Leap of Faith (7 page)

My fingernail starts bleeding when I bite it down to the quick. I suck on it until the blood stops.

I can’t do this.

I can’t worry about things that might never happen.

I have enough to keep my stomach in knots as it is.

With Addy’s pajamas on her, I lay her on the bed to put mine on. But after stripping off my jeans, I can’t bring myself to remove Chris’s T-shirt. So, I keep it on and crawl into bed.

I hate that some boy I don’t even know can make me feel like Addy and I have been saved. Like he’d take a bullet for us or something. I pinch the squishy skin between my thumb and forefinger. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” I whisper to myself, then bite my lips and remind myself to never cuss around Addy.

Even if she can’t repeat after me yet, it’s best to get out of the habit now.

Between the semis rushing by, ambulance and police sirens blaring, and the occasional late check-in dragging a suitcase down the sidewalk, I listen to the soft intake of Addy’s breath, then the ruffle of her exhale. There’s no other sound like it on earth.

I slide closer, rest my fingers over her tiny arm, and press my nose against her chubby cheek. Before falling asleep, I think about how everything is going to be perfect.

• • •

At two in the morning, Addy wakes up shrieking. I feed and change her, but no matter what I do, she won’t stop crying. I pace the room, bouncing her and holding the pacifier in her mouth. She can’t seem to keep it between her lips without it popping out, which makes her even angrier.

Our neighbors on all sides pound on the walls and shout at me to
shut that baby up!

I know it’s only a matter of minutes before the old man from the front office comes to our room, demanding that we leave. I shove my feet into my flip-flops, grab the diaper bag and my keys, pick up Addy, and dart out the door. We’ll drive around until morning, or until she stops crying, whichever comes first.

As I buckle her in, I see him coming down the sidewalk. Before he can get a word out, I call to him, “I’m sorry. I’m taking her for a drive. We’ll check out in the morning. I found a place for us to live.”

He frowns, waves me off, and turns back toward the front office.

Without having anywhere else to go, I drive to Jasper, past our new house. Addy isn’t screaming anymore, but her sleep is restless. Every once in a while, she lets out a shriek.

I slow the car as we approach 356 Maple Street. The lights upstairs, in our room, are on. A shadow passes the window, and I strain to see inside. Chris comes into view. His hair’s pulled back. He’s shirtless, and there’s a paintbrush in his hand.

I stop at the curb and watch, hoping he won’t look out and see the car. He’s singing, and every once in a while he uses the paintbrush as a microphone.

I laugh, and it echoes through the car. Addy shifts in her car seat but stays asleep.

Chris bends, disappearing from sight for a second, then straightens and raises a Coke can to his lips as he wipes his chest with a white paint rag. A tool belt hugs his hips.

I feel hot all of a sudden and crack my window. My forehead’s slick, and I wipe it with the bottom of his T-shirt. I don’t want to leave, but the longer I stay, the higher my chances of being caught spying on him.

It’s five thirty in the morning when I pull back into the motel parking lot. I give Addy a bottle in the car before we go back into our room. I catch her puke in a diaper and pitch it into the trash can out on the sidewalk.

Checkout isn’t until eleven, so I crawl back into bed with Addy. Her 2:00 a.m. crying fit must’ve worn her out, because she sleeps soundly, and it’s almost ten when we wake up again.

I shower, pack us up, and leave the key at the front desk with the day clerk. “We’re on our way to our own place, Addster!” I tell her as we pull out of the motel parking lot. Hearing the excitement in my voice makes me panic a little bit. I should be wary, nervous, anxious, even guilty, but not excited. There’s still the threat of getting caught, not to mention that I don’t have a way to support the two of us. Being excited is stupid—I haven’t escaped anything yet.

As if to prove my point, when we get to the house, there’s a note on the door with my name on it.

Leah,

I’m sorry. I would’ve called, but I didn’t know how to reach you.

My dad doesn’t want to rent to someone with a baby. You were right. I should’ve asked him first. I feel like a jerk.

I’m really sorry.

Chris

I’m clutching the paper so tight, it shakes in my hand.

What am I going to do?

What the hell
am I going to do?

I’m breathing hard, and spots of light are flashing in my eyes. I’m about to pass out.

I ease down onto the porch step with Addy asleep against my shoulder.

“I give up,” I whisper. “I give up. I can’t do this anymore.”

My eyes blur with tears, and I close them. I don’t want to feel them trailing down my cheeks, but I do.

I can’t go back to the motel. I can’t stay here. Where else can we go?

I think about home, the feel of the dirty, gummy carpet under my feet, the water that smells like rotten eggs and turns the toilet bowl orange, the smell of smoke that clings to my clothes and hair.

Mom high.

Mom drunk.

I shake my head. I’m not going back there. I’m not taking Addy back there. This is my way out, and it has to work. It’s my only chance.

“Come on, Addy,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

I let Chris’s note drift to the ground and watch it blow across the grass.

With nothing else to do, I drive around for a while thinking, trying to come up with a new plan. We’re going to have to stay at a hotel until I can find us another place to live.

I stop at a Quality Inn and lug Addy inside. Going from the bright, hot sun in the car and parking lot, to the dim, air-conditioned lobby makes her startle awake. She blinks and yawns. I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t start crying. Luckily, she closes her eyes again and falls back asleep.

“Can I help you?” There’s a woman in a blue blazer and a crisp white shirt behind the front desk.

I step up to the desk and clear my throat. “Yes. I’d like to know how much a room would be for the night.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any available rooms for the next two days. There’s a big televangelist convention in Jacksonville with a bunch of those TV ministers.” She waits for me to nod, like I know who she’s talking about. “Most of the hotels in the area are booked.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway.”

I walk back to the car with an instant headache.

I stop at two more hotels and one seedy-looking motel with a dry, cracked in-ground pool taken over by weeds. Even the skanky motel is booked. The fat, sweaty guy behind the desk there tells me that even all the campsites in the area are full. “Good luck,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head.

I don’t know what to do, so I get back on the highway. Addy starts to fuss, and a look at the clock tells me it’s time for a bottle. Since there’s nowhere to get off or pull over, I drive with her screaming for another fifteen minutes until I get to a rest stop. It’s lucky that they have a drinking fountain, because I didn’t make any bottles before we checked out of the hotel this morning, figuring we’d be settled in our new place by now. Stupid me.

Sitting on a bench in the shade, I watch Addy drink her formula. All I wanted to do was give her a nice place to live.

My shoulders and chin feel like gravity is sucking them downward.

I’m sad. Sad and defeated.

But I didn’t steal Addy and make it this far to let some baby hater like Mr. Buckridge get the best of me. Maybe if Chris’s dad met Addy, he’d see that she’s a good baby and let us live there. After all, Aunt Ivy likes Addy. . . .

It hits me like a box of rocks dropped from the sky. Ivy’s my way in. I can hear her with the phone in her hand saying, “He does what I tell him to. I’m his favorite auntie Ivy.”

Hope bubbles in my stomach and makes me giddy. I probably shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t play Ivy like this, but there’s no other way.

Addy and I find the mall and window-shop for the rest of the day. I splurge and buy caramel corn and a soda. At nine thirty Addy needs to be changed and starts crying, but it’s not time to head to the car and Green Witch Soap and Suds yet—they don’t close until eleven. I still have time to kill since I don’t want to get there until Ivy is gone.

In the lower level of the mall, there’s a movie theater. We ride down the escalator, with Addy getting louder and louder all the way. Trying to look like I have an urgent situation, I run to the ticket window and point inside the theater. “I need to change her fast! It’s dripping out!”

The man at the window looks grossed out and waves me in. “Go ahead. It’s to your right!”

I dart into the women’s bathroom with Addy and lean my back against the door. “We did it,” I tell her. “Let’s hope the big plan works as smoothly.”

After changing her, I sneak into a movie about bridesmaids who go on a trip for a bachelorette party. It’s a good thing Addy sleeps through it, because she’s way too young for an R-rated movie. I crack up at the funny parts and try to forget I’m a homeless runaway kidnapper.

When the movie ends, I drive to Green Witch Soap and Suds. It’s well past closing time, and the parking lot’s empty when I pull in. I pick a spot that’s not right up front but not all the way in the back either. I want Ivy to see us when she gets here in the morning.

Addy’s asleep, so I don’t bother changing her into pajamas; I just leave her in her car seat and tuck a blanket around her. “ ’Night-night, baby.” I kiss her forehead, and she sighs.

It’s a long, hot, uncomfortable night. When I leave the windows down, bugs fly in, but I have to leave them cracked at least, or we’ll suffocate. There must be ten mosquitoes in the car that I’m trying to squish against the dashboard. Addy’s got a big welt on her cheek where she’s been bitten. I’ve given her another bottle already, gotten absolutely no sleep, and it’s three in the morning.

By six, I’m contemplating driving back home. But I can’t. I don’t want to see my mom ever again. “Just a few more hours,” I tell myself. I give Addy another bottle and crash out with her on my lap.

• • •

A knock on my side window wakes me. “What in God’s name are you two doing? Did you sleep here all night?” Ivy grabs the door handle and tries to jerk it open.

I unlock the door and let her open it. “Yeah, we did. All the hotels are booked. I wanted to catch you to say thanks for trying. I appreciate it. It didn’t work out, though. Your nephew doesn’t want to rent to someone with a baby.”

She scowls. “That’s the most ridiculous . . . That man . . . I just . . . Come with me!” She lifts Addy off my lap and marches to the door of Green Witch Soap and Suds with her keys jingling.

I follow her inside and sit at the same table I sat at before while she takes Addy around the bar and grabs the phone. While it rings, she plops a kiss on top of Addy’s head.

“Christopher,” she says, “put your father on, please.” She nods her head a few times. “Oh, yeah, he is in
big
trouble with me.”

After a few minutes, she clears her throat. “Good morning, it’s your favorite auntie Ivy calling to ask you what on earth you were thinking casting a young mother out onto the street? Do you know they slept in the car last night?”

Her head starts shaking back and forth. “No. I don’t care. You’re being a stubborn, ridiculous man, and you will rent this room to Leah and Addy, or I’ll call in the big guns.” She smirks. “Oh, I would. Now, I’m sending Leah back over.” She winks at me. “Uh-huh. Then leave a key in the planter.” Ivy jiggles Addy on her hip. “Fine, then. Love you too. Buh-bye.”

She hangs up and looks at me. “He’s leaving your front-door key in the planter on the back patio table.”

I rub my eyes and yawn, trying to look humble and not like this whole scheme worked out just like I’d planned. “Are you sure he’s okay with it?”

“He’s fine with it.” She hands Addy over to me and ties her apron around her waist. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

“Thanks, Ivy. I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

I reach over and hug her with Addy trapped between us, squirming. Even though the appreciation is real, I feel like I have a little bit too much of my mother in me if I can manipulate someone so easily. It makes me feel like there’s something vile crawling up my back.

chapter

eight

After finding the key, I open the front door. It feels wrong at first, being in someone else’s home without that person there. The home of someone who doesn’t want us to be here.

I sit on the couch and dig a baby blanket out of the diaper bag, then spread it out on the tan living room carpet. Addy lies in the middle with her big eyes searching around her. I wonder if she remembers where she is.

She’s a good baby and doesn’t make a sound as I haul in all her stuff, the Walmart bags from our shopping trip, and my one meager bag of clothes, and sit them at the bottom of the stairs.

My hand grasps the railing, and I realize I’m taking shallow breaths as I climb the stairs. My mind is picturing Chris, shirtless, singing and painting two nights before. I won’t let myself wonder why he’s so good to a stranger and her baby.

I need this.

I deserve this.

Addy deserves this.

I turn the doorknob and peek inside the room. He didn’t just paint the room—which is now a warm candlelight ivory—there’s a wall, too, dividing the far third of the room from the rest. It runs halfway across, enough for a private area.

I hurry and look beyond the wall. A double bed and dresser have been set up for me. I have a real bed, not just a mattress on the floor. There’s a frame, a box spring, a headboard—it’s all there. It’s dizzying, seriously dizzying. Who is this boy and how can he be so generous?

It takes me fifteen minutes to drag everything up the steps. Then I carry Addy up and lay her in her Pack ’n Play while I unpack our new towels and wonder where the bathroom is. Since Addy’s still content and nobody’s home to show me around, I go downstairs to snoop.