by Jamie Blair
Addy squirms and lets out a small shriek. Chris’s eyes dart to her. This could be the deal breaker.
She squawks again. “What time is it?” I ask, realizing she’s probably hungry.
He shrugs. “Around five or six. She need to eat?”
“Yeah. Guess I better go so I can feed her.” I take a step toward the door.
“Here.” He comes forward, reaching his arms out. “I’ll hold her. Go on out and get her a bottle. You have one with you, don’t you?”
I nod, watching him take Addy out of my arms, place her against his chest, and rub her back. “Do you have kids?” It seems like a dumb question, but he’s a natural with Addy.
He laughs. “No. Fortunately, I’ve never been in that predicament.” He looks from Addy to me, and his face falls. “I mean . . .”
Right. He thinks I got knocked up. I’m a teen mom. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I smile, trying to put him at ease. “I’ll be right back.”
After opening the door to the stairs, I glance over my shoulder. He’s running his fingers over the top of her head and bouncing her gently. “Shh, baby, don’t cry. Mommy will be right back.”
Running down the stairs, I ponder the likelihood of something inside me actually melting, because I’m certain something has. Something I didn’t even know was frozen.
I dash outside, grab the diaper bag off of the passenger seat, and run back into the house. Upstairs, Chris is standing in front of one of the dormer windows, talking to Addy as he rocks back and forth. “That’s an oak tree. Squirrels love that tree. They hide acorns in it.”
He hears me at the door, and he turns. “There she is,” he tells Addy.
I blink about a thousand times, trying to take in the image in front of me, overwhelmed with so many emotions. The sun streams in behind him, catching strands of his hair, reminding me of how Hope looked sitting in Brian’s car on our way to school. Addy’s comfortable and content in his arms—like she belongs there.
We belong here.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Thanks for holding her. I just need to mix it up.” I point to the counter.
“Sure. Take your time. We’re fine.” He turns back to the window, and I can’t stop staring.
For the first time since I took Addy away, it feels like I did the right thing. And I’m not just telling myself that. It’s true. I can give her this life. The life she deserves.
Some of the powdered formula falls over the sides of the bottle as I pour it in. I swipe it into the sink with my hand. Addy starts to fuss again as I’m pouring the water into her bottle. I screw on the nipple and shake the bottle up as I walk toward her and Chris.
“Need to warm it up?” His eyes meet mine. I see myself in them. Not just my reflection. He’s giving me everything I desperately need. And I’m giving him something too. But I have no idea what. I just know that I can see it in his eyes, the yearning to keep me there with him, to keep us with him.
“Um . . .” I hadn’t thought to warm it this time. I’m a terrible mom.
“Trade ya.” He smiles and takes the bottle, handing Addy over into my arms. “I’ll hurry.”
I lower onto the couch, hugging Addy to me, nuzzling my nose against her neck. There’s a smell there I’m not familiar with. It’s male. It’s dizzying. It’s Chris.
A microwave beeps downstairs, and a second later his feet are padding up the steps. He rushes through the door, and I feel my lips automatically turn up into a smile.
His hair’s down now, framing his face. The rubber band grips his wrist. He hands me the bottle and sits beside me. “I tested it.”
Addy starts sucking. Chris gives her his finger to clutch. She moves her eyes around, searching, for him I think. Then she scarfs the formula down.
We don’t speak.
We just watch her eat.
When she’s done, Chris takes the bottle from me and goes over to the sink to rinse it out.
Before I even have her over my shoulder to burp her, she pukes all over my shirt. Chris turns around and cracks up at seeing me all wet and gross. “Well, that just sucks.” He laughs some more. “Hang on. I’ll get you a T-shirt to borrow.”
He jogs down the stairs and comes back a minute later with a faded black T-shirt that reads lord of the strings and has a picture of a guitar on it. I take it from him and stand up. Since there’s nowhere to go to change, I just stand there and wait for him to leave.
“Oh,” he finally says, getting it. “I’ll take her downstairs and wait for you.” Just as he’s about to take Addy from me, he stops and smiles. “Just a sec.” He goes to the cupboard, pulls out a roll of paper towels, runs one under the faucet, and comes back to me. “Got a little in your hair.” He takes the strands of my hair between two fingers and gently wipes away the baby vomit. “Better.”
Chris and Addy head downstairs, with him chattering to her the whole way. I tug off my gross shirt and pull on his. It’s as soft as I imagine the one he’s wearing to be and has the smell that he left on Addy. A faint manly scent, like aftershave.
I take a deep breath and hold it in, letting it fill my head. What is it about him that tells me I’m on the right path?
I swing the diaper bag over my shoulder and am about to leave when I see his guitar sitting on the couch. I run my fingers over it. It’s smooth and slick. I carefully pick it up and take it down the stairs with me.
He’s taking a swig of Coke when I get to the bottom of the steps. Addy’s lying beside him on the couch. His hand’s on her stomach, fingers curling and uncurling, massaging her tummy. She hiccups and lets out an irritated squeal.
“I know. You hate hiccups. It’s okay, they’ll go away soon.”
He puts the Coke down when he sees me and pushes his hair back behind his ear. “So, when are you moving in?”
I can’t help but smile. I know being here with him would transform my life for the better. “I don’t know if I can afford it. How much is it a month?” I place the guitar against the coffee table, beside his feet.
“Well, for a friend of Aunt Ivy, a hundred bucks.”
My eyes almost fall out of my head. “A month? That’s it?”
He shrugs. “Sure. We’re not using it.”
“Should you . . .” I pause, sticking my hands in my back pockets and watching my shoes as I push up and down on my toes. “Shouldn’t you make sure it’s okay with your dad?”
He shakes his head. “He won’t care. He’s never here. It was my idea to rent out the upstairs, anyway. It goes toward my college fund—if I ever go back.”
“Wow. Okay, yeah. How soon can I move in?” An anxious buzz flits through my chest.
He smiles and looks around. “How about now? I don’t see anyone else claiming it.” Then he laughs. “If you need help, I have a pickup.”
I shake my head. “We don’t have very much stuff.”
He tilts his head, curiosity clear in his eyes. “Where are you from?”
Uh-oh. Here come the questions. “Ohio.”
“How long have you been in Florida?”
I pick Addy up off the couch and walk her around the room, needing to do something other than stand under his scrutinizing eyes. “Not very long.”
“Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it. I respect that.”
I turn my head toward him. He’s got his guitar on his lap. “It’s just . . .”
He smiles, but only one side of his mouth raises. “It’s cool. You don’t have to tell me. I can watch her if you want to go get the rest of your stuff.”
My thoughts shift to the upstairs, filling in all the empty places with things I’ll need to buy to make it livable—towels, sheets, pillows, a clock. Addy’s asleep and breathing deeply, letting out little pft, pft, pft sounds. “It’s already getting late. How about I move in tomorrow?”
“I work till five, but my dad should be here before that. I’ll let him know you’re coming, though.”
&n
bsp; I take a deep breath and exhale, nervous about The Dad. Since I’ve never had one around myself, I’m not too sure what to expect.
Chris looks up from his guitar. “Don’t worry, he’s cool. He doesn’t talk a lot or hang around, just keeps to himself pretty much.” He beats the front of his guitar with his palm, making a hollow echo.
“All right, then, guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chris walks us to the door, then surprises me by following us to my car. He stands in the driveway while I situate Addy in her car seat.
Before I get in, I stand there, feeling awkward. A hug would be inappropriate, even though it feels like it’d be the right thing to do. A handshake seems way too formal. After a moment, I decide to just get in the car.
Chris puts his hand on the door handle and waits until I’m buckled in. “I’m glad you’re going to be living upstairs. See ya tomorrow.” Then he closes my car door and takes a step back onto the walkway, where he watches me back out and drive down the street. Through the rearview mirror, I watch him watching me until I turn the corner and he’s out of sight.
chapter
seven
The day offers up something else for me to be thankful for—a large changing station in the ladies’ room at Walmart. Driving from our new house to the motel, Addy stinks up the car so bad, I almost wreck.
After changing her, I toss the dirty diaper into the trash and button her back up. “Pillows, towels, sheets. Can you remember that, Add?”
“Pillows, towels, sheets,” I tell myself over and over.
Outside the bathroom, I grab a cart one-handed and realize that it’s going to be next to impossible to carry Addy, shop, and push a cart. But I have no choice. I also have no clue how other mothers do this all the time, but I’m about to find out.
It’s slow going, but I maneuver the cart to the aisle with towels and pull two ivory-colored ones off the shelf.
The whole pile falls onto the floor.
I bend to pick them up and whack my head on the cart.
Addy starts whining, upset that I’m holding her sideways.
I leave the towels that fell, grab two washcloths, and head toward the sheets.
Tired and fussy, Addy screams her brains out the entire way through the store. I stop in the baby aisle to stock up, but my mind is panicked and scattered, and I don’t even know if I got everything I need. The checkout lines are three and four people deep, and I have to stand there forever with everybody scowling at me and banshee baby, who keeps spitting out her pacifier.
When it’s finally our turn and the cashier rings everything up, I want to scream as loud as Addy at the total on the screen. “One hundred thirty-four dollars and sixty-three cents,” the lady tells me as she folds the last washcloth and stuffs it into a plastic bag.
I peel back twenty-dollar bills from the wad of cash in my wallet, feeling like I’m handing over fingers and toes.
I’d rather be handing over fingers and toes—where am I going to get more money?
“Are you hiring?” I ask her.
“I’m sorry? . . .” She cups her ear and darts a glance at Addy, who’s all quivering lips and tonsils.
I shake my head, mouth never mind, and hand her the money. I’ll stop back when crazy baby is calm.
Addy falls asleep on the car ride back to the motel. I realize I’m exhausted, and it’s only nine o’clock.
I give Addy a bottle and let her make a mess on the towel I draped over myself before I undress her and wash her off with a warm cloth. I’m starting to worry that there’s something wrong with her. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Chris if he has a computer, then I’ll Google “babies puking after every bottle” to see if she’s defective.
God, I hope not. That would mean taking her to the doctor and answering a barrage of questions about me being her mom. They might want a birth certificate. Plus, I don’t have enough money if she needs surgery or something. I suck at this.
My fingernail starts bleeding when I bite it down to the quick. I suck on it until the blood stops.
I can’t do this.
I can’t worry about things that might never happen.
I have enough to keep my stomach in knots as it is.
With Addy’s pajamas on her, I lay her on the bed to put mine on. But after stripping off my jeans, I can’t bring myself to remove Chris’s T-shirt. So, I keep it on and crawl into bed.
I hate that some boy I don’t even know can make me feel like Addy and I have been saved. Like he’d take a bullet for us or something. I pinch the squishy skin between my thumb and forefinger. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” I whisper to myself, then bite my lips and remind myself to never cuss around Addy.
Even if she can’t repeat after me yet, it’s best to get out of the habit now.
Between the semis rushing by, ambulance and police sirens blaring, and the occasional late check-in dragging a suitcase down the sidewalk, I listen to the soft intake of Addy’s breath, then the ruffle of her exhale. There’s no other sound like it on earth.
I slide closer, rest my fingers over her tiny arm, and press my nose against her chubby cheek. Before falling asleep, I think about how everything is going to be perfect.
• • •
At two in the morning, Addy wakes up shrieking. I feed and change her, but no matter what I do, she won’t stop crying. I pace the room, bouncing her and holding the pacifier in her mouth. She can’t seem to keep it between her lips without it popping out, which makes her even angrier.
Our neighbors on all sides pound on the walls and shout at me to shut that baby up!
I know it’s only a matter of minutes before the old man from the front office comes to our room, demanding that we leave. I shove my feet into my flip-flops, grab the diaper bag and my keys, pick up Addy, and dart out the door. We’ll drive around until morning, or until she stops crying, whichever comes first.
As I buckle her in, I see him coming down the sidewalk. Before he can get a word out, I call to him, “I’m sorry. I’m taking her for a drive. We’ll check out in the morning. I found a place for us to live.”
He frowns, waves me off, and turns back toward the front office.
Without having anywhere else to go, I drive to Jasper, past our new house. Addy isn’t screaming anymore, but her sleep is restless. Every once in a while, she lets out a shriek.
I slow the car as we approach 356 Maple Street. The lights upstairs, in our room, are on. A shadow passes the window, and I strain to see inside. Chris comes into view. His hair’s pulled back. He’s shirtless, and there’s a paintbrush in his hand.
I stop at the curb and watch, hoping he won’t look out and see the car. He’s singing, and every once in a while he uses the paintbrush as a microphone.
I laugh, and it echoes through the car. Addy shifts in her car seat but stays asleep.
Chris bends, disappearing from sight for a second, then straightens and raises a Coke can to his lips as he wipes his chest with a white paint rag. A tool belt hugs his hips.
I feel hot all of a sudden and crack my window. My forehead’s slick, and I wipe it with the bottom of his T-shirt. I don’t want to leave, but the longer I stay, the higher my chances of being caught spying on him.
It’s five thirty in the morning when I pull back into the motel parking lot. I give Addy a bottle in the car before we go back into our room. I catch her puke in a diaper and pitch it into the trash can out on the sidewalk.
Checkout isn’t until eleven, so I crawl back into bed with Addy. Her 2:00 a.m. crying fit must’ve worn her out, because she sleeps soundly, and it’s almost ten when we wake up again.
I shower, pack us up, and leave the key at the front desk with the day clerk. “We’re on our way to our own place, Addster!” I tell her as we pull out of the motel parking lot. Hearing the excitement in my voice makes me panic a little bit. I should be wary, nervous, anxious, even guilty, but not excited. There’s still the threat of getting caught, not to mention that I don’t have a way to supp
ort the two of us. Being excited is stupid—I haven’t escaped anything yet.
As if to prove my point, when we get to the house, there’s a note on the door with my name on it.
Leah,
I’m sorry. I would’ve called, but I didn’t know how to reach you.
My dad doesn’t want to rent to someone with a baby. You were right. I should’ve asked him first. I feel like a jerk.
I’m really sorry.
Chris
I’m clutching the paper so tight, it shakes in my hand.
What am I going to do?
What the hell am I going to do?
I’m breathing hard, and spots of light are flashing in my eyes. I’m about to pass out.
I ease down onto the porch step with Addy asleep against my shoulder.
“I give up,” I whisper. “I give up. I can’t do this anymore.”
My eyes blur with tears, and I close them. I don’t want to feel them trailing down my cheeks, but I do.
I can’t go back to the motel. I can’t stay here. Where else can we go?
I think about home, the feel of the dirty, gummy carpet under my feet, the water that smells like rotten eggs and turns the toilet bowl orange, the smell of smoke that clings to my clothes and hair.
Mom high.
Mom drunk.
I shake my head. I’m not going back there. I’m not taking Addy back there. This is my way out, and it has to work. It’s my only chance.
“Come on, Addy,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”
I let Chris’s note drift to the ground and watch it blow across the grass.
With nothing else to do, I drive around for a while thinking, trying to come up with a new plan. We’re going to have to stay at a hotel until I can find us another place to live.
I stop at a Quality Inn and lug Addy inside. Going from the bright, hot sun in the car and parking lot, to the dim, air-conditioned lobby makes her startle awake. She blinks and yawns. I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t start crying. Luckily, she closes her eyes again and falls back asleep.
