bitter orange marmalade on the bread from the Welcoming Committee basket.
Mental note—never eat anything cooked by Colleen Tanner again. Either the woman had the cooking skills of a chimpanzee or she’d underdone the sugar measurement. The marmalade tasted like orange peel mixed with cement dust.
Anita pinched her nose and choked down another bite. Besides the canned ham, she didn’t have much else to eat, at least not until her paycheck came in the mail. She’d used up most of her savings to move here, pay for first, last and security and keep her gas tank filled for the cross-country drive with the rented U-Haul carrying all her furniture attached to the back.
The Honda had needed a lot of coaxing to make it the last couple hundred miles. Anita had begged the little car not to give up the ghost until she reached Mercy, throwing in a promise of a thorough tune-up and lube job as soon as she got paid again.
Any day now, though, the freelance writing job she’d started right before she left would kick in, with payment for all the articles she’d written prior to moving. It was a hefty check, enough to pay her bills, fill the refrigerator—should the electricity ever start working—and give her money to expand her maternity wardrobe.
And, she couldn’t forget the booties.
Anita’s friend Gena had raved about the first two pairs Anita had made and she’d insisted on trying them in her L.A. boutique. When the crocheted baby socks sold out in a single day, Gena had ordered another fifty pairs, as fast as Anita’s crochet hook could create them. Between moving and unpacking, she hadn’t had much time. Next week, she’d be able to complete a few pairs and get them out to Gena. Who would have thought a hobby taught to her by her mother could have the potential for becoming a nice side business?
Despite the fact that she had no running water and a rodent in residence, Anita remained optimistic. The glass was half full, and the baby was on his or her way. Plenty to be excited about, even more to look forward to.
The weather report called for a cooling rain. The landlord had promised to send over an electrician first thing. The phone company had assured her there’d be a working line connected to the house sometime between the hours of eight and five. By the end of today, she’d have almost everything she needed.
Anita pressed a hand to her belly. Things are looking up, kiddo.
Ever since she’d walked into the Do-It-Yourself-Babies Sperm Bank in L.A., she’d known she was on the right course. All her life, Anita had wanted only one thing—a family. She wasn’t going to wait around for true love, if it even existed, to fall into her life and give her the family she wanted. Especially not once Nicholas made it clear that he had no interest in children, despite the diamond he had placed on her finger. Their brief, tempestuous relationship had begun at the end of last summer and been over before winter’s gray days left. She’d given the ring back and decided this was one thing she could do on her own. No man necessary.
After the test came back positive, she’d given her notice at the marketing company and at her apartment building, then set out to build a new life for herself and her child. When she was little, her mother had spoken fondly of some small town in Indiana where she’d grown up. In the years since her mother had died she’d forgotten the name, but the flavor of the memory had stayed.
Her mother’s stories made the town sound like the perfect place to settle down when she had a child of her own. Mercy, Indiana, was the closest thing Anita knew of to the town her mother had described. After so many years of feeling disconnected, Anita hoped Mercy would provide the answer she was seeking.
The mail truck pulled up in front of her house and slid a pile of letters into the battered aluminum box. Anita crossed into the family room, reached for the front door handle, realized it was still missing in action, and opted for the window.
From the thickness of the stack in the box, Anita figured her mail from L.A. had finally managed to catch up with her. She flipped through the envelopes as she climbed back through the window and into the house.
She tossed the bills to one side of the kitchen table, along with a bunch of junk mail. At the bottom of the pile was a thin envelope she almost missed. Anita tore into it.
The letter from her editor at the magazine started out friendly enough, then disintegrated into bad news. “Budget cuts…We regret to inform you…Wonderful writing…no further need for your services…Wish you luck elsewhere.”
The job she’d counted on was gone. Eliminated with a single sheet of paper and a thirty-seven cent stamp.
Attached to the letter was a check, for only forty percent of what she’d expected. The kill fee, which editors offered when they couldn’t use work they’d contracted to buy, wasn’t nearly enough.
When she’d landed that job, she’d thought it had been wonderful luck. Here was her chance to build a work-from-home career that would let her be with the baby and still earn a living. She’d figured between the booties business and the savings from living in Mercy instead of L.A., she’d come out ahead.
But now it looked as if she’d fallen behind.
Outside, thunder rumbled. A minute later, the skies let loose. Rain pounded down, slapping against the pavement with determination. In the right-hand corner of the kitchen, a steady drip-drip-drip began. Anita grabbed a three-quart pot and put it under the leak.
The water started dripping a symphony throughout the house. By the time she was done, she’d used five pots, two mixing bowls and all six of her glasses to catch the interior rainstorm.
Add one roofer to the list.
The mouse skittered across the floor, nose twitching, tail flicking. He glanced up at the kitchen table, then scurried around the chairs. He paused, curved his head up to look at her and sniffed twice.
“You’re pitiful when you beg.” Anita laid a crust of bread, topped with some of the horrendous marmalade, on the floor. The mouse tiptoed up to it, took one sniff and dived headfirst into his little mouse hole in the kitchen wall.
She laughed. “I don’t blame you. Give me a few days and we’ll be dining on steak. Well, at least chicken. I’ll come up with something.”
Things, after all, could be worse. She had a canned ham. Crackers. And marmalade she could use as putty. Not exactly the best choices from the four food groups, but she wouldn’t starve.
Anita grabbed her laptop and headed for her Honda. She’d get to the library, hook up to the Internet and scour the Web until she landed another freelance job. Then tonight she’d work like a little elf, crocheting until her fingers fell off.
She had credentials, clips, experience. She’d be fine.
There. A plan. Already she felt better. The rain sputtered against the Honda. Anita turned the key in the ignition.
Click, click, click. Then, nothing.
“Come on, baby.” She pressed on the gas pedal, turned the key again and prayed.
This time, the car didn’t even bother to click. Nothing but silence.
She climbed out of the vehicle, shut the door and popped the hood. Everything looked normal. The same jumble of wires and metal that had been there for the past six years.
No job. No car. No money. Even Anita had to admit
