“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jacobs. He’s gotta go.” 

Lexi Jacobs sent waves of ire back over the rickety desk and squeezed the faded gray upholstery that surrounded the arms of her chair. Her back stiffened as anger flooded her capillaries and reddened her pale skin. She aimed her glare at the daycare owner’s limp yellow hair pulled back into a hurried ponytail and her baggy shirt covered in stains. Lexi enjoyed watching the small woman drop her gaze down to her lap and start to fidget. 

“What am I s’posed to do?” Lexi asked with cold quiet. When she got no answer, she said, “I work five, sometimes six days a week cleaning at the Paradise. They won’t let me bring him there. If I don’t work, I can’t make rent. We can’t eat.”

“We’ve tried so hard, Mrs. Jacobs–”

“Ms.—”

“Sorry, Ms. Jacobs. His behavior—we just don’t know what else we can do for him. And we have other kiddos here to think about.”

Lexi snorted and rolled her eyes.

The woman pressed on as her voice grew stronger, “He hit three children today with no provocation. And he bit Jenny. I have parents asking me to address this. I have to think about our other clients. I’m sorry,” she repeated. 

“You told me you’d handled these kinds of kids before,” Lexi retorted. “Y’all promised me he’d ‘do great here,’” she mimicked in a snide tone as she raised fingers into air quotes. “I’ve tried every place in this stupid town, and now there’s no. One. Left. No one left to deal with his bullshit while I work my ass off to keep him fed and clothed.”

“Ms. Jacobs, please….” the woman’s eyes darted to the small boy who sat hunched in the back of the office, head down.

“Oh, he knows. Don’t worry,” Lexi spat. “Simon,” she half yelled as she stood. “These people don’t want you anymore.” 

The woman tried to gasp a protest. 

“Let’s go.” Lexi grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him from the room.

Lexi cursed her way to the car: down the steps and over the parking lot asphalt that shimmered with the summer heat. A gust of ocean air filled with the smell of too-ripe fish filled her sinuses. She grimaced. It smelled like death. She opened the door and said, “Get in.” Simon climbed up into the back of their ‘95 white Ford Focus. He plopped down on the worn seat and picked at a jagged tear in the fabric. 

“Stop doing that!” Lexi yelled. She flung her door open, climbed into the driver’s seat, and slammed it shut again. She stared out the windshield for a full 30 seconds before she suddenly screamed, “DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!” She hit the steering wheel and slapped her palm onto the worn logo again and again.

After a moment heavy with labored breaths, she turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life. The tires protested with a loud squeal as Lexi jammed her foot onto the accelerator and careened out of the parking lot.

The white sedan sped down the road, and Lexi felt pressure against her back. “Stop that,” she growled. Simon pushed his slip-on sandals against her seat again harder. “Stop it!” Lexi said louder. 

A shrill jingle suddenly filled the small space, and its cheery tone ratcheted Lexi’s rage. She grappled for the phone in her bag and narrowly missed sideswiping a bright yellow convertible next to her.

The sports car’s horn blasted, and Lexi plastered her raised middle finger against her window as she answered the call.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s happening tomorrow.”

Her intestines curled in on themselves. Searing, slow-motion anxiety spread through her belly like lava finding its way down a mountainside. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be for another two weeks!” she spat.

“His plans changed. Hurricane Flora shifted. And Gerald is right behind that one.”

Lexi followed her review mirror’s reflection as she considered. Simon started kicking her seat, one foot at a time. The duct tape holding one sandal together came loose and stuck to the seat fabric with each jab. She blindly flung an arm back: a silent order to cut it out.

“It’s going to cost more, then,” she said.

“We already settled on the price.”

“Then call it expedited delivery cost. I don’t give a shit what you call it, but I’m not doing this ahead of schedule unless you pay me.”

Lexi listened to ten seconds of silence. Simon continued to kick her seat and then heard a grunt.

“Fine. $1,000 more.”

“What?” Lexi laughed derisively. “I’m not RUSHING this for anything less than $10K. And good luck finding someone else by tomorrow.”

Kick kick kick

The caller cursed under his breath. “Eight.”

“Good luck,” Lexi chewed her bottom lip as she waited.

“Fine, goddam it. 10.”

“Good.” Lexi nodded to herself. 

“The timing’s the same. Just make sure you’re assigned to clean 204. The package will be in your locker. Put it under the bed and get out.”

The line went dead, but the slithering snakes in Lexi’s midsection only got angrier. She started to jolt forward a little with each of her son’s kicks. “God damn it, Simon, I SAID STOP!”

At that, Simon reached forward and pummeled her in the head with tight fists. Lexi screeched and swerved. She gripped the wheel, swept her other hand over her head, and grabbed the two small wrists in one swift movement.

Lexi pushed down the stream of expletives, ready to burst from her. Up ahead, she saw a towering sign: Beachside Memorial Hospital. Lexi swerved again and crossed two traffic lanes, eliciting a cacophony of horn blasts. She pulled into the hospital drive and veered toward the sign that read “EMERGENCY ROOM” in big red letters. 

Her tires squealed in protest as she flew under the ambulance bay and slid to a stop. She let go of Simon, and he sat back down, reticent. He rocked back and forth in the seat and hit his thighs in a rhythmic pattern.

Lexi stared at the automatic doors to her right and peered into the dark vestibule, and thought, this is it. I’m doing it. Alabama had a safe haven law. She could shove the kid out the door and be done. Forever. She squeezed the steering wheel, knuckles white, and took in his reflection in her mirror. Followed the wave of his blonde hair. She focused on the nose that always reminded her of her brother Jesse and noticed his little hands were still chubby with baby fat.

Tears welled and escaped, tracked wet lines down her cheeks, gathered at her chin, and dripped into her lap. Lexi wasn’t sure how long she sat there and regarded her boy, but a sharp rap on the passenger side window snapped her out of her trance.

“Ma’am? Do you need help, ma’am?” drawled an acne-riddled security officer who couldn’t be more than 20. His face crinkled in genuine concern.

Lexi put the car in gear, shook her head, and drove out into the bright afternoon sunlight.

“Simon, now!” 

Lexi trudged across sandy dirt, past overgrown weeds and discarded cigarette butts. She ignored a wave from her neighbor, Trish, who was hammering plywood over her windows, a semi-regular ritual for everyone who lived in a hurricane zone. A broken Tonka truck blocked her bath, and she kicked it aside as she reached the worn plastic steps that led to the front door of her trailer.

A large white envelope came into focus, taped to her front door. The words “FINAL NOTICE” splashed across the front in threatening red. She snatched it down and shoved it aggressively into her stained, greenish canvas tote with the words “UMB Bank” stamped across the front. 

The storm door screeched on rusty hinges as she swung it open, and the sound knifed into her already-raging headache. She heard the car door slam shut and slow footsteps shuffle closer. Simon walked past her into the house as she braced the heavy storm door.

“Hungry?” she asked, voice dull.

Simon nodded. He slid onto a chair that wobbled on thin legs and grasped a pen from the tabletop. The steady, quiet beat of the pen clicking open and closed etched through the tired silence.

Lexi opened the freezer and perused the choices. She pushed aside a small mountain of frozen burritos and found an almost-empty bag of chicken nuggets. She grabbed the bag and a burrito and elbowed the freezer door shut. 

The plastic bag crinkled open, and the smell of frozen breaded chicken threw memories to the front of her brain. These were often her self-made dinner in high school while her mom worked, went out, and disappeared for days at a time. She had kept herself company by following hundreds of influencers on her socials. She knew she was pretty, but still only 24. Maybe even beautiful with her silky strawberry-blonde hair, large brown eyes, and full lips. She could even sing a little and had always thought her path was leading her away from the same old shit she’d grown up in. 

Then she met Danny and fell into the same trap as her mother—Danny with his bright blue Dodge Charger, easy smile, overwhelming charm, and confidence. Danny always knew just what to say—it made her feel like the only other person in the room. Until the illusion fell away, and she witnessed a master craftsman at work. She was nothing. And his son…

A sharp chirp from her pocket snatched Lexi out of her thoughts. 

“Yeah?” she answered, putting the phone on speaker.

“D’you have any money?” a slurred female voice answered.

“Hi to you too, mama.”

“Don’t sass me, you little bitch. Do you?”

“Mama, I barely have enough money for Simon and me. I can’t give you any more.” Lexi said flatly. 

“I know you have more. You’re just a selfish, ungrateful stingy whore,” her mother spat.

Lexi dumped a fistful of frosty nuggets onto a styrofoam plate, shoved it in the microwave, and pushed START. 

“You getting ready for the hurricane, Mama?” Lexi knew she wouldn’t, but she wanted to talk about anything but money.

“You hear me?” her mother whined.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I don’t. Have. Any. Money.” Lexi emphasized each word as if teaching English to a child. The stream of screamed curses continued for about 30 seconds until Lexi decided to hang up. She glanced at Simon. It briefly occurred to her that perhaps she should take the call off speaker. But then she thought, he can’t repeat what he hears anyway, so does it really matter?

The microwave beeped behind her, and she turned to switch out the nuggets for her burrito. Lexi slid Simon’s plate over to him and swiped an idle thumb on her phone screen to pass some time. She logged on to her favorite social media app, and a video popped up.

“Hurricane Flora is getting bigger, but slower, too,” said a guy who looked like he had no business reporting weather. His acne and greasy hair hinted he might still be in the throes of puberty.

“And get this,” he said conspiratorially, “Hurricane Gerald is right behind her, but he’s picking up speed.”

Lexi frowned.

“What if they, like, combine?” 

A heavy gust of wind rattled her windows, and she felt the trailer tremor. She rolled her eyes and swiped up. Hurricane season had come and gone so many times. She knew when to be worried, and this wasn’t it.

Editor: Michelle Naragon