Chapter 4 - Ruby
I'm going to be late.
The thought circles my mind like a vulture as I struggle to get Liam's jacket on while he squirms and giggles, treating this like a game. My hands shake as I try to zip it up, but the damn zipper catches on the fabric.
"Liam, baby, please hold still," I plead, my voice tight with stress.
"No!" He shouts gleefully, twisting away from me.
Deep breath. I force myself to take a deep breath.
He's two. He doesn't understand that today is my first day at the flower shop, that this job is literally the reason we came to Blackwater Falls, that Mrs. Henderson was kind enough to hire me despite my patchy work history and let me bring Liam along because I can't afford childcare.
He doesn't understand that if I'm late on my first day, she might change her mind about all of it.
I finally manage to get the zipper up and grab our bag packed with diapers, snacks, juice boxes, and Liam's favorite stuffed rabbit. My own jacket is somewhere. I scan the small living room, spotting it draped over the back of the couch.
The clock on the microwave reads 8:47. I'm supposed to be there at nine, and it's a fifteen-minute walk. Shit.
"Come on, baby." I scoop Liam up, grab the bag, and rush toward the door.
The second I step outside, wind slams into me. My short hair whips around my face, and Liam makes a startled sound, burying his face against my neck.
"Windy!" he declares, his voice muffled.
"Yeah, baby. Very windy." I adjust my grip on him and start down the porch steps, fighting against the gusts that seem determined to push me back inside.
Dead leaves skitter across the yard. A trash can somewhere down the street has tipped over, its contents scattered across the road. The sky is gray and threatening, heavy clouds moving fast overhead.
Of course. Of course my first day would have weather like this.
I make it to the sidewalk and start walking as fast as I can while carrying Liam and the bag. My arms are already protesting. He's gotten so heavy, but I push through it. I don't have a car. Can't afford one. Walking is my only option unless I want to pay for a taxi I definitely can't afford.
The wind picks up again, so strong I actually stumble. Liam whimpers.
"It's okay," I tell him, though I'm not sure if I'm trying to reassure him or myself. "We're okay."
A particularly vicious gust sends something flying past my head. I flinch, nearly dropping the bag. My heart pounds. Everything in me wants to turn around, go back inside, hide from the world.
But I can't. I need this job. We need this job.
I push forward, head down against the wind, counting my steps to distract myself from the panic trying to claw its way up my throat. One, two, three, four—
My arms burn by the time I'm two blocks in. Liam is getting heavier with each step, or maybe I'm just getting weaker. I try to shift his weight, but there's no comfortable position anymore. The bag keeps slipping off my shoulder, banging against my hip.
A car drives past, spraying me with water from a puddle. I gasp as the cold soaks through my jeans.
"Wet, Mama!" Liam protests.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry."
I keep walking. What other choice do I have?
Another gust nearly knocks me sideways. I stagger, catching myself against a fence post. My chest is tight, my breathing shallow. The panic I've been fighting all morning rises up, threatening to swallow me whole.
You can do this. Just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. But my arms are shaking now, and Liam is crying, and I'm soaked and cold and so, so tired.
I want to sit down on the sidewalk and cry. I want to give up. I want to call my parents and tell them they were right. I can't do this alone. I'm not strong enough.
But then I think about their plan to steal Liam. About Marcus's cruel words yesterday. About every person who told me I'd fail.
Fuck them.
I push away from the fence and keep walking.
By the time Henderson's Blooms comes into view, I'm nearly fifteen minutes late and completely exhausted. My arms feel like they might fall off. My clothes are damp from the puddle spray and my own sweat. Liam has stopped crying but is making unhappy sounds against my neck.
I probably look like a disaster.
The bell above the door chimes as I push inside, immediately hit by the overwhelming scent of flowers. Roses, lilies, carnations, and a dozen other varieties I can't name.
"Ruby!" Mrs. Henderson comes around the counter, her weathered face showing concern. She's in her sixties, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind blue eyes. "Oh dear, look at you. You're soaked!"
"I'm so sorry I'm late." The words rush out as I set Liam down, my arms screaming in relief. "The wind was worse than I expected, and I had to walk, and—"
"Hush, dear. It's fine." She hands me a towel from behind the counter. "Dry off a bit. Catch your breath."
I take the towel, wiping my face and trying to pat down my jeans. Liam clings to my leg, looking around the shop with wide, uncertain eyes.
"This is Liam," I say, rubbing his back. "My son. I brought everything he needs. Snacks, activities, diapers. He's very good, I promise. He won't be any trouble."
"Ruby." Mrs. Henderson's voice is gentle but firm. "Breathe, dear. You're working yourself into a state."
I close my eyes and try to follow her instruction. Breathe. Just breathe.
"That's better." She touches my shoulder kindly. "Now, I told you when I hired you that I don't mind children. I raised four of my own, and they spent plenty of time in this shop. You don't need to apologize for bringing him."
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. "Thank you. Really. This job means everything to me."
"Well then, let's get you both settled." She leads me toward the back room. "There's a playpen back here from when my grandchildren visit. Let's set up young Liam, and then I'll show you the ropes."
The playpen is a godsend. I set Liam up with his stuffed rabbit and some board books. He settles in after a few minutes of fussing, probably as exhausted as I am from that horrible walk.
Mrs. Henderson is patient as she walks me through everything. How to arrange the pre-made bouquets. How to use the cash register. How to keep the flowers fresh and watered. Where everything is stored.
It's simple work. Calming work. The kind of work where my hands stay busy, but my mind can rest. After months of constantly looking over my shoulder, of moving from town to town, of never feeling safe anywhere, this quiet shop feels like sanctuary.
"You're a natural," Mrs. Henderson says after I finish my third bouquet. "Have you worked with flowers before?"
"No, but I've always loved them." I adjust a rose, making sure it sits perfectly. "My grandmother had a garden. She used to let me help her when I was little, before she passed away."
"Well, she taught you well." Mrs. Henderson pats my hand. "I think you're going to work out just fine here, Ruby."
Something in my chest loosens further. "Thank you."
The morning passes surprisingly quickly. A few customers brave the wind to come in—an elderly man buying roses for his wife's birthday, a young woman picking up an arrangement for her mother. I help Mrs. Henderson with each one, learning as I go.
Liam plays happily in his playpen, occasionally calling out to show me something. Each time, my heart swells with love for him. This is why I'm doing all of this. For him. So, he can have a safe, stable life.
Around noon, Mrs. Henderson insists I take a lunch break. I pull out the snacks I packed—crackers and peanut butter, an apple I'll split with Liam, and some cheese.
"Is that all you brought?" Mrs. Henderson frowns. "Dear, that's not enough food."
"It's fine. I'm not very hungry." The lie comes easily now. I've gotten good at pretending I'm not constantly hungry, that giving most of my food to Liam doesn't leave me running on empty.
She doesn't look convinced but doesn't push. Instead, she disappears into the back and returns with a sandwich and a container of cut fruit.
"I packed too much this morning. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach. Please, take some."
I want to refuse. I want to maintain my pride. But the sandwich looks incredible, and my stomach chooses that moment to growl audibly.
"Thank you," I say, accepting the food.
"We take care of each other here," Mrs. Henderson says simply. "That's how small towns work."
I eat slowly, savoring every bite while Liam munches on crackers beside me. The sandwich is turkey and swiss with lettuce and tomato, and it's the best thing I've tasted in weeks. The fruit is fresh and sweet.
When was the last time someone just gave me food without expecting something in return?
Yesterday. Chaos gave me food yesterday. I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon, though I heard his motorcycle roar past late last night. Part of me wondered if he'd check on me this morning, but his house stayed quiet.
Not that I expected him to check on me. He already did so much. More than anyone else ever has.
"You have someone to help you at home?" Mrs. Henderson asks casually as she arranges a vase of lilies. "Family? The father?"
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. "No family. And the father... he's not in the picture."
"I see." She doesn't push, just nods. "Well, you have people here now. This town may be small, but we look after our own."
I'm not sure I'm "their own" yet. I've been here for only three days.
"Thank you," I whisper.
The afternoon passes in the same steady rhythm. More customers, more arrangements, more flowers. I'm getting the hang of the cash register, of wrapping bouquets properly, of knowing which flowers pair well together.
Liam takes a nap around two, curled up in the playpen with his rabbit. I watch him sleep, his little chest rising and falling. I will keep him safe. No matter what it takes.