Yeah, I’m projecting.
“That’s not gonna happen to you, Laurel. I’m gonna take you home and take good care of you.” I hesitate, not sure what’s happening in my chest. Probably fright-induced regurgitation.
Nope, everything stays down.
This burning fullness seems to be from my heart, but it’s not heartburn. “C’mon, Laurel. Daddy’s gonna take you home, and everything is going to be okay.” I put on my jacket one arm at a time, struggling to hold her and put it on at the same time. I manage it, and then zip it up over her.
Maybe Laurel is a freak. Or some monster-devil baby. I don’t care. She’s my little girl now. Someone picked her. Someone rescued her. That someone is me, and I’m going to protect her.
“Hey, Laurel. I was hoping I could save the girl of my dreams. And I have dreamed of having a family since forever. So, I think I did.”
She snuffles, but being warm and held seems to be helping her. I know she needs to eat.
I need formula. A crib. A car seat.
Things I don’t have money for, but I have a credit card that’s got some room on it.
I swallow and march on, heading back to my car. I pull my phone to my lips. “Hey. Tell me how to take care of a baby,” I ask. “Give me a step-by-step guide for total idiots.”
The little electric voice chirps back. “To care for a baby, make sure you never leave it unattended. You will need to securethe area where the baby will remain with outlet covers, remove sharp objects, use corner guards, and—”
It keeps talking. I keep walking. I have a feeling I could drive to Florida, and it would still be telling me how to take care of Laurel.
“I’m gonna mess up, kid. You want out, speak now. Cry or something.”
Yes, I’m making it easy for my “out” to arrive, but Laurel is silent against my chest. I think she’s sleeping.
Okay. Outlet covers and foam corner guards. Car seat. Crib. Blankets. Clothes. Oh, heck, diapers and wipes! Diapersimmediately.I realize I have a pooping time bomb cuddled in my coat.
My online shopping order is going to be huge. My credit card is going to scream.
But Laurel is quiet, and my heart is suddenly singing.
Chapter Four: October Nineteenth
October 19th, 2025
Eagle Arch (unincorporated), Alaska
Barton, the man I no longer call Father in my head, came home today. I wasn’t fast enough to get away before his return—but parts of my plan are in place.
It helped that Sarah stayed away longer and longer each time she went out, as if she were enjoying the freedom his absence created, too. When she was out, I scoured the house, always careful not to disturb too much at a time.
I found more of my mother’s things, but nothing of mine. I saw her passport, now expired, and there were stamps in it from lots of different countries in 2005.
I’m nineteen. Born the next year. Was she pregnant with me on this trip? Where was Barton?
Where was I born?
I can’t tell, because I can’t find a birth certificate. I have no medical records. I wonder if they don’t exist, or if Barton has hidden them too well, or maybe even burned them. I doubt my mother took them. Why would she take them and not take me?
But I’m piecing together a timeline, I guess. She was a college student in Anchorage. She was at a New Year’s party with Barton in 2003. Must have been married to him then or soon after. She traveled a lot—and I can’t imagine someone like the man I know traveling, or even letting someone else travel.
I’ve found other pictures in the house, hidden in places that Sarah avoids.
Barton and my mother. His face lost its smile. Her hair lost its bounce and wave. Her smile and pretty clothes vanished. Her name was Gisela Sommer. It sounds like a pretty name, much prettier than Bremner, in my opinion. I will be Imogene Sommer when I run.
Sometime next week.
