Break of Day (6 page)

Y
ou know, honey, for a girl who got almost no sleep last night, you're looking awfully bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this afternoon.”

I flashed Toby, the night manager at the Holloway House, an excited smile as I walked into the front office and reached to grab my time card from the stack on the wall. I punched the clock, then put the time card back with the others before walking over to sit down next to her. She observed me for a moment.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, not exactly,” I hedged. “I didn't get the writer's job I was after.”

“Oh, honey—”

“But!” I interrupted, holding up a hand, “I did get something else. Something . . . a lot better actually. A producer position. For the weather center.” I grinned. “It's full time, too. And has health benefits and 401(k), vacation days—the works!”

“Wow.” Toby gave a low whistle. “Sounds pretty fancy.
Not that you won't be up to the challenge, I know.” She gave me a toothy grin. “It's about time the people at that place recognized your brilliance, sweetie. It won't be long now until I can brag that I knew you when.”

I felt a blush creep to my cheeks. Toby did, indeed, know me when. In fact, she'd known me from the very beginning and had been like a second mother to me after social services had dumped me here as a child. She'd been the one to take me under her wing when I'd first arrived at the Holloway House, skinny and scarred and scared of my own shadow. She'd even worked it out that I could have my own room for the first two months, until I got settled in. And she'd always sneak me special treats from the kitchen after hours, informing me she'd made it her life's work to “fatten me up.”

Toby had also been the one to encourage me to pursue my interest in journalism. To take summer classes in high school, to apply for the school newspaper editor job in college. Without her influence I had no idea where I would have landed. Wherever it was, I was guessing “You want fries with that?” would have been part of my daily vocabulary.

“I'm pretty psyched,” I admitted, happy to be able to show my true enthusiasm at last. I hadn't wanted to say too much in front of Asher. I still didn't like the idea of him swooping in and saving my career and I wished I could have gotten the job completely on my own. The randomness of the opportunity bothered me, too; what if Beth had chosen someone else as her maid of honor instead? Would she have been Asher's producer now? Would I still be stuck in production assistant hell, sick about being passed over for promotion yet again?

But I knew better than to say any of that in front of Toby. The woman had no tolerance for that kind of “woe is me” bullshit. Things happened for a reason, she always liked to say. And one didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or bite off your nose to spite your face, for that matter—which I had almost managed to do earlier that day. In Toby's world, if something good happens? You celebrate it. You appreciate the crap out of it. No matter how it came to pass. After all,
life didn't hand people like us many gifts. And we weren't rich enough to refuse the ones it did out of some sense of stupid pride.

Besides, at the end of the day, I did deserve the job. Okay, maybe not this particular job—but a good job nonetheless. As Asher had reminded me, I worked hard. I stayed focused. I did everything right. Why shouldn't I reap the rewards? Someone had to—it might as well be me.

“So, superstar,” Toby teased, “does this mean we're losing you for good?”

I smiled at her. I knew if I said yes, she would have been completely supportive of my decision. But I also knew how much she needed me to stay. The Holloway House had a shoestring budget, mostly funded by private grants, and they couldn't afford to hire enough qualified candidates to support the amount of kids that came through the doors. So many helpless kids. Kids just like I had been, back in the day.

“Nah,” I said, waving her off. “I may have to switch around some of my hours, but you're not getting rid of me that easy.”

Her face shone with relief, but her mouth stayed grave. “Are you sure, honey?” she asked. “I mean, a new job like this is going to have a lot of pressures attached. And you're going to want to be able to give it your all. I don't want you to feel conflicted. Like you're being pulled in two different directions. You've worked so hard to get here—you need to give yourself a chance to succeed.”

I gave her a rueful smile. I knew she wasn't wrong. And with my new salary I no longer had to work two jobs to make ends meet. But at the same time there was no way I was just going to walk out on her and the kids now.

“I'm sure,” I told her. “Now, tell me what needs to be done.”

As usual she didn't hesitate with an answer. There was always something that needed to be done here and never enough hands to do it. “You can go check on Jayden,” she told me. “He's having a rough day. Shut himself up in his room again.”

“What happened?” I asked worriedly.

Toby gave a small shrug. “I think his mother called him. You know how he gets after hearing from her. He refuses to talk to anyone. Wouldn't come down for lunch either.”

I sighed. Ten-year-old Jayden had been at the Holloway House for three years now and he was one of my favorites, even if most of the other staff couldn't stomach him. I didn't blame them—not really. Even when he was in a good mood he could be standoffish. When he was pissed off he could be downright violent. But it wasn't his fault. His records showed he'd been born to a heroin-addicted mother who had used drugs during her pregnancy. At one day old, the kid was already going through withdrawal and at one week Mom had been sent back to prison. His father's parents took him in for a bit and when they couldn't take him anymore, he bounced around from relative to relative for a few years. Finally, at age seven, he'd been dumped here. Where he would likely remain until he became legal. If he lasted that long.

“Can I take him some cake?” I asked, remembering the leftovers in the fridge from Toby's birthday celebration earlier in the week.

Toby snorted. “You spoil him,” she scolded. But she smiled when she said it and I knew that was a yes. After all, she'd been the first to spoil me back in the day, and she knew she didn't have much of a leg to stand on.

After raiding the refrigerator, I headed upstairs, taking a left at the landing and stopping in front of his door. Balancing the cake in my left hand, I knocked with my right. There were no locks on the doors at Holloway, but I liked to give the kids some semblance of privacy anyway. I remembered, after all, how it had felt to live here, surrounded by so many people all the time, never having that feeling of personal space.

“Go away,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“Jayden, it's me,” I called to him. “And I've got something I'm pretty sure you want.”

The resounding silence spread out so long that I started
wondering if I'd need to come back later. I didn't want to force him to socialize if he wasn't ready, though I was pretty sure it would help if he did. But just as I was about to walk away, the door opened—just a sliver.

“What do you have?” Jayden demanded, sounding both suspicious and curious at the same time.

“Let me in and I'll show you.”

He sighed loudly, but, to my relief, opened the door. I stepped inside his room, frowning as I did. It was trashed. Chairs knocked over, clothes ripped from the dresser, a shattered photo on the floor. My brow furrowed. Where did he even get a photo like that? Glass picture frames were contraband here—for obvious reasons.

He looked around the room, his cheeks coloring. Obviously embarrassed at the aftereffects of his tantrum. Then he turned back to me, giving me a defiant look, as if daring me to say something about it. To scold him. To tell him he was no good. Just as people had been telling him his entire life.

Just as people had once told me.

And so, instead, I ignored the mess. I held out the slice of cake. I watched as his eyes widened a little before he turned away.

“I'm not hungry,” he growled.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” I replied, not missing a beat. I reached down to right a chair so I could sit. “I'm starving myself.” I set the cake on the nightstand and stabbed it with my fork. “Have you had any of this?” I asked. “It's, like, the best cake ever.”

He shrugged, but I could see his eyes traveling back to the cake in question. He shuffled from foot to foot. I ignored him, taking a big bite, groaning in pleasure as the sugar hit my taste buds. I wasn't exaggerating to get him to eat—not entirely anyway. This cake was truly fabulous.

“I was so glad when I came in and saw there was some left,” I continued, my mouth full of icing. “I missed the cake at the wedding I went to yesterday, since I had to leave early.”

He slumped down on the bed. “Why'd you have to leave
early?” he asked, sounding curious despite his best intentions to stay aloof. Which was what I'd been counting on when I'd sat down. Jayden was a naturally inquisitive kid—something I loved about him. Even if he'd been told to shut up too many times in his young life.

“My mother,” I told him, rolling my eyes for effect. “She needed me to go buy her some groceries.”

Jayden looked offended on my behalf. “What, she got a broken leg or somethin'?”

I shrugged. “Or something.”

He let out a puff of disgust. “Your mom sounds like mine.”

I stopped eating, setting down my fork.
And here we go.

“I heard she called,” I said quietly.

He stared down at his hands, his face twisting. For a moment I thought I might have pushed too far too fast and he wasn't going to answer me. But at last he spoke.

“Yeah. She called this morning.” He paused then added, “Told me she was moving.”

“Moving?”

“I don't know. I guess she's got some new boyfriend. And she's pregnant. They're going to move to Vegas. His brother has a place there or something.”

My heart squeezed at the anguish I saw on his face. Anguish he was clearly trying to hide. “Let me guess,” I said, keeping my voice soft and nonjudgmental, “she wouldn't take you with them.”

“No . . . yeah . . . I mean, I didn't want to go anyway,” Jayden protested, rising back to his feet. “Her new boyfriend's stupid. And I bet the place they're going to sucks.”

I gave him a rueful smile. “I know. But she's your mom. It's understandable that you want to be with her.”

He shook his head, pacing the room like a caged tiger, his steps eating up the distance between the walls. “I just thought she might need my help, you know? With the new baby,” he added, now seeming unable to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth. “I know how to change diapers from being here. And I could, like, watch him while she was
at work or whatever. I don't know. He's my brother, right? My baby brother.”

His voice broke and he trailed off. I rose from my seat and walked over to him. I held out my arms and he fell into them, burying his face in my chest.

“She said I couldn't come,” he said mournfully. “She said there's no room. That his brother's place is small. Just one room for the two of them. The three of them once my brother comes. But no room for me.”

“I'm so sorry, Jayden,” I whispered, stroking his hair. “I know how much that must hurt.”

“It doesn't hurt,” he cried, jerking away. “Like I said, I didn't want to go anyway.”

“I know,” I assured him, giving him his space. “Trust me, I understand.”

He shot me a scowl, as if saying that couldn't possibly be true. But it was true. Truer than he could ever imagine.

I stared down at my hands. I didn't like talking about my past. It still hurt, even so many years later. But Jayden was hurting, too. And he needed to understand he wasn't alone.

“One day, when I was about your age, my mom came to me,” I began, feeling the all-too-familiar ache rise to my throat at the memory. “She'd just been released from prison a few months before and we had finally been reunited. I was so happy, let me tell you, to be a family again.”

I looked up to make sure Jayden was listening. He was watching me with a cautious expression on his face. I drew in a breath and continued.

“Anyway, she says, ‘Piper, we're going to your grandmother's house for the weekend.' Told me to pack a bag, bring a couple of toys,” I told him. “But,” I added, “I didn't pack any toys. I packed my best pajamas. The ones Grandma had given me two years before, the last time I had seen her.” I paused, then added, “They didn't really fit so well anymore. But I wanted Grandma to see how well I'd taken care of them. I thought maybe if she saw that she'd buy me a new pair.”

“Did she?”

I shook my head. “We never got to Grandma's,” I told him. “I don't know if plans changed or that was just my mom's story to get me packed and in the car. In any case, she drove me straight here and dropped me off at the front door. She had some story—like she was going to go pick up her boyfriend and that she'd be right back. But I knew. Somehow, as I watched her drive away, I knew she wasn't coming back this time. That she'd dumped me here yet again.” I gave him a rueful look. “And man, did I wish then I'd packed some freaking toys.”

My voice cracked. I stared down at my feet, the memories coming hard and fast. The disappointment I'd felt. The hopelessness. The knowledge that my own mother didn't want me around.

And why would she? Because of me, she'd lost her precious Michael. And even today I wondered, when she looked at me, if she still saw his face. If she didn't need me so much—or at least need my paychecks—would she even want me to come around? Or would she have banished me from her life long ago?