Keeping Faith

by Janice Macdonald

  More laughter from upstairs. On the wall above the hall table, a picture of herself at a year; ribbons in her hair and a frilled dress. Within the same frame, a picture of Faith plunging tiny hands into her first birthday cake. Other pictures ran gallery-style along either side of the wall.

  Margaret had been obsessive about framing all school pictures, even the hated eighth-grade one. Zits and a mouthful of braces. Embarrassed and mortified by the picture, Hannah had removed it from the wall and hidden it at the bottom of her underwear drawer, praying her mother wouldn’t notice it was missing. No such luck. The picture was back again the following day.

  She looked at it now, thinking of all the dramas—major and minor—that had played out in this house. Now she was about to take her daughter to an anonymous place with no memories, no warm associations; a place where traces of other lives had been eradicated with a few gallons of semigloss.

  “Hey, look who’s finally here.” Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hannah’s home,” she called out. Rose and Helen emerged from the spare bedroom; behind them, Joe Graves, the guy from down the road, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. They were all smiling.

  “I get to put the blindfold on Mommy.” Faith jumped up and down beside Hannah. “Okay?”

  “Here, honey, use this.” Rose pulled off the red bandanna she’d worn around her hair and tossed it to Faith. It fluttered like a gaudy leaf and settled on the stairs. Hannah, slightly bemused, watched Faith scamper up to retrieve it.

  “Okay, Mommy, bend down so I can tie this.” Faith said. “And don’t peek.”

  “I’m not peeking.” Hannah felt Faith’s small hands at the back of her head, tangling strands of hair into the knot she was trying to tie. After several failed attempts, Rose called out an offer of assistance, which Faith stoutly declined. Finally, with the scarf so loose around her face that she had to tense her neck to stop it falling off, Hannah felt Faith grab her hand and they started up the stairs. Eyes closed because she could see through the bottom of the blindfold, she laughed as she tripped on a runner. In her enthusiasm, Faith was practically dragging her up the stairs. “Not so fast, sweetie,” Hannah said, still laughing. “I can’t see where I’m going, remember?”

  At the top of the stairs, they made their way hand in hand down the carpeted hallway. She heard a door open. Someone removed the blindfold.

  “Ta-da!” Her mother and Rose said in unison. Hannah could only stare in silence at the completely unrecognizable spare room.

  “LOOK, BUDDY, she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the bouncer from the club told Liam. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and take a hike?”

  “I will. After I’ve heard it from her.” Liam stood in the litter-strewn alley outside the Hooligan, a club in downtown Long Beach where he’d finally tracked down Brid. Rock music drifted out on a wave of smoke filled air. The bouncer had a shaved head and a pierced left eyebrow. His shoulders filled the narrow doorway. “Let me talk to her, all right?” He made to push past the bouncer. “Five minutes, and I’m gone.”

  “I said beat it.”

  “Look, she’s got problems—”

  “No.” The bouncer poked Liam in the chest. “You’ve got problems, buddy.”

  “She needs medical help, or she’s going to die,” Liam said.

  “Yeah, well, we’re all going to die one day,” the bouncer said. “You, too. Sooner than later if you don’t get the hell out of here.”

  Liam was considering his options when four girls in black leather strolled up. One of the girls had rings in her nose, purple hair and, it appeared, a suspicious ID. As the bouncer examined it, Liam slipped inside.

  He saw Brid in the lap of a guy the size of a refrigerator. One arm wrapped around his neck, her long hair all over his face and shoulders, the other arm hanging loose at her side, fingers curled around an empty glass. Liam took the glass, set it on the table and tapped her on the shoulder. If she came with him without a fuss, he’d have just enough time to take her back to Huntington Beach before he went to see Hannah and Faith.

  The blow to the side of his face knocked him off balance and he staggered slightly. Brid emerged from the guy’s neck. “Come on.” Liam grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Then he felt a thud to the back of his head.

  BY FIVE-FIFTY, ten minutes before Liam was supposed to arrive, the tension in the back of Hannah’s neck was so bad that she took Margaret’s Advil from the cabinet above the sink and downed two pills with a glass of water.

  Behind her, Rose, in her black hot-date pantsuit, lots of gold jewelry and bloodred sling-back heels, was telling Margaret not to wait up for her tonight because she had a feeling she was going to get lucky. Margaret in gray sweats and a harried look was clearly trying to pretend she wasn’t watching the clock. Earlier, Deb had sent Margaret into a spin by announcing that she was off to see Dennis and maybe patch things up. Right now that was overshadowed by the Liam vigil.

  “Nearly six.” Margaret removed a half gallon of vanilla ice cream from the fridge and began spooning it onto dishes of apple crisp cooling on the counter. “You’re sure he’s coming?”

  “He said he’d be here at six, Mom.” Hannah eyed the ice cream melting over the apples and wished that Margaret and Rose would go away so she could just gorge and not think about whether Liam was going to show or not show. God, her mouth was watering. She went to the sink and downed a glass of water. “It’s exactly six now.”

  “Liam was always late,” Margaret said. “I remember you standing at the living room window, waiting for him to drive up in that old van of his.” She dropped the spoon in the sink and returned the ice cream to the freezer. “I did tell you Allan called, right?”

  “Twice.” Hannah wandered over to the window. When Liam got here, they could sit outside. On the patio. Out of earshot. She ran upstairs, mostly to get away from Margaret and the apple crisp, but also because she’d decided the pink-striped shirt she was wearing was too…June Cleaverish. In her bedroom she stood at her dresser mirror frozen with indecision. Blue denim? White sleeveless? Cotton sweater? God, her hair looked ridiculous. She turned to check her backside in the mirror. Images of pencil-thin Cosmo models in designer jeans danced through her head, mouthing Liam’s name as they laughed at her big butt. She thrust her arms in the blue denim, ran back downstairs.

  “You changed your shirt,” Margaret observed as Hannah reappeared in the kitchen. “What was wrong with what you were wearing?”

  “I’ve decided to start living life on the edge, Mom. I want to be wild and crazy. I thought I’d start with this shirt.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.” Margaret refilled her wineglass. “Maybe I need to get out of this house. I’m getting a little tired of your attitude lately, you and Deb. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you girls so hostile. I really thought you’d be happy with our little surprise.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Really. It was a lovely surprise. I’m just…” She felt tears brimming and turned away so Margaret wouldn’t see. While she’d been at school, Margaret and Rose had painted and papered the guest room. All her books had been neatly arranged in newly installed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and, on the new computer station, in front of a new and ergonomically correct chair, was the latest Macintosh system. She’d wanted to cry then, too. The geometric-patterned wallpaper and sleek, contemporary chrome and glass furnishings were unlike anything she would have chosen for herself. And she was fine with her old computer which, she didn’t have the heart to point out, wasn’t compatible with the new Mac. Fine also with the cozy space she’d created in her own room. Brick-and-board bookshelves, a scarred old desk that had been her grandfather’s and a rocker draped with afghans. Her place to retreat from the world.

  With Margaret, Rose, Helen and Faith all eagerly awaiting her reaction, she’d just stared, dumbfounded, finally managing to stammer out a thank-you. They were all smiling and happy with this incredible gift they’d given her.
A gift that had probably cost more than a year’s rent on her new apartment.

  “I know how much you wanted a place where you can keep all your books and papers,” Margaret was saying now. “And we decided that right now was as good a time as any.”

  “It was either that or a trip to Acapulco,” Rose said. “Which I personally would have preferred.”

  “Well, that’s you, Rose,” Margaret said. “Hannah’s not the frivolous type. What about the wallpaper? I picked out the pattern. Helen wanted to go with that textured paint she has in her bedroom. Personally I don’t care for it.”

  “Ralph Lauren,” Rose said. “Twenty-five bucks a gallon.”

  “Ridiculous,” Margaret said. “You’re paying for the name. Maybe you should call Liam, Hanny. Maybe he’s just held up by…something.

  “He’ll be here,” Hannah said with far less conviction than she’d had ten minutes ago. Margaret was right, Liam was always late. If he didn’t arrive in the next half hour, she was going to put Faith to bed. I want to be a part of her life. She felt a hot surge of anger.

  “Hannah, have some apple crisp,” Margaret said. “It’s not fattening, I used honey instead of sugar and the ice cream’s low-fat.”

  “I don’t want any, Mom.” Hannah remained at the window.

  “She’s thinking about her weight,” Rose said.

  “No, she just likes that cherry filling better,” Margaret said. “Rose kept insisting it was apple you liked, sweetie, but I knew you’d rather have cherry. Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve loved cherry pie filling. It’s Deb who likes apple. Hannah, it’s ten after. You really should call Liam.”

  “For God’s sake, Mom—”

  “Don’t snap at me again,” Margaret said. “I’m getting a little tired of it. This is a different side to you, Hannah, and I can’t say I like it very much.”

  “Well, time for me to go,” Rose said. “Wish me luck. This guy is loaded. By the way, Hannie, the mini-blinds were my idea. How d’you like them?”

  “They’re great.” Hannah turned to look at Rose. “Terrific.” Her head was killing her. She looked at the clock. Six-twenty. Where was Liam?

  “BUT I WANT TO STAY UP and see Liam.” Faith sat in the tub, splashing water with her foot. “Please, Mommy. I want to show him the picture I made.”

  “I know, baby, but it’s after seven and you’ve got school in the morning.”

  “Quit calling me baby,” Faith protested. “I’m not a baby.”

  Despite herself, Hannah smiled at Faith’s indignation. “But you’re my baby.”

  Faith frowned, not entirely appeased. “Okay, but just don’t call me that.” She grabbed the red plastic bucket that contained all her bath toys, and held it under the surface of the water. “Will you call him and tell him to come tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see. Come on, before you turn into a prune.” Trying for a calm she didn’t feel, Hannah lifted Faith out of the tub and toweled her dry. After she’d tucked her daughter into bed, she used the phone in her own room to dial Miranda Payton’s number. No answer.

  Damn him. She stared at her reflection in the mirror; picked at a zit on her chin, brushed her hair, sat down on the edge of the bed, got up again. At the window, looking out at the dark of the backyard, she rehearsed what she’d say to him when he finally showed up. Then it occurred to her that he probably wasn’t going to show up. She dialed Miranda Payton’s number again. A guy answered. Irish accent, but it wasn’t Liam.

  “Haven’t seen him,” he said. “Hang on, I’ll see if anyone else knows.”

  “Thanks.” Hannah loosened her grip on the receiver. It’s not me you’re hurting, she imagined herself telling Liam. Personally, I don’t give a damn what you do. But I won’t let you hurt Faith. She could hear music and laughter and then the guy came back on the line.

  “Someone said he went to a bar somewhere to look for Brid,” the guy said. “I didn’t get the name of it, but if you hang on I’ll find out.”

  “Thanks, I don’t need it.”

  “Shall I tell him who called?”

  “No.” Her hand shaking, Hannah replaced the receiver. God, she couldn’t deal with this. In a bar with Brid. While his daughter was waiting to show him the picture she’d drawn for him. She stood in the middle of the room trying to think. Why was she surprised? Had she expected anything more?

  “Hannah,” her mother called from the bottom of the stairs. “How about some tea?”

  Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. Obviously Liam wasn’t going to make it, so she might as well move on to the next item of the evening and break the news about the apartment. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she called.

  Margaret was on the couch in the living room. She’d lit a fire and changed into her purple robe. The TV was on with the sound off and Judge Judy was admonishing a guy with a huge beer belly. Even voiceless, Judge Judy struck Hannah as formidable. If you were stupid enough to be taken in by him, she could imagine Judge Judy snapping at her, you deserve what you got.

  “So Liam didn’t show up,” Margaret said.

  “Sure he did, Mom,” Hannah said, irritated at her mother’s I-told-you-so tone. “He’s sitting here on the couch. You can’t see him?”

  “Come on, Hanny.” Margaret’s glance drifted over to Judge Judy for a moment, then she patted Hannah’s knee. “You’re upset.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Margaret reached for a glass of red wine on the coffee table. “I’m your mother, I think I can tell when my daughter’s upset. I can see it in your face.”

  “I’m only upset because you keep telling me I’m upset, damn it.” Hannah sat down on the couch, and picked at a worn spot on the upholstery. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. When she looked up, her mother was watching her. “I thought you were drinking tea.”

  “I was.” Margaret smiled. “Now I’m having a glass of wine.”

  “I think you’re drinking too much, Mom. Rose thinks so, too.”

  “Oh, Rose should talk. She isn’t exactly averse to a glass or two herself.”

  “I’m talking about you, Mom.”

  “Have I ever complained about a hangover? Ever not been able to get up in the morning? Ever got a DUI?” Margaret brought her feet up on the sofa, and tucked her robe around them. “Don’t worry about me, Hannah. Worry about yourself. Worry about what Liam is doing to you. I knew he’d let you down. If you’d asked me before you invited him over, I would have told you.”

  “Mom.” Hannah caught her mother’s hand. “Sit down. I need to talk to you.”

  “What is it? Bad news? You’re not preg… Rose said she thought you’d put on a few pounds, but…” She stood. “Let me get the pie first. Do you want a piece?”

  “Damn it, just sit down, okay?” She waited until Margaret sat down again. “I’m not pregnant. We’re going to move out. Me and Faith. I rented a duplex on Tenth Street.”

  Her mother’s face froze. There was a moment of silence while she appeared to absorb the blow. Then, her expression stricken, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a tissue. She dabbed it at her nose. Moments passed.

  “Tenth Street,” she finally said. “God.”

  Hannah frowned, puzzled. “What?”

  “What? Tenth Street, that’s what. I mean anything above Fourth is…I can’t believe you’re going let my granddaughter live on Tenth. I swear to God, this wouldn’t have happened before Liam came back on the scene. There’s no way you would have rented anything on Tenth Street. God—”

  “Mom. Stop, okay? You’re driving me nuts.” The street numbers increased as they moved away from the ocean, and she’d forgotten about her mother’s dictum that the only decent place to live in Long Beach was below Fourth. Preferably below Second. Tenth wasn’t even on Margaret’s geographic compass.

  “What about Faith? What if she wants to play outside?”

  “The neighborhood is perfectly safe, Mom. Or I wouldn’t have rented the place.”


  “I knew this would happen,” Margaret said. “I told Rose. I said, ‘Just wait, he’ll fill her head with all these ideas and the next thing you know she’ll be moving out.’”

  “Mom, this has nothing to do with Liam. I want my own place. I want Faith to have her own home. It’s just time.”

  “He’s moving in with you, isn’t he?”

  Hannah took a deep breath. Her mother’s lower lip was trembling. Guilt battled with irritation. And won. She put her arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “Come on, Mom. I know this is hard for you. I know you love having Faith around, but you’ll still be a part of her life. Our lives.”

  Margaret brought the tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes again. A tear splashed onto the lap of her purple robe. “I can’t imagine getting up in the morning and not seeing her little face when I come down to breakfast.”

  “Mom.” Tears prickled in Hannah’s nose. She caught Margaret’s hand, held it for a moment. “Please try to understand. This isn’t easy for me either…”

  “So this means it’s all over with Allan?” Margaret asked.

  “This has nothing to do with Allan. I’ve just decided I want my own place.”

  “I know what it is,” Margaret said. “You’re still angry at me for what I said to Liam, and this is your way of punishing me.”

  “I’m not punishing you. This isn’t about you.” But she wasn’t sure. Was she moving out to punish Margaret for lying to Liam? And, in doing so, was she also punishing Faith? Maybe even herself?

  Margaret picked up her empty wineglass from the table and carried it into the kitchen. The phone rang once. Heart thundering, Hannah glanced around for the receiver that was always getting lost under sofa cushions. By the time she’d found it, the line was dead. She went into the kitchen. Margaret was refilling her wineglass.

  “Who was on the phone?” she asked her mother.