The right time came two weeks later – about an hour before bedtime. I grabbed some carrots from the kitchen and told everyone I was going outside to brush Daisy. The horse stalls are located at the far end of the yard, which made for the perfect escape. I stayed in her stall for ten or fifteen minutes and then I ran, and ran, and ran - until I was free. Well, at least I thought I was free. I soon learned that freedom isn’t free at all. It comes with a price that I had no ability to pay.
I ran to the closest gas station and called my boyfriend to come pick me up. He answered my call sounding a bit groggy and very surprised. He told me he’d catch the first plane to Florida the next morning. We agreed to meet back here at the very same gas station.
I spent the night sleeping against a wall in a park. I didn’t really get much sleep. I returned to the gas station the next day at our agreed meeting time and waited on my boyfriend to pick me up, but he never showed up. A terrible feeling swept over me when he didn’t pick up on my first call – or the next five.
Maybe he was on his way. I waited and called, and waited and called, but he never arrived or answered my calls. I finally gave up. I was all alone in a city where I knew no one, had no money, no change of clothes, and no car. At two o’clock in the morning, I finally gave up and returned to the Bluebonnet Recovery Center. By the time I got there I was in tears. This was the point when I got serious about the program.
A week later, I finally stood up and introduced myself to the group. Three days after that I sat with my arms crossed and joined the conversation. Well, it wasn’t some great break through - far from it. I stood up, told everyone I didn’t belong here, and walked right out the room.
I’m not sure what came over me. I really wanted to belong, but I didn’t have the desire to take any steps – not even baby steps. This was not what I wanted––to be forced to be friends with crazy people––but here I was.
The very next day, I completely broke down and cried in front of everyone. I turned to the girl sitting next to me who took me in her arms. Her name is Dawn and she’s now my roommate and my best friend.
Most girls in our group have spent so many years hiding their hurt from the rest of the world and looking for some way, any way, to cope. Some turn to alcohol, drugs, food, and sex. Some cut their own bodies. Others simply withdraw into their own world.
By sharing our stories (often for the first time in our lives) we learned from each other, developed a fellowship, built a strong bond, and started our emotional healing. The more everyone opened up, the more we understood and trusted each other.
I’ve watched so many girls join our group who, just like me, want to get the hell out of here. I eventually became a mentor. I help other girls bond with each other, and participate in the program. Eventually, I led many of our discussions. I’m leaving here today knowing, in a small way, I made a difference in the world.
Now here we are––together for the very last time. Each time someone leaves it’s bittersweet. Everyone’s happy I’m going home, but at the same time, they’re sad I’m leaving. We all hug, laugh, cry, and share stories from our time together. These friends know me, the real me, and I love them all. It’s really crazy, but by the time I’m ready to leave this place I no longer want to go.
In the middle of our goodbye party, my father, Ryan, my Step-mother Kate (who is my mother as far as I’m concerned), and my little brother, Ben, walk into the room. They’ve been here several times over the past seven months. They already met my therapist and most of my friends. When I see them walk in, I jump from my chair and yell, “Daddy,” and run right up and throw my arms around my dad’s neck.
“Hey baby,” he says picking me off my feet and lowering me back down again.
Next, I hug my mom and my brother who’s now fifteen years old. I grab three plates and cut them each a piece of cake and add a scoop of ice cream. Everyone already knows my dad. I introduce my mom and brother, and we pick up where we left off.
A short time later, my therapist walks into the room and shakes my dad’s hand. “Do you mind if we visit for a second?” he asks.
“Of course,” my dad answers and follows him into his office.
Once inside the office, Mr. Chastain says, “You should be very proud of Hope.”
“I am,” Ryan agrees with a smile.
“Hope has a lot of healthy interests now. It’s important she continues the things she loves like gardening, painting, yoga, and writing.”
“Definitely,” my dad agrees.
“Her grades are fantastic. There’s no reason she won’t be very successful in college. She’s even talking about being a therapist.”
Ryan looks surprised. “A therapist! I think that’s wonderful.”
“Hope understands there are people she’s better off not returning to. We think it’s better she break things off with her boyfriend. We don’t want the same temptations do we?” he warns.
“Of course not,” Ryan says shaking his head.
“She wants to tell him personally. I had my reservations, but I think she’s strong enough to do it. Let’s be supportive, but keep an eye on things.”
“Gotcha,” Ryan says.
Mr. Chastain hands Ryan a piece of paper with a doctor’s name and number written on it. “When she returns to Austin she’ll need to see someone to help her adjust. Here’s the number for my colleague. I’ve talked to him and let him know what a pleasure it’s been working with Hope. He’s eager to meet her.”
“We’ll call him right away,” Ryan says putting the paper in his shirt pocket.
“Hope has another challenge ahead of her. As we talked about the last time you were here, she has deep feelings regarding her mom. I’d like to see her get closure in this area. She needs to find her mom and talk about it…. tell her how she feels. I think she’s ready to face that challenge.”
Ryan sits up in his chair. “I don’t know,” he begins before clearing his throat. “Like I said before, I don't think it’s a good idea.
“Mr. Brunick, abandonment by a parent can leave a child feeling that they’re not valued or loved. This can carry forward into adulthood and cause depression, anxiety, addiction, and attachment issues. I often see it affect later relationships – even marriages. As Hope and I have moved past the surface, it’s clear that her mom leaving at such a young age has had a bigger impact on her than we might realize. I don’t want it to affect her relationships later. I want her to be whole and strong when she gets married one day.”
Ryan listens closely as Mr. Chastain explains. “Please don’t misunderstand me. Hope has been very fortunate to have you in her life. You’ve been her foundation and she’s a strong person because of that foundation.”
“You see Mr. Chastain ––,“ Ryan tries to interject but Mr. Chastain continues.
“Hope is strong. She needs to know that it wasn’t about her. It wasn’t her fault. Who knows? Maybe she can repair that broken relationship.”
“I know she’s strong,” Ryan says like he knows Hope better than anyone. “I’m sure she can do whatever she puts her mind to, but you don’t know the whole situation. Hope doesn’t know the whole situation.”
“Mr. Brunick, between my talks with Hope and my talks with you, I think everything will be alright.”
“Mr. Chastain, I know you’re a professional, but this is my daughter. I’ll give it some thought and decide what I think is best.”
“Your daughter is eighteen years old,” he says. “Soon she’ll be nineteen.”
This is the first time Ryan’s authority has ever been questioned. “She might be eighteen, but I’m still her father,” Ryan says.
Mr. Chastain stands up, offers a handshake, and says, “Give it some thought.”
Ryan accepts the handshake and says, “Have a good day.”
Ryan walks out of his office, takes a deep breath, and blows into the wind like he’s blowing out smoke from a cigarette. There’s no way, no way, he can ever let Hope start asking about things
she can never really understand. He spent too many years closing this chapter of his life to go back there again. No, it’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie. Whatever he has to do, he will never let Hope get near Bangkok.
“Hello Dad,” Hope says almost skipping up to him and taking his hand. She’s followed by Kate and Ben. “What’d ya’ll talk about?” she asks.
“Nothing really. Just how good you’re doing. What a great girl you are.”
“You ready to go home?” she asks.
“Absolutely” Ryan says.
– CHAPTER 3 –
I wake up the next morning back in my own bedroom and sleeping in my own bed. This is the first time I’ve woke up after seven-thirty in months, but the flight back was long, we got in late, and I was exhausted. When I walk into the kitchen my mom is busy at the stove cooking breakfast. I’ve always been glad my dad married her. She’s been there for me for as long as I can remember, and she treats me like I’m her own daughter. She was the one who drove me all over town when I was a kid, attended my school activities, cheered me on during good times, and held me in the bad times. Really, she’s the only mom I’ve ever known. We’re so close that most my parents, neighbors, and teachers think she’s my real mom.
We live in the biggest house in our neighborhood. It’s her pride and joy. How many times my dad has offered to hire a maid, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She keeps the house spotless, my clothes are always clean, my bed sheets are changed every week without fail, and we rarely eat out.
“Hi sweetie,” she says when she sees me walk in.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I was so tired. It feels good to sleep in for a change.”
“I’m sure your hungry,” she says.
“Starved,” I say walking over and putting my arms around the back of her shoulders.
“I love you dear,” she says.
“Love you too, Mom.”
My therapist in Florida was not a fan of procrastination. “Waiting is a trap,” he’d always warn. This has never been a problem for me because I’ve always been pretty good at time management. Even so, there’s nothing I’d rather put off more (and when I say put off I mean put off forever) than telling my boyfriend goodbye, but I’ve got to get it over with.
My boyfriend, Kyle, and I have been together since we were in the tenth grade. He played football, I was a cheerleader, and we took advanced English together. Everyone in our school knew who he was. I was quite sure he had no idea that I even existed until one day he walked into class, smiled the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, and sat right down at the desk next to mine. “I’m Kyle,” he said like everyone in the school didn’t already know his name.
“I’m Hope,” I said with a smile as big as the State of Texas.
“I know,” he said with a beautiful smile.
These two words shocked me and sent me to the moon and back. He actually knew my name.
Two weeks after he introduced himself, he asked me out on a date. We ate at his favorite burger joint and then went to a movie. It’s like my whole life changed. There was a gravity to him I had never experienced before. I fell in love when he took my hand in the movie theater and later kissed me while walking back to his car.
Almost a year later we had sex for the first time. It was both our first time. We dated all through high school and made plans to attend the same college. We vowed to get married right after we graduate from college.
When my father sent me to rehab he swore he’d wait for me. It soon became clear that he’d keep his word no matter how long I was gone. Breaking up with him is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It will break his heart.
My dad hasn’t returned my cell phone, but by now I’ve gotten used to being without it. There was once a time when I was on my phone from the time I got home from school until the time I went to bed. I was so dependent on it. Nothing made me angrier than losing my phone. This now seems so silly. There’s so much more to life than a cell phone. I now have real interests to occupy my time.
I have to check my email on our family computer, which doesn't give me a lot of privacy. My last two months in therapy I was given monitored computer use, so I emailed my boyfriend to tell him I was okay and I’d be home soon. He emailed me back to let me know how much he loves me and can’t wait to see me. Now I’m supposed to tell him we can’t see each other anymore? After a three-year relationship, he deserves to hear it in person. Right before returning home, I emailed him one last time to let him know we needed to talk.
I scan through all the junk in my email box until I see his latest message. Just seeing his name brings back all the old feelings that still haven’t gone away.
_____________________________________________
Reply from Kyle Young
Hope:
So, so, so, so, so happy to hear from you. I’ve missed you sooooooo much. Hell yes I want to see you. Anywhere. Anytime. I’m here for you. I’m always here for you.
Love Kyle
XOXOXO
______________________________________________
I read his email again and again. It’s overwhelming when I think about all the years we’ve spent together. We had so many great times before things went bad. This is going to be hard.
I scan through the rest of my mail. It’s mostly junk. After closing my Gmail account, I put “faith brunick” into my Google search engine. This is the first time I’ve ever searched for her. As far as I was concerned, she left me, and I never wanted to hear from her again. Maybe she didn’t want to be my mom, but my dad found someone who does.
The first thing that comes up on my search is my dad’s website, “The Law Office of Ryan Brunick”. He’s always been there for me. Once in group therapy we were all asked to name our hero. Everyone named someone important or famous - presidents, actors, movie stars and even Princes Diana. When it came to me I said, “Definitely my dad.”
After my dad’s website, there’s a long list of “Faith Brunick’s” down the page. There are women with my mom’s name living all across the country so I limit my search to Texas. Not a single Faith Brunick comes up. Nothing looks like match.
Even though she’s my biological Mother, I know almost nothing about her. All I have of her is an old photograph with her, my dad, Grace, Colt, and me standing in front of the Grand Canyon. It was taken so many years ago. I don’t really have any memories of us as a family. When I was little I hung on to this photo for so long hoping my mom would return. I even put it in a little frame and kept it by my bed. As the years went by and she never came back, I put the photo in a box in the back of my closet. This is the first time I’ve looked at it in years.
I’m still in diapers, and my mom is holding me in her arms. Grace is standing to her left. She would be about seven in the photo. They look so much alike. They even look more alike today now that Grace is older. Grace’s hair is the same color blonde and her eyes are just as blue. If you didn’t know any better you’d actually think it’s Grace standing in the photo holding her own little girl.
Dad is standing next to Mom. He has his arm around her waist pulling her to him. Colt’s leaning against Dad. He’s wearing some kiddie cowboy boots and a plastic gun holstered to his side. He’s shading the sun from his eyes with his free hand. He’s the little boy I’ve heard so much about but barely got a chance to know. He looks more like Dad and me. It always hurts seeing him in photos.
We’re all standing there like one happy family. I pull the photo closer to get a better look at Mom. She’s wearing white shorts and a pink top. She has a gold chain around her neck with a gold cross dangling below. She looks incredibly beautiful with blonde hair and a beautiful smile. She could be a movie star or something. Even in an old photo, her blue eyes stand out above everything else. I now see she also has her arm around my dad’s waist. They both look so happy together. They make a beautiful couple, and they passed their looks on to their kids.
I never kne
w this family – and what I’ve heard hasn’t been so great. Most of what I know about Mom is from Grace because my dad never talks about her. Grace was much older when Mom left and remembers a lot more than I do. As far as she’s concerned, Mom messed it up. She had it all and ruined it. She cared more about some guy than her own kids.
Finding my mom won’t be easy. I don’t even know her middle name or her age. I think she’s a few years younger than my dad, but I’m not even sure about that. I was barely six when she left us. I don’t feel comfortable asking my mom anything about my biological Mother. It’s just too weird. I’ll probably have to ask my dad for help.
The first few websites I click on are advertisements offering to find anyone for a fee. Some look like they already know exactly who I’m looking for and where she is. All I have to do is enter a credit card number and all the information will be at my fingertips. It might eventually come down to this, but I first want to try to find her without paying money.
The first Faith Brunick I come across lives in Missouri. She owns a shop in Branson that sells fabric and other sewing supplies all over the world. My mom…a businesswoman with an international company? This sounds promising so I click on the “about us” link. As soon as I look at the photo I can tell she’s not my mother. She looks nothing like the woman in my photo.
The next Faith Brunick I find is a college professor at a small university. I’ve never heard that my mom graduated from college. When I click on this website and can tell it’s not my mom because the woman in the website is way too young.
I find another website that catches my attention. There’s a “Faith Marie Brunick” who married someone named “Mark Jenson” five years ago. There are no photos. Given the information on the website, the woman would be about forty-seven years old today. This would make her five years younger than my dad, which sounds about right. I click “PRINT” and put the page in a blue folder I made that has “MOM” written across the front. I’ve always known my mom left to be with some guy, and now they’re living a new life somewhere like we never existed. Now I wonder if she even told this guy about her kids or did she just put us out of her memory forever?.
The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2) Page 2
