by Jamie Blair
My stomach drops to the floor.
My heart pounds in my head.
I can’t swallow.
“I’m—”
“We’ve had moms like you before.” She glances at my chest, making me all too aware of the nametag still pinned there. “This isn’t a daycare; it’s to be utilized by parents who are here, on the premises to work out. You’re lucky you’re here. I was just about to call the police.” She gestures to the clock. It’s five after nine.
I have no idea what to say. What can I say? “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You didn’t have anyone else to watch her.” She takes a step toward me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to raise a baby. There’s always adoption, you know.”
I feel my face contort with rage. “Fuck off.”
I grab Addy and her bag while the lady tells me my membership card is no longer valid. At least I got one night of free babysitting out of the deal.
The girl behind the counter snaps her gum and smirks when she sees me. She’s flipping through a magazine. I slam my hand down on top of it. “And fuck you, too.”
chapter
fourteen
Chris is fiddling with an old guitar he’s fixing up for this guy, Manny, who owns the bar in Jacksonville where his band plays. “It’s a fifty-nine Gibson Les Paul Flame Top,” he says, wrapping a guitar string around his finger.
His drummer, Aaron, stopped by to drop off the guitar. He glances at me for my reaction.
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means.” Addy squawks beside me. I shift the patio chair where I have her lying, nestled in a blanket, out of the sun. It’s got to be ninety degrees out. I would love nothing better than to jump in the pool, but I don’t have a bathing suit.
“It means that guitar is worth more than Chris’s truck,” Aaron says. He laughs and taps a rhythm on the glass tabletop with his index fingers.
Chris laughs too. “It also means that I can charge him an assload to fix it.” He turns a little silver knob that tightens the string. “Not many people know how to repair vintage guitars like this—at least not well.”
“How’d you learn?” I ask, leaning forward to watch him work.
“Gramps.” He tugs on his cap, like a tribute to his grandpa.
“Shit, man,” Aaron says, “you need to ditch that roofing job and do this full-time. You saw that Les Paul sell on eBay the other night for ninety-eight grand. Dude, you’re missing your calling.”
Chris just shrugs. “Yeah.”
I can’t decide if I like Aaron. He’s either the best guy ever, since he’s Chris’s friend, or the complete ass he’s coming off as to me. Considering the difference in definition alone, I shouldn’t have such a huge problem putting my finger on it, but he’s a hard one to peg. Plus, I’ve only known him for a half hour. But he has this swagger and cocky smile that make me want to punch him in the face.
“You work tonight?” Chris asks, glancing up at me through his thick eyelashes.
“No.” I dart a glance at Aaron and watch him take a deep drag on his cigarette. “I’m not sure when I work next. I need to check with Gretchen.”
When Chris found out Mrs. B got me a job, he’d asked where I was leaving Addy while I worked. I’d told him I got a sitter for her and changed the topic. I don’t need him to know I’m the world’s worst person ever for abandoning her at Fitness Plus last night. He’d probably hate me forever. He likes Addy better than me anyway—or at least as much.
I called Gretchen earlier today and told her my childcare fell through. She asked how I was feeling, and I could tell she still wasn’t convinced that I’m sick. I was waiting for her to release me to my destiny by giving me the it’s-not-working-out speech, but she didn’t. Yet. She told me to let her know when I could be put back on the schedule.
“Speaking of Gretchen,” Mrs. B says, banging through the screen door, “she just called me. Why didn’t you tell me you needed a sitter for Addy? I would’ve waited until you had childcare before I told her you could start working.”
Great, I let Mrs. B down. She gets me a job and I bail the first night. I’m such a loser. I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me now. “Sorry. I thought I had it worked out, but I had to pick up Addy by nine.”
“So you told Gretchen you were sick.” She purses her lips and fiddles with the top button on her shirt.
I nod, glancing at Chris. He’s smirking. He thinks this is funny. Jerk.
Aaron’s still drumming his fingers like he’s oblivious.
“Well . . . ,” Mrs. B says, her face melting a little from its sour expression. “Just be honest with us from now on. I can watch the little one if—”
“No.” I can’t let her down again. There’s no way I’m accepting more help. “Thanks, but you’ve done a lot for me already. I don’t want to take advantage—”
“Don’t ever think you’re taking advantage of me!” She smacks my arm. “You live here. You’re like a part of the family now. You have no idea how much I’ve missed my Kay—” She clamps her mouth shut and glances down at her feet. “How much I’ve missed having a baby around.”
I can practically feel Chris’s entire body tense. It reverberates through the air.
Mrs. B takes a deep breath and smiles. “I thought I heard Aaron out here.” She leans down and squeezes his shoulders. “How are you, dear? Can I get you three something to drink? It’s a hot one today.” She fans the neck of her shirt in and out.
“You should go for a swim, Mrs. B.” Aaron taps his fingers on the table again. I wonder if he drums on the pillows when he sleeps.
“Heavens no! I’m too old to put on a swimsuit.” She pats her hair into place. “Why don’t you let me watch the little one for a while so you young kids can go have some fun?”
Chris lays the guitar on the table, scoots his chair back, and stretches. “I’m getting hungry. You guys want to get something to eat?”
“I gotta get going,” Aaron says, stubbing out his cigarette on the thick sole of his Doc Marten boot. “Told Manny I’d fill in for him behind the bar tonight.” He stands up and swings his arms back and forth a few times. “You two should stop in.”
“It’s an hour and a half away,” Chris says, adjusting the tension on the guitar strings. “Kind of far to stop in.”
“What else do you have to do?” Aaron says, knocking me on the shoulder with his fist like we’re pals. “Hang out with this chick?” He winks at me.
I want to hit him with my fist too, but much harder . . . and not on his shoulder. There’s just something about him that makes me cringe.
“Chris, take Leah and get something to eat,” Mrs. B says. “Come on.” She tugs his arm. “Get out of here. I want that baby to myself.”
• • •
In line at the Taco Bell drive-thru, Chris glances over at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Gretchen busted you with Grandma.”
“Shut up.” I turn my head and look out the window.
He pretends to cough. “I’m so sick. I have to go home.” His laugh bounces off the windows and fills the cab of the truck. “Faker.”
I whip around and shove his shoulder but can’t help laughing too. “Shut up!”
The line moves, and he pulls up to the speaker. “What do you want?” he asks.
“Two soft tacos and a Coke.” I dig in my pocket for a couple of bucks while he orders. “Here.” I hold out three dollars, and he looks at it like I’m trying to hand him one of Addy’s dirty diapers.
He waves my hand away. “I’m paying.”
The bills feel soggy in my sweaty hand. I stuff them back into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to pick up Addy instead of leaving work early? I would’ve helped you out, you know.” He rolls his window down, exchanges cash for the bag of food, and hands it over to me to hold.
I didn’t ever think of asking Chris to help me. He would’ve, I know that, but it never crossed my mind.
The thought of him coming to my rescue makes me uncomfortable. Relying on other people hasn’t worked out for me in the past—well, ever. “I have to figure this out on my own—how to be a mom, I mean.”
He nods. “I can respect that. But just know I’ll help when you ask.”
“Okay.” I tie the handles of the plastic Taco Bell bag, then untie them.
“We can eat at the park. There’s a lake and picnic tables. It’ll be fun.” He adds a smile to prove how fun it will be.
“Yeah. I’ve been there a couple of times with Addy and Gail and Jonathan.”
A line forms between his brows. He readjusts his backward cap.
“I thought you only wear your grandpa’s cap when you play.” I twist the plastic bag handles around my hand.
He shrugs. The line’s still there in his forehead. “Felt like wearing it.”
“Is something wrong?” I twist the handles again.
He darts a look at me, then looks back at the road. “No. It’s cool.”
We drive the last few blocks in silence, listening to his toolbox for his roofing job rattle around in the bed of the truck, until he pulls into a parking spot at the park. “Here, I’ll carry that.” Chris takes the bag off my lap, but I have to pry my fingers out of the knotted handles. My fingers are red with white stripes where the plastic dug in.
He comes around to open my door, but I’ve already hopped out. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”
“It’s cool.”
It’s so not cool. There is something wrong with him. I said or did something I shouldn’t have, or maybe I didn’t say or do something I should’ve. I don’t know. I’m a freaking idiot though, that’s a given.
I follow him toward a picnic table. Three geese come out of nowhere and start nudging my legs with their beaks.
“Hey! Stop!” Chris shouts in front of me. He’s surrounded by a swarm of geese poking and nipping at him. The Taco Bell bag is raised over his head.
About fifty more geese are waddling toward us at top speed. “Uh, Chris?” He looks back, and I nod toward the gaggle of approaching birds.
“Let’s eat in the truck.” He grabs my hand, and we run back to his truck with nipping beaks and disgruntled honks right behind us.
We both jump in and slam the doors, panting and laughing. “Look at them,” he says. “They’re circling.”
“I think they’re plotting our demise.”
“I think you’re right. Who knew geese ate tacos?” He puts the bag down between us and sets his drink in the cup holder. “First time I take you out, and you almost get mauled by a pack of geese with a taste for Mexican food. Perfect.” He rolls his eyes and tugs on the bill of his backward cap. A hint of a smile flashes on his face.
“That would be the worst first date ever,” I say, and clamp my teeth together. I can’t believe I just said this was our first date. He never said this was a date. Oh. My. God. I hate myself.
His hand digs into the food bag. “Come on, the worst ever? Death by goose? I’ve had much worse first dates than that. Suffering through them was worse than death.” He hands me my soft tacos.
I jab my straw against my leg until the end pokes out of the wrapper and I can grab it with my teeth to pull it out of the paper. “So, not many people can fix up old guitars like you?”
He shrugs and plays it off like it’s no big deal. “I don’t know. I know I’m good at it from the amount I get away with charging.”
“Could you do it all the time, like Aaron said, instead of roofing? Would you, I mean?”
His eyes tell me he’s hesitant to talk about things like this—dreams, goals, the future. I know how he feels, I just don’t know why Chris would be feeling it. He has such a good life. Why would thinking about the future scare him?
“I’d love to,” he says. “Dad wants me to go back to college. Get a real job.” He folds the taco’s wrapper down over the end of it. “I’m not really the academic type, if you haven’t noticed. I’d rather get out and do things than learn about doing things.”
“I can’t see you sitting behind a desk in a tie,” I admit.
He groans and rolls his eyes. “That would kill me. Want any sauce?” He tears open a packet of mild with his teeth while holding his taco in the other hand.
“No, thanks.” I open my taco wrapper and start scraping the lettuce off, trying not to get it all over me or his seat. I hate lettuce. And tomato. All vegetables, really. We never had vegetables at my house, unless you count French fries . . . and ketchup.
“Why didn’t you tell me to order it without lettuce?” The corner of Chris’s mouth quirks up as he chews.
“I just pick it off.” I shrug and pluck a shred of orange cheese off the seat beside me, and his hand swipes down and brushes the rest of the cheese and lettuce I’ve dropped onto the floor.
“You’ve seen my room, right? I’m not all that concerned with cheese on my seat.”
“It’s cool?” I tease. He always says it’s cool.
He snorts and laughs, coughs a few times and swallows, then takes a long sip from his straw. “You almost made me choke. That would not be cool. Death by choking due to a lame attempt at mockery—worst first date ever.”
“Would that make me the superhero of bad first dates?” I take a bite while he wads up his empty wrapper.
He tosses the wrapper onto the floor and tugs my hair. “Stop making fun of me, or I’ll be forced to bring up your Tae Kwon Do moves on the Pack ’n Play.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh while I chew and try not to choke.
“Seriously, what was the deal with that? It looked like you were about to make a break for it.”
I take a drink and stall while he unwraps another taco and squirts hot sauce on top of it. “There’s no deal to tell you about. It’s cool.”
He blinks and nods, his face falling into a stoic expression. “I see. It’s cool.”
He finishes his taco.
I finish mine.
We don’t talk.
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I ask, because it’s obvious that I’ve done it again—whatever it is that I’m doing, or not doing.
He shrinks down and leans back against his seat, making his cap lift in the front. “Nothing’s wrong, Leah. I shouldn’t expect you to be straight with me—we just met.”
He’s upset because I won’t tell him what was really going on when I was kicking the Pack ’n Play—acting like I’ve hurt his feelings or something. “Being a martyr doesn’t work with me. If you’re pissed, be pissed.” I shove the door open and jump out. “I didn’t leave my mom to deal with someone else’s shit.” I slam the door and realize what I said. Shit. At least I didn’t say I’m a kidnapper.
I take five steps through the gravel parking lot, and Chris grabs my arm. “Wait.” I try to pull my arm free, but he won’t let go. “Please, Leah, I’m sorry.”
He steps in front of me. His eyes are green. Blazing green in the bright sun. He’s not very happy right now. “I’m trying to get to know you.” His hand drops to his side. “There’s something about you that’s so raw and open, but at the same time, you’re the most guarded person I’ve ever met.” He laces his fingers and rests them on top of his cap, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I blew it. Come on, I’ll take you back home.”
He turns, and I touch his back. “There are things I can’t tell anyone about. Not just you.”
He glances back over his shoulder. “Did you run away? You said you left your mom.”
I’m suddenly bloodless and cold. He knows. “I’m eighteen, so it’s not technically running away.” What’s another lie? I’m already leading the parade to hell, so I might as well say I’m eighteen. “She can’t find me. I won’t talk about it.” I look down and watch my foot scuff through the gravel.
It’s the deal breaker.
I have secrets.
I can’t tell him the truth, and he knows it.
His hands fall on my shoulders. “It’s cool, Leah.” My
eyes rise to his. He’s smiling. I’m not cold anymore. “I don’t have any right to ask for your secrets. We just met. Maybe someday . . .” He shrugs. “Get back in the truck before the geese realize their prey came back outside. I won’t be the superhero of worst first dates ever.”
“You’re leaving that title to me, huh?” We start walking back to the truck. His arm’s tucked around my waist.
“Not by a long shot.” His finger pokes my side.
I glance at his face. He’s smiling and totally oblivious of what I truly am—the superhero of guilt and deception.
• • •
Later that night, Letterman is on upstairs. Both of my legs are across Chris’s lap. I’m lying on my back. His hands run up and down my bare thighs, making chords and strumming like I’m a guitar.
He still hasn’t kissed me.
I might explode.
He laughs at something on TV.
I don’t.
I’m annoyed.
“Didn’t you think that was funny?” he asks.
“I’m not really watching.” I can feel my forehead tighten.
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.
He lifts his hands off me. “Sorry.”
“You’re an idiot.” I sit up, shaking my head.
“I’m an idiot?”
“How is it that you can touch me like that and not kiss me? Are you trying to make me crazy?”
He laughs. “I thought it might be too soon.”
I turn my face to his and squint in confusion. “But not too soon to rub my thighs?”
“You’re right. I’m an idiot.”
I wait for it. “Well?”
He throws both hands in the air. “I’m not going to do it now. You’re all pissed at me for not doing it.”
I shove him and try not to laugh but can’t help it.
“Will you stop touching me?” He laughs and scoots to the opposite end of the couch. “You’re getting me all worked up.”
I toss a throw pillow at his head, too embarrassed to speak.
He wings it back, and it whacks me in the face. His laugh is loud and sharp, like a bark.
