Read Online Where Do I Go? by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online

opened, and followed an usher to our seats.
    I had no idea what to expect from the Blue Man Group, but the stone-faced trio, covered head to foot in blue paint, put on a freewheeling performance that left us feeling giddy and breath-less—a circus of wacky percussion, banging on drums, and “making music” with PVC plumbing tubes. We couldn’t help but laugh until our sides ached.
    It felt good to have a good time. I was aware of Philip’s arm resting across my shoulders and the occasional squeeze he gave me as we shared laughter. We’d laughed a lot before the boys were born . . . before the business started to take up more and more of Philip’s time. Or more of his heart.
    I was starving by the time we were seated at Jack’s on Halstead after the show, and I ate more than my share of the crab cakes we ordered for an appetizer. I knew better. Should have eaten something before we left home. Even after fifteen years of marriage to money and nightlife, I wasn’t used to eating dinner at ten o’clock at night.
    I’d genuinely enjoyed the show—bizarre as it was—but after the four of us rehearsed all our favorite acts through asparagus-tips- and-spring-greens salad, my gas ran out and I barely ate the grilled lemongrass-encrusted salmon I’d ordered. Talk turned to business, and I tuned out, suddenly feeling bushed. Philip didn’t seem to notice, as long as I added a seemingly alert “Mm” or “Uh-huh” from time to time.
    Mona’s comment about Holy Week still bothered me. The young couple I’d met today—Josh and Edesa Baxter—said they were attending Good Friday services tonight. And Edesa’s little Bible study at the shelter had actually been interesting. I’d never thought about how the Jewish Passover fit hand in glove with Jesus and what happened on Good Friday so many years ago. What was their Good Friday service like? I wondered. A far cry from the Blue Man Group performance, I was sure of that! Which had been a lot of fun . . . but I squirmed inside, thinking maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate thing on the night Christians were remembering the terrible crucifixion of the Son of God.
    You hypocrite, I scolded myself. I’d parked my Christianity on a backseat years ago. Why should it bother me what we did on a weekend night, Good Friday or not? Still, just being at the Manna House shelter today had touched a nerve—touched something—that felt a little tender.
    â€œYou’re awfully quiet,” Philip said on our way home. The rain had stopped, and we actually had the windows down, breathing in the cool, damp air.
    I tried to read his tone. Just commenting? Asking why? Annoyed? Whatever. “Mm. Just tired.” Then I added, “I enjoyed the evening.” In spite of Mona Fenchel.
    He looked at me sideways. “Good. I’m glad. I know the move happened pretty fast, Gabby, but I think you’ll like it here. Chicago’s an exciting city. Henry was telling me . . .”
    Hm. Philip was certainly being pleasant tonight. Should I tell him about finding my way about the city on my own today? Of course, then I’d have to mention that I ended up at the homeless shelter to see Lucy. But maybe that was okay. At least she was at the shelter and not in our penthouse! I smiled to myself, remembering how Lucy had laughed at the little scenario when we two drowned rats had come barging in on Philip and the Fenchels . . .
    â€œI think ‘Fairbanks and Fenchel Development Corporation’ will make a good name for the business, don’t you?” Philip was saying. “Has a nice alliteration. ‘Fairbanks and Fenchel’ . . . We’re going to sign the partnership papers on Monday. Just . . .” He paused and looked at me sideways. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Gabrielle. Like, you know, the business with the bag lady. Things like that can sour a business