She shakes her head threateningly. “Never. Even when I’m ninety, no one will be allowed to call me ma’am.”
I’m finished with my sandwich—which was an unexpectedly tasty combination—and wait for her to finish before I ask another question. “How old were you when you went into the system?”
“Two.”
“So, you don’t remember your birth parents?”
She shakes her head to let me know I’ve missed something or that I have the story all wrong. “Long story short, my mother gave me up for adoption at birth. My adoptive parents…weren’t exactly up to the task of parenting after the newness wore off and they figured out babies, toddlers, were work.”
My heart aches. It aches because I can’t help but think of my kids. “Do you know the circumstances behind you going into foster care in the first place?”
“My caseworker shared my file with me when I turned eighteen. The neglect and abuse was all there in black and white. I’m glad toddler’s memories are purged as we mature.” She looks at me. “That’s one of the best gifts I’ve been granted in life, not remembering the worst. But it did make sense of some of the scars I have.”
I cringe at the pain she has no doubt suffered. “I’m sorry.”
Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t be sorry, Seamus. I don’t remember it—”
“That doesn’t excuse what they did,” I interrupt, feeling protective. I can see Faith in my mind giving hugs to strangers on the beach with a kindness that should’ve never been tainted.
“I’m not saying that because I don’t remember it excuses it. They both did jail time. I’ve never spoken to them. I’m just saying that not being plagued with the awful memories was a sympathetic act the universe bestowed upon me. An act that saved me a lot of money on therapy.”
I smile at her positive take on her life. “You’re pretty incredible, you know that?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I’m just a girl who fought like hell for her name.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was eighteen I legally changed my name to Faith Hepburn. And before you ask, it’s after Audrey and Katharine, because they were both amazing women. And it’s a pretty name.”
“That it is,” I agree. “Are you religious? Is that why you chose Faith?”
“Nope.”
“Faith in what then?”
Her eyes are bright, but slightly aged when she looks at me and answers, “Life.”
I nod. Of course. Everything is about living life to her, experiencing it.
“What about you, Seamus? What do you have faith in?” Before I answer, she adds quickly, “And you can’t say your kids. That’s obvious.”
Damn, that’s exactly what I was going to say. The only other answer that comes to mind is too depressing to verbalize.
“Well?” she prompts.
“I don’t know,” I lie, not wanting to bring this conversation down. “I can’t think of anything.”
“You have an answer,” she challenges. “I can see it all over your face. I can see it in the way your posture slouched. I can see it in the way your eyes dropped.”
I turn my head and look at her and then I sigh and slump back against the couch cushion behind me. “I have faith in decline; the decline of my health, the decline of my sanity, the decline of my happiness. Miranda’s going to make sure I hit rock bottom with everything she’s got. She’s going to strip it all away. I hate her, Faith. I really, truly, hate the woman.” She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to figure out what’s going on and I answer the question. “She’s taking me to court in two weeks to fight for full custody.”
“What? She can’t take your kids.”
“It’s all up to the courts. It’s not fair, you know? That total strangers are going to decide my future and my kids’ future. All because Miranda has a hard-on for revenge and power and flaunting her money. Have I mentioned how much I hate her?” The last sentence I mix malice with sarcasm because I’d rather do that than cry. Or scream and punch a hole in the wall. And I’m on the verge of either now.
“You have to fight. With everything you’ve got.” She looks determined. The kind of determined I want to feel in my heart, that leaves no room for doubt.
I have too much doubt. It’s the bastard child of fear. I hate fear. So doubt sidles up next to determination in my heart. It doesn’t outweigh it. They coexist.
I nod in agreement with her. “I can’t lose them, Faith.” My voice is thick with the sadness and frustration that’s clogging my throat.
“You won’t,” she assures me. And then she stands and walks to the front door and opens it. She bends over and picks up the W…E mat, steps back inside, and closes the door behind her. Then she walks toward me and sets the W…E mat down on the floor directly in front of me. And after she steps onto it she smiles and says, “I need to hug you. Now.”
I take her hand she’s extended to help me up.