Of course. Of course my first day would have weather like this.
I make it to the sidewalk and start walking as fast as I can while carrying Liam and the bag. My arms are already protesting. He's gotten so heavy, but I push through it. I don't have a car. Can't afford one. Walking is my only option unless I want to pay for a taxi I definitely can't afford.
The wind picks up again, so strong I actually stumble. Liam whimpers.
"It's okay," I tell him, though I'm not sure if I'm trying to reassure him or myself. "We're okay."
A particularly vicious gust sends something flying past my head. I flinch, nearly dropping the bag. My heart pounds. Everything in me wants to turn around, go back inside, hide from the world.
But I can't. I need this job. We need this job.
I push forward, head down against the wind, counting my steps to distract myself from the panic trying to claw its way up my throat. One, two, three, four—
My arms burn by the time I'm two blocks in. Liam is getting heavier with each step, or maybe I'm just getting weaker. I try to shift his weight, but there's no comfortable position anymore. The bag keeps slipping off my shoulder, banging against my hip.
A car drives past, spraying me with water from a puddle. I gasp as the cold soaks through my jeans.
"Wet, Mama!" Liam protests.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry."
I keep walking. What other choice do I have?
Another gust nearly knocks me sideways. I stagger, catching myself against a fence post. My chest is tight, my breathing shallow. The panic I've been fighting all morning rises up, threatening to swallow me whole.
You can do this. Just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. But my arms are shaking now, and Liam is crying, and I'm soaked and cold and so, so tired.
I want to sit down on the sidewalk and cry. I want to give up. I want to call my parents and tell them they were right. I can't do this alone. I'm not strong enough.
But then I think about their plan to steal Liam. About Marcus's cruel words yesterday. About every person who told me I'd fail.
Fuck them.
I push away from the fence and keep walking.
By the time Henderson's Blooms comes into view, I'm nearly fifteen minutes late and completely exhausted. My arms feel like they might fall off. My clothes are damp from the puddle spray and my own sweat. Liam has stopped crying but is making unhappy sounds against my neck.
I probably look like a disaster.
The bell above the door chimes as I push inside, immediately hit by the overwhelming scent of flowers. Roses, lilies, carnations, and a dozen other varieties I can't name.
"Ruby!" Mrs. Henderson comes around the counter, her weathered face showing concern. She's in her sixties, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind blue eyes. "Oh dear, look at you. You're soaked!"
"I'm so sorry I'm late." The words rush out as I set Liam down, my arms screaming in relief. "The wind was worse than I expected, and I had to walk, and—"
"Hush, dear. It's fine." She hands me a towel from behind the counter. "Dry off a bit. Catch your breath."
I take the towel, wiping my face and trying to pat down my jeans. Liam clings to my leg, looking around the shop with wide, uncertain eyes.
"This is Liam," I say, rubbing his back. "My son. I brought everything he needs. Snacks, activities, diapers. He's very good, I promise. He won't be any trouble."
"Ruby." Mrs. Henderson's voice is gentle but firm. "Breathe, dear. You're working yourself into a state."
I close my eyes and try to follow her instruction. Breathe. Just breathe.
"That's better." She touches my shoulder kindly. "Now, I told you when I hired you that I don't mind children. I raised four of my own, and they spent plenty of time in this shop. You don't need to apologize for bringing him."
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. "Thank you. Really. This job means everything to me."
