I’m getting used to not always being afraid.
I wonder if Aurora’s new word would have happened without the great food, peaceful rest, and the kindness everyone here has shown us.
I owe all of this to Savage.
After he leaves, I play with Aurora and feed her dinner, then give her a bath as best I can in the bathroom sink and change her for bed. Even if she doesn’t understand that she’s reached a new milestone, I think all my excitement has made her a little fussy. Istruggle to settle her down and get her to sleep. She keeps sitting up in the crib and calling, “Mama. Mama.” Now that she knows how that works, I have a feeling I’m going to be hearing a lot of it.
Once she’s dozing off in the crib, I set up the baby monitor. I don’t plan on using it, but I don’t want it to go to waste. Maybe I can shower at night after she goes to sleep and bring the monitor into the bathroom with me.
I settle onto the couch with the laptop Savage gave me. I can hardly believe I have one, and even if I don’t keep it forever, I can use this to look for a job and write up a new résumé. The possibilities have me nearly giddy.
I do wish Savage had stayed to hang out with me, though. It’s a weird thing to feel, and an even weirder thing to admit, but he has a gentle confidence.
It’s like he thinks problems are just things to be solved and not earth-shattering tragedies. Everything that happened made Anthony angry, and while I loved him once, by the time I got pregnant with Aurora, I was so exhausted managing his reactions to things, I shifted to trying to prevent problems just so I wouldn’t have to deal with his rage later.
But that’s the thing about life.
You can never stop it from happening.
I open a browser on the laptop and search for any information I can find about Anthony’s accident. There isn’t much. Just a small write-up in the local news. Not even his name is included. If I didn’t know the detailsalready, I’d never know for sure that this was about him.
Local Man Dies in Motorcycle Accident
Officers responded to a call of a motorcycle overturned on SR 19. Damage to the bike appeared consistent with a side impact. No other vehicles or witnesses to the incident were on the scene. The rider, a male in his early thirties whose identity is being withheld pending notification of his next of kin, was found deceased several feet away. Injuries appeared consistent with being thrown from the motorcycle, but the investigation is ongoing.
It’s hard to summon any emotions reading the article. Yes, I know this is my daughter’s father they are writing about. Yes, he’s dead, and he’s never coming back. I cried my eyes out for two days over losing the financial security Anthony provided and for the man I once loved, but that part of him died a long time ago.
By the time I stopped crying, I realized how much worse things were going to get for me. Mad Dog and I fought constantly.
I wanted the club to give me Anthony’s savings and let me and Aurora leave. But Mad Dog brought out a laundry list of shit Anthony had done, money he owed the club. The short answer was that I wasn’t going to get anything, and I was going to be quiet and thankful they hadn’t kicked me out on my ass the minute Anthony was gone.
Three days.
He’d only been gone three days when Savage foundme. The black eye I have now is the last thing Anthony ever gave me.
That was his choice.
His legacy was violence and cruelty.
It will not be what defines the rest of my life. Only that chapter.
And with the help of Savage and the people under this roof, I plan on rewriting my future.
I walk over to the crib and check on Aurora. She’s sleeping peacefully, so I settle back on the couch and open another browser window. It’s been years since I had access to a computer that wasn’t ancient, and Anthony crushed my phone in our last fight so I’ve been cut off from everything for nearly a week.
I don’t have the passwords to any of my old social media accounts memorized. Instead, I just Google one name: Dawn Taylor.
Immediately, a ton of old pictures and photos come up. Grainy clips posted to YouTube, gorgeous black-and-white images scanned to the internet from decades-old scrapbooks and photo albums from years ago. I load up a video on YouTube, turn the sound very low, and maximize the screen.
In the video, the band Neon Dawn takes the stage at a packed bar. The house lights are down, and a spotlight comes up on the lead singer, my mother, Dawn Taylor. She shakes the long waves of her chestnut-brown hair, eyes crystal blue like Aurora’s underneath closed lids that sparkle with bright-blue eye shadow.
As the opening beats pick up, Mom opens her eyes, gives the crowd a sultry grin, and she sings. I watch video after video of Mom, aging through the years as Neon Dawn played small venues all over the country. When I finally reach the videos when Mom is pregnant with me, leaning on a stool as she sings, even with a massive belly, the tears start to come.
I miss her so much.
I wish she were alive now.
If she were, I might never have dated Anthony. Which means I’d never have Aurora. This is a drain I circle too many times in my head.
