The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2)

by William Holms

  I find another website that has the obituary of a “Faith Brunick” who died in Bozeman, Montana three years ago. Again it gives no photos and very limited information. She would be a year younger than my dad. The article says she was survived by her husband and two children – a daughter named Jan and a son named Phil. This seems like a long shot, but she could have remarried and had more children with her new husband. As I read the obituary again it occurs to me for the first time that she might have died. I guess I should be devastated but I’m not. It’s like I was just told that a distant relative who I never knew, like an aunt or grandmother, passed away. I’m not really sure how I feel about it all. The idea of it doesn’t really make me sad. I again click “PRINT” and add the pages to my folder.

  After looking at three more Google pages, I’m getting frustrated. I want to just give up. Many of the searches are no help at all. They have one person with the name “Faith” and another person with the name “Brunick”. I decide to take another approach. I go to the top of the screen and click on “Images”. I look at one photo after another. None can be my mom. I expand the search and scroll through one page after another. None look like my mom. Eventually, the photos turn into men, businesses, and pictures of cars. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

  I go back to the general searches and find one last article that I almost scroll over. There’s a very old associated press news story from Bangkok, Thailand. Thirteen years ago there was an American citizen named, “Faith Nicole Brunick”, who was arrested in Thailand trying to smuggle a “large quantity of heroin” into the United States. The article gives almost no details. There’s no photograph, date of birth, or anything else to help with my search.

  I know very little about my mother, but I don’t really think she’d be dealing drugs in Thailand. I back out of the website and continue searching. When I find nothing close to my mom I go back to the associate press article and read it one more time. I print it and add this news feed to my folder.

  I continue searching until I get to page eighteen. By this point I’ve gotten way off any possibility of finding any woman named Faith Brunick. I grab all the pages in my folder and staple them into three stacks. I go back on the computer and check my email to see if there’s any answers from the colleges I applied to. There’s nothing there.

  I next Google the top universities for psychiatry and psychology. I’m immediately provided several lists of the best universities according to several different sources. I print out the lists and look at each university.

  Suddenly, Mom yells up from the kitchen, “Honey, it’s ready to eat.” I turn off the computer and head downstairs. She slides the eggs off the skillet, puts three slices of bacon on my plate, spreads some butter on my English muffin, and pours me a glass of orange juice. Did I say she’s a great cook? Well, she is.

  She sits at the other side of the table and joins me while I eat. “You know, we’re having a special family dinner tonight.”

  “Special?” I ask.

  Grace is coming in from Dallas. She wants to see you.”

  “Oh my God!” I smile. “That is special.”

  “It’s your dinner. What do you want to eat?”

  “I love your lasagna.”

  “Then lasagna it is,” she says. “I’ll make a Caesar salad if you’ll help.”

  “It’s a deal,” I say extending my hand in agreement.

  “You should see the garden I planted this year. Everything’s really growing. I’m gonna work out there a little later if you want to help me.”

  “Definitely,” I say. “I usually work in my garden after breakfast so I’d love to help.”

  “Great,” she says just as the phone rings. She gets up from the table and picks up the kitchen phone. “Hi sweetheart,” she answers. “She sure is. She just got up and she’s eating breakfast…Yes I told her. We’re having lasagna and a Caesar salad. I’m gonna make the dessert you love…. Hold on a minute.

  She hands me the phone, and I put it up to my ear. I know exactly who it is. “Hi Dad,” I say.

  “How are you doing today?” he asks.

  “I haven’t slept so late in ages. I feel great.”

  “I guess your mom told you that Grace is coming for the weekend.”

  “Yes, I’m so excited.”

  “I just want to tell you how much I love you. I’m glad you’re home. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Dad….goodbye.

  – CHAPTER 4 –

  G race doesn’t arrive until seven-thirty after driving all the way down from Dallas. Her Lexus SUV pulls into the driveway, and I run out the front door at the speed of light. She’s sitting in the front passenger seat, but I run right past her door and open the back door. Asleep in the back in her car seat is my sweet, little niece, Bonnie. She’s the most beautiful little two-year-old girl I’ve ever known. Her hair is blonde, and her eyes shine as blue as the sky on a clear hill country evening. She has a tiny little nose with freckles on her cheeks. She’s in a pretty little dress with matching socks. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail held up by a white bow. My biggest regret about the time I spent in rehab is missing her grow up for seven months. She looks so big.

  “She slept the whole way here,” Grace lets me know.

  I unbuckle her seatbelt and gently lift her out of the car seat careful not to wake her. She stirs a little, briefly looks at my face, and mumbles “Aunt Hope,” before putting her arms around my neck and laying her head on my shoulder. I kiss her cheek and let her fall back to sleep in my arms. I babysat her every chance I got before they moved to Dallas. I’ve always been “Aunt Hope.”

  I made sure I ran to the car so I got there before my mom or dad got their hands on her. “Oh,” I say, gently swaying back and forth and cradling her in my arms. “She’s gotten so big.”

  Grace is now out of the car and standing beside me. She’s always been exceptionally beautiful. She has shiny blonde hair, and her skin is soft and white. She has tiny, attractive, figure and having a baby has done nothing to change that. Some people say I’m just as pretty as she is I’ve never believed it. I’m shorter than she is, my eyes are hazel green, and my hair has turned brown just like our dad’s.

  Grace wraps her arms around both Bonnie and me. Her husband, Jackson, comes from the driver’s side of the car and joins us in the group hug. He’s an executive at a big microchip company located in Dallas. They met right after she graduated from medical school. Their wedding was as grand as any, and they’ve been married for five years now. She worked hard through college, made all the right choices, and now her life is perfect.

  We all walk into the house, and Bonnie stirs awake. My mom holds out her arms and says, “Come to grandma.” After she gives Bonnie as many kisses as a two-year-old can tolerate, she hands her to my dad and runs back into the kitchen. Grace and I finally let go when Mom asks, “Everyone ready for dinner?” We both wipe our eyes, move to the table, and everyone takes their seat. My dad, who always sits at the head of the table, leads us in a prayer.

  “Dear Lord…thank you for this meal that was so beautifully prepared for us today. Thank you so much for bringing us all together again and thank you for bringing Hope back home. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Lord please watch over Colt. Keep him safe in your arms. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”

  My dad has ended every prayer for the past eight years the same way. Colt is my big brother. He got his driver’s license when he turned sixteen and immediately got a speeding ticket. A month later he ran into the back of another car totaling both vehicles. My dad took his license away for a month and didn’t buy him another car for six months. It wasn’t three months after getting a new car, that he was driving thirty miles over the speed limit and got a speeding ticket. My dad was going to take his license away again, but Colt begged him not to. A week later, Colt took a turn too fast, ran off the road, and flipped his car three times. He was rushed to t
he hospital in critical condition and never regained consciousness. My dad and mom arrived at the hospital just in time to tell him goodbye.

  My brother’s death crushed all of us, but it really destroyed my dad. He blames himself. He said he gave Colt another car way too soon. For two years he went to Colt’s gravesite every morning before going to the office. He’d lay at my brother’s headstone crying and begging God for forgiveness over and over again. It was so hard to watch. My mom tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, but there was nothing she could say or do to change his mind. As far as my dad was concerned, Colt would still be alive if it weren’t for him.

  When we finish the prayer, we fill our plates with lasagna that tastes better than any lasagna you can get in the best Italian restaurant. Mom’s meals are always special, and this is no different. Along with the lasagna, she cooked lemon-ginger spinach, roasted broccoli, a giant Cesar salad, and garlic toast.

  My dad takes his first bite and says, “Honey, thank you for making this incredible meal.”

  “It sure is Kate,” Grace adds.

  Unlike me, Grace always calls my mom “Kate.” She doesn’t love her any less than I love her, but she and Colt were older when Dad married her. She left for college a few years later so she didn’t really spend the years with Mom that I spent. She sees her more as her step-mom than her real mom.

  As for me, Ben was just a little boy when she started dating my dad. We were almost the same age. Of course Ben always called her “Mom.” Since we were so close in age, I started calling her the same thing. Maybe I just wanted a Mom so bad and she was there. That was so many years ago. She was there for me when my brother died. My dad spent so much time to himself trying to deal with his pain. It was my mom who was there for Grace and me. She’s been a better mom than my own Mom, and calling her “Mom” now feels very natural.

  It’s so good to have everyone together again. Our family has had more of its fair share of hurt with my mom leaving, Colt’s death, and now my close call. Bonnie seemed to breathe new life in us all. She was the first grandchild born into our family. We treat her like the first child ever born on earth. We all spent so much time together. Mom watched her during the day when Jackson and Grace worked. They lived in our guesthouse for almost four months, when they got a quick contract on their house before moving to Dallas. We all watched her grow. It seemed like God was smiling down on us again.

  – CHAPTER 5 –

  T he day after Grace left to go back home, I’m standing in front of my mirror with a towel wrapped around my body and another towel holding my hair getting ready for my first “homework” assignment.. I’ve never had to do this before. What exactly does someone wear to break up with the only love they’ve ever had?

  I put on one dress after another until I find a dress that’s pretty, but not over the top. Well, maybe it’s a little over the top. I straighten my hair and fix my makeup. When I’m dressed and all made up, I walk down the stairs. I go right past my mom and dad who are watching television in the living room. My mom sees me heading for the door and asks, “You leaving sweetie?”

  This isn’t something I want to talk about. Actually, I was hoping to get out of here without being noticed at all - but no such luck. “Just for a bit,” I say turning the doorknob. “I’ll be back soon.”

  My dad gets up from the couch and comes over to me. “Where you heading?” he asks.

  Honesty, to my father, is the greatest virtue known to man. His kids are always rewarded for being honest and punished for lies. I learned long ago to just tell the truth. “I’m going to see Kyle,” I say.

  I’m sure the dress I’m wearing, my hair, my makeup, and my perfume, make him a little nervous. He lifts my chin so I’m looking straight at him, and he says, “Hope, I know this is important, but isn’t it a little too soon?”

  “I have to get it over with. I don’t see any reason to put it off.”

  “Hope – ” he continues sounding worried.

  “Dad, don’t worry. I have to do this. I want to get it over with.”

  “I love you,” he says holding me close. “I love you so much.

  I pat his back and say, “Love you too, Dad.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asks.

  “I’m sure,” I answer sounding less than convincing.

  As I explained earlier, my boyfriend played football for our high school football team. Our school had already won two state championships. He became the starting quarterback his junior year, and we went undefeated until the state championship game. We lost that game in the final seconds. I thought he’d be devastated, but he was okay. He was convinced, like everyone else in our town, that we’d be back the next year and win it all.

  The next year he was off to another undefeated season. Some of the top colleges were recruiting him including the University of Texas, Oklahoma, Texas A&M, Baylor, and Oklahoma State. Everyone, including my dad and mom, loved him.

  We made the perfect couple. He was the star quarterback, and I was the head varsity cheerleader. We held hands everywhere we went, we were homecoming king and queen, and we sat beside each other every Sunday at church. My grades were good enough for me to go to any school Kyle chose to play at. We vowed to stay together forever.

  Our future looked so bright until the fifth game of the season. We were undefeated and playing one of our biggest rivals. We were up 24-3 when Kyle went back to pass on third down and seven. Just as he released the ball he took a shot from a blitzing linebacker and fell right into a charging defensive tackle that knocked him out cold.

  The whole stadium went silent for ten whole minutes while an ambulance came onto the field. They raced Kyle to the hospital where he regained consciousness two days later. The doctor said he received a concussion, two broken vertebrae in his back, and a punctured lung from a broken rib. He had internal bleeding and lost almost two pints of blood.

  Kyle was in the hospital for six weeks. I stayed by his side the whole time. I was there when the doctor came in and told us that he’d eventually make a full recovery but never be able to play football again. The “full recovery” part made his family and me so happy, but all Kyle heard was the “never play football again” part. He was devastated and refused to accept it.

  After two surgeries, Kyle came to terms with the seriousness of his injuries. He grew more and more depressed and distant. He needed a walker during his rehab that he hated. He stopped going to football games, stopped studying for his exams, stopped going out with friends, stopped going to church, and slowly lost all interest in life. He fell lower and lower both physically and emotionally. Seeing him so depressed just broke my heart.

  Kyle had to find some way to cope. It appeared to everyone that he was slowly getting better, but I knew what no one else knew except some guy named Cody that would visit him every month or so. Kyle was taking his prescribed Oxycodone for pain and started supplementing the Oxycodone with something called “brown sugar.” It looks like it sounds, but it isn’t sugar at all –– it’s heroin.

  As the months passed, Kyle became hooked. An “experiment” turned into a full–blown addiction. I watched him do it several times. It made a drastic difference in his depression. He told me how wonderful it made him feel. “It’s euphoric,” he’d say after the drug took hold.

  He wanted me to do the brown sugar with him but I refused. I’d never done any drugs except for the one time when I tried pot at a party. I didn’t want to try heroin, even if it does look or sound like sugar. I’d heard too many bad stories. As much as Kyle pushed me to “just try it”, I wouldn’t.

  He was persistent. After a couple of months he started complaining that I was “no fun” and “a goody-goody.” He said I’d do it if I loved him, but I rejected that logic. Everything eventually came to a head after he again begged me for the millionth time to take the drug, and I again refused.

  “Get out,” he yelled pointing to the door.

  I grabbed my purse and jacket, walked
up to his bed, and moved closer to kiss him goodbye. “I’ll come back later,” I told him.

  He turned his head to the side refusing my kiss and said, “Get out and don’t come back.”

  This is not the first time he’s pushed me away. I knew he was angry at the hand he’d been dealt, and I tried to understand. “I love you Kyle,” I said.

  “I mean it Hope. I can’t stand having you around. It’s over. I don't ever want to see you again.”

  I knew he didn’t mean it, but his words still hurt. By the time I got to the door I had tears running down my cheeks. I opened the door and turned around to tell him goodbye. His eyes were also full of tears. “I love you Kyle,” I said again hoping to see his softer side.

  The first tear dropped from his right eye. He wiped it away and said, “Hope, I can’t see you again. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

  Something sounded different this time. His voice was cracking, but it had a determination I’ve never heard before. Our lives had been growing apart. Our lives, our love, our future, had been moving in opposite directions. I couldn’t just walk out and let it happen. I had to do something, so I closed the door and returned to him. I grabbed his gym bag from under the bed and removed the small metal box I knew was hidden inside. I sat it on the bed, unclipped the lock, and opened the lid.

  “Hope, there’s nothing to worry about,” as he watched me with the drug. “Everybody’s doing it…. celebrities, singers, athletes, movie stars ––”

  “Shut up,” I said cutting him off with my face stained with mascara. “I don’t care about them. I love you, and I don't want to lose you.”