Jaden Baker (57 page)

There was something cute about the way Libby swirled her plastic fork in her noodles, taking so much of her concentration. Once the noodles were on her fork, she scooped some rice then stabbed a piece of chicken, getting a sampling of sides and entree all in one sizable bite. Efficient.

“So,” she said, just before swallowing, “you should know that I am a very impatient person.” She swallowed and started the process of noodle swirling again, watching her fork.

“Excessively honest,” Jaden remarked, dipping a spring roll into peanut sauce.

“Yeah, I can’t help that. Anyway, I’ve been waiting for you to open up on your own. I had this whole bit that I would be this mysterious and silent woman who you could confide in and come to with your concerns. It was a brilliant plan, but I didn’t factor my impatience into the formula. The plan would’ve taken months and there is no way I’m waiting that long.”

“I wondered why you were so reserved in your inquires.”

“Oh, so you did think I was mysterious, all calm and cool and sure?”

“Indeed,” he said, picking up a second helping of Teriyaki beef.

“Great. Too bad I had to ruin it by opening my mouth,” she said, taking another large bite of food and chewing silently for a period.

“You want to know more,” Jaden said, not bothering to make it a question. “I’ll try answering your questions, it’s only fair if I’m sleeping here tonight.”

She put the food on her coffee table and sat back in her armchair, picking at her teeth, thinking of her first question.

“What about your parents? Aren’t they worried about you?” she asked.

Jaden tried to swirl his noodles around the fork, grab rice and beef, but couldn’t. Perhaps it was a learned art, taking a great deal of practice.

“I don’t think so,” he answered.

“But you were kidnapped.”

“Not from my parents.” He stabbed some beef and used it to scoop rice.

“Then who?”

“I was living with foster parents. They hadn’t formally adopted me yet, but I’d been told it was in the works. I’d only been with them for just over a week, so...”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Sorry.”

“They were good people,” he said, speaking more to himself, setting down his plate, no longer hungry. “I think I would’ve been happy there.”

“And your real parents?” she asked in an almost whisper, as if afraid to ask the question. Jaden was not offended, it was natural to be curious. It had been so long ago, and other life events had been just as traumatic, the issue was hardly a touchy one. She knew much of the truth already, it seemed silly to not give her the rest.

“My father doesn’t know I exist. The last I knew of my mother she was in prison.”

“Oh,” Libby said again, sitting cross-legged. “That’s horrible.” She paused, chewing on her bottom lip, then finally asked, “What did she do?”

She started everything, Jaden thought. Lynn Baker created him in more ways than one, and as he considered telling Libby the truth, the memory of his mother from almost twenty years ago came back to him.

“A lot of things,” he said, his eyes glazing over as he answered. “Burglary. Drugs. Murder.”

Now Libby did whisper. “She killed someone?”

Jaden nodded, remembering. “Yes.” Though it was long ago, the memory pulsated in his mind.

Libby said nothing more, though based on her body language she wanted to know who Lynn shot and why. If she had asked, trying to pry the information out of him, Jaden would not have answered. She attempted the mysterious and comforting woman, and her efforts were appreciated, even if inside she screamed for the answer.

“She was a methamphetamine addict,” Jaden began, recalling her to his mind: a slender woman with sandy blonde hair and dull blue eyes, dark circles under them, boney hands, pointed chin. Her eyes were always wide and paranoid. She had sores on her arms and legs. “She had a friend, or boyfriend I guess, and they got high together. To pay for drugs they stole things. One day, when I was six, they got in an argument. It got out of control.”

* * *

Jaden and Bear stood on an overturned trash can, so they could reach the sink and wash their hands after using the bathroom. There was no soap or clean towels, so Jaden wiped his little hands on the back of his shorts, which were getting dirtier. He grabbed Bear from the counter and hugged him, then walked into the living room, stepping over dirty clothes and car radios, brown bags filled with trash, and other things he didn’t think about.

Mom was arguing with Manny again. There were thuds and slapping sounds coming from the back room. Mom screamed and yelled. It made Bear scared. The closet, their usual hiding space when Mom and Manny fought, or when they used their drugs, was filled with things Jaden wasn’t allowed to touch. He did not want to touch.

He maneuvered around a tall heap of dirty clothes and smelly things, and sat in the corner, covering his ears with his hands and covering Bear’s ears with his elbows. He hated hearing them fight, or doing anything. Fighting was worse than when they got on top of each other and made grunting noises.

A door burst open and Mom came out screaming at Manny, who grabbed her wrist, pulled her around and slapped her across the face. She kicked at him until he let go, then ran for something in a corner. She dug through boxes and bags, Manny tried moving her away. From this angle, Jaden couldn’t see what they were doing. He tried not to listen. The screaming grew louder, higher in pitch. The wall thudded a few more times.

Manny chased Mom into the living room.

They were too close. They would find him hiding here, and Jaden could tell they both had been using drugs. He shut his eyes and tried making himself smaller, imaging himself in a different place.

When Mom shrieked, Jaden’s eyes opened.

She was pointing a pistol at Manny, and when Manny laughed and lunged to take the gun, she pulled the trigger.

Blood sprayed the walls at the bang. She shot him three more times in the stomach, the gun louder each shot, more blood on the wall.

Then she aimed for Manny’s head, Jaden shut his eyes too late.

Manny’s head exploded, brains and bone flying, like a plastic bag of red Jell-o popped.

Jaden’s own heart pounded as he cried, scared of what she would do if she found him.

Shaking from fear, his elbow hit a stolen cell phone, which fell to the floor with a thud.

Lynn Baker turned, gun pointing at the sound.

Time slowed.

Her fierce eyes growled at him, her tangled hair was wild. Her boney, bruised hands held the gun firmly. It was pointed at his face.

Jaden’s eyes were wide with terror. She’d shot Manny five times—one round left in the gun.

Somewhere in the back of Jaden’s mind, something did not click, it chimed, buzzed. The room he sat in, his mother caught in the time trap, Manny’s blood, guts and brains spread everywhere, trash and stolen property strewn throughout the house—he felt everything.

He disregarded it.

The gun, a six shooter revolver, his mother’s finger depressing the trigger, the hammer soon to release and fire, pulled itself from her grasp. It jerked in her hand, an explosion ripped the air.

Time snapped back. The gun flew out an open window after discharging. The final shot still ringing, Jaden clutched Bear and prepared to run.

Lynn gasped, seeing her son huddled in the corner with his teddy. She grabbed him before he could run.

He pushed against her only for a moment. She held him and cried as he did, cradling him to her, his face in her neck. She smelled like smoke and sweat, her heart raced as his did, but he encircled her with his small arms, gripping Bear with one hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Close your eyes,” she told him as they passed Manny’s mutilated body floating in blood, then ran out the door.

Police sirens grew louder. Cops were always patrolling this neighborhood. That didn’t matter. Lynn and Jaden ran for it, sprinting down the street. She ran as fast as she could, her small son in her arms, holding her tight.

But she could not outrun cars. Two black and whites, lights spinning, sirens wailing, pinned them in. Jaden buried his small face into her neck, instructed to keep his eyes closed.

“No!” she said, as an officer came to her, reaching for her boy. “No, you can’t have him!”

It took two officers to pry Jaden from Lynn’s arms. Jaden grabbed at her, swinging his arms, kicking and screaming at the cops, trying to bite them so he could run to her.

Lynn was taken into custody, dragged into the second car, separated from him.

She was all he knew. Jaden cried for her, but she wasn’t coming to get him. Sometimes he would have to cry for hours for her to come, but in the end she would. He squirmed and tried to get free of the cop holding him, but he was just too small.

“Mommy!” he cried, only it was too late. The car door was closed and they drove away. He yelled for her, tears blurring his vision, craning his neck for the windows to see if she was coming. But she wasn’t. They were driving away from her, and Jaden wailed the rest of the journey, pleading for them to take him back to her.

* * *

Libby’s eyes were wide and moist when Jaden finished telling her the abridged version of events. He recalled the memory the most factual way possible, but the expression on her face told him that even dry, the story was horrible.

“You’re the only person I’ve told,” Jaden said, thinking of how Anita tried getting him to talk about it for three years. “I was six. Nineteen years ago.” He sighed, folded his hands and looked at the floor. Over the years he’d thought about her often, wondering if she was still alive.

“I don’t know what to say,” Libby said. “It’s awful.”

Telling her was not easy, but he didn’t regret it. He was not sure what it was about her. Libby was familiar in a way that made him feel comfortable. It might have been her honesty, or the way she smiled; her presence was soothing, relaxing. With his origins on the table, Libby knew where he came from, and he was certain she did not like him less for it. That was a comforting notion.

“Do you know where she is now?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I read somewhere that meth addicts relapse 92 percent of the time. She probably did. She must have felt pretty hopeless to give me away.”

Libby leaned forward but waited before saying anything, as if measuring the risks of speech. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier, but it sounds like she knew she couldn’t be there for you, and gave you to people who could. That’s a sign of love.”

Jaden sighed and simpered. “You would think the years would make it easier. They tried explaining that to me at six. It’s a curse to love your parents unconditionally when they’ve abandoned you. I’d like to think you’re right. Ultimately her drugs were more important to her than I was.”

“She was addicted,” Libby said. “She wasn’t right. She wanted better for you.”

Nineteen years had not solved the problem of his mother, and he doubted any amount of time would. In his last ten years of reading, he’d tried to find an explanation that would suffice. In a way, he agreed with what Libby said. Giving him up allowed for him to be taken by someone permanently, instead of bouncing through the system. Logic dictated that was “looking after his best interests.” Emotionally, though, surrendering her parental rights was tantamount to putting a for sale sticker on his chest and dumping him in a yard sale.

Libby was only trying to help. He shared his mommy issues with her, something he had never done before. She was just being kind.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I’d like to think so.”

The silence which followed was not awkward like he would have assumed. Though impatient and bracingly honest, Libby’s presence was free of pressure. She was calming.