Wrong Place, Right Time - Elle Casey Page 0,48

Are you okay?”

I let my hair go and battle to keep the tears from popping out for my baby to see. “Actually . . . I feel like turning into the Incredible Hulk right now and smashing things up a little bit. But I’ll be fine in a couple minutes when I calm down.”

He smiles. “I like the Incre-bull Hulk. Ith your thkin gonna turn green?”

I get on my knees and hold my arms open wide. “Come give Mama a hug.”

He runs over and throws himself into my embrace. “Don’t worry, Mama. Itth gonna be okay.”

I pat him on the back, my heart soaring as I imagine him being a strong man someday, comforting a wife or child like he’s doing for me right now. At least I’m doing something right.

“I know, baby. I know. Don’t worry about your old mama. She won’t turn into the Hulk or bust anything up. She’s going to be okay.”

He pulls back to look at me earnestly. “It might be fun to butht thome thingth up, though.”

I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I hold him tighter and bury my face into his neck, inhaling for all I’m worth.

“That ticklth.” When he giggles, it sounds like a whole chorus of angels are delivering a healing song to my bruised heart. I take in a deep breath and let it out, hoping some of the negativity that Frank brought into my life is escaping with it.

I have no idea what I’m going to do now. Even just holding my shit together is a tall order. But I need to do that for my kids, even if I can’t do it for myself, because I’m a mom, and that’s what moms do.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Okay, so . . . Deep breaths, in and out. My skin isn’t green, my pajama pants still fit, and Sammy is installed on the couch with a cup of peppermint tea and a box of animal cracker cookies. Cookies for breakfast! Mom of the Year! Woo hoo! With the girls at school and Sammy happily watching Barney, I have a moment or two to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. No big deal. No pressure.

I feel like a sloth. I have no energy at all left in my body. I could lie down on the couch and slowly drop kernel after kernel of popcorn into my gaping mouth while staring off into space and be perfectly happy. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. I have a mortgage to pay, three kids to feed, and an ex-husband who’s not really that great at making sure his support checks aren’t rubber.

Obviously, I need to find another job. The severance package, whatever it turns out to be, is not going to get me far. The economy shows signs of picking up, so I don’t think I’ll have a problem actually finding a job; the question is whether I’ll find one with a boss who will put up with the fact that sometimes one of my three kids will be sick, and that because I’m here alone, it’ll mean that I have to stay home with them.

A little voice in the back of my head is chanting: freelance, freelance, freelance. It gives me a stress stomachache, probably very similar to the one Sammy is suffering. It’s so unpredictable! You never know whether you’ll be working or struggling to pay the bills! If Miles loses his job his insurance on the kids will get canceled! A regular paycheck is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know if I can handle all the risk that comes with freelancing.

I pick up my cell phone and look down at the text messages that have come from my sister over the past couple days. My stomach is in knots as I consider calling her. It’s probably too late. Ozzie’s probably already hired someone else for that job. Why was I such a bitch earlier? Why did I have to go ballistic at the warehouse? Those people were just trying to help me out by giving me a little extra money for what was probably not a big deal.

Having a job gave me a sense of security, but I should’ve known better. In this industry, you never have a job for long. Companies are always selling out, going out of business, or changing mission statements. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and people like me are Purina ALPO—even easier to eat than another dog. Nom, nom.

I take a few more