by Zoey Parker
By the time Kira reached her apartment halfway across town, her whole body ached, every muscle tense and every bone aching like her body knew the tragedy that had occurred earlier that afternoon. Whatever, I’ll figure it out, she told herself, trying to summon as much inner strength as she possibly could for her son Lucian’s sake. She had to be strong for him.
But before she could get into her apartment, she noticed a white square of paper taped to her front door. Oh, Jesus Christ, what now? Kira wondered, blinking several times before her eyes could focus well enough to read the writing on the paper. Eviction Notice, Kira mumbled out loud, needing to speak the words audibly out into the air around her before her brain could truly comprehend them. “No. No, no, no!”
Kira ripped the notice off the wall to read it more closely. “Due to circumstances in violation of the terms of your lease, you have two days to vacate the premises. Any possessions remaining after that time will be surrendered to the landlord.” Kira crumpled up the eviction notice into a little ball, panting as she fought the urge to scream like a banshee and disturb all of her neighbors. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she hissed under her breath, banging her head against her front door lightly, just enough to cause a little pain to distract her from the reality of her awful, horribly unlucky life.
“All right, fuck this,” she muttered to herself, her blood surging defiantly inside of her as she turned on her heel and marched toward the landlord’s apartment across the hall. She banged on the door as hard as she could, tapping her feet impatiently as she waited for her landlord to get off of his lazy ass and explain himself.
“What?” her landlord Bob said crabbily, barely opening the door to his apartment a crack before sticking his head out to glare at her.
But Kira didn’t back down. She glared back at her landlord, a creepy old guy with wandering eyes and huge hairy hands. “What is going on, Bob?” she asked, trying to come off as imperiously annoyed as possible, like she was the one with the power here. “Eviction notice?”
“Yeah,” Bob said, licking his teeth before spitting on the ground next to Kira’s feet. “You broke the rules, you’re out. That’s what you agreed to when you signed the lease.”
“What rules? I haven’t broken any rules,” Kira said, furrowing her brow in frustration and confusion.
“How about threatening the safety of another tenant in this building?” Bob said, narrowing his eyes as he stared hard at Kira, who felt herself tremble a little as a result of his tangible rage.
“Did…did my ex-husband come by and talk to you or something?” Kira asked tentatively, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that question.
Bob snarled at her, scoffing and shaking his head. “You’re a fucking piece of work, lady. Coming here playing the victim, trying to get my sympathy. Well, it isn’t going to work. Two days!”
“Wait, I—” Kira tried to say, but before she could get anything else out, Bob slammed the door in her face. “God fucking damn it!” Kira screamed, barely holding her herself back from punching a hole in the door. She inhaled deeply, sucking in as much air as possible to ground herself back to reality before slowly walking back to her apartment, only exhaling again after she closed the front door behind her.
“Something wrong?”
Kira looked up from the floor and saw her babysitter Cara sitting on the couch next to a sleeping Lucian.
“You heard that?” Kira asked. She sighed as she put her purse down and tossed the eviction notice into the trash.
“Was that you howling out in the hallway?” Cara asked as she got to her feet, repositioning Lucian on the couch so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. “Yeah, I think everyone on the whole block heard that one.”
“Fuck,” Kira muttered. She walked over to her kitchen and pulled out a bottle of whiskey she kept around for “special” occasions. “You want a drink? I’m having one. Or twelve.”
Cara smiled and shook her head. “No, I got to go see my boyfriend soon. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay and help out more.”
“No, no, it’s okay, I understand,” Kira said as she poured herself a glass full of whiskey, taking a deep drink and gagging a little at the thick, bitter taste. “Anyway, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep paying you, Cara. So this might be goodbye for a while.”
“What happened?” Cara asked, putting her backpack back down and walking over to sit across from Kira at the kitchen table.
“Lost my job. And then lost this place. What a fucking day, right?” Kira said with a bitter laugh, tossing more whiskey down her throat.
“Jesus,” Cara said. “Look, I can cancel with my boyfriend and help you look online for jobs and other places if you want.”
“No, no, go,” Kira said, waving her hand as if to physically push Cara away. “I’m sorry I can’t keep paying you to watch Lucian for me. But we’ll be okay. We always are.”
Cara looked like she was struggling to say something, her young face wrinkled up as she stared at Kira with visible pity in her eyes.
“Go on, get out of here, kid,” Kira said, getting to her feet to lead Cara to the door. “I’ve got something I got to take care of, anyway. I’ll see you later, all right? Whenever I get a new place, I’ll come get you so you can say hi to Lucian.”
“All right, I’d like that,” Cara said as she grabbed her backpack again, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head to protect herself from the cold outside. “Goodbye, Kira. And good luck. I know you need it.”
“Goodbye,” Kira said as she shut the door softly, barely suppressing the urge to curse and scream again. It was a miracle that Lucian had slept through it once. She didn’t want to tempt her luck again.
She stared down at her beautiful son, who had his hands folded neatly under his head, his mouth curved upward a little bit even in his sleep. He was a good kid. Smart, too. He’d on fast that that they were in trouble, even though he was only five years old. And of course I’m creating another minor trauma in his life by firing his babysitter, Kira thought sadly as she pulled a blanket up from the side of the couch to drape over her son. He’s known so much loss already, just because of that loser asshole who helped me create him.
Kira finished drinking the rest of her whiskey, putting it down on the coffee table and cracking her knuckles for a minute to prepare herself for what she was about to do. “I got this, I got this, I got this,” she whispered to herself, leaning over to grab her phone out of the inner pocket of her purse. She scrolled through her contacts list and hit Larry’s name when it popped up on her screen, tapping her feet anxiously as she waited for her ex-husband to pick up.
“Yeah?” Larry said in a surly tone of voice as soon as he answered the call.
“What the fuck, Larry?” Kira said, careful to keep her voice low enough not to disturb her sleeping son. “You called my boss? And you did something to piss Bob off? Are you trying to get me to kill you, or is this your sick idea of doing something fun?”
“I didn’t do shit,” Larry said before yawning right into the phone receiver. “Listen, you called at a really bad time. I got to work in a few hours, you know, on the night shift, so I need to get sleep while I still can.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Larry,” Kira said. “I know what you did. If you hate me so fucking much, you can take it out on me in another ways. Call me a bitch, spread ugly rumors about me to your friends. But don’t fuck with my livelihood. All it does is hurt Lucian.”
“Don’t lecture me about my own son,” Larry said, sounding wide-awake now. “Your life is fucked up. That’s your fault, not mine. If you can’t take care of our son, that’s on you. And hey, maybe it’s time he spent a little more time with his father anyway.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Kira said into the phone before hanging it up, groaning in frustration. Her ex was such a fucking loser, a total waste of space. She couldn’t believe that she had ever loved him.
But after a few moments, her anger faded away, replaced by the heavy
blankness of despair. She had no money. She had no friends. And she had a son, a son who needed to be fed and clothed and kept warm in the winter.
What was she going to do now?
Chapter Three
Brent
“All right, yes, you have a good day,” Brent said to his client Donavan before hanging up the phone, concluding his last phone appointment for the day. Usually he only saw his patients in person, in his office across town, where he served as a psychotherapist to dozens of people in the area. But ever since Dylan was dropped off two days ago, he couldn’t leave his home. Brent didn’t know much about little kids, but he at least knew they weren’t cats you could just leave at home with a bowl of milk while you went to work.
He sighed now and turned back to the kid, watching as he played with an old coloring book Brent had dug up from the attic, where he’d found a box of toys left by the previous owners of his house. Dylan was biting his lip as he worked, his little brow furrowed like he was worried about something. Maybe Danielle has never left him this long before, Brent thought. He stared at the kid as he worked on the puzzle, feeling something akin to pity in his heart. If he were being honest with himself, though, he knew he wasn’t really capable of feeling any emotion about the kid, even if he really was his son.
Earlier that day, Brent had called the MC’s lawyer, Mr. Logan, looking for some help to get this kid off of his hands, but the lawyer just told him that he was legally obligated to take care of the kid until the mother could be located. Brent had some doubts about that. He figured he could probably call the cops and turn the kid over to Child Protective Services if he absolutely needed to, but something prevented him from doing that. Brent didn’t know what it was. When he stared at Dylan, he felt nothing. Not warmth, not disgust, not fear, not anything.
There must have been something wrong with Brent, something missing or misshapen inside of his heart. Oh, well, he thought, sighing deeply again as he considered the long list of tasks he had had to tackle before the end of the day.
“When is Mommy coming back?” Dylan whispered almost inaudibly, looking up at Brent with wide sad eyes.
Brent cleared his throat and shook his head. “I don’t know. She’ll be back when she’s back. I’m looking for her, though.”
“You are?” Dylan asked, turning in his seat to face Brent, who gestured for him to remain seated on the couch.
“Yes. Well, I’m about to be, anyway. I’ve got some private investigators coming in a few minutes to ask me some questions, and then they’re going to look for her for me. For you, I mean. We’ll find your mommy for you, okay, buddy?” Brent said right before he heard a knock on the door. “That must be them now.” Relieved, he opened the door and let the pair of PI’s into the house.
Over the next hour, he gave them a run-down of everything he knew about Danielle: her family history, her travel history, her likes, her dislikes, her allergies—absolutely everything he could remember from their years-long relationship. As soon as the P.I.s left, Brent went to the kitchen to pour himself a drink, but he could barely get a few sips in before there was another knock on the door.
“Hello, ladies,” he said, gripping his scotch in his hand still as he stepped back from the door to usher a parade of potential nannies into the house. There were eight of them, all of various ages and shapes and sizes, all armed with the same vibrant look of hope as they entered his extravagant home. There was one missing, then, as nine people had responded to his online ad looking for a full-time nanny.
“Who are these people?” Dylan asked as the women all settled onto various chairs and couches in the living room, all staring at him and waving in an effort to get the kid’s approval before any of the other job applicants.
“Nobody, Dylan, nobody,” Brent said dismissively, turning to address the crowd of women. “Ms. Broadwell? Can you follow me into my office to talk privately? Dylan, behave and color while the other ladies wait for me, okay?”
Dylan frowned, but he didn’t protest or say anything in response, so Brent led the first applicant into his office, where he grilled her on her work experience, educational background, personal habits, and various other details.
Most of the women were quite impressive, articulately explaining their long occupational histories. Some of them even had master’s degrees in early childhood development. All in all, their excessive qualifications only made Brent’s job harder. The women all seemed to blur together, nobody really standing out from the crowd. He felt stuck, with no idea what to do.
He was about to pour himself another glass of scotch, hoping to medicate himself to an early bedtime, when he heard someone frantically knocking at the door. Rap rap rap rap rap rap rap rap. “Okay, okay, Jesus,” he said. Dylan was napping on the couch by this time in the evening. “I’m coming!” he shouted when the visitor continued to knock at the door.
“What?” he barked out as soon as he opened the door to reveal a pretty, visibly stressed girl standing on his front step.
“Uh, uh, hi, hello, sorry,” the young woman stuttered out, blowing out her breath as she began to pull her hair back from her face, tying it up in a tight bun on the top of her head. She inhaled deeply and said in a rush, “I’m here for the interview.”
“The interview?” Brent asked, dumbfounded. “That was…four hours ago. What…?”
“Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry. It makes an awful first impression, I know, but I have to speak with you, sir. I can do this job. I know I can. Can you just—”
“Mommy? When are we going home? I’m tired,” a small voice from behind the frazzled woman said.
The young woman sighed raggedly and pressed her hand against her forehead like she was taking her own temperature. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, stepping aside and turning to face the little boy. “Lucian. You have to be good, okay? Otherwise we won’t have anywhere to sleep tonight.”
Brent flinched backwards as if physically repulsed by what he’d just heard. Did this girl…bring her son here to get his sympathy? Jesus Christ, how disgusting, he thought to himself, feeling his upper lip curl upwards, horrified.
“Sorry about that,” the girl said apologetically, grabbing her son’s shoulders to keep in place when he tried to bolt inside of the open door. “Lucian. Stop it. Behave.”
“Sorry, mommy,” the little boy said, frowning a little as he stared up at Brent.
“Uh…what exactly is going on here?” Brent asked, feeling a little on-edge. He really didn’t have any time or energy for bullshit. He had to decide on a nanny tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to neglect this business and the MC, the Soul Catchers, any more than he already had.
“The interview. For the nanny position,” the girl said. “I answered your ad late last night, and you said to come by here, so I thought…” She paused, biting on her bottom lip for a minute. “Did you already fill the position?”
“No,” Brent said reflexively, although he cursed himself a moment later for failing to take an easy excuse to get this mess of a woman off of his porch. “Uh, listen, though, it’s really late, and to be honest I just want to—”
“Please. Just give me ten minutes. Ten minutes, and then I’ll leave and never bother you again if you don’t want me to, but just give me that and I’ll convince you why I’m the best choice for the job. Really. I swear I am,” the girl said passionately, her cheeks darkening a little as she spoke, like her blood was moving faster just from talking so quickly.
“I don’t know…” Brent said, looking over his shoulder after hearing a noise from inside the house. Dylan had gotten up from the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled forward, towards the front door. “Dammit…” Brent said, sighing deeply as he turned back around to face the kid. “Dylan. Go back to sleep. I need to do something for a little while, okay? I can’t watch you.”
“Who’s that?” he said, pointing towards Kira, who’d moved a little bit closer to the door.
“That’s…” Brent trailed off,
realizing his mistake. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Kira, my name’s Kira,” the girl said with a smile, waving a little at Dylan before refocusing her attention on Brent. “Listen. Five minutes. Just give me five minutes, then.”
Brent suppressed a groan, seeing that this woman wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “All right,” he said, nodding at her to tell her to come in. “Bring the kid, too.”
“Mommy, can I play in the yard?” the little kid next to Kira said, tugging at her hand.
“No, honey, just give me a few minutes, okay, then we can go on a walk together, all right?” she said softly, even though Brent could tell that she was getting annoyed.
