Leap of Faith (13 page)

I try to pay attention, but my mind is a scattered mess. It’s like the big pile of dog crap on Terry Woods’s walkway. I can’t focus, but whatever. If I can’t throw lettuce into a bowl, then I’m screwed, because this is the kind of job I’m going to have for the rest of my life. If I ever had a shot at going to college, it’s gone now. I can barely manage a part-time job with Addy; there’s no way I can add school into the mix.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about college. I didn’t even finish my junior year. How am I going to graduate high school when all I do is make bottles and change diapers?

Addy will need a bottle in a half hour. Did I tell the kids’ club lady? Shit, I don’t think I did.

“Leah?” Gretchen’s staring at me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Sorry.”

A slow, sympathetic smile eases over her lips. “First time you’ve left your baby with a sitter?” She rubs my arm. She smells like flowers.

“Yeah.” I exhale fast and loud and get a head rush. Spots blink in front of my eyes, and I sway on my feet.

“Okay. Okay.” Gretchen’s hand clutches my wrist. “Come sit down. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” I stumble behind her to a beat-up chair beside the time clock.

“Put your head between your knees before you pass out.” She nudges my shoulder. I lean over and watch her feet traipse away.

The pattern on the chipped tile makes me even dizzier.

It’s the stress.

The exhaustion.

Not eating.

Are all moms this pathetic, or is it just me? Because I’m a freaking disaster. Red, itchy bumps have formed on my palms, and my fingers are peeling. Every time I brush my hair, it’s like I’m shedding, and my jaw aches from grinding my teeth all night.

I’m a mess. How could I have thought taking Addy was a good idea?

I didn’t.

Because I didn’t think about it at all.

Because it was fucking crazy.

“Here.” Gretchen’s shoes have pink and white striped laces. I didn’t notice before.

I sit up, and she hands me a cup of Italian wedding soup and two packs of crackers. “Can this be taken out of—”

She waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house. Just eat so you don’t fall over during your shift.”

I take a spoonful. It’s steaming hot, and so good that I lick the back of the spoon. My stomach jolts, so I tear open a pack of crackers. “Thanks, Gretchen.”

“You’re welcome.” She brushes her hands over the front of her apron. “It gets easier. But you have to take care of yourself, or you won’t do that little girl any good.”

When I’m done eating, she finishes training me on the fine art of salad making, shows me where the drink station is, and teaches me how to roll silverware. Then I’m given a coffee-pot tutorial, with emphasis on keeping decaf and regular separate so as to not send anyone into cardiac arrest.

She tosses me a black apron. I have to start as a waitress, but I’ll work my way up to learning the ropes in the kitchen.

My first duty is to wipe down the ancient laminated menus, which are covered with crusted splatters of red sauce. Looking under the tables, the Cheerios crushed into the carpet confirm my suspicion that I’ve found employment at the local kid-friendly food joint.

Addy will never grind Cheerios into the carpet under restaurant tables. Never. Not. Ever.

The soapy water stings my hands at first as I dip my rag into the bucket and start on the pile of menus. The front door opens, and two old ladies come in. They don’t wait to be seated like the sign says.

What the hell?

Why believe everything you read?

“Psst!” Gretchen sticks her head out of the kitchen door. She points to the women. “Take them menus.” She gives me a smile and a thumbs-up before disappearing back behind the door.

On my way to the old women’s table, I’m overtaken by the image of tugging the band out of the back of Chris’s hair and running my fingers through it. I lick my lips and smile at the thought.

This is how I’ll get through my shift: daydreaming about being with Chris.

The old women order decaf coffee with cream, and spaghetti dinners with sweet-and-sour dressing on their salads. I never knew there was such a thing as sweet-and-sour dressing, but it’s the senior-citizen standard, from what Gretchen told me.

I take the old ladies their decaf and salads and join Gretchen in the kitchen. “Two spaghetti dinners,” I say, handing her the ticket.

“Already on it. Told you that’s what all old people order.” She smiles with her red-lipsticked lips. She has the thickest, shiniest black hair I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are so dark, I can’t see her pupils.

I watch as she lowers a metal strainer filled with two precooked and premeasured spaghetti portions into hot water. “My aunt says you and Chris are pretty tight.”

“We’re good friends.” I pick up a handful of pepperoni and sift it through my fingers, counting. Thirteen slices of pepperoni on a large pizza at Giovanni’s. Lucky thirteen.

“I used to make him play house. He had to be the daddy, of course.”

Kind of like what I’m doing now. Chris is good at playing daddy. Maybe I should thank her for training him.

“What’s your baby’s name?” she asks.

“Addy.” My voice creaks. Was that condemnation I heard in her tone?

“How old?”

“A little over two months.” I tuck my hands into my apron and ball my fists.

“It’s not easy, huh?” Her eyes leave the spaghetti and turn to me. She blinks slowly and smiles. “I had my son when I was eighteen.”

“Oh.” My hands relax.

“I had my family around to help, though. Aunt Ivy told my mom you’re from Ohio. It has to be insanely hard for you.” She pulls the strainer out of the water and divvies the pasta into two bowls.

“Chris and Mrs. B have been a lot of help. I’m lucky I found them.” I wish I had Hope. She loves babies. Brian’s older sister has a one-year-old little girl. Once when I was over at Brian’s with Hope, the baby was there and Hope sat on the floor playing with her the entire time. Hope would love Addy—assuming she could get past the part where I kidnapped Addy and took off.

“Chris is a good guy,” Gretchen says.

There’s a hint of a threat in her eyes.

Why does everyone assume I’ll hurt him?

They must be clairvoyant.

• • •

After the old women eat and leave, I get only two more tables before it’s 8:40. I’ve made enough in tips to buy precisely three-fourths of a can of formula.

I’m so screwed, and I have to fake my way out of here to pick up Addy.

I clutch my stomach and find Gretchen in the back making a pizza for a to-go order. “Hey, I’m not feeling very well,” I tell her. “You know how I almost passed out earlier? I think I might be getting the flu or something. I need to leave.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You want to leave? Why don’t you just sit down for a while? You only have a couple more hours.”

Shit.

I drop down in the chair by the time clock again and fold my arms over my stomach. The clicking of the clock over my head is making me crazy. I have to get out of here and pick up Addy. “I’m going to puke.” I bolt through the kitchen door and jog across the dining room, into the ladies’ room.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and hate what I see.

A liar.

A kidnapper.

A high school dropout.

God, I can’t believe I did this to myself.

Then Addy creeps into my mind, followed by an image of my mom in her ratty robe, and I don’t regret any of it. Living with Angel and Dave would be even worse with the constant partiers hanging out all night and drugs everywhere. I got us out of there. We won’t live like that no matter how many lies I have to tell. We’ll have a better life than that . . .
somehow
.

I hold my breath until my face turns red, then splash some water on it to make it look clammy. Gretchen’s waiting on a table when I come out of the bathroom. “I have to go,” I tell her when she’s on her way back to the kitchen. “I just threw up,” I whisper, so the customers don’t hear.

“Okay,” she says. I can tell she’s pissed. Why would she be pissed if I puked and have to leave? She must not believe me.

I can’t worry about that now.

I head to my car and fly down the road toward Fitness Plus, darting glances in the rearview mirror every few seconds. The last thing I need is a speeding ticket in a stolen car.

When I get to the Kids Club and open the door, there’s a different woman watching the kids. Addy’s screaming in a crib, and another little boy is sitting on the floor throwing blocks at the wall.

The new lady glares at me. “We didn’t have enough bottles. We paged you five times.”

My stomach drops to the floor.

My heart pounds in my head.

I can’t swallow.

“I’m—”

“We’ve had moms like you before.” She glances at my chest, making me all too aware of the nametag still pinned there. “This isn’t a daycare; it’s to be utilized by parents who are here, on the premises to work out. You’re lucky you’re here. I was just about to call the police.” She gestures to the clock. It’s five after nine.

I have no idea what to say. What
can
I say? “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t have anyone else to watch her.” She takes a step toward me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to raise a baby. There’s always adoption, you know.”

I feel my face contort with rage. “Fuck off.”

I grab Addy and her bag while the lady tells me my membership card is no longer valid. At least I got one night of free babysitting out of the deal.

The girl behind the counter snaps her gum and smirks when she sees me. She’s flipping through a magazine. I slam my hand down on top of it. “And fuck you, too.”

chapter

fourteen

Chris is fiddling with an old guitar he’s fixing up for this guy, Manny, who owns the bar in Jacksonville where his band plays. “It’s a fifty-nine Gibson Les Paul Flame Top,” he says, wrapping a guitar string around his finger.

His drummer, Aaron, stopped by to drop off the guitar. He glances at me for my reaction.

“Yeah, I have no idea what that means.” Addy squawks beside me. I shift the patio chair where I have her lying, nestled in a blanket, out of the sun. It’s got to be ninety degrees out. I would love nothing better than to jump in the pool, but I don’t have a bathing suit.

“It means that guitar is worth more than Chris’s truck,” Aaron says. He laughs and taps a rhythm on the glass tabletop with his index fingers.

Chris laughs too. “It also means that I can charge him an assload to fix it.” He turns a little silver knob that tightens the string. “Not many people know how to repair vintage guitars like this—at least not well.”

“How’d you learn?” I ask, leaning forward to watch him work.

“Gramps.” He tugs on his cap, like a tribute to his grandpa.

“Shit, man,” Aaron says, “you need to ditch that roofing job and do this full-time. You saw that Les Paul sell on eBay the other night for ninety-eight grand. Dude, you’re missing your calling.”

Chris just shrugs. “Yeah.”

I can’t decide if I like Aaron. He’s either the best guy ever, since he’s Chris’s friend, or the complete ass he’s coming off as to me. Considering the difference in definition alone, I shouldn’t have such a huge problem putting my finger on it, but he’s a hard one to peg. Plus, I’ve only known him for a half hour. But he has this swagger and cocky smile that make me want to punch him in the face.

“You work tonight?” Chris asks, glancing up at me through his thick eyelashes.

“No.” I dart a glance at Aaron and watch him take a deep drag on his cigarette. “I’m not sure when I work next. I need to check with Gretchen.”

When Chris found out Mrs. B got me a job, he’d asked where I was leaving Addy while I worked. I’d told him I got a sitter for her and changed the topic. I don’t need him to know I’m the world’s worst person ever for abandoning her at Fitness Plus last night. He’d probably hate me forever. He likes Addy better than me anyway—or at least as much.

I called Gretchen earlier today and told her my childcare fell through. She asked how I was feeling, and I could tell she still wasn’t convinced that I’m sick. I was waiting for her to release me to my destiny by giving me the it’s-not-working-out speech, but she didn’t. Yet. She told me to let her know when I could be put back on the schedule.

“Speaking of Gretchen,” Mrs. B says, banging through the screen door, “she just called me. Why didn’t you tell me you needed a sitter for Addy? I would’ve waited until you had childcare before I told her you could start working.”

Great, I let Mrs. B down. She gets me a job and I bail the first night. I’m such a loser. I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me now. “Sorry. I thought I had it worked out, but I had to pick up Addy by nine.”

“So you told Gretchen you were sick.” She purses her lips and fiddles with the top button on her shirt.

I nod, glancing at Chris. He’s smirking. He thinks this is funny. Jerk.

Aaron’s still drumming his fingers like he’s oblivious.

“Well . . . ,” Mrs. B says, her face melting a little from its sour expression. “Just be honest with us from now on. I can watch the little one if—”

“No.” I can’t let her down again. There’s no way I’m accepting more help. “Thanks, but you’ve done a lot for me already. I don’t want to take advantage—”

“Don’t ever think you’re taking advantage of me!” She smacks my arm. “You live here. You’re like a part of the family now. You have no idea how much I’ve missed my Kay—” She clamps her mouth shut and glances down at her feet. “How much I’ve missed having a baby around.”

I can practically feel Chris’s entire body tense. It reverberates through the air.

Mrs. B takes a deep breath and smiles. “I thought I heard Aaron out here.” She leans down and squeezes his shoulders. “How are you, dear? Can I get you three something to drink? It’s a hot one today.” She fans the neck of her shirt in and out.

“You should go for a swim, Mrs. B.” Aaron taps his fingers on the table again. I wonder if he drums on the pillows when he sleeps.

“Heavens no! I’m too old to put on a swimsuit.” She pats her hair into place. “Why don’t you let me watch the little one for a while so you young kids can go have some fun?”