I watch from the safety of my front porch as the man on the bike disappears up the hill. I’m not sure how I feel about having someone this close. There was something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. I should steer away from him completely. He towers over me, and that’s not something that happens much, considering I’m 5’9. His dark hair was pulled back at his neck but a lot was pulled loose from riding on his bike, and it kept his face hid. Yet, even that combined with the large beard he was sporting, didn’t hide the scars. They cover parts of his face, especially around one eye. Those are light though, especially pale compared to the ones that run up his hands and disappear under the long sleeved leather coat he’s wearing. I’ve seen enough scars to know those were from a serious fire. I don’t know what happened to the man, but I can only imagine the pain he endured.

Still, it isn’t that which makes me feel like I need to definitely stay away from him. He’s got the appearance of a hardened biker. He reminds me of them. That’s not the kind of trouble I need. That’s how I ended up in the mess I’m in. Not that I think of my daughter as a mess. I rub my stomach in reflex. She’ll be everything good—despite how she came to be. That’s not her fault. I’ll make sure she knows she’s loved. That’s all I want her to know. Love. I don’t want the ugliness of this world to touch Maggie…not like it did me.

Pushing my thoughts aside, I walk into the house. I’m not actually sure you can call it a house, but it’s more of one than I’ve ever had, and I’ll make sure my daughter is happy here. My daughter. I’m naming her Maggie. It’s not terribly original. It happens to come from my favorite Rod Stewart song, Maggie May.

My tiny house does need work though, and sadly it’s work that I’m not capable of doing. It’s winter, and January at that. The next few months will be the coldest we’ve had. The roof might hold for a bit longer, though the leaks are getting worse. The cold air coming through the windows and poorly insulated walls freeze me as it is, let alone a few months down the road, when Maggie arrives. I can’t let that happen. My only source of heat is a fireplace and some electric heaters I picked up at a secondhand store. I need to find something safer for when the baby is with me. That problem, coupled with the fact that I don’t really know anyone who does that kind of work, is summed up in one word—money. Working as a waitress in town, I don’t get paid minimum wage. I get paid much, much less because I’m allowed to keep my tips. Tips that most people in town rarely leave, besides the odd dollar here and there. That means money is almost nonexistent. I don’t have a lot of skills. I didn’t get to finish high school; I’ve never had any kind of training. I am basically good at two things in my life…waiting on people and baking. So, I’m a waitress who has started a side job baking cakes, pies, cookies, and anything else I can think of that might sell. Several local businesses offer my items for sale now. The church and my boss being the main two, and because of them, I’ve managed to make quite a bit extra. Still, money is tight, and I have a long way to go before I can afford to hire a handyman. The other main problem with that is I have no idea how I can handle having someone in my house. I figure I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.

That thought is somewhat depressing as I walk into the kitchen, standing by the sink. I try to shake myself from my thoughts on things that aren’t changing anytime soon. Instead, I concentrate on everything I need to accomplish today. Pastor Sturgill will be by later, and when he comes, he will expect no less than three pies and five dozen cookies. I don’t have time to worry or daydream.

The sound of a motorcycle jars me, causing my head to jerk up, looking out the window over the kitchen sink. I see the man coming back off the hill. Instead of turning left to cut back on the main highway that leads into town and away from our adjoined driveways, he turns right. Something about that causes my heart to kick up in speed. I watch as he drives straight to the old barn.

I move quickly to the window by my kitchen table. It has a perfect view of the barn and fear begins to form in the pit of my stomach, making me feel nauseous, while I continue watching the stranger. He pulls his bike into the covered parking area that connects to the barn, shuts it off, and he sits there for a minute. Just that simple motion causes my breathing to increase. There’s only one reason he would pull into the old barn. Only one, and it’s not a reason I like. It’s a reason that terrifies me.

I watch as he gets off the bike, walking to the small door under the shed that has remained locked by an old rusty padlock. I have a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling. Then I watch as he reaches in his pocket. No. He can’t be doing that. There’s no way…right? RIGHT?

My hopes are dashed as the chain and lock fall to the ground.

I have a new neighbor…only he won’t be on top of the hill away from me. He’s going to live across from me in the old barn.

What will happen now? I try to swallow down my panic and my fear. I try, but I don’t think I fully succeed. Surely God can’t be this cruel. Haven’t I been through enough? Will I have to move now? How can I live this close to him…a man who reminds me of them? For all I know, he could be one of them. That knowledge sinks into the pit of my stomach and it’s all I can do not to throw-up.

I can feel the nerves and panic clawing at me, but I do my best to beat those feelings back down. I can’t let the anxiety get to me. Not today. I had been doing so much better. I can’t go backwards. I have to be strong.

I have to think of Maggie.