Leap of Faith by Jamie Blair

of her coffee table. Then she sits down on the ivory couch. I sit next to her, too nervous to pick up my coffee for fear I’ll spill some in her immaculate ivory and beige room, or worse yet, on Addy.
    She’s lying cradled in my left arm, her big grayish blue eyes transfixed on my face. She’s so still, it’s like she’s asleep with her eyes open.
    “I was just telling Janine the other night—she lives across the street—that the Buckridges have a renter. A young girl.” She pats my leg. “With a baby !” she coos and shakes Addy’s foot.
    Addy grunts, not happy to be bothered.
    “Yeah.” I smile, wondering what to say to that, and why it makes her so giddy that I’m a young girl, with a baby !
    “So, what are your plans? Are you job hunting?”
    “I am job hunting. Do you know of any place that’s hiring? I’ll do anything; I just need cash.”
    “Hmm . . .” She twists her lips and scrunches her eyebrows as she thinks. The doorbell rings, and Gail looks annoyed. “Hold that thought.”
    I clench my fist. I need help with this whole job thing.
    A second female voice echoes through the front hallway, and then two sets of footsteps are coming back. Make that three, as a tiny blond girl scuffs her tennis shoes on the carpet, stopping when she sees me. She reminds me of Hope when we were little.
    Behind her, Gail and the lady, who I’m guessing is the little girl’s mom, are chattering, and they walk into the kitchen, probably for another cup of coffee.
    The little girl puts her hands on her hips, cocks her head, and frowns. “That’s not your baby.”
    I’d laugh if I weren’t about to choke. I force a smile. “Of course it is. Would you like to see her?” I hold Addy out, showing her to the little girl.
    “You’re not old enough to have a baby. My daddy says you have to be thirty and married and have a nice house before the stork will let you have one. I tried asking Santa for one, but he just brought me a fake one instead. I cut all her hair off and had to sit in the corner for five minutes. Then—”
    “Emma, go outside and play with Jonathan.” The little girl’s mom takes her by the shoulders and steers her to the French doors behind the dining table. Now that I look outside, I see the little hellion, as Chris calls him, whacking the picnic table with a gigantic stick. I already know how this will end. The little girl will be inside crying her brains out in ten minutes—if that long.
    Gail breezes back into the room and places a third mug of coffee on a coaster. “This is Janine Evans from across the street—who I was telling you about. And Emma. She’s seven.” She shakes her head and whispers, “And quite a handful.” Then she tugs a chair over from the dining table so Janine can sit and reach her coffee. “Janine, this is Leah.”
    “Nice to meet you,” Janine says, sitting and brushing her wispy blond hair back off her face. It’s dry and brittle, and bleached that color. Her capri pants dig into her waist, making a bulge over the top that her white knit shirt clings to.
    “Hi.” I watch her fan herself with her hand.
    “Whew. That kid’s gonna kill me someday. It’s too hot for coffee, Gail. Got iced tea?”
    “Sun tea’s brewing outside on the picnic table.”
    I peer out, wondering if the tea pitcher has fallen victim to the hellion’s big stick.
    “Can I hold your baby?” Janine asks. “I wish Emma was still that size. They grow so fast.”
    Addy’s still calm, taking it all in. I almost say no, afraid to chance a baby mood swing, but hand her over anyway. Janine beams and cuddles Addy into her chest. “Gail says you’re staying at Ken Buckridge’s house.” She lifts her eyes to Gail, and a look passes between them.
    I don’t know what the look means.
    “Yeah.” I shift and put my hands under my thighs. I really just want to go to the park.
    “Ken’s a nice man, don’t you think, Gail?”
    Gail sputters, then coughs. Coffee sprays everywhere.