by Jamie Blair
• • •
Gail’s picnic table is gouged, and the wood stain faded. We sit across from each other with glasses of sweet tea and a bowl of chips between us. Jonathan rides his red Power Wheels Jeep around the backyard. Addy’s inside, where it’s cool, napping in her stroller. We left the French doors cracked so we can hear her if she cries.
Gail has her head in her hands, her elbows propped on the table. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she says.
My mind won’t focus on anything but the words “I love you” ringing through my head in Chris’s voice from last night, but I’m trying to be attentive since Gail has her own issues. “What’s going on, Gail?” I pop a chip into my mouth and watch as Jonathan gets dangerously close to crashing his Power Wheels into a tree.
“He doesn’t want me.” She collapses her arms. Her head falls on top of them.
“Who?” I didn’t realize she wasn’t over her ex-husband. I’m so not good with this. I have no idea what to say to a woman whose husband has bolted. I can’t even remember my own dad leaving.
As if she didn’t hear me, she says, “He’ll never get over his dead wife.”
Picking up my glass, I freeze halfway to my lips. “Huh?” I must have missed something. What the hell are we talking about again?
“I’m in love with him, and he doesn’t even want me.” She starts sobbing into her arms.
I’m so not good at sympathy. I pat her head. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll all work out.”
“I should’ve listened to Janine. She said Ken wasn’t ready to start seeing someone yet.”
“Ken Buckridge? What are you talking about?”
She shakes her head under my palm. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just remember, Leah, the truth only screws everything up. I told him I love him, and he hasn’t called me in three days.”
Yeah. I’ve got the truth lesson down already.
Later, pushing Addy’s stroller home, my mind goes over what Gail revealed to me. Not just that she’s dating Mr. Buckridge but that his wife—Chris’s mom—is dead.
Truth smacks me in the face. I don’t know a lot about the boy I’m falling for, and he knows nothing about me.
That night, after Addy’s asleep and Chris and I are practically naked in bed, I run my fingers over his tattoo. One of the dates on the cross is no longer a mystery. Now I have to figure out the other.
• • •
“I can’t wait to show you something,” I tell Chris when he gets home the next night. If I didn’t have him to share this with, I would go nuts missing Hope. As it is, I’m dying inside wanting to call and tell her, but I know she wouldn’t understand why I’m so excited about it.
“Watch,” I say, lifting Add out of the hand-me-down baby swing Gail had given me. I lay her on her stomach on a blanket covering the floor.
She pushes up, puckers her face, shrieks once, and rolls onto her back.
Chris claps his hands. “You rolled over, Squirrel Girl! I’m so proud of you!”
I feel tears start to build in my eyes. He gets it. He’s excited with me. “Squirrel Girl?”
“That’s what we decided her superhero name would be. Squirrel Girl could communicate with the squirrels and run really fast.” He scoops her up and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “You love watching the squirrels, don’t you?”
He takes her over to the window. “What a big girl you’re getting to be. Don’t grow up too fast, though. I don’t want to have to kick boys out of the house yet.”
When he’s this happy and talks about the future, I feel so guilty, I could die. I know I have to tell him, but I don’t know how. The longer I let it go, the harder it is.
He puts her back into her swing and takes me in his arms. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Sharing.” He gives me a soft kiss. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back up.”
When he’s gone, I sneak downstairs. Making sure the water’s running and he can’t hear me from the bathroom, I hurry into his room in search of paper and unearth a song notebook he’s clearly forgotten under a pile of old Coke cans and other junk.
Back upstairs, I grab a pen and start writing him a letter—a letter revealing everything.
Dear Chris,
My name is Faith Leah Kurtz. I’m a kidnapper.
I’ll spill my guts, but on paper, not out loud. Someday I’ll be brave enough to give it to him.
chapter
seventeen
The sky’s light, but thunder has been rumbling for the past hour. “Tornado watch until seven,” the TV meteorologist says.
Fear darts through me. I hate tornado watches. If it turns into a warning, I’ll need to get Addy and take her to the basement—fast.
More thunder rumbles. I keep my eyes glued to the TV for weather updates.
The storm is moving in fast. I’m huddled with Addy, wrapped in a blanket. She knows something’s coming. She’s fussy. Chris is downstairs yakking with his dad like we’re not all about to die when the house is blown away. The cheeseburger and fries he picked up for me on his way home from work sit on the table in my kitchenette getting cold and rubbery. I’m too terrified to eat.
Thunder rolls and lightning cracks. I jump about a foot off the couch, and Addy cries. The air feels all wrong, like we’re on the verge of something, like someone’s picked up the earth and flipped it over. I can’t be alone up here one more second. “Chris?” I shout.
The door’s shut. He can’t hear me.
My feet kick the blanket off of us. I carry Addy over to the door and pull it open.
A whispered argument hits my ears before I can yell for him again.
“Those two up there are not Mom and Kayla. You can’t change things. You can’t make things right, Chris.”
“Dad, I’m not trying to. I know they’re not Mom and Kayla. That’s not—”
“Chris, I’m not dumb. I see what’s going on with you, even if you don’t.”
Chair legs screech across the floor.
“Don’t turn your back on me. I’m still your father. I’m the one—”
“You’re the one sleeping with the slut down the street. Yeah. I know.”
“Chris, don’t you even—”
I close the door fast, but silently. I don’t want to hear any more.
Collapsing back onto the couch, I press my hand against my mouth, shocked. What the hell just happened?
I hear footsteps pound up the stairs, and Chris throws the door open. He smiles, but I can tell it’s forced. His face is flushed, and he turns from me and walks to the sink, where he leans his hands on the counter and hangs his head.
“Are you okay?” I don’t want to let on that I heard what went on between him and his dad, but it’s obvious he’s upset.
He nods. “It’s cool.” He takes a deep breath and spins back around, then spies my food, untouched on the table. “Why didn’t you eat? Squirrel Girl fussy?” He comes toward me with his arms outstretched. “Here, I’ll take her while you eat.”
I shake my head, not wanting to let go. Holding Addy is comforting. “I’ll eat later. The storm has me freaked out.”
His face melts into its natural, warm expression as he drops down beside me and takes Addy and me in his arms. His lips meet the top of my head. “There’s nothing to worry about. We have about an hour left until the tornado watch expires.”
A flash fills the room, followed by a loud crack. I bury my face in his chest. “I hate that.”
“There are worse things than a thunderstorm.”
I trace my finger down his chest, over the spot where the cross tattoo hides under his shirt.
Kayla.
That’s the other date.
Kayla.
• • •
We open my bedroom window to hear the rain. Every now and then a cool breeze blows in and skims across our hot skin.
I love the weight of him on top of me.
I love how our fingers entwine and squeeze.
I love how his slow, deep kisses linger.
“Why won’t you let me make love to you, Leah?” he says, pulling his mouth away from my lips and moving on to my ear, where he nibbles.
My entire body is liquid. Hot, boiling liquid. “Is it too soon?” he asks.
I want to shout, No! I want him so badly, I might die. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.
But instead, I nod. Certain the minute we sleep together he’ll know I’m a liar and it’ll all be over. My body aches with deprivation.
He pushes himself up and hovers over me. “Too soon because you’re not sure how you feel about me? Or too soon physically because of the baby?”
Holy crap! He just gave me the answer I’ve been searching for. “I’m afraid it’ll hurt.”
He smiles, dips, and presses his lips to mine. “But you’re sure about us?”
“Very sure.” I wrap my arms and legs around him and pull him back down on top of me.
Ten minutes later, I’m tugging his boxer briefs down and begging him to go slow. His hands are reaching over the side of the bed for his pants, trying to get a condom out of his wallet.
The pain isn’t unbearable, and he’s so gentle, like he’s afraid I might break.
After a while, the pace picks up, and I’m wondering if I’m feeling something start to happen—a stirring of heat mingled with the stinging pain.
It’s over before I can be sure, and Chris is spent, lying on top of me, kissing my face. “I love you, Leah.”
“I love you too.” My breathless confession escapes my lips before I can stop it.
He rolls over, pulls me into his arms, and strokes my hair, running his fingers down my back. “God, I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.”
I’m so relaxed, my mind is blank, but thoughts fade in and out like a slide show.
I’m not a virgin anymore.
I didn’t think of my hoebag mom once and push him off.
I want to tell Hope all about tonight. I remember the first time she and Brian had sex. She came home, woke me up, and told me everything. Even what I didn’t want to know. God, my heart hurts. It’s an ache deep in my chest. I might be dying from missing her.
My palm rests over the dates on Chris’s chest. His heart beats steadily underneath.
My letter. I’m a liar. I have to tell him.
He’ll hate me.
The in and out of his breathing deepens, and I watch him to make sure he’s asleep before scooting out of bed. I tiptoe across the room, grab my robe, and peek into the Pack ’n Play. It’s dark, but the moon gives just enough light to see that Addy’s forehead’s creased, and every once in a while her lips move like she’s talking.
Out in the kitchenette, I open the drawer on the far left and take out the notebook with my letter to Chris inside. I flip to a new page and click the pen top.
I was a virgin until tonight. You had no idea, and it kills me. You said you love me, but when you find out the truth, you’ll hate me, and I’ll still love you forever.
I keep writing while tears smudge the ink. Regret flows through me and onto the pages. Not regret over sleeping with Chris. Never regret over that, and never regret over Addy.
Regret for the lies that cling to me.
Regret I can’t shake that just keeps closing in on me.
By the time my hand is cramped and my eyes are burning and begging to close, I’ve written five more truth-filled pages.
I crawl back into bed. Chris’s arm automatically wraps around me, pulling me into his side. I watch him sleep and let tears soak his shoulder.
I can’t lose him.
chapter
eighteen
Gail’s pushing Addy’s stroller. Jonathan is almost a full block ahead of us on his bike, and he still can’t brake without crashing into things or people.
I keep going over Chris and his dad’s whispered conversation from yesterday again and again in my mind, and I have to have answers. “Gail, what do you know about Chris’s mom?”
Gail looks at me. Her eyes are hard, and I think she’s going to bitch me out for asking. But she only says, “It’s not my place to talk about her,” then turns her face forward, watching the sidewalk pass under the stroller’s wheels.
I look down at my fingers, picking my nails.
“Chris won’t tell you about her?”
I bite my thumbnail. “I haven’t asked him. I heard him say something to his dad about her and about dating you.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Ken told me they got into it.”
“What else did he say?” My head snaps in her direction.
She frowns. “Ken’s worried about Chris . . . and you.”
I study the side of Gail’s face, wondering if she’ll answer the question I really want to know. “Who was Kayla? Did Chris have a sister?”
She frowns and tightens her grip on Addy’s stroller. Her fingers turn white. “I think he needs to tell you about his mom and Kayla. I don’t think he’d appreciate someone else, especially me, telling you about them.”
The rest of the walk to the park is filled with the sounds of birds chirping, lawn mowers whirring, and Gail’s stony silence marking the end of our conversation.
• • •
Sunday night, we’re all sitting around the big oak kitchen table—Chris, Mr. Buckridge, Mrs. B, Ivy, and me.
Mrs. B made spaghetti and meatballs again, just like every other Sunday that I’ve been here, and I stuffed myself.
Ivy brought brownies for dessert, and Mr. Buckridge is pouring coffee into mugs. Addy’s drooling all over Chris’s shoulder.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Ivy says, and reaches into her quilted bag to produce a folded newspaper page. “Troy, Viv’s son, the firefighter, remember him?” She waits for Mrs. B to nod, acknowledging who Troy and Viv are. “He’s on the front page of the paper! Here, look.” She unfolds the sheet and smoothes it on the table in front of Mrs. B.
“Viv’s our second cousin,” Ivy says, reaching across the table and patting my hand. “Her family lives up in Ohio.”
I pray my face doesn’t reveal my desperation to leave the conversation and run from the room.
I try to smile.
My lips shake.
“Did you know Leah and Addy are from Ohio?” Chris asks her, pressing Addy over his head, into the air.
“Is that right?” She raises her eyebrows as Mrs. B slides the newspaper page over to Chris.
He lowers Addy and peers over her head at the photo of a fireman in full uniform emerging from a home engulfed in flames.
Chris starts to comment, but I can’t hear what he’s saying over the loud buzzing in my brain that’s triggered when my eyes catch a smaller photo in the bottom right-hand corner of the page.
It’s me.
Shit. That’s me.
My hand darts out and grabs the page, yanking it from under his gaze. He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I have. And I’ll lose much more than that if he sees the picture of me in the newspaper, staring up at him. “Sorry. Just anxious to look, I guess.” I fold the page in half and hold the paper so only the top part is visible.
He laughs. “I guess.” And goes back to lifting Addy over his head.
Mrs. B, Mr. Buckridge, and Ivy are chitchatting, but I can feel Ivy’s eyes on me and can’t flip the paper over to read what’s written under my photo.
My God, does she know? Can she blow this whole thing for me and Addy?
Her wrinkled, dry hand grasps the paper and gives it a tug.
Reluctantly, I let go. “A hero in our family, huh?” Ivy says, and laughs as she stuffs the page back into her bag.
I want to dig it out when she’s not looking and cram it down the garbage disposal. My stomach rolls. The spaghetti and meatballs threaten to shoot back up. My throat burns with acid.
Chris lifts Addy over his head again, making funny sounds for her.
She laughs for the first time.
His head snaps to me. “Did you hear that?”
I’m so proud of her, my heart swells at the sound. “She laughed!”
I want to cry. I want to bawl like a baby because I’m so happy, and so afraid, and because I know all of this has to end.
My perfect family is a hoax.
I’m a fraud, and this is all a mirage.
• • •
After dinner, I’m lying across Chris’s lap on the couch upstairs. I ease my hand up his shirt and rub his chest. The room’s dark. The TV throws light across his face, then dims.
I’m so comfortable with him. If the newspaper article outs me . . . I have to tell him before that happens. I gather my courage, take a deep breath, and say, “Tell me about your tattoo.” It’s not my confession. My brain won’t work with my mouth, but I want all of his secrets. I want to own this part of him before he’s gone from me.
“What about it?” he says, without looking at me.
I lift up his T-shirt and trace the cross with my fingertip. His skin’s warm. “What do the dates mean?”
He takes my hand and pulls it to his lips. “They’re the dates my mom and sister died.”
I sit up on his lap and hold his face in my hands. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “It’s okay.” He lifts his shirt again and points to his chest. “It’s been two years. I’m over it.”
I shake my head. “There’s no way you’re over it. You never get over losing people you love.”
He cocks his head. “Who have you lost?”
I suck in my lips. Nobody. You can’t lose people you never had to begin with. But there is Hope. “I haven’t lost anyone to death. But I left my sister in Ohio. I miss her.” I lift my hair off the back of my neck so he can see my tattoo again. “Hope. That’s her name.”
I feel his finger running across it. “Too bad your mom didn’t name you Faith.” He chuckles, and my insides drop to the floor.
I should tell him.
Now is the time to tell him.
There’s no way I can tell him.