Hope and Faith

NINE: FAITH

Sunday morning. Faith awoke with a pounding headache and a mouth drier than the Sahara desert. She sat up in bed and looked around for a water bottle. There was none in sight.

She threw off her blankets and tumbled out of bed, staggering down the hallway and into the bathroom. After sticking her mouth under the tap for five minutes and filling her stomach with cold water, she turned on the shower and got in. She closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing at all. With the scalding water running down her back, she focused on her breathing and the relaxing sensation that the heat brought.

But then the thoughts started coming, pouring into her brain all at once. She opened her eyes and brought her fist to her mouth. Focus on something else, she told herself. And so she did. She thought about last night. About Carson and Jake. About the alcohol and the fireworks. She had enjoyed herself and had a pleasantly good time, surprisingly. They had good conversations that made Faith feel as though she wasn't entirely alone after all. Besides, Sebastian would be coming up today. She had something to look forward to.

She got out of the shower and wrapped one of her mother's new towels around her damp body. Mascara was still running down her cheeks, but she left it, deciding to keep the raccoon eyes rather than ruin her mother's linen.

"Do we have food yet?" Faith asked as she entered the kitchen. It was ten o'clock. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking her coffee and flipping through the newspaper.
"There's a box of cereal in the cupboard," Claudia said, taking a sip from her mug.
"What about milk?"
"You'll have to eat it dry."
"Gross."
Faith opened the cupboard and brought out the box of cheerios. The package was left open, not surprisingly, by Mike. She put a handful into her mouth and chewed. "These are stale."
"I'll go out later," Claudia said, flipping the page.
Faith grabbed a bowl, poured in the stale, milk-less cereal, and ate it with her fingers as she plopped herself down at the table next to her mother.
Claudia looked at her. "You are aware that we have silverware, yes?"
"I prefer to use my fingers when I'm fine-dining."
"You're not a Neanderthal. Get a spoon."
Faith rolled her eyes and stood, reaching around the drawer for a spoon. She found one and sat down again.
As Faith ate her cereal, Claudia closed the newspaper and looked up, meeting her eyes. "Wear something nice. We're going to church."
"What?" Faith mumbled with her mouth full.
"We're going to church."
"When?"
"In an hour," Claudia said. "Well, it starts in an hour. We'll leave here in forty-five minutes."
Faith swallowed what was in her mouth. "Why the hell are we going to church?"
"Because we are Catholic, Faith Marie Everett. Now stop asking questions, finish your food, and get dressed."
"Fuck church!"
"Watch your mouth."
"I don't want to go."
"I don't care. Michael is going. He didn't complain half as bad as you are right now."
Faith laughed. "Don't lie. Mike's not going to church."
"He is, Faith. Why don't you grow up and stop acting like you're five years old."
That shut her up. Faith slammed the spoon down into her bowl, pushed out of her chair, and headed upstairs. But not before wiping her damp eyes all across her mother's towel.

______

One hour later, they were seated front row at St. Andrew's Church, located just off the main strip of Meadow. Faith chewed her gum and attempted to block out the sound of the minister speaking. Her mother sat beside her, straight and well-postured, listening obediently to the man at the front as he spoke. Mike sat on the opposite side, slouched, but maintaining eye contact. At least he was paying attention.