Keeping Faith

“What do you want to do?”

Debra shrugged. “Not what I’m doing right now, that’s for damn sure. ‘Hi, my name’s Debra,’” she said in a mincing voice. “‘And I’ll be your waitress tonight.’ God. I am so sick of that job. I just want to have a decent job where I’m making some money and I don’t have some jerk telling me to push the desserts and smile more. At least if I have the baby, it’s something different, plus Dennis is being a whole lot nicer since he found out.”

Hannah counted slowly to ten. Where did she even start? She traced the moisture on her glass and looked up at her sister. “What’s happening with your classes at State?”

Deb rolled her eyes. “The instructors were such a bunch of idiots, I swear I couldn’t even listen to them. I mean, I could learn more from surfing the Internet.”

“But you’re not going to get a teaching credential that way.”

“Don’t start on me about that, I’ve already heard it from Mom.”

“Deb.” Hannah put her elbows on the table. “You hate working where you are now, you hated working at Marie Callender’s, you hated worked at Denny’s—”

“Shut up, Hannah.” Debra jumped up from the table, stomped over to the pantry in her clunky black waitress shoes and emerged with a bag of Oreos that she ripped open. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” A cookie in one hand, she regarded Hannah as though she’d suddenly recognized something that hadn’t been clear before. “You think you’re so damn perfect.”

Hannah snorted. “Right.”

“No, you do. And Mom does, too. I am so sick of hearing how hard Hannah worked to get her degree, how wonderful Hannah’s job is, what a great boyfriend Hannah has. ‘Allan’s an attorney,’” she said, mimicking Margaret’s voice. “‘And he lives on Riva Alto Canal and he’s just so wonderful and Hannah’s so wonderful—’”

“Maybe that’s your interpretation, but it’s not the way I feel…”

“Yeah, whatever.” Debra eased the top off a cookie and bit into the cream filling. “I don’t give a damn. Maybe you’ve got it figured out now, you know damn well the whole reason you got pregnant was to keep Liam around.”

“No, I don’t know that.” Her face suddenly warm, Hannah held Debra’s glance. She heard Margaret’s car pull into the driveway and lowered her voice. “Look, Deb, having a baby is a huge decision—”

“Well, duh…” Debra was up from the table again. “Like I don’t know it’s my decision, too? God, I don’t even know why I try to talk to you. Just because Liam was a jerk doesn’t mean all guys are that way.”

“Whoa…” Rose walked into the kitchen just as Debra stormed out. “What’s the matter with her?”

WHILE MARGARET WORRIED aloud about Debra all through dinner, Hannah thought about Liam. Twenty-eight hours since she’d seen the article. Twenty-eight hours of thinking about practically nothing else. She didn’t know his schedule—except for next Friday—but he was somewhere in California and it was making her crazy. Thinking of him in Ireland was one thing, thinking of him maybe just an hour or two away was something else. He could call. Of course, he could have called from Ireland, too. But he hadn’t called. And he wouldn’t call.

“Dennis is not a good influence on Deb,” Margaret was saying now. “I mean a bartender, for God’s sake. And he bleaches his hair. What kind of guy would do that?” Her brow furrowed, she dug a fork into the gooey custard on her plate. “What is it with my girls?” she asked, glancing at Helen. “Why is it they both seem to have this thing for irresponsible men?”

“Well, hey, bad boys are more fun, huh, Hannie?” Aunt Rose, in a loose black silk shirt printed with beer bottles from around the world, winked at Hannah. Rose, a cosmetologist, was divorced from her second husband and staying at the house just until she got her credit card bills paid off. She’d recently had her eyelids tattooed with permanent liner because, she confided to Hannah, she hated to wake up beside a man and look washed-out. Rose was absolutely certain Mr. Right would turn up one of these days—for her and for Hannah. Rose had her money on Allan.

Aunt Helen shot Rose a disapproving look. “I’m quite sure that Hannah has already learned her lesson with…immature young men and I have no doubt that, before long, Debra will, too.”

The youngest of the three sisters, Helen was small, pink and fair with a large soft bosom and a similarly proportioned bottom. Faith, who adored Helen, once confided to Hannah that hugging Aunt Helen was like hugging a great big marshmallow. Helen taught junior high school and everything she said had a sweetly reasoned tone as if she knew that, even under the most obnoxious and intractable behavior, goodness was just waiting to shine. Helen’s husband had died years ago in a freak lightning storm back in Missouri where they’d gone to see his mother. Afterward, Helen had moved into the small guest cottage on Margaret’s property and decorated it with Laura Ashley fabrics.

“What about that nice attorney?” Helen asked Hannah now. “Are you still seeing him?”

Rose shot up her hand. “If you’re not, I get first dibs.”

“Rose,” Margaret and Helen said in unison.

“Hey, I like younger men.” Rose grinned. “And he lives on Riva Alto Canal. What’s not to like? Do your old auntie a favor, Hanny. See if he has an older brother.”

“Well…” Helen smiled as if to say that particular subject was over. She looked at Faith. “Listen, sweetie, if you’ll go bring me my purse over there on the couch, I’ve got a little surprise for you.” Faith darted across the room and returned with a large canvas bag. “Let’s see what we have here.” Helen reached into the bag. “James and the Giant Peach and Sleeping Beauty.”

“Oh, wow.” All smiles, Faith clutched the books. “My absolute favorites.”

“I knew they would be.” Helen dropped a kiss on Faith’s nose. “Now why don’t you run off and read them? The grown-ups want to talk about really boring things.” She gave Faith a few moments to leave the room, then produced a newspaper clipping from the bag. “This is probably something we should discuss.”

Hannah felt her stomach tense. She watched Margaret, who was sitting next to Helen, reach for the clipping. Waited for the shock to register on her mother’s face. The room felt hot and still suddenly. Margaret carefully set the clipping down on the table. Fingers over her lips, she looked at Hannah.

“Did you know Liam was coming back?”

“I just saw the announcement in the paper yesterday.” She drank some water. They were all watching her. “It’s no big deal, Mom.” She looked at Margaret. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

Margaret drank some wine. “You’re not planning to see him, are you?”

“Of course Hannah doesn’t want to see him,” Helen said.

“Why would Hannah give a hoot about Liam?” Rose asked. “She’s got this hotty attorney boyfriend. Liam’s ancient history. Right, Hannah?”

“ANY PLANS FOR A WEEK, Saturday?” Allan asked Hannah Wednesday morning when he dropped off his son at La Petite Ecole. “I have symphony tickets.”

“Saturday?” She’d been sitting at one of the small painted tables selecting books for the afternoon’s story session and she stood so that he wouldn’t tower over her. Actually, she could stand on a table and he’d still tower over her. Allan was tall. She wasn’t. Flustered now, mostly because next Saturday was Faith’s birthday party and she was wavering back and forth about inviting him, she tried to find a way around the question. “Saturday.” She frowned as though trying to picture her extensive social calendar. “Let me think.”

Allan smiled indulgently. Allan always smiled indulgently. It was one reason she had trouble picturing them walking into the sunset together. That, and he called her “Kiddo.” On the plus side, he was thoughtful, patient and sweetly romantic. As her Aunt Rose would say, she could do a lot worse. And, as her mother would add, in a not-too-subtle jab, she already had.

Allan and his ex-wife shared custody of four-year-old Douglas, who was in Hannah’s class. A fastidious little boy, Douglas disliked getting his hands dirty and insisted on using a straw to sip his milk because he worried about germs on the glass. She’d been talking to Allan about his son’s phobias during a parent-teacher conference and then somehow they’d moved on from Douglas to foreign films and she found herself accepting Allan’s invitation to a festival. Half a dozen or so dates later, he was talking about moving in together. She felt him watching her, waiting for an answer.

“Actually, next Saturday is Faith’s birthday party,” she finally said, because she couldn’t think of any way around it. “If you weren’t busy…”

His smile broadened. “I’ll give the tickets away. I’d love to meet your family and get to know your daughter.”

“Well, I’m not sure you’ll have much opportunity to get to know her. At last count, I think there were about fifty kids coming.”

“Hey, it sounds like fun,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She smiled back at him. He really was kind of sweet, even if he didn’t exactly make her heart turn over. “Okay, but don’t pay any attention to my mother and aunts. They have this thing about me getting married, so they’ll start asking you pointed questions about your intentions.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Really?”

“Yeah, so tell them you’re just out for a good time and the last thing you’d ever want to do is settle down.”

“But what if that’s not true?” His eyes searched her face. “What if I tell them you’re exactly what I’m looking for?”

“Uh…” She felt her face go warm. “Please don’t, okay?”

He smiled. “Are we a little gun-shy, kiddo?”

“Not a little, and Allan…please don’t call me ‘kiddo.’” She picked at a piece of skin on her finger. “Look, I screwed up once. I’m not about to jump into it again.”

“Perhaps you just married the wrong guy.”

Hannah shrugged. Inviting him had definitely sent the wrong message, she could see that now.