parents but decided to wait until we knew something about his condition. I asked the boys if they’d like to get something to eat. Both of them shook their heads. The clock’s second hand labored toward 7:40 . . . 8:05 . . . 8:30 . . .
The move. My new tenants were supposed to be moving into the six-flat this morning. But I just sat. They’d have to figure it out for themselves.
Jodi and Denny Baxter pushed through the revolving doors into the ER waiting room at nine o’clock. “Gabby! What happened? Is he going to be all right?”
I shook my head. “Don’t know yet . . . Oh.”
A young doctor in a white coat flapping open to show his pale blue shirt and blue striped tie, stethoscope sticking out of one coat pocket, came through the double doors and looked at our little group, the only people standing. “Mrs. Fairbanks?”
I nodded. The doctor motioned us into a nearby conference room, and I insisted that the boys and the Baxters come too.
“We’ve done our preliminary exam. Whoever worked him over did a bang-up job.” I winced and glanced at my boys. A crude choice of words. “Your husband has several broken ribs, a broken arm, possible internal injuries from being punched in the stomach, a severe laceration on his head caused by striking concrete, a badly broken nose that will cause a lot of bruising, a possible concussion . . . but the good news is, none of it is life-threatening. We need to do more tests to determine the extent of any internal injuries, and he’ll have to be hospitalized for several days. Maybe a week. But”—the young doc actually smiled—“he’s going to be fine.”
Paul drew his legs up onto the chair with his arms, put his head down on his knees, and started to cry. P.J. put his arms around his brother and murmured, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. He’s gonna be okay, didn’t you hear?”
“Thank you,” I said to the doctor. The words barely came out in a whisper.
Jodi and Denny took the boys to the hospital cafeteria to get some breakfast and brought me a bagel and a large coffee. “With cream,” she pointed out with a sweet smile. Then she and Denny left, taking Lucy and Dandy with them, to check on the move.
“They should just go ahead,” I told them. “Josh has the building keys. They’ve waited long enough.”
It was almost three before Philip was moved to a private room. They’d sedated him to set the broken bones and deal with the pain, so he wasn’t aware when the boys and I tiptoed into the room to sit with him. He seemed swathed in bandages—his rib cage was bound, his right arm had been set and was held away from his bruised body with some kind of contraption, and his head had been shaved and was wrapped in bandages except for his face, which was a mess—swollen nose and eye, scrapes and cuts.
He looked awful.
Estelle Williams and Harry Bentley peeked into the room. “We’re not stayin’, honey,” Estelle said, sweeping me into a big hug. “Just wanted to let you know there are a whole lot of people prayin’ for Philip right now. An’ if you need anything—anything— you let us know, you hear?”
I blubbered into her soft bosom and nodded, even though I could hardly breathe, she was hugging me so tight.
Harry motioned me out into the hall. “You know who did this, don’t you?”
I shook my head . . . then slowly nodded. “If you’re right about Matty Fagan.” I fished for a tissue and blew my nose.
“I know I’m right. What’s it been . . . four weeks since Philip met with Fagan? Fagan never gives anybody that long to pay back what he loaned ’em. I’ve got my ex-partner on the case, seeing what she can find out.” Harry shook his head. “The sooner Internal Affairs gets that rogue off the streets, the better for everybody.”
Harry and Estelle left. We sat some more. “Look, Mom!” P.J. cried. “His eyes are open!”
Philip’s eyes were mere slits. I leaned close. “Philip? It’s me, Gabby. And the boys are here.”
“What . . . where am I? . . . What happened?” he croaked.
I told him briefly. He closed his eyes and seemed to think about it a long while. Then he opened them again. “Are . . . boys okay? I—I left them alone, just going for a short run . . .”
“We’re fine, Dad.” P.J. bent close into Philip’s line of vision.
“Don’t worry about us. You’re going to be fine too. Doctor said.”
Philip raised his left hand and crooked a finger at me to come close. I bent over him. “I don’t . . . want . . . boys . . . here. Don’t want them . . . to see me like . . . this.”
Too late for that. But I nodded. “They’re going home soon.”
Jodi and Denny Baxter returned later that afternoon and said the move was done—including picking up household and personal things Precious had stored here and there with friends. But everyone was worried about her and the boys and Philip. The Baxters offered to take the boys back to our apartment and stay with them until I came home. “Not a hardship for us,” Jodi assured me. “After all, Josh and Edesa and Gracie are right upstairs now!
/> I’m sure they can use some more help getting settled. But . . . why don’t you come home for the night? Get some sleep. You can come back tomorrow.”
We were standing out in the hallway. I looked back into the room where Philip lay on the hospital bed attached to all kinds of wires and tubes and IVs. I shook my head. “No. Think I’ll stay here tonight.”
Jodi looked ready to argue, but I held up my hand.
“The thing is, Jodi, he doesn’t have anyone right now . . . except me.”
chapter 40
I dreaded making the call but couldn’t wait any longer. Once the boys had left with the Baxters, I found a family waiting room and dialed the Fairbanks’ number in Virginia. Marlene Fairbanks went ballistic when she heard we’d been at the hospital since early that morning and I was just now calling them.
“I’m sorry, Marlene. We didn’t know for a long time what his injuries were, and I knew you’d want to know. The boys needed my attention; they’re upset, of course, and—”
I don’t think she heard me, because she was still calling me every name she could think of while telling me this was all my fault.
“Get off the phone, Marlene!” snapped Philip’s father. I heard the senior Fairbanks arguing, then one extension went dead and Mike Fairbanks came back on the phone. “Now. Tell me again what happened, Gabby. He got mugged while jogging? Of all the—!” Mike Fairbanks let loose with a few choice expletives, and then checked himself. “Sorry. But I told that bull-headed son of mine not to move to Chicago. So, what are the doctors saying?”
When I finished rehashing the doctor’s report, Mike just said, “Look, we’ll get the earliest flight we can, be there sometime tomorrow.” Then his voice softened. “Thanks for being there, Gabby . . . after, you know, everything.”
