Keeping Faith

Helen and Rose had given her an expensive headset for her last birthday so that she could listen to music while she ran. She’d used it a couple of times, but preferred the natural fugue of ocean sounds: the steady crash of the waves, the screeches and coos of gulls and pigeons and the slap of her feet on the asphalt.

These morning runs were hers alone, a time to think. Anything, from musings on what she’d eat for lunch to more profound matters such as whether she really wanted to spend the rest of her life teaching overprivileged and precocious four-year-olds.

This morning, her thoughts were dominated by Liam.

When she jogged up Termino twenty minutes later, she could see her mother outside the house, down on her knees, using a trowel to dig around the bird-of-paradise plants along the steps leading up to the front door. Margaret saw her and leaned back on her heels, trowel in hand.

“Damn nasturtiums, they run wild.” Margaret gestured with the trowel at the offending pale green tendrils. “Every year I pull them all out, and every year they come back more than before. God knows why your father ever planted them in the first place.”

Panting from her run, Hannah looked at the pile of orange calendulas and green nasturtium leaves her mother had yanked out. Neither plant, in Margaret’s opinion, was in keeping with the Spanish architectural style of the house and she waged an ongoing and futile battle to eradicate them. Hannah bent and picked half a dozen blooms. “We need to talk, Mom,” she said.

Still on her knees, Margaret glanced up. “Debra called this morning. I guess you know she’s pregnant.”

Hannah nodded. Dennis had refused to put Deb on the phone when Hannah called earlier.

“Now she’s saying Dennis doesn’t want her to have the baby. She’s come back here with her suitcases.” Margaret gathered up the discarded plants and dumped them into the trash can at the side of the house. She ran her hands down the sides of her sweats, brushed the back of her arm across her face. “I don’t think she has the vaguest notion of what she really wants—”

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about Debra right now.”

Margaret eyed her warily.

“I saw Liam last night.” Arms folded across her chest, she looked at her mother. Margaret’s face was unreadable, her eyes hidden by the baseball cap she wore, but Hannah sensed that there was a battle brewing. “I don’t even know where to start,” she said.

“Then don’t, okay?” Margaret’s stance mirrored Hannah’s, arms folded, feet slightly apart. “I’ve got enough on my mind with Debra. I don’t need you giving me a hard time about something that happened years ago.”

Hannah stared at her mother, incredulous.

“I know for sure I’m not paying for her to have an abortion,” Margaret said, “but she’s so headstrong, I don’t even want to think what she might try. Rose and Helen are in there talking to her now. I had to come outside, I couldn’t listen to her anymore. This is my grandchild she’s casually talking about destroying.”

“For God’s sake, Mom. This isn’t about you. It’s about Debra and what she needs to do for herself.” Hannah took some deep breaths. Debra could fight her own battles. “You lied to Liam.”

Margaret looked at her for a moment. “You know what, Hannah? I don’t intend to discuss this with you. I’ve got enough on my mind.” She started for the house. “Helen put a coffee cake in the oven and it’s probably done now. It’s a new recipe she clipped from the Times. You mix up sour cream and—”

“Damn it.” Hannah grabbed her mother’s arm. “You are not just walking off. I want some answers.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really wrong?” Margaret jerked her arm from Hannah’s grasp. “I’ve never seen you so worked up.”

“You told Liam I’d had an abortion, Mom. That’s what’s really wrong. Do you even realize the consequences of what you did? By lying to him—”

“Okay, Hannah, we’ve covered the lying issue. Let’s talk about the consequences of your going to see him last night. Let’s talk about the fact that he now wants to take Faith back to Ireland.”

“What?”

“He called this morning while you were running.”

“He said he was taking Faith back to Ireland?”

“Not in so many words. He said he wants to talk to you. But it’s like Rose was saying, he’s a troublemaker. If he tries to get Faith… Well, Helen gave me the name of an attorney who specializes in this sort of thing. When you’ve calmed down a bit, we need to give him a call.”

“Mom.” Hannah held her hands to her face for a moment, then took them away. “I don’t believe this, I just don’t believe it. You lied to Liam, deprived him of his daughter. Deprived Faith of her father and you’re talking about legal action?”

Rose called from the kitchen, and Margaret glanced up at the house. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “Listen, Hannah…” Her voice broke, and she swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Don’t make me the enemy, okay? Any of us. Helen, Rose—”

“So they were in on it, too?”

“Don’t say it like that. We were out of our minds with worry about you. Your father, too, to the point that it killed him. Imagine how you’d feel if Faith’s life was in danger. Wouldn’t you do whatever it took to save her?”

“Faith’s a child, Mom. I was a grown woman. It’s not quite the same thing.”

“We found you walking along the side of the freeway,” Margaret said. “Distraught, irrational, talking about killing yourself. And for what? For a fly-by-night musician, a womanizing jerk who wasn’t aware enough to recognize the state you were in.”

“That still didn’t give you the right to lie. To me, or to Liam.”

“To hell with Liam.” Margaret’s voice rose. “Liam isn’t my concern. You are. You’re my daughter and I was scared to death for you. You were clinically depressed. That’s the term the doctor used. Maybe it was wrong, maybe I should have stayed out of it and just thrown up my hands and said ‘oh well,’ but I couldn’t do it. If you’re mad at me, so be it.”

“Margaret,” Rose yelled from the doorway. “Hannie. Come and have some coffee cake. Debra has something to tell you.” She winked at Margaret. “Good news.”

“Come on, sweetie.” Margaret touched Hannah’s arm. “Please understand that this worked out for the best. You’re happy now. You’ve got your life back together. Faith’s happy. All of this other stuff is in the past. Just let it go. It’s not important.”

Hannah shook her head. What was the point? Her mother absolutely couldn’t see the enormity of what she’d done.

“Hannie.” Margaret peered into her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not going to see him again. What possible good can come out of that?”

“Liam deserves a chance to know his daughter, that’s all I know. And I’m going to see that he gets it.”

THE DOCTOR IN THE E.R. had a high forehead and a pinched-looking mouth and he wanted to know if Brid was Liam’s wife. Dazed and groggy from too little sleep and God knows how many black coffees, Liam shook his head.

“No, but I’m her best friend.”

The doctor raised a brow. “Then you should have gotten treatment for her long before this.”

Liam swallowed the words he’d been about to say. He didn’t like this doctor with his condescending attitude. He was in a foul enough mood that it was all he could do not to pick up the little prat by the lapels of his starched white coat. He’d been on the phone with Hannah’s mother when someone yelled out that Brid had collapsed. In an instant he’d dropped the phone and, ignoring Brid’s protests, had driven her to the emergency room.

“What are you?” the doctor asked. “Some kind of band?”

“That’s right,” Liam said. “Some kind of band.”

“She said you’re on tour.”

“She’s right,” Liam said. “How is she?”

“She needs treatment,” the doctor said. “She has an eating disorder. I’d suggest you get her into some kind of program or she won’t be doing much touring anymore.”

“AH, THAT’S A LOAD OF COD,” Brid said when Liam told her what the doctor had said. “I’ve let myself get a bit run-down, that’s all. I’ll start taking my vitamins again.” She sat up on the narrow cot, reached for the tie at the neck of the cotton hospital robe. “Now, clear out of here, Liam, while I find my clothes. We’ve got a show tonight.”

“The show’s canceled tonight,” he told her. “Probably the next few nights, too. No more shows until you’re well enough.”

“CANCELED?” Hannah stared at the bartender, who was polishing glasses in the dimly lit main room of Fiddler’s Green. A couple of guys sitting at the bar looked her way then returned their attention to the televised basketball game. “But I thought they were supposed to be here for three nights.”