Leap of Faith Read Online Free Page A

walking back up the driveway.
    “I’m sure she will.” I get in the car and turn the key in the ignition. I don’t think about what I’ve been doing all spring break, hitting yard sale after yard sale, collecting baby items. I just do it. I haven’t let myself admit why, though. That would be admitting I’m fucking crazy, and really, I don’t know that yet, because I don’t have a plan, because I won’t let myself think of one.
    It’s this circular thought process that’s gotten me through the last week.
    The one thing I do know is that this baby isn’t going to live the fucked-up life I’ve had for the past sixteen years. In the past few months, I’ve memorized those ultrasound pictures down to the last detail and driven past Dave and Angel’s place probably a hundred times.
    I’ve seen drugged-up partiers passed out on their porch. I’ve seen the cops parked outside twice. I’ve seen enough drug dealers and whores for a lifetime. My little sister will not live there.
    Not to mention, Dave’s still screwing my mom.
    I’ve seen Angel’s own “visitor” come by their duplex late at night when Dave’s at my house. Those two don’t want a baby. They don’t even want each other. It’s obvious they were high when they made the decision to bring my mom into their effed-up plan.
    My knuckles had gone pale, I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight. This baby is weighing heavy on my mind. I can’t ignore it.
    Hope said I have to find my own way out.
    I’ve found it.
    I just can’t think about it.
    Because that would be admitting I’m fucking crazy.
    And the circle of thought continues all the way home until I’m inside and faced with my mom—out of bed and stoned on the couch with a can of beer in her hand.
    Before she can say a word, I stride into my bedroom and close the door. It’s best to avoid her when she’s trashed. She likes to pick fights.
    I lie down and close my eyes. My room is blessedly pitch black. It’s been warm for late April, and the crickets are loud outside my window, but they’re lulling me to sleep. It’s that time right before you pass out when you’re not sure if you’re dreaming or still awake. That’s why Mom’s voice doesn’t seem real at first.
    “FAITH!”
    “Huh?” I sit up and rub my blurry eyes.
    “Faith, for Christ’s sake—get in here and help me!”
    I stand and trip over my blanket, which is tangled around my feet. “I’m coming!”
    She wails and I dart across the hall, dragging the blanket and tripping into the living room, where she’s still sprawled on the couch. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
    She pushes on the back of the couch, trying to get up. “Well, help me! Shit, Faith, what good are you?” Then she cries out again.
    “Holy shit! You’re in labor!” She’s two weeks early. I grab her hand and try to tug her up. She grimaces in pain. I wish Hope were here. She’s much better at dealing with Mom. “I’ll call Brian’s house and tell Hope to come home.”
    “Just get me in the car!” I grip her hand with both of mine and pull her to her feet. “Ahhh!” she shrieks.
    “Okay. It’s okay. Breathe.” I wrap an arm around her back.
    “Shut the fuck up, Faith! Just get me to the hospital.”
    Fighting the urge to throw her to the floor and go back to bed, I grab her packed bag from her bedroom and help her out to the car.
    She screams, cries, and cusses all the way to the hospital. I drive fast, actually hoping I’ll get pulled over and the cop can drag her butt to the maternity ward.
    I pull up in front of the emergency room doors and hop out, flagging down an orderly with a wheelchair. “My mom’s in labor!”
    It all happens really fast. Before I know it, she’s in a gown, hooked up to monitors, and almost ten centimeters dilated.
    I don’t know if Dave and Angel want to be there for the delivery or not, and I don’t want to ask. Instead I say, “Should I call Hope?”
    “For what?” Mom says, relaxed now