Keeping Faith

by Janice Macdonald

  “I only wanted chocolate milkshakes when I was pregnant with you,” Margaret told Hannah. “Remember that, Rose? That time, I sent you out at two in the morning to look for a Jack in the Box that was open?”

  “‘Distinguished professional gentleman,’” Rose read. “‘Owns own home.’” She looked at Margaret. “Do I remember what? Oh right…two in the morning and I’m driving around looking for a goddamn Jack in the Box. All I could find was a McDonald’s, so I bought one of their shakes—”

  “You said it would taste just the same,” Margaret interrupted, “But it didn’t.” With a smile, she moved on. “Hannah was so cute when she was pregnant with Faith.” She looked at Hannah. “What were you, sweetie, about three months along? You were craving carrot cake. I’d barely got it out of the oven and you were going at it with a spoon. You couldn’t even wait for the frosting. Remember that?”

  “Yeah…” Hannah nodded. Eating carrot cake and being fed lies about Liam. She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes. Earlier, when she’d walked into the kitchen, Margaret had tried to hug her and Hannah had felt herself withdraw. Right now, she felt like a stranger in the middle of her family.

  “How about this one?” Rose circled an ad with a pink magic marker. “‘Divorced, Dynamic and Dedicated desires to meet’…nah. Sixty-four, too old.” She broke off a piece of the pound cake. “This is kind of stale. I had some of it at breakfast.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t eat cake for breakfast,” Margaret said. “Your taste buds aren’t set up for it.” She cut a sliver and stuck it in her mouth. “Okay, that’s it for me. Next week I’m going back to Weight Watchers.”

  “I made a pound cake last week with pureed prunes instead of oil.” Frowning in concentration, Helen dabbed glue on a paper rose. “You wouldn’t know the difference.”

  Rose peered at Helen over her red harlequin reading glasses, a sly smile curving her mouth. “An example of having your cake and losing it, too.” She drank some wine. “Nothing like pureed prunes to keep you regular.”

  “I’ve tried that,” Margaret said. “The cake, I mean. They ran the recipe in the food section.” She looked over at Hannah. “You’re kind of quiet, sweetie. Are you feeling okay?”

  Hannah waited a moment. But the anger—simmering since the night at Fiddler’s Green—flared. “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Terrific.”

  Margaret gave her a long look. “You don’t sound fine.” She got up from the table, put her arm around Hannah’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetie. You’re not still mad about…the Liam thing?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” Her hand shaking, Hannah dipped the knife into the bowl of hot water. “I think it’s great that you guys are all yakking on about cakes and pregnancies. To hell with the fact that you lied to me and you lied to Liam. I guess that’s in the past now, not even worth discussing, right?”

  “Fine, Hannah.” Margaret sat back down and pushed her chair away from the table. “I thought I’d explained already. What would you like from me now? You want an apology?”

  “An apology for what?” The decoupage brush in one hand, Helen looked at her sister. “For acting in your daughter’s best interests?”

  “Your mother was worried sick about you,” Rose told Hannah. “Liam would have taken you back to Ireland and God knows what would have happened then.”

  “You were a mess,” Debra said. “You know you were. Mom just recognized you needed help. Which is a damn sight more than Liam did.”

  Margaret dismissed further comments with a wave of her hand. “We all know why I did what I did. Now I want to hear what Hannah thinks I should do next. You want me to talk to Liam? Explain why it all happened? Fine. Tell you what, why don’t you invite him to Faith’s birthday party?”

  “Margaret,” Helen and Rose protested in unison.

  “For God’s sake, Mom,” Debra said.

  “I’m serious.” Margaret said. “Invite him. We don’t have to tell Faith who he is. It’ll be a learning experience for him. He’ll discover that six-year-old children are so removed from the life he knows he won’t be able to get away fast enough. Do you have a number where you can reach him?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Forget it, Mom.”

  “No. Let’s clear the air and move on. Give me his number.”

  “I already invited him, Mom.” She heard her voice shake and waited a moment. “I gave him some pictures of Faith and invited him to the party.” Her eyes filled. “He wasn’t interested.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EVERYONE HAD HUGGED HER after that. Told her they loved her; made hot chocolate, poured wine, plied her with brownies and assured her she was better off without a jerk like Liam anyway. After a while she began to feel a little better. By the time Margaret and the aunts had gone to bed, it was two in the morning. Hannah and Debra still sat around the table talking.

  “To hell with Liam anyway,” she told Debra. “Allan’s looking better and better.”

  “Mom would be thrilled to hear that.”

  “I’m not about to marry him just to please Mom.” Elbows on the table, face propped in her hands, Hannah decided it was time for a change of topic. “Are you really happy about the baby, Deb? This is what you want?”

  “Yeah…” Debra mashed a cake crumb with her finger. “I am. I mean, I was kind of freaked at first, telling Mom and everything. But Rose and Helen and Mom were all so sweet. They love this little thing already and then they were talking about how much happiness Faith had given them and…”

  Hannah looked at her sister for a long time.

  Debra returned Hannah’s look. “What?”

  “You can’t base your decision on what makes Mom or Rose and Helen happy. It’s your life.”

  “I know that…” Deb folded her arms across her chest, stared down at the table cluttered with glasses and plates and brownie crumbs. “But nothing is ever really one person’s decision. I mean, almost nothing. It’s like…I don’t know, we’re all threads in this family tapestry. You can follow one thread, pull it out and separate it from the rest, but it’s part of the design. If you remove one strand, you mess up the whole thing.”

  Hannah grinned. “Remind me to ask you about that theory when you and Mom are fighting and all you want to do is get away.”

  “Yeah, I’ll probably say to hell with the design and yank the damn strand out.” She yawned. “So is the birthday cake all done?”

  “Except for the marshmallow mice. I can make them in the morning.”

  “No, let’s do them now.” Debra got up again and returned with a bag of marshmallows. “Cut them in halves? Or quarters?”

  “Halves.” They worked in silence for a few minutes, gluing pieces of marshmallow together with vanilla frostings. “So is it really all over with Dennis?” Hannah asked.

  “His official name is now Dennis the Menace.” Debra reached for another marshmallow. “I guess I wanted the relationship to work so much, I couldn’t see what a jerk he was. You know, I used to wonder why Mom stuck with Dad when she knew damn well he was running around on her, but you make yourself believe what you want to believe.” She looked up at Hannah. “Like you and Liam.”

  “Actually, my situation with Liam was different,” Hannah said. “Maybe when we got married I kind of hoped that one day he’d turn into this family man, but deep down I never really believed he would. Liam’s into his own world and there isn’t room for anyone else. On some level I guess I’ve always known that, I just couldn’t accept it before.” She lifted one of the mice for Deb to see. “What d’you think? Are the eyes too big?”

  Deb glanced over at the mouse in Hannah’s hand and laughed. “Kind of. Unless he’s got thyroid problems. Maybe if you cut the chocolate chips in half.”

  “I’ll put them in the blender.” Hannah squatted to remove the blender from the cabinet. “It’ll be quicker than trying to chop the damn things.”

  “Can I say something?” Deb asked.

  Hannah dumped a handful of ch
ips into the container and pressed the pulverize button. “Go ahead.”

  “I mean this is small-minded and mean and I know I’m going to be sorry I said it, but I’m kind of glad about what happened with Liam. You gave him a chance to see Faith and he turned it down, which means he’s a jerk.”

  “Yeah…” Hannah looked at Debra. “And…”

  Head lowered, Debra pressed her finger into the ground-up chocolate Hannah had dumped on a paper towel. “Sometimes I hate that everything always turns out well for you. After Liam, you went back to school, got your life together and it just kills me sometimes that mine gets so screwed up. If Liam had turned out to be this great father and you guys had just waltzed off into the sunset, I would have been so damn jealous.”

  “God, Deb.” Hannah shook her head, equally touched and stunned by what Debra had said. “I really, really don’t think I’ve ever had it all together. In fact, lately I’ve been wondering why I’m thirty-one and still living at home.”

  “Because of Faith,” Deb said. “Mom and Rose and Helen are always here for her when you’re at work, and there’s no way you could afford to rent a place that’s even half as nice as this.”

  “That’s what I tell myself,” Hannah said. “But sometimes I think maybe it’s just an excuse because I’m too scared to be out on my own.”

  “Nah.” Deb dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. “You’re just putting Faith’s welfare first, which is good because her father obviously isn’t interested.”

  Hannah sighed. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. He’s like a tornado that blew into town and tore everything apart. Even though things with Mom are okay again on the surface, deep down, I’m still mad at her. I almost think I was better off not knowing about the lie.”

  “Listen, Hannah, no one gets under my skin like Mom does.” Deb scooped some chocolate, dumped it into her coffee. “Sometimes she just looks at me the wrong way, and I yell at her. But in this case, she was only thinking of you. Screwed-up thinking maybe, but she was truly scared. Not that I knew what was going on at the time, I was only fifteen or sixteen.” She grinned. “I thought Liam was cool.”

  “You and every other woman.” Hannah picked among the bits of chocolate for eye-size pieces. “Well, he had his chance.”

  “Exactly. Hold on to that thought,” Deb said. “By the way, I forgot to tell you, Allan called just before you got home. He wanted to know if there was anything he could bring to the party Saturday. Or if you wanted him to stop by early in the morning to help set things up.”

  “He came in with his son while we were having pizza tonight.” Hannah ran warm water over her hands, melting the sticky frosting from her fingers. “After the kids went off to play, we sat there talking about this and that and it was…nice. The way parents are supposed to be.”

  “And?”

  “And I kept thinking, why can’t I just fall in love with a guy like Allan?”

  “No chemistry.”

  Hannah sighed. “I tell myself what a great guy he is, thoughtful, considerate. A good father.”

  “Listen, if there’s no chemistry, there’s no chemistry,” Debra said. “If you don’t like broccoli, covering it with cheese won’t make a bit of difference. It’s still broccoli and it still does nothing for you.” She grinned. “Kind of like Allan.”

  ALLAN ARRIVED four hours early on the day of the party. Hannah was tying a bunch of multicolored ribbons to the mailbox, when his Volvo wagon pulled up at the curb. She watched as he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for his son.

  Douglas emerged slowly, his face solemn beneath a black felt pirate hat emblazoned with a gold skull and crossbones. A breeze filled the full sleeves of his white shirt, which was tucked into a pair of red-and-white-striped pants. The silver papier maché sword he held in one hand glittered in the sun.

  “Hey, cool costume.” Hannah bent down to hug him. “And those boots are terrific.”

  “They make my feet sweat.” Douglas looked up at his father, then down at his black rubber boots. “Do I have to wear them, Dad?”

  Allan, who had been gazing at Hannah, turned his attention to his son. “Would you rather wear your flip-flops?” he asked.

  “Did you wash them?”

  “They weren’t really dirty, pal.” Allan moved to the car, produced the rubber sandals from the trunk and helped Douglas remove the boots. “There,” he said after Douglas had first inspected, then stepped into a pair of blue thongs. “Better?”

  Douglas nodded, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. “I need to get the presents,” he said. “Okay, Dad?”

  “I told him it wasn’t a costume party, but he was determined to wear it,” Allan said after Douglas went off into the house, his arms full of lavishly wrapped gifts. “He’s been so excited about seeing Faith again. It’s all he’s talked about.”

  “Good.” Hannah smiled brightly and, suspecting Allan was about to take her in his arms, moved a few steps backward. “So. We need to find you a job to do.”

  “Just a moment.” Once again, he opened the Volvo trunk and lifted out a paper grocery sack. “Ingredients for lunch. I thought you’d probably be too busy with party preparations to find time to eat.”

  “Actually, we were going to order pizza.”

  Allan grimaced. “Well, I’m here to spare you. I have in this bag all the ingredients for a salad Nicoise.”

  Hannah looked at him. “That sounds kind of ambitious, Allan. I was thinking of something quick.”

  “This will be. Quick as a wink.” The bag in his arms, he started up the path to the house. “Birds-of-paradise are blooming nicely,” he said as he passed the orange plants lining the driveway. “A few nasturtiums lurking, I see.”

  “Yeah, they’re the bane of my mother’s existence. The more she pulls them out, the more they seem to come back.”

  “You could use the leaves in a salad,” Allan said. “Only the new ones, of course. And the blossoms are quite nice, too. They impart a rather pleasant peppery taste.”

  “I’ll have to try it,” Hannah said, knowing she was about as likely to add nasturtiums to her usual salad of chopped iceberg and grated carrot as she was to whip up a salade Nicoise. But Allan considered himself a master chef. He’d cooked dinner for her at his house once, an elaborate feast that he’d chopped and cut and sautéed for hours. She’d stood in the kitchen as he’d lovingly described everything he was doing and then given her a little tutorial on clarifying butter. Another time, he’d promised, he would show her how to butterfly lamb. Right.

  One of the few things she’d had in common with Liam was their very basic approach to food preparation. They’d lived out of cans. Except for the time he’d gotten a crazy urge to make an Irish stew at three in the morning. After they’d bought all the ingredients, neither of them had wanted to make the stew. Instead they’d ended up making love. On the kitchen floor. She wondered whether Liam remembered that.

  With Allan behind her, she took the steps up to the house. Go away, Liam.

  “I COULD GET USED TO THIS.” Brid pressed a button to open the sunroof of Miranda Payton’s butter-colored Mercedes and tipped up her face to the sky. “Riding around in fancy cars, the sun all nice and warm. Maybe I’ll find a rich American at the party.”

  “Tommy Doherty will be heartbroken.” Liam craned his neck to read the green street sign at the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway. Second Street. He turned left. Everything felt familiar. The palm trees and oil derricks, the milky pale sky. Across a bridge now; a marina and boatyard on one side, on the other, a small stretch of beach where Hannah and her sister used to play as kids. She’d told him about the time she’d lost a little wooden dog in the water. A painted dachshund with red wheels that clacked as she pulled it along on a string. She’d been walking it along the edge of the sand and a wave had carried it away. He drove on through Naples, past a steak restaurant he’d gone to with Hannah and her parents. Over filet mignon, her father had once again
made it clear that a Las Vegas marriage to a visiting Irish musician was definitely not what he’d had in mind for his daughter.

  “I put some rice cakes in there, too,” he told Brid. “And bananas.”

  “So you’ve said already,” Brid reminded him. “Three times.”

  “Well, I don’t think you should have checked yourself out so soon. Miranda didn’t think so, either. She said her daughter was in there for nearly a month.”

  “Miranda’s telling you that because she wants to keep you around.”

  Liam turned his head to look at her.

  “I’m serious. She fancies you.”

  “Miranda has a husband who could buy and sell me a hundred times over.”

  “She’s bored to tears with him. She asked me if the two of us had anything going. You and me.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her we were at each other every chance we got.”

  Liam grinned. “Did she believe you?”

  “She might have if I could have kept a straight face.”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Liam reached for the bag in the back seat and tossed it onto Brid’s lap. “Eat. It’s not just me and Miranda who think you left the place too soon. The doctor said you needed at least two weeks.”

  “The doctor wants money. I’m fine, Liam. Stop worrying.”

  “Eat a rice cake then.”

  “Nag, nag.” She put the bag on the floor by her feet. “Are you sure you want me to come along? You wouldn’t rather go alone?”

  “I want you to come, I already told you.”

  Brid brought her feet up onto the leather seat, and put her arms around them. “You just want to keep an eye on me,” she said. “Force food down my throat.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “It’s your company. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”