Page 42 of Queen of Nothing

I hiss with the sudden pain stabbing through me.

Baby Salvador tugs at strands of my hair, and my scalp is on fire.

My hot face twists against the urge to shake him.

Stares are sliding to us from all around the public library.

I snub those looks as best as I can.

One arm cradling Sal, I bounce him on my thigh, because when Serena does it, it soothes him.

I’m having no luck.

He just keeps on shrieking and grabbing my hair and scratching at me.

Who knew babies had little talons for fingernails?

I arch my chin away from his reach and click the computer mouse.

The monitor flickers with the change of website.

Public libraries and their computers have come in handy since we left Hell House. More than handy, it’s been something of a saviour.

The snort catches in my nose, and I aim a dark look down at the baby.

Salvador, the name Serena gave him, her favourite grandfather’s name, means saviour.

And in the few months of his life, he’s yet to live up to that.

He’s more of a hindrance than anything.

And right now, an embarrassment.

A screaming, red-faced, hair pulling monster.

He slows me down.

I glance at the clock on the monitor. Just another ten minutes before I have to meet Serena at the car.

She’ll wait.

Not like she can just drive off and leave me with the baby she is so desperate to keep.

So I bounce my thigh, even though it’s useless and I’m convinced the baby knows I’m no mother, and I make soothing shush-shush sounds, and click from tab to tab on the screen.

I print them all.

Once that’s done, I close down every tab, erase the history, then restart the computer.

Might be overkill, especially since I’m wearing the frail face of a freckled woman whose hair is greying.

To those who glare at me, I look like an overwhelmed, stressed grandmother.

So there should be compassion in those looks.

People, I learn, are selfish wonders.

Pricks.