Leap of Faith (12 page)

At the first big intersection, I turn right. No day cares so far. I pass a mall and a big fitness center. There are a couple of car dealerships, a sports bar, a hair salon, and a bike shop, but no daycares. Don’t kids live in this town? Or do all the moms stay home?

I’m turning left when the idea hits me, and I make a quick U-turn.

I find a spot right up front in the Fitness Plus parking lot. A fan blows down hard on us when I push the tinted glass door open. It’s a wind tunnel in the vestibule.

A girl stands behind the counter, popping her gum and talking on the phone. She’s about my age, I can tell. She eyes me up and down and tells her friend to hold on.

“Can I help you?” A fake smile smears her glossed lips.

“I’d like some information, please.” I switch Addy to my other shoulder.

The girl pulls out a brochure and unfolds it on the counter in front of me. “We’re open seven days a week, five a.m. to nine p.m. Here’s a list of classes we offer.” She points to the right side of the brochure. “We have a track, racquetball courts, stationary bikes, step machines, ellipticals, treadmills, free weights, and an Olympic-size pool.” She takes a deep breath, preparing for the next part of her memorized pitch. “Trainers are available by signing up here at the front desk ahead of time, and the Kids Club is staffed with certified childcare specialists.”

Bingo.

“How much is a membership?” I reach for my money, inside the diaper bag, between the diapers and the bottles.

“It’s usually one fifty to join and sixty a month, but right now we have a promotion going on, so your membership fee is waived and the first month is free.” She snaps her gum and darts an anxious glance at the phone.

“Perfect. Do you have a form I fill out?” You’re not supposed to leave your kids there when you’re not in the gym, but it’s cheaper than day care, even if they do close at nine, and I’m not sure what my schedule will be when I find a job. I’ll figure something out. I didn’t think I’d even get this far.

I fill out the application with Addy fussing and squirming, and we head home right before she has a meltdown. It’s time for her to catch some z’s.

• • •

“Leah.”

I roll to my back but don’t open my eyes. “Hmm?”

I hear Chris’s whispered laugh. “Are you hungry? We saved you some spaghetti.”

My eyes snap open and focus on his, shining in the dark. I gasp and sit up. “What time is it?” I put Addy down for a nap at four and lay down on my bed for a few minutes to rest.

“Seven. You were tired.”

My hands run down my face. “Oh my God! Where’s Addy?” I swing my legs out of the bed, but he pushes me back onto my pillow.

“Relax. She’s fine. Grandma’s got her, and she’s not ready to give her up yet anyway.”

“But it’s been hours!”

He sits on my bed. “It’s no big deal.” There’s a curious look in his eye.

“What?” I ask.

He sucks on his bottom lip as he thinks of how to say what’s on his mind. “Addy’s dad. What’s the deal with him?”

“What do you mean?” Shit, I don’t have a story for this. My mind races.

“Why aren’t you with him?”

“He’s not a nice guy.” That’ll work.

“Why not? What did he do?”

“He . . . I don’t know. I just have to stay away from him.”

“Did he hit you? Is that why you ran? Did he threaten you?”

I nod, thankful that he gave me an out without me having to make up anything more.

“He can’t hurt you here. You’re safe.” Chris pulls me into a hug. “Addy’s safe here.”

I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of him. I’ve waited for this my whole life.

My stomach growls loudly, which makes Chris laugh. “Come on.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Wait until you taste this,” he says, putting a plate of spaghetti and meatballs into the microwave. He presses the buttons, licks his finger, and smiles at me.

I peer into the living room, where Mrs. B has Addy snuggled on her lap. The TV’s on—some old detective show, it sounds like—there’s a guy named Columbo. I know this because the volume is turned up loud. Old people can’t hear.

The microwave beeps. Chris sets the plate on the table and pulls out a chair. I sit down and try not to be too self-conscious that he’s staring at me, waiting for me to take a bite.

I twirl spaghetti on my fork and blow off the steam before easing it into my mouth. “Whoa,” I mumble with a full mouth.

Chris plops down in the chair across from me. “Told ya.”

Mrs. B’s spaghetti might be the best food I’ve ever eaten. The sauce is spicy and tangy, and I can’t eat it fast enough. I’m trying not to be a pig, but I don’t remember ever eating a homemade meal that didn’t involve Hope making mac and cheese and hot dogs.

Chris leaves the kitchen and comes back in holding Addy. “Grandma makes the best spaghetti. She and my grandpa used to own an Italian restaurant up in Jennings. She sold it to my aunt and uncle when Gramps died. She works at a doctor’s office three days a week now doing scheduling or something, but she still goes to Mariani’s on the weekends and makes their sauce.”

I nod, my mouth full of meatball, and wipe my lips with a napkin. Addy’s got a handful of his hair, and he’s trying to pry it loose. “I could eat this every day,” I say.

“Me too. Hey, Grandma says she’ll watch Addy if you want to come to my show Saturday in Jacksonville.” He’s smiling faintly, but his blue eyes are wide, expectant. I’ve figured out they’re blue when he’s happy and more green when he’s tired or thinking about something.

I swallow. “Um, that’s over an hour away. I don’t know if I want to be that far from her.”

“She’ll be fine with Grandma.”

“Oh, I know she will. They bonded right away.”

“So, come with me.” His smile makes it almost impossible to say no. But I can’t leave Addy for that long. Not yet. She’s still too young.

“Next time. I’m just not comfortable leaving her yet, not with anyone.”

He closes his eyes and knocks on the table with his knuckles in defeat. When he opens his eyes, he smiles again. “Okay, next time. We have a local show coming up that you’re not getting out of.”

“I’ll be there.”

Addy falls asleep in the crook of his arm, with her hand gripping his finger instead of his hair. Chris, or his grandma, already changed her into her pajamas.

“Want me to lay her down upstairs?” He stands up, careful not to wake her.

“Sure. Want to watch TV?” I stand too and take my plate to the sink.

He catches my eyes. “I’d like to spend some time with you, but I have practice tonight.”

All the muscles in my body tighten at the look on his face. Tonight he would’ve kissed me—no question about it. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’m going out with the guys after, so I’ll probably be home pretty late, or I’d come up.”

“No girlfriends tonight, then?” I take Addy from him.

His finger hooks my hair around my ear. “No girlfriends.” He tugs a hair band off of his wrist and slips it around mine. “You really need to get some of these.”

We don’t move, just stand there smiling like a pair of lust-struck idiots, smiling and fumbling with our newfound attraction. The feeling wraps around us like it’s a real, solid thing binding us together.

“No girlfriend,” he whispers.

chapter

thirteen

Three days later, I’ve bought more formula and diapers, and with what they cost, my remaining money won’t last long. I need a freaking job. I wonder how Hope will survive at Ohio State. I don’t know how she’ll have time to work, with track and school. Brian will make sure she has cash for food and stuff, but I don’t know if she’ll take it. She somehow managed to get to eighteen with her pride intact. I have no pride.

I have a baby to support.

I have to find a job.

I sit at the table downstairs and comb through the want ads. Mrs. B strolls in and starts getting ingredients out for her sauce. She still has her heels on that she wore to work at the doctor’s office. They make her feet look like canned hams stuffed into shoes. “Looking for a job?” she asks.

“Yeah. There’s not much in here, though.”

I flip the page and feel her watching me. “Come over here,” she says. “I’m going to teach you how to make sauce.”

I really don’t want to do this now. I want to find a job, but I push the paper aside and get up. Mrs. B hands me a garlic press and two cloves of garlic. I place one on a cutting board, pick up a knife from the counter, and smash one clove with the side of the blade. The pungent smell of garlic takes over the kitchen instantly.

“This reminds me of Giovanni’s,” I say. “Where I used to work. It always smelled like sauce.”

“What did you do there?” Mrs. B looks at me over her shoulder.

“Made pizza. It wasn’t the best—your sauce is a million times better—but I liked it. I miss working there.”

She taps me on the head with a wooden spoon. “I’ll tell you something, girlie. You do a good job with this sauce, and I’ll get you a job at Mariani’s—that’s my niece and nephew’s restaurant. Jim—that was my husband’s name—and I used to own it. They’ll hire you if I ask them to.”

I can’t speak. I just blink at her a few dozen times.

She laughs. “Sound good?”

“I’d get paid to make sauce and—”

“Not just sauce. You’d make pasta primavera, lasagna, fettuccini alfredo, all sorts of Italian specialties from my original Mariani family recipes.”

The cardboard Leaning Tower of Pisa cut out from a Giovanni’s pizza box and taped to my wall back home flashes in my mind in red and white clarity. There were times when I dreamed of having my own restaurant, times when I’d daydream about traveling to Italy and learning to cook real pizza and fancy pasta dishes. But I never let those thoughts last too long. I’d slam the door shut on the fingers of those dreams after a minute or two—they’d never happen.

But
this
is happening; she can get me a job.

The garlic press slips from my grip and clatters to the floor. “Oops.” I pick it up and try to remain calm even though I’m teetering on the edge of somewhere I’ve never been before, and it feels faintly like security.

Mrs. B rattles off instructions, and I execute them, grabbing herbs and opening jars of tomatoes from her garden that she canned last fall. I add all the ingredients to the big pan on the stove and stir as it simmers. “It’s starting to smell like yours,” I say.

“Look at the smile on your face.” She flicks me with a kitchen towel. “You’d think you just won the lottery.”

I laugh. She has no clue that I
have
won the lottery, and not just because of the sauce.

My eyes wander around the room. It’s clean. The curtains have ruffles. The cupboards are filled with food.

I have a new life.

Faith slammed the door on dreams, but Leah—Leah can have any dream she wants.

I shake my head. First, pay rent. Keep diapers on Addy. Don’t get ahead of yourself,
Leah
. I kick Leah down a few pegs before she carries us both away.

• • •

Hair pulled back? Check.

Black Walmart pants I picked up at eleven o’clock last night, after Addy was asleep? Check. Thank God for Chris staying with her while I went shopping.

White T-shirt borrowed from Chris? Check. He saved me again.

Mrs. B works fast. She taught me how to make sauce a couple of days ago, and I start at Mariani’s today.

At four thirty, with my big bag over my shoulder, hopefully looking like it contains my gym clothes instead of just diapers and bottles, I head to Fitness Plus.

Bubblegum Girl waves me by as I flash my card.

“Add, you have to be a good girl.” I try to catch her eye, but she’s mesmerized by the fluorescent lights overhead. “I’ll be back for you a little bit later.” She clicks her tongue.

The woman in the Kids Club room is all smiles and high-pitched baby voices. She takes Addy from my arms with an exaggerated “Heellooo, baaabbyy!” Addy grips a clump of her dyed red hair that’s the texture of straw. The woman pries Add’s fingers open while making faces and cooing noises.

At least there’s no vicious dog here. Kooky women I can handle.

I leave the bag of diapers and bottles and tell the lady I’m taking several classes and swimming for a while after, but I’ll be back later.

Then I pry myself away, like she pried Addy’s fingers from her hair, and leave.

I’m driving to work with my mind spinning in circles as fast as my mom’s busted washer that never gets clothes clean, just leaves rust stains behind.

I just dumped Addy at the gym and left.

I abandoned her there.

If something happens to her, I won’t be there, and they won’t know where I am.

I squeeze the wheel harder so I don’t give in and turn around. We need money. I can’t keep her if I can’t buy formula and diapers and have somewhere for us to live.

I keep telling myself this, but I still feel like crap and I’m as paranoid as my mom on bad weed. What if they call me over the loudspeaker? Shit. This isn’t going to work. I should just go back and get her.

I keep arguing with myself until I’m through the door at Mariani’s and introducing myself to Gretchen, Chris’s cousin, who’s supposed to train me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, with red lipstick smudged on her front tooth. “I’ve been cooking and waiting tables by myself for the past two weeks. I’m about ready to walk out and leave my mom to do it all herself. Come in the back with me, and we’ll get started.”

I follow her through a swinging door into the kitchen, watching her long black ponytail swish across her back. She’s probably in her midtwenties. She doesn’t look much older than Chris.

There’s a dishwashing area where a bunch of dirty dishes are stacked, waiting to be rinsed and run through the dishwasher. I hear someone whistling farther back in the kitchen, maybe whoever washes dishes? I hope so. I hope it’s not my job.

“We’ll keep you on nights, five till eleven, four or five nights a week. My mom’s got the schedule for next week at home, so I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know when you work next.”

Gretchen leans her hands on top of a narrow countertop that looks like it’s one big white cutting board. “Here’s where you make salads.” She lifts a stainless-steel lid on a cooler system to reveal plastic buckets of lettuce, carrots, cherry tomatoes, and salad dressing. “First put a handful of lettuce in a bowl and weigh it to make sure it’s not over three and a half ounces.”