Faking Faith
Page 17
When I got home, I said hi to my mom, who was working in the living room on her improbable new hobby of scrapbooking, and then ran up to my room. I went straight to my computer to check my email.
Earlier in the day, I’d posted my last Faith blog entry. I’d only posted sporadic and impersonal things since coming back from Abigail’s, unsure of what to do with the site. Even though I’d promised Abigail I’d end it, I was hesitant about outright shutting it down with no explanation. But making up new fake Faith stories wasn’t right either. I felt like I owed something to my readers, but I couldn’t figure out what it might be.
As the days wore on, I’d started to feel more and more … dirty and deceitful about continuing the story. Knowing that there was someone out there, Abigail, who knew the truth and who had been hurt by my lies. I had to follow through with my promise.
So, that very morning, I’d decided it was time to shut the site down once and for all.
It was definitely hard to do, since it felt like deleting a whole part of my personality. Or cutting off a limb with a rusty saw.
But I’d gritted my teeth, removed all the archives, and pounded out one last entry, determined to leave gracefully. In my floweriest language, I’d thanked everyone for reading and told them I was excited and encouraged to pursue other activities.
I’ve been very blessed by our fellowship on this site, I wrote, which was actually totally true. I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible, and I’ve found my happy ending. I wish you all the very best in life. Goodbye!
In the comments, my readers had immediately started to speculate that I was quitting the blog because I’d gotten engaged. Since that, of course, was the only possible happy ending for a girl like Faith. They begged and pleaded for more details, but I didn’t respond, even though new ideas for the next chapter of Faith’s life involuntarily flooded into my brain.
I was done with faking Faith.
But maybe I could put it in a novel …
That night, I swiftly clicked through the comment notifications in my email inbox, one by one, but stopped cold when I saw something from Abigail. Despite everything that had happened, she was apparently still checking my blog. And for one terrified moment, I thought maybe she was going to out me to all the readers and create the second public Internet scandal of my life.
But, no … it was just an email directly to me. Abigail hadn’t commented publicly.
She’d addressed the email to Faith, despite the fact that she knew that girl didn’t exist. It was like she was writing to a ghost.
Is it sad that I’m going to miss your blog, even though I know now that everything you wrote was completely made up? It was like finally meeting a kindred spirit, this girl who seemed to know what my life was like, who wrote so genuinely. There are other blogs out there, I know, but yours somehow felt the most real. I wish you were real. I didn’t feel so alone. But I guess that makes me silly.
It was near midnight and she’d sent it only a few minutes before, at a time when I knew everyone else in her house would be in bed. I imagined her sitting in the little computer room in her pink nightgown, the dark house pressing down around her. I wanted to reach through the screen and give her a hug.
But all I could do was reply to her email.
Always remember that I will come and get you, no questions asked. I have your back.
And I included my phone number.
I thought there was a good chance she’d just delete my email, but it didn’t hurt to say it one last time. Maybe someday, if my darkest worries about Beau were confirmed and she found herself in a bad spot, she would remember my promise.
Almost immediately, as if she’d been sitting there waiting for my reply, another email arrived in my inbox.
Just so you know, Asher left the farm in Georgia where Daddy took him just a few days after he got there. He left a note that he was going to travel for a while, and no one’s heard from him for a couple of weeks. If you happen to see him, please let me know he’s okay. We miss him.
I stared at the words on the screen for a while, my heart pounding, trying to comprehend.
Asher had actually broken away from his family! Was he on his way to Chicago to find me? If he’d left weeks ago, why hadn’t he gotten here yet? Where was he?
Wasn’t he looking for me?
The note he’d written on that last morning was sitting in my top desk drawer. I took it out and traced the words with my finger for a while, something I’d been doing almost every night since I’d gotten home. Despite what I’d said to Kelsey and Amanda about being totally casual regarding Asher, my heart still hurt. And all I wanted was more time with him. That didn’t seem like too much to ask.
But even with this new information, his message was just as vague and maddening.
Dylan,
As soon as I deserve you, I will come and find you.
Love, Asher
What did that mean? We were both screwed-up, flawed people with regrets and weird histories. Why didn’t we deserve each other now? What could he possibly be out there looking for?
There wasn’t any way for me to know the answer. I’d only drive myself crazy.
After a while, I put the note away, shut my computer down, and looked around my lavender room. Mom and I had gone shopping for some new white bedding, and my space was cozy and clean and cheerful, even at night. It felt more like a place I could be content than my old room ever had.
I’d washed my modest clothes from the trip to Abigail’s and they were all sitting in a heap in my closet, waiting for me to figure out what to do with them. I took out the pink nightgown with the silly bow at the collar that Abigail had given me and put it on. It felt soft and familiar on my skin.
Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought of Asher and his words. I couldn’t picture where he was or what he was doing. He had no Internet presence, so I couldn’t stalk him online. I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t email him. I couldn’t go physically looking for him. All I could do was keep living my life, try to figure it all out, and hope that maybe someday I’d see him again.
But with my whole full heart, I tried to send waves of love and acceptance to wherever Asher was sleeping that night.
“You’re amazing,” I whispered into my dark room. “And you deserve to be happy.”
And for the first time I could remember, I fell asleep peacefully.
©Adam P. Schweigert
About the Author
Josie Bloss grew up in East Lansing, Michigan. She attended the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor and the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. When not mining her high school journals for material, Josie enjoys obsessing over various TV shows, karaoke, and all things theater. She lives in Bloomington, Indiana.
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright Information
Acknowledgments
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
About the Author
er: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share