Leap of Faith

by Jamie Blair

  Addy cries from the other room, sealing the end of our conversation.

  “I’ll get her,” he says, lifting his knees to bounce me off of his lap and onto the couch.

  He disappears into my bedroom, and I hear him say, “Hello, little love.”

  I now know nothing more about his past than I did ten minutes ago, but with those three words to Addy, he’s driven himself even deeper into my heart.

  • • •

  The next day at work I’m on edge all day, snapping at customers. The newspaper article perches on my shoulder like my conscience, and the stolen car hunkered in the far corner of the parking lot drives me crazy. I can’t wait to get it back in the driveway, hidden in front of Chris’s truck.

  “Hey,” Gretchen says, “since lunch rush is over, come back and help me make lasagna.”

  This instantly puts me in a good mood. I’ve been thinking that after they let me start cooking, I could make them the buffalo chicken pizza I invented at Giovanni’s—not officially, it was never on the menu or anything—and maybe they’ll let me come up with some weekend specials.

  Maybe I can even make it to Italy someday. Or go to cooking school. Maybe, twenty years down the road, maybe I can have my own restaurant. Maybe.

  I swipe a wet sponge over the counter by the coffeepot and toss it into a bucket of water before finding Gretchen in the kitchen.

  I can’t ignore the fact that I skipped through the kitchen door, and it makes me paranoid.

  “What’s wrong?” Gretchen asks, lugging a huge log of provolone cheese out of the cooler.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  Someday I’ll stop doubting the good stuff.

  Someday the paranoia will be gone for good.

  Not today.

  • • •

  When a cop saunters through the door thirty minutes before the end of my shift, I forget to breathe. Sweat trickles down the side of my face, and I wipe it with the back of my hand. He flips through his notepad as he approaches the counter.

  “Can I help you?” I croak.

  He scoots onto a stool. “Yes. Do you know who owns the Oldsmobile parked in the back corner of the lot?”

  I shake my head no and turn toward the kitchen, hoping Gretchen isn’t listening.

  “Know anybody by the name Faith Kurtz?” He taps his pen on the counter.

  “No. Would you like some coffee? Or water?”

  The bus boy pushes a cart through the kitchen door and into the dining room. I avoid his gaze. He returns to the back.

  “I’m fine,” the cop answers. He reaches up to the walkie-talkie hooked to his shoulder, presses the button, and leans his mouth toward it.

  I catch the words “stolen vehicle” and “impound.”

  Shit, shit, shit. How am I going to explain this to Chris? How will I get home?

  “Thanks for your help.” The cop gets up and leaves.

  “What was that about?” Gretchen is behind me. It feels like someone stuffed a concrete block into my chest cavity. “He’s towing my car.”

  “Why?” Gretchen starts rolling silverware.

  My mouth goes on autopilot. “Expired plates.”

  “That sucks. I forgot once, and they only gave me a ticket.”

  “I’ll call Chris for a ride. Mind if I use the phone in the office?” My voice sounds high pitched and shaky.

  “Sure. Go ahead. Don’t forget to get your car seat before they tow it.”

  Shit. Car seat. “Thanks.”

  I sprint out to the parking lot and look around for the cop. He’s parked out front by the road. I quickly open the car door and unhook Addy’s seat. I know it’s snowballing to an end. I can’t allow Chris to keep getting deeper and deeper into my lies. He’s harboring a fugitive. If I stay any longer, I won’t just break his heart, I’ll ruin his entire life.

  chapter

  nineteen

  The Fourth of July has always been my favorite holiday. No matter how wasted and bitchy Mom was, the fireworks still exploded in the sky over the lake in the park. She couldn’t ruin it or take it away from me.

  Even if Santa didn’t come on Christmas, the explosions on the Fourth shook me from the inside out, making me forget everything but the water lapping against my legs as I sat on the shore. Sometimes I’d lie back and stare into the sky, and sometimes I’d watch the fireworks drown in the water’s reflection.

  My favorites are still the gold ones that shoot out in all directions then fall to earth sizzling and crackling.

  My house was close enough to the park that I always prayed for one of the fireworks to get a little too close.

  To land on the roof.

  To spark a fire.

  To take my mom away for good.

  It never happened.

  Of course it didn’t, or I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in, sitting here on Mrs. B’s patio, eating burgers and potato salad, like I’m not being hunted down by the police for kidnapping and stealing a car.

  Chris’s arm rests on the back of my lawn chair. His thumb traces circles between my shoulder blades. With every rotation, I hear chanting in my head:

  You’re a liar.

  You’re a liar.

  You’re a liar.

  I shift forward, out of his reach. He stands and takes my now-empty paper plate. “Want a brownie? I’m getting one.”

  “Only one?”

  He cracks a smile. “You know me too well. Okay, probably two . . . or three.”

  “Yeah, grab me one, please.”

  He goes inside, where platters of food are spread out on the table, leaving me alone with the people who occupy my fake life. Mr. Buckridge sits in a lawn chair against the garage, talking to some old guy. Most of the guests are old. Gretchen stopped by earlier with her little boy but left to take him to see the fireworks. Mrs. B’s garden-club members are here, all blue haired and bespectacled. They’re all drinking decaf coffee and tugging sweaters over their shoulders despite the ninety-degree heat.

  That’s what happens, I guess. You go from cutoffs and kegs to cardigans and decaf. I never want to get old.

  Mrs. B comes over and sits in Chris’s vacant seat. “That baby’s made her way around to everyone, I think.” She pats my leg. “Edith has her now, took her in to change her diaper.”

  Old ladies love babies. This is something I’ve learned in the past couple of months. “She’s probably getting tired. She’ll be fussing soon.” I start to stand, to go inside and find Addy.

  “Sit.” Mrs. B presses my shoulder down. “She can stay the night here. You and Chris go enjoy the fireworks. I used to love seeing the fireworks with Chris’s grandpa. It was so romantic.” She gives me a sly smile. “We’d come home and make fireworks of our own.” She winks, and I fight off the urge to hurl. The thought enters my mind that she’s insinuating that Chris and I will be making fireworks tonight. I’m instantly uncomfortable. Does she know or just assume? There’s no way he’d tell his grandma, of all people. I take a deep breath and try to relax.

  Chris’s hand appears over my shoulder holding a brownie. I take it and look up at him. “Thanks.” He’s smiling and chewing and has chocolate frosting on his upper lip. It reminds me of my birthday, and I want to lick it off.

  He swallows and brushes his hands on his shorts. “Squirrel Girl’s asleep. I put her in the Pack ’n Play.”

  “You’re so good with her, dear,” Mrs. B says, squeezing his arm and beaming up at him. “Even if you do call her silly names. You’ll make a wonderful dad someday.”

  His face turns crimson, and he avoids my eyes. “Thanks, Grandma.”

  “Come inside with me for a minute,” she tells him, getting up and tugging him by the arm. “We’ll be right back out,” she calls to me over her shoulder.

  My butt’s falling asleep from sitting in this chair for so long, and my thighs are sweating against the woven plastic seat. I stand up and run my hands over the back of my legs, feeling the meshlike imprint in my skin.

&n
bsp; I walk to the farthest corner of the yard among the flowering bushes, fragrant lilies, and a small koi pond. Although I’ve been to Mrs. B’s house before, this is my first time in her backyard. It’s so different from the dirt and weeds that we called a yard back in Ohio. My feet reach the stones surrounding the tiny pond, and I watch the orange fish dart around underwater. The sun has set, but it’s not yet dark. My reflection is like a shadow.

  Another shadow reflection appears over my shoulder.

  “How’s work going, Leah?”

  I spin around to face Mr. Buckridge, the man who says approximately three words per day to me. “Hi” and “good night.” It’s like he has no idea what to say to me.

  “It’s great. I like it a lot.”

  “I hear you learned to make the secret Mariani sauce.” He stares down into the pond. I turn back around and resume my fish gazing too.

  “I did, yeah.”

  Neither of us speaks for about five minutes, and it’s awkward as hell. I’m about to walk away when he clears his throat.

  “You know, I was afraid that Chris was getting too attached to you and the baby.” He looks at me like he’s waiting for my response. “Not because I don’t like you or don’t want him involved with you, and Addy’s a wonderful baby. It’s just . . .” He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Has he told you about his mom and sister?”

  “Umm . . .” I glance back over my shoulder to see if Chris is outside yet. He’s not. “He said they both passed away, when I asked him about the tattoo on his chest.” I bite my lip and want to be sucked into the ground—I just admitted that I’ve seen Chris without a shirt. At the very least. God knows what he’s thinking now. “That’s all he said about it.”

  He nods and closes his eyes. “After his sister, Kayla, was born two years ago, my wife went into a pretty bad depression . . . this postpartum, baby-blues thing. Then, one morning, Kayla just didn’t wake up.” He pulls one hand from his pocket and runs it over his face. “Since my wife was already having a hard time, after Kayla died she couldn’t take it. Even though she tried counseling and antidepressants, she just turned deeper and deeper inside herself. Shut everyone out.” He rocks on his heels and looks up at the darkening horizon. “One day, she slit her wrists. I found her on the bathroom floor when I got home from work.” He exhales quickly from his mouth into the sky, like he’s releasing demons, and turns his eyes to me. “I just don’t want him getting all wrapped up in another woman and baby to have them taken away again.”

  I feel the tears, see my vision blur, but they won’t fall. I won’t let them.

  He can’t see how tortured I am.

  He can’t know I have to leave soon.

  He can’t know his son will be hurt again.

  “What’s going on?” Chris asks, coming up behind me.

  “Just watching the fish,” his dad says. He pats my shoulder. “Glad you could be here.” He walks past Chris and pats his shoulder too. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you both . . . later.”

  “Later,” Chris says.

  “Bye,” I say. My voice cracks. Chris doesn’t notice.

  He grips my arms and leads me into a warm, wonderful kiss. The tears finally fall down my cheeks as I close my eyes. And they don’t stop.

  He pulls back, wipes his cheek, and looks at his hand, then me. “What’s wrong? What did he say?”

  “Nothing.” I let out a shaky laugh. “He didn’t say anything. I’m just being dumb.” I swipe the tears off my face.

  Chris cups the back of my head with his hand. “No. Something’s making you cry. Tell me what it is.” He kisses my forehead.

  I put my hand on his chest, over the spot where his tattoo is hidden. “He told me about your mom and Kayla.”

  He leans back to look at me. “What did he tell you? Did he tell you everything?”

  I shrug. “I wouldn’t know if it wasn’t everything.”

  “But, he told you about my mom? How she died?”

  I nod.

  “What about Kayla?”

  I blink a few times, contemplating his guarded expression and what it means. “He said she just didn’t wake up one morning.”

  He takes a deep breath, sucks in his lips, and looks over my shoulder, toward the bushes.

  “Chris?” I wait until his eyes meet mine again. “Is that why you help me and Addy? That’s why you try to keep us safe?”

  He doesn’t answer, just wraps me in his arms and holds me so tight to his chest, I can barely breathe. “I love you,” he says into my hair.

  “I love you too,” I whisper into his chest, feeling like a traitor. Hating myself more than he ever will. I’m aching inside so badly, I wonder if this is how his mother felt. I don’t know what I’ll do when I no longer have him in my life.

  • • •

  We’re sitting in the middle of a field, side by side on the hood of Chris’s truck. There are no other cars or people around. It’s just us. Chris has his guitar, and the notes he picks sound hollow and desolate, echoing through the silence.

  “Don’t people around here come out to watch fireworks?” I lean back, propped on my hands.

  “Most of them go to the town square. I come out here. I’d rather watch them alone. Is that pathetic?” He turns his head and looks at me, then strums his guitar.

  I lean back onto my elbows. “No. I always find a spot by myself too. There’s something about fireworks—they make you lonely, but good lonely.”

  We’re close enough that I can see his eyes even though it’s pitch black. They’re intense, probing mine. “Exactly,” he whispers. “You get me, Leah.”

  He grasps my chin with his thumb and index finger and leads my face to his, where our lips meet. His kisses are so delicate and sweet. He cherishes me. I can feel it in his kiss.

  He leans his forehead against mine. “My grandma wanted me to go inside with her so she could give me something. She’s hoping I’ll give it to you someday. I know I will. I know I want you to wear it for the rest of your life.”

  My entire body goes numb. Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about? Did she give him her ring?

  If that wasn’t clear enough, he takes my left hand and kisses my ring finger.

  Holy shit.

  Before I get my heart and mind back in sync, there’s a deafening boom, and reflected in his eyes I see the brilliant sparks of multicolored fireworks.

  I can’t deny how I feel about him. I love him. I want that ring someday. I want to be his wife. I want him to be Addy’s father.

  If I keep her that long.

  If he doesn’t hate me when he finds out what I did.

  If I don’t go to prison for the rest of my life.

  His lips find mine again. His hands stroke my face, my legs, my neck. We make love on the hood of his truck, under a sky filled with lonely fireworks.

  chapter

  twenty

  When Chris and I get home from work on Friday night with Addy, we’re faced with the shock of a lifetime. Gail and Jonathan are there for dinner.

  As soon as Chris sees them sitting at the table eating pizza, he throws his keys against the wall and storms into the kitchen.

  He doesn’t break his stride. “Dad, I need to talk to you outside.” He continues through to the back door that’s thrown open as he goes out, the screen door banging against the house.

  Ken’s pissed. He gets up and follows Chris, taking care to close the door behind him.

  I slink into the kitchen and slide onto the chair beside Gail, resting Addy on my shoulder. “How did this happen?” I gesture to the pizza.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He called late last night and told me he’s tired of being alone. He said he’s ready to move on with his life. Then he asked me to come over with Jonathan for pizza tonight.”

  “Hmm.” I force a smile. I’m happy for her but devastated for Chris. Ken might be ready to move on, but Chris isn’t ready for him to forget his mom.
r />   “Chris is pissed, huh?” she asks.

  I grimace. “What gave you that idea?” I lean back in my chair. “Ken’s pissed too,” I say.

  She nods. “What a mess.”

  Outside, their voices rise, making it possible for us to hear them inside. “Jonathan”—I stand and walk round the table—“come upstairs and watch TV with me and Addy, okay?” Chris and Ken’s fight has even shocked Jonathan into stone stillness. I’ve never seen him like this.

  “I’m coming too.” Gail jumps from her chair.

  We hurry Jonathan up the stairs and get him situated with some cartoons. Just as I sit down with Addy and a bottle, I hear the back door slam.

  “Want me to take her?” Gail asks, knowing I want to go to Chris.

  I nod and hand Addy over. “I’ll be right back.”

  I open the door and listen before creeping down the steps. It’s silent. Ken is sitting in his spot at the kitchen table, staring at the ceiling.

  “Want me to tell Gail you’re back inside?” I ask.

  “She upstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sighs and pushes his chair out. “I’ll go up. We’ll go to her house.” Before he climbs the steps, he pauses. “Talk to him. He needs someone to listen. It can’t be me now. He doesn’t want it to be me anymore.” His shoulders slump. I’ve never seen him as sad.

  I don’t see Chris. His keys are on the floor by the coffee table. I pick them up and head down the hall to his room. The door’s shut, so I knock. When there’s no answer, I open it.

  He’s lying on his bed with his back to the door. “Hey.” I ease into the room and shut the door behind me. “Are you okay?” I sit down and put my hand on his head, stroking his hair. “Talk to me.”

  He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything. I lie behind him and drape my arm over him. We lie in silence for what seems like forever.

  “Did you know?” It’s almost a whisper.

  “Did I know?” I sit up, and he rolls onto his back.

  “Did you know about her and my dad?”

  I’m not sure why it matters if I knew. “She’s mentioned your dad before.”