chapter forty eight - fly away from here

Portia breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived home to see little Penny. She hugged her little niece as tight as she could and covered her face with tiny butterfly kisses. Penny just laughed and laughed.

Penny was nearly three, which mean she wasn’t necessarily little Penny anymore.

Time had flown by fast – too fast to catch and hold. It made Portia think. With everything else that she’d faced in the last year, maybe the next year wouldn’t be so bad at all. Then again, anything could happen.

She continued building Wendy’s home before starting on her own. She enlisted a fresh new set of volunteers, including Bill and her sister and some new friends from community college, too.

They struck the first nail in April, which meant there would be no chilly days crowded around an oil-drum fire or a warm coffee pot. Instead, there would be delightful moments to enjoy the good life – no matter how meek it might be.

Portia also made sure to plant as many flowering shrubs and trees in the back yard as the building contractor could afford to allow. There were also donations, of course, as Portia filled her volunteers’ heads with stories of exquisite Victorian gardens filled with songbirds and woodland creatures, not unlike some Disney-crafted fable.

“Even in Pittsburgh,” she’d always say, “there’s room for private wilderness.”

That, alone, was enough to make everyone want to create Portia’s own brand of Utopia. While the volunteers toiled away, Portia continued to balance the remainder of her time between school and Alex and Penny and Bill’s.

Yes, Bill’s. After Bill decided to retire for good, Portia set the wheels in motion to change the name of the old Pet Store from Jack’s to Bill’s. None of the regular customers were fazed by the change. In fact, they also thought it was long overdue. Bill thanked Portia for all her hard work – at her one year anniversary, he made her an offer she simply could not refuse.

“Hey Darren, do you think you get a week off work?”

“Sure, why?”

Bill wants me to take a vacation. Let’s go on a little escapade.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“You choose…wherever the road takes us…”

“Alright,” said Darren, but where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere different. Something different.”

“Give me a couple of days to make plans.”

“Someplace special again?”

“Yeah. Someplace special.”

When the ‘special day’ finally arrived, Portia’s bags were packed as she waited for Darren to come home from work. When he arrived, Mr. Gatteau got up out of his usual spot on the couch and took Portia’s bags to the car.

Darren’s car was packed with everything he needed, except for Portia and her stuff.

“Portia, you get in the back,” said her father.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m driving.”

“What?”

“P, just be quiet for once and get in the back.”

Portia did as her father instructed. As they drove through Pittsburgh and jet liners flew back and forth overhead, it was clear, at least, where they were going. However, it was unclear where they were headed.

“A plane trip? Where to?”

Darren handed her the ticket.

“PIT TO MDW. Where is that?”

“Chicago,” said Darren.

“I hear it’s the Paris of Illinois,” said her father with a laugh.

Darren gave Portia a wink.

“We can’t afford this.”

“It’s a present from me,” said her father.

“Daddy…”

“Don’t tell your mom. She thinks you’re going to Erie.”

As they boarded the plane, sweat accumulated on Portia’s palms.

“I’m really nervous. This is my first plane trip.”

“Folks, welcome to Flight 314 – Pittsburgh to Chicago. We’ll be getting ready to taxi. Please fasten your seat belts….”

The rest faded into the background as Portia reached across the armrest and grabbed Darren’s hand. He held it until the plane left the runway, when he gave it a gentle squeeze. Her hand was wet. Her breath was heavy.

As the plane turned westward, Portia bent towards the window and looked out. Lights glowed, the brightest gold against the darkest black. Bridges stood out in the darkness, connecting the city to all points beyond.

“It is a beautiful city, isn’t it?”

“Darren, it’s no Paris.”

“No, I suppose not, but it’s good enough for me.”

“Me, too.”

Portia leaned over and kissed Darren on the lips. As she released her tight-as-talons grip on his hand, she realized that no matter what, everything was going to be all right.

.

chapter forty seven - divine hammers

As the middle of February neared, Portia found her life stretched taut. While she prepared for the adoption hearing, she still had to juggle the rest of her life with her other free hand.

It all began with little Alex. The little one was only months old, but his advancement from preemie to infant came at such a rapid rate that it was merely astonishing to every one of his supporters. Chief among htem, of course, was Portia.

“Come on, little man, let’s get you into something a little more comfortable.”

Portia changed Alex’s diapers and popped him into one-piece golden honey bear footie pajamas. When he smiled, she could not help but laugh.

“You are the most beautiful bear in the whole of the wilderness!” said Portia as she took Alex’s feet in her hands and clapped them together and sang a song. Alex giggled uncontrollably, enamored with his mommy. So, too, was Portia in love with her little bear.

“Let’s go shopping,” she said, “I want to get something special for Darren.”

Little Alex was an agreeable tag-along, riding along in mommy’s arms to the car and then into the car seat beside his mommy and then in the papoose on her belly. He rested his tiny knob of a head on her neck as she walked through the grocery store.

“Let’s get some formula for Alex and some Cream of Wheat for mommy. How about we share an easy-bake pizza, too?”

Alex cooed at his mother, not yet able to understand a single word she said.

“Okay, you can drink formula and watch me eat pizza. I guess that’s fair.”

After she spent the last of her paycheck on the shopping spree, she returned home to unload her groceries.

“Hello, dear. Give me that little boy of yours.”

“Here you go, ma.”

As Portia worked in the kitchen, she planned the pending conversation in her head. When she felt she had everything mapped out, she returned to the living room.

“Portia,” interrupted her mother, “I don’t think this Mr. Unger is in his right mind.”

“Oh?”

“Why should I have to provide evidence to be Penny’s legal guardian. I’m the only good option for Penny.”

“Mom, it doesn’t…”

“I know, it doesn’t work like that. Someone really needs to fix that. If the birth parents are not available, the next natural choice is the father’s parents.”

“Why not Ramona’s parents?”

“You and I both know they’re a mess.”

Just then, Mr. Gatteau returned from his own field trip to the bank.

“Hello dear,” he greeted Portia as he kissed her gently on the forehead, “What’s going on?”

“I’m talking to mom about the hearing…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Portia keeps telling me how to handle this Mr. Unger person. I know perfectly well how to handle him. I’ll give that court a piece of my mind.”

“Victoria…”

“No, they need to be told off for once and for all.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“I hear what you’re saying. Everyone’s saying it. Quit worrying about me, I’ll fix everything.”

Portia combed her fingers through her hair as she exhaled deeply. If Portia was certain about one thing, if the Allegheny Probate Court thought they had everything figured out, they had another thing coming.

Portia used Valentine’s Day as an evening to let loose a personal steam valve. Darren had organized everything. He got a deal on a limo through friends at work. Then, he took Portia to the fanciest dinner she’d ever seen. A tiny corporate restaurant on the top floor of the Pittsburgh Paints building overlooked the junction of the Ohio, Allegheny, and Monongahela Rivers.

A garcon, dressed in black tie, led them to their table. While they cut through the formally dressed crowd, Portia peeked through the full-length window at the gleaming city below.

“Where is our table?” asked Portia.

“It’s here in the back,” said the garcon.

“Oh.”

“Is this not okay for you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Nonsense,” said the garcon, “Wait here just one moment. Let me check something.”

They waited in the middle of the restaurant floor, between a pair of occupied tables. Portia stood awkwardly, moving to one side, trying to be invisible. Soon enough, the garcon returned. He motioned with a single white-gloved finger.

“Is this better?”

“Oooh,” said Portia.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Portia nodded enthusiastically.

The garcon held her seat and even placed the linen across her lap as he helped move her chair into place.

“You know, I’ve been here before,” she confided to Darren.

“Really?”

Portia nodded.

“When?”

“A year ago today.”

“Oh, no…” gasped Darren.

“It’s alright. I like the food and the company is, well, much, much better.”

“We should go somewhere else.”

“Nonsense. It’s Valentine’s. The only place we could get a seat is McDonald’s. This is just peachy.”

Darren smiled and nodded. Even with the old history of the restaurant, Portia’s night was flawless. Dinner, after all, wasn’t really about the location or even the height of the cuisine. It was about the person sitting across the table.

As they returned to the lobby and waited for the valet to fetch Darren’s car, Portia snuck her fingertips across Darren’s wrist and into his fingertips. She ran a fingernail across his palms, tracing those unique love and life and heart lines sprawled across his palm. It was warm and inviting.

No, it wasn’t about the money at all. It was about the time spent with her loved one. Portia breathed easily as Darren accelerated over the old steel girder bridge toward home.

It wasn’t until the morning of February 17^th that Portia felt uneasy again. She woke the earliest. Before she could go to court, she’d have to make a few side trips.

“Dad, can you do me a favor?”

He nodded.

“I need you to take care of mother today.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“Alright, Daddy. I gotta scoot.”

First thing, Portia stopped by her old stomping grounds at high school. After stopping by the front office, she walked directly to Mr. Tanner’s classroom in the rear of the building, where he was teaching a class.

“Hey, everyone, it’s Portia!”

“Hey, everyone!”

Most faces were still familiar. Even the new crowd of freshmen contained a handful of familiar faces. Mr. Tanner gave her a hug before fetching the little envelope containing two reference letters – one for Mr. and one for Mrs. Gatteau.

“I can’t think you enough,” said Portia.

“You probably can’t,” he chuckled, “but I knew your parents quite well. They’re generally good people and they raised you, didn’t they?”

“That’s just what my mom says.”

Mr. Tanner gave her a shrug and a smile before she said goodbye. As she stopped by the front office to sign out, she ran into Mr. Coffman.

“Well, if it isn’t Phoebe Gatteau. I thought I saw your name on the register.”

“I just stopped in to see Mr. Tanner.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to Probate Court today.”

“That’s not wrapped up yet?”

“It’s about Penny’s adoption. I needed reference letters from Mr. Tanner.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I’m sure I could write one for you.”

“Really?”

“Have a seat.”

“Actually, it’s for mom and dad…”

“Oh…” stammered Mr. Coffman, “Well…that’s no problem. I’ll have my secretary type something up and put it on letterhead.”

Portia waited impatiently as the secretary typed the letter and fidgeted with the printer. Afterwards, she quickly signed it for Mr. Coffman and stuck it in an envelope.

“Shouldn’t Mr. Coffman sign it?”

“I sign everything, dearie.”

Portia took the second magic white envelope and stuck it in the papoose between her and little Alex before heading out again.

The next stop was school. She quickly dropped her term paper off with the secretary. She dropped Alex off at the daycare center at school and headed to court.

Hearings were already underway when she arrived. She slipped in quietly and sat next to her father.

“Where’s mom?” she asked.

“Shhhh,” whispered her father.

When the bailiff announced the Gatteau hearing, Portia and her father entered the hearing area with Mr. Unger and Ms. Jaygo.

“Now, it looks like we have a petition for Penny Gatteau. Can we have the petitioners approach the bench?”

Mr. Gatteau and Mr. Unger walked towards the judge.

“And where is Victoria Gatteau?”

“Uh,” said father, “She’s very sick and could not come today.”

The judge nodded.

“It’s a little unusual, but not something we can’t quickly overcome. Ms. Jaygo, can you approach the bench?”

“Yes, your honor.”

Ms. Jaygo patted Portia on the shoulder as she brushed past her.

“Can you give testimony that Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau would be fit custodians for Penny?”

“I can, your honor. In addition, there is a full support system at the Gatteau house. Penny’s aunt is living there with the Gatteaus. She is a part-time caretaker. With both Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau being retired or at home most of the time, Penny will have a complete and full circle of support.”

The judge nodded.

“It all looks reasonable. Does Allegheny Family Services have any problems with this adoption?”

“No, your honor.”

“It says the birth father is deceased. Where is the birth mother?”

“She’s incarcerated in the county jail, your honor.”

“And there is no dissent from the maternal grandparents?”

“We never got a response,” offered Mr. Unger, “Here’s the copy of the certified mail receipt.”

The judge took a quick look at the receipt before passing it back to Mr. Unger.

“I find in favor of the petitioner’s. They can talk with the bailiff at the front of the court room and fill out the necessary paperwork and pay any remaining fees.”

He grabbed the gavel and clapped it once.

“That’s it?” asked Portia.

“That’s it,” said the judge.

Portia wanted to hug the judge. Instead, she gave him a firm, but happy handshake. She skipped to the back of the courtroom. Her father and Mr. Unger signed the forms and waited for the bailiff to date and stamp them.

“Now, we submit this to family services,” said Ms. Jaygo, “The last part should just take a couple of hours and I’ll deliver Penny to your house. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic!” exclaimed Portia.

Portia returned to school to deliver the good news to Wendy.

“Let’s celebrate!” said Wendy.

“With what? I spent all my money on stuff for little Alex.”

“My treat. I know this little sub shop…”

As they shared an Italian sub sandwich, one half minus banana peppers, one half double banana peppers, Wendy divulged her secrets to child raising.

“Nobody can do it alone.”

“I’ve got Darren.”

“Even with Darren, it’s hard starting out. You should really consider applying for WIC.”

“An entitlement program?”

“That’s a load of bull. It’s not an entitlement program. Every great country depends on the next generation. WIC is Women, Infants, Children. It provides the proper food and nutrition to help you get to where you need. It’s no different than that Financial Aid you get for college or those tax easements for housing contractors or even tax credits for global corporations. All these things are in place to make this country stronger.”

“All right, you win! I’ll check into it,” laughed Portia.

After they ate, they made their weekly stop at the building site, where they helped spread tarps over the roofing and windows while workers finished installing the outer insulation and plywood walls. By the time they were finished, Portia received a call from home.

“Penny’s here!” said her mother.

“I’ll be right home!”

“I can’t go,” said Wendy, “This is my house.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

Portia took her helmet, work gloves, and hammer to the crew foreman.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go see my niece. We just finished the adoption hearing today and she was delivered to my parent’s house just a little while ago.”

“Alright, have a great day. You’ve been a great volunteer. Have you ever thought about signing up for your own Habitat Home?”

“Ah, not now,” said Portia.

“ “You’d be the perfect candidate for it.”

“Thanks.”

Snow began to fell as Portia piloted her car home from the worksite. She not only thought about the Habitat Home, but what Wendy said at lunch, too. There were social opportunities out there – things to help Portia cross a few bridges of her very own.

.

chapter forty six - everyday messiahs

Phoebe slowly advanced through the front atrium of Reverend Paulson's office, past the secretarial desk and the floor-to-ceiling, wall-length bookshelf facing the desk.

The room was quiet and dark, almost solemn. So quiet, in fact, that the only thing she heard was the faint hum of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

“Have a seat.”

Phoebe eased into the comfy leather chair. It squished beneath her weight.

“Wait here for just a moment.”

Phoebe nodded silently as Reverend Paulson rose out of his seat and brushed by her as he exited the room. Phoebe sat silently, a little anxious and a little impatient. She shifted in her chair several times, moving her jacket to the chair beside her. She sat up, back, and up again. She pressed her knees together and tried to maintain a pleasant posture. After a few minutes and no sign of the Reverend, she slumped in her chair.

She immediately resumed her perfect posture as heels clicked at the end of the hallway. She could tell by the speed and sound of the gait that it was a woman’s heels. It was Rev. Krieger. Softer steps accompanied the rhythmic clicking of her heels. As the sound neared, it wasn’t just two sets of footsteps. It was several.

Phoebe was relieved when three people entered Reverend Paulson’s office. It was the entire ministry staff. Phoebe rose to greet them. Reverend Paulson motioned for her to return to her seat.

Greg, the Youth Minister, grabbed a chair from the front office and sat it next to the chair beside Phoebe. At the same time, he removed Phoebe’s jacket from its place and placed it on the coat hook over Reverend Paulson’s rain cloak. Reverend Krieger sat in the far chair. Greg sat between the Reverend and Phoebe.

“Phoebe, I think you know why we’re here.”

Phoebe nodded.

“When you didn’t show up yesterday, you put a fright in Reverend Krieger. Then, I reminded her about the series of talks you had to all of us. We thought you quit without telling us.”

“I don’t know,” said Phoebe.

“What do you mean? Do you want to quit?”

“I’m really confused right now.”

“To be honest, we need you,” confided the Reverend.

“I know…”

“The pay is low and the commitment is a big one. If you’re not willing to do it, we would have to try to make it work without you.”

“There should be someone willing to take the job.”

“There really isn’t,” said Rev. Krieger.

“You don’t seem like you care,” interjected Greg.

“Hold on, Greg, let’s give Phoebe the benefit of the doubt on this one. Phoebe, you know we can’t raise the wage and we can only change the schedule during the week. However, there is something…”Phoebe leaned toward him.

“We need a worker in the kitchen. We have an ‘Open Pantry’ every Tuesday and Friday where we cook and serve the homeless. Would you be interested in doing something like that?”

“What does it pay?”

Greg let out a groan.

“I mean, I’m just curious.”

“It’s only two more dollars an hour, but the shift lasts for 6-8 hours instead of just a few hours. On Friday, you can even choose to stay late and pick up hours for with the choir.”

“It could even be possible to change the Open Pantry to Wednesday or move the Wednesday choir practice to Tuesday so things line up better.”

“I don’t know why we’re bending over backwards,” argued Greg.

“It’s the right thing to do,” said Reverend Paulson.

Phoebe was utterly floored by the old pastors. When she objected to her work conditions, they were ready to make big changes.

“What would I do in the kitchen?”

“Everything from cooking to serving to cleaning.”

“It’s so much. Can I have time to think about it?”

Greg reclined into the seat back of his chair and folded his arms. Reverend Paulson simply nodded.

“You ready for another practice?” asked Reverend Krieger.

“Yes, I am.”

Everyone filed out of Reverend Paulson’s office. The good Reverend placed his hand at the base of Greg’s shirt collar and rested it there. It brought a strange sense of calm to Greg when he wanted to object to anything and everything that just happened. It was not how he would have handled it at all.

This flock, however, belonged to Reverend Paulson, which meant that he’d tend to his sheep in his own special way.Phoebe followed Rev. Krieger through the double doors of the chapel. The choir lounged in the first few pews closest to the pulpit, quietly talking among themselves. All heads turned when the doors opened. A hushed whispering traveled through the chorus as they noticed Phoebe coming down the aisle.

“Phoebe, will you please lead the choir?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Phoebe waited as the choir climbed the stairs and assembled on the altar platform.

“We’ll start with one of our standards, 'Lily of the Valley,'” said Phoebe as she took the baton from the music stand and grasped it firmly in her hand.

"I have found a friend in Jesus, He’s everything to me,

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul;

The Lily of the Valley, in Him alone I see

All I need to cleanse and make me fully whole."

While Phoebe was finding herself near the pulpit, Portia was balancing the burdens of life and preparing for the adoption hearing. It began with her somewhat-court-appointed attorney, Mr. Unger.

"Thank you for seeing me," said Portia as she offered a hand.

"No problem. Aldene is an old friend of mine."

"I have to tell you, I'm not rich, but I will do what I can to pay you everything I owe you for your all your work."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Have you ever heard of pro bono work?”

Portia nodded, but looked at Mr. Unger expectantly.

“It means for free. Lawyers do pro bono for a variety of reasons. This case is easy, so don’t worry about it.”

"I can afford to pay you," insisted Portia, "it'll just take time."

"Let me worry about that. You need to concentrate on Penny - and your parents. Will they be able to come in and speak with me at some point?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"Just let them know it's very important that I do."

After her appointment with Mr. Unger and a full day of work, Portia went home and cornered her parents over dinner.

"Mom, I talked to Mr. Unger today."

"Okay, dear."

""He said he needs you and dad to make an appointment and see him this week. Can i count on you for that?"

"Who is Mr. Unger?"

"The attorney I spoke to today."

"I don't need to talk to any attorney."

"But he needs to go over some things about Penny."

"It's for Penny? Why didn't you say that?"

"What did you think I was talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know, honey. You talk about so many things. It makes my head spin."

"I'll set up an appointment for tomorrow, okay?"

"Why do we have to make an appointment? Why can't we just go?"

"He's busy, ma."

"And you don't think I'm busy? I have things to do, too."

"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"I don't know. I guess I have a little free time."

"Then I'll set it for tomorrow afternoon."

On Wednesday morning, Portia made the call and set up the appointment between Mr. Unger and her parents. She also took time between school and work to drop by the house and follow up with her mother. She had to, however, find a solution for Alex. She called the same daycare center that took care of Penny and made all the arrangements for that, too.

While Portia attended to the Pet Store, Mr. Unger did his best to attend to Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau. Victoria Gatteau, however, was about all he could handle. The molehill of Penny's adoption to the only viable caretakers, the baby's natural grandparents, became a mountain as Mr. Unger wrangled with Mrs. Gatteau.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Phoebe slowly advanced through the front atrium of Reverend Paulson's office, past the secretarial desk and the floor-to-ceiling, wall-length bookshelf facing the desk.

The room was quiet and dark, almost solemn. So quiet, in fact, that the only thing she heard was the faint hum of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

“Have a seat.”

Phoebe eased into the comfy leather chair. It squished beneath her weight.

“Wait here for just a moment.”

Phoebe nodded silently as Reverend Paulson rose out of his seat and brushed by her as he exited the room. Phoebe sat silently, a little anxious and a little impatient. She shifted in her chair several times, moving her jacket to the chair beside her. She sat up, back, and up again. She pressed her knees together and tried to maintain a pleasant posture. After a few minutes and no sign of the Reverend, she slumped in her chair.

She immediately resumed her perfect posture as heels clicked at the end of the hallway. She could tell by the speed and sound of the gait that it was a woman’s heels. It was Rev. Krieger. Softer steps accompanied the rhythmic clicking of her heels. As the sound neared, it wasn’t just two sets of footsteps. It was several.

Phoebe was relieved when three people entered Reverend Paulson’s office. It was the entire ministry staff. Phoebe rose to greet them. Reverend Paulson motioned for her to return to her seat.

Greg, the Youth Minister, grabbed a chair from the front office and sat it next to the chair beside Phoebe. At the same time, he removed Phoebe’s jacket from its place and placed it on the coat hook over Reverend Paulson’s rain cloak. Reverend Krieger sat in the far chair. Greg sat between the Reverend and Phoebe.

“Phoebe, I think you know why we’re here.”

Phoebe nodded.

“When you didn’t show up yesterday, you put a fright in Reverend Krieger. Then, I reminded her about the series of talks you had to all of us. We thought you quit without telling us.”

“I don’t know,” said Phoebe.

“What do you mean? Do you want to quit?”

“I’m really confused right now.”

“To be honest, we need you,” confided the Reverend.

“I know…”

“The pay is low and the commitment is a big one. If you’re not willing to do it, we would have to try to make it work without you.”

“There should be someone willing to take the job.”

“There really isn’t,” said Rev. Krieger.

“You don’t seem like you care,” interjected Greg.

“Hold on, Greg, let’s give Phoebe the benefit of the doubt on this one. Phoebe, you know we can’t raise the wage and we can only change the schedule during the week. However, there is something…”Phoebe leaned toward him.

“We need a worker in the kitchen. We have an ‘Open Pantry’ every Tuesday and Friday where we cook and serve the homeless. Would you be interested in doing something like that?”

“What does it pay?”

Greg let out a groan.

“I mean, I’m just curious.”

“It’s only two more dollars an hour, but the shift lasts for 6-8 hours instead of just a few hours. On Friday, you can even choose to stay late and pick up hours for with the choir.”

“It could even be possible to change the Open Pantry to Wednesday or move the Wednesday choir practice to Tuesday so things line up better.”

“I don’t know why we’re bending over backwards,” argued Greg.

“It’s the right thing to do,” said Reverend Paulson.

Phoebe was utterly floored by the old pastors. When she objected to her work conditions, they were ready to make big changes.

“What would I do in the kitchen?”

“Everything from cooking to serving to cleaning.”

“It’s so much. Can I have time to think about it?”

Greg reclined into the seat back of his chair and folded his arms. Reverend Paulson simply nodded.

“You ready for another practice?” asked Reverend Krieger.

“Yes, I am.”

Everyone filed out of Reverend Paulson’s office. The good Reverend placed his hand at the base of Greg’s shirt collar and rested it there. It brought a strange sense of calm to Greg when he wanted to object to anything and everything that just happened. It was not how he would have handled it at all.

This flock, however, belonged to Reverend Paulson, which meant that he’d tend to his sheep in his own special way.

Phoebe followed Rev. Krieger through the double doors of the chapel. The choir lounged in the first few pews closest to the pulpit, quietly talking among themselves. All heads turned when the doors opened. A hushed whispering traveled through the chorus as they noticed Phoebe coming down the aisle.

“Phoebe, will you please lead the choir?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Phoebe waited as the choir climbed the stairs and assembled on the altar platform.

“We’ll start with one of our standards, 'Lily of the Valley,'” said Phoebe as she took the baton from the music stand and grasped it firmly in her hand.

"I have found a friend in Jesus, He’s everything to me,

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul;

The Lily of the Valley, in Him alone I see

All I need to cleanse and make me fully whole."

While Phoebe was finding herself near the pulpit, Portia was balancing the burdens of life and preparing for the adoption hearing. It began with her somewhat-court-appointed attorney, Mr. Unger.

"Thank you for seeing me," said Portia as she offered a hand.

"No problem. Aldene is an old friend of mine."

"I have to tell you, I'm not rich, but I will do what I can to pay you everything I owe you for your all your work."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Have you ever heard of pro-bono work?”

Portia nodded, but looked at Mr. Unger expectantly.

“It means for free. Lawyers do pro-bono for a variety of reasons. This case is easy, so don’t worry about it.”

"I can afford to pay you," insisted Portia, "it'll just take time."

"Let me worry about that. You need to concentrate on Penny - and your parents. Will they be able to come in and speak with me at some point?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"Just let them know it's very important that I do."

After her appointment with Mr. Unger and a full day of work, Portia went home and cornered her parents over dinner.

"Mom, I talked to Mr. Unger today."

"Okay, dear."

""He said he needs you and dad to make an appointment and see him this week. Can I count on you for that?"

"Who is Mr. Unger?"

"The attorney I spoke to today."

"I don't need to talk to any attorney."

"But he needs to go over some things about Penny."

"It's for Penny? Why didn't you say that?"

"What did you think I was talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know, honey. You talk about so many things. It makes my head spin."

"I'll set up an appointment for tomorrow, okay?"

"Why do we have to make an appointment? Why can't we just go?"

"He's busy, ma."

"And you don't think I'm busy? I have things to do, too."

"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"I don't know. I guess I have a little free time."

"Then I'll set it for tomorrow afternoon."

On Wednesday morning, Portia made the call and set up the appointment between Mr. Unger and her parents. She also took time between school and work to drop by the house and follow up with her mother. She had to, however, find a solution for Alex. She called the same daycare center that took care of Penny and made all the arrangements for that, too.

While Portia attended to the Pet Store, Mr. Unger did his best to attend to Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau. Victoria Gatteau, however, was about all he could handle. The molehill of Penny's adoption to the only viable caretakers, the baby's natural grandparents, became a mountain as Mr. Unger wrangled with Mrs. Gatteau.

As Mr. Unger moved forward in his seat, Mrs. Gatteau pulled away. She clutched her purse in her lap with both hands. A tiny scowl crept along her lips.

"One of the first things we'll need you to do is get letters of recommendation from friends and associates."

"We? We who?"

"What?" said Mr. Unger.

"You said 'we need you to get letters. Do you have a mouse in your pocket?"

"Mrs. Gatteau..."

"Don't 'Mrs. Gatteau' me. I'm still strong enough to pull you across my knee. That fast lawyer talking doesn't impress me one bit."

"Um..."

"Vic," interrupted Mr. Gatteau, "let the man do his job."

"Hmph."

"We...I just need...the court just needs letters of recommendation to show you're a capable of raising this child."

"Mr. Unger, how many children do you have?"

Mr. Unger remained silent.

"This is MY grandchild. I raised three children from day one. I am experienced in the ways of being a caretaker, let me tell you right now."

"I understand..."

"Obviously you do not."

"Mr. Unger," Mr. Gatteau interrupted again, "I can get those letters for you."

Mrs. Gatteau simply scoffed.

"Luckily, your daughter Portia took care of all the paperwork. She filed the petition and Mrs. Jaygo arranged for a hearing. I also want..."

Mr. Unger paused.

"Yes?"

"I'll talk to your daughter. I think that's really all I need right now."

Mr. Unger stood up to shake Mr. and Mrs. Gatteaus hands. Mrs. Gatteau offered her hand daintily. Mr. Unger grasped her fingertips, unsure what to do next. He shook them and let go. Mrs. Gatteau turned sharply. Mr. Gatteau nodded to Mr. Unger, silently apologizing for his wife. It was a gesture Mr. Gatteau had perfected over the last twenty years.

After the Gatteaus left his office, Mr. Gatteau gave Portia a call.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello Portia. This is Mr. Unger."

"What can I do for ya?"

"I spoke to your parents just now."

"And you survived my mother?"

"Well...I..."

Portia chuckled, "It's no problem. She is a work in progress. What do you need?"

"Can you make sure to collect letters of recommendation for your parents? I also need any work history, and I need to dress very formally for the hearing."

"I promise it won’t be a problem," said Portia.

"Good.”

“Is there anything else?”

“One last thing…we have to send a notice to all interested parties. That means the birth mother.”

Portia groaned.

“What is it?”

“She’s against the adoption.”

“But she’s in prison. The court may allow her to attend the hearing, but she can’t keep custody while she’s incarcerated. Really, she shouldn’t be any problem at all.”

“Good.”

“Like I said, just take care of your mother and I’ll do the rest.”

Portia’s spirits were high as she left Mr. Unger’s office. It was the best news she’d received in a long, long time.

.

chapter forty five - what carpenters do

Portia returned her attention to her own hectic life without losing a stride. After all, as everyone kept reminding her, it was Phoebe’s problem, not hers.

Portia’s weekend was devoted to work, but as Monday morning rolled around, she called Ms. Jaygo.

“You never called me about the new hearing date.”

“Oh, God,” exclaimed Ms. Jaygo, “I forgot.”

“The hearing’s tomorrow and I didn’t even call that lawyer friend of yours.”

“Don’t worry, I got it rescheduled to the middle of February. You can call my attorney friend right now.”

This time, Portia made the call.

“Unger and Gasaway, Attorneys-at-law,” greeted the secretary.

“I’m looking for Mr. Unger.”

“He’s in court. May I take a message?”

“I have an adoption hearing scheduled for February 17^th. and was referred to Mr. Unger by Aldene Jaygo, a county social worker.”

“Let me take a message.”

Portia left her number with the secretary and went to school.

Meanwhile, Phoebe returned to the Executive Club late in the afternoon and sat across the bar from Tracie. Violet and Staci came up and joined her. Tracie poured a drink for Phoebe, but Phoebe refused it.

“My head’s pounding.”

“Come on, a little hair of the dog.”

“I just came for some advice.”

“About?”

“This church thing.”

“I think it’s stupid. You said you don’t make any money and you don’t like the people there.”

“I think you should stick it out,” said Violet.

Violet, who was just ten years older than Phoebe, was by far the oldest dancer at the club. Her mere existence was a cautionary tale for the others. Although she successfully avoided police arrests or drug addictions, unlike the rest, she still had her own laundry list of problems. She had two children from two fathers and an abusive ex-boyfriend on a restraining order.

After a dozen years as a stripper, she finally had enough. She had taken courses for bartending, nail technician, and massage therapy certificates. She dropped out from each program, exhausting all higher education options but one. Now, she was attending paralegal school part-time.

“But I don’t like it,” said Phoebe.

“Eventually, you’ll be too old for this job and the tips are harder to come by every summer when a new crop of eighteen year olds comes through that door.”

“I’ll find something before that.”

“Save your pennies or one day you’ll regret it.”

Violet’s words, though, went in one ear and out the other. Phoebe finished off her glass of ice water and chased it with a bottle of beer. She drank until it was time for choir practice, around seven o’clock.

“This round’s on me!” she announced to the bar. A collective cheer came from girls and boys alike. She turned to Tracie and gave a nod.

“Gimme the hair of the dog!” ordered Phoebe. Tracie mixed a round of White Russians, Tracie-Strong, using only Kahlua and Bailey’s Irish Cream. The sweet candy taste went down smoothly while the alcohol went straight to her head.

She snuck into the changing room and peeled off her pants and panty hose. She used her hose as a hair tie and fixed her hair into a ponytail as she went to Violet’s locker. It was stocked with a variety of micro-minis. Phoebe plucked out the hot pink one and pulled it over her hips. She undid the buttons on her blouse, tied it around her waist and strutted out to the pool table in the center of the floor.

As one of the girl’s bent over to take her shot, Phoebe moved to the opposite side of the table and turned away from the pool table. She propped her ass on the leather pocket, bent at the hips, and placed her hands on her knees. She gave her hair a flick and blew a kiss to the girl behind the cue stick.

Phoebe did not even know this girl. It didn’t matter to her, though. She was just another nobody. Phoebe strutted to the stage and carefully scaled the steps. She made her way to center stage, sharing it with the current performer. As soon as Phoebe swung on one of the poles, the featured girl got off the stage and went to Danny’s office.

Danny came out and motioned to the DeeJay. The music stopped instantly.

“Come on, Danny Boy,” said Phoebe as she rolled onto her rump and raised her legs up into a Vee.

“Get off the stage, Porsche.”

“I’m giving the boys what they want, right?”

Phoebe looked around the room. There was a shocked silence in the room as all eyes were on her. Danny stood there, his arms crossed. Phoebe rolled to her knees and began crawling towards him. He glanced to the bodyguard, who walked towards Phoebe.

“Come on, hon,” he said gently.

“But we’re having fun here, right?”

“I think we’d better go,” said the bodyguard. He gently grabbed Phoebe by the triceps. She jerked away. He stood motionless. Danny lifted his nose and nodded to Tracie. Tracie picked up the phone.

“Oh, come on,” said Phoebe.

Tracie shook her head.

Phoebe reluctantly got up, collecting dollar bills scattered on the dance floor.

“Leave those,” said Danny.

Phoebe gathered a few more handfuls, carefully climbed off the stage with the bodyguard’s help, and strutted towards Danny.

“This isn’t even your fucking money,” she said as she tossed it in his face. The bodyguard stepped between her and Danny.

“I’m fine,” said Phoebe as she strutted out the door.

It was yet another one of Phoebe’s classic scenes. Strip club employees and patrons lined the sidewalk as Phoebe went to her car.

“Danny,” interrupted Violet, “I’m going to take her home.”

“If you do, this is the last time I want to see your face here, too.”

“Danny…”

“I mean it.”

Violet stood there, unable to move. She had not yet committed herself to her new game plan. Leaving the strip club before she’d made the necessary arrangements would leave her in the lurch. She stood and watched, like everyone else, as Phoebe stumbled with her keys and clumsily got into her car.

As the car squealed out of the parking lot, Danny reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He immediately dialed the Pittsburgh Police.

Phoebe swerved off the service road and drove through the grass as she turned onto the adjacent thoroughfare. The streetlight changed from green to yellow to red. Drivers laid on their horns as Phoebe stepped on the gas and sped through the traffic light. She shouted a couple of F-bombs and flipped them the bird.

“Hello, this is Daniel Wallen, of The Executive Club in the Warehouse District. One of my ex-employees just left here completely intoxicated and just turned onto freeway.”

“Do you have a description of the car?”

“Yeah, it’s an old blue Pontiac.”

“Do you know the driver’s name?”

“Hold on a second.”

Danny covered the mouthpiece and looked around.

“What’s Porsche’s name?”

Everyone remained silent. Danny motioned to Tracie.

“You…don’t you live with her?’

Tracie shook her head.

“But you know her name.”

Tracie shrugged.

“Violet?”

“I just know her as Porsche.”

Every single one of the girls remained as thick as thieves with Phoebe, not divulging the slightest clue as to her real identity. Unfortunately for Danny, he never took or kept applications and kept most of the girl’s names, including Phoebe’s, off the books to avoid paying taxes.

“I don’t know,” Danny said to the operator.

“We’ll do what we can.”

“Thanks,” said Danny as he hung up his phone.

“Alright, let’s get back inside.”

Everyone filed into the strip club and returned to business as usual.

Phoebe raced along the freeway at break-neck speeds. Within two minutes, she caught the offramp towards her apartment. The tires rolled over the wet pavement, skidding slightly before catching on the gravel berm. Phoebe braked hard and the car skidded sideways, rumbling over the grass at the side of the road. The car plowed through the snow and crashed into the fence at the side of the road, straightening along the fence line.

Phoebe pulled back onto the road and turned onto a side street. She drove carefully through the side streets, mostly because she was in a school zone, complete with school bumps.

Finally, she arrived safely at home. She staggered up the driveway, slipping on the ice and falling into a snow bank at one point. Somehow, she managed to get up the steps and into her house. She flung her keys and purse on the floor as she passed out on the living room couch.

About two hours later, both Violet and Tracie left the club and headed for the apartment. Phoebe had not parked the car successfully at all. It’s right-hand wheels were on the curb, set at an angle. A jagged line of footsteps and body prints marked Phoebe’s path from car to house. It wasn’t pretty, either.

Inside, Phoebe was strewn on the couch.

“What a mess,” said Violet as she picked up the keys.

Although Phoebe had not remembered it, she had stumbled into the front room. As she leaned on the end table to catch her balance, she knocked over the end table, the lamp, and a stack of mail sitting on top of it.

In fact, the evidence of Phoebe’s night was strewn across the living room floor. While Tracie worked on the mess inside, Violet fixed the mess outside.

“Let me re-park the car.”

There were drool spots on the couch and a spilled beer bottle next to it. Phoebe had also spilled something in the middle of the floor. It was brown and sticky and smelled putrid. Tracie wiped it up with a washcloth and immediately threw it away.

“You should go to the restroom if you’re going to throw up.”

Phoebe just grumbled and turned over. As Violet returned from outside, Tracie went to her bedroom.

“Aw, hell no you didn’t!” came a shout from the back of the apartment.

“What is it?” asked Violet.

“Come here!”

The scene inside Tracie’s bedroom was much worse than anything Phoebe could’ve done to the living room or front lawn. She had somehow pulled Tracie’s flat panel television off the dresser, knocking it to the floor. When Tracie turned it on, it popped and went black.

“I’m gonna kill her!”

Violet braced herself against the door and and tried to restrain Tracie. Tracie broke out of Violet’s grasp and stormed into the living room.

“Phoebe!”

Phoebe opened a single eyelid.

“”I want you out of this house by midnight!”

“You can’t just up and throw her out.”

“Watch me, said Tracie.”

She marched into Phoebe’s bedroom and ripped the top dresser drawer out of place. She lugged it through the living room and dumped it out on the front lawn. This went on for about a half hour. Tracie had only managed to toss Phoebe’s clothes and personal items out of the house. The furniture and personal items, however, remained intact.

Finally, Tracie quit throwing Phoebe’s stuff outside, only to get in her car to leave.

“Tell her I want her out by the time I get back.”

“Where are you going?” asked Violet.

“I don’t know. I can’t take any more of this.”

Tracie sped off, leaving Violet with Phoebe’s mess. Violet packed Phoebe’s clothes back into the dresser drawers and returned every to its rightful place in Phoebe’s bedroom. By the time she finished, Phoebe had roused herself from sleep.

“What’s this?”

“Tracie threw a fit. She said she’s kicking you out.”

“It’s no big deal. She does this all the time.”

“Really?”

Phoebe nodded affirmatively.

“I just lay low and she comes back to earth. Is there any chance I can stay at your place today?”

Violet nodded.

“Just let me pack a bag.”

Most of Pittsburgh was still sleeping and they were still in the earliest hours of Tuesday when Phoebe prepared to go to Violet’s until Tracie cooled down, Meanwhile, Portia was fulfilling a promise she made to Wendy.

An eclectic mix of old junkers, luxury cars and SUVs lined the small street on the outskirts of the Carnegie-Mellon campus. Each of the cars blew white clouds of exhaust into the bitter winter air, keeping their inhabitants toasty and warm.

This part of Pittsburgh had very few undeveloped areas. It was only through a reclamation project that Habitat for Humanity had the rare opportunity to build in affluent Squirrel Hill.

Just after six o’clock and just before the sun rose, the project leader arrived. When she did, everyone got out of their cars, bundled in three and four layers of heavy clothes. Portia had five layers; a little too much for the day’s work. As the work would progress, however, she would surely do her own striptease. This one would be far more industrious and far less provocative than her sister’s infamous night moves.

“Hey, Marsha. This is my friend, Portia.”

“We can always use another helping hand. Here’s a hammer.”

“I don’t know how to building anything.”

“Nonsense! Were you ever a kid?’

“Of course.”

“Even a two-year old becomes an expert at hammering in no time at all. Just give them something to pound against something else.”

Portia nodded.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Wendy, “You can stick with me.”

Within minutes, the worksite literally buzzed to life. The girls climbed to the stairwell leading to the attic and nailed treads into place. Meanwhile, there were two stations outside. One was equipped with pair of sawhorses. A pair of girls worked in tandem. One fed 2x6s into the end of the miter box and held it while the other sawed the ends off each piece, creating a pointed end. Workers towed the pieces upstairs and used them to help build the roof supports.

Meanwhile, a flat bed truck formed the other station. Volunteers, like worker ants, peeled sheets of plywood off the truck and took them inside. There, other workers nailed the plywood into place, finishing the second floor.

After the girls’ finished the stairs, they went outside.

“Great,” exclaimed the assistant site foreman, “now we can really get to work on the roof.”

Portia and Wendy joined the second crew, nailing sub-flooring into place in the attic. After a while, Wendy stood up and looked around. She tugged on Portia’s elbow and held Portia by her side.

“Isn’t that just beautiful?”

Portia nodded. Carnegie-Mellon’s building’s stood just beyond the row houses of the surrounding streets. It’s sprawling campus led to the river’s edge, barren Maple trees waiting for the return of spring. In fact, the entire city seemed alive but dormant. The occasional passersby didn’t even stop to watch Wendy’s habitat home, itself springing to life.

While Portia and Wendy constructed their friendship, Violet and Phoebe were picking up the pieces of a relationship long forgotten. Violet went to the same grade school as Alex and they shared childhood friends. It made it easier for Violet to take Phoebe in, regardless of her reckless behavior.

Phoebe had missed one day of choir practice on Monday and was about to miss Tuesday’s practice, too. Violet, however, took Phoebe to church and left her there.

Phoebe stood outside in the cold for a short while, staring down the church. An old institution like the church, however, would not bat an eye, let alone blink. Phoebe walked along the shoveled and salted sidewalk that cut across the church’s front lawn. She tugged on the door and headed to Rev. Paulson’s office.

She undid the waistband on her jacket and peeled it off her body. She folded it over her arm and approached the hallway door. She peeked into the back office. Rev. Paulson sat at his desk, reading. She stood there for a moment, watching him. Finally, as she decided to sneak away, he glanced up at her.

"Well, hello Miss Gatteau. Come in, come in."

.

chapter forty four - sinners and saints

Portia’s life, always topsy-turvy, got another rare chance to right itself for a little while. The main force did not come from within, but from without. Phoebe did not steal back her car, as Portia would have expected. She graciously accepted rides from churchgoers and stripper friends alike – an ambitious and strange mix of sinners and saints. These would be the same saviors Phoebe would soon call upon to prop herself up in her darkest days.

While Phoebe dealt with her own issues, Portia dealt with her newest cause: Darren. She sat next to Darren as he drove to yet another N.A. meeting.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

Portia nodded.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Everything, I guess.”

“Like?”

“I just can’t believe how crazy my sister is sometimes. Maybe she should come to an N.A. meeting.”

“Maybe she should.”

Darren pulled into the church lot and parked next to a small cluster of cars. They went to the meeting without another word, but Portia’s mind was still buzzing. Portia and Darren found their seats as Maya, the meeting moderator, greeted the class and started the introductions. .

“Good evening, how is everyone doing tonight?”

The mass response was cool and casual. Portia listened as people re-introduced themselves and divulged their latest triumphs and defeats. When it was Portia’s turn, she was happy to put in her two cents, too.

“My name is Portia. I’m Daren’s sponsor. I’m doing okay, I guess, but my sister is an addict and I think she should come in.”

“That’s great. You could sponsor her, too.”

“I don’t think she’d come in on her own. Could we stage an intervention?”

“Well Portia, we don’t work like that. We believe that addicts have to want to come in before treatment begins working.”

“Drug addicts don’t just volunteer to come in,” said Portia.

The weight of silence consumed the room as soon as Portia finished speaking. Portia glanced around the room as everyone stared at her. She suddenly realized every person in that room was an addict, there by their own choice. She eased back into her chair and averted her eyes toward the floor.

“You’re dead wrong,” interrupted Maya, “Every single day is a commitment for a drug addict. Some days, I feel great, but other days I get up and I feel absolutely awful. The first thing I think about is knocking down a bottle of Crown Royal – just like the ‘good old days.’”

As Maya framed her thought with air quotations, it sent a chill down Portia’s spine. She thought of Phoebe’s troubles. She thought of Darren’s good old days, too.

Portia remained silent as the rest of the group confided their good old days to each other. Some, like Maya, spoke about them in such a way that it almost romanticized them. Most, however, talked about the worst times – begging from strangers, co-workers, friends, and loved ones. They also spoke of loved ones lost to car wrecks and overdoses. The two hour meeting flew by as each story shed new light on addiction.

Portia’s thoughts reeled again as she rode home with Darren.

“What ‘cha thinking?” asked Darren.

“Everything again.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll all solve itself eventually.”

“I can’t just let it go.”

“You have to let it go. Phoebe’s problems are Phoebe’s problems. Don’t you have enough problems of your own?”

“Yeah, but she’s still my sister.”

“Then let it go.”

“How did you decide to change things?”

“You, your brother, and the baby did that for me. How could I remain out of control when there were other people to think about?”

“I can’t imagine Phoebe making that kind of sacrifice.”

“She will,” said Darren, “Or she won’t. Either way, it’s got to be her choice.”

The next day, Portia drove Phoebe’s car to school and stopped by the admission’s office to see Wendy.

“You got plans for lunch?”

“I was going to get something from the vending machine.”

“Ugh. Anything’s better than vending machine food. Let’s go to the sub shop or something. I’ll even pay.”

“It’s a deal.”

Wendy clocked out and they went across campus to the sub shop, ordered two Italian subs, and sat down. Portia shared her thoughts with Wendy, hoping for a sympathetic ear.

“I think Darren’s right.”

“But you’ve heard the horror stories about Phoebe.”

“I agree with you. She’s a train wreck, but it’s her life. Maybe you need something else to occupy your time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could volunteer for Habitat for Humanity.”

“I’ve already got a full plate.”

“I just started on my own house a few months ago and I need more volunteers to help finish.”

“I don’t know how to build anything.”

“I couldn’t swing a hammer when I started, but now I’m pounding nails with the best of them.”

“Alright, just let me know when.”

“Sure thing. You can check it online, too.”

“I always forget to ask them to hold the banana peppers,” said Wendy.

“Give them to me. I love banana peppers.”

Portia filled her sub with a double helping of banana peppers and took a huge bite. Just like extra peppers on her General Tso’s or jalapenos sprinkled on top of her movie popcorn, Portia was always ready to prove her pepper love. And as Portia added more to her plate, Phoebe was trying to figure out ways to remove her surpluses.

“Reverend Paulson, I need to ask a big favor.”

“Sure, Phoebe, what can I do for you?”

“I’m only able to work with the choir three days a week instead of five.”

“Have you spoken with Miss Krieger? She’s the Music Pastor.”

“You’re the Lead Pastor. I thought I’d speak with you.”

“It’s her decision to make. Our last Assistant worked five days a week.”

“The pay is so low. I also need Saturday evenings free so I can work a second job.”

“Phoebe, I don’t think that’s really an option. You…”

“I know, but this one little adjustment and I could really devote all my extra time to the church.”

“I’m sorry, Phoebe, I can’t…”

“Okay, Mr. Paulson.”

Phoebe did not spit out a snappy reply, although she wanted to. She just got up and left. It wasn’t Reverend Paulson’s choice to make anyway. At the next choir practice, Phoebe spoke with Miss Krieger.

“Nancy, I need part-time work so I can work a second job.”

“This isn’t really a part-time position.”

“I know, but I can’t afford the low pay.”

“Phoebe, this job offers good pay and good health benefits.”

“My last job paid twice as much.”

“I understand, but you just started and we can’t change your pay, either. I’m really sorry.”

“I guess I’ll see what I can do to make it work,” said Phoebe.

Phoebe’s point of view, however, was far from the point of view from the Pastors. She collected more crumpled dollars off the dance floor in one Saturday night than she ever would in an entire week of work at the church. Even the pancake batter job, with its poor tips netted her more money.

Instead, she turned to the Youth Pastor for advice. He was much closer to her age, after all.

“Greg, I have a question to ask you.”

“If it’s about the hours or the pay, I’m with Reverend Paulson.”

“You guys don’t keep any secrets, do you?”

“It’s church business.”

“Church business?” scoffed Phoebe, “I thought churches were there to help the people.”

“Yes, but it still takes money.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“For the buildings and the hymnals and the electricity and…”

“I get it. How much do you make?”

“Phoebe…”

“Well?”

“It’s none of your business. I make enough to pay my rent and have a comfortable life. What more do you need?”

“More than just the basics. Just like everyone else, I want to have nice things.”

“Not everyone thinks like that.”

“I bet most people do.”

Greg gave Phoebe the once-over. She wore diamond earrings a diamond tennis bracelet, and a thick gold necklace. Her dress looked like a designer top, too. She did not spare much expense.

“The church takes care of me and I know they take care of you, too. The pay is good, the job is low stress, and you may not be able to buy creature comforts, but you have an abundance of spiritual comforts. You should start by writing those things into your ledger before you count your first penny.”

Phoebe sighed. She was unable to get through to Greg as well as the others. They were all alike. Phoebe decided to pay a visit to Tracie at the Executive Club.

She strutted into the Executive Club. It was just like old times – a cave of earthly delights. Girls were dressed in Lycra and lame. The glitter ball dangling above the deejay’s head threw tiny white squares of light across all four mirrored walls. Multi-colored incandescent stage bulbs, like Satan’s own Christmas lights, lit the velvety black room in their own unique glow.

Girls instantly approached Phoebe as she entered the door. Most turned their heads to see what new stranger opened the door. Others, realizing it was an old familiar face, rushed to see “Porsche”.

“Hey, baby,” greeted a few, “how’s life on the outside?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Just okay? We’ve always got space in our line-up.”

Phoebe nodded as she approached Tracie at the bar.

“A born again in the strip club?” exclaimed Tracie, “What would the neighbors say?”

“I don’t care. That job sucks.”

“That bad? You’ve only been there a week or so.”

“I’m not making any money.”

“I told you.”

Two of Phoebe’s closest stripper friends, Violet and Devin, joined her at the bar. Tracie plopped a row of tumbler glasses on the bar and poured Kahlua, Bailey’s, and Stoli into a shaker. With a couple of shakes and a pour, four shots were ready.

“This round’s on me. The rest are up to you to get.”

“Bottoms up!” said Portia.

They clinked glasses and pounded them down. With a whoop and a belch, Phoebe ordered another. A group of businessmen gathered around. One sat on each side of Phoebe and offered to get the next round.

“Just like old times,” laughed Violet.

Phoebe nodded. Within minutes, the drinks were flowing freely. Within an hour, Phoebe was drunk, but still in her groove. By the night’s end, She was barely coherent.

“Let me take you home,” offered Violet.

“Tracie’s got me.”

Tracie shook her head as she tugged her ear. It was their secret signal for ‘I’ve got a hook-up’.

“I’m alright. One of these fine gents can take me home.”

“No, you’re not,” interrupted Violet.

“Come on, honey, Porsche and I were doing just fine without your help.”

“She’s not a pay-per-view girlfriend,” said Violet as she carried Phoebe to the door.

“Who said anything about paying?”

“Just go.”

Violet’s fingernails flicked off the front of the man’s business suit as she pushed him away. Violet and one of the bouncers carried Phoebe to the car and poured her into the passenger seat. Violet secured Phoebe into place with the seat belt and drove away. Phoebe grumbled as Violet veered around a corner.

“Stop the car!” demanded Phoebe. Before Violet could do anything, Phoebe puked across the door and floor.

“God damn it!”

Violet swerved to the side of the road and took a look at the mess. She used an old drink cup to scoop out what she could. and left the rest for later. Violet rolled down the windows before she started off again, letting the car air out. Chilly February breezes whipped through the car as Violet took Phoebe home.

“Brrr. It’s freezing.”

“Yes, it is.”

Violet pulled in front of Phoebe’s childhood house. It was a place Violet had known since both Phoebe and her were children. She hauled Phoebe to the door and knocked. Portia answered the door.

“Just like the good old days,” said Portia.

“I suppose,” said Violet as she handed Phoebe off to Portia. They dragged her inside and dumped her on the couch.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Portia fetched an armload of towels and a bucket. She placed them beside the couch and tucked Phoebe under a blanket. She watched old reruns on the television until the sun rose and Mr. Gatteau came downstairs.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s drunk.”

Mr. Gatteau nodded affirmatively. He guided Portia towards the basement stairs. He fetched the morning paper, fixed himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the kitchen table until Phoebe finally stirred to life.

“How are you feeling?” asked Mr. Gatteau.

“Awful.”

“You shouldn’t have gone out drinking.”

“Oh, daddy, I don’t need a lecture. You sound like Portia.”

“Maybe Portia’s right. I thought you just turned the page on all this stupid behavior.”

“You drink, too.”

“But I don’t get drunk. I have one or two beers a day and that’s it. I don’t have the problems you have.”

It was a simple, if not completely accurate, rationale. Mr. Gatteau did not get drunk. He didn’t abstain, either. He functioned normally with the mild buzz of beer to help him through the day. On days when he felt down, he might drink more, but he never got drunk. His rationale was of no help at all.

Mrs. Gatteau’s advice would have been even worse. She did not function at all, whether she had drink in hand or not. As soon as she got out of bed, she fixed herself a mixed drink and pushed Phoebe to the end of the couch so she could sit and watch television. When Portia finally awakened, they continued on the same well-worn conversational path, whether Phoebe wanted to hear it or not.

“Are you alright?”

Phoebe nodded.

“That’s good. I was talking to Darren and…”

“I don’t want to hear this any more.”

“You’ve got a problem.”

“Hush up, Portia,” said mother.

“But she…”

“You got to quit butting into other people’s business.”

“She needs to admit it so she can fix her problems.”

Mr. Gatteau gave Portia a good hard stare-down. Portia bowed her head just like she did at the N.A. meeting. She got up and fixed herself a bowl of Cream of Wheat and retreated downstairs, where Darren and little Alex slept.

“Darren?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I bother you for a moment?”

Darren nodded.

“I’m really worried about Phoebe.”

“How man times do I have to tell you it’s her problem?”

“You’re right,” said Portia with a sigh.

After she finished her breakfast, Portia curled up next to Darren and held him tightly. It was one of the rare moments when both of them had an entire day to spend together. They used their time to just be together – like any other ordinary person’s lazy Sunday morning, curled in the comfort of cool cotton quilting. Like all good things, it would come to an end as soon as Alex let out a cry. She returned to bed and sat next to Darren as she held her baby. Maybe her plate was full enough after all.

.

chapter forty three - road scholars

Portia divided the rest of January between school, work, and Penny. For the most part, however, her mind was consumed with Penny.

She took her laptop to work and spent every spare moment researching the adoption process. She called adoption agencies, but they dealt mostly in simple adoptions, not child transfers. She even dropped by a law firm, but they requested a retainer before she even sat down.

Time was running out. The hearing was coming in a week and Portia did not know what to do, so she went to the prison and paid Ramona a visit.

“What do you want?’ asked Ramona.

“I have a really important favor to ask.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What do you mean, what’s in it for you? It’s about Penny.

“What about her?”

“My mom wants to adopt her.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I mean…I want to adopt Penny, but my mom has to get custody for legal reasons.”

“There’s no way I’m letting that bitch near my kid now.”

“You want her in a foster home?”

“I don’t care where she goes, as long as she’s nowhere near your family.”

Ramona hung up the phone and walked away. Portia sat there until a sheriff escorted her to the door. On the way out, she passed Ramona’s older sister Janelle, but didn’t say hello. However, Janelle didn’t notice Portia. It would be forty more minutes before Janelle reached the front of the line. It would be forty minutes until she found out Ramona already had her one visitor for the day. Janelle’s trip was in vain.

Meanwhile, Portia returned home, anxious about her conversation with Ramona. She made a phone call to Family Services, only to be sent through endless phone queues. Finally, she got Ms. Jaygo’s extension, but had to leave a voicemail message. She was thoroughly defeated.

She went home to Darren and suggested they take a road trip.

"Where do you want to go."

"Anywhere. I just don't want to be here right now."

"Are you hungry?"

Portia nodded.

Darren drove east, catching the Ohio River innerbelt to old U.S. 22. Old 22 was now I-376, the Penn-Lincoln Parkway. It curled through Pittsburgh, headed indirectly out of town. Old steel girder bridges passed overhead as the car sped through the steel city and into the Squirrel Hill Tunnel. The tunnel passed under the city. Its orange halogen lights pulsed to the beat of the music as Portia daydreamed. Maybe Pittsburgh was a city of romance after all.

As soon as they left city limits, the surroundings went from light to dark. The dim light of passing trucks and cars was a welcome escape for Portia. The farther they went, the more curiosity consumed her.

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace special."

"Special? Is this one of your 'Paris in Pennsylvania' moments?"

"Heck no. I got a plan."

Rather than ask questions and get empty answers, Portia watched the world pass by outside. Although he piqued her interest, she figured she'd find out sooner or later anyway. Instead, she occupied her thoughts with Penny.

"I don't know what to do."

"About what?'

"I visited Ramona today."

"That can't be good."

"It wasn't. She doesn't want to have anything to do with any of us."

"What did the social worker say?"

"I got her voicemail, so I just left a message."

"Don't worry, it'll all work out in the end."

"I hope so."

A bright green road sign loomed at the side of the road, signaling the next offramp. Darren piloted the car down the curve. A small gathering of gas stations, restaurants, and hotels sat at the corner. Darren drove by them and headed down the back road.

"Do you know where you're going?"

Darren nodded.

"Hmph."

"Hmm indeed."

A small motel stood by the roadside. It wasn’t very much at all. In fact, it reminded Portia of the Bates Motel. Not exactly what she pictured when Darren said "Someplace special". Still, it was better than nothing.

“Here we are.”

They went inside. A tiny restaurant sat connected to cramped lobby. Tiny glass-topped tables, perched upon imitation brass tubing, were arranged in a small 3x3 grid. Mirrors covered one wall. Bamboo trees sat in each corner, their narrow leaves flicking out into the room. An old black man came out and greeted them.

“Good evening, folks. Are you hungry?”

“More now than ever,” replied Portia.

“Then come with me.”

He placed them smack dab in the center of the room and then went to the back. He returned with a glass pitcher and filled their plastic cups with ice water.

Portia took the folded paper napkin and placed it on her lap as the waiter handed her a menu.

“What do you have?”

“All we do is chicken. We grill it. We bake it. We fry it. If you like chicken, we got that covered.”

Portia nodded eagerly. The waiter went to the corner and sat in a stool, waiting for Portia and Darren to make their decision.

“This is it? This is someplace special?”

“You like fried chicken so I thought I’d bring you here.”

Portia shrugged. “Where did you get that?”

“You said it one night when I first met you.”

“I did? Are you sure?”

“I could’ve sworn I heard you say you liked fried chicken.”

“Maybe you’ve got me confused with one of your other girlfriends.”

“You’re my girlfriend? When did that happen?”

Portia and Darren shared a laugh as they looked over the menu. Finally, they got a fried chicken platter, complete with biscuits and gravy and waffles. Whether it was Portia’s favorite or not, the little restaurant was indeed someplace special. They had the waiter to themselves and he was eager to please.

On the way home, Portia turned the car heater on high and eased her seat back, reclining next to Darren. She reached her hand out to Darren. He held it every spare moment, only leaving her grasp to change gears on the stick shift.

When they got home, Portia plucked little Alex from his living room crib and took him downstairs. She reclined on the couch while Alex lay on her chest. He rested his head against the side of her face. Darren sat next to her, looking on while Alex’s soft forehead pressed into her cheek. She could not help but smile. Life was good.

Portia got out of bed early the next morning, fed Alex and sat in the kitchen with a steamy bowl of oatmeal. Energized by her road trip with Darren, Portia decided she’d make a trip downtown to Family Services.

She waited in line for her turn at the counter. This time, the wait was only thirty minutes. That was a mixed blessing.

“Ms. Jaygo is in the field today. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Here, let me give you her cell number.”

Without waiting, Portia dialed her cell. The clerk pointed to the sign on the wall that read “No Cell Phones Allowed”. Portia nodded, headed out into the cold and made the call. It went straight to voicemail.

“Hello, this is Aldene Jaygo, I am out of the office today, January twenty-first, but will be in tomorrow the twenty-second….”

Portia left a message. The call was returned in only minutes.

“Hello, Portia? I’m sorry about that, but I always screen calls. What can I do for you?”

“I went to see the birth mother. She doesn’t want to sign the papers.”

“Don’t worry, we can still go to a hearing without her consent. It just makes it easier. Let me call you from the office and we’ll set up a new hearing date, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great, I’ll talk to you this afternoon.”

Portia’s heart warmed at the thought of a hearing. She could not wait to hold Penny again. Portia missed her so much. She immediately went home to spread the good news. Phoebe was there, dressed in her Sunday best.

“Phoebe, what are you doing here?”

“I invited her for dinner,” said mother.

“That’s right,” chimed Phoebe, “I’m leading choir practice tonight and we’re celebrating.”

“Again?”

“You only have one first time to lead the choir practice,” said mother.

“So we’re celebrating this now?”

“Portia, why can’t you be happy for your sister just once?”

Portia heaved a sigh and went downstairs. She decided, after all, not to share the news of the day’s events. She did, however, join everyone for dinner. Phoebe continued to brag throughout dinner while Portia remained silent and stewed inside. She almost boiled over when Phoebe asked Darren for a favor.

“Darren, do you know anyone who could fix my car?”

“I know all kinds of people. What’s wrong with it?”

“It sputters when I’m at stop lights.”

“That sounds like a simple carburetor problem. I could take a look at it right now.”

“I don’t have any money…”

“You’re family, it’s free.”

As Darren got up, Portia exhaled loudly. Darren shot her a glance, but continued outside with Phoebe. Portia watched from inside as Phoebe leaned over Darren, pressing her body against his. When they returned, Portia returned to her seat at the dining room table.

“Is everything alright?”

Darren shook his head.

“It needs more than just a tune-up. It needs to go to the shop.”

“Could we take it in tonight?” asked Phoebe.

“I guess. You want me to follow you to 27^th Street and we could drop it off there?”

“That would be just peachy,” replied Phoebe in a gloating tone..

“Why don’t you have Tracie take you?”

“She’s at work. I need my car fixed now.”

“Yes, dear,” interrupted mother, “Darren’s just trying to help. He’s family now.”

“Whatever.”

“Come with us,” said Darren.

Portia stared at him flatly.

“Come on, sis.”

Portia tagged along with Darren as they took the car to the shop so Jimmy could look under the hood.

“You’re right, Darren. It’s the carburetor, but it’s shot. I’ll need to replace it.”

“How long will that take?”

“Maybe a day or two.”

“I need the car tomorrow. I have to visit my parole officer downtown.”

“I can take you,” offered Darren.

Portia shot him a glance.

“Or Portia can take you, Right P?”

Portia nodded reluctantly.

“It’s settled. I’ll leave it here.”

They returned home, with Portia in the front seat and Phoebe in the back. Phoebe leaned between the seats and butted into the conversation.

“Darren, you’re so great. Portia really doesn’t appreciate you enough.”

“Shut up, Phoebe.”

“You don’t. He’s always there for you, no matter what you do to him.”

“I said ‘shut up’.”

“You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed. Just be quiet.”

Phoebe did quiet down, but it was just as they dropped her off at church. Portia opened the door and let Phoebe out. When Phoebe pushed on the seat back, Portia pushed against her the slightest bit, giving a subtle amount of resistance., Still, Phoebe managed to squeeze through the opening between Portia’s seat, the door, and seat belt harness.

“Do you need someone to pick you up?” asked Darren.

“She can get a ride from one of the choir members.”

“I think I’ll be fine, but I’ll call you if I can’t find a ride. Thank you, Darren.”

“No problem.”

Portia pulled on the car door, shutting Phoebe out in the cold. Phoebe waved to Darren and headed gleefully inside.

“You have some nerve,” said Portia.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see that.”

“Oh, that. It was no big deal.”

Portia simmered throughout the night and into the next morning. Still, she fulfilled her obligation to her sister, arriving at Phoebe’s place just before 8 A.M. When she rang the doorbell, there was no answer. She knocked repeatedly until Tracie finally answered the door.

“Where’s Phoebe?”

“She’s in bed.”

“Wake her up. She’s got an appointment with her parole officer today.”

“You wake her up.”

Tracie returned to bed, leaving the door open. Portia invited herself in and headed to Phoebe’s room.

“Get up.”

Phoebe grumbled.

“You said you needed a ride to court. Here I am. Let’s go.”

Portia pulled on Phoebe’s blankets, dragging her out of the bed. Phoebe rose to her feet and stumbled into the bathroom. As usual, Phoebe took her own sweet time in the bathroom. Portia knocked, but Phoebe was busy. Finally Portia barged in.

“Get out!” shouted Phoebe.

“You’ve been in here for a half hour.”

Portia squeezed between Phoebe and the wall, making her way to the toilet. As she went to the restroom, Phoebe continued to preen in front of the mirror.

“I’m not like you. I take the time to look good.”

Phoebe fidgeted with her purse as she bent over the sink to apply her eyeliner. Portia finished up, flushed the toilet and stood up. As Portia shimmied around the sink, she bumped into Phoebe’s purse. Its contents fell onto the tile floor.

“Shit,” said Portia. She bent down and picked up a small vial of white powder as she cleaned up the mess, Phoebe attempted to snatch the vial from Portia’s grasp, to no avail.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“It belongs to Tracie,” said Phoebe.

“No it doesn’t. This is yours.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Then you won’t mind…”

Portia unscrewed the lid and tapped the vial with her fingernail, emptying the white powder into the commode. Phoebe’s eyes grew wide with anxiety.”

“I knew it,” spat Portia.

With a flush, the powder was gone.

“You should come with me and Darren to one of his N.A. meetings. They’ve got people to help you with your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

Phoebe shoved the remaining things back into her purse and rushed out the door. Portia followed her to the car.

“Yes, you do need help.”

“You go to a few meetings and suddenly you’re the expert? I really don’t need an amateur’s opinion.”

“You just started a new job…at a church.”

“Let it go, Portia.”

“At a church, Phoebe.”

Phoebe slammed the door as she got into the car. They rode to the courthouse without saying another word to each other. However, Portia did go inside with her sister and waited quietly outside the Parole Office during Phoebe’s meeting. As noon approached, Portia knocked on the door. The P.O. answered.

“I’m Phoebe’s sister Can you let her know I have to be at work at noon?”

Phoebe poked her head around the corner.

“Give me the keys.”

“What?”

“Give me your keys. You can take the bus.”

“Why don’t you take the bus?”

“I have errands to run. I’ll pick you up after work.”

Portia deposited her car keys into Phoebe’s outstretched hand and went to work. When Portia’s shift ended, Phoebe was nowhere to be found. Portia walked home. Her car sat in front of the house. A long mud stripe and matching scratch ran down the length of the passenger’s side door. Portia stormed into the house.

“Where in the hell is Phoebe?”

“How should I know?”

“Wasn’t she here earlier today?”

“Yeah, she left the keys on the kitchen table and took off with Tracie.”

“She wrecked my car.”

“She couldn’t have. She would have said something.”

Portia marched to the window and pointed outside. Her mother put her hands on her hips and paused thoughtfully for a moment. Then, she casually pointed to the damage.

“That could have happened any time.”

“It wasn’t there this morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mom…I’m positive. Quit taking her side.”

When Phoebe finally did show her face, she admitted her guilt, but offered no solution. Instead, she told Portia how her license had been suspended and she didn’t have insurance.

“You should pay for this.”

“I’m not paying for anything.”

“Damn it, Phoebe. I should turn you in.”

“Your insurance will just skyrocket if you do. It’s your car.”

“You’re paying or I’m calling the cops.”

“What if I loan you my car while they fix it?”

“And you’ll pay for the repairs?”

“I’ll arrange something with Jimmy.”

No matter how reluctant Portia was to lose sight of her car again, it was her only real option. She followed Phoebe to the Body Shop and they left Portia’s car with Jimmy. Phoebe gave her own car keys to Portia and Portia dropped Phoebe off at home. Portia returned home and immediately hid her keys in a vase on the shelf next to her bed in the basement. She decided she would not tell anyone, including Darren, where she hid them.

She went to bed and had a fitful sleep.

.