Page 48 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

I won’t resort to crime like my mother and cousin. For them, it was a game, a lifestyle.

Before Leonie came along, saving, scrimping, and basically limping through life on fumes was acceptable. A necessity at times. But she needs diapers, and no one needs a pumpkin spice latte no matter what they tell you. Okay, fine. The Coffee Loft has been advertising and there have been moments when I’ve considered offering a kidney in exchange, but what if Leonie someday needs it? I’m a mom now and my responsibilities are real. So are diapers—even the cloth ones we use because I’ve worked out a trade with Debbie’s Diaper Care to cater her annual customer appreciation party in exchange for a discount.

Affording this kid, no less figuring out her care so I can work to earn money to afford her needs, is like a mental and physical gymnastics loop, treadmill, and hamster wheel all at once.

So yeah, I’ve taken my first mental health day EVER.

Yes, even after I lost Cory, I didn’t let a day go by that I didn’t persevere. Well, I did take up smoking, but that habit was short-lived. Lollipops to the rescue. I could really go for one right now. When my mother’s debt collectors called, I carried on. And when this baby arrived in my life, I forged ahead.

But now I’ve stopped and I’m scared I won’t ever be able to get up.

Leonie blows a raspberry as if in response. As if to callHogwash.

Unlike my car, I’ve never run out of gas, but my tank feels so close to empty—something wet drips onto the pillowcase. Remembering where I am, I wipe away the tears, draw my baby toward me, and close my eyes.

Later, when I wake up, the sky is dim as dusky gray-violet light settles in the bayou. The storm and everything that transpired hurtles toward me, but not before I remember a dream.

I was on the long, lonely road between Hogwash and Pouppeville. I carried an empty gas can. A man approached, took it out of my hand, and rested his on my shoulder. With a wink, he went on his way.

Only, his eyes were Leonie’s eyes ... and I realize she’s not in the bed with me. I bolt upright.

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and neck. They say babies can roll and fall off beds and surfaces easily. Of course, there’s the wall on one side, I built a pillow fort, and made a barrier with my body, but she’s not here.

I rush downstairs, but before I reach the kitchen, a low voice sings, “You are my Sunshine.” Leonie lets out a happy little roar and a laugh. I go still and lean against the wall in the dark dining room, catching my breath. An upwelling of emotion threatens me again and I wipe away tears—they’re a mixture of happy and sad tears. Happy because Maddock unexpectedly appeared in my life. Sad because he’s only here temporarily.

Sending up a prayer, I ask for help.

And wouldn’t you know it, the next song Maddock sings an old Beatles tune about getting the help of friends?

Could I call him that? I think about who I’d consider a friend and frown. I know a lot of people—have a patchwork of helpers, but are they friends? Do I let people get close to me? Am I a friend to them? The answer isn’t a resounding yes and that feels like a problem.

The screen door opens and closes, wafting the scent of grilled burgers into the house. I peer around the corner to find the kitchen in use and Leonie’s various play containers where I left them. She’s not here, but relief washes through me because he must’ve taken her outside rather than leave her unattended. But the grill! It’s hot and I’ve heard stories about propane tanks spontaneously combusting.

Being a new mom brought with it an inordinate amount of new dangers. Things I once thought were innocuous are now potential threats ... and they’re everywhere. And this is coming from me, someone who lived fast and furious for a long time.

Through the window, Maddock and Leonie gaze off the back porch, far from the grill, and it looks like he’s pointing to a peacock wandering across the back lawn.

Letting out a breath, I turn around to go back upstairs because I should’ve brushed my hair and teeth, but Maddock and Leonie come back inside.

Turning around and entering the kitchen as if I’d casually just walked downstairs, I say, “There you are—” I’m about to scold Maddock and warn him never to take a cub from a sleeping mama bear again, but why would I think there would be anagain?

Also, seeing him holding the little bean pod baby outward so she can see what he sees—me—makes my heart hiccup.

“There’s our Sleeping Beauty.” Maddock’s gaze skims me from head to toe and a smile forms on his lips.

Feeling self-conscious, I smooth my hair and wheeze a nervous laugh. “I’m not pageant-ready by a long shot.”

“I’d love to hear more about that time in your life.” His grin is flirty and his eyes wander over me as if he likes what he sees. I question his taste because right now, I rate high on the swamp witch scale.

I greet Leonie and she waves her arms happily. Glancing up at Maddock, I answer his question. “My mother and cousin pressured me into joining so they could rob the judges and other entrants while we were on stage. I was always the distraction.”

If the truth shocks him or he thinks I’m joking, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his eyes dance and sparkle. “You certainly are.” Giving his head a shake, he adds, “Dinner is almost done. Made burgers, coleslaw, and?—”

“You made coleslaw?”

He tips his head to the side. “Why the sound of surprise?”

There’s also grilled corn on the cob and watermelon on the counter.

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