Leap of Faith (11 page)

Everything inside me wants to jump for joy. She’s not here to arrest me, and I’ve never had a grandma. I want her to squeeze me and love me up too. I was always jealous of the other kids for having grammies, mee maws, nanas, and grannies.

My mom’s mom abandoned her when she was young. I don’t blame her. Mom was probably evil then, too.

“Leah, dear?” Mrs. Buckridge calls from the family room. “I think your little darling needs a diaper. Mind if I go up and change her?”

Do I mind? Hell no. She can change diapers until her fingers fall off. “No, I don’t mind. I’ll come up with you.”

She takes the stairs slowly, planting her feet deliberately on each step, her hand grasping the railing and sliding up as she rises. At the top, she opens the door and goes inside, with me behind her.

“Okay, little darlin’, we’re going to get you all cleaned up.” Her body rocks back and forth as she walks straight into my bedroom. “Diapers in here, Leah?”

“Yeah, on the changing table on the side of the Pack ’n Play.” I hurry in after her.

“The things they have for you young moms. Pack ’n Play.” She shakes her head, tearing the tabs back on Addy’s diaper. “We just tossed a towel on the sofa when we changed our babies, and put them to sleep in a crib.”

My eyes snag on Addy’s umbilical cord. At two months, her stub would be gone. At least that’s what the baby books I skimmed through told me. Mrs. Buckridge’s head tilts. I can tell she’s examining it and thinking the same thing.

“I’ll get her a crib,” I blurt, trying to get her mind off of Addy’s belly button and back to our conversation. My hands wring together. I’m screwed. She knows something’s up.

She watches me carefully. “It’s fine, dear.” Her hands rest over mine and squeeze. “You’re doing a good job with her. Chris thinks so too. He won’t stop talking about the two of you.”

I blink a few times. We stare at each other. “Thanks.” I’m not sure what to say. Maybe she didn’t wonder about Addy’s stub. And Chris talks about us? To his grandma? I’m baffled.

Mrs. Buckridge snaps Addy’s romper back up. “Get me a bottle and we’ll put her down for a nap. She’s tired.”

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, watching 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.