Page 11 of Heart of Stone
Iwake to a kink in my neck, drool on my cheek, and the sounds of a fussing baby.
Groaning, I rub my neck and straighten. Full darkness has fallen, and I can tell the hour is late based on the movements of the crowd partying across the street. The music pounds out of speakers, no less loud than it was hours ago, but the crowd moves to it differently. They no longer stand in clumps laughing and talking and occasionally dancing—now they move in time to the beat, grinding against each other.
I glance down at my watch, noting it’s just a fraction before two in the morning.
Ugh.
Yawning, I scrub a hand over my face, pick up the baby monitor, and head inside.
The small rental has only two bedrooms, which means three kids plus an adult is a tight squeeze. After last night, when he wokethe twins twice, I moved Adam’s crib from the twins’ room to the main bedroom, tucking it beside my bed. I’m not sure why Amanda didn’t have him in her room, but it sure makes for a quieter night.
Adam kicks his little legs when he sees me, his chubby cheeks pulling into a gummy grin. I grin back, chuckling at the smell emanating from his crib.
“Pee-youh!” I whisper, waving my hand in front of my face. “Stinky boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Once his diaper is changed, I lay him against my chest and poke my head into the twins’ bedroom, finding them fast asleep.
They might look identical, but they’re wildly different kids. Amy sleeps sprawled out, a toy clutched in one hand, while Abby is curled into a tiny circle, her blanket tucked under her chin.
Grateful Adam hasn’t woken them, I make my way into the kitchen, cooing softly to my little cousin.
“You ready for some milk, little man?” I ask, bouncing him on one hip as I pull the third-to-last pouch of breast milk from the freezer. “Let me defrost this, and?—”
The lights in the house blink out, washing us in darkness. Unfortunately, the music across the street continues to pound, which tells me this particular blackout is isolated to us.
“Shit.”
Adam gurgles in agreement.
“It’s fine,” I say lightly, pulling my phone from my pocket and switching on the torch. “It’ll just be a faulty fuse. Let’s check it out.”
I carry Adam outside to the fuse box, and by the light of my phone, I attempt to reboot the power to the house.
Nada.
I’m not sure which diligent electrical employee is up at bumfuck o’clock on a Saturday morning, but it looks like I should have prioritized sorting through Amanda’s bills instead of spending the day at CPS.
“Damn,” I mutter, adjusting Adam in my arms. “This is fine. The hot water will still work. It’ll be cold showers tomorrow, but we should be fine now.”
Back in the kitchen, I twist on the hot water, only to find a small drip squeeze out before fading to nothing.
They’ve shut off the water too.
“What the hell, Amanda? Who did you piss off at the utility company? Okay, deep breath, we can work this out,” I say to Adam, starting to feel panic claw up my throat. “How long does it take for milk to defrost?”
Adam chooses that moment to squeal, beginning to gnaw on a tiny fist. He screws up his face, and I know we’re about to descend into World War Three.
Damn.
“Does your momma have a grill? I could boil water. Or maybe we could make a fire. Or maybe?—”
A loud crash followed by laughter interrupts me.
I glance over at the door as Adam continues to fuss.
Could I? No. That’d be a terrible, horrible, no-good idea.
Adam’s little body jerks, his face turning red as he screws up his brow.
