Chance Encounters

Part 2 of 2

Mrs. A and Cinnamon walked up four flights of stairs, the hallways smelling like a combination of piss, sweat, cabbage and onions. Cinnamon tried not to give any indication that she found the smells repulsive. Less smelly than some of Neil's diaper changes, she told herself. When they got to the fourth floor, the woman stopped before one of the identical doors that lined either side of the hall and opened it. "C'mon in."

Cinnamon walked in behind her, to a kitchen that was worn and shabby, but spotlessly clean and smelling heavily of the dollar store knock-off of Pine-Sol. Cinnamon knew the smell well, she used the same thing herself. She looked around, noting that the cabinets were cheap press board, probably at one point covered with a paper thin veneer wood grain, likely peeled off from years of use, now painted white and the doors covered in contact paper, also white, but with a pattern of tiny, pastel flowers. The refrigerator looked like it might have come off the set of a sitcom set in the 1970's, except it was battered and worn, but the chrome handle gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light that served to show both how shabby it was, and how clean too. Cinnamon felt like she could have put Neil on the worn, tan, linoleum floor, and not worried he'd get a spec of dirt on him.

"Hang on a sec," Ms. A said, and walked out of the kitchen, into what was likely the living room. Cinnamon heard her stop and then heard a noise like something scraping on wood, like she was removing something from an end table. Then, she heard her walk across the room, go into another room. Less than a minute later, she was back in the doorway to the kitchen and the shotgun gone. "Phone is in the living room," she said, with a small jerk of her head, inviting Cinnamon to join her.

The living room was the same story as the kitchen, worn, shabby, the nondescript brown carpet almost threadbare, but just like the kitchen, it was spotlessly clean. There was a sofa and two armchairs all three pieces looking like they had either been bought at a Salvation Army "last chance" sale, or caged from the street before a trash collector could get to them. As if to make up for how worn and tired they looked, the three of them were covered with brightly colored afghans that did add an almost cheerful look to the room. On either side of the sofa were two mismatched, badly nicked end tables, that had been painted the same shade of soft yellow. There was an old TV on what looked to be an even older footlocker, a sitcom from the '90s, Rosanne from the looks of it, playing on it. Ms. A walked over to the TV and pushed the knob, turning it off.

"Thank you," Cinnamon said, spotting the phone on one of the yellow end tables. "I really appreciate this. My name is Cinnamon, by the way." She waited for the inevitable strange look she got whenever she told someone her name. Which was usually followed by a comment, often being along the lines of disbelief, or an observation that her name was usually one given to a stripper.

Ms. A did not give the look or make the comment. Instead she nodded, and Cinnamon had the strange feeling she had known her name, although she had no idea how that was possible. "I'm-" the woman began, then stopped as if reluctant to say anything else.

"Those young men called you Ms. A," Cinnamon said, almost timidly as she started bouncing Neil, who had quieted down, his shrieks having melted into whimpers, as if he knew now that he was safe and his whimpers were more of a release of residual fear. "I don't mind calling you, that."

Ms. A bit her lip and started to nod, as if that would be fine, then stopped her head in mid nod and shrugged as if she had changed her mind abruptly. "Donna," she said. "Call me, Donna." She looked at Neil. "Is he okay?"

Cinnamon nodded. "He's sick, he's got a cold and a fever, I was at the clinic with him, that's how I got into this mess," she shook her head ruefully. "I'm so sorry to be a bother to you, Donna. And, it's nice to meet you."

Donna frowned for a moment. She had long, gray hair tied back in a pony tail, hair that seemed to be thinning in places and a drawn out face that looked as if life had spent most of its time beating her down. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt, which made perfect sense, given the coolness of the evening, but Cinnamon had the feeling that she wore long sleeved shirts in the summer too, to cover the scars from the track marks. Recovering drug addict, Cinnamon thought. This didn't phase her, she had met a few recovering alcoholics and recovering drug addicts in her life. And if anyone knew that people could make bad choices in their lives, it was her. Here she was, no parents, no family but a three month old baby, and she wasn't even old enough to legally buy liquor. Clearly Donna had realized that drugs were a problem and had taken steps to fix it and for that she had Cinnamon's admiration.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Donna finally said, but she wasn't looking at her, she was looking instead at Neil with a look of longing, tinged with fear as if she wanted so much to hold him, but was afraid to ask. Cinnamon wasn't sure if the fear was because some parents could be so fussy with kids, afraid of letting anyone hold them, or if there were other reason, and she decided she would give Donna a chance, if she wished to take it.

"Can you do me a favor and hold Neil for a bit, while I call my roommate?" she held her son away from her body in offering, grateful that Neil was not the type to shy from strangers. "I understand if you're worried about him being sick, but if that doesn't bother you, it would be a big help to me. Because he's sick, he wants to be held all the time."

Donna only hesitated briefly, then accepted Neil, her arms curling around him naturally, a look of wonder crossing her face, her lips upturning in a smile as she brought him close and Neil snuggled up to her, not caring that he had no clue who she was, just caring that she was warm and comforting. He made a soft mewling sound, then put his head on her shoulder. Automatically, Donna began rubbing his back in slow, gentle, circles.

This is not the first baby she has held, not by a long shot, Cinnamon thought as she picked up the phone. "I hope you don't mind, I'm going to step into the kitchen. I think Neil is falling asleep and I'd rather not keep him awake with my talking." When Donna's head dipped in a brief nod, still not taking her eyes off of Neil, Cinnamon went into the kitchen and dialed her house, praying Lynn was home.

Lynn answered on the first ring with her typical, cheerful "'Yello!" that Cinnamon sometimes found annoying, but today found a blessing. She wanted to break down, tell her everything, including the terror she'd felt when she was surrounded by Mad Dog and his posse, but this wasn't the time. Instead, she explained that her car had broken down and where she was.

"Ouch, bad neighborhood, Cookie," Lynn said, her voice sympathetic, but non-judgmental, which was one of the things Cinnamon loved about the woman. She didn't say, "What were you doing in the worst part of the city?" or imply that Cinnamon should know better, she just accepted that if Cinnamon had been there, there was a good reason for it, and went from there.

"I'll say," Cinnamon agreed, sighing. "I suspect it's the battery."

"Not if you were driving when it happened, more likely the alternator," Lynn disagreed. When Cinnamon sighed, thinking this would be a horrible expense, Lynn cheerfully told her that she had a friend who could replace it and wouldn't charge her for more than the parts and a good home cooked meal. Another thing about Lynn that Cinnamon loved, she seemed to know the most useful people.

"The problem is getting it home," Cinnamon said mournfully. "I know I shouldn't have, but I let my Triple A membership expire, it came down to having diapers or that, and I picked diapers."

"That's not a problem either, Cookie," Lynn said. "I still have my membership and I'll call and add you. It's free to add a family member and I'll say you're my sister. But, in this case, if I'm going to have Dougie fix your car, I'll see if I can't get him to tow it too."

"Dougie has a tow truck?" Cinnamon asked.

"Dougie's boss has a tow truck," Lynn corrected. "But his boss will let him use it, if it's available. Is there a phone where you're at, so I can call you back?"

"Uh," Cinnamon hesitated. She had been walking back and forth around the clean, pine smelling kitchen to the entrance to the living room while she was on the phone, to see how Donna and Neil were faring. Donna had sat down on one of the arm chairs, still holding Neil. The chair was one of those rocking recliners and she was rocking Neil, very slowly, and Cinnamon thought she was crooning to him in a low, cigarette affected voice. Cinnamon realize that there was a package of cigarettes on one of the end tables and a lighter, but the place did not smell of smoke, at least not badly, and there was no ash tray. She asked Lynn to hang on and asked Donna if she would mind having her phone number so she could give it to Lynn. Donna called out the number, digit by digit, which Cinnamon repeated and Lynn wrote down. Then the process repeated itself as Lynn read back the number, Cinnamon repeated it, and Donna nodded to confirm it.

"Great, give me a few and I'll call you right back," Lynn said. "Don't worry, Cookie, you just worry about Neil. Lynn's got you covered on this." And before Cinnamon could respond, even to say thank you, she hung up.

I am so lucky to have Lynn in my life, Cinnamon thought as she put the phone back in it's holder and told Donna that Lynn would call her back soon. Since before Neil was born, Cinnamon's one dream was to one day move from Ohio, she had enough of the state that had always been her home, but had also shattered her by being the state where her parents had been killed on the highway. Cinnamon's dream was to be able to afford a small house, nothing fancy, but big enough so that Neil could have his own room and there would still be a guest room. Now she decided that when the day came for that dream to come true, Cinnamon would make sure to know everyone in the neighborhood. To be like Lynn and be able to get help if needed and give help if needed.

"He's asleep, would you like him back?" Donna asked, indicating Neil.

"Not unless he's being a bother," Cinnamon said softly, sensing the woman did not want to give up Neil.

"He's not a bother at all."

Cinnamon studied the woman, sensing that Donna was torn somewhere between wanting to be friendly and wanting to keep to herself, and Cinnamon wasn't exactly sure why. On the one hand, they were stuck together for awhile, and Donna had saved her from Mad Dog's group, but on the other hand, the two of them were likely to never meet again. "Do-do you have any children?" Cinnamon asked.

Donna started to shake her head, almost too quickly, then she stopped and her head turned slightly to the right, and changed the shake into a nod. "I had a son."

"Oh!" Cinnamon said, hearing the word "had" and thinking she understood, "I'm so sorry."

Donna realized the implication of her words and now shook her head if not vigorously, at least definitively. "No, he's alive," she said. "I-I just don't have anything to do with him."

"Oh," Cinnamon repeated, wondering if maybe Donna's son was a trouble maker, similar to Mad Dog and his crew and had spiraled so out of control that Donna had, for her own safety, been forced to cut ties with him.

As if reading her mind, Donna again shook her head. "He-he's the one who left me. When he was young." When Cinnamon frowned, she continued, "I don't blame him at all. I-I wasn't a very good mother. In fact, I was a really bad mother." As if those few words had knocked something loose in her, some thin shell where she kept a part of herself hidden and now couldn't contain it, the words, a confession, began coming out of her. "I'm an addict, or at least I was, well, no, I still am, I just don't use anymore. But I did when D-my son was born. It's a wonder he turned out to be as good as he was, because I didn't take care of myself when I was pregnant. I didn't take care of him when he was born. I was young, which I know is no excuse, but I shouldn't have had him. I didn't give him what he needed, I didn't care for him the way I should. All I cared about was me, my drugs, my next fix. I didn't care that I was raising him in a house where I would let anyone with drugs crash for as long as they wanted, as long as they supplied me what I thought I needed. I was a horrible mother, I admit it. And the smartest thing he ever did was leave me. Even after he left, it still took me years to wise up and realize what I was doing. By then it was too late, he'd moved on."

"Do you know he's okay?" Cinnamon asked, feeling sorry for this woman. She believed every word Donna said, but she also saw that Donna had put her life back together, the best she could, surely that had to count for something.

"Yeah," Donna said and for the first time since she had decided to share some of her past with Cinnamon, she smiled. "I-I have ways to find out how he's doing. I know some folks who still keep in touch with him."

"Maybe you should ask one of them to pass on a message?" Cinnamon suggested. "Ask them to tell your son you said hi or something. Nothing pushy, just hi. Maybe that will open a door? Maybe he'll decide he wants to see you. I mean, I understand that maybe he'll never be able to accept you like a mother, but maybe you two can at least be friends?"

Donna shook her head quickly, almost violently, which caused Neil to stir a little. For a moment, Cinnamon was afraid he'd wake up and start screaming, but Donna rubbed his back again in those small, gentle, circles and he calmed down again. "No, I can't do that," she said, keeping her voice soft and gentle, so as not to disturb Neil. "You don't understand all I did, but he has every right to hate me. I did things no sane mother would ever dream of doing and he's better off without me. He's doing real good, the last thing he needs is me in his life, opening up old wounds."

Cinnamon could see her point, but she also could see another point too, and wondered if Donna had thought of this. She was about to express this point, when the phone rang. She had moved over, sitting down on the sofa, closest to the phone and she snatched it up and went into the kitchen with it, "Hello?"

It wasn't until later she realized that she had been assuming it was Lynn and that was probably rude of her, but it turned out it was Lynn, cheerful Lynn who was so good at getting things done. "Everything is set, Cookie. Are you safe and sound?"

"Yes," Cinnamon said. "I'm in one of the apartments on the street. It's a long story and I'll tell you about it later, but I have Neil with me and he's fine."

"Good, sounds like it will be an interesting story," Lynn said cheerfully. "Something we can talk about over dinner. I'm making pork chops, by the way. Anyway, Dougie will come for the car, I'm going to follow Dougie in my car to give you a ride home. What's the exact address where you are?"

Again, there was a back and forth exchange and confirmation of information. Donna suggested that Lynn save herself the bother of coming all the way up to the apartment by blowing the horn to her car, three quick blasts. "We'll hear it just fine," Donna assured her. "These walls are paper thin."

When Cinnamon hung up the phone and replaced it in its base, she sat down again. If Donna remembered what they had been discussing before Lynn had called, she gave no indication, but continued to rub Neil's back, rocking him gently. Cinnamon looked at this woman realizing how good she was with Neil, realizing how much this woman must have changed, and how as bad as she had been in the past, and Cinnamon believed everything she said about her past, she wasn't the same woman. The two of them sat for awhile, not speaking at all, Donna cuddling Neil. After almost twenty minutes had passed, Cinnamon finally spoke, "Did you ever think that maybe you owe it to your son to talk to him?"

Donna looked up, not saying anything, but looking at her with a look of fear and caution, which both discouraged Cinnamon from saying anything else, and yet encouraged her to continue. "Do you ever think that your son wonders why you did the things you did?"

"He knows what I was, what I still am," Donna said, and the words were painful. "He knows his mother is a drug addict, and worse."

Cinnamon decided not to ask what the worse was, having a feeling she was already overstepping her boundaries. "I'm sure he does," she said. "But I'm sure there were times when you said things, did things, that he still wonders about." She decided that if Donna could divulge some of the secrets of her soul, Cinnamon could do the same. "Neil's father… he had a rough childhood. He grew up around here, even, and he rarely talked about his past, but when he did, I got the feeling his home life was rough."

Now Donna had stopped rocking, but Neil stayed asleep, head resting on his shoulder, looking as innocent as only a sleeping baby could look. But Donna stared at Cinnamon, her body almost rigid. "He was okay though, right? I mean, getting out of his home, away from his childhood, right?"

"I think getting away helped," Cinnamon admitted honestly. "I think it was better than staying, but I know there were times when he wondered. I mean, I know most of the time he dismissed his childhood, accepted that things that happened were not really his fault, but I also know that there were times when he wondered. Maybe the adult in him knew he was innocent, but the child who had to live through it still wondered if he was to blame." Cinnamon paused, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the piercing stare Donna had fixed to her and bit her lip, deciding to deflect the conversation away from her Mox and back to Donna's issue. "Maybe your son feels the same way. Maybe it would be good for you to get in touch with him, even if it's just to say, 'it wasn't you. You did nothing, you were a child. It's my fault those bad things happened and I'm sorry they happened, and I can't change the past, but I can tell you, it wasn't your fault.'"

For a moment, Donna's eyes became brighter as if she was thinking this over carefully, then they dulled and she shook her head. "What good would that do? That's begging for forgiveness and he shouldn't have to forgive me."

"No, it's not," Cinnamon disagreed. "And you can tell him that, you can tell him that you're not asking for forgiveness, that forgiveness is his and his alone to give. That you just want him to know, from you, that he's not to blame. That he was just a little boy in a bad situation."

Donna opened her mouth to speak, then was interrupted by three short blasts of a car horn, coming from outside the house. Whatever she was going to say was gone, instead she said, "Your friend is here."

Cinnamon sensed the chance had passed, the discussion was over. As if to verify it, as Cinnamon stood up, so did Donna, who handed her Neil. "I'm sorry D- Neil's dad isn't part of his life. I hope some day, that changes."

"I do too," Cinnamon said, reaching out and taking back her son, who only woke up briefly and then, realizing it was his mother holding him, went right back to sleep. Cinnamon noted that his breathing was better now and was grateful. Sleeping more upright had probably helped settle his chest. She was so relieved at this, that she didn't even realize that Donna had guessed that Mox wasn't a part of Neil's life, even though Cinnamon had never mentioned that. When she remembered later, it was too late and part of her thought not to make such a big deal out of it. Donna had probably made the conclusion looking at the fact she had called a roommate, not Neil's father. It wouldn't be too hard to assume that if Cinnamon had a roommate, odds were Neil's father wasn't around.

By the time she got outside with Neil, Lynn had taken the car seat out of Cinnamon's car and put in the back of her own. Once they had Neil secured in the back seat of her Ford Explorer, she gave Cinnamon a hug. She smelled like the boxer dogs they rescued and dog shampoo and maybe even pork chops. "Sorry you had such a rough time of it, Cookie,"

"It wasn't so bad," Cinnamon said, hugging her back. "The woman who's apartment I was in, she's nice. She's made mistakes, but she's fixing them. And she was so taken with Neil. And, she might have saved our lives. In fact, I'm pretty sure she saved our lives."

"Really?" Lynn asked, looking at her and shaking her head, "That sounds like a story. We'll talk about it on the way home. Dougie is hooking up your car and he's going to tow it back home. Thank god I bought extra pork chops, because he wants that home cooked meal, tonight."

"As long as you don't mind, he can have dinner with us tonight," Cinnamon said, as she climbed into the vehicle and buckled her seat belt. "But I still owe him a home cooked meal, too."

"Oh, he'll be thrilled," Lynn said, as she started up the car.

As they drove away, Cinnamon looked up at the building and saw Donna, leaning out the window of her apartment, smoking a cigarette, watching her, no doubt keeping an eye on them until they were safely out of sight.

Donna slowly finished smoking her cigarette, leaning out the window, watching until the tail lights of the car Cinnamon and Neil were in, turned a corner and were out of sight. When the cigarette was nothing but a filter, she flicked it onto the street, where it landed in a puddle and burnt out.

Pulling herself back into her apartment, she shut the window, then went into the bedroom, where she took the picture she had removed from the end table in the living room before Cinnamon saw it. She looked at the picture of the young man and sighed. "Your son is beautiful, Dean," she whispered. "And I don't know what happened to pull you and Cinnamon apart, but I hope, someday you make your way back to her and to Neil, because they need you."

Sighing, she carried the picture back out into the living room and put it back on the end table. Part of her wished so badly she could have told Cinnamon who she was, she had the feeling that Cinnamon would have accepted her automatically and made her part of her life, part of her and Neil's life, that just seemed to be the type of woman she was. Someone who would forgive her past. And while that was tempting, Donna couldn't do it. She was too afraid that if Dean ever did try to get in touch with her, if he found out Cinnamon was in contact with his mother, he would shy away. She couldn't risk that, she wouldn't risk that.

Despite what Cinnamon had said, Donna knew she and Dean would never be able to connect on any level. Donna could be as sorry as possible about her past with Dean, and indeed she was, but being sorry wouldn't fix it. There were too many mistakes, too many thing she had done. Dean bore the physical scars over some of them and the mental scars from all of them. Cinnamon could talk about telling him it wasn't his fault, but Donna was sure Dean knew it wasn't his fault.

While Donna knew she couldn't help Dean, part of her wished there was a way she could help someone else. Another child. She thought briefly again of Neil, then dismissed it, Neil was fine. Sure, Cinnamon was young, but it was obvious that she would move heaven and earth for Neil, and that would go a long way in letting Neil know his self worth. And the roommate didn't seem like a bad sort either. Donna had the feeling Cinnamon would always surround herself in people that would love Neil too. No, Neil didn't need Donna in his life.

Somewhere, there has to be someone out there who can use me, Donna thought. Someone who needs me. Because that was the worst thing of all, she had discovered since she had started on her road to recovery, a road she would walk down until the day she died. It wasn't needing someone, that was bad, but you learned to make do. Far worse than needing someone was just wanting to be needed by someone else.

Six months later, Cinnamon was taking Neil for his nine month check up when she decided to drop by and say hello to Donna. For some reason, at odd moments, Cinnamon had been thinking of the woman, thinking that even though she had turned her life around, she seemed lonely. And since it was a warm, September afternoon, bright daylight, she thought it would be safe. She found the building easily and to her relief, Mad Dog and his crew was no where in sight. Holding on to Neil's hand, she walked up the flights of stairs, taking forever to do it. Neil was walking now, and he kept insisting he could get up the flights, although half way through, he finally gave in to defeat and let his mother carry him.

When they got up to the door, Cinnamon knocked several times, but got no answer. She knew that had been a risk when she decided to try, Donna could be at work, or shopping, and turned to leave, when the door across the hall opened and a man poked his head out and looked at her. "That apartment is vacant," the man said, releasing a cloud of beer breath that Cinnamon could smell clearly in the six feet that separated them.

"It is?" Cinnamon, asked, feeling disappointed. "Do you know where she went? Donna, I mean?"

"Rumor has it she got a job working with troubled boys," the man said, rolling his eyes as if working with troubled boys wasn't worth anyone's time. "One of those crossovers between a school, and a farm. According to my wife, she's like a den mother or something to a group of these kids, and she gets free room and board. So, she's gone. I don't blame her. I mean, working with the kids might be stupid, but free room and board is nice."

"Thank you," Cinnamon said. She debated if she should ask the name of the school, but even though this man had been a wealth of information, something told her he wouldn't know, or if he did, he'd decide that wasn't information he'd share.

"Any time," the man said, and disappeared back into his apartment, taking the stench of beer and body odor with him.

Cinnamon looked at the door to Donna's apartment one last time and then headed for the stairs. When she got to the top, Neil started fussing. "Walk!" he insisted. "I walk!"

She put him down, and took his tiny hand in hers and together, the two of them headed down the stairs.

The End.

Authors Notes: Sorry it took me so long to get this second half up. I thought I'd be finished with the editing a couple days ago, but life reared its ugly head and I couldn't get to it.

Thank you for everyone who took the time to leave a review, I really appreciated it. I get the feeling either this fandom is dying or people have gotten bored with my writing, or more likely, a combination of both. So, it's nice to know some people are still interested in my adventures of Cinnamon, Neil, etc. And the Shield boys, of course, even if they weren't really in this story.

Peace Out
Willow