Chapter 3
SARAH
ME: Call me back, Miles. It’s important.
______
“What are you gonna do?”
I rinse a stinky sippy cup, trying not to gag, and put it in the dishwasher. “I don’t know. He said it wasn’t safe to drive, so I’ll have to figure something out.”
“Do you believe him? Cause I’d have serious doubts about Ron’s ability to advise when anything is dangerous.”
Ron owns the small repair shop in the town where I grew up, the place Roxie still calls home. He’s toothless and heavily sedated all of the time. I wouldn’t trust that viable neurons are still firing.
I don’t think Ron and the grump that climbed into my car have much in common. From what I could see behind his tight-lipped exchange, he had teeth. I also got the feeling that, despite his big, burly, tattooed gruffness, he knew what he was talking about.
“He was nothing if not blunt, so I have no choice but to believe him.” The tall, scowly man was direct in a brutal way that was both refreshing and irritating as hell. “Although he called me an asshole.”
It almost made me smile, but then he turned that broad, towering body toward me, and the intense gaze that followed felt like I’d intruded on his private property. For some reason, the pinched expression from underneath his ball cap made me want to pick at that rough, rugged, intimidating exterior.
“What?!” Roxie’s voice inclines. “Did he lose a nut?”
I laugh. “Not yet. I need him to fix my car first. I think he thought I was someone else. But I can’t really blame him for being irritated. I walked in two minutes before they closed.”
I curse the car I never would’ve chosen in the first place. I’d sell it, but getting another reliable vehicle would likely require financing, and that’s not currently an option.
I hear Roxie take a bite of an apple. “He sounds like a jerk. Maybe you should get a second opinion.”
“I thought about it, but I read reviews, and they all rave about their experience.”
Am I defending him or my decision? Dammit. I’m not sure.
“What if this joker spends his nights and weekends crafting elaborately shining reviews to lure hot pieces of sophisticated ass like yourself into letting him fix your car, but really he’s dropping bricks of coke in your undercarriage, and you then become the mule for his trade.
” She breathes. “Sarah, I love you, but you won’t survive in the clink. ”
“You’re insane.” I laugh.
“Ha! And don’t forget it. I got your back, babe.” She takes another bite and talks as she chews. “Did this mofo get all weird and ask about your eyes? I’ll bug out for the night and run over to drop an elbow on his ass.”
“Actually, he didn’t even seem to notice. He was too busy maintaining his Pissy Pants to notice or care.” The man crossed his elaborately tattooed arms over his chest and stood there like I was supposed to know they closed before five—their listed closing time.
It’s a rarity for people not to stare or ask if my eyes are real, as if I have fake eyeballs. I used to wear contacts to even out the color, but not anymore .
“Well, that’s one small tick in his favor. Is he attractive? Why do all guys who act like complete dicks usually have to be good-looking? There must be some genetic code that combines handsomeness with a depressed social IQ.”
“Can broody and bitter be attractive?” I will never say it, but the grouchy Neanderthal was amazingly handsome underneath all that gloom.
Deep green eyes that seemed to infer far more than I wanted him to, and hair that curled out from underneath his cap just long enough to twist around a finger.
He should wear a warning that reads prickly with a sour mood and may roar.
I smile, thinking about it.
Roxie snorts. “Do pretty assholes shit?”
“Rox!” I laugh, holding my stomach and missing her so much.
I close the dishwasher and start it.
“Have you heard anything from Miles?” Her question is soft, as if she knows to tread lightly.
“No. He called today, but I couldn’t answer. Cory was in my office.”
“Of course that scrawny little snitch was. Let me guess. Miles hasn’t called back.”
When I don’t confirm it, I hear a long string of curses under her breath.
“You need to take his ass to court and invite every news outlet in the country.”
I lean against the counter, knowing even if I could afford it, I’d worry about dragging Ollie and Frankie into that kind of public mess again.
Dealing with Miles is like walking a tightrope.
It’s a balancing act of carefully requesting that he follow the court order without triggering him and causing him to lash out or retaliate when I don’t meet his demands.
It’s allowing him to believe he’s still in control, while convincing him to do the right thing.
It’s exhausting and self-loathing to let someone have that kind of power over you, but right now, it’s all I can do. No matter how badly I wish I didn’t, I need him to pay up without destroying me in the process.
Our divorce was quickly finalized when I agreed to shared custody with monthly child support, which my lawyer advised was the best-case scenario given my circumstances.
A year later, he hasn’t once asked to see the kids, and I haven’t seen a dime.
Payment would require submitting to his absurd requests, which would involve me resorting to being his emotional crutch or verbal punching bag.
I wish I could take him to court and demand he pay up or alert the world that he’s too busy attempting to manipulate me to help his children.
But I learned the hard way that this man doesn’t play nice or fair, and I can’t risk going down that road again.
Not when I’m trying my damnedest to start over and build some kind of life for the kids and me.
I let Grover in the back door and lock it, then head into the living room and sit on the floor. Ollie is playing with his airplane while Frankie gnaws on the head of one of the Little People. She drops it and crawls into my lap.
“You want me to pay him a visit?” Rox asks, and I know she’s contemplating it.
“Nah. I know you’d do just fine behind steel bars, but I love you too much to see that happen. I need you to stay on the outside. We’ll just have to get used to the bus for a little while.”
Ollie’s head pops up, and I smile. “What do you think, Ol? Should we see what the big, blue buses are like?”
He nods, a slight smile appearing.
“Ugh. Sarah. I hate this for you. I mean, I’m so glad you’re there and not here, but. . .I wish I could be there to help.”
“I know. Me too. Come see us soon. Ok?”
“For sure.”
“I gotta get these little stinks in the bath so I have a little time to study.”
“Ok. I have to get to work. I told Micah I’d take his shift tonight.”
Roxie manages the pub that serves as the local hangout despite her parents’ distinct objections. Sometimes I think she only continues to work there just to piss them off .
“Make sure you’re sleeping,” Roxie commands.
“You be safe. And no punching people.”
“Ha. You’re no fun. Some people really deserve it. Give Ollie and Frank kisses for me.”
We hang up, and I kiss the top of Frankie’s head as she attempts to shove Ariel into a small plastic car.
“C-c-c-can we go on the bus?” Ollie steers his small biplane through the air.
“I think so. We might have to ride it for a little while. Think we can do it?”
He nods, his bright eyes meeting mine. “It’ll be f-fun.”
“It’ll be an adventure.” I slide my arm around him and pull him to my side as he makes buzzing sounds, his plane doing a flip before swooping low to the carpet. “Five more minutes, then it’s bath time.”
The plane zooms past my face as I reach for a book and open it. I read while Ollie puts on an air show and Frankie munches on plastic princesses with drool running down her arm.
After two books, I throw them in the bath while washing my face and brushing my teeth.
With both kids wrapped in towels, Ollie runs and jumps onto my bed. I lay Frankie down, and she flips over, trying to crawl away. I grab her ankle, and she squeals. I blow on her belly, causing her to erupt with giggles as I strap a diaper on her, then confine her to footie jammies.
I rub the towel over Ollie’s wet, dark hair. “One, two, three blast-off.” He jumps, pulling his bottoms up, and lands back on his butt, bouncing as he reaches for his shirt.
We gather blankies and stuffies, and I chase Ollie down the short hallway to the living room. He screams, and Grover barks and prances, protecting his boy.
I drop into the plush rocker-recliner beside the brick fireplace I’ve been too scared to light. With the temps falling close to the freezing zone, I may just risk it one of these weekends and pray the chimney is clear.
“Two books, big guy, and grab The Barnyard Dance for your sister.” Frankie twists in my arms, hearing the name of her favorite book.
“We always read that one. It’s b-boring.”
“Better not dance or laugh then.” His speckled eye peeks at me with attitude.
“It’ll cost ya, and fines are high tonight.
Smiles are extra hugs, and laughs are kisses.
As many as I want.” He looks at me, his mouth held tight, giving it his all.
“And the slightest wiggles . . . Dude, you can’t even begin to afford what that will cost you. ”
He climbs into the chair next to me with a stack of books, and I poke his side. Noises come from his little throat as he curls up.
With Frankie on one leg and Ollie on the other, we rock, making all the animal noises and hand gestures before moving on to the next. Halfway through book two, Frankie’s head begins to bob, and I shift her to my chest while Ollie turns the pages.
He snuggles into my side with his fish. “Can we ride the bus t-t-tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure, but I need to leave our car with someone so they can look at it.”
“Like a doctor?”
“Kind of. If something is broken, they’ll fix it.” At least, I hope so.
“Can he come on the b-b-bus, too?” He squeezes his sad stuffed fish.
“He should definitely come with us. All fish need to go on a bus ride.”
He giggles, his fish clutched to his chest as his little fingers run over the worn blue material.
I slide a hand up and down Frankie’s back, her squishy face tucked into my neck. I breathe in the smell of clean babies, wondering how in the hell I’m going to do this.
I will do it. One way or another. I’ll figure it out.
I close my eyes as we rock back and forth. Grover moans as he rolls his furry body, warming my aching foot. I force myself to stay awake. I have a list of things I need to complete before it’s my turn to go to bed .
“Mama, I’m thirsty.”
I peek down at the sweet face that needs to be sleeping. I should deny all hydration requirements, but dammit, I can’t. “Let me put Frankie in her bed, and then two sips, sir. That’s it.”
He smiles.
I lay Frankie in her bed along with her Lambie and turn on the white noise machine. I find Ollie and Grover waiting for me in the hallway, both looking emaciated from lack of water.
“Go climb into bed, and I’ll get Grover’s water bowl.”
He snorts and runs to his room on the other side of Frankie’s. I fill a sippy cup and tuck him under the covers of the queen bed. I replaced the gold-framed landscapes that were hung on the gray walls with photos of the Blue Angels and a wooden shelf lined with Hot Wheels.
Grover’s tail thumps against the quilt.
“All right, buster. Lap it up. You need to get to sleep.”
Ollie takes two long swigs and hands me the cup. I set it on the night table and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over and resting my arms on each side of him.
“It’s a big day at preschool tomorrow. You’re making Halloween slime. Maybe it’ll have eyeballs in it.” I widen my eyes.
He grins. “Maybe it’ll have b-b-boogers in it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Eww. That’s gross.” I tickle his stomach. “Better not be any real boogers.”
I kiss his forehead. “I love you, little man.”
“Wove you, Mama.”
I kiss his cheek and turn off the light as his projector displays stars and planets on the ceiling.
I leave the door open, heading to the kitchen and hoping answers lie in there somewhere because I’ve got nothing. I stop at the thermostat. Sixty-eight degrees. I punch the down arrow a few times, needing every bit of savings I can get.
I scan the sparse shelves in the fridge, then open the pantry and grab a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats. I sit at the small table where my computer and books await .
Popping a flaky rectangle in my mouth, I pull up my checking account. I release a slow breath, and my hope deflates with it. My next paycheck won’t hit until next Friday.
I close my eyes, letting my head fall into my hands, feeling like I could puke. The list of expenses continues to climb by the second, and now I have to figure out how to make it work without a car for who knows how long. That painful fact doesn’t even include how I’ll pay for the repairs.
I pull up the city bus schedule, knowing there’s a stop two blocks down.
I jot down times and routes, seeing that I can catch a bus in the morning that will drop me off four blocks from the law firm.
I’ll have to be sure to leave work on time to catch the ride home, which will get me back in time for Helen to leave.
I drop my pencil while depression and anxiety challenge my ability to map out grocery store and library trips. I need the big man at the garage to tell me this is a brake issue and a quick, affordable fix, but that won’t be my luck.
First, I need to arrange a ride home so I can drop off my car. I hesitate, then realize I don’t have another option and grab my phone.
ME: Would you be able to give me a ride home from Cal’s Garage tomorrow? I have to drop my car off after work.
KATRINA: Sure thing. I got chu.
KATRINA: And tell that little crackerjack our date for Happy Meals will be collected.
I rub my temples, needing to focus on something I can control—my grades. I open my syllabus and then my book. I highlight and make notes until my eyes begin to droop. At some point, I lay my head down, remembering to pray for just one thing to turn in my favor.