by Amy Lamont
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the way you've been throwing yourself at Father Michael. Honestly Faith, it's downright embarrassing."
Faith's heart hurt at her sister's words. Her eyes sought out Michael. From across the room his tall form and broad shoulders made him easy to pick out of the crowd. He smiled down at an elderly couple as the woman chatted animatedly.
"How is it embarrassing? I'm talking to Michael about the service." No way would she admit her feelings to Maddie. She might really go off on Faith. "It's no big deal."
"Oh, please. I see the goo-goo eyes you keep trained on him. It's obvious you have feelings for him."
Faith's teeth clenched and she held onto her temper by a thread. "I don't know why it's any of your business."
"I'm just trying to keep you from making a fool of yourself." Maddie's tone changed from venomous to saccharine sweet. Which personality was her sister pulling out of her bag of tricks now? "I mean, can you really see yourself with Father Michael?"
Faith rubbed two fingers against her temple. She’d give up her favorite guitar to avoid this conversation. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"Faith, he's a priest, for heaven's sake. You're a musician. You haven't ever held down a real job. Father Michael has an important position as head of this church. He has to put his reputation before any feelings he might have for some...well, someone like you."
Faith looked down at her feet expecting to see a pool of blood. Guess this wound only showed on the inside. Maddie's words reflected all the doubts Faith had over the last few days. She'd always been a screw-up. A man like Michael needed someone he could be proud to have by his side. He’d never look at her in a romantic way. Her face burned. She’d probably been making cow eyes at him like a lovesick twelve-year-old for the last two days.
But she’d be damned if she would give her sister the satisfaction of knowing she'd made a direct hit.
"I don't know why you'd think I was chasing after Michael. Do you remember my last few boyfriends–tattoos, motorcycles, artists–any of that ring a bell?" Her voice dripped sarcasm in the hope Maddie would believe her final words. "Like I'd ever be interested in a priest."
Maddie gave her a triumphant smile. Something wasn’t right here. Faith turned around and her breath stuck in her chest. Michael stood behind her, his hand hanging in midair as if he’d been about to touch her shoulder, his face frozen in an emotionless mask. There was no doubt he’d heard her last words loud and clear.
“Excuse me.” Michael’s voice was low and all the warmth had been leeched from his expression, making it suddenly clear that she shouldn’t have been worrying all this time. Her feelings hadn’t been one-sided or her misreading the signals. He’d been right there with her through all of it.
And now she got to see her favorite view one last time—as he turned around and walked away.
She turned to Maddie. Her mouth opened once and closed, unable to get out the words she wanted to hurl at her. She pulled in a shuddering breath but still felt as if she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. Her gaze darted around the room, but she couldn’t find the face she most wanted to see.
“Faith?”
Maddie’s voice was tentative, but Faith couldn’t stand there another minute. She might suffocate if she had to spend one more moment in this room with her sister.
She ran from the room and straight out the back door of the rectory. She hit the frigid November night and gasped, but welcomed the burning of her lungs as they finally filled. Not stopping long enough even to get her coat, she headed for home, running as fast as her legs would carry her away from the church and Michael.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday night Faith stood at the microphone, a guitar held in front of her. She looked out at the sparse weeknight crowd at the bar. She'd played there before. Too many times to count. The customers rocking the barstools were regulars who barely looked up from their beers as she played one of the songs she'd played at church Saturday evening.
It took great strength not to stop playing and sigh into the microphone. Her hands strummed the guitar strings, picking out the melody without thought. Her last words before leaving the church the other night had been ringing in her ears for days.
And the look on Michael's face.
Faith had been grateful she didn't carry a purse and instead had her house keys tucked in her front pants pocket when she made it home. She might have sat on her front stoop and froze to death otherwise. Cause there was no way she was going back to that church. Ever.
She got to the end of the song and there was a smattering of applause from the few who noticed she finished. She was supposed to play a couple more songs this set, but she was done. She leaned her guitar against the wall and dropped heavily onto a barstool.
"What's up, Faith?"
She managed to give the bartender a halfhearted smile. "Not too much. My heart just doesn't seem to be in it tonight."
Truer words were never spoken. Her heart hadn’t been in this scene for a while.
But here she was again, sitting on a barstool in a bar that had seen its best days decades ago. When she played here before, she hadn't been able to put her finger on exactly what was wrong. Saturday night reminded her of the fire she used to feel when she got up on stage.
Now that she knew what was missing, it was tough to go back to business as usual.
"I figured we might be seeing the last of you soon.”
Faith wrinkled her forehead. "What do you mean?"
"Could just tell things weren't the same for you as they used to be. Playing seems like more of a habit."
Wow. He hit the nail on the head. Who knew it was so obvious? Maybe Michael had seen it too and offered the gig at the church to be kind. Maybe he was never interested in her. Maybe she took his overtures of friendship and kindness the wrong way.
But that didn't explain the hurt on his face when she'd dropped her bombshell. There had to be more than simple kindness from the neighborhood priest involved.
With a sigh, Faith slid off the barstool. "You know what? I think you're right. I have some things to figure out. I'm gonna call it a night."
The night was cold and crisp and clear. Faith shivered a little in her thermal sweatshirt, the warmest article of clothing she could find in her closet since she left her coat behind. She walked home anyway, her guitar case swinging at her side and the twinkling of Christmas decorations in shop windows lighting her way.
Faith thought the huddled figure on her doorstep was one of the homeless women in the neighborhood until she got close to her apartment building.
"Mom?"
"Faith. Thank goodness. I thought I might freeze to death before you got home. Honestly, I don't know how you keep these hours."
Faith stifled a laugh. She'd left the gig a little early and it wasn't one that normally ran very late anyway. It couldn't be much past 9:30 now. What she couldn't figure out was why her mother would darken her doorstep. She thought Faith's choice to live in this particular neighborhood was just one more sign of rebelliousness.
"I brought this." She held out Faith's black wool coat.
"Thanks.” Faith took it and held the warm wool tight to her body. "Mom, you could have just called me. I would have come to get it."
"I tried calling you. More than once. And the coat isn't the only reason I came over."
Faith cringed and swallowed against her guilt. She had a tendency to avoid her mother's phone calls in the best of times. Since the whole Father Michael Debacle, as she'd come to think of it, she’d unplugged her phone and left her cell phone buried under a pile of socks in her drawer.
"Aren't you going to invite me up?"
"Of course." She mentally reviewed the state of her apartment. While not a total slob, her housekeeping skills probably weren't up to her mother's standards.
Oh, well. Not much she could do about the sweater hanging over the dining room chair or the layer of dust on her ent
ertainment center now. She'd just have to suck up the comments her mother was sure to make.
Her mother pulled Faith’s apartment door closed behind her. "About what happened at the church Saturday night…"
Faith's whole body tensed, waiting for the crushing set down she was sure her mother was about to rain upon her.
"Faith, I don't understand what happened. I tried to ask Maddie and all she would say is that the two of you were chatting and she told you she thought Father Michael might be interested in her. And then you made some disparaging remarks questioning why anyone would want to date a priest."
Faith's jaw clenched and a throbbing started in her temples. Leave it to Maddie to twist things to suit her. "That's not exactly what happened."
"Then why don't you make us some tea and you can explain your side of things."
Okay. What? Not once in all her years of being this woman's daughter could she remember her taking Faith's side over Maddie's. Or even wanting to hear Faith's side of things.
Ten minutes later they were sitting in front of steaming cups of tea at her tiny kitchen table. Faith had puttered for as long as she could, hoping to put her mother off her trail. But she couldn’t come up with one more thing, short of pulling out the vacuum, to avoid this conversation.
“Now, start from the beginning,” her mother said.
“I guess it started at your house on Thanksgiving.” Faith paused. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and debated how much to share. Looking at her mother’s concerned face, she made her decision and pulled in a deep breath, her stomach churning. “Well, no, that’s not true. It started the day before.”
Faith told her mother about the grocery store, the misunderstanding about the kind of priest Michael was, the chemistry between them, her feelings about her music, and Maddie’s interference in the relationship. Over the next half an hour, Faith said more to her mother than she had in all her teen years combined.
When she was done, only one thing was left. The question that had been plaguing Faith for the last few years. “Mom, why does Maddie hate me so much? We got along for the most part as kids, but lately…I don’t know. It seems like she can’t stand me.”
Her mother patted her hand. “She’s jealous of you.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped her. “That’s ridiculous. I’m the screw-up, the one who can’t cook, doesn’t have a real job. Maddie is perfect. Why on earth would she be jealous of me?”
“You do exactly as you please. You always have. Maddie did everything she thought she was supposed to—went to college, got a job, spends a fortune on clothes and manicures, learned to make homemade meals from scratch.”
Faith nodded. This was more along the lines of what she expected from her mother—a list of things that Maddie was more accomplished at than her.
“Don’t get me wrong. You caused more than a few of the gray hairs I pay good money to get covered up. But I never worried about you being happy because you always decided what you wanted and went after it with gusto no matter what anyone else thought you should do.”
Faith’s jaw dropped. That sounded almost complimentary.
“Maddie did what was expected of her. And now she’s twenty-eight, and doing what she thought she was supposed to hasn’t helped her meet the man of her dreams or keep her from feeling trapped in her job.”
Faith sat back in her seat. This couldn’t be true. “But she always seems so together. I’m such a mess. From one month to the next I don’t know if I’ll be able to cover my rent or pay my bills. A husband isn’t even on my radar.”
Well, at least up until a few days ago. Not that she was ready to share that with her mother. But since meeting Michael, she started having visions of wedding dresses and maternity clothes. Heck, if she were telling the truth, her ovaries stood up and did a mating dance when their hands first touched as he handed her those two dollars in the market the day before Thanksgiving.
“That’s the thing. You may feel like your life is a mess, but you’re not afraid of letting things get messy in order to follow your heart. I think Maddie wishes she could be more like you.”
“Yeah, right. Cause I’m such a role model.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Her mother stood and kissed the top of Faith’s head, smoothing down a few of the shaggy locks. “Don’t forget, you do always manage to pay your bills and your rent. And I’ve never seen you not get something you’ve gone after.”
Faith shook her head. She must be hallucinating. That was the only explanation.
“And, for the record, after Maddie fed me that bunch of malarkey about Father Michael being interested in her, I got the truth out of her. She wanted me to apologize to you. She just saw him as one more thing that would come to you easily, and it made her angry enough to get in the way.”
Her mother moved towards the door, sliding into her coat as she went. Obviously, their little chitchat was over. That was okay. If they talked much more her mother might reveal even more startling news. Like where Hoffa was buried.
“Mom, let me get you a cab.”
“That won’t be necessary, dear. Mr. Wilkinson dropped me off and told me he’d be back promptly at 10:30 to get me.”
“Mr. Wilkinson?”
“Yes, a nice gentleman I met over at your Michael’s church.”
Faith blinked. She wouldn’t be surprised if her head started spinning on her shoulders. In the last ten minutes, her mother had completely revised the way she saw her relationship to her sister, and now her mother, the woman who had been setting a place at the table for her dead husband for close to two decades, was accepting a ride from a “nice gentleman.”
She closed the front door behind her mother and sagged against it. “I may need to take up drinking.”
Faith tossed and turned for a few hours, but sleep failed to claim her. Her mother’s words played over in her head. She did have a mind of her own. She didn’t let people steer her off course when she set her mind on something. Until recently.
Saturday night made it abundantly clear her music had fallen flat lately. And her reaction to her sister’s taunting—spouting out a lie and then turning tail and running. She barely recognized the woman who had done those things.
As sunlight peeked through the sheer white curtains of her bedroom and the din of birds outside became loud enough to wake the dead, Faith came to a conclusion.
She was an idiot.
She’d let her own doubts about being right for Michael get in the way of what could be something fabulous. And it could be fabulous. She felt it from the very first time she met him. He was perfect for her.
And if she pursued things, what’s the worst that could happen? It could fabulously crash and burn. But she’d never let fear defeat her before. And look at what she could end up with if she followed her heart with gusto, as her mother put it.
Michael’s face swam before her. And for the first time since she uttered the most stupid sentence of her life, a feeling of warmth and hope and excitement filled Faith.
The thing that sucked most about making life altering decisions at five in the morning was the long wait until the rest of the world was awake and on the same page. And if the wait wasn’t bad enough, the confusion could kill you.
After giving up on sleep and climbing out of bed, Faith paced her shoebox-sized apartment waiting until it was late enough to go see Michael. Punchy from the lack of sleep, she was up for two hours before it occurred to her she had no idea where to find him. Would he be at the church every day? Did he have a home nearby?
She spent the next hour showering and getting ready for the day and formulating a plan. He’d have to show up at the church at some point. She would camp out on the church steps until he arrived.
With this in mind, she bundled up for the chilly morning and stopped for a couple of steamy cups of coffee on her way. At best, she’d have fresh hot coffee to offer Michael as a peace offering. At worst, she’d be a jittery, over-caffeinated mess who sputt
ered incoherently until he called the police to have her removed.
Well, if she got arrested, she’d call Maddie to bail her out. Her sister owed her one.
She sat on the concrete steps and began her vigil. She admired the greenery adorning the front of the old stone church and the nativity scene on the tiny patch of lawn.
After a few minutes, she wrapped her hands carefully around her cup to absorb optimum warmth. The coffee wasn’t enough to ward off the cold, though, and it wasn’t long before the wintry chill began to seep through her layers. After about half an hour and both cups of coffee, she started to think she might need to come up with a new plan.
Just as she rose from the steps, she noticed a woman walking briskly towards her. In her fifties, with a no-nonsense air about her, the woman marched up to Faith.
“Dear, if you’re waiting out here for the soup kitchen, I’m afraid that’s only on weekends. I can direct you to the shelter down the street.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. I mean, I’m not homeless or…well, hungry.” Faith shook her head and started again. “I was hoping to see Father Michael.”
“Why are you sitting out here?” The woman strode up the steps, gesturing for Faith to follow. “Father Michael has probably been at work for a few hours.”
Faith rolled her eyes, annoyed at her own stupidity. It hadn’t even occurred to her to try the front door and see if anyone was around.
The woman led her into the rectory. “Father Michael! There’s someone here to see you.”
And then he was there, standing in front of her.
He eyed her cautiously. “Faith.”
“Hi.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. It seemed like much longer than four days since she’d last seen him.
“Was there something you needed to discuss with Father Michael?” The woman’s voice broke the staring contest.
“Faith, I don’t think you’ve met Helen yet. She’s the church secretary. We’d never get anything done without her.” Michael’s polite tone made Faith long for the warmth he’d shown her before. “Helen was away visiting family this weekend. Helen, Faith volunteered at the soup kitchen this weekend and filled in for Chris at mass on Saturday.”