Sarah
Opening the letter, my heart sinks when I see the bright orange paper the electric company sends to warn its clients of an impending service disconnection. Six hundred and thirty-two dollars and seventy-three cents. I don’t have that kind of money. Hell, I don’t have any money.
My bank account is currently stocked with a measly thirty-seven dollars, which needs to last us until I get paid next week from the shoe store I work at. Shit. I grab the phone and dial the number to the customer service line, hoping like hell they’ll cut me a break until I can sort this out. Maybe they’ll let me make some sort of payment arrangements or something. I have to at least try.
As the autumn leaves change to beautiful reds and yellows, the sun in the sky is setting earlier and earlier every day, and the nights steadily grow cooler. We’ll freeze without electricity.
I hit the send button and press the phone against my ear, expecting to hear the drone of the ringing on the other end, but instead, I’m greeted with the canned voice of the operator. We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed at this time. Please call *600 to speak to a customer service representative about your payment options.
Defeat settles on me like a weighted blanket. I have no phone, and soon I’ll have no electricity. Next will be my water bill, which I also owe an insane amount of money on after only making small monthly payments, hoping it would be enough to keep them off my back.
Dropping into one of my old, worn-out kitchen chairs, I toss the phone and the bill onto the table and rest my head in my hands. I’m a total failure. It seems like no matter how hard I work, I can never get ahead. Instead, I just fall further and further behind.
This wasn’t the way this whole thing was supposed to go. I was supposed to be an amazing mom that bakes cookies and gets up early to make everyone a hot, delicious breakfast. I was supposed to be one half of a productive team. I once was part of a team, but even after three years without Mouse, I’ve gotten no better at doing this whole adulting thing on my own. I work my ass off but it’s never enough.
There has to be something I can do. I already work full-time at the shoe store, but the pay there is complete crap. How is anyone supposed to support a family on a minimum wage paying job? The problem is, besides a high school diploma, I have zero education and a daughter that needs round the clock care, but the daycare she goes to is only open Monday to Friday. That limits my work options.
There’s no point in even asking my parents; they barely speak to me anymore. Not since I stopped going to church with them and started dating a biker. Then I put the icing on the cake by becoming an unwed mother. For shame.
Slouching in my seat, I fold up the letter and stuff it back into the envelope, hiding the orange paper from my sight, but it continues to eat away at my thoughts. Hopelessness washes over me. I need another job. I need to make more money, but how? I barely see my daughter as it is, and if I start working more hours I’ll never see her. Besides, who would I even get to take care of her?
As if she knows I’m struggling with the fate of our very being, a cry echoes throughout the house. With another deep breath, I stand and drop the envelope onto the table. Nap time is over. I’ll have to think about how badly I’m failing as an adult later. As I reach her room, I roll my shoulders and force the panic from my mind and the tension from my body.
“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” I say, pushing the door open and plastering on a bright smile.
A mass of golden tinted brown curls sits tangled around her head, and her chubby cheeks are still pink from her nap. With tear stains on her face, Amelia rubs the sleep from her eyes and sits up from her tiny bed.
My girl wakes up hard every time—cranky, confused, and whiney, just like her dad used to. So much about her reminds me of him. Somehow, without ever even meeting the man that loved her more than life, she’s a miniature version of him, both the good and the bad.
I see him in her chocolate brown eyes that are identical to the ones I’d gotten lost in when we first fell in love. I see him when she’s frustrated, and that little lip of hers curls just like her daddy’s used to do. I even see him when she laughs, her eyes crinkling in the corners the same way his did when he was alive.
Reaching down, I scoop her into my arms and pull her to my chest. Heat rolls off of her in waves, and her head drops onto my shoulder as I press my lips to her forehead. She’s burning hot, and if the wetness from her back that’s seeping through the sleeve of my sweater is any indication, she’s wet the bed, despite having been potty-trained over the last three months.
“Oh, baby,” I soothe as she continues to whimper, her face buried in the crook of my neck. “You’re burning up.” Fumbling around in the top drawer of her dresser, I pull out a digital thermometer. Pressing the button, I wait for the screen on it to light up but nothing happens. Frustration and defeat hammer at my thoughts as I bite back a groan and toss the worthless piece of plastic back into the drawer. I don’t have spare batteries for it, and I don’t have another one.
“Come on, baby,” I coo, cuddling my girl closer. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Bosco
I can hear Millie crying from outside as I walk up the steps to the rundown little house Sarah lives in. Knocking on the door, I wait and listen for the sounds of Sarah’s feet approaching, but all I hear is more crying. After knocking again and still no answer, I turn the knob and find the door unlocked. Glad to be able to go inside, I ward off the annoyance that she still hasn’t learned to lock the front door as I push it open.
“Hello?” I call out, wiping my boots off on the mat.
“We’re up here!”
I follow the sound of Sarah’s voice and Millie’s ragged cries up the narrow stairs and into the explosion of pink that is Millie’s bedroom. The little girl’s cheeks are stark red, but the rest of her skin is pale as she cries in her mother’s arms.
“Everything okay?” I ask Sarah, moving forward and taking the toddler from her.
Sarah shakes her head and steps away, scrubbing her hands over her face as Millie wraps her little arms around my neck and burrows into me. Heat rolls off of her as she presses her tiny body to mine. “No. She’s obviously running a fever. I’m out of Tylenol, the thermometer is dead, and I’m a failure as a mother.”
“Don’t say that shit,” I say softly to her as I cup the back of Millie’s head, holding her tight to my chest, as if that will shield her from her mother’s self-deprecation. I turn my attention to the burning bundle in my arms. “You sick, Tink?” I ask, using the name I’d given her just a few minutes after her birth. She’d been so tiny; I’d thought I was going to break her. Millie’s shoulders shudder as she settles into me, her tears quieting. “Bosco’s gonna take care of you and Mommy, okay?”
Millie sniffles, and I watch as Sarah goes about cleaning up the wet bedsheets. She looks tired and flustered, though still gorgeous. Before she had given birth to Millie, I’d never really appreciated just how hard being a single mom was. Sarah works her ass off to give her girl the best life she can, but it wears on her. I worry about how little time she actually takes for herself. Nobody can do a job twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week without a break here and there.
“I’m going to give her a quick bath,” Sarah announces, carefully attempting to pull Millie from my arms. She burrows into me with so much force, I have to pry her off.
“It’s okay, Tink. Momma’s gonna get you all cleaned up and Bosco’s gonna run to the store and get you some medicine, okay?”
Millie sniffles and lets go, then wipes her nose on Sarah’s shirt, but her tears are slowing. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. Sarah looks exhausted. Her hair is a mess; her cheeks look sallow, and the dark circles under her large brown eyes tell the tale of her lack of sleep. “You don’t have to do this, Bosco,” she whispers, her mouth tight with defeat.
I arch a brow and place my finger under her chin, tilting her face until our eyes meet. “You think I don’t know that?” Sarah’s gaze flies to my lips and back up again, her cheeks heating. “I’ll do it because I want to. Because I want Millie to feel better and because you look dead on your feet, and that shit ain’t cool with me.” I lean in closer and press a kiss to Millie’s head, doing my best to ignore the scent of Sarah’s hair. “Get our girl here cleaned up and I’ll be back in a few.”
I leave before she can say anything more, or before I can do something stupid, like take her face in my hands and kiss her until neither of us can breathe. I’ve been helping Sarah out in any way I can since the day Mouse was killed. That whole situation and the reality of a life in the club had shaken me to my very core. I’d been a prospect at the time and still learning the ropes, but I’d seen the way they’d rallied around Sarah, despite her anger and grief. They’d made sure she wanted for nothing, and that’s when I realized I’d never find a stronger family than this club.
Sarah and Millie’s well-being had been a duty, and it hadn’t taken long for my feeling to become complicated. I’ve come to love these two ladies, so even now that I’m a member, I do what I can to take care of them. I do what I can to be near them—near her. Sarah’s stubborn, though. She refuses to accept help willingly. She’s determined to do shit on her own, which would be an admirable quality if it weren’t so goddamn annoying.
The Sarah I see in the pictures scattered about her home is long gone; she looks so happy in all of them. Carefree. When Mouse was alive, Sarah was always laughing. She’d had a fantastic laugh. She’d throw her head back, her long dark hair falling low on her back, and she’d just let it all out. She laughed with everything she had in her. I haven’t seen that Sarah in a very long time.
As I drive away from her house, I make a decision. Like it or not, Sarah is finally going to let me in. She’s going to let me fucking help her and I’m going to do everything in my power to give Millie the Sarah her daddy fell in love with.