Free Leap of Faith by Jamie Blair

family room and down the hallway that runs alongside the staircase. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom at the back of the house. I stop and close my eyes, breathing in Chris’s scent.
    Without thinking, I walk into the first bedroom on the left. His guitar is lying on his bed, on top of a navy blue comforter, hastily yanked up but still messy. He has a Spiderman pillowcase, and seeing it makes me happy for some reason. I run my hand over it and smile.
    Three beat-up, broken guitars lean against the far wall, under a window. On a shelf above the bed, there’s a collection of superhero bobbleheads. I tap each one and crack up watching them bounce on spring necks. They’re dusty. I wonder how long he’s had them.
    A well-worn houndstooth newsboy cap hangs off of his computer monitor. Next to it, empty Coke cans are stacked in a pyramid—their precise spacing an oddity in this disaster of a bedroom.
    There’s a dresser with its drawers pulled out, overflowing with unfolded jeans and T-shirts, and a pile of clothes on the floor in front of the closet. Black Converse high-tops peek out from beneath the jumble of clothes.
    My hand reaches for a T-shirt, but I pull it back.
    I’m a creeper.
    I shake my head, returning to my senses. Addy starts crying upstairs.
    • • •
    By four o’clock, I’m bored out of my mind. Addy’s been fed, and I’ve eaten half a pack of M&M’s I found in the bottom of my bag. I can recite every nonperishable food item in the kitchen cupboards and list the reading material on the floor beside Chris’s bed: Steven Tyler’s rock-and-roll memoir, the book World War Z , and several Marvel comics.
    I load Addy up in her stroller, determined to find a park or somewhere to waste time during my days until I find a job. We head down the sidewalk, over the cracks and bumps made by the tree roots that have grown too big over the years.
    Dappled sunlight filters through the green leaves above us. Addy squints and jerks her head every time the sun shines through the branches into her stroller.
    I’m surprised to find people out in their yards at this time of day. There seem to be a lot of stay-at-home moms watching their kids play around, and retired people mowing well-watered, emerald-green lawns.
    This is nothing like where I’m from.
    This is how normal people live.
    People with real jobs.
    People who don’t sell drugs or sex or babies.
    A little boy dashes down his driveway toward us, on a small black and silver bike with training wheels. He’s not stopping. Immediately, I realize he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s screaming, and his mom’s running after him.
    I push the stroller out of the way and prepare to catch him or be hit. The front tire of the little bike smashes into my bare leg as my hands grasp the handlebars. “Got ya!”
    Pain sears through my shin. Blood’s dripping down into my sock.
    “Oh my gosh!” The mom grabs her son, squeezing him to her chest, while her eyes examine my leg. “Come on.” She motions for me to follow her as she rushes back up the driveway. “I’ll get some Band-Aids.”
    I tug the stroller along behind me, following the woman and little boy up the driveway to the open garage. “I’ll just wait. . . .”
    She’s already inside. I can hear her scolding her son. “I told you not to touch that bike until I was done bringing the groceries inside and could watch you!”
    Addy’s kicking and squirming in her stroller, and I’m afraid she’s about to have a fit. The woman bursts back through the door and walks through the garage to where I’m standing.
    “I’m so sorry about that.” She hands me a wet paper towel and some Band-Aids. “He’s not quite five and doesn’t know how to ride it very well yet.”
    “That’s okay.” I wipe my leg and apply the bandages. “It’s not that bad. I’m glad I was there to run into.” I laugh, trying to make her concerned expression fade. “He might have ended up worse than me.”
    “No doubt