Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 1)
prologue
East Texas, 1991
Faith O’Brien had been looking for her father for as long as she could remember. From a slight glance out of her upstairs bedroom window at a lone passerby to a concentrated scrutiny of familiar faces she saw each autumn Friday night in the crowded wooden bleachers of the high school stadium, she searched. With a single, faded black and white photograph that she took often from a worn little box that held her only other connection to him–a tiny gold ring he had given her mother the first year they dated, she had tried to picture him, studying every tiny detail of the handsome nineteen year old boy with a crooked grin, leaning against an old, but shiny Oldsmobile.
When she pressed her aunt Alice, as she often did, to describe him better, Alice’s answer was always hesitatingly the same with her reflective voice trailing off at the end. “He was tall, lanky and athletic, with hair the color of a cinnamon stick and eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. Yet even when he smiled, he had a haunting sadness in those eyes that I never understood and can’t explain.”
In sharp contrast, Alice talked easily and often about Sue, Faith’s mother, and there were photographs of her in assorted old fashioned frames displayed on small tables at either end of the couch and one atop the mantle. A grouping hung prominently on a wall in the small formal living room with pictures of a pudgy two year old mischievously sticking four chubby fingers in the sugar coated frosting of a lopsided birthday cake, a skinny preteen striking a silly pose with girlfriends and a serious young lady accepting her high school diploma at commencement. Together they depicted a sequence of growing up in a long ago life, yet they also portrayed how strikingly similar a daughter now looked–the resemblance, pronounced, straightforward and undeniable except for one distinctive difference–her eyes. No question, Faith had her father’s gentle, searching, telling blue eyes.
The pictures were a constant reminder to Faith of her mother’s indirect presence in their lives, but they also made it painfully obvious that she was not really there, that she was gone forever.
Her disappearance and apparent death and her father’s betrayal of the woman who loved him had not been something Alice had kept from Faith even as a toddler, instead explaining all the circumstances, everything. Everything, that is except why the young man who was her father chose to be a Priest rather than return for his child. That was mystery even she, the adult, couldn’t solve.
And so it was early in Faith’s life that she knew her mother wasn’t coming back, couldn’t come back. But he was out there…somewhere. So Faith kept pursuing, probing, chasing after a shadowy, silent figure from a tattered snapshot and a sketchy past she heard about late at night when she climbed into Alice’s lap with questions only a child could ask. Often after their conversations, she dreamed about him, seeing him clearly, vividly, matching the description Alice had patiently repeated. And always she imagined him holding her hand while she clumsily took her first awkward steps or demonstrating how to shift gears and ease off the clutch as she practiced for a much anticipated driver’s permit and someday at her wedding, walking her down the aisle to give her away. It was always then that she woke up, remembering it was all a dream because one can’t give away what he never claimed.
Though she never mentioned it, Alice also looked for Patrick, making phone calls, checking police records, reading newspapers from far flung places at the local library and contacting state and national politicians, even the Vatican, with no success. It certainly wasn’t because she wanted to see him, but her love for Faith compelled her. Actually pleasing Faith was what drove most of her decisions, and going to the class reunion was no exception.
“You simply have to go,” Faith pleaded.
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because Teresa and Jane are expecting you; probably a lot of people are. Besides, you might even enjoy yourself,” a tinge of exasperation in her voice.
“I’m a mess. Look at me. My hair needs cutting and I’ve gained weight.” Pausing, she continued, “I don’t know, Faith. I haven’t seen some of those classmates in so long, I’m not sure we would have anything to talk about.”
“You look great, and you know it! I’m sure you’ll think of something to say. Haven’t noticed that being a problem for you before now,” she added teasingly, grabbing a diet coke from the refrigerator. “I’m off to Lisa’s. We’re going shopping. You better do the same. You know; something sexy to knock them off their feet.”
Rolling her eyes, Alice acquiesced, “Oh, you’re impossible; I’ll go, but I’ll bet I’m home before you are.”
Whether it was a stroke of luck, a fluke of coincidence or perfect timing, Alice, mellow from the rum and coke, found herself staying long after the official reunion, reminiscing with friends about babies and divorces, career achievements and setbacks, dreams satisfied and goals unmet.
As she had expected, everyone in the little group who sat huddled around the picnic table in the same city park where they had played as children, had had their ups and downs. Tears filled Teresa’s eyes as she talked about her fifteen year old son who had died four years earlier in a hunting accident.
Sparing no expletives, Jane related how she discovered her husband was having an affair with his secretary. And the dark circles under Joey’s eyes told his story before he began. Twenty plus years of binge drinking had taken its toll on the once ambitious student body president. Tapping his foot nervously against the wooden bench, he sipped a 7-Up and looked away from the others, as if remembering the happier times when he was co-captain of the football team and Homecoming King.
“I lost my job and my family. This AA deal is my last straw. I just hope I can hang on.”
The only one apparently unscathed by the years was David, now a research scientist and professor in Minnesota who from all indications had fulfilled the old yearbook prediction of “Most Likely to Succeed.” He sat quietly, silently assessing the casualties and wondering if Alice knew he still loved her. He had since sixth grade when they began walking to the corner drugstore his uncle owned. Every day after school, they slung their books on the counter and drank a coke float before Alice walked the remaining four blocks home. One afternoon he bashfully admitted he had a crush on her, but she had responded only with a whimsical smile and asked to copy his math homework.
David knew even then she would never feel the same about him, but it didn’t stop him from caring, though he never mentioned it again. He knew too well it wasn’t going to happen now either, yet he still enjoyed smelling her perfume as it wafted toward him when the gentle summer breeze filtered through the tall pines. He watched the corners of her mouth turn up when she giggled and thought how much some things never change. But, now he listened intently as she somberly related Faith’s interminable, but fruitless search for her father. After a long pause, he said softly “I have an idea,” stroking a stubby salt and pepper beard that fit his craggy face perfectly. “There’s a colleague of mine at the university who is experimenting with a new computer search engine, Gopher, as in our mascot. It might just open up some leads,” he added, wanting desperately to help.
»»»»»
When the call from David came two days later, Alice’s voice quivered as she thanked him and said goodbye. She turned slowly, reaching to place the phone back in its cradle, but her shaking hand missed its mark, and the receiver dangled as limply as she felt. She was torn; relief and apprehension overwhelmed her, and for a minute she felt old and tired and wished she hadn’t pursued this. What if he turned his back again, rejected Faith after all these years? What good could possibly come from finding a man who had tossed aside his own child like a throwaway toy—a man who was seemingly more interested in the souls of others than the heart of his offspring? The answers might not be easy to accept, but she knew Faith O’Brien was determined to get them. She called out to her, “Hon, your search is over; your father is in Maine.”