Storyteller

Chapter 13

Tim POV: 

Blaire died when Faith was twenty-five, I was twenty-six. She had Rheumatic Heart Disease, and was sick for about a year and a half before she passed. Faith and I didn't eat, or sleep, for about a week after her funeral. Hell, we barely moved. We went from being a happy-go-lucky family, to a mourning couple, who just lost the light of their life. 

She had white blonde hair, and Faith's green eyes. She was tiny, likely a defect of Faith being so young when we had her. She had problems breathing as a child, so when her rambling as a toddler grew a little raspy, we didn't think much of it. Apparently, she had strep at some point, which grew into Rheumatic fever, which lead to Rheumatic Heart Disease. They took an MRI, and said she was sick, before telling us she needed a surgery we had no means to pay for. 

That's where Tug came in... He payed for her medical costs, and funeral cost. That's something I'll always be thankful for. He never thought twice about it, he just did it, even paying for additional surgeries after they decided she was terminal.

We moved to Nashville that year, got jobs singing, and never looked back. Our jobs would replace family, and help us move on for a while. 

The sick part was Blaire should've had three or four more years. She was outside with Faith, picking wild flowers to put in her vase in her bedroom, when she just collapsed. She had flowers in one hand, and her toy rabbit in the other. The rabbit was her constant companion, even when she had MRI's and X-rays we couldn't stay with her for. I clung tightly to it as the doctor told us that she had an unexpected artery leak, and that she was gone. 

I remember Faith's shriek like I had just heard it a moment ago... The sound is forever embedded in my memory, as well as the sight of her kneeling beside our tiny, precious baby girl who was no longer breathing, flowers in one hand, rabbit in the other. Her blonde hair was tied up with a white ribbon, and she wore a red shirt, and blue shorts, since it was independence day. She was excited to see fireworks that always shot up from behind the tree line by our small house. That sight enchanted her. 

We kept her a secret, and kept our past a secret too. Had the press figured out Faith moved to Start, they'd tear her to pieces. I could get away with more. Plus, most of the people there understood how Blaire is sacred to us, and ultimately, private. We don't need paparazzi digging around for pictures of her, and creating some sad sob story about it. Blaire was our first baby girl, and she died. End of story. 

...Or... I wish it were... Faith was only seventeen when we had her. She missed a quarter of senior year, which I helped her make up quickly, had Blaire, and then came back while my mom took care of Blaire for the rest of the school year. Once summer hit, I went to community college, picking up some pretty lame construction and trucking jobs on the fly for cash, which ended up buying us a tiny two bedroom house on the outside of town. 

The pregnancy wasn't easy. Faith got sick often, and bled quite a bit. When Blaire was born, she had a fever, and was a little discolored. They told us about how there was a problem with the umbilical cord, where Blaire may have not gotten the full amount of what she was supposed to from Faith, and that she may not grow to be like a normal child. She spent her first few weeks in an incubator, being much too small to keep herself warm enough.

She grew up like a normal kid, leaning neither toward Faith or I, but equally between us both. Her mother taught her patience and the beauty in the world, while I taught her how to be strong and to be kind to everyone. She was eager to learn, and eager to grow up.

Faith lays beside me in bed, staring at the bright TV screen, which shows the latest revelations in our history. 95% of it is accurate, which is horrifying. I rather it be ridiculously false and absolutely undoubtedly untrue. 

They start the tirade, calling Faith a slut, since we had Blaire in High School. I think it hurts me more than it hurts her when people say things like that.  She's curled up, facing away from me, looking toward the TV. I look over her shoulder at the screen, watching them show a picture of our old house. 

"I miss her." Faith's voice releases, sounding rough and raspy. I kiss her shoulder, before nodding. 

"I miss her too..." I admit, looking at the clock. We've been in bed for four hours, doing nothing but watching them talk about us. Apparently, this is the biggest news of the day. "It's going to be a long while until this clears up." I take a deep breath, and rub her hip. She nods, and holds onto my hand, resting it on her stomach. "They could've taken part of my heart. They could've fixed her." I spit out, having it running in my head for far too long. Faith swallows hard.

"Tim, they said it would be too unlikely to be worth it..." She replies squeezing my hand. I shake my head. 

"She could've had a few more years, Faith. That's worth it. I'd give my life for those few years." I confess, my throat burning as I say so. Faith begins to think of things to argue back, but her head isn't running as fast as mine is at the moment. "All I've done is drink and sing."

"And help bring three beautiful girls into this world." She says, biting her lip. I shake my head, although horrible in thought. 

"I would be better dead." I spit out. She falls winded for a minute, squeezing my hand tighter. 

The TV switches to a video of me and Faith on stage. I wince, as I recognize Faith's clothes. In the video, I grab Faith's arm, before punching her abruptly, and walking off. I jump, unsure if my eyes are fooling me or not. Faith is tense, as she watches it for the first time.