by Jamie Blair
“Can I help you?” There’s a woman in a blue blazer and a crisp white shirt behind the front desk.
I step up to the desk and clear my throat. “Yes. I’d like to know how much a room would be for the night.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any available rooms for the next two days. There’s a big televangelist convention in Jacksonville with a bunch of those TV ministers.” She waits for me to nod, like I know who she’s talking about. “Most of the hotels in the area are booked.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway.”
I walk back to the car with an instant headache.
I stop at two more hotels and one seedy-looking motel with a dry, cracked in-ground pool taken over by weeds. Even the skanky motel is booked. The fat, sweaty guy behind the desk there tells me that even all the campsites in the area are full. “Good luck,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head.
I don’t know what to do, so I get back on the highway. Addy starts to fuss, and a look at the clock tells me it’s time for a bottle. Since there’s nowhere to get off or pull over, I drive with her screaming for another fifteen minutes until I get to a rest stop. It’s lucky that they have a drinking fountain, because I didn’t make any bottles before we checked out of the hotel this morning, figuring we’d be settled in our new place by now. Stupid me.
Sitting on a bench in the shade, I watch Addy drink her formula. All I wanted to do was give her a nice place to live.
My shoulders and chin feel like gravity is sucking them downward.
I’m sad. Sad and defeated.
But I didn’t steal Addy and make it this far to let some baby hater like Mr. Buckridge get the best of me. Maybe if Chris’s dad met Addy, he’d see that she’s a good baby and let us live there. After all, Aunt Ivy likes Addy. . . .
It hits me like a box of rocks dropped from the sky. Ivy’s my way in. I can hear her with the phone in her hand saying, “He does what I tell him to. I’m his favorite auntie Ivy.”
Hope bubbles in my stomach and makes me giddy. I probably shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t play Ivy like this, but there’s no other way.
Addy and I find the mall and window-shop for the rest of the day. I splurge and buy caramel corn and a soda. At nine thirty Addy needs to be changed and starts crying, but it’s not time to head to the car and Green Witch Soap and Suds yet—they don’t close until eleven. I still have time to kill since I don’t want to get there until Ivy is gone.
In the lower level of the mall, there’s a movie theater. We ride down the escalator, with Addy getting louder and louder all the way. Trying to look like I have an urgent situation, I run to the ticket window and point inside the theater. “I need to change her fast! It’s dripping out!”
The man at the window looks grossed out and waves me in. “Go ahead. It’s to your right!”
I dart into the women’s bathroom with Addy and lean my back against the door. “We did it,” I tell her. “Let’s hope the big plan works as smoothly.”
After changing her, I sneak into a movie about bridesmaids who go on a trip for a bachelorette party. It’s a good thing Addy sleeps through it, because she’s way too young for an R-rated movie. I crack up at the funny parts and try to forget I’m a homeless runaway kidnapper.
When the movie ends, I drive to Green Witch Soap and Suds. It’s well past closing time, and the parking lot’s empty when I pull in. I pick a spot that’s not right up front but not all the way in the back either. I want Ivy to see us when she gets here in the morning.
Addy’s asleep, so I don’t bother changing her into pajamas; I just leave her in her car seat and tuck a blanket around her. “ ’Night-night, baby.” I kiss her forehead, and she sighs.
It’s a long, hot, uncomfortable night. When I leave the windows down, bugs fly in, but I have to leave them cracked at least, or we’ll suffocate. There must be ten mosquitoes in the car that I’m trying to squish against the dashboard. Addy’s got a big welt on her cheek where she’s been bitten. I’ve given her another bottle already, gotten absolutely no sleep, and it’s three in the morning.
By six, I’m contemplating driving back home. But I can’t. I don’t want to see my mom ever again. “Just a few more hours,” I tell myself. I give Addy another bottle and crash out with her on my lap.
• • •
A knock on my side window wakes me. “What in God’s name are you two doing? Did you sleep here all night?” Ivy grabs the door handle and tries to jerk it open.
I unlock the door and let her open it. “Yeah, we did. All the hotels are booked. I wanted to catch you to say thanks for trying. I appreciate it. It didn’t work out, though. Your nephew doesn’t want to rent to someone with a baby.”
She scowls. “That’s the most ridiculous . . . That man . . . I just . . . Come with me!” She lifts Addy off my lap and marches to the door of Green Witch Soap and Suds with her keys jingling.
I follow her inside and sit at the same table I sat at before while she takes Addy around the bar and grabs the phone. While it rings, she plops a kiss on top of Addy’s head.
“Christopher,” she says, “put your father on, please.” She nods her head a few times. “Oh, yeah, he is in big trouble with me.”
After a few minutes, she clears her throat. “Good morning, it’s your favorite auntie Ivy calling to ask you what on earth you were thinking casting a young mother out onto the street? Do you know they slept in the car last night?”
Her head starts shaking back and forth. “No. I don’t care. You’re being a stubborn, ridiculous man, and you will rent this room to Leah and Addy, or I’ll call in the big guns.” She smirks. “Oh, I would. Now, I’m sending Leah back over.” She winks at me. “Uh-huh. Then leave a key in the planter.” Ivy jiggles Addy on her hip. “Fine, then. Love you too. Buh-bye.”
She hangs up and looks at me. “He’s leaving your front-door key in the planter on the back patio table.”
I rub my eyes and yawn, trying to look humble and not like this whole scheme worked out just like I’d planned. “Are you sure he’s okay with it?”
“He’s fine with it.” She hands Addy over to me and ties her apron around her waist. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
“Thanks, Ivy. I don’t know what we would’ve done.”
I reach over and hug her with Addy trapped between us, squirming. Even though the appreciation is real, I feel like I have a little bit too much of my mother in me if I can manipulate someone so easily. It makes me feel like there’s something vile crawling up my back.
chapter
eight
After finding the key, I open the front door. It feels wrong at first, being in someone else’s home without that person there. The home of someone who doesn’t want us to be here.
I sit on the couch and dig a baby blanket out of the diaper bag, then spread it out on the tan living room carpet. Addy lies in the middle with her big eyes searching around her. I wonder if she remembers where she is.
She’s a good baby and doesn’t make a sound as I haul in all her stuff, the Walmart bags from our shopping trip, and my one meager bag of clothes, and sit them at the bottom of the stairs.
My hand grasps the railing, and I realize I’m taking shallow breaths as I climb the stairs. My mind is picturing Chris, shirtless, singing and painting two nights before. I won’t let myself wonder why he’s so good to a stranger and her baby.
I need this.
I deserve this.
Addy deserves this.
I turn the doorknob and peek inside the room. He didn’t just paint the room—which is now a warm candlelight ivory—there’s a wall, too, dividing the far third of the room from the rest. It runs halfway across, enough for a private area.
I hurry and look beyond the wall. A double bed and dresser have been set up for me. I have a real bed, not just a mattress on the floor. There’s a frame, a box spring, a headboard—it’s all there. It’s dizzying, seriously dizzying. Who is this boy and how can he be so generous?
&nb
sp; It takes me fifteen minutes to drag everything up the steps. Then I carry Addy up and lay her in her Pack ’n Play while I unpack our new towels and wonder where the bathroom is. Since Addy’s still content and nobody’s home to show me around, I go downstairs to snoop.
At the bottom of the stairs, the family room and front door are to my right, and the kitchen is to my left. The kitchen is bright with white cupboards. A long oak table sits in the middle with six chairs. Two are mismatched. There’s a lazy Susan in the middle of the table holding salt and pepper shakers and napkins. There’s a sticky ring on the table at the seat on the end.
I’m biting my lip. My heart is about to slip up my throat. Other than the ring on the table, there’s no grease or grime anywhere. All the cupboard doors are intact, closed, and on hinges.
I open the fridge. It’s not full, but there’s milk . . . and orange juice . . . cheese, lunch meat, and some leftovers in a plastic container—spaghetti, maybe. Real people live here, not like at my house. At my house, we’re dead; we just keep breathing and keep waking up waiting for it to be over. But here they’re alive—for real.
A toaster sits in the middle of the counter with a plate beside it and a tub of butter. Crumbs litter the plate and countertop. Breakfast before work—what a concept.
I grab a dishcloth from the sink and wipe the table and counters. I push the toaster back against the wall, then put the plate in the sink and the butter in the refrigerator.
These men need someone to take care of them. God knows it can’t be me, but I can do my part to help while I struggle to keep Addy and myself fed, and with a roof over us.
There’s a back door at the far right end of the kitchen. Through the square window in the door, I can see that it leads out to the patio. On the far left of the kitchen is a small hallway with a laundry room off of it.
I traipse into the family room and down the hallway that runs alongside the staircase. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom at the back of the house. I stop and close my eyes, breathing in Chris’s scent.
Without thinking, I walk into the first bedroom on the left. His guitar is lying on his bed, on top of a navy blue comforter, hastily yanked up but still messy. He has a Spiderman pillowcase, and seeing it makes me happy for some reason. I run my hand over it and smile.
Three beat-up, broken guitars lean against the far wall, under a window. On a shelf above the bed, there’s a collection of superhero bobbleheads. I tap each one and crack up watching them bounce on spring necks. They’re dusty. I wonder how long he’s had them.
A well-worn houndstooth newsboy cap hangs off of his computer monitor. Next to it, empty Coke cans are stacked in a pyramid—their precise spacing an oddity in this disaster of a bedroom.
There’s a dresser with its drawers pulled out, overflowing with unfolded jeans and T-shirts, and a pile of clothes on the floor in front of the closet. Black Converse high-tops peek out from beneath the jumble of clothes.
My hand reaches for a T-shirt, but I pull it back.
I’m a creeper.
I shake my head, returning to my senses. Addy starts crying upstairs.
• • •
By four o’clock, I’m bored out of my mind. Addy’s been fed, and I’ve eaten half a pack of M&M’s I found in the bottom of my bag. I can recite every nonperishable food item in the kitchen cupboards and list the reading material on the floor beside Chris’s bed: Steven Tyler’s rock-and-roll memoir, the book World War Z, and several Marvel comics.
I load Addy up in her stroller, determined to find a park or somewhere to waste time during my days until I find a job. We head down the sidewalk, over the cracks and bumps made by the tree roots that have grown too big over the years.
Dappled sunlight filters through the green leaves above us. Addy squints and jerks her head every time the sun shines through the branches into her stroller.
I’m surprised to find people out in their yards at this time of day. There seem to be a lot of stay-at-home moms watching their kids play around, and retired people mowing well-watered, emerald-green lawns.
This is nothing like where I’m from.
This is how normal people live.
People with real jobs.
People who don’t sell drugs or sex or babies.
A little boy dashes down his driveway toward us, on a small black and silver bike with training wheels. He’s not stopping. Immediately, I realize he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s screaming, and his mom’s running after him.
I push the stroller out of the way and prepare to catch him or be hit. The front tire of the little bike smashes into my bare leg as my hands grasp the handlebars. “Got ya!”
Pain sears through my shin. Blood’s dripping down into my sock.
“Oh my gosh!” The mom grabs her son, squeezing him to her chest, while her eyes examine my leg. “Come on.” She motions for me to follow her as she rushes back up the driveway. “I’ll get some Band-Aids.”
I tug the stroller along behind me, following the woman and little boy up the driveway to the open garage. “I’ll just wait. . . .”
She’s already inside. I can hear her scolding her son. “I told you not to touch that bike until I was done bringing the groceries inside and could watch you!”
Addy’s kicking and squirming in her stroller, and I’m afraid she’s about to have a fit. The woman bursts back through the door and walks through the garage to where I’m standing.
“I’m so sorry about that.” She hands me a wet paper towel and some Band-Aids. “He’s not quite five and doesn’t know how to ride it very well yet.”
“That’s okay.” I wipe my leg and apply the bandages. “It’s not that bad. I’m glad I was there to run into.” I laugh, trying to make her concerned expression fade. “He might have ended up worse than me.”
“No doubt he would have. He’s an accident waiting to happen. Thanks for catching him.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “I’m Gail.” She reaches out and shakes my hand.
“Fai—” I cough, covering up my near-blunder. “Leah.”
She looks down at Addy. “What a beautiful baby.”
“Thanks.” I brush Addy’s wispy hair back. “Her name’s Addy.”
“Where do you live? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Her little boy comes back out and begins to stomp through the flower bed. I point down the street toward the white cape cod with the black shutters and green awnings.
“We just moved in down the street.”
She follows my finger and her eyes widen. “With Ken Buckridge?” Then she peers down at Addy again. “Oh. I didn’t know Chris had a girlfriend.”
“No! No, I’m not.” I indicate Addy. “She’s not. I’m only renting their upstairs. We just met yesterday.”
Gail smiles, but the corners of her mouth are tight, and there are creases between her eyebrows. “I didn’t know they were renting the upstairs.” She squeezes Addy’s teeny foot, and her jaw quirks, relaxes. “You two will be good for them.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but my leg’s throbbing and starting to swell, and I just want to sit down. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I think Addy’s going to start fussing soon, so I’m going to get her back home.”
“Okay, well, stop by and visit sometime. I’ll introduce you to some of the other women in the neighborhood.”
“That sounds nice.” I give the stroller a nudge and try not to limp as we head back down to the sidewalk. I wave and smile, attempting to hide the pain I’m in. “Bye.”
Halfway to 356 Maple, I see a black pickup truck pulls into the driveway. Music blares from the open windows. Chris’s hair blows around in the breeze.
My heart jumps to life.
How have I become so hooked on a guy I met yesterday? But watching him park his truck and hop out, I know how. Nobody’s ever done half as much for me, and he doesn’t even know me. He’s a good person, and I haven’t known many of those.
On his way to the front
door, he stops when he spots us. “Hey!” His smile’s genuine and fills his whole face. He jogs across the yard to meet us.
After seeing his room, I half expect him to be wearing a superhero T-shirt, but he just has on a plain white T-shirt covered in dirt. He’s filthy. “All moved in?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I watch his tall frame moving toward me, his jeans shifting with each stride, his shirt hugging his chest. I stop the stroller as he reaches us. “I love the paint color and the privacy wall. Thanks.”
He bends down, leaning his head into the stroller. His fingers wrap lightly around Addy’s arm. “You’re welcome. Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened. My dad can be . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with him sometimes. Do you need help moving anything in?”
I ignore the jab in the pit of my stomach at the mention of Chris’s dad. “No, we’re good. We don’t have much, so it wasn’t difficult.”
He unbuckles Addy and lifts her out of the stroller. “Is it okay if I carry her in?”
I cringe at the dirt on his shirt, but he’s already got her pressed against his chest. “Sure.” I can always give her a bath.
She turns her head toward his neck and snuggles into a ball. Somehow she feels how I do with him.
Safe.
Secure.
Home.
All those months inside my mother must’ve made her feel unloved, unwanted, adrift. Now she has me to take care of her, and Chris, too, I guess. It’s a mystery what he’s providing her with—us with—but whatever he’s offering, we’re taking it.
I follow behind him, pushing the stroller alongside Mom’s car, which makes my stomach lurch. I have to do something about those Ohio plates. Will they even be looking for a stolen car from Ohio in Florida? I don’t know, but I can’t chance it.
At the front steps, Chris hands Addy over to me, takes the stroller, and begins to fold it up. I wonder at his stroller expertise—since I almost lost my mind trying to figure it out.
“What happened to your leg?”
I look down at my bandages and shrug. “Oh, nothing really. Just saved the life of the little boy down the street. You know, nothing big.”