Chapter Four
Pru
Sliding the light-yellow onesie over Scarlett’s head, I smile down into her dark blue eyes. I’m getting her ready to go to the grocery store, but she is curled up in a little ball, making it nearly impossible.
I don’t really like taking her out, not with her being so little. I’m afraid she’ll get sick. So far, we have only left the house once, for her two-week check-up. But we are almost out of diapers, and since her appetite is continuing to grow, she’s almost out of formula, too. Plus, I have to get some food in this house before I starve to death.
“How’s my birthday girl today?” I ask, popping the snaps closed on Scarlett’s onesie. “How does it feel to be a whole one month old?”
Of course, she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even coo just yet. Scarlett does watch my lips, though, as if she is taking in every word I say. She has grown so much since she was born. She’s starting to plump up and get rosy cheeks. She is the absolute cutest little girl in the entire world. Her daddy and I both think so.
Hack and I have gotten into a routine over the last month. He has been back at least once a week to see her, most of the time two or three times a week. Even on the days he doesn’t show up, he calls. It may be late, and I might even already be in bed, but he always calls. He requires a full rundown of her entire day. Even though all she ever does is sleep, eat, and fill her diaper, he seems to find it exciting.
The only issue we’ve had is money. I’ve told him over and over again that we are fine. I didn’t contact him to see what I can get from him. As long as he’s in her life and she knows who her daddy is, that’s good enough for me. I will never forget the way I felt seeing him hold her for the first time, or anytime since then. It is amazing to see such a huge biker holding such a tiny baby. The gentle way he is with her, I have no doubt he is going to be a great father. That alone is enough for me.
He keeps trying to give us money anyway, and I keep turning him down. Then, when he leaves, I will find a wad of cash in the oddest places. Last week, after he left, I found three-hundred dollars laying on top of a pint of banana ice-cream in my freezer. Next thing I know, he’ll slide a grand into my tampon box.
Shaking my head at the thought, I start putting on Scarlett’s new purple dress, singing to her as I do it. Mom was never much of a mom, so I don’t know many lullabies. Instead, I end up singing Amanda by Waylon Jennings to Scarlett, only substituting her name in the lyrics.
When I finally tug on her little stocking cap, she’s asleep. I put her in her carrier, buckling her in securely. Picking up the car seat, I make my way down the stairs. As my feet hit the bottom step, my phone starts ringing.
Setting her seat on the couch, I reach over to the coffee table and see Mom is calling. Looking quickly at the time, I scrunch my forehead in confusion. It’s only eleven in the morning. She’s usually still sleeping off last night’s bender.
“Hello,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.
“I need to borrow twenty dollars,” she states, not bothering with a greeting. “Bring it over to the house by noon.”
She doesn’t need to borrow anything; she just wants me to give it to her. It’s something that happened a lot before Scarlett was born, but it’s something that’s not going to happen anymore. I saved every penny I could while I was pregnant, knowing I would be off work for a while. I knew I would need a little nest egg. Sadly, that is nearly gone, and I’m not about to touch Hack’s money for Mom.
“You know I’m not working, so you know I don’t have any money to give you,” I reply, not even bothering to hide the frustration in my voice.
This is the third time she has called for money since Scarlett was born. Each time, I tell her the same thing. It looks like she would have got the drift by now. Of course, she hasn’t, and I doubt she will any time soon.
“Why aren’t you working?” she asks, sounding pissed that I’m not slaving away to help cover her expenses.
Praying for patience, I suck in a gulp of air to calm myself. “I can’t go back until Scarlett’s six weeks old.”
I don’t bother telling her the truth, which is that I can’t go back until the doctor gives the okay. With what I went through having Scarlett and the hours after, that could end up being a hell of a lot longer than six weeks. Considering the fact my mom hasn’t bothered to stop by and see her granddaughter or check on me, she probably wouldn’t care anyway.
“That’s crazy. I went back to work the day after I came home from the hospital with you,” she says, lying through her teeth.
My mom has never worked more than a week straight in her life. Altogether, I doubt she has put in more than six months during her entire fifty-one years. Instead, she jumps from man to man, staying with each until they tire of her and kick her out. Between guys, she has always depended on me to take care of her. Even when I was nine, I raked the neighbor’s yard every week, only to give Mom the five dollars they paid me.
She obviously is tired of waiting on me to respond, because she starts spewing her shit again. “I need the money, and I need it now. If you don’t have it, call your kid’s daddy and tell him to bring you some.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say, shaking my head at her stupidity. “If you need money, you need to get a job.”
Her voice is grating when she responds. “You know I’m too damn sick to work, Prudence Jane. What are you trying to do, get me to kill myself?”
The only sickness she has is alcoholism. I’m intelligent enough to realize it is a disease, but I’m also smart enough to know that she doesn’t need me enabling her anymore. Giving her twenty dollars would be doing just that.
“I don’t have any money to give you, Mom. You can keep asking all you want, but that isn’t gonna change the answer,” I tell her, trying to keep my anger under control.
“I have to have the twenty dollars by noon,” she screeches into the phone.
Done with the conversation, I give her the only response I can. “I’ve gotta go, Mom. Scarlett and I have something to do.”
She keeps talking, but I hang up anyway and slide my phone into my back pocket. After getting my purse and a few necessities for Scarlett’s diaper bag, I grab my keys and Scarlett’s carrier then walk out the front door. I turn to lock the deadbolt when something shiny catches my eye.
I look up and down the street. Not far from my house is a four-way stop, and sitting by the corner is a man leaning against a motorcycle. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes are locked onto me and Scarlett. I stare at him a second, and he lifts his chin at me.
The sight of it instantly pisses me off. This is the second time I’ve noticed some biker watching my place. The first was yesterday, when I took out the garbage. At the time, I wasn’t sure if he was watching my house or not. As far as I knew, he could have been there waiting for someone. But that chin lift and the way he continues to stare at us lets me know he is truly watching me.
I turn back around, unlock the door, and walk back into the house. I sit Scarlett and her seat down by the couch and pull my phone out of my back pocket. My eyes close as I try to think of what I need to say to Hack.
Since the day Hack met Scarlett, we’ve been getting along. I’m not over what he did to me, not by a long shot, but I’m doing my best to form some kind of friendly relationship with him for our daughter’s sake. But having someone watching me is just too much. I’m not gonna let him invade my life in this way.
I quickly pull up his number and shoot him a text.
I’ve told you I am fine by myself. I don’t need any of your friends watching over me.
Since he’s met Scarlett, I don’t get ignored any more, and today is no different. He instantly texts back.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’m talking about this biker, sitting down the street from my house, watching my house. I just wanted to let you know it isn’t necessary. Tell him to go home.
I try to get my point across without breaking the newfound peace we have.
A second later, I get a text back.
Stay inside until I get there. Lock your door and DO NOT leave.
I read the message twice, not believing he has the audacity to order me around. It takes all my willpower to not message back, fuck you. Instead, I put my phone back in the bag and pick up Scarlett once again before heading toward the door. I don’t care who is outside. I need to go to the store, and I’m not gonna be a prisoner in my house just because he told me so. I’m gonna enjoy this outing with my baby girl, no matter what.