Page 4 of Trial Run

She tried to stay positive, or at least appear happy on the outside even when things weren’t going great, because people were more likely to treat you well when you were pleasant and didn’t complain. But this man made it difficult to be cheerful. He’d been rude and cold from the moment he’d opened the door, giving her one-word orders in that harsh tone.

A minute ago, in the middle of his panic attack, he’d seemed vulnerable, in need of help, and she’d reached out to him on instinct. But now he’d pulled himself together again, standing to his impressive full height and smoothing a hand down his vest.

Ever since she’d looked up—and up—at him from her kneeling position, he hadn’t smiled once. He’d towered over herwith a frown creasing his brow then, and he was doing it again now.

He had black, wavy hair, cut short and brushed back from his face, with liberal threads of silver at the temples. He was older than she was, maybe late thirties or early forties, with sharp features, olive skin, and deep brown eyes.

He wore a three-piece charcoal suit, dressed for court or a funeral, not for hanging out at home in the middle of the morning. His broad-shouldered frame filled out the white dress shirt and vest as if it had been tailored for him. If he had the money to live in this neighborhood, the suit probably had been tailored for him.

To complete the formal look, a white pocket square peeked out of his jacket, silver cufflinks visible at his wrist. Maybe he had a vintage pocket watch hiding in the vest pocket as well.

“Who is that? Your son?” He nodded toward the van window, where Marco’s chin still rested on the window frame.

Nell squared her shoulders and forced a smile. “Yes. He’s doing fine, I promise. He has snacks and his tablet in there.”

Her voice came out a shade defensive, especially since the man kept looking down at her—no, studying her, like a bug on glass. He’d see through her fake smile in another minute, too.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t say anything else, and somehow that prompted her to go on, to try to explain.

“We had an unusual morning, that’s all.” Her voice wobbled on the last word, betraying her.

This was shaping up to be the second worst day of her life, and this man’s judgemental stare might just be the thing that broke her.

But she didn’t have the luxury of breaking down right now. That was for people who had the time and space to curl up in bed and cry. Not for single moms about to be evicted from their rental homes.

She’d woken to a loud banging on her door at 6:37 a.m., which wouldn’t have been so early if she’d had any sleep. But sick children didn’t care about their parents’ sleep schedules, and she’d been up with Marco until close to 3:00.

She’d dragged on an oversized sweatshirt over her sleep shorts and tank, and opened her front door to find Eddy, her landlord, with a packet of papers and a giant cup of coffee in his hand. The coffee wasn’t for her, but the eviction papers were.

Even though she’d smiled her most charming smile and explained that her two jobs’ paychecks hadn’t quite lined up right this week, and she’d have the money for him in another week, he’d shoved the papers into her hand anyway. And told her now she’d have to pay a late fee, along with the rent, or else be evicted.

“You have two days. Then I’m filing them,” he’d grunted, and walked off.

Stupid, predatory low-income rental contracts. So many more rules, more penalties, and always, always, less of a safety net. And finding a new place—a landlord who would take her application after she’d been evicted—would be close to impossible.

And the one thing she absolutely would not let herself think about was Marco’s adoption agreement. If she couldn’t provide a home for him, she wasn’t a fit parent.

No one would take her son away from her, though. Because she would find the money in two days. Every other time she’d come close to missing the rent payment, she’d made it work, and this time would be no different. She found a way every time, because she had to find a way.

Marco had reminded her of the reason why by coming downstairs, his face hot, wrapped in a blanket, and completely unfit for school today. For the next forty-eight hours, nothing mattered but scraping together the money.

“An unusual morning,” the man on the porch echoed.

He’d probably never had a bill he couldn’t pay. His cufflinks would no doubt pay her rent.

Nell forced her biggest, brightest smile. “I guess we all have them sometimes. Anyway. It was nice to meet you …”

“Ben,” he supplied, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Ben. I’m Nell. And I’ll get out of your way now.” A quick escape, and then she could cry in the van. No, later tonight, after Marco was in bed. If he stayed asleep.

“Why is he with you? He’s old enough to be in school.” Ben’s voice was calm, but it held a hint of authority. Like he was used to getting people to tell him things.

And for some reason, she told him. “Of course he goes to school. On normal days. This was the best I could do today.”

Ben tilted his head to the side, as if waiting for her to go on, and to her horror, she did go on.

“He had a fever this morning, so I couldn’t send him to school. He’s got shows to watch and the windows are open. He’s fine, I promise. I’m not a bad mom.” Again, that telltale wobble in her voice.

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