Chapter Fifty-Six
Emily
Waiting at the hospital for the baby to be released took longer than I anticipated. It made sense that it took time to prove my identity and finalize the paperwork, but I had no idea she needed to pass a car seat test before she could be released.
Finally, I get to see her. In the days since she’s been in the hospital, she’s lost that gaunt look which has been replaced by smooth cheeks and bright brown eyes. Her dark hair curls at the ends against her skull. “She’s slightly under what she came into the hospital weighing.”
“She doesn’t look it.” She’s swaddled in one of those white hospital baby blankets with the blue and pink stripes around the edges. “She looks healthy.”
“She is healthy and strong but it’s normal for an infant who’s going through withdrawal to struggle latching onto a bottle, and then, there’s the trembling, vomit, and diarrhea that take a few days to withstand before the drugs in their system tapers off.
But her complexion has evened out, which is probably why she looks healthier. ”
“Thank God.”
She tosses handful of pacifiers into a bag. “She’s been stable for the last two days. She’s one of the lucky ones. There are some babies who’re addicted to opiates that remain in the hospital for three months.”
“Three months?”
“Yes. Those are difficult cases. But with Baby Doe, we expect her to make a quick rebound in her weight at this point.”
“Perfect.” My hands shake as I clasp them together.
Now that I’m standing here, waiting for her to be released, and in the same hospital room, my heart is pounding in my ears. Everything feels surreal. I’m going to walk out of here with a baby. Who in the hell thought that was a good idea? I don’t know the first thing about newborns.
The case manager went over the paperwork, handed everything to me, and disappeared while they were doing the car seat test on Baby Doe. I’m on my own. Well, not exactly on my own. Jake has already come to my rescue. Twice.
First by installing the car seat. Which I could’ve done on my own but still appreciated the help. Besides, he looked hot as fuck doing it, and then, he called when he sensed I was stressed out. Just hearing his voice eased the tension in my shoulders.
I rotate them in a circle. Except, the tension is back. I should’ve asked him to come to the hospital with me.
What’s wrong with you? You’re a strong, capable woman. You can handle anything on your own. But it sure is nice to have a strong man in my corner. I gnaw on my bottom lip as I shove all thoughts of Jake to the back of my mind.
“You’re going to be fine.” The nurse places her hand on my upper arm.
“It’s normal to feel like you’re ill-equipped to take a baby home.
This happens whether you’ve given birth or not.
” Her lips curve upward into a smile. “Actually, we’re worried a lot more if a mother isn’t looking like she’s going to throw up.
It means you take your responsibilities to her seriously. ”
“I do.”
“Good.” She squeezes and let’s go. “You’re going to do just fine. Are you hooked up with the online foster care group?” She names a group on social media.
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s an online group of foster parents who’ve taken in substance exposed children.
They’d be a great resource for you. Many of the things you’ll experience with Baby Grace will be typical, but there’ll be some things that happen which you might not expect.
” She sinches the drawstrings on the bag and sits it next to the diaper bag that I brought.
“Baby Grace?”
“We gave her the nickname of Grace because it was only through the grace of God that she was found when she was and taken straight to the hospital.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“We thought it fit her perfectly.”
“It does.” I stare down at the baby swaddled in the hospital blanket. Her perfectly formed bow mouth moves and flexes in her sleep. “What things might happen?”
“It’s hard to say because each child is different. But many substance-exposed children will be irritable, struggle with sensory issues, and as they age, may show signs of hyperactivity and attention deficits.”
What am I doing? Why in the hell did I let my mom convince me to do this? I should’ve gone with my gut and said no. My anxiety shoots through the roof.
Take a deep breath. You’ve got this. “I’ll add myself to the group as soon as I get home.”
“Great.” She claps her hands. “Okay. She’s all yours. Now, I need to see you feed and change her. As soon as those steps are complete, you’ll strap her into the car seat, and I’ll go down with you to ensure she’s properly restrained in your vehicle.”
I block out my nerves and un-swaddle the baby. As her arms and legs break free, she kicks and swings her arms in the air, scrunches up her face, and cries. Breathe. Deeper. I count to five and slowly exhale.
That’s better. It no longer feels like I’m going to collapse on the floor.
“You’re doing fine,” the nurse says.
Yeah, right. She’s crying. I’m not doing fine. The nurse is going to snatch her away from me, march to the office, call Iris and tell her what a poor choice I am in a foster parent.
“Change her diaper swiftly and put on her going home outfit. She’s only upset because her cocoon was disturbed.”
I briskly work through the motions of changing her and putting on the outfit I brought. The yellow color of the onesie brings out her olive complexion.
I’ve changed babies before. When I was thirteen, I babysat three kids for the summer, and as paramedics, we simulated on fake babies and subsequently worked up to actual infants as part of our training. Despite the shaking, I know what I’m doing.
The nurse instructs me to fasten the baby into the car seat, hooks the carrier on my arm, and points to the door. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re alone. Grace and I are alone.
From the driver’s seat, I can’t see her unless I turn in my seat and lean into the back. “Here we go, baby. I don’t know what I’m doing, so if you do, try not to be too disappointed.”
The drive from the city to Brookhaven is quiet. She hasn’t made a peep since we left the parking lot.
I flick on the blinker and turn down Main Street.
Everything looks the same. Blossom & Bloom has the same baskets of flowers hanging in front of the shop with Rosemarie waving from behind the register.
Across the street, Louise strides out of the library doors and steps onto the sidewalk. She also greets me as I drive past.
As I idle at the single blinking red stop light in the center of town, I drum my fingertips on the steering wheel.
Chad pulls up to my right in his Cutlass.
Didn’t Jake say he had expired tags or something?
I glance at the front plate, but from this distance I can’t make out the date.
It’s orange. Is that this year or last year’s color?
I ease through the intersection. Maybe he renewed them.
When I get home, I need to call Jake and let him know that Chad is back to driving his car in case it isn’t legal.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, and Chad turns, following behind me.
The hair on my arms stands as my gaze flicks back and forth from the view out my front window and the one out the rearview mirror.
Thankfully, he remains at a safe distance. Back in high school, Chad made all the underclass people’s lives miserable. We’d come around corners on the way downstairs, and he’d shove out his foot from the other side of the wall, causing us to flail forward.
If we were lucky all we’d do was drop our books on the floor. On the not so lucky days, someone would fall face first onto the floor.
He de-panted middle school boys, gave wedgies to the freshman, and put castor oil in the teacher’s salad dressing. By his senior year, we were saved. He was kicked out of school. At least while we were in school, but he’d still lurk around town, fucking with people.
I’m two blocks from my apartment building when I notice Chad turning onto my street. My heart skips a beat. Is he following me? The baby whimpers as if it senses my heightened anxiety. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”
What does he want? Does he know this is Mackenzie’s baby? Does she want her back?
Chad flips on his blinker and eases into a spot a block away from the apartment building. My shoulders drop. Girl, you’ve lost your mind thinking that Chad is following you. He’s never given you the time of day.
I ease into my parking space, gather my gear, and jump out. The warm sun beats down on my head and causes my eyes to squint against the intrusion. I swing open the back door to find Grace’s deep brown eyes watching me.
Or at least she’s somewhat watching me. At this point, I’m probably a big blob to her.
“It’s a beautiful day, baby. Let’s go inside so you can get used to your new home.” I pop out the car seat, hook the carrier over my arm, and turn on my heel.
“What do you have here?” Chad stands on the other side of the door. “Little Miss Goodie Two Shoes and a mutt.”
I scream and jump, jostling the car seat which causing the baby’s arms to flail out as a wail emits from her lips.
Thanks, asshole. I narrow my gaze, taking him in from his crossed arms to his feet braced a couple of feet apart.
Greasy hair. Tattoos. Grime covered shirt.
Jeans that look like they’ve never been washed.
Pit marked face. Beady eyes that leer over me sending a shiver along my spine.
He’s a pathetic bully, but I’m not about to let this loser ruin my day. “What do you want?”
On some guys the black ink looks hot. On Jake? It’s sexy as hell. On Chad? He looks like a loser trying to be cool.
“I heard you were dating that pussy boy, Jake Thompson. I want you to tell him to leave me alone. I’ve not done anything to him. If he minds his own business, I’ll mind mine.”
I swing the car seat behind me, putting as much distance between Chad and Grace as I can. If needed, I’ll sprint out of here, go to a neighbor’s house and call Jake. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Angel.” He winks as he runs his finger under my chin, shoving my head upward and back. “You know exactly what that means.”
Bile rises in my throat, but I manage to hold my ground. I’m not backing down over this guy.
His jaw flexes as he pops his neck and drops his hand back down to his side.
“People who fuck with me pay the consequences and clearly, your pretty boy boyfriend has been gone too long to remember how small towns work. Around here, we take care of our own. And while you’re at it.
Tell that fucking prick to quit messing with my sister.
She isn’t interested in some do-gooder cop. ”
Grace’s whimper subsides as one of my neighbors steps outside her apartment door. “Emily, do you need help?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I wave dismissively at Mrs. Logan as my heart sputters in my chest. The last thing I need is for an 80-year-old woman to get caught in the middle of this.
“Do you want me to call the police?” Her voice wavers as she speaks but her chin remains tipped up.
Chad growls as I raise my hand palm facing outward toward my elderly neighbor. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got this. You go back inside.”
“Fine.” Her eyes remain narrowed as she tilts her head and looks Chad up and down.
Her face is lined with wrinkles, her shoulders are curved with age, and she’s wearing a faded floral housecoat with tan stockings pulled up to her knees.
But she doesn’t back down either. “Yell if you need me. I’ll be watching. ”
Mrs. Logan shuffles back inside with one backward glance. When I’m her age, I want to be a bad ass like her.
“Good thing you were smart enough to get rid of her. I’d hate for you to feel responsible for Mrs. Logan having a little accident. You get what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He takes a step back. “You keep being a good girl.”
Oh my God, I’m going to vomit. I’ve waited my entire life for someone to call me a good girl, and it ends up being Chad Whitlock.
I straighten my spine. “Are we done?”
“Yes.” He winks again and salutes me. “We’re very done. Now go scurrying into your corner and hide.”
The second I snap the door shut, I lock the deadbolt and message Jake.
Me: When you get the chance, stop by. Please.