by Jamie Blair
His face draws tight. He’s so mad, it looks like he could open his mouth and a deep, fierce growl would echo from his throat. “You never said anything.”
“I didn’t know it’s a big deal that your dad is seeing her.” I rest my hand on his arm, and he shrugs it off and sits up on the edge of the bed with his back to me. “Chris . . .”
“Just . . . don’t. I need to think. I have practice. I’ll talk to you later.” He grabs his guitar case and his cap and bolts from the room. Squeezing his keys, which are still in my hand, I lean against the headboard and wait.
The front door opens and closes.
I know he’ll be back.
The front door opens and closes.
He’s back.
I dangle his keys from my finger. “Looking for these?”
“Yeah.” He reaches out to snatch them, and I wrap my fingers around them, keeping them tight in my fist.
“You’re not getting them until you talk to me.”
He runs his hands over his face in frustration. “I’m late already, Leah. Just give me my keys.”
I shake my head. “No. Sorry.”
“I’m serious!” he shouts.
“So am I!” I shout back.
He dives at me, landing on the bed, half on top of me, half off. We wrestle for the keys. He grabs my wrist and tries to pry my fingers open. I kick and squirm and pull my arm free. We’re both irritated with each other, and we’re blowing off steam.
I can’t help it. This is so ridiculous that I start giggling. That only makes him angrier.
He takes both of my wrists and pins them beside my head. “This is funny to you? My dad’s dating her. Do you think it’s cool if he forgets about my mom?”
“No, that’s not—”
“I can’t believe you. I don’t know you at all.” His eyes drill into mine. I know he’s hurting. I know he doesn’t mean it, but his words sting. They’re the words I’ve heard him say to me in my head a million times.
I’m a bitch.
A lying bitch.
I open my hand, revealing the keys.
He takes them and heads toward the door. He pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “We’ll talk later,” he mumbles, then leaves.
• • •
I have this heavy blanket of sadness wrapped around me. When he gets home, I want things to be back to normal. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want any of that to ever have happened.
Addy’s asleep. My notebook and pen sit on the table in front of me. I’ve written until my eyes crossed. I’ve spilled everything about my life. I’ve told him about my mom, about Hope, about Addy. Everything. I’ve even told him how much I love him and how much I want to be with him, wearing his grandma’s ring.
My head’s pounding.
My eyes are raw.
My hand’s cramped.
I hear footsteps on the stairs. I dash across the kitchen and toss the notebook and pen into the drawer. He knocks. I tighten the belt on my robe and open the door.
He smiles, but it’s small and weak.
I cross the room and collapse onto the couch. He sits beside me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Okay.”
“I was mad that you didn’t tell me when she told you about my dad.”
“Are you still?”
“A little.”
“What was I supposed to say that you didn’t already know? If you wanted to talk to me about it, you would’ve. Why would I bring it up?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“I know. You’re right.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head and pulls me to him. “No. I don’t want to waste time talking about them. I’d rather think about us.” He kisses me quickly, testing the water. “How’s Add?”
“Sleeping.”
“Good. She’s been sleeping well lately.”
I nod.
“You’re still upset with me.”
I shrug.
He takes my hand, stands, and pulls me up. “Come on. Let me give you a massage to make it up to you.” He tugs me into the bedroom and makes me lie on the bed on my stomach. I feel his weight on my rear as he straddles me and sits down on top of me.
His hands press and knead my shoulders. It feels so good, I could lie here for days. “I hate to fight,” I say into the pillow.
He rises to his knees, scoops me into his arms, and flips me over. “Now comes the fun part. Making up.”
So we do. Twice. Before we fall asleep, I slip out of bed. “I have something to show you.”
Inside Addy’s baby bag, I find the picture of me, Mom, and Hope. I take it back to bed and hand it to Chris.
He scoots up against the headboard and studies it. “Hope and your mom?”
I nod and lean against his shoulder.
“You were young here. How old?”
“Eleven. That was during a very brief time when my mom wasn’t drinking or doing drugs.”
“You look like her.”
I hold my fist up over his crotch. “You want to lose your manhood right here and now, don’t you.”
He grabs my hand. “You look nothing like her. That’s what I meant to say.” He kisses my knuckles and turns back to the picture. “Addy looks a little like Hope.”
I snuggle into him. “I know.”
“Does Addy look like her dad?” He glances toward the Pack ’n Play.
“She gets her coloring from him.” It’s not a lie.
“Was he there when she was born?”
“No.” Another truthful answer. Just not exactly answering the question he’s asking.
“Who was there with you? Your mom?”
“Yeah, she was there.” Couldn’t have happened without her.
He rolls toward me and pushes my hair back off my face. “Would you ever do it again?”
I close my eyes and exhale. “Yes. Someday I’ll do it.”
His kiss brushes my lips before he pulls me into his arms and falls asleep.
• • •
Work’s a waste the next day. It’s rainy, and the dining room’s empty. Chris brought me in, along with a dozen gallons of Mrs. B’s sauce, which I helped her make. Now he’s in the back chatting with Gretchen. He keeps offering to pay to get my car out of the impound lot. I keep telling him I want to save the money myself. This is buying me some time.
Not that there will ever be enough time. Eventually, I’ll have to tell him that the car’s not mine. That Addy’s not mine.
I shove the Bissell carpet sweeper under a table where three little kids had just been sitting. No matter how many times I run the vacuum over the pile of Goldfish crackers, they won’t all sweep up. They left me a buck. Jerks.
The bell above the door jingles, alerting me to a customer. I turn and look.
It’s the cop.
This time he has a photo in his hand.
I drop to the floor, praying he didn’t see me, and crawl to the ladies’ room on my hands and knees.
I hear him calling “Hello?” at the counter.
Chris’s muffled voice answers a few seconds later.
The cop’s going to show him my picture.
He’s going to know.
He’s going to know my name’s Faith.
He’s going to know I kidnapped Addy and stole Mom’s car.
I start gagging and run to the toilet. I throw up and keep gagging. I’m going to lose him. I’m going to lose Addy. It’s happening.
The bell above the door jingles again. I peek out and don’t see the cop or Chris. I take a few steps and straighten my apron.
“Ahem,” Chris coughs behind me. “We need to talk.”
I’m screwed.
I follow him back out front. He sits at the counter, and I go around to face him. “What did the cop want?”
He raises his eyebrows. “He had a picture of you. Want to tell me why he’s looking for you?”
“He didn’t say?” H
ope blooms in my chest.
“No, and I didn’t tell him you were here.” He knocks on the counter. “It’s your ex, isn’t it? Addy’s dad. Is he looking for her?”
He has to stop doing this. Before I even get into a corner, he has me back out again and puts himself there instead. He just keeps bailing me out, feeding me excuses.
“I think so.” A light comes on in my head. “I can’t get the car back, Chris. It’s in his name. He let me drive it, but I don’t have the registration.”
He nods, closes his eyes, and sighs. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“I didn’t want you to know the cops were looking for me.”
He takes both my hands across the counter. “I love you, Leah. We’re in this together.”
I lean on my elbows and kiss his hands. “I have to go back,” I whisper.
“Go back?”
“I have to go back home to Ohio. I can’t stay. Everything’s a mess.”
He yanks my hands, making me look up into his eyes. “You’re not leaving. You can’t go back.”
“I can’t be with you with all of this going on. It’s not fair to you. You have no idea.”
Tears stream down my face now, and his eyes are wet. “You aren’t leaving me. You’re not taking Addy from me.”
I take his face in my hands and kiss him gently. “I have to go back and fix this. It’s time. They found me.”
He shakes his head. “Not without me. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but I’m going with you. Then we’re coming back home.” The fierce look on his face tells me he’s not going to waver on this.
I’ll have to figure something out. For now, I nod. “Okay.”
Before I leave the restaurant that night, I tell Gretchen I can’t work anymore and feed her the same lie I told Chris. My entire life is a huge lie.
I can’t live like this anymore.
chapter
twenty-one
The heat is sweltering inside the phone booth at the gas station. My sweaty hand clutches the handle of Addy’s stroller, which is parked right outside the phone-booth door. She’s belting out high-pitched squeals that could wake the dead.
The kid’s got some pipes.
I dig in the pocket of my shorts with my free hand for the pile of quarters I’ve been saving from my tips the past week. I know I have to make this phone call. I have to see how bad it is at home before plunging back in.
I plunk each coin into the slot, hearing it land with a hollow clunk inside the phone. Who knows how many it’ll take to call Ohio from a pay phone, but judging by the weight of the quarter stash in my pocket, I should be able to call China.
Needing my right hand to dial, I release Addy’s stroller and wipe my sweaty palm on my shirt before jabbing in her cell phone number as fast as I can. No second thoughts—just do it and get it over with.
She answers on the third ring. “Hello?”
I swallow.
My hand is shaking, making the receiver slide around against my ear. “Hope?”
Silence.
Then she clears her throat.
“What do you want?”
She’s not mean exactly, just monotone, suspicious.
“I’m coming home soon.”
“I can’t believe you did this. Mom is so pissed!”
“I know. Do you think I should call her? Before I come back, I mean?” I suck in my lips and jiggle the phone cord.
“Listen, I’m not involved in this. I told her that, and I’m telling you that. I’m at Ohio State. I have a life. I don’t want my old one back. Do you know you’re in the newspaper? Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
“But, Hope, what do you think I should do?”
“Turn back time and, let’s see . . . not steal the baby?”
“Okay, given that turning back time isn’t really an option, what else?”
“I don’t know, Faith. I’ve got to get to the track.”
There’s a click, followed by a dial tone.
I place the receiver on its cradle and push my hair back from my sticky face. My stomach hurts like hell.
Hope hung up on me.
She’s done with me.
I’m totally alone.
I shove the glass door open, bend over, and gag. I choke and spit. Tears stream from my eyes. My nose runs.
Between the whoosh of cars rushing by, there’s the sound of sobs—my sobs. I haven’t heard myself bawling since middle school, and it makes me want to kick something.
My hands swipe across my eyes. I grit my teeth, pound my fists against my thighs, and scream.
I can’t believe Hope won’t help me!
I dig in the bag under the stroller and pull out my Happy Place picture. My thumb runs over Hope’s face. My lips tighten and shake. “You suck, Hope! You suck!” I yell, tearing the picture into a million tiny pieces and tossing them to the wind. I watch as they drift into the road and get lost under the tires of an eighteen-wheeler flying by.
Thick tears drip onto the front of my T-shirt. I sniffle and blink like crazy, shake my shoulders, and take deep breaths. Screw them. I’ve gotten this far. I’ll figure this out by myself. I blow all the air out of my lungs and take hold of the stroller. “I don’t want to go back there, Add.”
I push her through the gas station parking lot, back to the sidewalk.
I can’t imagine pulling up to that house—where there’s no food, random men roaming in and out, and always a drunk, crazy woman to deal with—and getting out with the baby. I can’t imagine—don’t want to imagine—the look on my mom’s face.
The things she’ll say.
Giving over Addy.
Letting them wreck her, too.
I let my head fall back and close my eyes. The sun’s bright behind my eyelids, swallowing me in an orange glow.
I almost don’t notice the music drifting into my ears.
It sounds like an ice cream truck jingle.
I search around, thinking a Popsicle with a gumball stuck in the top sounds like a good plan for my leftover quarters. Then I realize the music’s coming from Addy’s stroller.
I let go of the handles and walk around to peer in. She’s stretching her arm up toward a toy cat dangling from the stroller’s hood.
Her face is one big ball of concentration—her forehead crinkled, eyes focused, jaw taut. Her arm wavers, fingers splayed, determined to reach the pink plastic cat and make the music play again.
She bats it, and it goes off. She pulls her arm in and sucks on her hand.
“That’s right, Add, lie back and relax. You earned it.” I lean in and rub her soft head, then kiss her cheek.
My eyes blur with more tears.
She’s all I’ve ever had.
This is a dumb thought, and I know it. I never expected to keep her forever, did I?
Maybe I did.
On the way home, I mentally catalog everything I’ve lost:
My dad. I have a vague memory of him from when I was really little, like maybe three. We’re sitting on a couch somewhere. A TV’s on, NASCAR, I think. The memory carries the distinct sour smell of beer and B.O. I want to say that he read me a book at bedtime, but I might be making that part up.
Shithead. A stray wiener dog my mom brought home once. She named him. He slept with me and chewed a hole in my Holly Hobbie comforter. Even though we’d gotten it at Goodwill, Mom beat him with her shoe and threw him outside. He ran away.
Frank. That boyfriend of Mom’s who hung around for about a year when I was in middle school. In addition to taking us on our one family vacation ever, he taught me how to play basketball and even got me onto a team at the Y. He came to every game. Then mom got stoned and fucked that up too.
Friends. I had one once. In first grade. Her name was Heidi. She had long blond hair that she wore in two braids on the sides of her head. Her front teeth were missing, and she carried a Barbie backpack. One day, I rode the bus home with her. My mom forgot to pick me up. When Heidi’s mom drov
e me back to my house, my mom was passed out on the front steps. That was the last day Heidi was allowed to be friends with me.
I don’t know if you could say I lost Mom. She was never really mine to begin with, outside of being the DNA donor and incubator for forty weeks. But when I looked at the picture of us—her, me, and Hope standing in the surf—I could still feel her thin arm resting around my shoulders. I could hear her laughing clear and loud when the waves rushed up our calves and we stumbled in the surf, holding on to each other.
But Hope. My heart twists and throbs at her words. I’m an embarrassment to her. Just like Mom’s always been to me. I’m just like Mom.
• • •
“Just a few more weeks?” Chris strokes my arm. His chest is bare, and his hair is tousled from sleep. Addy’s gurgling in her swing in front of the TV, and I’m getting Chris and me bowls of cereal for breakfast. He pulls me into his arms and tucks my head into his chest.
He’s warm. I could fall back to sleep standing here with my face pressed against his skin. I curl my toes over the tops of his. “I’ll think about it.”
He’s been begging and pleading with me to stay just a little longer. It’s almost impossible to even think about saying no to him without breaking down into blubbering, pathetic mush, but my call to Hope yesterday put the situation into perspective—I can’t hide out anymore. I have to fix things. I haven’t really escaped at all until I tell Chris everything and this running and hiding is over.
“I’ve been thinking.” Chris runs a hand over my head, getting his fingers stuck in my tangled morning hair. “He’ll probably just give up. The cops haven’t found you. They’ll move on, and he’ll give up.” His lips press against the top of my head.
“Yeah, maybe.” I know he doesn’t really believe this, so there’s no reason to argue about it. Plus, it’s a lie. What’s there to argue? It is what I make it.
He takes a deep breath. “Leah, I got a job offer. To fix guitars.”
I pull away to see his face. “You did?” I hear the sob in my throat lurch out, without knowing it was coming. It’s his dream.
He pulls me back to his chest. “Manny, the guy who owns the bar in Jacksonville where we play sometimes, put me in contact with the owner of Ley’s Guitar Shop there. They’re going to let me start when we get home from Ohio.” His thumb trails over my cheek. “Ley’s is, like, internationally known. They’ve even done work for Joe Walsh.”
