Breaking Faith Page 2

  We spend the next half hour or so swatting the enemy in our room. Mom applies duct tape to the screen, then joins in the operation. We are all extremely silly and loving every second of it. It’s one of the last times that I saw Mom laugh from her stomach up to her throat, heartily and completely.

  Later, Momma spends more and more time in her bedroom, not eating much, not sleeping; just lying there, being quiet, and staring at the cheap “wheat in the prairie” wallpaper.

  Some days are better than others. Momma told us that she was fine—I hate that word.

  And the Darkness inside me ebbs and flows.

  Chapter 2

  Holidays come and go, and we celebrate in our own dysfunctional way. Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, and Easter march into and out of our little house. And with every holiday, Momma puts up and takes down decorations and tries to act happy and normal. Gran remains her usual cantankerous self—though I try to convince myself that she is enjoying it, watching us open our Christmas presents from the Christmas hamper we got from the school. (I figured that part out much later, when I helped fill the same hampers for needy kids as part of a character-building project in middle school.)

  Kindergarten at Land Street Elementary is a blur, but I do remember the daily battles of disquiet of what I dubbed the Blood Porch. And I remember the helplessness of not knowing why my mother was sad most of the time and the embarrassment at not being able to let the few friends I had come over because my mother and grandmother were usually arguing. And the feeling of relentlessly being on edge, walking on eggshells, and being guilty for experiencing a positive emotion.

  By the time I was six years old and in grade one, the yelling between Mom and Gran was unbearable. My anxiety would peak when they argued, and my mind would relive the Blood Porch incident, making me seek out my sisters for comfort. I found security in snuggling up against Connie until Mom came to us and grabbed us all in a huge bear hug. She made us love her; there is simply no other way to say it. When we were with her, we were all that mattered and we craved her motherly love like a drug. Those were the best times for us. There were good times, but let’s just say that they were far outweighed by the not-so-good.

  At times Mom didn’t come home at night, and this would raise Gran’s ire. The arguments would happen the next day, and the three of us heard everything. It was always the same—that’s why I remember the fights more than most things.

  ...

  It was no secret that my sisters and I all had different dads. Later on that same year, Connie’s other Gran decided to take Connie to her house for extended visits.

  Connie’s dad, Simon, passed away when she was a little kid. Mom’s best times were with Simon and Connie. She never said that, but I knew.

  Mom used to go into Toronto when we were growing up, though we were never supposed to ask what she did or why she was away—later on, I figured it out. It’s bad when a kid figures out shit before the parent has a chance to soften the blow.

  “It’s not normal, this kind of thing, Lacey—your girls need you at home.” Gran’s voice is pointed. It’s springtime and us three kids are sitting on the front porch, listening to the exchange that floats out to us through the screen door, and I’m trying my best to avoid looking at the Blood Porch. “What do ya think it’s doing to them, to know you don’t care enough to be here—to see you in the state you come home in, whenever it suits ya!”

  “I know you don’t believe me, Mother, but I do love my kids.” Mom’s voice is loud and angry.

  “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Lacey. You’ve never shown me any gratitude for lookin’ after those girls.”

  “Please.” Mom drawls out the word. “Don’t you mean money? You don’t want gratitude; all you want is the money.”

  Gran whispers something here that we can’t make out, but it must be something bad because Mom starts to cry.

  I hear stomping footsteps coming toward the front door. “You come back here and face the truth, Lacey!” The door tears open and then slams shut. Mom pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans with a shaky hand, lights one. She takes a long drag and exhales, then sniffs back her tears.

  “Sorry about that, guys.” She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “Gran and I just had a little disagreement.” She takes another drag and speaks as she exhales.

  “Mom, why do you and Gran argue all the time?” I ask. I’m sitting with Destiny on the second step from the top. Mom squeezes in beside us, and Des naturally jumps in her lap. Connie sits on the railing, looking rather detached from the whole situation.

  “Because she’s just an angry old woman who thrives on spreading her misery around. And boy, like shit in a dog park, she’s got plenty to spread around.” We all laugh at that. “You know, I think she’s just tired and spent and ready to be alone—and we’re interfering in her plan.”

  “Then why do we have to stay here? Why can’t you just take us to Toronto with you?” asks Connie. “It’s torture when you go.”

  Mom presses her lips together. “I would love to take you guys there with me. I want to be with you all the time, but downtown Toronto is no place for kids. Besides, my friend doesn’t have the space.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Connie’s eyes narrow as she asks the question.

  Mom looks at the sky. “That’s not important.” Her gaze finds its way back to Connie. “What’s important is that you know that I love you and that I’ll be back every week to visit.”

  “Can you get a friend that has room for us, Momma?” asks Destiny.

  Mom smiles. “I’ll try. In the meantime, I’m working there to make lots of money for you.”

  “We don’t care about money,” says Connie.

  “Well, I do.” There’s an edge in Mom’s voice. “I want to buy us our very own house.” There’s a pause. We all knew when to stop pushing her buttons.

  “Maybe if we knew for sure when we would move there with you, we would be happier,” I offer. “When will it be?”

  “I don’t know.” Mom takes out another cigarette, but doesn’t light it; instead, she holds it between her fingers and rolls it back and forth.

  “Just a guess, Momma. Just a ‘guesstimate’—that’s what Miss Kelly calls an educated guess.” Mom laughs softly.

  “Next month?” asks Destiny.

  Mom shakes her head. “No, that’s too soon.” Her voice is soft and her gaze seems far away. After a pause, she turns to us with sad eyes. “Girls, what I’m trying to do is to make myself better—like right now, I might not be the best mom I can be. You may be better off without me for now.”

  “No, Mom,” says Connie. “We can never be better off without you.” Connie’s right—how can a child ever be better off without her mother?

  Mom bites her lip and looks up at us after she’s thought a while. She points to where I’m poking the dirt with the stick. “Do you see that?” She’s pointing at the burst of color growing out of the soil. “That’s a crocus.” It is a delicate purple flower, with yellow feathered veins and seeds that look like little pearls inside it. “Next spring, when the crocus grows—that’s when I’ll bring all of you to Toronto with me to live. Promise.”

  “When the crocus grows,” confirms Destiny.

  “Yup, this time next year, when you see that tough little flower peek out of the snow, pack your bags, ’cause you’re all coming with me—and Gran, too, if she wants.”

  “Don’t you be making promises to those girls you don’t have any intention of keeping, Lacey!” Gran shouts from the kitchen. “You’ll break their hearts for sure.”

  “Quiet, mother!” She jerks her head toward Gran’s bodiless voice, then winks at us. Next year, in the spring when the crocus blooms, we will all be together again—a promise is a promise.

  ...

  That night, Mom treated us to dinner at Uncle Mario’s Restaurant a
nd then took us to the movies to see Lilo and Stitch.

  After she put us to bed, she went out to visit Wheelchair Louie. I know because I heard the screen door slam shut later on, so I peeked out our window and watched her.

  The next morning, she made us pancakes with strawberry faces and then left for Toronto on the afternoon bus.

  I cried so hard that night, I woke up Constance. Des was already in my bed, but I needed Connie, too. “Connie, come with us,” I said through hiccups.

  “But there’s no room for all of us,” she sighed.

  “I’ll scoot over—just please come beside me.” She conceded to my pleading, and the three of us crammed into one bed. I felt somewhat comforted, albeit temporarily, though it would get worse before it became tolerable.

  Chapter 3

  Lacey McKenna, my mom, was a pretty girl in high school. She was the type of girl that boys gravitated toward—long blond hair, slim, and naturally attractive. Once, before the really bad times, she showed me and Des her high school yearbooks. She and my Gran Dot and Gramps didn’t have much money, but they got by.

  Mom told us about how she went to a dance at Simon’s—Connie’s dad’s—high school. Simon Tingley lived in an affluent area, and his school was in another part of Greenleigh, in the suburbs. They met at the dance and started dating—they were opposites, yet she and Simon fell in love. Before long, Mom was expecting Connie. They decided to keep the baby and get married, despite the protests from Simon’s parents that they were only teenagers and should give up the child.

  Their little family lived happily for a while in an apartment. Simon worked in the Tingley family furniture business, but one winter day while he was on delivery out of town, a transport truck coming the other way lost control. The highway was slippery, and the truck crossed the median into oncoming traffic, slamming head-on into Simon’s smaller cube van. Simon was killed instantly. Mom was devastated. After Simon died, Mom got really wonky—she fell apart, not wanting to eat or shower or even get out of bed.

  Mom and two-year-old Constance moved back in with Gran and Gramps, so that Gran Dot could help her look after the baby. Not long after that, Gramps died and left Gran alone, too. Mom met my dad soon after and eventually had me, Faith Emily Hansen—she never did marry my dad. He now lives in Saskatchewan according to Mom. I think Gran didn’t like him much, or the fact that Mom had another child. But in spite of Gran’s opinions, Mom ended up with yet another baby girl—and Destiny has the same last name as Mom, McKenna. I never met Des’s dad.

  Connie lived with us and would visit her grandmother—Gran Josephine—on holidays. She always came back with fancy clothes and expensive toys, which she willingly shared with me and Destiny. But when Mom started spending more and more time away, Connie’s Gran Josephine insisted on taking Connie to live with her. Mom agreed to it, and, frankly, I believe Gran Dot was relieved.

  Connie moving to Josephine’s house was one of those subjects that I didn’t want to talk about. I yearned to confront her about moving away from us, but the whole topic made me feel awkward. Finally, on the day after the last day of grade one, I worked up the nerve to talk about it.

  ...

  Constance and I are on the swing set down the street from our complex, having a contest at who can swing the slowest without stopping. I must ask her, so I take in a deep breath, push it out, and the words come with it. “Connie, are you glad you’re leaving?” I keep my eyes on the dirt trench that’s been carved out under my swing.

  “I guess.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know. That’s the only thing making me sad about it—you and Des not coming.”

  “I feel sad, too. More than usual.”

  “But Gran Josephine is alone. She needs company. And Josephine says that you and Destiny can come visit. I’ll make her come get you next weekend, and we can have a sleepover.”

  “Really? She’ll do that? Wow, Josephine is so nice.”

  “Yeah.” Connie nods. “Not like Gran Dot at all.”

  “True that.” I think that expression is so cool—I hear some older kids say it.

  “You know, Faith—one night a couple months ago when Mom came home, I snuck downstairs to get a glass of milk and I heard them fighting.” Connie looks around to make sure no one can hear. “It was quiet arguing, so we couldn’t hear and wouldn’t wake up. Gran said that Mom was taking drugs.” My heart sinks into my gut. Drugs. I know drugs means something bad, though I’m not sure to what extent. The word conjures up all sorts of images in my mind’s eye—and they aren’t images of the inside of a pharmacy.

  “I think Mom is just sad that she doesn’t have my dad anymore.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “That’s what Gran said.”

  I’m silent for a while and wonder if she misses my dad, too.

  Connie shrugs again. “Gran said that ever since my dad died, Mom has been ‘spiraling’ and that she’s been pulling Gran down with her. She said that she shouldn’t have had you and Des—and Gran said that she had to leave her nice apartment and move into housing to get enough room for us all.

  “Mom kept telling her to shut up, but then Gran said that Mom needed to leave the guy in Toronto and get cleaned up. To come home and work or get welfare because she needs to stay home and look after us.”

  I feel like I am going to be sick. I can’t speak. Are we not enough for her? Am I not enough for her? I can’t even look at Connie. The stress of dealing with things a seven-year-old should never have to deal with brings on the Dark feelings again. All I want is my momma and to be safe and know that I’m loved.

  Two days later, Connie is set to go. I don’t like the idea of my older sister leaving at all—the way I see it, everyone I care about leaves me.

  “I’ll have my own room and everything, but I’m going to miss you so much,” Connie confides while I help her pack. “I wish Mom could be a real mom and not be so weird.”

  “Why do you call Mom weird?”

  “Because other moms look after their kids, they don’t just leave them and go live somewhere else,” replies Connie. Lacey may have fooled Destiny and me, but Connie had her all figured out. There was something in Toronto that made Mom feel better than we could.

  When we finish, we take the bags downstairs, sit on the living room couch, and wait. Destiny is outside playing on our tiny patch of lawn with the kid next door. Her ball stops bouncing as we hear a car drive up.

  “Gran Dot, Connie—Josesine is here.” Her voice drifts into the living room, and I smile at the mispronunciation. Somewhat reluctantly, Connie picks up two of the bags and heads out the door. I grab the last one and follow, with Gran coming behind me.

  “Hello, Connie sweetheart,” Josephine says sweetly. “Hello, Dot,” she adds in a crisper tone as she comes up the walk. “Looks like another hot day today.”

  “Hmph,” replies Gran. Turning to Connie, she asks, “Do you have everything, Constance?”

  Connie nods, then looks at me and gives me a forced smile. We need to say good-bye but I don’t know how. Connie has been my older sister, my companion, my confidante, and my island of normalcy in the middle of this un-normal family. I have too many feelings and they are too big to hold in.

  “I don’t want you to go, Connie.” I hiccup tearfully. “You’re leaving, just like Mom.” I throw my arms around her and hold her tight. Destiny runs up the steps and does the same.

  “Don’t leave, Connie,” Destiny says softly.

  “Stop making such a fuss, girls—she’s only a half hour away,” says Gran Dot, fumbling in her sweater pocket for her cigarettes. Her eyes are red.

  Josephine pinches her mouth in and looks like she is about to cry. “That’s right, girls. You can come and visit anytime you want.”

  “Next weekend, right, Gran Josie?” asks a tearful Connie. “We’ll come get them and
bring them for a visit, right?”

  “’Course, honey, that’ll be fine—as long as it’s okay with your Grandma Dorothy.”

  “You can take them all as long as you want.” Gran’s lips are pursed. She looks away and lights her cigarette.

  “Okay, you guys, you heard—next weekend.” Connie’s eyes are shedding heavy tears. She holds us tight with one more big hug. “I love you, Faith. Love you, Des.”

  Connie starts to let go, but I can’t. When we let Mom go, things never got back to normal, and I know that it will happen again.

  “I have to leave now, Faith,” she says softly and tries again to distance herself.

  “No, I won’t let you,” I say. Then I hear Josephine’s kind voice.

  “I’ll be back on Saturday morning, with Connie, to pick you up, Faith. I promise.” I open one eye. Josephine is on the porch, holding up her little finger so I can see. “Let’s pinkie-swear on it.” She smiles, and I feel like I should at least give her a chance.

  Halfheartedly, I raise my hand and wrap my pinkie around hers. “You promise—next week.” I’m extremely serious.

  She nods, and her eyes get very serious, too. “I promise, Faith.”

  Only after I feel that I can trust Josephine do I let go of Connie, and, in turn, Destiny does the same.

  My gut instinct heralded the “forever change” as a result of Connie leaving that afternoon. I tried hard to ignore it, to put it out of my mind and to pretend that the feeling wasn’t there, but at night it always came back.

  Chapter 4

  Josephine did come to pick us up for a visit with Connie the next weekend. We had a slumber party and all slept in the same bed. Connie and I stayed up late and talked about how Josephine had rules—we never had rules; we just got yelled at if we did something Gran didn’t like. The next morning, Josephine made us waffles and took us to the lakeshore for a walk. She bought us all matching bracelets that said “best friends” from a cart vendor, then she took Destiny and me home. We all hugged again at the front door.