Breaking Faith Page 5

  Connie holds out her hand to stop Josie. “Wait, Gran. Mom, I think what Gran Josie is saying is that even though you’re home, I can’t just drop everything and come back. I’m in grade eight now, I’ve been at that school for years, I’ve made friends, I’m on the student council, I graduate this year, I—”

  “Okay, okay.” Mom breathes out as her face flushes. “Connie, you take as long as you need. I don’t want to upset your life more than I have already. That just wouldn’t be fair, or realistic. I was just hoping that…that we could…”

  “We will, Mom.” Constance smiles weakly and casts her eyes on me and Destiny. “We will. I need a little time is all.” She wipes her mouth and sets the rolled-up serviette on the table. Destiny looks to Mom, then Constance. “Are you coming back, too, Connie?” It’s so easy for Des—simply come back, like nothing’s happened. A child’s innocent mind, thinking it could all go back to the way it was—or the way we thought it was.

  Oddly, it’s what Mom was expecting, too.

  At the door, our good-byes are strained. Connie is cold to Mom, but hugs Destiny and me with all her heart and soul. I can smell her guilt at leaving us, but I can also see that her desire to go back to her affluent life in the suburbs outweighs the benefits her sisters would reap from her presence.

  Chapter 8

  Mom has made it through three weeks of outpatient rehabilitation. She’s doing well, I think, encouraging myself that everything’s finally going to be okay. Then Connie drops the bomb—she’s staying with Josie indefinitely.

  Social services got involved, but it was decided that there had been enough trauma and harm done in the relationship, so it’s suggested to Mom that perhaps it’s best to wait it out and let Connie heal in her own way.

  “Connie, you promised,” I beg her over the phone. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Come home. Momma needs us around her.”

  “Faith, I love you, but I’m sick of talking about what Mom needs. What about what I need, or what you need, or Des…what about that? Did you ever think of that—does she ever think of that!”

  For this, I don’t have an answer.

  Connie’s decision is as devastating to Mom as it is to me. But what I don’t realize is Mom is weaker than I thought.

  One night I hear Mom and Gran’s angry voices downstairs. I pray to the Ultimate Being that Gran will stop talking to Mom in that way. Filled with curiosity, I go to my door and open it just enough so I can hear better, but by that time the conversation ends. The final words are punctuated by a slamming door and then quiet.

  My mind is stewing over what they could have been talking about—was it me? Was it Connie? Of course, it had to be Connie. She was the one causing trouble—she wasn’t helping Mom at all by staying away. All she was doing was making it worse by leaving. I feel the Darkness creeping back into my belly, spreading inside me like a choking fog.

  And who left—was it Gran going out for a cigarette and to drink her tea, or was it Mom? And if it was Mom, where did she go? And if she went, was she coming back? This is all Connie’s fault. My mind is creating scenarios of the possibilities, each one a Venn diagram of conjecture and possibilities of blame through endless variables and contingencies. I scooch over next to Destiny and hold her tight, hoping it will ward off the gloom.

  In my mind, it is everyone else’s fault but the one in the center of the Venn diagram—my mother. Eventually, sleep finally comes and allows my mind some much needed peace.

  The next day, I am awakened by Mom. “Get up, Faith, sleepyhead.” Des is in the washroom, water is running, and Des is singing. I get up and get ready for school, go downstairs to breakfast. I note that Mom’s eyes are red and she’s got the same clothes on from last night. I sit beside Destiny and reach for my orange juice.

  “Did you go out last night, Mom?” I ask, looking up from my toast. I don’t want it but I think that I must eat it or I’ll stress Mom out. My mind races.

  “I did.” She sits beside me at the table and nibbles on a piece of my toast. “I needed some cool air—to get away from your grandmother’s hot air.”

  I laugh softly. At least she still has her sense of humor. We pause after the joke and then we get serious again. Her eyes are hollow, and I don’t know how to comfort her.

  “Don’t cry about Connie anymore, Mom—she’ll come home.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “She promised me she would.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She squeezes back. “I can’t blame her—and neither should you.” I can’t help it—I blame her for that and more. A moment of silent reflection is interrupted by Mom’s cell phone. She answers.

  “I told you not to call me here,” she says as she peers at me with her peripheral vision and skulks out of the room. “I wasn’t answering my cell because I didn’t have it on me…”

  I creep to the hallway door to listen. “No, you can’t come here…well, Louie shouldn’t have told you, that asshole…no! I…”

  I take a step closer and the floor lets out a huge creak. Immediately, she stops the conversation. “You and Des better hurry or you’ll miss the bus.” She runs up the stairs, closing her bedroom door behind her.

  All appears to go as usual for the next week, and then the dominoes begin to fall.

  One night, after Destiny and I go to bed, I hear Mom mumble something to Gran. Gran says something back, after which I hear the door rattle open and shut. Unwilling to let myself drift off to sleep without investigating, I creep out of bed and pad to the window. It’s Mom and she’s on her way to Wheelchair Louie’s house.

  My mother had reached a fork in her road that week. The unwillingness of Constance to move back home with us, coupled with the stresses of battling familiar influences and temptations while outside the cocoon of inpatient counseling, pounded on Mom like a hammer to butter. The downward spiral happened outside of my awareness. I figure that she stopped going to counseling at about the one-month mark, not long after she had tread the familiar path to Louie’s. And when her “friend” from Toronto came to collect her, it was too easy for her to surrender.

  She couldn’t stay away from the bad man who made her feel good. He came to claim her because he knew she was weak enough to let herself be persuaded and it was easy for him. Lacey McKenna Tingley left us, her children, and the last chance she would have had to make things just a little right for us all on a Thursday morning—when we were at school.

  ...

  I see Gran at the bus stop. I step down behind Destiny. “Hi,” Des says to Gran.

  “Where’s Momma?” I ask. Since she’s been home, she’s met us at the bus every day.

  “Let’s go home—we can talk there.” A wave of doom washes over me like dirty water. The short walk to the house seems to stretch endlessly in front of me, like in the movies, where people are running to a door, but it gets farther and farther away. Destiny chatters to Gran, but all I hear are muffled words as everything around me seems to hush and my ears begin to ring. Blood Porch is on my left and Gran is on my right and I see nothing ahead of me.

  When I step inside the house, I see Josephine with her arm draped over Connie’s shoulder. My sister, eyes red and wet, and tears rolling down from her chin to her uniform skirt, looks up as I stand on the threshold to the living room. I feel them staring at me and Des as we try to come to terms with what I suspected as soon as Gran opened her mouth at the bus stop.

  “Faith, Des…” Gran’s mouth tries to work, but even she can’t bring herself to tell us. “I called Josephine earlier and told her about it…and she brought Connie down—so you three could be together.”

  “Is Mom dead?” I ask, feeling like someone has to say it.

  “No. She’s alive,” Josephine says. “It’s not that…. Girls, your mom had to go.” Her tone is soft and gentle. “She left for Toronto.”

  “No.” I say. Like if I say no, it’s not going to be
true.

  Destiny walks over to Connie. “For today?” I know the answer to that. If it was only for the day, there wouldn’t be such drama. She must have made it clear that she had no intention of coming back—for crissake, it was like it was her funeral in that room.

  Josephine looks up at me from her spot on the couch and speaks. “No, honey. She said she was moving back. It’s not because of you girls.” She casts her eyes downward, looking for the words that would hurt us the least. “I think she may have relapsed.” Her lips become tight. “She told Gran Dot that she was staying there. She couldn’t face you, but she said she would call you later on and try to explain and that she loves you very much. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Destiny begins slowly, then lets out a guttural wail. She grabs on to me and I wrap my arms around her—but I feel nothing. Connie has resumed shedding tears. That two-faced hypocrite. What the hell is she crying about? Connie never wanted anything to do with Mom after she came back. She made Momma believe that her oldest daughter hated her and now she’s crying ’cause Mom left?

  “What’s your problem, Connie?” Contempt for my sister boils inside me. “You’re why she left—because you wouldn’t come back!”

  “What are you saying!” wails Connie. “She didn’t leave because of me.” Destiny clings to me so she won’t drown in this latest installment of our family’s Titanic-like reality.

  “’Cause of you! ’Cause of you!” With words barely intelligible, I accuse her again and again of having been the instrument of Mom’s latest failure. “You didn’t wanna come back! She tried so hard to be good, and she came back but you didn’t.” My eyes turn to Josephine. “And you helped her, Josephine!” Connie stops crying and takes on a look of disbelief with a little sanctimonious resentment thrown in.

  “No, Faith—it’s not Connie,” Gran Dot says quietly. “Or Josephine or you or Destiny or even me. There’s no one to blame here but your mom.” I whirl around to face my grandmother and can’t catch my breath because everything she said was evil and cruel and I hate her.

  “You did it to her, too! You always yell at her and say things that make her feel like she doesn’t belong here! Why can’t you be like other grammas!”

  “Stop it, Faith!” cries Des.

  “Yeah, you’re upsetting her, you stupid little shit!” Connie stands. “And stop sticking up for Mom—she is doing all this. She is, not us—because she can’t say no, she cannot say no to…to the drugs or that…that piece of shit guy who’s giving it to her.” Standing silent, I never take my eyes off her as her words churn out like so much sewage.

  The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—and Connie has just laid it all out for me in a clear and concise few sentences.

  Perfect.

  I look down at Destiny, who’s still clinging to my waist—her wailing has ceased. We’re all in the living room, just breathing, looking at one another, waiting for the next person to speak up, but nobody does.

  “Destiny, I’m going upstairs. Come with me.” I take her hand and stomp up the steps, Des trailing behind me like a puppy dog.

  “Wait!” cries Constance. “Faith! Wait, don’t go.” I hear her footsteps not far behind me. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  I round the doorway into our room, clear the crap off my bed, and flop facedown, with Destiny bouncing up beside me. Then I hear Connie’s footsteps stop at the doorway.

  “Faith, come on. You had to know.” Most of the anger in her voice is gone and is replaced with an urgent tone. “You had to suspect that there was something going on.”

  “Leave her alone, Constance.” Gran’s voice floats up from the living room. “How is she supposed to know; she’s a child.”

  Silence for a few moments, then I hear, “Faith? Destiny?” The bed bounces again. My ears pick up footsteps walking to Destiny’s bed, squeaking springs and the noise of ruffling blankets. I hear low voices coming from the living room—it sounds like Gran and Josephine are having a sit-down, too. I peer up from my pillow to see Connie and Des comfortably cocooned under Des’s covers. I’m shivering and I so long to be comforted.

  A battle of wills begins to wage in my mind—shall I let go of my pride, join them, and feel better, or should I fight for my self-satisfaction and stay? I puzzle about it for a long moment, but there comes a time when you’re willing to forget anything your stupid sister has said, to reassure yourself that you are part of a greater thing than your own self-importance. So I do the logical thing—I crawl under the covers with the people on Earth I love the most.

  ...

  I won’t bore you with details. Just know that our encounters with my mother from that day on were sporadic and inconsistent, and each time we saw her, which was weird because we always had Gran or someone from social services with us at every visit, she begged forgiveness and couldn’t stop kissing, hugging, and telling us how much she loved us. She looked much thinner and older than her years. Sometimes Connie would come, too, but mostly not.

  I always told her that I loved her back, and so did Destiny, but the anger and hurt never went away.

  Chapter 9

  When Shelley and I talked over the next few months, it felt like she was all mine—like she was there for me only. Shelley would talk to me about school stuff and home stuff, but mostly my feelings and my anger. She explained to me that we all have anger inside us.

  “You know, Faith, anger, really strong anger, like you felt on the bus that time and the anger that makes you hit others, is a sign that something is wrong—that you are hurting deep inside. Anger is a response to pain, Faith, and we don’t want to ignore that or minimize it—do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.”

  “Anger is a natural emotion—it’s okay to be angry. We get angry because sometimes life hurts, but if you handle that anger in an inappropriate way, then that is when you cross the line—you know?” I nodded. “Why don’t you tell me again what I said, so I’m sure that you know.”

  “It’s okay to feel mad because it is a feeling like being happy is a feeling, but we can’t use being mad as an excuse to hurt people.”

  She raised her hand palm up, and I gave her a high-five. “Perfect,” she said. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

  I thought for a moment. “Oh! We have a cat now. Gran let us keep this stray cat that Des and I have been feeding the last couple weeks. She says it might help us feel better.”

  Shelley smiled her beautiful smile at me, and I felt lighter.

  Of course, once I got back to my classroom, they began to tease me about being in the office. They started at recess and continued at the extended lunch break—by that time, I had had enough and could not maintain my silent battle any longer.

  “Do you have head lice again?”

  “Who did you beat up this time?”

  I could take stupid comments like those, but not the one that hit too close to the fresh wound in my core.

  “Did your mom start doing drugs again?”

  A couple of the teachers intervened again and pulled me off the other kid ever so gently. I sat in the office for the rest of the day, periodically crying and wailing at the unfairness of it all, while Cory Braxley was interviewed by the vice principal. I received an in-school suspension for fighting, and he got a behavior-reflection sheet for making fun of me, that smug little piece of shit.

  I only saw Shelley a handful of times after that. But as with all things in my life, she, too, would leave me, as she was not a counselor for middle schools. With June’s end just around the corner, I was soon looking at grade six.

  The last day I saw Shelley, she introduced me to the counselor I would be seeing at Lakeview Middle School, Ms. Brenda. She was nice, but I just didn’t feel that connection. We had a couple of transition visits so I could get to know her and vice versa before the jump to middle school.

&
nbsp; I was glad when the school year was over, though, and I didn’t have to see Brenda for a while. She asked the same kind of questions as Shelley, but her tone and voice weren’t the same. I thought ahead though, and I figured if I played the game, answered the questions and all that crap, I could still go to counseling and get out of class.

  I became less and less likable, even by my standards, and that only served to make the kids avoid me even more. In a way I reveled in it, because it made me different from everyone else—even negative attention was better than none.

  The summer between grade five and grade six was one of transition for me—both physically and mentally. Destiny and I went to stay at Josephine’s house for a week. Connie came to our place to visit, too, when Mom would make it back to Greenleigh to see us.

  I also got my period after months of having to listen to all those stupid twats in my class describe how they went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, or whenever, and found blood in their underwear. It made me ill, having to listen to them describe it as if they were recounting a religious experience—it was a simple bodily function for crissake.

  I got mine that summer at the local public pool. Having an aversion to peeing in a public pool, unlike many of my peers, I went to the washroom. When I wiped, there was blood on the toilet paper. I was very stoic about the whole thing. That’s how I am about most everything now. A wad of toilet paper worked nicely until Destiny and I got home, where I asked Gran for a sanitary pad.

  She shook her head and huffed out a breath. “Great,” she said sarcastically. “I knew that would happen soon.” She shuffled into the bathroom and came out with a huge sanitary napkin.

  “Here,” she said as she handed it to me. “This is a super one, ’cause of my menopause. I’ll go to the store later and get you small ones.”