All She Ever Wanted (9 page)

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Authors: Rosalind Noonan

BOOK: All She Ever Wanted
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From this close she could smell his aftershave, already packed into the bag. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a tiny speck of dust, billowing through the air and swirling, landing and attaching herself on Leo's undershirt.
She would hold on tight and never let go.
Chapter 10
C
heerios. Bread. Cheese. And two gallons of milk.
Chelsea went down the aisle of the supermarket Monday morning, hoping that Annabelle would stay asleep in the carrier that filled most of the shopping cart. When she'd opened the fridge that morning and found it lacking, she had cursed herself for begging Leo to watch the baby instead of letting him make a grocery run last night. She had imagined a quick daytime shopping trip this morning, and so far, Annabelle had napped under the fluorescent lights of the bread-and-cereal aisle. If she could grab some meat and fresh fruit, they could get home without a scene.
Maybe it was the cool mist in the produce section. As soon as Chelsea edged near the carrots, Annabelle snorted and started to cry.
“Don't do that here . . . please,” Chelsea begged under her breath as she shoved a bunch of carrots in a bag and grabbed two onions.
Before she could reach the fruit, Annie's cries had accelerated to shrieks: that wretched wail that seemed to indicate terrible pain. Chelsea could feel other shoppers turning to stare at her.
A woman in a fat down jacket stopped picking out potatoes to give them her full attention. “Is everything all right?”
“Sorry. She cries like that sometimes.” Chelsea pushed her cart away, but the woman followed.
“She sounds like she's in distress.”
“She'll be okay.” Chelsea ripped off a plastic bag for apples, trying to dodge the woman's disapproving stare.
“She's very cute,” the woman said sadly, but Chelsea knew that translated to:
Shut that baby up!
“Why don't you pick her up?” asked an elderly grandma in a jaunty cheetah-print cap. Her eyes were suspicious dark beads in her face.
“It won't make her stop crying,” Chelsea explained, “and it's such an ordeal to unbuckle her and take her out. I just stopped in for a few things.”
“But you can't let her cry like that,” the older woman said.
I can't make her stop crying!
Chelsea bit her lower lip to keep herself from snapping back at the woman. She knew it was annoying and disturbing and disruptive, but she had to listen to it all the time. Could these people just put up with her for ten minutes while Chelsea picked up her groceries?
A man with bushy eyebrows scowled as he blew by her with his cart like an angry motorist passing a car with a flat tire.
“Are you going to let the poor thing make herself sick?” Cheetah Woman asked. “Take care of her!”
“I'm trying.” And what baby ever died from crying? Really . . . these people pretended to like babies, but in truth none of them had an ounce of compassion. Chelsea gave up and pushed the cart to the checkout counter. She would have to make do without the other items on her list.
The woman in front of her looked back in annoyance, as Chelsea lined her cart up beside the chewing gum display.
“Can you give that kid a pacifier or something?” the woman asked in a biting tone.
Annabelle never took to a pacifier, but Chelsea reached into the diaper bag, wanting to feel as if she were doing something. The shrieks were angry bleats now, seared by a scalding edge that made it sound as if Annie would lose her voice soon. A sour suspicion tugged at Chelsea as she dug through the diaper bag.
Where was her wallet?
In the car. She had tucked it into the console after she'd loaded Annie into her child safety seat.
Damn!
With Annie screeching, there was no way the clerk would work with her. And at this point she didn't have the energy to dump the groceries with the manager and carry Annie through the parking lot in her heavy seat.
It was all such an ordeal. . . .
She pulled out of line, pushed her cart to the side of the store, and transferred Annie to an empty one.
“Come on, cranky-pants,” she muttered, wheeling Annabelle out of the store.
 
The drive-through at Taco Bell promised hot food and an opportunity for Annie to wail in the privacy of their car. The line wasn't moving, and while she waited Chelsea shot off a text to Leo about Annie's meltdown. She could never reach him during the day when he was at a convention; that hadn't bothered her before she was stranded with Annabelle. She ordered a burrito, then made it two, deciding to save one for later.
“Something to drink?”
“Do you have milk?”
She thought the muzzled answer was a yes. After she paid and peered in the bag, the small container of milk gave her an idea. She circled around the parking lot and went back to the drive-through to order again.
“Ten milks, please.” At least that would tide her over until she made it to the grocery store.
 
When Chelsea pulled into the driveway, she was surprised to see her neighbor standing at the curb, unpacking a minivan loaded to the gills. Louise Pickler was back from South Carolina already?
Chelsea wasn't thrilled to see Louise, who savagely protected her dingy home from solicitors and stray baseballs. Louise had stick-thin legs and a belly that made her look slightly pregnant. She seemed to be in her sixties, though it was hard to tell under the makeup that could have been applied with a paint roller. Her long brown hair showed two inches of gray at the roots, and her lips always curved down in a grimace. This time of year, she always wore a black trench coat that made her resemble a fairytale witch.
The bad witch of the south—South Carolina—had returned.
Chelsea would have liked to duck straight into the house, but there was no avoiding Louise. She unloaded the stroller and popped it open. Fortunately, Annie stopped crying as soon as Chelsea removed her from the car. Did she sense that Louise was one of the most intolerant neighbors on the face of the earth and it wouldn't be wise to push her buttons, or was it just a response to the cold air? Taking a deep breath, Chelsea wheeled her over.
As she passed the van, Louise's little dog, ChiChi, bounced from the front seat to the dashboard, yapping incessantly.
“Louise, you're back early,” Chelsea said. “The snow hasn't even melted yet.”
Louise eyed her suspiciously. “I missed my home.”
“Well, you're back now.” Chelsea looked for the larger dog, known around the neighborhood as a biter. She didn't want her bounding up out of nowhere and attacking. “Where's Coco?”
Louise clutched the bright raspberry-colored scarf at her neck. “Gone to doggy heaven, may she rest in peace.” She misted over. “I miss her so much.”
Chelsea felt a flutter of sympathy for the woman. How sad to be all alone in the world, except for one or two scrappy dogs.
“Yes, I miss my little Coco.” Louise's pout hardened to a frown as she pounced on Annabelle, leaning down to put her face frightfully close to the baby. “But I didn't miss hearing
you
cry.”
Sympathy for the older woman drained away, and Chelsea rolled the stroller back, away from Louise's clutches. Louise had been living next door for the first two weeks of Annie's life, before she left for South Carolina, and though it was a dark blur in Chelsea's mind, she did remember Leo dealing with the older woman's complaints on the phone.
Louise straightened, still staring at Annabelle. “How's the colic?” she asked in her husky voice. “Tell me I'm not going to hear her crying outside my window again.”
“Not as bad, but she still cries,” Chelsea admitted, feeling assaulted by the woman.
“That's not what I want to hear. Why are you such a bad baby?” Louise asked Annabelle in a ridiculous baby voice.
That voice edged under Chelsea's skin. “She's not a bad baby.” Her discomfort was galvanized by the yapping dog that had started rocking the van. “And we didn't miss ChiChi's barking.”
“Dat's not a bark!” Louise responded in her clownish voice as she opened the door and let the dog out so that it could sniff and snap at Chelsea's ankles. “Dat's ChiChi talking to Mommy!”
This woman is crazier than I am,
Chelsea thought. She turned the stroller around as Louise hunkered down to give little ChiChi hugs. She stopped at the car to grab her Taco Bell stash and tucked it into the stroller basket, not wanting the neighbor to see the evidence of her shame and failure. Then she whisked Annabelle into the house, locking the door behind her.
Since Annabelle seemed content in her stroller, Chelsea quickly stashed the milk and second burrito in the fridge and perused the shelves. Nothing but condiments and Leo's microbrew beers.
The cupboard was bare.
Besides the burrito in the fridge, there was nothing besides cereal and oatmeal to eat in the long, dark nights ahead.
Her cell phone buzzed, and she retrieved a message from Leo.
Sorry about the groceries. I should have stocked up. My bad. Get someone to help you. Emma or Eleni?
Leo was right. She needed some help. Emma would stop by tonight, but Chelsea knew they would both be too tired to head out for groceries at that point of the evening. She needed a plan, and returning to the grocery store with Annabelle in tow was no solution.
She scrolled through her cell phone and found the number for Eleni Zika, the teenage sitter, and shot off a text:
Can you watch the baby right after school for an hour or two?
It was the right thing to do—build a network of support. It would only be for two hours, and babysitting on Monday afternoon wouldn't give the girl the same temptations as a Saturday night. There would be no boyfriend on the scene; Chelsea would make sure of that.
The little squeaks from across the room reminded her that it was feeding time. Chelsea grabbed a half-pint of milk and sat down to nurse. A few minutes later, Eleni's message indicated that she could be at the house by three.
Okay. This was going to work. She would make it work. She had to patch meals and sleep together until Leo returned.
When Annabelle dozed off, Chelsea nestled the baby into her chair and hurried through a shower so that she'd be ready to go when the sitter arrived. She blew out the hair around her face with a round brush, then tried on a tweed jacket she'd loved pre-pregnancy.
The buttons didn't close comfortably, but the shoulders fit and the lines were flattering.
Just like the old days.
She flipped her dark hair over one shoulder as she checked her profile in the mirror. She could see herself grabbing her keys and driving to the office, singing along with the radio on the way. Independence was so underrated.
Downstairs, Annie was still asleep—a gift. She checked the mail, her stomach lurching at the sight of three more bills from the hospital.
You can do this. Call now, and it will ease your conscience.
She picked up the phone and called Sounder Insurance's eight-hundred number. Pacing with the bills in her hand, she waded through the choices on the menu. A recorded voice kept reminding her that she could “do it all” on the Web, but when she'd tried their Web site, it had only given her a list of the invoices that had been rejected.
After a few minutes, there was a click and a smooth, calm voice. “This is Janet Walker.”
Janet . . . wasn't that the woman she'd yelled at on Saturday?
“How can I help you today?”
Determined to keep her cool, Chelsea gave her name, rolling her eyes as she answered the endless questions that verified her coverage. She told Janet that she was calling about a new set of bills for Annabelle, who was supposed to be covered under their policy. Yes, she would hold while Janet checked on it.
To her surprise, Janet came back on the line quickly. “Ms. Maynard? I have some good news for you. Your daughter, Annabelle, has been added to the policy, and we can begin to process claims for her.”
Chelsea frowned. “What do you mean ‘begin'?” Hope waned when Janet told her that she needed to resubmit each invoice for Annabelle's treatment.
“Are you kidding me? All that paperwork?”
“It
is
company policy,” Janet said. “But maybe I can help you. Do you still have the original invoices?”
“There are three right in front of me.” Chelsea glanced at the rolltop desk. “And I know I can dig out the rest.”
The insurance rep asked Chelsea for the case number from the corner of an invoice. “Give me a minute and I'll try to resubmit these electronically.” There were clicking noises as Janet input the data. “Looks like that one went through.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Do you have another invoice for Annabelle?” Janet asked.
Chelsea started reading off case numbers. She found a stack of invoices for Annie's treatment in the rolltop desk and fed those to Janet, too.

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