Leap of Faith

by Jamie Blair

  I flop back against the seat and lean my elbow against the door. This trip is going to fly by because I want it to last forever—just me and my last hours with my two favorite people on the planet.

  Chris has a map on the seat between us that I snatch up. I click on the light overhead and study it. “We should stop here.” I point at a little town, the one where I plan on ditching him. “Addy will need to be changed and fed by the time we get there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He takes the map and sets it back on the seat, then starts fiddling with the radio.

  He’s so easy, so quick to believe. These traits shouldn’t irritate me so much, and probably wouldn’t if I wasn’t manipulating him.

  I hate myself.

  There’s something about the motion of driving down a highway that lulls me to sleep. I fight it. I don’t want to miss one second of this trip. But I find myself opening my eyes as Chris’s door slams shut. I’ve been asleep.

  We’re at a gas station. I glance at the clock on the dashboard—it’s been two hours since I was last aware of the time. We should be close.

  I climb out of the truck and round the truck bed to where Chris is standing with his hands shoved in his pockets while his gas tank is filling.

  I run my hands up and down his arms. “You should’ve woke me up.”

  “You looked peaceful.” He leans in for a kiss. His lips are cold. Soon they turn warm.

  I miss him already, and he’s standing here with his lips pressed to mine.

  I don’t want to think about tomorrow. There is no tomorrow. Just a nightmare—a nightmare starring me, the dipshit who stole a baby.

  I can’t close my eyes. I have to see that he’s real. That at one time I had this wonderful guy who loved me. I have to remember this. I have to etch it into my skull.

  The loud thunk of the gas nozzle shutting off brings us back to where we are—standing under a brightly lit gas station awning.

  “Go ahead and get back in.” He pulls the nozzle out of the truck, and I scoot back around to my side and jump in.

  Addy’s restless. I dig in the diaper bag for a pacifier and pop one in her mouth, then cover her with a flannel baby blanket. She gives the pacifier a few sucks, then settles back into a sound sleep.

  Chris hops into the cab, starts the truck, and rubs his hands together. I prop my foot up on the dashboard, feeling bitchy. I want to break something.

  “We can always turn around. You don’t have to go back, you know. If there’s trouble, it’ll find you anyway and we can deal with it at home.” He threads his fingers with mine. His eyes plead.

  Home. Home is a white cape cod on Maple Street with dark green awnings over the windows. There’s a park down the street, and a grandma who loves Addy.

  We should go home.

  But there was the cop and the newspaper. I got past those, but I don’t know what’s waiting around the next corner. I can’t let Chris find out the truth that way, from a cop or a journalist, someone other than me.

  “I can’t.” I pound my fist against my leg. “There’s no way. I have to do this.”

  He holds up his hands. “Okay. Okay. I get it.” He jerks the truck into gear and takes off out of the gas station and back onto the highway.

  This isn’t how it should be. He can’t be mad at me. Not now. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

  He nods but keeps his eyes straight ahead. His mouth forms a tight line.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you.” My words make me wince inside. I’m about to crush him.

  He takes a deep breath. “No. It’s cool.” He manages a wobbly smile.

  “So. Your dad and Gail . . .” Might as well get him pissed at someone other than me.

  He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I know all about it. Dad had to tell me when I found the cans of paint in the garage last night. He doesn’t usually use every primary color the hardware store sells. The room is going to be obnoxious. Guess it fits Jonathan, though.”

  “You’re okay with it?”

  He lets out a chuckle. “What do I care? I’m not going to be there to see it, am I?”

  I might be having an out-of-body experience, because I detest myself so much, I’m trying to leave myself behind. I hate myself more than Mom could ever hate me.

  I came into his life, wrecked it, and now I’m planning to ditch him six hours away from home.

  A home he doesn’t even belong in anymore.

  A home that’s already moved on without him.

  He rubs my thigh. “Have you talked to your mom? Does she know I’m coming home with you? I’ll stay in a hotel until I can find a place.”

  “Yeah, she’s cool with it.”

  Hate. Hate. Hate. Me. Me. Me.

  “I figured when you didn’t say anything that it was cool.” He glances over. “Think we should stop somewhere overnight instead of driving straight through?”

  “No. Let’s just get there. I’ll drive if you get tired.” I have a freaking flight to catch, and another night with him would kill me. I already mentally prepared myself to never see him again, no matter how much it will tear me apart. No matter how much it will tear him apart.

  I sit on my hands and clutch the leather seat. Through the dashboard, headlights barrel past us, leaving trails of blurry white light behind. What kind of trail will I leave behind? I glance at Chris out of the corner of my eye, then back out the window again.

  • • •

  At 1:00 a.m., Addy’s awake and hungry. We’ve just passed the welcome sign to the small town outside Atlanta that I’d pointed out on Chris’s map. My plan is coming together.

  Chris pulls into an IHOP parking lot. “I’m starving. How about you? Can you go for some pancakes?”

  I’ll puke all over him if I eat. “Sure!”

  I dawdle getting out of the truck. He has to get out first so I can “forget” the diaper bag without him remembering and picking it up. I adjust my shorts in the parking lot before pushing the passenger seat forward and reaching into the back for Addy. I fumble with her seat belt.

  “Need some help?” Chris asks from behind me.

  “No, I’m good. It’s just twisted. Go ahead. I’m coming.”

  “I’ll wait while you get her out. I’m not leaving you in the parking lot by yourself at night.” His hand rests on my lower back.

  A lump forms in my throat at his touch, making it hard to swallow.

  A single thought streaks through my mind: It’s almost over.

  Instead of forgetting the diaper bag, which I know will never work with him standing there, I tip it over, making it look like an accident and spilling its contents all over the back floor of his truck. “Shit!”

  “What’s wrong?” His hand rubs across my back.

  “I just spilled everything out of the diaper bag.”

  He yawns. “Oh, well, we’re not in a hurry, are we?”

  “No.”

  Quickly, I gather all of Addy’s supplies back in the bag but shove the can of powdered formula under the seat. Then I whisk Addy and the bag into my arms and out of the truck.

  We walk side by side into IHOP and follow the hostess to a booth in the back. The overhead lights hurt my eyes—everything is blindingly bright compared with the darkness of the truck for the past six hours. My face and hair feel greasy even though I showered before we left. Something about traveling makes me look and feel like shit.

  A server comes by for our drink orders. When she leaves the table, Chris excuses himself to go to the men’s room. Knowing this is probably my only opportunity, I find the number for the airport shuttle and scurry to the pay phone with Addy.

  My shaky fingers plunk the coins into the phone and press the numbers. Every few seconds, I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s not standing behind me.

  “Shuttle service,” a rushed male voice answers on the other side of the phone line.

  “Hi,” I say in a low, quiet voice, “I need a lift to the airport. I’m at IHOP—
”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re not a taxi service. We only pick up from the airport hotels. You’ll need to call a cab.” And he hangs up.

  My stomach lurches as I replace the receiver. I’m screwed.

  Addy starts squirming and squawking, ready to stir up a storm. I haul her into the ladies’ room and change her two-ton, soggy diaper. She’ll need to eat soon, but she’ll just have to wait until we’re on the plane—if I can think of a way to get us there.

  Back out in the booth, Chris is sitting, playing with his keys.

  I sit down across from him and scan his face, committing it to memory before I do what I know will seal my fate with him forever, and say, “I can’t find Addy’s formula. It must be out in the truck.” I hold out my hand for him to entrust me with his keys.

  He hesitates, but before he can offer to get the formula himself, I add, “I want to change her out there too. The ladies’ room is disgusting!” The keys dangle above my palm, and I reach up and snatch them out of his grasp. “Be right back.”

  Those are my last words to him.

  Be right back.

  Another lie uttered on my way to the parking lot, where I’ll steal his truck.

  My vision is spinning as I walk to the doors and push them open. Don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry.

  Being strong is my only option at this point.

  Tears won’t help me drive away.

  With Addy buckled in, I scrawl one final sentence on the outside of my finished, twelve-page letter to Chris:

  Pick up your truck at the airport.

  After tucking the letter inside the mesh compartment on the end of his duffel bag, where he’ll be sure to see it, I toss the bag onto the IHOP sidewalk and drive away.

  chapter

  twenty-four

  I’ve never been this upset. I’m screaming and sobbing, banging my fists on the steering wheel. My stomach burns. I jerk the wheel to the side of the road, throw the door open, and puke.

  It’s in my hair, and I couldn’t care less. I remember the first day with Chris, when he wiped Addy’s spit-up from my hair with a paper towel. She’s in the back of the truck shrieking. I’ve completely freaked her out.

  I wipe my face and mouth on my sleeve, get back behind the wheel, and slam the door shut.

  I can’t fall apart now.

  I have a plane to catch.

  • • •

  One hour and forty minutes after boarding, the plane pulls up to the gate at Akron-Canton Airport.

  I’m home, and it’s the last place on earth I want to be.

  Fed and sleeping, Addy’s cradled in my arm. I lug our bags along with my other hand.

  Out on the sidewalk, the night air’s thick. It’s humid and muggy. Mosquitoes buzz around my head. The taxi driver takes my bag and asks, “Where to?”

  A sense of dread washes over me as I give him Mom’s address.

  Addy sighs into my neck as I settle into the back of the taxi. Her breath’s warm and dry, and it smells sweet. I kiss the side of her head, weariness easing its way through my limbs.

  It’s 4:15 a.m. Mom won’t be awake. The spare key will be under the doormat like always. I’ll just sleep in my room with Addy, in my old bed, and confront Mom when she wakes up.

  The taxi comes to a stop, jerking me out of the daze I was in, with my head dropped back against the seat. Out of the window, my old house comes into focus. Even through the darkness, I can tell that in the months I’ve been gone, the house has fallen apart even more.

  “You sure this is the right address?” the driver asks, peering back at me and Addy.

  I nod. “Unfortunately, it is.” I hand him his money and tug on the door handle.

  The driver goes around to the trunk and takes out our bags. “Do you need help with your bags?”

  “I can manage. Thanks.” I sling the bags over my shoulder and carry Addy through the high grass to the front stoop. My hand finds the key under the mat, and I try to stick it in the lock.

  But it won’t work.

  I shove, attempting to force it in.

  It’s not the key for this lock.

  Mom changed the locks. Hope and I are gone, and she wants to make sure we stay that way.

  “Everything okay?” the driver shouts.

  I wave. “It’s cool.” The words stab my stomach.

  Shit. I have to knock.

  The taxi’s gone, so I hope she answers. I reluctantly pound on the door, loud enough to wake a drugged-up, drunk old woman. After a minute, I pound again.

  Inside, footsteps thud into the family room.

  The lock clicks.

  The door is flung open.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Mom looks worse than she did when I left. There’s no way she’s showered in the past week, and her hazy eyes scream, Binge!

  “Hell do you want?” she slurs. Her feet stagger to the left, and she almost falls, but she catches herself on the doorjamb.

  “I brought the baby back. I know it was wrong. I understand I’m screwed. Hugely.”

  I won’t say I’m sorry. I’m not.

  She laughs, bitterly. “Didn’t like playing momma? Sucks ass, doesn’t it?” She sways against the door but steadies herself again. Her face hardens. “Get the hell out of here! I never want to see you again!”

  Her hand rises to strike. I curl in on myself to protect Addy. “I’m going! I’ll drop the baby off at Dave and Angel’s, okay?”

  More cold laughter. “Angel left Dave, and he bailed. He’s been gone for months. Nobody wants that damn kid.”

  I can only imagine the look on my face that prompts her wicked, wholly satisfied grin. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a baby and no place to live. Guess you should go back to wherever you came from.” She takes a few measured steps backward before slamming the door in my face and locking it.

  • • •

  No kidnapping charges.

  No auto theft charges.

  No teen jail.

  No Angel and Dave.

  No home.

  No Hope.

  No Chris.

  The no’s could go on for days.

  But there is Addy. She’s asleep in the center of a hotel bed, the same way we started this mess.

  I get to keep her. She’s mine for real now. Nobody else wants her.

  Go back to wherever you came from, Mom said. Yeah. Like I can. I screwed that up too. I should’ve just called Mom from Florida when I called Hope. I could’ve stayed.

  I’d be sleeping beside Chris right now.

  Addy would be in her Pack ’n Play, curled up in a ball under her blanket.

  I don’t know how this all went so wrong. Maybe it was my warped intentions in the beginning. Saving Addy was an afterthought. I set out to hurt Mom. I savored every moment of making her life hell while she was pregnant. I knew taking the baby and leaving Mom without that big payout would be a stake to her heart.

  This is my big payout—homeless with a three-month-old baby and a couple hundred bucks to my name.

  There are times when I look at Addy and I can see her at my age. Her hair will be long and dark, flowing down her back, her eyes will reveal experience beyond her years—how could they not, with a teen mom?

  That’s what I am to her. I’m Mom. I was never a sister.

  I hover over her on the bed. She rubs her eyes with her fists. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish.

  When will I tell her the truth? When she’s ten? Twelve?

  Never. I’ll never tell her that nobody wanted her but me.

  I lie beside her. Her eyelids flutter open, and she reaches for my face. I let her smack my cheek and laugh. I laugh with her.

  “We’ll be okay.” I hold her wrist. Her bones are bird thin. “We figured it out the first time it was just the two of us. We’ll figure it out again.”

  Hotels won’t be as bad now that she sleeps through the night. I just need to get my hands on more money.

  I need Hope.

  Afte
r our phone call, I’m not sure what she’ll do when I show up. She doesn’t want me around her. The other Faith, sure. This Faith, the babynapping Faith, not so much.

  She’ll have to get over it, though. I have Addy to take care of, and she’s more important than my pride or Hope’s shiny new life.

  • • •

  Our bus to Columbus leaves in twenty minutes. In a little over two hours, we’ll be spending our Saturday afternoon searching all over the Ohio State campus for Hope. Our odds of finding her are slim. The only thing that might save me is Hope being on the track team. Someone might know her, or where the team hangs out.

  Calling her first won’t happen. I won’t repeat the last phone conversation we had. College has changed Hope. Like me, she’s been itching to get out from under the past eighteen years of her life. I just hadn’t realized that meant away from me, too. I don’t know if things would be different if I hadn’t taken Addy. Something tells me she would be just as over me anyway.

  It’s 432 steps to the bus stop. I’m gasping for air when I get there. Even though it wasn’t that far, holding a baby and two heavy bags makes it a long walk.

  I wait on the bench and think about Chris. My mind plays through all of his possible reactions to finding me and Addy gone and only my letter left behind in his bag on the sidewalk.

  God, I can picture him pushing through the door of the IHOP into the dark night dotted by the parking lot lights. He’d stop and stare, confused by the empty spot where he’d left his truck parked.

  What would he think? How long would it take him to realize I’d left him and wasn’t coming back? Did he call his dad and ask for a ride home? He must’ve been so humiliated, so hurt.

  He’d cry into his Spiderman pillow, punching his mattress and raging against another loss—two losses—he didn’t deserve. He’d fight himself to not go upstairs and sleep in my bed where the two of us had spent every night for the past couple of months.

  How could he stand to see the empty space where Addy had slept in her Pack ’n Play? Where she rolled over for the first time? How could he bear to remember the way she smiled and laughed when he held her beside the window, talking about the squirrels outside?