Juked (3 page)

“Daniel,” I say. “My name’s Daniel.” I put out my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Daniel,” she replies, putting her small hand in mine. “My name is Quincy.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” We drop hands, and as I start to walk away, I turn. “Hey, Quincy.”

“Yeah?” she says, bouncing the baby up and down again.

“Trust your gut with him,” I say, tipping my head to the kid. “There’s no right or wrong answers. There are only the best answers you can provide in the moment. You are going to do great.”

She gives me a beaming smile, and I turn away, continuing with my overnight shopping adventure.

T
he air is cool and comfortable at the cemetery. But the breeze has a bite to it. That’s really the only kind of cold we get in Houston. I’m not really feeling it, though. I’m already cold, more out of numbness than anything.

I haven’t cried at all today. In fact, the last time I cried was the night Sarah died, when I was at the store freaking out about what to feed Chance. Since then it’s like I’ve been on autopilot.

Feed the baby. Call Sarah’s employer. Burp the baby. Meet with the funeral home. Change the baby.

Bury my sister.

I stare at the casket in front of me. Sarah lies inside of it.

I can’t believe I’m burying my baby sister.

Genevieve, my best friend and coworker, sits next to me, holding the baby. She keeps trying to quiet his cries while the preacher drones on about the sanctity of life and the need to treat every day as if it’s your last.

The baby always cries. Never stops. I wonder if he misses Sarah as much as I do.

Can babies feel grief? Does he understand she’s not here, and she’s not coming back?

I notice there are only a handful of people here. How did that happen?

Sarah was always so popular. People gravitated toward her. She was so bubbly and energetic and sweet as could be. How did she end up with less than a dozen people wanting to pay their last respects? Had her life really changed so drastically when she was pregnant?

A funeral home representative turns a crank, and the casket lowers into the ground. And still I don’t cry. I can’t. I just feel numb.

At the preacher’s cue, I stand and smooth down the skirt of my black sheath. I pick up the rose sitting on the chair next to me, walk over to the hole in the ground, look down, and drop it on top of the casket.

As it falls, scenes from Sarah’s life flash before my eyes.

The day Mom and Dad brought her home from the hospital and let me hold her for the first time. The Christmas we got matching American Girl dolls and swore they would be best friends forever. The one year we were in high school at the same time and went to every football game together. Holding each other’s hand at Dad’s funeral a few short years ago.

I will never hold her hand again.

That thought makes my eyes glassy, and a single tear slides down my cheek.

The high-pitched sound of Chance’s hunger-cry snaps me out of my memories. I turn around, and Geni hands him to me, then takes her own rose and drops it on top of mine.

In the few short days since we’ve been together, it’s clear Chance has decided my job is to meet his every need. He’s right. It
is
my job. I’m just surprised he figured it out that quickly.

I look down into his sweet eyes as I pop a bottle in his mouth.

“It’s you and me now, kid,” I say quietly to him, choking down a sob that’s threatening to erupt from my throat. “I know I’m not your momma, but I promise I’m going to do the best I can. And I will never let you forget how much your momma loved you. Because she loved you so, so much.”

Geni puts her arm around me and hugs us tight as the tears finally start to fall. I didn’t even feel her sit back down.

The last of the guests drop their roses as well, and the preacher says a prayer for peace and comfort. I pray God will listen to him because I feel neither peaceful nor comfortable.

The funeral is officially over, but Geni and I remain in our seats. There’s no reception to run off to. We might go out to lunch later, but I felt like the money would be better spent on finding a decent day care than providing food for a bunch of people I don’t know. Seeing how few actually showed up, I know I made the right decision.

Three or four people stop to say their condolences, including her former college roommate and a girl she had administrative assistant classes with. She tells me Sarah hadn’t finished her classes yet but was planning to return for the new semester. She’d been one semester away from graduating and being certified.

I recognize her best friend as she approaches. “Rachel.” I stand up to greet her and hug her as tightly as I can while holding the baby. “I’m so glad you came.”

She looks sad but numb. I recognize that look. It’s the same way I feel.

She glances at Chance and cups his small head. “So this is baby Chance,” she says with a small smile. “He looks so much like your dad.”

I crinkle my brow. “You haven’t met him before?”

She sighs and pets the fuzzy hair on his head. “When she dropped out of school,” she says quietly, “we didn’t see each other as much as we used to.”

I cock my head. The two of them had practically been inseparable. How could they lose touch so quickly?

As if Rachel can read my thoughts, she continues. “Sarah loved him so much from the beginning. Truly.” She looks up at me, as if she’s willing me to understand the intensity she’s trying to convey. “As soon as she was through the first trimester of her pregnancy, she rearranged her entire life to take care of him. Enrolled in vocational school so she could have a decent career as quickly as possible. Got on some government assistance. She shot to the top of the list for everything and moved out of the dorm. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to settle into the ‘new normal,’ and I guess….” She clears her throat. “I guess I didn’t make enough effort to check on her.”

“Did she….” I try to find the words. “You weren’t there when he was born?”

She shakes her head with tears in her eyes. “She texted me a picture the day he was born. I was in class when I got it and promised her I’d visit.” A few tears leak down her cheeks as she whispers, “I never did.”

I understand the feeling of guilt all too well, and my heart breaks for her. None of us made the effort we should have. We were living our lives and doing our thing. So Sarah had her baby alone.

“Um, Rachel, do you know who his dad is?” I ask, hoping she can give me some answers. “There isn’t a name on his birth certificate, and I can’t figure out where to even start to find him.”

She sighs deeply. “The only thing I know is his name is Erik.”

“That’s it? You never met him?”

She shrugs. “The night she got pregnant, we had gone to a party at a friend of a friend’s place. You know how it goes. News of a good party travels through the grapevine, and everyone shows up.”

I nod even though I really don’t know. I never had the college experience, never went to parties. I was too busy trying to make ends meet after Dad died.

“We partied pretty hard. There was so much booze…. I honestly don’t remember the whole night.” She fidgets with her fingers. “When Sarah woke up the next morning, she knew she had slept with Erik, but he was gone. A couple months later, when she found out she was pregnant, we thought about trying to find him, but where would we begin? We didn’t even know where we partied since we rode with someone that night.”

I look at Chance as all this new information sinks in. He has no dad, no aunts and uncles, no grandparents. He’s all alone.

Like me.

I steel my resolve as I take in his features again: my dad’s brow line, his chin and eye color, Sarah’s face shape, my mother’s hands. The features of everyone I have lost, all put together in this tiny, precious little package.

I’m hit again with the reality that I’m all he has left. I have to be his everything. His needs are more immediate and important than mine.

It’s one of the scariest thoughts I’ve ever had.

“What are your plans now?” Geni asks, popping a french fry in her mouth.

Since neither of us had eaten before the service, we’d stopped by the local Culver’s for some greasy fast food.

I pick at my burger. I’m hungry but can’t quite find it in me to eat a whole lot yet. Sadness will do that to you. “I have to find a day care as soon as possible, one that’s open on Saturdays, too, since that’s my biggest work day.”

“Do you have any leads?” she asks, stealing some of my fries. I slide the container in her direction. I don’t want them anymore anyway.

“Angie texted me the name of her day care yesterday,” I say, wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin. “They’re open until late, which is great, but not on Saturdays. And I still don’t know if they’ll take a baby so young.” I look over at him sleeping in his carrier right next to me in the booth. “I have to get back to work, though. I’ve already missed enough days that money is gonna be tight the rest of the month.”

“Oh honey, please don’t worry about that,” Geni says. “You know I’ll help you out if you need it.”

“I know.” I feel the weight of it all on my shoulders. In a short amount of time, I’d lost my baby sister and ended up in charge of this tiny little one. Talk about a rapid life change. In my mind, I know I can do it. But my heart is having a hard time moving past the ache to get a plan in action.

“My sister has been looking for a way to save some Christmas money,” Geni says, breaking me from my pity party.

“Yeah?”

“She has two kids of her own.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not catching on to what I’m saying, are you?”

I giggle half-heartedly. “No, not really. I’m sorry. Lost in my thoughts. I’m good now. What were you saying?”

“Monica is looking for a way to supplement her income. I bet she’d love to watch Chance on Saturdays.”

I stop chewing. “Do you think she’d go for it? I mean, that would be great. She’s such an amazing mom.” Chance is still sleeping soundly. Thank goodness. It’s nice having a break from the crying.

“Please,” she says, waving her hand at me. “As long as you don’t mind the baby tagging along to their soccer games and whatever else, I think it could be kind of perfect.”

“Yeah, I think it could work. Will you text me her number?”

“Sure.” Geni brushes the crumbs off her hands and picks up her phone. “She already knows about you getting custody. She’s really impressed you would take on this kind of responsibility.” She presses some buttons on her phone and puts it away. My phone immediately registers the incoming text.

“I’m not sure there’s anything to be impressed about. What was I gonna do? Let the state take custody?”

“I know,” she says and takes a sip of her drink. “There’s not a lot of people our age who would take on someone else’s baby for eighteen years, nephew or not.”

I’m not sure why this is such a shock to most people. Wouldn’t everyone in my position do the same? I just have to figure out a way to muddle my way through for a while. Hopefully, once this day care situation is worked out, things will become more clear.