Page 13 of Nothing Left To Lose But You

“I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,” Claire apologizes when I return from tucking Maggie in.

I take the sponge from her hand and dip it into the hot water, busying myself with washing the remaining dishes. “I know you’re trying to help, but I’m still working through everything,” I say. The last thing I want is for Claire to carry guilt for sharing words I probably need to hear.

“Of course you are.” I hand her the rinsed plate and she concentrates on drying it. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, turning off the running tap. I’ve put this discussion off for longer than I would have liked because I fear upsetting the person I love more than almost anyone else.

Claire’s face grows serious, and she takes a seat, gesturing for me to join her. “It’s nothing bad,” I add, relieving her. “I’ve looked online at a few places for Mags and me to live. I think I found somewhere.”

“I’ve already told you moving out isn’t necessary. But, go on. Tell me about this place.” Her slowed speech reveals she’s biting her tongue.

“It’s a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a Main Street building. I swung by an open house a few days ago after dropping off some resumes.”

“I see.”

“It seems like the right fit for us. I’m taking a second look tomorrow, and if it still feels right, I think I’ll sign a lease.”

“Logan, I’d never dream of telling you what to do. You’ve got to live your life as you see fit. But, I know money’s tight. Really think this over and make sure it’s not just the right fit, but the righttime.” Her advice is compassionate, but unwavering.

“I am. I will,” I promise. “The rent’s reasonable. Truthfully, a little less than I expected. The realtor explained my situation to the landlord, and he’s allowing me to split the deposit into two payments.”

“What’s the rush?”

I run my hands through my hair, wanting to be honest, but not hurt my aunt’s feelings. “You’ve opened your home to me so many times over the years, and I’m grateful. If I couldn’t have escaped Mom and Dad’s constant fighting by coming here, I’m not sure where I’d be tod—“

“It’s always been our pleasure to have you. You’re practically a son,” Claire interrupts.

“Please don’t feel like I’m eager to get away from you two, because I’m not. I just want Maggie to have some space. The spare bedroom and air mattress is tight. The apartment’s less than a ten-minute walk from Maggie’s school. I’ll drop her off in the morning and pick her up after school.” Not driving back and forth in my gas-guzzling SUV will keep cash in my pocket.

“What about work? Have you heard about any of the applications and resumes you’ve submitted?”

“Nothing yet. A few called back and let me know the position has been filled.” I sigh deeply.

“Have you thought any more about applying for jobs in Cincinnati? It’s not that far, and I imagine there’s a lot more work across the bridge.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I was hoping for something closer to home in case Maggie needs me, but that’s not looking likely.”

“Now don’t you worry about that. We’ll help in any way we can. It’d thrill Rufus to pick Maggie up after school and hang out with her until you get home. God knows it’d give him somethin’ to do besides tinkering around in that old barn.”

I softly settle onto the air mattress next to Maggie and burrow under the covers. Flat again. In the two hours since I told Maggie ‘good night,’ the damn thing’s already lost enough air that if I move too quickly, my ass is going to meet the floor.

Sleep threatens to carry me away, but my traitorous brain fights back, reminding me about tomorrow’s playdate. I meditate on the idea of seeing Noah again. My intuition says Noah will be a good friend, the kind who stands in your corner with boxing gloves, ready to knock out any threats. I’m grateful to have Paul, but who couldn’t use more friends?

My last thought before falling asleep is the memory of Noah in the detergent aisle at Walmart and her unforgettable eyes looking up at me.

Chapter 7

Noah

We’regoingtobelate. I’ve spent the last five minutes pleading up the stairs with Rainey. I’m halfway up to walk her down myself when she finally appears. The outfit she’s sporting isn’t the one I helped her into this morning, and it’s obvious why it’s taken her so long to get ready.

While I thought she was changing shoes, Rainey was busy creating an entirely new ensemble. She hijacked one of my old baseball hats and the short-sleeved shirt she’s wearing may have been involved in a glitter factory accident. When she picked the shirt out at the store, it didn’t seem like a great purchase with cool weather approaching, but I melted when she pleaded that “all my friends have Jojo shirts.” Tie-dye leggings and a pair of cowboy boots round out her look.

“You like my outfit?”

“Do I? You put together a snazzy outfit, baby cakes.”

The pride radiating from her face makes our tardiness worthwhile, but I rush her into the car knowing we’ll never arrive on time. We chat the entire way to the playground. Rainey’s mouth never stops moving—from telling me what she thinks Maggie will wear to cracking off knock-knock jokes. I throw her a wink through the rearview mirror. Back-and-forth nonsensical banter with her has been my favorite part of the last week and a half. These conversations give a glimpse of the personality she’s growing into.

Liberty Elementary School’s parking lot is empty. Rainey flies out of the car and tears through the chain-link fence the second I unbuckle her.

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