Leap of Faith

by Jamie Blair

  This woman’s like the baby whisperer or something. How does she know she’s tired? She’s not crying. I cross to the kitchen area and make a bottle. Mrs. B sits on the couch with Addy. I hand her the bottle and she holds it up, studying it. “She eats this much already? I’m surprised she doesn’t throw it all back up.”

  I’m an idiot. “She does. So, it’s too much to give her?”

  She lowers the bottle and blinks at me. “Don’t those maternity nurses teach new moms anything anymore?” She makes a tsk tsk sound while adjusting Addy and slipping the nipple into her mouth. “I’m surprised she takes it all. Guess your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” she says to Addy. “Well, I’m not giving you all of it. We’ll see how you do with half.”

  Thank God this woman knows what to do with a baby. Addy’s not defective, and she’s not going to die. I’m just feeding her until she pukes. Perfect. Nobody on earth is worse at this baby thing than me.

  “Can you turn the TV on, Leah? My soap opera’s on. Channel eight, please.”

  I flip the TV to her soap opera and sit on the floor.

  “Go on in and take a nap, dear. You look run down. Does the baby keep you up at night?”

  I shrug. “She’s pretty good. Last night she cried a lot.”

  “Go.” She shoos me with her hand, momentarily taking the bottle from Addy, who squawks in protest. “Go take a nap. We’ll be fine.”

  The bed’s cool and soft. I crawl deeper beneath the covers and let them pull me under.

  • • •

  At ten o’clock that night, Addy’s asleep and I’m wide awake from napping earlier. Lounging on the couch, I’m trying to fill out applications with the TV chattering in the background. I have one for the gas station down the street, one for McDonald’s a block away on the main road, one for a pet store in a strip mall, and one for the Dollar Store where I bought baby wipes today.

  It’s not like I want any of these jobs, but I can’t afford to be picky. I’m not going to get hired anyway, though, because they ask for information I can’t put down in writing, like my social security number and the name and phone number of my past employer. One application asks for three professional references.

  Seriously? I’m applying to flip burgers, not ensure homeland security. What the hell?

  I don’t know what I’m going to do with Addy while I work either. Keep her in the car?

  I toss the applications off my lap, onto the couch. Anxiety surges through me. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, waiting for it to subside. How can I just pretend that this is my life now? I have no idea what I’m doing.

  I want to call Hope. I want her to come get me. I want to be the girl in my photo at the beach with a normal family—with a normal mom. I want to go home to that mom. I want that time back. I want Addy to have that kind of life.

  Tears start falling hot and fast from my eyes. A single sob escapes my lips before I clench them tight.

  This was my decision.

  Now I have a baby and have to deal with it.

  Now I’m alone and have to get used to loneliness.

  The tears are stubborn, though, and refuse to stop. I don’t know how long I sit there crying, but my eyes are puffy and gritty. I’ve wiped them so much, my vision’s blurry from smudged mascara. I sniffle, wishing I had a bathroom with some tissues or toilet paper to blow my nose into.

  I stumble off the couch. My head spins as I shuffle my feet toward the kitchenette to grab a paper towel, which is better than my sleeve. I take a big breath, about to start blowing, when there’s a single rap on the door, and it’s opened.

  “Leah?” Chris sees me standing by the sink, all snotty and gross. His eyes go wide. “Are you okay?”

  I’m mortified, but I nod and finish wiping my nose. I fold the paper towel and swipe it under my eyes, too, where I’m sure my runny eye makeup has me looking like a zombie. At least I don’t have his T-shirt on tonight.

  “You don’t look okay.” He eases the door closed.

  I shrug. “I’m okay. Really.”

  He stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets. “Want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head.

  He nods. “Okay. That’s cool. I just got home from band practice and thought I’d see if you wanted to watch TV or something, but I’ll leave you alone since you’re . . . uh . . . okay.” He grins and runs a hand through his hair.

  “No, stay,” I blurt way too quickly. The desperation in my voice makes me cringe.

  “You sure?” He raises his eyebrows. His eyes kill me. They’re so sincere.

  I smile, attempting to bring myself back under control. “Of course.” My hand yanks open the fridge door, and I pull out two cans of Coke. “Catch!”

  He clasps his hands around the one I toss to him and pops it open. “Thanks. Hey, I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.”

  He takes a step toward the door, then turns back around. “How’s Addy? Can I look in on her?”

  “She’s great.” I motion toward the bedroom and watch as he quietly enters.

  I think I’m falling for a guy who’s in love with my kidnapped baby. My life is a bad prime-time drama.

  chapter

  twelve

  I love that I have only a couch. Chris has to sit next to me when he comes back up from changing into his basketball shorts and Superman T-shirt—Superman rocking out on a guitar.

  My eyes dart from his shirt to his face, and I crack up laughing.

  “Shut up,” he says with a sheepish smile. “My grandma got it for me for Christmas. I have to wear it.”

  He grabs the remote off the cushion beside me as he flops down and flips on Letterman. I watch him bend down and set his Coke can on the floor at his feet.

  While he’s absorbed in the show, I’m kind of staring at him and hoping he doesn’t notice. I turned the lights off, so it’s dark except for the light flickering from the TV. I shift so that my leg, which is drawn up and bent, brushes his.

  I wonder why a guy like him is always hanging out at home. He has a band, so I’m guessing he has friends. “No big plans tonight?”

  He swivels to face me. “Nah, my friends all hang out with their girlfriends unless we have a gig.” His gaze falls down over my chest, up to my eyes, then he shrugs.

  I’m hyper aware of every part of my body, and I’m hyper aware of him sitting beside me with my leg touching his.

  Thank God he looks away to the TV again before I pass out from not breathing.

  His elbow’s resting on the back of the couch near my head, and he’s playing with his hair. I want to thread my fingers through his. I want to entwine them in his hair.

  His profile’s perfect. His lashes are long, his nose just the right size and shape, his lips full and kissable.

  He laughs and turns to me. I flash my eyes to the screen and laugh too, even though I have no idea what we’re laughing about.

  He turns back to the screen, but as he does, he rests his open hand on my knee.

  I’m in shock that he’d touch me again after I freaked yesterday, and I’m feeling very hot all of a sudden.

  Every once in a while, his fingers bend, stroking my leg, making my breathing jagged. I hope he can’t hear it.

  He turns his head to look at me again. This time I don’t move my eyes from his. I don’t pretend I wasn’t staring. He leans toward me, his lips get closer to mine, and I hold my breath. Then he stops and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands up. “I’m going to bed before I crash out here on your couch. See you tomorrow.”

  I’m still holding my breath as he turns the doorknob and leaves.

  • • •

  After a fitful night of trying to not think of Chris’s hand on my leg, Addy and I are at the park.

  With Gail and Jonathan.

  We’re sitting on a bench under a wispy, spindly tree. She’s trying to avoid Janine for some reason and keeps looking over her shoulder toward the park entrance, w
atching for her.

  “Do you know of anyone who babysits?” I ask. “I’ll need someone to watch Addy when I get a job.”

  “There’s a lady over on Elm Grove. I don’t know her, but she has a sign in her yard sometimes when she has an opening. You could check with her. It’s a little brick house with a red door. About halfway down Elm Grove on your left. You can’t miss it. Her name’s Terry Woods, I think.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

  I commit Elm Grove, brick house, red door, Terry Woods to memory by repeating it in my head ten times.

  Gail peers back toward the park entrance again. She’s wearing the red bandanna around her head that I thought was for gardening.

  “What’s the deal with Janine?” I ask, not really caring, but sitting in silence is making me crazy.

  Jonathan’s throwing rocks down the slide. The other kids’ parents look murderous. We’ll have to leave soon.

  “She’s such a gossip. She thrives on drama. When there isn’t any, she’ll make some. I just don’t want to be in her cross fire.” She looks over her shoulder.

  I’m pushing Addy’s stroller back and forth, and she lets out a little mewl when the sun shines in on her through the thin branches. Vampire baby hates the sun—that’s one thing I’ve learned about her, other than the puking.

  “Why would she gossip about you?” I stop pushing Addy’s stroller when it rests in a patch of shade, and stretch out on the bench. I need a nap after last night’s flipping and flopping around instead of sleeping.

  She sighs. “Long story.”

  I expected her to say she didn’t know why, or there was no reason, not that it was a long story. It’s almost like she wants me to ask her about it.

  A loud cry erupts from the swings. Gail hops up and runs to Jonathan, who’s lying on the ground holding his leg. He jumped. He’ll kill himself one day if he doesn’t stop acting like a freaking maniac.

  I push Addy over to them. “Is he okay?” I shout over Jonathan’s screaming.

  “I don’t think it’s broken,” Gail says.

  She hoists him up and gives him a piggyback ride all the way home.

  I run inside the house and grab my car keys, set on finding Terry Woods on Elm Grove so I can get Addy settled with a sitter and earn some money for us to live.

  • • •

  Terry’s house sits on a hill. The driveway’s dug in, so it’s like driving into a tunnel.

  I press Addy against my shoulder and make my way up the concrete steps to the house. There’s a broken shutter hanging like a loose tooth from the front window. Deep claw marks are scratched into the middle of the door. I look down just in time to avoid a big pile of dog crap—it must be one huge dog.

  My eyes catch the corner of a faded black and red Beware of Dog sign stuck in the overgrown tangle of weeds and bushes beside the front stoop, just as a pair of paws strike the door with a bang and a thunderous bark.

  Addy jolts awake, completely defenseless and screaming for her life, and I’m dripping with sweat and barely breathing.

  The door swings open before I knock, and there’s a large woman standing there screaming, “Back, Spike! Back!” She kicks one foot toward a black and tan monster of slobbering, growling, craziness. A toddler in a diaper squirms under her arm. He has matted blond hair and what looks like grape jelly smeared all over his chest.

  She gives me an irritated look. “Yes?”

  My eyes dart between her and Cujo, who is frantically trying to get past her leg to bite mine off. “Never mind. I have the wrong house. Sorry to bother you.”

  I turn and hustle down the walkway, back to the car. My hands fly with the buckles on Addy’s seat belts so we can get the hell out of here before the frazzled woman releases her dog on us.

  I peel out of the driveway and press my back into the seat. “That was a total nightmare, Add. There’s no way I can leave you there.”

  I glance back in the rearview mirror at the fuzzy hair on top of Addy’s head. Every now and then she lets out a screech of indignation.

  “You mad at that dog for waking you up?”

  She shrieks.

  “Yeah. You tell him.” I crack up at her baby fists waving in the air. She’s going to be ferocious when she’s older.

  I have no idea what to do now, but I decide to drive around and see if there’s a day care nearby. If I can’t find one, I’ll stop back home and ask Mrs. B if she knows of any place close. I don’t know why I’m bothering. Day cares are way too expensive.

  At the first big intersection, I turn right. No day cares so far. I pass a mall and a big fitness center. There are a couple of car dealerships, a sports bar, a hair salon, and a bike shop, but no daycares. Don’t kids live in this town? Or do all the moms stay home?

  I’m turning left when the idea hits me, and I make a quick U-turn.

  I find a spot right up front in the Fitness Plus parking lot. A fan blows down hard on us when I push the tinted glass door open. It’s a wind tunnel in the vestibule.

  A girl stands behind the counter, popping her gum and talking on the phone. She’s about my age, I can tell. She eyes me up and down and tells her friend to hold on.

  “Can I help you?” A fake smile smears her glossed lips.

  “I’d like some information, please.” I switch Addy to my other shoulder.

  The girl pulls out a brochure and unfolds it on the counter in front of me. “We’re open seven days a week, five a.m. to nine p.m. Here’s a list of classes we offer.” She points to the right side of the brochure. “We have a track, racquetball courts, stationary bikes, step machines, ellipticals, treadmills, free weights, and an Olympic-size pool.” She takes a deep breath, preparing for the next part of her memorized pitch. “Trainers are available by signing up here at the front desk ahead of time, and the Kids Club is staffed with certified childcare specialists.”

  Bingo.

  “How much is a membership?” I reach for my money, inside the diaper bag, between the diapers and the bottles.

  “It’s usually one fifty to join and sixty a month, but right now we have a promotion going on, so your membership fee is waived and the first month is free.” She snaps her gum and darts an anxious glance at the phone.

  “Perfect. Do you have a form I fill out?” You’re not supposed to leave your kids there when you’re not in the gym, but it’s cheaper than day care, even if they do close at nine, and I’m not sure what my schedule will be when I find a job. I’ll figure something out. I didn’t think I’d even get this far.

  I fill out the application with Addy fussing and squirming, and we head home right before she has a meltdown. It’s time for her to catch some z’s.

  • • •

  “Leah.”

  I roll to my back but don’t open my eyes. “Hmm?”

  I hear Chris’s whispered laugh. “Are you hungry? We saved you some spaghetti.”

  My eyes snap open and focus on his, shining in the dark. I gasp and sit up. “What time is it?” I put Addy down for a nap at four and lay down on my bed for a few minutes to rest.

  “Seven. You were tired.”

  My hands run down my face. “Oh my God! Where’s Addy?” I swing my legs out of the bed, but he pushes me back onto my pillow.

  “Relax. She’s fine. Grandma’s got her, and she’s not ready to give her up yet anyway.”

  “But it’s been hours!”

  He sits on my bed. “It’s no big deal.” There’s a curious look in his eye.

  “What?” I ask.

  He sucks on his bottom lip as he thinks of how to say what’s on his mind. “Addy’s dad. What’s the deal with him?”

  “What do you mean?” Shit, I don’t have a story for this. My mind races.

  “Why aren’t you with him?”

  “He’s not a nice guy.” That’ll work.

  “Why not? What did he do?”

  “He . . . I don’t know. I just have to stay away from him.”

  “Did he hit you?
Is that why you ran? Did he threaten you?”

  I nod, thankful that he gave me an out without me having to make up anything more.

  “He can’t hurt you here. You’re safe.” Chris pulls me into a hug. “Addy’s safe here.”

  I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of him. I’ve waited for this my whole life.

  My stomach growls loudly, which makes Chris laugh. “Come on.”

  He takes my hand and leads me down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Wait until you taste this,” he says, putting a plate of spaghetti and meatballs into the microwave. He presses the buttons, licks his finger, and smiles at me.

  I peer into the living room, where Mrs. B has Addy snuggled on her lap. The TV’s on—some old detective show, it sounds like—there’s a guy named Columbo. I know this because the volume is turned up loud. Old people can’t hear.

  The microwave beeps. Chris sets the plate on the table and pulls out a chair. I sit down and try not to be too self-conscious that he’s staring at me, waiting for me to take a bite.

  I twirl spaghetti on my fork and blow off the steam before easing it into my mouth. “Whoa,” I mumble with a full mouth.

  Chris plops down in the chair across from me. “Told ya.”

  Mrs. B’s spaghetti might be the best food I’ve ever eaten. The sauce is spicy and tangy, and I can’t eat it fast enough. I’m trying not to be a pig, but I don’t remember ever eating a homemade meal that didn’t involve Hope making mac and cheese and hot dogs.

  Chris leaves the kitchen and comes back in holding Addy. “Grandma makes the best spaghetti. She and my grandpa used to own an Italian restaurant up in Jennings. She sold it to my aunt and uncle when Gramps died. She works at a doctor’s office three days a week now doing scheduling or something, but she still goes to Mariani’s on the weekends and makes their sauce.”

  I nod, my mouth full of meatball, and wipe my lips with a napkin. Addy’s got a handful of his hair, and he’s trying to pry it loose. “I could eat this every day,” I say.

  “Me too. Hey, Grandma says she’ll watch Addy if you want to come to my show Saturday in Jacksonville.” He’s smiling faintly, but his blue eyes are wide, expectant. I’ve figured out they’re blue when he’s happy and more green when he’s tired or thinking about something.