Page 34 of The Bratva King

“Hey.” I try to sound pleasant. I owe her a hundred bucks. I kept that much from the car to pay her.

“Look, I know yesterday was shitty, but I can’t watch Luke anymore. I got more hours at the restaurant, and I need them.”

I close my eyes. “Carla.”

“He doesn’t talk. He just stares at me, and I never know if he’s okay or not okay, and I spend the whole time wondering if I’m doing something wrong. He needs someone who knows how to deal with him.”

“No one has to deal with him,” I snap back.

“Gabby, the kid’s got issues. I’m not trying to be mean, but you know it.”

“Thanks a lot, Carla.”

I end the call. How dare she? She’s the one with issues. My son is fine. I look at him, focused on the picture of the dinosaur, tracing one fingertip along the long tail.

No babysitter.

No car.

No money.

I can’t work without childcare. I can’t pay rent without work. I can’t get childcare without money. The circle is complete, and I’m standing in the middle of it as it spins around me.

I will never make the mistake of thinking things can’t get worse. They can. And they will.

I exhale slowly. I’m not going to spiral. Greg said he’d send the money if I called, but I hate taking it from him. I did this to myself. If I’d stayed in the program, I’d have childcare. I’d have a roof over my head. My son wouldn’t be facing homelessness.

But he’s alive. He’s healthy. I’m alive.

Celebrate the small things, Gabby.

I smile at him. “Hey, buddy. You want to go to the park tonight?”

He looks up again. “The one with the swings?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

I carry the laundry half a mile back to our apartment. I don’t bother putting it away because it’ll be easier to move with everything still in the basket.

Move.

That would imply we’re going to another home. We’re probably going to a shelter, which reminds me I need to find out where they are and whether any have openings.

Because even if I call Greg for the money and pay July’s rent, August’s is due in two weeks.

And I still have no babysitter.

The clouds have been building all afternoon, that particular Las Vegas July sky that goes from white to gray to black in the span of an hour. Most of the time, they roll in and disappear without a drop of rain. I’m still learning the weather, and while I’ve heard about the flash floods, I know they’re rare.

The park is three blocks away.

It’s not much of a park. A rectangle of sun-scorched grass that the city waters just enough to keep alive. Two swings, a slide, and a climbing structure that looks sketchy. But it’s better than the hot apartment.

Luke goes straight for the swings. I push him with one hand on his back, the warm evening air moving against my face. The clouds above us are getting darker, and I begin to wonder if it might rain. I try to remember the last time I saw rain. We were in the Seattle area for a while, and it rained all the time, which is another reason I chose Vegas.

“Higher,” Luke says.