Oscar laughed at the rhymes, and Meredith laughed at him.
“I have no idea what that means,” she confessed. “It’s probably something really disturbing.”
“Weally dis-stirrin’,” he echoed, before putting the corner of the washcloth in his mouth and sucking on it.
“Eww, Oscar. Don’t drink the bathwater.”
Her baby shook his head. “Don’t dink.”
“Yeah, don’t drink it,” she said, making a face. “Bath water is dirty. It’s full of all the dirt Oscar got while playing today.”
“Playing wiff Booke.” His rosy mouth curled into a smile. Oscar adored Brooke, but he hadn’t yet managed to find the ‘r’ in her name.
“Brooke might come back tomorrow, and we can go watch the boys.”
“Boys!” As Oscar cheered, Meredith’s phone chimed.
Gray: This is the best cookie in all of creation.
Her phone sat on the bath mat next to her knee. When she read the message, she grinned and dried her hands on Oscar’s towel.
Meredith: Told ya. It’s the corn flakes.
Gray: On my second. Good. Lord.
Laughing, she texted back.
Meredith: Sounds like you’re feeling better.
Gray: The cookies and mac & cheese are helping. Thank you.
Meredith’s smile grew. Helping. That was even better than having a job with flexible hours and higher pay. At Champagne’s, she’d helped people check out groceries, but it certainly hadn’t been a job that had given her any sense of purpose or fulfillment. Being able to help people was why she’d chosen to study nursing.
She’d never been more scared and overwhelmed than the night she gave birth to Oscar. Her parents had abandoned her. Brooke’s parents hadn’t wanted their daughter driving across town in the middle of the night to be by her side, and Jamie had been offshore. That meant the only person she had was Leona.
What a nightmare.
But the nurses and doctors at UMC had been really good about making her feel safe. And the experience had touched her. Every day, there were people in hospitals who were hurting, alone, and scared. Caring for people like that would matter. It would be hard work, Meredith knew, but it wouldn’t be empty work.
Life could be cruel. She knew that firsthand. There would be sad days, but she wanted to be there to make the sad days easier for patients and their families.
What kind of work was more important than that?
So if she could make life easier for Gray Blakewood — and help him to feel better — it would mean a lot more than running Cheerios and Kleenex over a scanner at the market.
Meredith: You’re welcome. Happy to help.
Oscar slapped the water with his washcloth, sending a splash over the side of the tub and onto her leggings.
“Okay, buddy, I think you’re done,” Meredith said, setting her phone aside.
“Not done!” Oscar fussed.
“Not done?”
As an answer, Oscar smacked the surface of the water again, and again Meredith got a lap full of spray.
“No splashing, please.”
Mischief narrowed his brown eyes, and he hit the water a third time. Meredith held back a sigh as more water seeped into her clothes. She hated to admit it, but her little guy was changing. Growing up. And growing up meant testing the boundaries. Wistfulness pinched her heart. She certainly was not ready to say goodbye to her sweet baby.
“Oscar, you got Mama all wet, and now I’m cold,” she said calmly.
Oscar peered over the edge of the tub at her soaked leggings. Then he looked up at her with wide eyes.
“My sorry, Mama.”
My sorry. Meredith could only smile. He was still her sweet baby. Even if he was changing. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of the tub, and we can have story time.”
Oscar reached up so she could lift him from the bath, and Meredith hurried to set him down on the mat and bundle him in a towel. The McCormicks’ house — like most of the older houses in the Saint Streets — was on piers, not a slab, which made it drafty and chilly in the winter. The bathroom had the original white-chrome space heater set in the wall, but Meredith was always too afraid of carbon monoxide poisoning to light it.
Oscar’s arms turned to gooseflesh as she rubbed him down with the towel. As fast as she could, Meredith put on his diaper and pajamas. Her phone chimed while she scrubbed the towel over his head to dry his hair. She ignored the tone, drained the tub, and cleaned up Oscar’s bath toys before she carried him through the house to tell his grandparents goodnight.
After two songs and five picture books, Oscar drifted off, and Meredith moved like a ninja to slip out of bed to keep from waking him. It was only 7:50, and she didn’t feel like joining Leona and Big Jim in the living room to watch Hoarders, so she grabbed her phone and jacket.
“Oscar’s down,” she said as she headed for the front door. “I’m going for a walk.”
Big Jim glanced at her with a nod, but Leona never looked up from the hexagons she was cutting out for her next quilt. Meredith walked out the door without another word.
She was lucky. She knew she was lucky.
She had a place to live. Oscar was loved. They weren’t on the streets. They weren’t hungry. What did it matter if the people she lived with didn’t give one good damn about her? The McCormicks could have chosen not to take her in when her parents kicked her out, but they had. So what if it had simply been because she was Oscar’s mother?
He was all that mattered. And that was as it should be.
She knew from the start that he was everything. At first — before either of their parents knew — when Jamie had wanted her to get an abortion, she’d never even considered it. It had been the source of their first fight. And their second. And their tenth. Even then, Meredith knew what she’d felt for Jamie those first few weeks wasn’t love, but what she felt for Oscar — who was no bigger than a field pea at the time — absolutely was.
It hadn’t even hurt when Jamie dumped her for Veronica Sanger. She and Jamie had started dating over the summer, and she’d turned up pregnant just before Labor Day. By Halloween, Meredith had known without a doubt that sleeping with Jamie McCormick was the stupidest decision she’d ever made. Veronica could have him.
Meredith had Brooke. Without her best friend, she might not have made it. Not because of the break-up. Because of the fear. The fear of what would happen when her parents found out. Because she knew. She’d gone to church with them every Sunday. For years, she’d heard what their pastor said about fornication and sinners. Meredith had clenched her teeth and shut her eyes to keep from rolling them through each sermon. But her parents had eaten it up. Her mom and dad had changed so much since eighth grade that she almost didn’t recognize them. Ned and Susan Ryan had always been religious, but since joining Covenant Life Church, they’d gone from faithful to fanatic.
Telling them had been impossible.
But by end of January, Meredith hadn’t been able to hide it anymore. She’d started dressing in sweatshirts and big, slouchy sweaters during the day. And she’d wake up at night sweat-soaked and dying to pee. One night, she’d swapped out her bulky sweatshirt for a sleeveless tee so she could breathe, and her mother had come in the next morning to wake her for church. The T-shirt and daylight had given her away.
They hadn’t made it to church that Sunday.
The next day, she was out. No unwed, expectant daughter was welcome in the Ryan house. Brooke’s parents had made it clear she could stay with them, but as the oldest of five, Brooke already shared a room with her sister Penny. Living with the Cormiers was not an option that could last very long.
But by then, the secret had been out. Veronica Sanger had shin-kicked Jamie in the school cafeteria in front of half their class the day she learned the truth. The next day, Leona had found out about her impending grandchild, and, just like that, Meredith had a home.
Sort of.
Jamie had been so mad at her, at his mother �
�� at everything — he had scarcely looked at Meredith. It hadn’t helped that she cried half the time. Or more than half. Her pregnancy hormones and the loss of her home and family had kept her red-eyed and weepy for two solid weeks.
It had been easier to feel normal at school — even with students whispering in the halls as she passed. But at the end of each day, as soon as she got into her car to drive home, she’d have to face the crushing truth that she couldn’t go back to South Arlington Street and disappear upstairs in her own room. The sanctuary of her room. Her comfortable, familiar bed with the purple-on-black coverlet and matching pillow shams. Her Supernatural and Catching Fire posters. The smell of chicken, rice, and gravy rising up from the kitchen. The sound of Zabby barking when her dad got home from work.
She’d be crying before she could even key the ignition.
Almost two years of nothing, Meredith thought as she walked up St. Landry, passing the memorial. The evening breeze chilled her, so she zipped her jacket and crossed her arms in front of her.
In those two years, her sadness had deepened and evolved. Right after Oscar was born, Meredith had fallen victim to a merciless hope. How could her parents resist the wonder of a grandson when Leona McCormick couldn’t? How could that woman have stronger family ties than Meredith’s own mother, who — up until now — lived solely for God and family?
Meredith had expected her parents to turn up at the McCormicks’ at any moment in the days after Oscar arrived. They’d take one look at him and his beautiful, infant innocence and see Meredith, exhausted and uncertain as every new mother is, and insist they come home where they belonged.
But time passed. Meredith had gotten the hang of breastfeeding. Oscar had smiled his first smile. They’d both survived his first night of colic. And her parents had never come.
They were missing out on Oscar. It took about a month, but anger — hot and indignant — had shoved her heartbreak aside. How dare they snub him?
Meredith was halfway to Blackham Coliseum when she shook these same, venomous thoughts from her head before angry tears could sting her eyes again. To distract herself, she picked up her phone and, only then, remembered the text she’d ignored an hour before.
Gray: Did you ever try making those cookies for Mr. Simmons? I guarantee, they reduce asshole tendencies by at least 50 percent.
Her own laugh shocked her.
Meredith: No. Mr. Simmons didn’t deserve them.
As soon as she sent the message, Meredith worried her text would disturb him. What if he’d managed to fall asleep after having the dinner she’d made? He certainly wouldn’t appreciate her waking him. Still, it was only a little before eight…
Gray: And I do?
She texted back without a second thought.
Meredith: Of course. You’re sick.
She stared at her phone, awaiting a response. Reaching the corner of Coliseum Road, she turned left. The street was empty, but traffic on Johnston Street up ahead whizzed by. She’d almost reached the bike path in front of the coliseum when he replied.
Gray: They were the best cookies ever. But no one wants pity cookies.
“Oh, shit.” Baxter Blakewood had warned her that his brother was sensitive about his condition. She typed in a rush, feeling every inch an idiot.
Meredith: NOT pity cookies. Get-to-know-you cookies.
She pressed send, and when he didn’t respond right away:
Meredith: I’m-so-grateful-for-this-job cookies.
And then:
Meredith: I-often-put-my-foot-in-my-mouth cookies.
“Dammit,” she hissed into the night, forcing herself to stop typing before she made the whole situation even worse. And then her phone buzzed in her hand, and her “Bittersweet Faith” ringtone made her jump. He was calling.
“Oh, shit,” she said again. He was going to fire her. Right now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“HELLO?” MEREDITH ANSWERED.
Gray could hear the nerves in her voice. No wonder she’d fired off those texts so quickly.
“You type too fast for me.” He needed to apologize. The plate of cookies was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a long time.
“I’m… sorry?” she offered.
Was she apologizing for typing too fast? Gray sniffed a laugh. “No, I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep the humor from his voice. “I shouldn’t have referred to your gift as pity cookies. They’re really good. I’m grateful.”
He heard her sigh, but it didn’t sound like relief.
“I shouldn’t have brought up… um… “
The words seemed to die in her throat, and Gray’s smile faded. Illness was taboo. Gray had learned this as soon as he’d been diagnosed. Family and friends grew awkward and quiet when the subject came up. Meredith didn’t even know what was wrong with him, and she still didn’t want to talk about it.
“That I’m sick?” he made himself ask.
“Yes.” The word was small and full of hesitation. He wasn’t about to tell her he had a brain tumor that could potentially kill him, but he didn’t want her to be afraid of saying the wrong thing around him either. That was bullshit.
“Well, I am sick.” And I could be dead in a year. “As much as I hate to admit it.”
“That’s why I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I’ll try not to remind you of it in the future.”
He had to laugh, even though he heard the bitterness in it. “You can’t remind me of something I can’t forget.”
Meredith went quiet for a while, but Gray thought he heard the sound of a car horn in the distance.
“Does that mean it’s all you think about?” Her voice dropped, timid and soft, but the question itself was bold. And Gray found he didn’t mind it.
“No,” he hedged, his own voice softening. “I mean, it’s always there, but I don’t think about it all the time.”
Her hesitation disappeared. “What do you think about?”
Gray chuckled, her curiosity amusing him. “My books, mostly.”
“Wow.” The word was soft but filled with awe, and he felt a welcome sense of pride. “That’s cool.”
The rumble of a semi overtook the line. Gray frowned.
“Meredith?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you standing in front of the highway?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said before the sounds in the distance suddenly muffled. “That’s Johnston Street.”
His brows shot up. “You’re on Johnston Street?”
“No, I’m on the bike path in front of Blackham Coliseum.”
The bike path, Gray knew, was set back from the road, cutting into the grounds of the coliseum, but what was she doing there on the phone with him?
“You’re riding your bike? At night?”
Her laughter spilled over the line, and the sound reminded him of Mardi Gras doubloons and Saturday mornings. “No, I’m going for a walk.”
His musings of her laugh vanished. “Not by yourself.” It was a statement, not a question. A girl who gave her best friend the address of her job interview wouldn’t walk alone at night in the middle of town.
“Yeah, but I don’t live far.” Her tone dismissed his concern so easily Gray had to draw up a map in his mind. Where could she live that was close enough to make it reasonably safe to walk alone in front of Blackham Coliseum?
“Where’s your house? On Twin Oaks?” he asked, picturing the upscale neighborhood near Our Lady of Fatima Church. She was on the wrong side of Johnston Street, but maybe…
She laughed again. She may have even snorted. “Hardly. I live on Dean.”
“Dean?” he echoed, frowning.
“Off St. Landry,” she explained.
Gray closed his eyes and scanned the map in his head. His eyes snapped open. “You mean right by where Mickey Shunick was attacked?!”
He heard Meredith sigh. “Yes… at two in the morning… by a serial killer.”
“You shouldn’t be walking around at night alone,” he sa
id, feeling like her boss for the first time.
“It’s barely eight o’clock—”
“It’s dark,” he cut in. “That’s all an asshole needs. Believe me. I grew up in New Orleans.”
She pushed back. “Well, Lafayette isn’t New Orleans.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Lafayette was a good city. An amazing city. He’d fallen in love with it five years ago just after college when he’d signed up with AmeriCorps. He’d worked at Habitat for Humanity that summer.
And after Cecilia died, he hadn’t been able stay in New Orleans, but Lafayette felt like home.
The city had a soul — just like NOLA, but it was simpler in so many ways. Music and art. Food and drink. These spilled out onto the sidewalks of downtown, too, but without the stench of urine at every corner or the death-defying potholes on each street. Lafayette was cleaner, saner, and far less-crowded.
Still, it wasn’t Mayberry.
Rape. Murder. Kidnapping. Those horrors lived here, too. Lafayette even bore the unforgettable scar of a mass shooting. So Gray didn’t like the idea of Meredith walking alone at night, especially so far from help.
“There are people jogging and riding bikes all around me,” she said, sounding a little smug.
Gray pictured the bike path and all of the spots along the way that left her vulnerable.
“Do you do this a lot?” He heard the stern tone of his own voice, and he tried to master it. “Walk down St. Landry and around the coliseum at night? By yourself?”
“Not every night,” she offered. “Just when I want some time to myself.”
Gray pictured her crying in his back yard, and he frowned. What did she have to put up with that drove her to such a risky escape?
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