“Or, you could stay in my spare room. I’m right next door.” Monroe points to the townhouse to the right of mine. The two townhouses, along with the one to the left of my place, are the only three on this side of the street and are all exactly alike. Two stories, with a brick face, and a small front porch. Monroe had added potted plants that lined both sides of the stairs leading up to her front door, and a couple of rocking chairs inviting you to sit and relax. The porch on the other house was as empty and barren as mine, even though there was a jeep in the driveway indicating that someone did live there.
“Oh, um.” My voice trails off with uncertainty.
“I get it.” Monroe’s soft laughter floats between us again. “You don’t know me at all. I swear, I’m just being neighborly. We can call Nora if you want. She’d vouch for me. But she’s probably a bit, ah, busy at the moment.”
“Right. The date.”
She laughs again. “Yeah, the date. You don’t have to take me up on the offer, Tristan. I won’t be offended. I just know it’s late, and you look tired—no offense, and I have an empty bed in my house you can use until Nora gets home tomorrow.”
“I have Stella.”
“Stella?”
A quick glance in the rearview mirror assures me that my little girl is still sound asleep. Her sweaty curls are plastered against one side of her face, her little red, kewpie lips pursed, and tucked tight under one arm is the battered purple elephant she’d gotten from her father before she’d even been born. Phant goes everywhere with my little girl, and though she loves that elephant, for me it is a constant reminder that Trevor is gone, and that the stupid stuffed toy is the one and only thing he would ever give her.
Trevor and I found out we were pregnant during my senior year of college, and right before he was shipped out for what ended up being his last deployment. His convoy had taken fire while escorting what we were told was a high-value target for the Taliban. The high-value target made it out unscathed, but the United States Marine Corps ended up notifying six families that their loved ones weren’t coming home.
As Trevor and I weren’t married, I wasn’t the one to receive the official notification. His mother was the one to answer that particular knock. Gloria Clemmens and I have never, and will never, be friends. Not even the death of her son, or the birth of his child, has bridged any of the animosity that has built between the two of us. I’ve always heard of mama’s boys, and Trevor was a bit of one, but to me, it had always seemed like the roles had been reversed.
Gloria immersed herself in every single aspect of her only child’s life, and thus mine when Trevor and I started dating. It was our most substantial ongoing argument. I felt there needed to be some sort of separation between mother and son, and Trevor was unable to stand firm on any boundaries we attempted to set.
So Gloria Clemmens was reason number two that moving from DC to Georgia was such an easy choice. Or, if I really wanted to rank my reasons accurately, she was the number one main reason I left DC behind. After Trevor’s death, she didn’t attempt to mend any fences with me. But she wanted to become as involved in Stella’s life as she had been in Trevor’s, to the point that, while picking up Stella from her house one day, I found a letter on her kitchen counter from an attorney she had met with to discuss gaining custody of my daughter.
I started looking for nursing jobs out of state the next day.
I took into consideration some of the observations outlined in that letter. Strike one: My job as an emergency-room nurse, in a busy hospital in a less than stellar part of DC, had long hours, requiring me to leave Stella for extended periods of time, sometimes even overnight. Strike two: On my single income, I didn’t have the means to provide an apartment that allowed Stella to have her own bedroom. Strike three: I had come from an unstable home so therefore was unfit to provide a stable home.
It was all bullshit, and I knew that I could contest anything she threw at me and win, but the cost of doing so would have been more than I was able to afford.
Plus there was the simple fact that, from the moment I saw that letter from the lawyer, I started imagining the number of different ways that I could get away with murder.
So I felt it was best all-around if I got Stella and me out of DC.
It didn’t guarantee that there wouldn’t be a battle, but at least I had mitigated some of the ammunition Gloria had been planning to utilize against me.
A job with better hours and more stability? Check. A home where Stella is able to have her own bedroom? Check. Hell, I’d even gotten her a yard to run around in so that should be a double check. A place where I’d be able to put down roots, build a solid, stable life for Stella and me? Check, check, check.
Forcing myself not to think about my mother-in-law, I look back to the blonde. She’s illuminated by one of the streetlights, and, I note, looks very put together, making me feel frumpy in my travel-worn jeans and cotton shirt. In stark contrast, her dark blue skinny jeans fit perfectly, and the floaty antique-white, lace tank top and pretty, little, red ballet flats complement them perfectly. Her wheat-blond hair is hanging down over her shoulders, straight as a pin. It’s too dark to see what color her eyes are, but her face is classically beautiful, and I’m reminded of Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn.
“Stella is my daughter.”
Twin blond eyebrows rise in obvious surprise at my statement. “Nora didn’t mention you had a daughter.”
“Probably because I didn’t mention it to her.” Small-town life might dictate that you had to know everything about everybody, but I was from DC, and that wasn’t my style.
“Probably,” Monroe agrees amicably. “It’s a queen bed, so plenty of room for both of you if you don’t mind sharing. I’ll be up for another half hour; if you decide you want to stay, just come knock on the door.” She offers another sweet smile before turning and heading toward her house.
If it were just me, I would have been out of my car in an instant. But I have Stella to worry about. The minute they placed her in my arms, everything changed. Throughout my pregnancy, I heard how much my life would change. Not just the sleepless nights, though I heard plenty about those, as well.
Holding Stella in those first few seconds, while the doctors and nurses fluttered around the room, I had an absolute moment of clarity. Nothing is more important than Stella, and I hadn’t really known what love was until I stared into her pretty, blue eyes for the very first time. In that moment, it was like my heart stopped beating for me, and beat for her instead. My sole, number one purpose in life, is to give her the best of everything. Which included sleeping in an actual bed and not in a car.
A quick glance at the house next door shows that Monroe is standing at her door, looking over her shoulder to where I still sit. The welcoming smile is still on her face as she disappears inside.
My eyes slide closed, as Stella shifts in her car seat behind me, the sound impossibly loud in the car. She whimpers, shifting again, making me think that the uncomfortable-looking sleeping position is catching up with her. Mind made up, I turn off the ignition. I’m pretty sure I can take Monroe if it comes down to that, but I doubt it will.
It only takes me a few minutes to gather up the small overnight bag I prepared for us, along with my purse and cell phone. My legs protest when I get out of the car, stiff from sitting for the last three hours.