A Heart of Little Faith

by Jennifer Wilck

“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?” Lily bent and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. Claire’s curls brushed her lips, reminding her of silk.

  “Fine.” Claire passed Lily, skipped her usual hug and kiss and walked ahead of her on the sidewalk.

  Lily rushed to catch up. “Is anything wrong?” She reached for her hand, but Claire yanked it away and kept moving, her gaze focused on the sidewalk.

  “No.”

  Okay. Maybe she needs some time. “So, what’d you do in school today?” The false brightness in her voice could have illuminated an entire skyscraper, but it did nothing to lighten Claire’s mood.

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing? Lily didn’t think it was possible for a first grader to do nothing for five minutes, let alone an entire day. They were quiet as they trudged through Tompkins Square Park. Shade from the elm trees did nothing to cool Claire’s mood. Most days, she watched people play basketball, or beg to play in the playground, but today she didn’t. A couple of blocks later, they approached the community center where Gideon volunteered. Claire stopped at the fence and peered into the deserted lot. She pressed her face into the metal bars and hunched her shoulders. Lily longed to run her palm down Claire’s bony spine, to feel the warmth of her daughter’s skin through her cotton T-shirt and to kiss all of her troubles away. But her advances would be rejected. Instead, she clenched her fist and kept it at her side.

  After a moment, Claire shuffled up the street to their apartment.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Each word oozed contempt and made her sound closer to thirteen than six. They entered their apartment and Claire stormed straight into her room. Usually a cheerful place, the oppressive stillness wrapped itself around Lily and stifled her.

  “Do you want a snack?” Food always improved Claire’s mood.

  “No.” Her daughter closed her door, and the click of the spindle in the mortise of the doorjamb reverberated in her head.

  Lily studied the closed door, as if the plywood could clue her into her daughter’s heart. Claire had shut her out. Her fists clenched at her sides, she considered barging in and making Claire describe what was bothering her. But Lily didn’t want that kind of relationship with her daughter. Although the child was only six, Lily decided to give her a little space to see what happened. She put away her briefcase, made a few quick calls for work and checked her office email account. In a few days, Armadillo’s new product would launch and she wanted to make sure everything was ready. After she assured herself that her assistant was capable of taking care of everything, Lily put aside the rest of her work and headed into the kitchen to see about dinner.

  I hate this part of the day. She rubbed away the beginning of a tension headache. It’s boring cooking for the two of us and I’m out of ideas for dinner. It’s not like Claire particularly cares what we eat anyway. Daniel’s words echoed in her mind and she stood with the refrigerator door ajar. “What are the four food groups? Order in, take out, frozen and canned.” He used to tease her whenever she complained about cooking.

  “But he’d take over the kitchen for me,” she said softly. She bit her lip to fight the tears and closed the refrigerator door. She missed the camaraderie of having her husband here, of having another person who understood her instinctively. With a deep breath, she decided to check on Claire. “Dinner can wait,” she said, louder this time. She held her head high and reviewed in her mind the latest parenting advice she’d read in a magazine as she marched to Claire’s door. Patience. She knocked, asked if she could come in, and opened the door to the pink and purple room. Claire sat in the middle of her bed, her stuffed hippo clutched in her arms.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong, honey.” Lily sat next to Claire on the bed. The soft, fluffy comforter bunched around her hips as she sat down. Instead of hugging her daughter, she reached over and patted the hippo. Worn from six years of hugs, drool and laundry, it still was soft beneath her fingers. “Maybe I can help.”

  Claire’s her face was blotchy, her voice teary. “I told Gideon I’d make him a picture for his refrigerator.”

  “I remember.” She waited. Claire pulled out a picture from her backpack and gave it to her. Lily’s fingers glided over the smooth paper and slowed as they ran over waxy crayon lines and shapes.

  “It’s not very good.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t agree. I think it’s beautiful. He’ll love it.” The crayon drawing was a colorful rendition of kids playing basketball, and Claire had added flowers and a bright yellow sun. It should have made her daughter smile.

  Claire sat there and stared at her bed.

  “Is this why you’re sad?”

  “I’m not sad!” she shouted. She jumped off her bed and stomped across the room.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” Her daughter paced and Lily waited for Claire to clue her in.

  “I guess I should give this to him, though. I don’t want him to feel bad.”

  “I think he’ll love it, Claire.”

  “Can we go over now?” She shifted from one foot to the other. Lily was tempted to say yes, although she didn’t know if he was home from work yet, or if he’d mind an unannounced visit. Claire’s gaze pleaded with her. She ignored the churning in her stomach; she had to do this for her daughter. She gripped the phone receiver as she dialed, but there was no answer.

  “Why don’t we go over to Samantha’s and give it to her? I have a feeling she might see him sooner than we will.” Desperate for something to make Claire feel better, relief washed over her when Claire gave a half-hearted smile. They knocked on the door and a moment later, Samantha answered.

  “Hi, guys.” Her initial smile faltered when she saw them. Lily made faces and pointed at Claire, and for once, Samantha caught on and covered nicely. “What’s up?” she asked as she opened the door and motioned for them to come in. Lavender potpourri scented the room and Lily inhaled as she made an effort to relax.

  “Claire has a picture for Gideon and we were hoping you could give it to him,” Lily said when Claire remained mute. Her daughter held up the picture and Samantha took it.

  “Claire, this is great. But why don’t you give it to him yourself? He’s coming over after work and he should be here any minute.”

  Claire shuffled through the basket of toys Samantha kept in her apartment for her. Lily and Samantha sat to talk.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with her.” Lily fiddled with the crease in her pant leg and bunched the fabric between her fingers as she whispered.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” Samantha reached over and squeezed Lily’s arm. Just then, Gideon knocked on the door and rolled in.

  “Hi.” He paused at the unexpected guests, swinging his head from Samantha to Lily and again to his sister. His nostrils flared and his jaw bulged.

  He reminded her of a volcano, ready to blow.

  “Gideon!” shrieked Claire, who ran over and leaped on top of him. As she hugged him in a death grip, his face relaxed. He patted her back and raised one eyebrow at Samantha and Lily. They both shrugged and he focused his attention on Claire.

  “Hey, ClaireBear, what’s up?”

  She refused to look at him when she handed him the picture. He concentrated on it for several seconds. Claire fidgeted from one foot to the other. “It’s not very good,” she sighed, “but I know you wanted a picture and it was the best I could do.”

  “Thank you very much, sweetheart. I like it a lot. But I think I know why you don’t.” He pointed out a flaw only he and Claire saw and they headed into the kitchen. “We’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.

  Lily and Samantha waited for them to return. Claire still didn’t seem herself, but at least she wasn’t upset about the picture anymore. “We should be going, Claire. We have to figure out dinner, and Samantha and Gideon have things to do.”

  “Why don’t you both join us?” Gideon checked with Samantha for approval. At her nod, he said, �
��We’ll order pizza.”

  Claire’s eyes were big and soulful. Relieved not to have to cook, and hoping the others could help her figure out her daughter’s problem, Lily agreed. Samantha ordered the pizza while Gideon, Lily and Claire sat in the living room.

  “Why don’t I have a daddy?”

  Chapter 8

  Lily froze and Gideon leaned forward in his seat. Samantha, who entered at that moment, stopped in her tracks.

  “What?” Lily tried to buy some time. She rubbed her stomach, as if someone had punched her. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Why don’t I have a daddy?” Claire repeated and sat still on the sofa.

  Lily was drowning. Everything was sluggish, as if she moved against a current. “You do have a daddy, honey,” she said in a low voice.

  “But you said he’s dead,” she answered.

  “That’s right.” Lily’s head pounded and her ears began to ring.

  “I don’t have a real daddy. Everyone else at school does. Why don’t I have one?” she whined.

  Lily closed her eyes. Images of Daniel clicked in her brain, one right after the other, like a slide show on super-speed. Her wedding day. Claire’s birth. Daniel singing to his daughter. She could feel the others watching her and the walls began to close in. “Your daddy was very real, honey. He may be dead, but he’s still your daddy. He watches over you from heaven and he loves you very much.”

  “Well, he can’t come to school with me! We’re having a daddy-daughter lunch at school and everyone else has a daddy to bring but me. It’s not fair!” She burst into tears and ran into Samantha’s bedroom.

  How do I fix this? Lily stared after. Her muscles contracted, and an invisible wall slammed shut and masked her emotions. Despite her body’s physical desire to remain immobile, her motherly instincts declared war and propelled her out of her seat. She rose and hobbled after Claire. If she listened hard enough, she could swear she heard her joints creak. With six words—“Why don’t I have a daddy?”—she’d aged fifty years.

  Gideon grasped her arm. Electricity shot from his fingertips to her arm, and she flinched. “Would you mind if I went to talk to her?” He made small circles with his fingers as he caressed her arm, and his voice lowered into a velvety smooth tone that wrapped itself around her in a protective cocoon.

  Lily opened her mouth, prepared to refuse, but nothing came out. His eyes, their brown depths unfathomable, destroyed the last of her resistance. She relented, deflated like an old balloon. She slumped next to Samantha as Gideon went after Claire.

  “Are you okay?” Samantha put her arm around Lily’s shoulders. She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. “At least now you know what was bothering her.”

  Lily sat for another minute without speaking. Unable to resist the mounting storm of emotions that blew through her—sadness, guilt, helplessness and fear—she strode out on wobbly legs onto Samantha’s balcony. Everything appeared far away and fuzzy. Traffic noise from the street below sounded elongated, muted and distorted. This had to be a dream, a nightmare. Her chest ached and the back of her throat hurt.

  Yes, she knew what bothered Claire, but Lily thought it might kill her. She would give Claire anything, but she couldn’t bring Daniel back. She stared out over the city, without seeing anything, and took deep breaths. Her lips trembled and she bit them. Her breath stuttered in her chest. She swallowed hard and fought tears. I will not cry. She never cried, not even at her husband’s funeral. She’d been too overwhelmed by the weight of having to hold it all together and figure out a way for her and her daughter to go on to give in to tears. If I didn’t cry then, I won’t cry now. Through her haze, a slap of a hand against a wheel sounded in the background. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and Gideon spoke.

  “Claire’s with Samantha.”

  Lily nodded, unable to speak and unwilling to show her face. She breathed through her nose, struggling to calm her heartbeat, which drummed faster and faster.

  “I spoke to her, and told her if it was okay with you and her teacher, I’d be happy to go to the lunch. As her friend.” Lily was touched he’d offered, but still unable to do anything but stand there. The immediate problem was solved, but the rest? Nothing would ever fix that. She gripped the railing with her, and the cool metal dug into her palms. If she squeezed hard enough, she might be able to bend the railing, like a superhero. For a moment, she was tempted to try. But she was no superhero, and in the end, she released her grip.

  Gideon remained where he was, and she could practically feel his stare. She locked her joints, afraid the slightest breeze would blow her down. Without a word, he pushed himself over to her and braked behind her. If she leaned just enough, the backs of her legs would bump his toes. He took her hand in his. Its warmth barely penetrated her icy cold shell. Instead of curling around his, her fingers remained stiff, as if they still clung to the railing. He stroked them, massaging her soft skin and tracing her veins that eventually led to her heart. He rubbed her knuckles and the underside of her palm.

  His thumb touching her hand saved her. Its insistent spiral and raspy drag on her skin reeled her mind away from the edge. She floundered, lost for a moment somewhere between her own distraught thoughts and his unspoken promise of protection. No longer spinning in isolation, but unable to rescue herself, she jerked toward him as her gaze bounced off his face and stared somewhere off in the distance. She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t let him see how hurt she was and how much she needed someone right then, but she also couldn’t rebuff him. I won’t cry. I won’t.

  “Come here,” he whispered. She squinted as he drew her into his lap. He was solid, secure, safe. Were it to rain, she’d swear he’d keep her dry; to snow, he’d keep her warm. Yet, she couldn’t give in; her mind wouldn’t let her body relax. She stiffened, but didn’t get up, and a million different thoughts banged around in her brain. I have to go to Claire. Am I hurting him? Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He felt strong, right. Up close, she saw gold flecks in his brown eyes, and a part of her wanted to remove his glasses. The musky scent of his aftershave enveloped her and the powerful muscles in his arms surrounded her, locked her in.

  He stroked her back, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. That fire melted the ice around her heart. With a gasp, she buried her head into his shoulder, the floodgates opened, and she sobbed. He hugged her and let her cry.

  “Shhh,” Gideon whispered against her cheek. His breath blew strands of hair into the air and released their jasmine scent. His chest became damp from her tears and he hugged her harder. Her entire body shook with sobs and still he didn’t let go. For the first time, she felt protected. “It’s okay.” He repeated those words until her sobs quieted.

  She stayed still and let him hold her as she listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt, leaned against the rock-hard wall of his chest. It was so long since anyone had held her or comforted her. Those same hands had distracted her from the movie; now they protected her from the world. It would be wonderful to be able to depend on someone again, but it wasn’t meant to be. She couldn’t be that lucky twice. She sat up, wiped her eyes, and tried as gracefully as possible to get out of his lap.

  “I have the same problem,” he said with a sardonic grin.

  She exhaled and surrendered the ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know about Claire’s lunch.”

  “I will. I appreciate your volunteering.” She wanted to focus on anything but her crying in his lap. She was humiliated—strong women didn’t do such things, and she intended to be strong. Sometimes, though, it is so hard. She averted her gaze as she wiped her cheeks.

  Gideon changed the subject and relief washed through her. “Pizza?”

  As if in answer, her stomach growled and they returned to the living room. Claire and Samantha sat together on the sofa. Claire’s face was red and puffy. She ran over to her mom. Tactfully, Samantha and Gideon went into the kitchen.

  “I�
��m sorry I was mean to you, Mommy,” she said into Lily’s shoulder. Lily hugged her and stroked her curls. This was the body she was used to holding; this was the role she was used to playing.

  “It’s okay, baby. I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you. I miss him too, you know.”

  Claire stared at her. “I know. Samantha and Gideon told me.” Lily stayed silent. There was nothing she could say. “Gideon said he’d go with me to the lunch.”

  Relief and a twinge of regret ran through her. “I think it’s a great idea, if that’s what you want.”

  She beamed. “I do.”

  “I’ll talk to your teacher tomorrow and arrange it.” They hugged again. Lily wanted to make the moment last, but Claire fidgeted, crisis over. With a sigh, she pulled away and followed her into the kitchen for pizza.

  The next day, Lily sent a note to Claire’s teacher to explain the situation and suggest Gideon as an alternative. As her pen scratched the paper, she questioned her predicament—a man she barely knew was to fill one of the most intimate roles in her daughter’s life, if only for a day. She held the thin paper, listened to it crinkle as she tipped it back and forth and debated whether or not to crumple it up. Images of Claire’s tear-stained face rushed into focus. With a nod, she stuffed the note into Claire’s backpack and zipped it before she could change her mind.

  That afternoon, Claire came home from school giddy with excitement, and rushed to call Gideon. Her feet pounded on the floor, and reminded Lily of a herd of elephants. She shook her head in exasperation. She’d never understand how one small girl could make so much noise. Claire punched in the numbers and Lily’s stomach clenched a little tighter. After they talked on the phone for a few minutes—or rather Claire spoke—she handed it to Lily. It smacked her palm and she gulped. The phone had never weighed as much.

  “He wants to talk to you.” Lily cleared her throat and gripped her stomach as she stared at it. Time intensified her embarrassment over her actions the previous evening. Not only had she cried on Gideon’s shoulder, she’d climbed into his lap! How needy was that? As she brushed her hair out of her face, she said a silent prayer he didn’t think she was nuts, and said hello.