by Jamie Blair
It’s comfortable and strange at the same time. He feels like my new best friend who I’ve only known for forty-eight hours. He’s all I have now—him and Addy—and it scares the hell out of me. If I’ve learned anything in the past sixteen years, it’s that I can’t depend on anyone, let alone someone I just met, even if I want to.
I miss Hope so badly, it feels like someone’s ripping my heart into tiny pieces inside my chest. She always knows who to trust. Like Brian. Somehow, even though he was the guy all the girls threw themselves at, she knew he wasn’t a player and she could trust him. She also told me that Jason wanted only one thing. I wonder what she’d think about Chris?
God, what Hope must think of me. She already thinks I’m stupid. I know that she would think I’m a complete freaking idiot for doing this.
And she’d be right.
I can just see the look on her face when Mom told her I took Addy and bolted. That tilted eyebrow, lips parted, disgusted look. This time with a little bit of regret underneath. Regret that she hadn’t known and hadn’t been able to stop me, and regret that she was never brave enough to do something this ballsy.
“What are you thinking about?”
Chris’s question jolts me back to the present. “Nothing, why?”
“You’re picking at your Band-Aid, and your forehead’s all scrunched up.”
“Your dad doesn’t want Addy here, does he?” I have no idea where that came from. I mean, I hadn’t been thinking it, but out it comes.
Chris lays his hand over mine to stop my persistent picking, and I snatch my arm away. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and tilts his head away from mine.
I feel like a jerk. “It’s okay.” I wish I’d kept my hand under his, but instinct makes me pull back. It’s my flipping mother’s fault. My ex-boyfriend, Jason, was right. I’m sexually scarred for life because of her. Maybe if I hadn’t grown up watching her with different guys spending the night all the time, I’d be normal.
“Of course my dad wants Addy here,” Chris says, ignoring the awkwardness between us. “Why wouldn’t he? What kind of evil bastard doesn’t like babies?” He cracks a smile, but it doesn’t look genuine.
“He looked at her like she was his personal demon.”
Something about Chris’s expression gives me affirmation, but he says, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It sucks.”
He chuckles, trying to break the tension, and stretches back out, leaning his head toward mine again. “Guess I can’t go to band practice with a concussion. You need a TV up here, Bowling-Ball Head.”
“Yeah, it’s on my wish list.”
“I think we have an old one in the basement. I’ll go down in the morning and bring it up.” He yawns and stretches both arms above his head. “I’m heading downstairs.” He sits up straight on the edge of the couch and squeezes my shoulder. “Sweet dreams.” His sleepy blue-green eyes blink, then he rubs them and stands.
I watch his easy stride as he crosses the room to the door. “Night.” I close my eyes, not wanting to see him disappear down the stairs, and listen as the door clicks shut behind him.
• • •
This is so bad. So freaking bad. It’s two in the morning. Addy woke up for a bottle, I gave it to her, she spewed it all over, and now she’s clutching her chest like she’s in pain.
I tread back and forth through the kitchen area, into my bedroom, back into the living area. I bounce on my toes and pat her back as she shrieks at the top of her tiny lungs.
My leg’s a swollen, throbbing mess.
I try to stuff her pacifier in her mouth and hold it there, but she’s not having it. She wants everyone on the block to know how pissed she is and how much she’s hurting. I’m about to join her. Screaming my brains out is the only option I have left.
The knock is soft. I barely hear it before the door opens and Chris is peering through the crack. I motion for him to come in.
“I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with her. She keeps grabbing at her chest.” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how shitty I look in my tattered cotton shorts and horrifically embarrassed that I’m wearing his T-shirt that I borrowed the other day. If God has plans for me to die young, now would be the perfect time.
“Let me try.” He holds out his hands, and I pass Addy to him. He also takes her pacifier. “Shh . . . ,” he says as he bounces, rocks, and begins to walk my path.
Addy stops raging and cries at a normal decibel level, blinking her eyes, curious about being handed off. Chris takes the opportunity to stick the pacifier back in her mouth. He disappears into my bedroom with her.
Fifteen minutes pass, and I’m falling asleep on the couch, leaning on my hand. It strikes me that the constant stream of baby cries has ceased. I wander into the bedroom and find Chris on my bed, asleep on his back, with Addy dozing on his chest.
The weirdest feeling comes over me, and I can’t tear my eyes from them, so peaceful, so perfect together. They were meant to be. Whatever happens, they have to stay together.
I’ve never had an urge as strong as the one to crawl into bed beside them and curl up next to Chris. Instead, I lift the second pillow from my bed and head out to the couch, but I can’t stop thinking of him.
• • •
When I wake the next morning, Chris is gone. There’s a TV on my end table hooked up and ready to go, and Addy’s asleep in her Pack ’n Play, which has been moved into my bedroom.
Again, I wonder why he’s taken us under his wing, what he’s getting out of it. There has to be something. Nobody’s that nice without a motive.
There’s a stabbing pain in my neck from sleeping in an awkward position, and my leg is still pounding. My bladder’s about to burst, so I tiptoe downstairs, wondering if Mr. Buckridge is home and awake, wishing I had a bathroom upstairs.
There’s no sign of him, and I make it unnoticed to the bathroom. When I come back out, though, he’s in the kitchen making coffee and spins around when he hears me reach the stairs.
For a second, we just stare at each other. Then I smile. “Good morning, Mr. Buckridge.”
“Morning, Leah. Sleep well?” He turns back around and pours coffee grounds into the filter.
“Great, thanks.” I jog up the stairs and realize my underarms are damp. I hope I get used to Chris’s dad fast. I don’t want to be a nervous wreck all the time.
I peek in on Addy again, and for a minute I watch her sleep. Both arms are in the air, hands in fists by her head. Her knees are bent and fall to the sides. Even though she’s only been alive a few days, she looks different, bigger. Or maybe I’m just used to her now.
It’s a miracle that nothing’s wrong with her. She doesn’t shake like a baby drug addict going through detox. That’s a bonus. I guess she’s healthy. I hope I can keep her that way.
My fingers trail along the purple lace on her romper. Being with her makes me breathe more evenly, makes my eyes focus, calms my insides. She’s an anchor, even if I have no clue what to do with her, or how to make her happy.
There’s no way I should have a baby.
After Addy wakes up and I give her a bottle and eat a bowl of cereal, we attempt to find the park again. Hopefully this time neither one of us will be hit by a kid on a runaway two-wheeler. On the way back, I want to take the long way home so I can pick up job applications from any places that look halfway promising.
Gail’s fixing her trampled flower garden when we walk by her house. “Hey!” she calls, waving. “Leah! Come have coffee. Can you stay a few minutes?”
Ugh. I just want to get this kid to the park. That’s why we’re in this town—good schools, sidewalks, parks. Job. Can’t forget my lack of cash and the applications waiting to be picked up and filled out.
On the other hand, maybe Gail knows where I can get a job. “Sure, we have a few minutes.” I smile, pushing Addy’s stroller up Gail’s driveway.
She tucks stray hairs back into the red bandanna tied around her head and wipes h
er cheek, leaving a smear of dirt. “How’s your leg?” When she sees it, she sucks air in through her teeth. “Ouch, that looks sore.”
“It’s okay. I’ll live.”
She laughs. “Good. I don’t need to be sued. I can barely afford this house as it is.” Holding up one finger for me to wait, she peeks around the side of the house. “Jonathan, I’m going inside! Stay in the backyard.”
I unbuckle Addy and pick her up, then follow Gail through her garage. She shucks her gardening gloves as we’re walking and drops them on the roof of her burgundy Grand Am. “It’s too hot to be outside. I’ve got the AC on. We’ll sit in the family room and chat.”
Her house is spotless. The parquet floor under my feet shines with polish, the beige carpet in the family room has vacuum tracks through it. Candles and dried flower arrangements are set in the center of dark oak tables, and it smells like magnolias.
“Do you take cream and sugar? I have some Sweet’N Low, or flavored creamer.”
“Just black, please.” She crinkles her nose, but I’ve grown accustomed to the bitter taste. Coffee was a staple in our house. Milk was not. Sweet’N Low, no way—the only white powder that made it into our house was snortable.
From the family room, I watch Gail in the kitchen pouring coffee. She comes back to where I’m standing and sets the mugs on coasters on the flawless wood surface of her coffee table. Then she sits down on the ivory couch. I sit next to her, too nervous to pick up my coffee for fear I’ll spill some in her immaculate ivory and beige room, or worse yet, on Addy.
She’s lying cradled in my left arm, her big grayish blue eyes transfixed on my face. She’s so still, it’s like she’s asleep with her eyes open.
“I was just telling Janine the other night—she lives across the street—that the Buckridges have a renter. A young girl.” She pats my leg. “With a baby!” she coos and shakes Addy’s foot.
Addy grunts, not happy to be bothered.
“Yeah.” I smile, wondering what to say to that, and why it makes her so giddy that I’m a young girl, with a baby!
“So, what are your plans? Are you job hunting?”
“I am job hunting. Do you know of any place that’s hiring? I’ll do anything; I just need cash.”
“Hmm . . .” She twists her lips and scrunches her eyebrows as she thinks. The doorbell rings, and Gail looks annoyed. “Hold that thought.”
I clench my fist. I need help with this whole job thing.
A second female voice echoes through the front hallway, and then two sets of footsteps are coming back. Make that three, as a tiny blond girl scuffs her tennis shoes on the carpet, stopping when she sees me. She reminds me of Hope when we were little.
Behind her, Gail and the lady, who I’m guessing is the little girl’s mom, are chattering, and they walk into the kitchen, probably for another cup of coffee.
The little girl puts her hands on her hips, cocks her head, and frowns. “That’s not your baby.”
I’d laugh if I weren’t about to choke. I force a smile. “Of course it is. Would you like to see her?” I hold Addy out, showing her to the little girl.
“You’re not old enough to have a baby. My daddy says you have to be thirty and married and have a nice house before the stork will let you have one. I tried asking Santa for one, but he just brought me a fake one instead. I cut all her hair off and had to sit in the corner for five minutes. Then—”
“Emma, go outside and play with Jonathan.” The little girl’s mom takes her by the shoulders and steers her to the French doors behind the dining table. Now that I look outside, I see the little hellion, as Chris calls him, whacking the picnic table with a gigantic stick. I already know how this will end. The little girl will be inside crying her brains out in ten minutes—if that long.
Gail breezes back into the room and places a third mug of coffee on a coaster. “This is Janine Evans from across the street—who I was telling you about. And Emma. She’s seven.” She shakes her head and whispers, “And quite a handful.” Then she tugs a chair over from the dining table so Janine can sit and reach her coffee. “Janine, this is Leah.”
“Nice to meet you,” Janine says, sitting and brushing her wispy blond hair back off her face. It’s dry and brittle, and bleached that color. Her capri pants dig into her waist, making a bulge over the top that her white knit shirt clings to.
“Hi.” I watch her fan herself with her hand.
“Whew. That kid’s gonna kill me someday. It’s too hot for coffee, Gail. Got iced tea?”
“Sun tea’s brewing outside on the picnic table.”
I peer out, wondering if the tea pitcher has fallen victim to the hellion’s big stick.
“Can I hold your baby?” Janine asks. “I wish Emma was still that size. They grow so fast.”
Addy’s still calm, taking it all in. I almost say no, afraid to chance a baby mood swing, but hand her over anyway. Janine beams and cuddles Addy into her chest. “Gail says you’re staying at Ken Buckridge’s house.” She lifts her eyes to Gail, and a look passes between them.
I don’t know what the look means.
“Yeah.” I shift and put my hands under my thighs. I really just want to go to the park.
“Ken’s a nice man, don’t you think, Gail?”
Gail sputters, then coughs. Coffee sprays everywhere. “Wrong pipe,” she says, straining through her coughing fit.
“I’ll get you some water.” Happy to have an escape from the Weird Sisters, I jump up and dash into the kitchen. After opening two cupboards, I find the glasses and fill one with water.
Gail’s still coughing when I return, but not as much. She mutters “thank you” when I hand her the glass.
Janine bounces Addy on her knee like she’s two years old, and not two months, which she isn’t anyway. Addy’s head is bobbling around.
“I think we’re going to get going. It’s about time for another bottle, and I don’t have one with me.” I grab Addy off of Janine’s lap and head for the door to the garage before either of them can stop me. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, shoving my way out the door.
Outside, I take a huge gulp of air and hold it in for ten seconds, then push it out. “That was painful, huh?”
Addy squirms and lets out a sharp shriek.
“Yeah, I could scream too. Let’s go to the park now. Hope you don’t mind if I grab a few applications on our way home. You like wearing diapers and eating, don’t you?”
She kicks and waves her fists.
“That’s what I thought.”
chapter
eleven
When we get back late in the afternoon, there’s a car in our driveway that I’ve never seen. Chris and Mr. Buckridge aren’t home, and I instantly feel like throwing up, wondering if the person inside is waiting to arrest me and take Addy back.
Then logic sets in. Whoever it is has to have a key. Anyone here to arrest me wouldn’t be inside.
Unless that person has a warrant.
Shit. I don’t know what to do. They’re blocking my car. I don’t have the car keys anyway. Addy’s fussy and wants to be out of the heat. I’m screwed.
Without any other options, I push the stroller around to the patio, lift Addy out, and go inside through the back door.
The smells of lemon wood polish and spaghetti sauce fill my nose. There’s a plump old lady with curly gray hair stirring a pot on the stove. “Hello!” she trills when she sees me, dropping her spoon and rushing over to kiss my cheek and lift Addy out of my arms. “Christopher told me you had a baby. I’m his grandma, Ken’s mom. I come over most days to take care of my boys, clean, you know, things like that.” She squeezes Addy tight. “Aren’t you just the smallest little bundle ever? Little sweetie. Grandma will love you up!” She makes her way by the table, her hips bumping against the chairs as she passes them, and into the family room.
Everything inside me wants to jump for joy. She’s not here to arrest me, and I’ve never had a grandma. I want her to squeeze me a
nd love me up too. I was always jealous of the other kids for having grammies, mee maws, nanas, and grannies.
My mom’s mom abandoned her when she was young. I don’t blame her. Mom was probably evil then, too.
“Leah, dear?” Mrs. Buckridge calls from the family room. “I think your little darling needs a diaper. Mind if I go up and change her?”
Do I mind? Hell no. She can change diapers until her fingers fall off. “No, I don’t mind. I’ll come up with you.”
She takes the stairs slowly, planting her feet deliberately on each step, her hand grasping the railing and sliding up as she rises. At the top, she opens the door and goes inside, with me behind her.
“Okay, little darlin’, we’re going to get you all cleaned up.” Her body rocks back and forth as she walks straight into my bedroom. “Diapers in here, Leah?”
“Yeah, on the changing table on the side of the Pack ’n Play.” I hurry in after her.
“The things they have for you young moms. Pack ’n Play.” She shakes her head, tearing the tabs back on Addy’s diaper. “We just tossed a towel on the sofa when we changed our babies, and put them to sleep in a crib.”
My eyes snag on Addy’s umbilical cord. At two months, her stub would be gone. At least that’s what the baby books I skimmed through told me. Mrs. Buckridge’s head tilts. I can tell she’s examining it and thinking the same thing.
“I’ll get her a crib,” I blurt, trying to get her mind off of Addy’s belly button and back to our conversation. My hands wring together. I’m screwed. She knows something’s up.
She watches me carefully. “It’s fine, dear.” Her hands rest over mine and squeeze. “You’re doing a good job with her. Chris thinks so too. He won’t stop talking about the two of you.”
I blink a few times. We stare at each other. “Thanks.” I’m not sure what to say. Maybe she didn’t wonder about Addy’s stub. And Chris talks about us? To his grandma? I’m baffled.
Mrs. Buckridge snaps Addy’s romper back up. “Get me a bottle and we’ll put her down for a nap. She’s tired.”
