“Yes,” she said in a childlike voice because she was a child and now with child.
“The first thing we do is go to the doctor for a checkup.”
“That’s a good idea.” She put her head against Tuffy’s back and nuzzled the pooch. “Will that help?”
I took a breath. When I’d signed on to be a foster mom, I didn’t expect to be a foster grandmother in the same week. “Why ask that?”
“Well, couldn’t going to a nutritionist help?”
“Good eating is important for pregnant women,” I responded.
“Who’s pregnant?” She and Tuffy had the same questioning eyes, except Tuffy’s were brown.
“You.” I blinked.
“Pastor Jane, you’ve learned lots of stuff in seminary, but didn’t they tell you a girl can’t get pregnant unless she has sex? I haven’t done that.” Her face got the color of my favorite petal-pink blouse.
Mine had egg on it. The face, not the blouse, which was neck to belly with a tea stain. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about, about your period and not having it?”
“I’m anorexic. I think. The Internet has lots of stuff on it, and that’s how I’ve come to figured it out. That’s why I don’t have periods. Maybe it’s stress about Dad. I thought I’d be okay here, but I’m not. Help me, please. I’m afraid. Terrible things happen with this disease. I’m dying of not eating.” Tears dripped on Tuffy’s furry snout, and he cleaned her face like his life depended on it.
I grabbed her. “I owe you a bundle of big fat apologies, sweetheart. You’re right. What did they teach me? Maybe it was how to be an expert on jumping to asinine conclusions.”
“You’ll help me?” She pulled back slightly, but didn’t shrug from my embrace.
“Right now, I can. Let’s go inside. I’ve got a list of counselors. One helps girls with eating disorders.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you for talking with me. You’re brave.” I started to get out of the car, and she placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You might want to hear the rest,” she said. “There’s also a part about me being a total jerk. I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to think about it because he’s going to go right back to prison for this. Stupid runs in my family.”
“Your dad’s gambling again?”
“You saw him, too? Me, too. I was at the shelter helping to serve lunch. Lots of ladies were there and they didn’t need me, so I played with the kids. I saw my father drive a gray Lexus to the parking lot across from the shelter, and don’t laugh now, but the other man looked almost like Pastor Bob. Does he have a twin? They walked inside that casino with the neon flamingos. That was a few days ago, and then today, they were there. I followed him.”
“In a casino?”
Harmony nodded. “I watched them. For a long time.”
“Did your father see you?”
“Not at first, then yes.” She smoothed shaky fingers over Tuffy’s rough-coated back and looked out the window.
What wasn’t she telling me? “Did you talk with him? What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe didn’t recognize you.”
“Oh, he knew me.”
For the millionth time in the last few days, my blood pressure went way beyond a healthful level. I gritted my teeth and said, “Harmony, trust me. I want you and Tuffy to go inside the condo. I want you to sit down and cool off. Take a shower or get something to drink, juice or bubbly water. I am going to find a nutritional counselor for you, and we’ll handle your eating disorder.”
I rolled down the window as Harmony and Tuffy got out of the SUV. “I’m going to pay a visit to your dad and find out what’s really going on.”
“Pastor Jane?” Her hand was at the door. “I ran after him, out the door. Dad pushed me aside, again like he didn’t want to know me. He hates me.” She rubbed her arm. “I slipped and fell against a slot machine, but he never even turned back to see if I was hurt.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know you, honey. Maybe he’s so lost in gambling that he doesn’t know what’s right. No fretting. I’ll find out. I’ll tell you all the truth. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, barely audible above the whine of the car’s A/C.
Back in ghastly gridlock, I drove like the devil was biting my butt. He’d lied to me. He’d thanked God and then lied to me. His own daughter saw him.
When I reached the house, circling the block three times to finally give up for a spot hiking distance from where Harmony’s dad lived until he was officially out of the system, Albert Miller, now thought of as “that idiot,” was sprawled in the living room.
He looked up and tossed aside the
Review Journal
as I stormed through the front door
.
He knew why I was there.
I didn’t care if the other guys lounging heard. Maybe if they did, they’d knock some sense into the idiot. “Ignoring a child might not be abuse, but pushing one aside as you’ve done certainly won’t make getting custody back any easier. Let’s not even talk about the gambling issue. Yet. So what kind of a father are you, Albert?” I asked.
“A degenerate one, Pastor. Walk outside with me, will you? There’s a covered patio out back. It’ll be hot, but can we talk there.” He shoved the tail of a worn golf shirt into his faded jeans and headed toward the cluttered kitchen then out the back door, walking without even seeing if I was in back of him.
I was. Close. “I am the one who will be listening, Albert. You need to tell me what’s happened. I know the requirements of your parole, and just keep in that thick skull that I’m the current foster parent of your daughter.”
I stood, hands on hips and eyes on the man who was hurting “my” child. I was burning up, and it had nothing to do with the bank sign I’d seen a few minutes before flashing the temperature. It was still over one hundred.
“You don’t understand, Pastor,” Albert said, pacing the ten-foot patio.
“Yeah, gambling means more to you than your own child?”
“You may not believe me, but I had to be there.”
“Albert, this is murdering your chances of ever having a family, being a father, watching your daughter grow into a woman. What don’t you get? She knows you’d rather gamble than be with her. Can you imagine how that slices into her heart?” Was that regret, anger, or what on his face?
He shrugged. “You don’t have a clue about the battle I’m fighting, feels like everything evil and vile that you can name.”
“There are ways to win, such as with honesty.”
He paced. I watched. He paced. I longed for a Starbucks iced coffee. He paced. I would have even taken a McDonald’s iced tea. Or a Coke. Or tap water. He paced.
He stopped and turned to me. “It’s for her own good.”
This time I could read the anger; it looked just like mine. “Her good? That’s claptrap.”
“Just take it that there are some vicious folks in this town, and they got me. I’m in their clutches. The only way to get loose is to play along.” He began to pace.
Drugs? Alcohol? Pornography? Something more to do with gambling than the mess he was already in? “Hold that one second, my friend. Tell the truth, or I’m calling in reinforcements.” The cops? Could I do it?
“Truth? But at what price? I’m locked in. Give up on me, Pastor, let me sink to the bottom of the filthy sewer, and I won’t even make a whimper as the sludge drowns me.”
“Have it your way, Albert. When you’re ready to talk to someone — me or another pastor, but not good old gambling buddy Bob Normal, that’s for sure — let me know.” I handed him my card, pointing out the cell phone number. “Reach me any time. Why? Harmony loves you.” I picked up my purse, dusted off my backside, and left without looking at the other men lounging in front of the television watching
Cops
or maybe the evening news blasting the details of another high-speed pursuit. I headed out through the desolate yard, past the gate that was swinging by one hinge.
My head pulsated. Sweat dripped and skidded down my back. I was furious, mostly at myself for letting Albert off the hook so easily. I stomped down the block, beating my sandaled feet into the pavement. The toe of my right foot caught in a crack. That’s when I bumped smack dab into none other than Monica Wainwright-Dobson.
Monica Wainwright-Dobson in that sordid section? I thought of pinching her, but why do it since I’d just bumped straight into her? She was flesh and hard muscle, even though she was a socialite. “Monica?”
“Oh, my goodness, this is a surprise.” She patted her face.
Where was her limo? The driver in the swanky suit? Where were the Julio Somebody outfits and Jimmy Choos? She’d been transformed into a soccer mom with an
I Heart NY
T-shirt. The four-pound diamond earrings were gone, as was the Rolex.
“Did you come to visit someone in the house?” I gestured toward where Albert lived.
Her upper lip had droplets of sweat, but of course it was sweltering. Her voice came on all upper-crust when she said, “I often come to this neighborhood. There’s the shelter, of course, too.”
So, I’d been right when I thought I’d seen her dash into the shelter during my last visit. “But why?” Okay, it was probably because she was Mother Teresa. Monica was a saint. I’m slow. I cupped my hand around my mouth and whispered, “Is it because, like you told me, you weren’t always dripping with money?”
“My reasons are purely selfish,” she said, her ramrod posture indicating the end of this discussion.
She’d been gracious and caring before, especially arranging for Mr. Newton to be the surprise guest at the fundraiser, so why did all this seem odd? If it was the absence of jewels, I needed to get a grip. You don’t wear that stuff in this part of town. I got all perky and happy since I’d just figured out why Monica was in Vegas’ skid row and said, “Can I give you a lift? I’m on my way home.” I nodded to my car. But she stepped back.
I saw her eyes cut to the side, across the street, and then beyond where we were standing. “Oh, no, I’ve forgotten something at the mission. I have to go back and get it.” She backed up three steps, turned around and waved. Then added, “Come to the house tomorrow afternoon about three, and I’ll tell you all about why I’m here. It’s a long story and requires huge amounts of iced tea, I’m certain. Besides, Wayne will be there, too.” With that she gave another cheery wave and jogged to the mission. In the heat.
Okay, a non-buttinski pastor would have gotten into her car, cranked the A/C, put on some music and driven home for a cold shower. A normal minister would have retreated to a quiet spot to pray for Monica, for Albert, for a corrupt senior pastor, and the mess with PSA. But oh, no, not me. I got into the SUV, turned on the A/C, and drove down the block, waiting and watching in my rearview mirror as Monica went into the shelter. When I didn’t see her reappear after retrieving whatever there was to get, I did a U-turn in a driveway and pulled in back of a delivery van. From the reflection in the plate-glass window of a used furniture store, I could see the front door of the shelter. I waited. It was dusk by now, but still hot as the blazes of you-know-what.
Ten minutes crawled like a turtle on Prozac. I turned off the ignition, got out, locked the car, and tried to be inconspicuous. I’d been to the shelter dozens of times helping the church women serve meals, bringing supplies, and sorting the donated clothing, ministering to the visitors. This time, I hid in doorways, crept behind cars, peeked into windows. What was going on in the shelter? Why had Monica dashed in? Had she left out the back door? Why all this cloak and undercover stuff?
Lots of good people, lots of rich people, spend time and money on the less fortunate. She wouldn’t be the first and, God willing, not the last. Okay, enough said, I crept to the storefront window, stuck out my neck to peek around a pillar, and Monica and Eddie, the knuckle-cracker herself, walked out and straight at me.
So this hadn’t been one of my best days, but as luck would have it, it was about to get worse. There I was on the sidewalk, crouched down in a doorway, crammed between a pillar and a used sofa. Suddenly the two women came out swapping secrets like schoolgirls. The whispering stopped mid-whisper as they bounced off yours truly.
“Were you waiting for me?” Monica’s voice was tight in her throat. Initially her eyes were larger, and then turned to slits.
Eddie jumped down my throat, hovering over me as I regained my balance and Eddie barked, “Or me?” The weightlifter’s muscles twitched in an unbecoming way, except if one is competing in a Miss Olympic Muscle contest.
I blurted the first reasonable thought that came to mind, which was, “You don’t seem to be the type to offer charity, except in a monetary form. Why are you really here?”
“Stuff it. You don’t know anything,” Eddie said, towering over yours truly. “Why don’t you take your grungy, sniffling, snotty, Bible-belting nose out of this neighborhood? All that stuff you said about bringing Jesus to these kids, that was bundle of revolting lies. Wasn’t it?” The second was definitely a rhetorical comment, not a real question. She puffed up her chest and shoved her double chin down, which collapsed her triple chin. She grinned at me, with a space between her teeth a small car could drive through.
This was not the time to comment on the miracles of today’s restorative dental work, so I smiled. I turned slightly because one, I didn’t want to look at The Intimidator, and two, I could always throw my body behind Monica, quickly, should Eddie attempt to give me the old heave-ho straight into the street.
I gulped. “Will you tell me why you are here, Monica? Even though it’s none of my business,” I added, because in all honesty it wasn’t. I could have saved my breath. Should have, actually.
“Eddie and I have business together.” She started to step aside and around me. I stepped in front of them. Stupid is as stupid does, and I stuck my arm out to make a point.
Eddie took my wrist like it was a twig and pushed it aside as Monica said, “It has nothing to do with you, Jane. I’m sure you don’t share the details of your life with everyone, now, do you?” she asked.
That, also, was a rhetorical question, because I share more details of my life with strangers than strangers are comfortable knowing. “Are you okay here?” I covered my brazen stalking with concern.
“Excuse us, Jane. Eddie and I have an appointment. We’re going to be late if you keep us anymore,” Monica said. She smiled her billion-dollar, pure-white-teeth smile, and she and the Olympic bone crusher headed down the street.