Finding Faith

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Faith’s eyes blinked open.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Looking around, nothing in the dimness of the basement room she was in gave any clue as to what that unending sound was.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Sitting up on the mattress she’d slept on, placed on the floor of her stepmother’s “fitness area”—a.k.a. a room with cement floor and walls filled with exercise equipment covered in a layer of dust—she looked around. Finally, the thumping came to a shuddering stop and the loud, shrill buzzzzzz following made her realize that she wasn’t under attack, but rather the laundry room was next door and had been busy.

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the sheet and quilt off her, revealing the sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d worn to sleep. Though the subdivision in Littleton, an upper-middle-class suburb of Denver, was only twenty years old, she wasn’t convinced the basement had heat. Shivering, she felt around in the dim room, the one small window covered by closed blinds, until she found her shoes. Her toes were frozen, even covered by wool socks.

“Jesus,” she muttered, irritated as her teeth began to chatter now that she was no longer buried beneath a heavy quilt.

Shoes on and tied, she pushed up from the mattress and hurried to the doorless doorway, noting that, sure enough, the laundry room shared a wall with the small room she’d been given, a heap of floor rugs waiting to be washed on the floor in front of the washing machine, the dryer full of the load that had just thumped its way to dryness.

Running her hand through long, blond hair, Faith trotted her way up the stairs, the air getting warmer with every step up. She damn near moaned in pleasure when she pulled the basement door open, the warmth from the main floor enveloping her like a blanket.

She heard the murmurings of the TV in the kitchen and smelled coffee. She made her way in that direction, stopping at the bathroom in the hallway to do her morning business. She washed her face and brushed her teeth with the couple toiletries she’d been allowed to leave there. Finished, she looked at her reflection, noting that her hair was a mess. She studied her reflection for a long moment. Large brown eyes—she was once told she had Judy Garland doe eyes, whatever that meant—looked back, long blond hair colored to perfection. She felt like she was looking at a stranger.

Reaching up, she tried to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order, mentally computing the thousands of dollars she spent every year on expensive Manhattan salons trying to turn herself into what she was expected to be. The facials, mani-pedis, let alone the tens-of-thousands-of-dollars-worth of clothes, all to impress the partners and clients alike. Since her talent, intelligence, and skill as an attorney wasn’t getting her anything except a bigger workload, she’d tried to buy her way into the club she thought she wanted to be part of.

Now, as she stood there in front of a mirror in the downstairs guest bathroom of her father and stepmother’s house, a thirty-nine-year-old woman without a job, without a home, and without a clue who she really was, she began to cry. The tears came fast and hot, but she tried to keep them silent, a trick she’d learned during eleven demeaning years of frustration.

Tugging a wad of toilet tissue, she wiped at her eyes and face before she blew her nose, the tears coming to an end…for now. Blowing out a breath to give her the strength to face her stepmother Carrie, she turned out the light and opened the bathroom door.

“Well, there she is!” Carrie’s ever-present high-pitched exclamation-point-filled tone grated on Faith’s nerves as ever. “Hope the wash didn’t wake you,” she continued, slowly stirring her coffee with a spoon, a bottle of creamer sitting on the counter next to her. “I was going to wait but it was getting late, so…”

A surreptitious glance to the clock on the stove showed Faith that it was eight minutes until seven in the morning, but she said nothing. “It was fine, thanks. A little cold, but fine.”

“Cold?” the older woman said, her bottle-bleach job on full display as her locks nearly glowed in the early morning dimness of the kitchen lit by the flickering TV and the dated light fixture over the sink. “I told Dawson to turn on the heat down there. Darn him.”

Carrie’s poker face was complete, so Faith wasn’t sure if she was being her normal bitchy self, or earnest. “Where is Dawson? I haven’t seen him in a few years. I wasn’t aware that he’d moved back home.” Her twenty-seven-year-old half brother was Carrie’s precious, fragile little egg.

“Oh, that fell through,” Carrie said, waving off the notion. “He never moved out. He had it all planned out with his buddies, and wouldn’t you know it, they went and got a place in Arvada.”

Faith stared at the older woman who had been in her life since Faith was ten years old. “I don’t follow. Why couldn’t he move in with them?” she asked, walking over to the large pot of coffee sitting on the coffeemaker’s hot plate. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” Carrie said, pushing away from the counter to take a seat at the table in the built-in nook in the huge bay window. “Dawson works at Albertsons, as you know. Can you believe he’s going on three years? We’re so proud of him.”

Her back to Carrie, Faith rolled her eyes. I’ve had bras longer than that. “That’s great,” she managed, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“You’ll have to tell him that. I have to wake him up here in a couple hours for work, so… Anyway, so his friends get this place in Arvada, which is like w*********h Alley of the Denver suburbs, and that would be a forty-minute drive for Dawson! Can you imagine?”

Faith took a deep breath to steady the rising annoyance as she stirred in the flavored creamer before turning to face the older woman, coffee mug in hand. “Well, sometimes you do what’cha gotta do,” she said. “I had a thirty-five-minute train ride to and from work when I was in New York.” She shrugged, sliding onto the bench seat across from Carrie. “He has a car, right?”

Carrie took her mug in both hands, her already-thin lips pursing into a s***h across her face. “He’s your baby brother, Faith,” she said, tone flat. “I thought you’d be more sensitive to his needs and the unfairness of the decision his friends made, without talking to us, no less.”

“I actually think it was smart. I mean, Littleton is really expensive, downtown Denver is pretty much out of the range, too, so Arvada, Aurora…” She shrugged again. “A few friends could make it happen.” She brought her mug up to her lips and muttered, “And, he’s twenty-seven.”

Their attention was drawn by the hard, thundering footfalls coming down the stairs, appearing in the kitchen moments later in the shape of her half brother, light brown hair sticking up in all directions with an overgrown beard wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He was barefoot and looked grumpy, more like a sixteen-year-old boy than a man of almost thirty.

Faith hissed in pain as her shin was kicked hard by Carrie under the table in her haste to scramble out of her chair and over to her son. She glared at the woman’s back.

“Honey! Oh no, were we too loud?” she gushed, reaching for Dawson, her hands gripping a somewhat scrawny arm. “I was just telling Faith over there that she needed to quiet down. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Faith gasped as she stared the older woman down. Before she could say anything, Dawson glanced over at her and nodded, his silent Yo loud and clear. “Hey, Dawson.”

“What are you doing up?” Carrie asked, hurrying over to the cabinet above and next to the sink, grabbing a drinking glass. Faith watched, amused as the mother tried to beat her son to the fridge, which he reached first. Carrie’s face and her hand with the glass fell as he grabbed the gallon of milk and drank straight from it. He let out a loud, disgusting belch after recapping the jug and plopping it back in its place.

“Fuckin’ Jose called. Gotta go into work early,” he explained, tossing the tub of cream cheese to the counter next to where his mother had just placed two sliced bagels into the toaster. He nearly hit her with it.

Faith sat where she was, stunned as she watched the events unfolding before her like a fly on the wall, as neither paid her any mind. She couldn’t believe the way Dawson talked to Carrie, and she couldn’t believe the way Carrie coddled Dawson, which no doubt circled back to why he treated her the way he did. It was mind-boggling. Carrie would have slapped the living crap out of her had Faith dared talk to her the way he was.

“Where’s Dad?” he demanded, reaching into the large ceramic cookie jar shaped like a grinning pig on the counter. He retrieved a handful of what looked to be homemade chocolate chip cookies. “He said he’d give me some f*****g gas money today,” he said around a mouthful of cookie.

Faith was disgusted, watching as a large crumb fell out of his mouth. He looked down at it, then kicked it with his bare big toe. She took a drink from her coffee in order to not yell at him to pick it up and throw it away.

“Where else?” Carrie smirked, handing him the first of two bagels slathered liberally with the white spread. “The office.”

“f**k!” Dawson roared. “Mom, how the f**k am I supposed to get to work? I’m on empty.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Carrie said calmly. She handed him the second bagel before placing her hands on either side of his face, his gaze meeting hers. Faith watched, a bit creeped out at the obvious connection the two had. “I’ll get you gas money. Come on.”

“Where we goin’?” he asked, tearing off a piece of bagel with his teeth as he followed her out of the kitchen, neither giving Faith a second look.

“Raid the stash your father doesn’t know I know about,” Carrie said, her voice trailing off as the two headed up the stairs. “Faith,” Carrie called, her voice sounding like it was from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” Faith called back.

“I forgot to tell you. Your father wants you to stop by the office today.”

“What time?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not your goddamn secretary,” Carrie hollered, her voice moving farther away.

Faith smirked. “Yeah,” she murmured. “But you are Dawson’s bitch.”

She sat where she was, stunned and disgusted. She quickly scooted out of the little eating nook and hurried downstairs to the basement to get dressed.

Knees bobbing with the nervous tapping of her heels, Faith waited. She sat uncomfortably in the comfortable chair, one in a matching trio in the small lobby area of the architectural firm of Fitzgerald & Associates. She wanted to bring her hand up to chew on a fingernail, but she forced her hands to stay put in her lap, not wanting to resume a childhood habit she’d dropped in law school.

“Faith?”

Faith turned to look at the receptionist, an elderly woman who had worked at the firm for nearly thirty years, who was just replacing her desk phone in its cradle.

“Go on in, hun.”

Faith smiled at her and nodded, pushing to her feet. She took a deep breath before shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her coat before making her way to the closed office door with Ogden Fitzgerald’s name on it. Taking another deep breath, she reached up and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open.

As she remembered, the overhead light was off and the blinds were pulled on the two large windows, creating a dim, cave-like atmosphere. The only light sources in the room were the light table with blueprints rolled out over it, the opened laptop on the desk, and a small Tiffany lamp which illuminated the organized chaos that was the top of the large desk’s surface.

The man sitting behind the desk had aged so much since she’d seen him last. He hadn’t been part of the reluctant welcoming party the evening before, and she hadn’t seen him in going on seven years.

He looked up from the book he had open in his hands, his light blue eyes looking small and beady behind the thick lenses of his round-framed glasses. His ever-present beard was trimmed as usual, but snow white, just like his full head of hair. Last she’d seen him, there had been some light brown mixed in, the same color as Dawson’s hair.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, her voice low and quiet, keeping in the feel of the dimmed room. “How are you?”

He pushed away from the desk, tossing the book atop a stack of papers and rolled blueprints. He looked like he belonged buried in the stacks of a library or academia with his sweater-vest over a crisp white buttoned dress shirt, replete with bow tie. He certainly didn’t look like he was the brilliant architect he was.

“Hello there,” he responded, large hands shoved into the hip pockets of his loose-fitting corduroy trousers. “Good trip home?”

She nodded. “Long, but good.”

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before Ogden finally made his way around his desk and offered a quick one-armed hug, which Faith returned.

“Let’s sit,” he said, moving away from her and indicating the old, tattered couch that she remembered in the den of their house when she was a kid. Now, however, it was tucked into the corner of the office and was covered with papers as well as a wool blanket. He moved everything aside to create a space for them to sit.

“How’re things?” she asked, not sure what else to say. The energy in the room was stale, uncertain.

Ogden nodded, reaching up to run a hand over his beard. “Finished up the project down in Albuquerque I emailed you about last year. Been working really close with that young architect we hired on in May, Tammy. She’s doing a real fine job.”

“That’s great. I’m glad you picked a woman.” Faith gave him a shy smile before turning away, eying all the framed awards that filled half the wall space across the room from them.

“How about you? What’s your plan? Is the guest room okay for your needs?”

She glanced over at him, wondering if he was being facetious. Nope. Serious as a heart attack. “Um, well, I’m appreciative for the space in her exercise room,” she began, feeling a bit uncomfortable as she didn’t want to come off as unappreciative. “It was fine,” she finished lamely.

“What?” he exclaimed, the most fire she’d seen in him in years. “Exercise room?” Muttering to himself, he pushed up from the couch and stormed over to his desk. Opening the top drawer, he rifled through some things before producing what looked to be a hotel keycard. “Here,” he said, holding it out in her general direction.

Surprised, Faith also stood and walked over to him. She took the card and looked at the plastic, credit-card-sized object before looking at him in confusion.

“We hold this room at all times,” he explained. “We so often have designers and such come into town to work on projects with us that we found it cost-efficient to keep a few rooms booked at all times. Plus,” he continued. “Tom used it during his divorce, and lord knows I’ve used it a time or two to get away.”

Faith was saddened by the resigned tone of his muttered words. “Thanks.” She pocketed the keycard, extremely grateful.

“What about work?” he asked, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses as he met her gaze. “What will you do? Do you need money?”

“No, I’m okay.” She shook her head. “I’ve got a little for now, but I intend to pick up whatever I can, be it McDonald’s or Walmart, whatever, get some money coming in until I decide what I’m going to do.”

Ogden studied her for a moment before he nodded. “A plan is good.”

aaAA

“Heaven,” she muttered. “Pure heaven.” With a dramatic flair, she spread her arms and legs wide, neither hand nor foot able to reach a corner. “I am definitely investing in a king-sized bed one day.”

Sitting up, Faith rested on her elbows as she looked around the beautifully appointed room at the Hyatt Regency in the heart of downtown Denver. She climbed off the bed, still made to perfection, though the comforter was wrinkled from her tumble upon it, and walked over to the sitting area where some of her boxes had been stacked with the help of a well-tipped bellboy. There was no way she was going to leave her car a target of a break-in because it was loaded with earthly belongings.

She grabbed the large duffel bag that held some of her casual clothes and dug out a simple outfit to put on after she took a long, hot, soothing shower. She needed to wash off the road and the slimy feeling she had every time she saw Carrie, even though she had dinner at her father’s house coming up in a few hours. Driving to the hotel, she’d noticed a business a few blocks away that she planned to visit, a change long overdue needing to be made.

She’d never been a fan of science class, always feeling sorry for the little mice sent skittering through the maze to try to find the cheese at the end or the beautiful butterfly pinned to the board and placed under glass. That was precisely how she felt in that moment, though she’d have given anything to go skittering off through a maze right now, only to never come out.

“What?” Faith asked, feeling the wall kiss her back as she took a step backward.

“Who the hell you think you’re supposed to be?” Dawson laughed, crumbs from the handful of popcorn he’d just thrown into his mouth falling into his unruly lumberjack beard. Faith was disgusted.

“Or maybe she was going more for Winona Ryder.” Carrie smirked from near the table as she began to set it for dinner, finally moving out of Faith’s personal space.

“Who?” Dawson asked, looking over at his mother as he stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.

“You went back to your natural color,” Ogden said softly, entering the kitchen. He looked at Faith, who eyed him warily considering the reception she’d been given from her stepmother and half brother. “It fits you better,” he added with a nod. “Your mother was a brunette.”

Feeling a bit shy, Faith brought up a hand and ran it over the dark brown pixie cut she was now sporting. “Really?” she murmured. So few memories of her mother, and somehow, all the pictures of her had disappeared years ago. Faith had always suspected Carrie of being responsible for that but had no proof.

Her father nodded at her question. “You look so much like her like this.”

Faith could only stare at him. She’d never heard him talk about her mother, not since she’d been eight years old. Swallowing, a bit due to nerves and a bit due to surprising and confusing emotions, she nodded. “I needed the change.”

“Can we end the lovefest here and be productive? It’s hair, Ogden. Goddamn hair,” Carrie complained, hand on hip as she glared at father and daughter. “Ogden, get the damn wine. Faith, get glasses from the china cabinet in the dining room.”

Ten minutes later, the four of them sat at the kitchen table in silence, dinner sounds abounding: silverware scraping against a dish, small belch, drinking, the small thud of the dish of cream corn being put back on the table after a second helping was doled out onto a plate. Faith sipped her wine, eyeing the other three over the rim of her wineglass as she did. The food wasn’t bad, Carrie being a half-decent cook when she wanted to be, but the company was anything but pleasing.

“So,” Carrie finally said, her own glass of wine in hand as she studied Faith. “Have an eye on where you want to go, yet? Job?”

“Well,” Faith responded, letting out a tired sigh. “Dad was kind enough to let me stay in one of the rooms at the Hyatt—”

“What?” Dawson asked, looking from Faith to his father. “Seriously? She can’t hack it in New York, so you let her stay there?”

Cool as a cucumber, Ogden met his gaze. “She gave eleven years of her life working for a couple of misogynistic, ineffectual attorneys who denied her what was rightfully hers due to her hard work, dedication, and commitment.”

“Are you serious?” Dawson said, turning his ire on Faith. “You came back here with your f*****g tail between your legs because of that?” He slammed his hands on the table with a dramatic groan. “For f**k’s sake, Faith! Three years I’ve put up with Joel Sandburg chewing my ass out because the traffic is so goddamn bad that I’m late. Have you seen the f*****g traffic here?” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “Am I right, Mom?”

“Pretty bad,” Carrie said with a nod just before putting a forkful of chicken casserole in her mouth.

“Do I quit? f**k no.” He slammed his palm on the table again, his fork nearly jumping off the table in the process. “I stick it the f**k out.” He shook his head and grabbed his can of beer. “Pathetic,” he muttered.

“Dawson, the two are hardly comparable,” Ogden said in his quiet, calm way. “This is a career she worked very hard for, top of her class at the University—”

“Oh, I get it.” Dawson slammed his beer can onto the table. Faith watched with wide eyes, wanting desperately to hide under the table. “I went to college, too,” he roared. “But you don’t care about that do you, Dad? All you care about is that f*****g degree hanging on the wall. The what, what they call it, the f*****g goat’s skin? Well, f**k you!” He slammed back from the table, startling Faith, and even his mother looked alarmed. “f**k you all!” He slammed out the front door, the sound of a car starting following moments later.

“Nice, Ogden,” Carrie said, her voice deadly quiet. “Real nice.” She, too, pushed up from the table and disappeared upstairs.

Left alone with her father, Faith had no idea what to do, what to say. She wasn’t even sure if it was wise to breathe.

After a long moment, Ogden muttered, “I’m going to the office,” then scooted away from the table and left the house via the inside garage door.

Shaken, Faith looked at the empty seats and half-eaten dinner and let out a long, shaky breath. “And they wonder why I never came home,” she whispered. After a moment, she got up and put the leftovers into containers in the fridge, then took care of the dishes and pans before wiping the counters, stove, and table down with a dish towel. Finished with that, she quietly left the house.