Keeping Faith

by Janice Macdonald

  AS HE HEADED ACROSS the manicured grounds of Casa Pacifica looking for Brid, it occurred to Liam that anyone who hadn’t seen the discreet sign noting a physician was on twenty-four-hour call could be forgiven for thinking that he or she had wandered into an exclusive hotel instead of a rehab center.

  He found Brid lying on a lawn chair; eyes closed, her bare shoulders turning almost the same shade of pink as her bikini top. Liam tweaked her toe and she opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Well, there’s a sight for sore eyes.” She sat up, and held out her arms to him. “Howya, Liam.”

  “Not so bad.” He sat down on the grass. “And yourself?”

  “Getting fat as a cow,” she said.

  “You’ve still a long way to go.”

  “Not with the way they’re feeding me here.”

  “Just keep doing as you’re told,” he said. “I need you back on the stage beside me.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “What’s wrong, Liam?”

  “Pearse thinks the band’s about to break up. He blames me.”

  Brid shook her head. “Blames you for what?”

  “Breaking up the band. He told Miranda that Hannah won’t be satisfied until I’m wearing a ring.”

  “Miranda.” Brid rolled her eyes. “A head case if ever I saw one. Pearse was probably trying to get into her knickers. No doubt he was feeling his drink and just letting off a bit of steam.”

  “You don’t think it then? That I’d let the band be broken up?”

  “Daft cod,” Brid said. “You’d give up breathing first.”

  Liam grinned.

  She gave him another long look. “But I think it says something that you had to hear me confirm it. Six weeks ago, you’d have laughed your head off if Pearse had said something like that.”

  “Six weeks ago Pearse wouldn’t have said something like that.”

  “How are things with your daughter?”

  “Grand.” He smiled. “Fantastic.”

  “And it’s killing you to think of how it’ll be when we’re back on the road again.”

  “It is.”

  “But you wouldn’t be happy with any other kind of life.”

  “I know.”

  “Remember when I asked if you ever feel like putting down roots?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I can imagine what I said.”

  “Something about taking aspirin and lying down until the feeling went away.” She pulled a towel off the back of the chaise longue, wrapped it around her shoulders. “Maybe you should do that now, Liam.”

  HANNAH WAS CUTTING PAPER flowers from colored construction paper and trying not to let Margaret’s parting advice completely ruin her mood when Allan stopped in her classroom just before two to pick up Douglas for a doctor’s appointment. In a Zen-like trance—anything to block Margaret’s voice in her head—she’d already cut out a pile of pink paper roses. Bouquets of yellow daffodils and purple tulips blossomed in colorful profusion across her desktop.

  Allan picked up a paper rose, and studied it. “I really enjoyed meeting your family last night. Your mother’s quite a character. They all are.”

  “Yeah, well…” Her face felt warm. “They like you, too, Allan.”

  “Unfortunately, you don’t feel the same way.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested. “You’re a terrific guy. I’m just—”

  “You’re just not in love with me.” He folded his arms across his chest. “How were the SpaghettiOs?”

  “Faith liked them.”

  Allan grimaced. “God.”

  “I know.” She traced the edge of a rose with her finger. “I’m sorry about walking out on you. It was rude, I know.”

  He waved away her apology. “It bothered your mother more than it bothered me. Not that I wanted to see you go, but I looked at you looking at that guy and I recognized I was fighting a losing battle.” He perched on the edge of her desk, picked up a framed picture of Faith, studied it, and set it down again. “Listen, if I’m out of line, just tell me. I’m talking to you as an attorney who’s done some family practice law, Hannah, not as a guy who would like to marry you.”

  “Allan…”

  “Sorry, strike that last part.” He paused. “Liam is Faith’s biological father, right? There’s no doubt about that?”

  She blinked. “Of course.”

  “Okay, I just needed to know. And when the two of you were divorced, there were custody arrangements?”

  “No. My mother told Liam I’d had an abortion.” She saw Jen poke her head around the door and mouth the word later when she saw Allan. Hannah peered up at the clock on the wall. Nearly time to pick up Faith. “What’s this all about?”

  He looked at her as though debating how to answer. “I’m concerned for you.”

  Hannah sighed, exasperated. “Join the club. God, I wish to hell everyone would stop being concerned about me and get on with their own lives.”

  Allan looked offended. “This is just a case of a friend helping a friend,” he said. “You’ve given me some great advice on Douglas. I’m just returning the favor.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm. “I’m a little weary of discussing Liam. I went through it this morning with my mom.”

  “How serious is Liam about having a role in Faith’s life?”

  “Very.”

  “Do you realize he has a good case for a lawsuit?” He waited a moment. “I’m not an expert on this, but I’m sure he could probably bring civil litigation against your mother. He could also sue for joint custody of Faith. I’m assuming he intends to go back to Ireland?”

  She nodded. “Look, you’re making it sound a lot more adversarial than it is. Liam’s already told me he’d like to have Faith visit him in Ireland. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that, but if it does we’ll deal with it.”

  “You’d allow him to take her to Ireland?”

  “He’s her father, Allan.”

  “So you’re sure that whatever happens, that the two of you can work it all out?”

  “I think we can.”

  He gave her a skeptical look.

  “What?”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if he meets someone else when he goes back to Ireland? Marries her even. He’d still be Faith’s father. Still have all the same rights to have her with him. Do you want another woman bringing up your child?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I’d suggest you protect yourself. And Faith. If you want my advice, you’ll launch a prepreemptive strike and file suit to stop him from trying to take Faith to Ireland.”

  “That’s your advice, is it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And it has nothing at all to do with anything my mom said to you at dinner last night, right?”

  Before he could answer, the secretary stuck her head around the door to say that the nurse from Faith’s school was on the phone. Faith had a stomachache and a fever of 101 and could someone come and pick her up?

  LIAM WAS JUST LEAVING Miranda’s when Hannah called to say the trip to the Queen Mary was off and that she’d already picked Faith up from school. “I don’t think it’s anything serious,” Hannah said. “Too many SpaghettiOs last night, maybe.”

  Liam, staring through the plate-glass windows of Miranda’s sunroom and out at the shimmering blue water, felt suddenly bereft, as though the whole reason for the day had just vanished. The feeling frightened him. Maybe Brid was right. Maybe he should lie down until these images of himself in an apron barbecuing on the back patio with Faith and Hannah looking on went away. He realized Hannah had said something.

  “Sorry?”

  “I asked if you’d like to come by for dinner tonight,” she said.

  “Your house?”

  “My mother’s. I want you to get to know each other a little better. She’s convinced that you’re a scheming womanizer and that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  He laughed, but without much humor. “A
re you as confused about all this as I am?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I probably am.”

  “Everyone giving you advice? Making predictions?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “Advice and gloomy prophecies. The consensus being that I’ve no idea what I’m getting into.”

  “Hey, Liam,” she said. “Have faith.”

  SO WHILE THE BAND—without him and Brid—was doing a scaled-down gig at an Irish bar up in Pasadena, here he was sitting at the dinner table with Hannah’s mother, her aunts and her sister, who were all clearly on their best behavior but not exactly welcoming him into the fold.

  In an agony of indecision, he’d arrived with a box of chocolates for Margaret and flowers for Hannah. When Margaret took the chocolates, she’d said something about being on a diet and he realized he should have bought flowers for her, too, and maybe he should have picked up something for the aunts and the sister. Five minutes into the meal he was almost wishing he’d never come.

  But truthfully he was glad to be here. Hannah sat next to him, her hand on his knee, and Faith, all better now, kept jabbing him with her small pointed elbow as she wielded her knife and fork. Every so often, she’d turn to grin at him and phrases like “worthwhile sacrifice” would drift through his brain as he imagined giving up music to have her in his life.

  And although you could bounce a penny off Margaret’s stiff expression, Hannah’s sister Debra seemed friendly enough, as did Aunt Rose, who kept winking at him across the table and finding ways to bring him into the conversation, which, at the moment, was all about the price of houses in California—a topic Californians seemed to spend a great deal of time discussing.

  “So anyway, Liam,” Rose was saying. “This guy I used to go with was also from Ireland and he said it’s the same thing there. Germans buying up the west. Tearing down the thatched cottages and building these great big mansions on the water.” She frowned, and scratched the back of her elaborately piled-up red hair. “Or was it the south. Where’s Clare?”

  “West,” he said.

  “Cute guy,” Rose said. “Declan. Well, not cute exactly—he had a face like a potato—but I loved his accent.” She winked. “Tore all my defenses down, if you know what I mean.”

  Hannah shot him a sideways glance and squeezed his knee.

  Debra grinned. “We don’t know what you mean by defenses, Aunt Rose. Actually, we didn’t know you had any.”

  Helen cleared her throat. “Do you own property, Liam?” she asked.

  “I do,” he said. Hannah’s hand was still on his knee. “In Galway.”

  “Gahlweh,” Faith mimicked, and shifted around in her chair to look at him. “You talk funny, Liam.”

  “Faith.” Hannah and Margaret said in unison.

  “I didn’t know you had a house,” Hannah said.

  “I bought it a couple of years ago.”

  “A big house?” Rose wanted to know.

  “Big enough,” he said. “Too big for me, really. A family of five could fit comfortably in it.” After that, everyone went silent. He looked down at the lasagna on his plate. Hannah had made it herself—apologizing in advance because she wasn’t much of a cook. He felt Faith’s elbow again, heard the chink of cutlery against plates.

  Tried to imagine his life this way, sitting down to supper every night with all this family. He and Hannah would get their own place of course, but where? Even with last year’s success, he wasn’t making the kind of money to afford California real estate.

  Margaret drank some wine. She set her glass down and looked at him from across the table. “I remember Hannah telling me once that you never wanted to be tied down to one place. She said you were going to buy a gypsy caravan and roam around the country, just the two of you.”

  “I don’t remember saying that,” Hannah protested.

  “What’s a gypsy caravan?” Faith asked.

  “Kind of like a Winnebago, honey,” Rose said. “Except that horses pull it instead of an engine.”

  “Cool,” Faith said. “I like horses.”

  “I used to ask Hannah what she would do if you had children.” Margaret addressed Liam. “And she just laughed and said exposure was good for kids.”

  Rose laughed. “Exposure to what?”

  Helen cleared her throat again.

  “I really don’t remember that.” Hannah turned to look at him. “Do you remember that, Liam? The gypsy thing?”

  “Actually, I do,” he said. “I’d always wanted a caravan. I still wouldn’t mind one, come to that.” He drank some wine, angry at his response. How bloody brilliant was that? If he was trying to make an impression, that was just the thing to say. No wonder Hannah’s family wasn’t pushing for him and Hannah to make another trip to the altar.

  Margaret directed a frosty smile at him. “Have you ever considered what you’ll be doing…twenty or so years from now?” She bent her head slightly to spear a slice of tomato on her fork, and eyed him from across the table. “When you’re getting older, looking toward retirement?”

  “Liam’s thirty-five, Mom,” Hannah protested. “Who thinks about retirement at that age? I certainly don’t. Neither does Deb.” She looked at her sister. “Right?”

  “Only that I damn sure don’t want to be still waiting tables at Claim Jumper when I’m fifty,” Deb said.

  “Find a rich husband,” Rose said. “That’s my philosophy. ’Course, you’d have to find a rich wife, Liam.” She laughed. “Unless…oh shut up, Rose.”

  Helen gave her sister an arch glance. “Good idea, Rose.”

  “To answer your question, Margaret,” Liam said. “No, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  Margaret’s gaze was fixed on Faith. “Well, Liam, if you’re…contemplating a family, I would suggest that the future is something to which you should give some thought.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “SOMETHING TELLS ME I didn’t exactly win over your mother tonight,” Liam told Hannah as they stood in the kitchen washing dishes. “I should have lied and said, ‘Yes, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve decided brain surgery is the life for me with maybe a bit of investment banking as a sideline.’ Would that have made her happy, do you think?”

  Hannah drained the Chianti left in her glass. Faith was in bed, the others were in the living room watching Survivor. It seemed an appropriate choice, she thought wryly.

  “Your goal in life isn’t to make my mom happy.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, “or I’d be failing miserably.”

  Hannah draped the damp tea towel over the bar on the front of the stove. During lunch break at school, she’d skimmed through the Los Angeles Times. Actually, she’d been idly browsing the classifieds for herself, wondering about more fulfilling occupations than coaching the Taylor Beckers of the world to ace kindergarten exams.

  A private academy in Studio City wanted a music teacher. She’d read the ad, reread it, then turned to the next page and gone on reading. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Before she’d left to pick up Faith, she clipped the ad and stuck it in her purse. Now, her heart kicking up, she looked at Liam.

  “I have something to show you.” Her purse was upstairs in her room. She motioned for him to follow her. Inside her room, she closed the door and fished around in her purse.

  Liam sat down on the edge of the bed. “Won’t this raise a few eyebrows downstairs?”

  She looked at him. “I’ll keep both feet on the floor.”

  As he read the clipping she handed him, she watched his face and realized that she was holding her breath. The exchange with Allan had played in her head all afternoon. He’d raised a question she hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate. The thought of Liam taking Faith to Ireland was only bearable if she pictured herself as part of the trio. But Faith in Ireland with Liam and…God, Brid—or an Irish version of Miranda Payton—helping raise Faith was more than she could bear.

  He looked up at her. “This would do the
trick, would it?”

  She waited a moment, thinking about how to answer him. “It would be a stable and secure job,” she finally said. “The money’s not bad. You’d still be working in the music industry and you’d be here in California.”

  He held out his hand to her, and she sat down on the bed beside him. The room was warm and a little stuffy. The light through the pink floral lampshade by the bed glowed a rosy gold. Liam’s eyes looked very blue. He put his arm around her shoulder, turned his head to kiss her. She could hear the TV downstairs. She knew Margaret had probably heard their feet on the stairs, in fact, had probably listened for the sound of their feet on the stairs. The kiss lasted as they fell against the bed, Liam on top of her, his erection hard against her groin. And then he sat up suddenly, as though a thought had just occurred to him. He leaned against the headboard.

  “What about all the other stuff?” he asked.

  “What other stuff?”

  “My insatiable need to chase skirts for instance.”

  She picked at her fingernail. “I’ve thought a lot about that. Not you chasing skirts, I mean. Just the whole scene when we were married. I was so damn insecure that I managed to work myself into this constant frenzy of suspicion. I’m a lot more secure these days.”

  “Which isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of my fidelity.”

  “Maybe I had no real reason not to trust you when we were married. My mom said something today about believing what we want to believe. Maybe I almost wanted to believe you were running around because I was so damn sure you’d leave me eventually, I was just kind of preparing myself for the inevitable.” She put her arm around his shoulder, and kissed the side of his mouth. “Plus, I could just tell myself you were a no-good jerk.”

  Smiling now, he studied the ad again. “We could live in Los Angeles. Buy his and her convertibles. A house with a swimming pool.”

  “On a music teacher’s salary.” She grinned. “Dream on.”

  “Something I’ve always been good at.”

  “Dreaming?” She got up from the bed, and locked her fingers behind her neck. “This is a huge decision for you. An incredible sacrifice—”