“Other guys weren’t?” Matt asked, as if the very thought was inconceivable.
“Not like him. The ones who came from good families. Who had nice clothes and expensive cars.” Like Kieran. Kieran was all those things, and he had been nice to her. And he never once asked her for anything more than to share her life with him.
As if she was the one who had everything he wanted.
“Your family didn’t?”
Faith was done carefully constructing answers out of partial truths to make things sound rosier than they were. If he wanted the truth, she would give it to him. He’d already proven he could handle it.
“No. We were church-mouse poor. My dad was a preacher, so we lived in whatever house, shack, or trailer the parish provided. It was one of the benefits of the job,” she explained when Matt gave her a questioning look. “And the members of the congregation gave us stuff – food, secondhand clothing, an old beat-up station wagon.”
Faith swallowed a pang of regret. Her whole childhood, everything she had had been based on the charity of others. Maybe that’s why she was so vehemently against accepting it now.
They walked in silence while Matt processed that. “You never told me they kicked you out.” Matt’s voice was soft, slightly reproachful.
“No,” she agreed. And she didn’t want to talk about it now, either, but this trip was turning out to be all about facing demons, wasn’t it? What were a few more? Matt wasn’t a baby anymore. If he asked, she would tell him, no matter how painful the truth was. He deserved that much.
“Because of me,” he frowned.
“No,” Faith said firmly. “Because of me, Matt.” She still remembered the look of tremendous relief on her mother’s face the day she picked up that suitcase and walked out the door without causing a scene. No teary goodbyes. No I love yous. Just profound relief.
It still hurt.
Faith never understood why her father seemed to hate her so much. She’d tried to be good, she really did. But she was never good enough. And her father never looked at her the way he did his other children. Her mother hadn’t been much better, but then Faith assumed she was afraid of bringing John O’Connell’s wrath down on her, too.
She hadn’t realized she’d voiced a few of those thoughts out loud until Matt squeezed her hand.
“You grew up around here, right?” Matt’s voice brought her back from her musings. Faith nodded, surprised to find that her feet had unknowingly carried them in that direction. “Yeah, just a couple of miles, actually.”
“Will you show me?”
“Why?”
Matt shrugged. “We’re here till tomorrow, right? Seems like as good a thing to do as any.”
There was more to it than that, Faith guessed. Matt wanted to know where he came from.
“Okay,” she agreed after only a moment’s hesitation. Maybe she needed this, too. Maybe it would help her come to grips with a few things, provide some closure. Just like saying their final goodbyes to Ethan, and letting go of all the emotional baggage she’d carried around over Nathan. It seemed like this trip was about laying the past to rest so they could begin to move forward again.
The parish-provided house didn’t look like she remembered it. It was much smaller. Older looking. More rundown. Judging by the state of disrepair, the congregation wasn’t as diligent in providing free labor and supplies as they used to be, but Faith supposed things were tough all over. It had never been a wealthy parish at the best of times.
“This is where you grew up?” Matt asked in disbelief. The place made their tiny cottage look like the Taj Mahal.
The house was behind the big church hall, out of sight of the main road, but close enough for the preacher to be at the church in a matter of minutes.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
Faith stiffened. The last fifteen years melted away in that moment at the sound of that voice. Matt turned around first. The woman had graying hair, was on the thin side. A well-worn pale blue dress, faded from too many washings, hung on her thin, bony frame.
When Faith faced the voice, the woman’s eyes widened, and she dropped the basket of fruit she held in her hands. “Faith?” Both hands came up to cover her mouth.
“Mama.”
The woman looked as if she had seen a ghost. She broke her gaze away from Faith and looked up at Matt.
Faith attempted a smile. “This is Matthew, Mama. Your grandson.”
The woman shook off her shock and anger contorted her expression into something so ugly Faith instinctively placed herself in front of Matt and took half a step back.
“He is no grandson of mine!” the woman spit with vehemence. She spun on her heel and began to stomp toward the house. An inexplicable rage built inside of Faith. It was one thing for her mother to treat her this way. But her son?