This chapter carries a trigger warning for postpartum depression.
Poppy wouldn't stop screaming.
She didn't know what to do. The baby wasn't hungry, or wet. She didn't seem to be sick.
Lacey was supposed to be on her way to work. Her shift started in a half hour and it would take her that long to walk to the diner … but she couldn't leave Poppy … not like this. It wasn't fair on Mrs Letterman. The walls of the tiny apartment seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the sound that her daughter was making.
She sat on her bed, watching Poppy yell. Gods, she was going to lose her job. She couldn't … shouldn't…
'Please … please be quiet,' Lacey sobbed.
She knew that a good mother would have picked her baby up, done her best to comfort the child but Lacey couldn't force herself to move any closer to the cot. The terrible truth was that she could barely bring herself to touch little Poppy. She was just so damn tired … that had to be the problem. Nothing else. The last time she had slept was eight weeks ago, whilst still confined to a hospital bed. Now summer had faded into autumn almost without her noticing. Lacey kept the blinds shut; not wanting to look out on a world that suddenly seemed too bright, too harsh. The walls were closing in on her and there was nowhere else to run.
Making a decision, she climbed to her feet. Moving slowly. That was all she could manage. The wound had healed but her gut still ached now and then. She looked down at Poppy. Her daughter stared back at her, silent for a moment.
Brown eyes? How the hell did Poppy have brown eyes? They reminded Lacey of… of…
She needed to go, to get to work so that they could afford to eat … There was only so far she could push Angelo's patience and if she missed another shift … Tentatively, Lacey reached for Poppy.
'Be good for Mrs Letterman.'
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the crying started again. Lacey backed away, clasping her hands over her ears as she tried to block out the noise. She retreated to the bed, curling up under the quilt and pulling a pillow over her head. It took several moments to realise that someone was at the door. Lacey willed them to go away but they just kept knocking. She wanted to scream but Poppy was making enough noise for the both of them. It was almost too much effort to move. But she had to … she had to pretend like nothing was wrong, even though she felt like she was walking through mud.
She expected Mrs. Letterman, an angry neighbour … even Angelo…
' ?'
Lacey hadn't seen him since that day in the hospital. Somehow he'd forgotten to collect last month's rent.
'There's been some complaints, dearie.'
Poppy chose that moment to let out a particularly loud scream. Ignoring Lacey, Gold limped into the apartment, choosing instead to stare at the child in the cot.
'She's a baby … babies cry,' Lacey said.
'Not all of the time.'
Leaning down, he stroked a long, elegant finger across Poppy's cheek and the traitorous little girl smiled, raising her arms towards him. Something inside of Lacey snapped. She scooped up Poppy and shoved her directly at Gold, forcing him to drop his cane in his efforts to catch her. He stumbled to one knee, still holding Poppy and keeping her from falling. Lacey realised that, in that moment, he had proven himself to be a better parent than she could every hope to be. Tears streaming down her face, Lacey snatched up her purse and fled the apartment.
She didn't go to work … she couldn't face it. Losing her job seemed of little consequence, not when she practically given her child away. Crying seemed like second nature. Like Poppy, she never seemed to stop.
Lacey took the subway uptown, mingling with the tourists as she tried to see New York as a place of promise. A shiny, glittering new start. That's what it should have been. The city had failed her in so many ways. Lacey missed the familiarity of her home town. Back there she would have had any number of people to help her out with the baby. A dozen adopted aunties lining up to baby sit. Oh sure they would have gossiped like nothing else. Racy Lacey come to a bad end just like everyone predicted. But she wouldn't have been alone. All her reasons for leaving seemed so childish now. She remembered being angry … so very angry. It was only her stupid pride that stopped her going back.
She walked until her feet were burning … until the sun had fallen and the Broadway lights were beaming. No one looked at her. She was just another nameless face in the crowd. It was only as the city lit up did Lacey fully start to appreciate the enormity of what she'd done. There were children everywhere she looked. Her breasts were warm and heavy with the milk that Poppy hadn't taken.
Her tired feet automatically took her in the direction of the nearest bar, stepping into the heavy warmth with a certain feeling of relief. She didn't worry about having no money. Lacey hadn't paid for a drink since way before her twenty-first birthday. And now, in this place, it wasn't any different. Two minutes later she had a glass of Jack Daniels clutched in her hand. Tipping her head back, she let the smoky liquid dribble down her throat, relishing the burn. She didn't know the name of the man who kept on refilling her glass. Then again, she didn't want to. Lacey figured he was rich … or rich enough. When his hands started wandering, she didn't hesitate to follow him to a dark corner.
She twined her arms about his neck, trying not to gag at breath stained with cigar smoke and garlic. His fingers dug into her hips, dragging them flush against his. Lacey steeled herself against the onslaught of lips, teeth and tongue. It should have felt good, to be out on her own, to be free. But somehow he tasted wrong. She'd expected fine wine, not cheap beer.
His hand slipped under her shirt, fumbling towards her breast. She tried to remember how much she'd missed this. Anonymous. Easy.
'What the f…?'
He snatched his hand back, white fluid glistening on his fingertips. Lacey felt her face burn. She pulled her shirt shut but it was too late to hide her leaking nipples. The man moved away so fast that he almost tripped over his feet. There had been a time when Lacey would have laughed at him. Now she just felt ugly. Unwanted. Gathering what was left of her dignity, she headed back out into the street.
The crowds thinned out as the night dragged on. It was true that this city never slept but it did pause … just a little. Lacy pulled her thin jacket around her shoulders, the warmth of the alcohol having burned away with the icy wind. Winter was just around the corner. She looked up at the moon struggling to make itself seen over the city lights. There would be a frost tonight. The first one. She hadn't switched the heat on in the apartment. Poppy would get cold.
Lacey started for the nearest subway station, nearly falling as she hurtled down the stairs. She had to get home. Was Poppy hungry now? Would Mr. Gold know what to do? There was a deeper fear settling in her heart. What if he'd taken Poppy away? The thought of her daughter thrust into the arms of the state care system made Lacey sick to her stomach. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. Someone had said that to her once but she was damned if she could remember who or when. There didn't seem much point being brave now. Not when she had already proved herself to be such a coward.
Her own neighbourhood wasn't quite so welcoming this late at night, but Lacey ran the two blocks to her apartment with the confidence of someone who had nothing to lose. And she didn't. She had abandoned her baby. The chances were that Poppy was already gone. Lacey knew that she wouldn't be able to blame Mr. Gold if he'd called social services.
When she finally pushed the door to her apartment open the last thing she expected to see was Mr. Gold, lying on the couch, a sleeping Poppy clutched to his chest with one hand and a book in the other. He set it down and Lacey blushed when she recognised the title – Her Handsome Hero, the only novel she owned.
'Hey,' Lacey said, suddenly aware of her dishevelled condition. All her energy seemed to drain away. She was limping almost as badly as he did. She took Poppy from him, cradling her baby close. To her surprise the girl didn't wake.
'I took the liberty of calling your employer. He believes you have the flu,' Gold said as he sat up.
'Why? Why are you helping me?'
He let his hand rest on Poppy's head, a benediction … as if that was answer enough but Lacey was still struggling to understand.
'I was a father once,' he said.
Somehow she couldn't imagine it. With infinite care, he brushed his lips against Poppy's hair.
'What happened?' Lacey asked. Somehow she knew there was a story to tell, another layer to Mr. Gold but he didn't seem inclined to share it.
'He died.'
Without meaning to Lacey held Poppy a little tighter, not able to comprehend the pain of losing a child.
'I'm sorry.'
She wanted to say more but Gold was already moving towards the door.
'I'll see you next month, Miss French.'
'Mr. Gold … thank you.'
He paused. Taking a card out of his pocket, he placed it on the table.
'If there's ever anything you need… anything at all…'