Leap of Faith (19 page)

Chris’s hand appears over my shoulder holding a brownie. I take it and look up at him. “Thanks.” He’s smiling and chewing and has chocolate frosting on his upper lip. It reminds me of my birthday, and I want to lick it off.

He swallows and brushes his hands on his shorts. “Squirrel Girl’s asleep. I put her in the Pack ’n Play.”

“You’re so good with her, dear,” Mrs. B says, squeezing his arm and beaming up at him. “Even if you do call her silly names. You’ll make a wonderful dad someday.”

His face turns crimson, and he avoids my eyes. “Thanks, Grandma.”

“Come inside with me for a minute,” she tells him, getting up and tugging him by the arm. “We’ll be right back out,” she calls to me over her shoulder.

My butt’s falling asleep from sitting in this chair for so long, and my thighs are sweating against the woven plastic seat. I stand up and run my hands over the back of my legs, feeling the meshlike imprint in my skin.

I walk to the farthest corner of the yard among the flowering bushes, fragrant lilies, and a small koi pond. Although I’ve been to Mrs. B’s house before, this is my first time in her backyard. It’s so different from the dirt and weeds that we called a yard back in Ohio. My feet reach the stones surrounding the tiny pond, and I watch the orange fish dart around underwater. The sun has set, but it’s not yet dark. My reflection is like a shadow.

Another shadow reflection appears over my shoulder.

“How’s work going, Leah?”

I spin around to face Mr. Buckridge, the man who says approximately three words per day to me. “Hi” and “good night.” It’s like he has no idea what to say to me.

“It’s great. I like it a lot.”

“I hear you learned to make the secret Mariani sauce.” He stares down into the pond. I turn back around and resume my fish gazing too.

“I did, yeah.”

Neither of us speaks for about five minutes, and it’s awkward as hell. I’m about to walk away when he clears his throat.

“You know, I was afraid that Chris was getting too attached to you and the baby.” He looks at me like he’s waiting for my response. “Not because I don’t like you or don’t want him involved with you, and Addy’s a wonderful baby. It’s just . . .” He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Has he told you about his mom and sister?”

“Umm . . .” I glance back over my shoulder to see if Chris is outside yet. He’s not. “He said they both passed away, when I asked him about the tattoo on his chest.” I bite my lip and want to be sucked into the ground—I just admitted that I’ve seen Chris without a shirt. At the very least. God knows what he’s thinking now. “That’s all he said about it.”

He nods and closes his eyes. “After his sister, Kayla, was born two years ago, my wife went into a pretty bad depression . . . this postpartum, baby-blues thing. Then, one morning, Kayla just didn’t wake up.” He pulls one hand from his pocket and runs it over his face. “Since my wife was already having a hard time, after Kayla died she couldn’t take it. Even though she tried counseling and antidepressants, she just turned deeper and deeper inside herself. Shut everyone out.” He rocks on his heels and looks up at the darkening horizon. “One day, she slit her wrists. I found her on the bathroom floor when I got home from work.” He exhales quickly from his mouth into the sky, like he’s releasing demons, and turns his eyes to me. “I just don’t want him getting all wrapped up in another woman and baby to have them taken away again.”

I feel the tears, see my vision blur, but they won’t fall. I won’t let them.

He can’t see how tortured I am.

He can’t know I have to leave soon.

He can’t know his son will be hurt again.

“What’s going on?” Chris asks, coming up behind me.

“Just watching the fish,” his dad says. He pats my shoulder. “Glad you could be here.” He walks past Chris and pats his shoulder too. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you both . . . later.”

“Later,” Chris says.

“Bye,” I say. My voice cracks. Chris doesn’t notice.

He grips my arms and leads me into a warm, wonderful kiss. The tears finally fall down my cheeks as I close my eyes. And they don’t stop.

He pulls back, wipes his cheek, and looks at his hand, then me. “What’s wrong? What did he say?”

“Nothing.” I let out a shaky laugh. “He didn’t say anything. I’m just being dumb.” I swipe the tears off my face.

Chris cups the back of my head with his hand. “No. Something’s making you cry. Tell me what it is.” He kisses my forehead.

I put my hand on his chest, over the spot where his tattoo is hidden. “He told me about your mom and Kayla.”

He leans back to look at me. “What did he tell you? Did he tell you everything?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know if it
wasn’t
everything.”

“But, he told you about my mom?
How
she died?”

I nod.

“What about Kayla?”

I blink a few times, contemplating his guarded expression and what it means. “He said she just didn’t wake up one morning.”

He takes a deep breath, sucks in his lips, and looks over my shoulder, toward the bushes.

“Chris?” I wait until his eyes meet mine again. “Is that why you help me and Addy? That’s why you try to keep us safe?”

He doesn’t answer, just wraps me in his arms and holds me so tight to his chest, I can barely breathe. “I love you,” he says into my hair.

“I love you too,” I whisper into his chest, feeling like a traitor. Hating myself more than he ever will. I’m aching inside so badly, I wonder if this is how his mother felt. I don’t know what I’ll do when I no longer have him in my life.

• • •

We’re sitting in the middle of a field, side by side on the hood of Chris’s truck. There are no other cars or people around. It’s just us. Chris has his guitar, and the notes he picks sound hollow and desolate, echoing through the silence.

“Don’t people around here come out to watch fireworks?” I lean back, propped on my hands.

“Most of them go to the town square. I come out here. I’d rather watch them alone. Is that pathetic?” He turns his head and looks at me, then strums his guitar.

I lean back onto my elbows. “No. I always find a spot by myself too. There’s something about fireworks—they make you lonely, but good lonely.”

We’re close enough that I can see his eyes even though it’s pitch black. They’re intense, probing mine. “Exactly,” he whispers. “You get me, Leah.”

He grasps my chin with his thumb and index finger and leads my face to his, where our lips meet. His kisses are so delicate and sweet. He cherishes me. I can feel it in his kiss.

He leans his forehead against mine. “My grandma wanted me to go inside with her so she could give me something. She’s hoping I’ll give it to you someday. I know I will. I know I want you to wear it for the rest of your life.”

My entire body goes numb. Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about? Did she give him her ring?

If that wasn’t clear enough, he takes my left hand and kisses my ring finger.

Holy shit.

Before I get my heart and mind back in sync, there’s a deafening boom, and reflected in his eyes I see the brilliant sparks of multicolored fireworks.

I can’t deny how I feel about him. I love him. I want that ring someday. I want to be his wife. I want him to be Addy’s father.

If I keep her that long.

If he doesn’t hate me when he finds out what I did.

If I don’t go to prison for the rest of my life.

His lips find mine again. His hands stroke my face, my legs, my neck. We make love on the hood of his truck, under a sky filled with lonely fireworks.

chapter

twenty

When Chris and I get home from work on Friday night with Addy, we’re faced with the shock of a lifetime. Gail and Jonathan are there for dinner.

As soon as Chris sees them sitting at the table eating pizza, he throws his keys against the wall and storms into the kitchen.

He doesn’t break his stride. “Dad, I need to talk to you outside.” He continues through to the back door that’s thrown open as he goes out, the screen door banging against the house.

Ken’s pissed. He gets up and follows Chris, taking care to close the door behind him.

I slink into the kitchen and slide onto the chair beside Gail, resting Addy on my shoulder. “How did this happen?” I gesture to the pizza.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He called late last night and told me he’s tired of being alone. He said he’s ready to move on with his life. Then he asked me to come over with Jonathan for pizza tonight.”

“Hmm.” I force a smile. I’m happy for her but devastated for Chris. Ken might be ready to move on, but Chris isn’t ready for him to forget his mom.

“Chris is pissed, huh?” she asks.

I grimace. “What gave you that idea?” I lean back in my chair. “Ken’s pissed too,” I say.

She nods. “What a mess.”

Outside, their voices rise, making it possible for us to hear them inside. “Jonathan”—I stand and walk round the table—“come upstairs and watch TV with me and Addy, okay?” Chris and Ken’s fight has even shocked Jonathan into stone stillness. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I’m coming too.” Gail jumps from her chair.

We hurry Jonathan up the stairs and get him situated with some cartoons. Just as I sit down with Addy and a bottle, I hear the back door slam.

“Want me to take her?” Gail asks, knowing I want to go to Chris.

I nod and hand Addy over. “I’ll be right back.”

I open the door and listen before creeping down the steps. It’s silent. Ken is sitting in his spot at the kitchen table, staring at the ceiling.

“Want me to tell Gail you’re back inside?” I ask.

“She upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs and pushes his chair out. “I’ll go up. We’ll go to her house.” Before he climbs the steps, he pauses. “Talk to him. He needs someone to listen. It can’t be me now. He doesn’t want it to be me anymore.” His shoulders slump. I’ve never seen him as sad.

I don’t see Chris. His keys are on the floor by the coffee table. I pick them up and head down the hall to his room. The door’s shut, so I knock. When there’s no answer, I open it.

He’s lying on his bed with his back to the door. “Hey.” I ease into the room and shut the door behind me. “Are you okay?” I sit down and put my hand on his head, stroking his hair. “Talk to me.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything. I lie behind him and drape my arm over him. We lie in silence for what seems like forever.

“Did you know?” It’s almost a whisper.

“Did I know?” I sit up, and he rolls onto his back.

“Did you know about her and my dad?”

I’m not sure why it matters if I knew. “She’s mentioned your dad before.”

His face draws tight. He’s so mad, it looks like he could open his mouth and a deep, fierce growl would echo from his throat. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t know it’s a big deal that your dad is seeing her.” I rest my hand on his arm, and he shrugs it off and sits up on the edge of the bed with his back to me. “Chris . . .”

“Just . . . don’t. I need to think. I have practice. I’ll talk to you later.” He grabs his guitar case and his cap and bolts from the room. Squeezing his keys, which are still in my hand, I lean against the headboard and wait.

The front door opens and closes.

I know he’ll be back.

The front door opens and closes.

He’s back.

I dangle his keys from my finger. “Looking for these?”

“Yeah.” He reaches out to snatch them, and I wrap my fingers around them, keeping them tight in my fist.

“You’re not getting them until you talk to me.”

He runs his hands over his face in frustration. “I’m late already, Leah. Just give me my keys.”

I shake my head. “No. Sorry.”

“I’m serious!” he shouts.

“So am I!” I shout back.

He dives at me, landing on the bed, half on top of me, half off. We wrestle for the keys. He grabs my wrist and tries to pry my fingers open. I kick and squirm and pull my arm free. We’re both irritated with each other, and we’re blowing off steam.

I can’t help it. This is so ridiculous that I start giggling. That only makes him angrier.

He takes both of my wrists and pins them beside my head. “This is funny to you? My dad’s dating her. Do you think it’s cool if he forgets about my mom?”

“No, that’s not—”

“I can’t believe you. I don’t know you at all.” His eyes drill into mine. I know he’s hurting. I know he doesn’t mean it, but his words sting. They’re the words I’ve heard him say to me in my head a million times.

I’m a bitch.

A lying bitch.

I open my hand, revealing the keys.

He takes them and heads toward the door. He pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “We’ll talk later,” he mumbles, then leaves.

• • •

I have this heavy blanket of sadness wrapped around me. When he gets home, I want things to be back to normal. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want any of
that
to ever have happened.

Addy’s asleep. My notebook and pen sit on the table in front of me. I’ve written until my eyes crossed. I’ve spilled everything about my life. I’ve told him about my mom, about Hope, about Addy. Everything. I’ve even told him how much I love him and how much I want to be with him, wearing his grandma’s ring.

My head’s pounding.

My eyes are raw.

My hand’s cramped.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. I dash across the kitchen and toss the notebook and pen into the drawer. He knocks. I tighten the belt on my robe and open the door.

He smiles, but it’s small and weak.

I cross the room and collapse onto the couch. He sits beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Okay.”

“I was mad that you didn’t tell me when she told you about my dad.”

“Are you still?”

“A little.”

“What was I supposed to say that you didn’t already know? If you wanted to talk to me about it, you would’ve. Why would I bring it up?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“I know. You’re right.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head and pulls me to him. “No. I don’t want to waste time talking about them. I’d rather think about us.” He kisses me quickly, testing the water. “How’s Add?”