Free Leap of Faith by Jamie Blair Page B

takes the stroller, and begins to fold it up. I wonder at his stroller expertise—since I almost lost my mind trying to figure it out.
    “What happened to your leg?”
    I look down at my bandages and shrug. “Oh, nothing really. Just saved the life of the little boy down the street. You know, nothing big.”
    He lifts his eyebrows and laughs. “What? The little hellion who lives in the Tudor?” He points to Gail’s house.
    “Yeah. He doesn’t quite have the hang of using the brakes on his bike.”
    Chris carries the stroller inside. “Heroics always make me hungry. How about you?” He sets the stroller at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m craving pizza. Want some?”
    Pizza sounds amazing. “Definitely.”
    “Cool, I’ll order. What do you like on it?”
    “Anything’s fine with me. Just no anchovies.” I curl my lip at the thought of salty, crispy fish mingling with my cheese and pepperoni. I used to despise touching them at Giovanni’s.
    Chris laughs and puts a cell phone to his ear. I head toward the stairs while he’s ordering.
    “Don’t touch that stroller,” he says, cupping the phone. “I’ll get it.”
    My leg throbs with each step I take, and I’m relieved when I’m finally sitting on my blue couch.
    With Addy on my lap, sucking on her pacifier, I try to talk myself into getting up now to make a bottle, instead of waiting until my leg is black and purple and twice the size it should be. I slide to the edge of the couch cushion and am just up on my feet again when I hear a siren blaring down the street.
    A cop cruiser.

chapter
    nine
    I forget about my leg. Addy’s left lying on the couch. My hands grab everything they can reach—bottles, formula, diapers—and shove it all into the diaper bag.
    I’m desperately trying to collapse Addy’s Pack ’n Play, but one side is stuck. Shoving and kicking it isn’t helping. “Come on!” I kick it again.
    “Making a quick getaway?”
    I spin. My heart feels like it’s just been kicked instead of the stupid Pack ’n Play. Chris sets the stroller on the floor by the door, and a confused expression crosses his face.
    What am I going to tell him?
    It’s quiet.
    There’s no siren.
    I dart to the window and look out, expecting the cop car to be parked in his driveway or out front on the street. But it’s nowhere in sight.
    I bite my lip and feel my shoulders shrink in on themselves as I turn to face him. “No, just . . . um . . .”
    He shakes his head. “It’s cool. You can ask me for help, you know. We’ll move it into your bedroom after I shower. Pizza will be here in forty.”
    He turns and is gone, back down the stairs, and I’m standing at the window feeling like a total idiot. Judging from the bewildered look on his face, he knew I wasn’t having trouble trying to move the Pack ’n Play a whole ten feet into my bedroom. But whatever he really thought, he covered for me so I wouldn’t be embarrassed.
    Addy’s voice starts out low, then reaches much higher decibels. At least she’s a distraction. I rush to make her bottle and settle back on the couch to feed her, grabbing a dirty T-shirt back out from the diaper bag, where I’d just stuffed it. With the puke-stained shirt over my shoulder, I give her the bottle and let her drink.
    She’s so warm and relaxing, the weight of her in my arm, her steady breathing, the squeaky sucksucksuck sound of the nipple while she’s eating. I rest my head against the cushions on the back of the sofa. My eyelids feel heavy, like they’re weighed down. I can hardly keep them open.
    The doorbell startles me. My eyelids fly open. Addy jolts, and her eyes pop open too. I lift her, and she pukes. Big shock. I sigh and pat her back, making sure she’s okay.
    I stand, and her bottle rolls off my lap and onto the floor. Back behind the wall, in my bedroom, I lay Addy on my bed and change her diaper before changing my shirt. By the time I’m cleaned up, she’s asleep, and I put her down in her