Who Is My Shelter? by Neta Jackson Page B

contract.
    Lee Boyer . My Legal Aid lawyer.
    But I hadn’t heard from Lee since the day we’d faced each other outside Philip’s hospital room. Not since he’d blurted, “I love you, Gabby. Don’t you know that?” Not since I’d had to leave him standing there and go back into that room to sit with the man who’d rejected me and kicked me out. I knew I couldn’t turn my back on Philip. Not right then. Not when the father of my sons was broken and hurting and needed me most.
    But maybe Lee didn’t mean it when he’d said I had to choose: “Now or never .” Maybe he regretted speaking so recklessly. Maybe he was waiting . . . hoping to hear from me.
    We could still be friends. Couldn’t we?
    When I got back to my office, I shut the door, took a deep breath, and picked up the phone.
    Disappointed that I didn’t get a response from Lee to my invitation— his voice mail had picked up and I’d had to leave a message—I almost forgot that I’d asked Philip to call me with the results of his CAT scan. But when I hadn’t heard by Friday afternoon, I finally called the penthouse. “Oh yeah, sorry I didn’t call,” he said. “The doctor thinks I might have a small tear in my spleen that’s gotten infected, so I had to go back for another blood test. He wants to try treating it with antibiotics, see if it heals on its own. But I’m doing okay. Boys coming?”
    I drove both boys to Philip’s apartment that evening, along with a deep-dish pizza we picked up from Giordano’s and a rented copy of the last Star Wars movie. Josh Baxter had offered to pick up P.J. in the morning and get him over to Lane Tech in time to catch the team bus. When I told Philip, he said, “That the same kid who loaned me his bathrobe?”
    â€œNot exactly a kid. He’s married and has a little girl.”
    â€œYeah, I know who he is.” Philip scratched his chin with his good hand. “Guess I owe him a thing or two.”
    I was sure Josh wasn’t thinking Philip owed him anything, but I didn’t say as much. I was eager to get back to the six-flat and put my head together with Florida, Tanya, and Edesa about our house blessing the next day. But when I let myself into my apartment, the light was blinking on the answering machine. With a strange flutter of excitement, I pressed the button.
    â€œGabby, I’m glad to hear from you”—Lee!—“and I’d be honored to attend the open house Saturday night. See you at seven thirty.”
    I sank down onto the floor, right there beside the telephone table. Lee was coming. Oh help! I wanted so much to see him— but what kind of message was I giving him by inviting him? This was a man who’d said he loved me, but couldn’t understand why I didn’t drop everything and go away with him in the middle of a family crisis. And it was obvious he didn’t share my journey back to faith—we’d talked about it that night in the hospital.
    Still, I didn’t realize how much I would miss his comforting presence in my life.
    He’d called it an “open house.” Maybe he had no idea what a house blessing was. No big deal . . . but I wondered what other people would think when he showed up. I’d told Jodi Baxter about our confrontation in the hospital and cried on her shoulder about how confusing it all was. She’d encouraged me that I’d done the right thing and prayed that God would give me wisdom to sort through my natural feelings and be able to make wise decisions. Estelle had probably figured out what happened, even if I hadn’t told her the details—she always seemed to be able to read me like a book. I could count on getting a few looks from her tomorrow night, if not outright questions.
    Well, he was coming. And I was glad. It didn’t have to mean anything, did it? It would’ve been a slight to leave