Finding Faith

by B. E. Baker

“Because you're smart. The but is that clinical trials cost a lot of money. More money than I have on hand.” Or in savings, thanks to my floating the Sub-for-Santa program last time it floundered. I don't mention that, knowing how she feels about it already. “I was hoping I might get an advance on my bonus this year.”

  Shauna exhales heavily. “Well, the only reason it might be possible is that Frank & Meacham is a small firm, relatively speaking. I'm supposed to review these reports with Peter tonight before he flies back to New York. If you joined us again, and accepted his offer, he'd be delighted. It would be a great time to lay out the news about your nephew and explain why you'd like an advance.”

  I nod my head. “If he refuses, how sure are we that I'll get a big chunk of money in a month or so?”

  “You're thinking of a short term, unsecured loan?”

  I nod. “If I can't get an advance, interest on that would be preferable to penalties on my retirement account.”

  “You better head home and change. Peter only eats at the best of the best. Tonight he's insisting on Uchi.”

  “I love Uchi. What time are you meeting him there?” Please be early, please be early.

  “Six o'clock.”

  Not great, but it could be worse. If I have to, I can duck out early and channel my inner Nascar to make it to St. Paul's Catholic church for Amy's show. I drive home and change into a pine-green cocktail dress and patent leather, black, high heels. It's only 4:45.

  I look up the location for the new Citibank building. It's not too far from Uchi, and I take that as a sign of sorts. I should go by and try and drop off these wings, just in case my dinner goes long. Also, I kind of want to see Luke in his element. I pull into a metered lot a block away, and with my old wings under my arm, I hike down to the construction site. Thinking about him in a hard hat with a utility belt makes me a little swoony.

  I walk up the front steps and across the threshold before a barrel chested man with a full beard stops me. “Ma'am you can't walk in here. It's a work zone.”

  “Uh, I'm looking for Luke Manning.” I speak clearly and enunciate each word so he'll understand. “He's head of electrical for the site.”

  “I speak English, lady.” The man spits brown juice on the ground a few inches from my feet. “But he ain't here.”

  Whether he really speaks English may be debatable, but I don't push the issue. This man's face tells me I shouldn't be here, and I reluctantly agree. But I can't quite help myself asking, “As in, he isn't here right now? Or he doesn't work here?”

  The barrel chested man wipes his hand over his mouth. “He's in charge of the electrical crap. Yeah, he works here, a few hours a week, at least.” He laughs, and a few other men join in.

  “Well, thanks. It was nice to meet you all.”

  A man standing on scaffolding above the door, where the word Citibank stands out in blue and red, says, “Pretty Boy never talks about anybody. You his girlfriend?”

  “You mean he doesn't join in for your reindeer games?” I ask, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. “That's such a shame. I'm sure you boys are delightful to work with, but to answer your question, no, Luke's just a friend.”

  Whistles and hoots start from all around. The man on the scaffolding swings to the ground. “Luke may be dumb enough to get friend-zoned, but I'd love to ask you out. Name's Xander. What's your name?”

  “It's so nice to meet you Xander. My name's Notta.”

  “Nice to meet you, Notta.”

  “I forgot to tell you my last name,” I say. “It's Chance.” I spin around a hundred and eighty degrees and march back toward my car. The sound of laughter, followed by catcalls and hooting follows me, but I don't slow down and I don't look back.

  In spite of my ill-advised detour, I reach Uchi with ten minutes to spare. I wait at the bar, and this time no handsome men make eye contact, much less approach me to talk or buy me a drink. I'm ready to start pacing when Shauna arrives five minutes late. She waves me over and tells the hostess, “Please seat us now, and I'll order some sushi for the table while we wait.”

  I relax a little. It seems like Shauna's motivated to move this thing along. She and I walk through the year-end reports while we wait for Peter to show up. He finally arrives, thirty-five minutes after six.

  I should be leaving right now for Amy's play. Except Trudy and Troy need me, too. If I can't get this advance, I'll have to dump out my retirement accounts, which I vowed never to do, or procure some kind of high interest, short-term loan. I'm a Kleenex being pulled in two directions, about to be ripped in half.

  As soon as we finish the quarterly reports, our food arrives and Shauna and Peter both gush about how beautifully presented it is. I can't think of a single good thing to say about my food. It's ten til seven, and I have to get out of here.

  “Mr. Meacham,” I say, “Shauna hasn't told you the good news yet, but I've been thinking and thinking about it and—”

  Shauna says, “Mary doesn't really want the job because she loves tax returns and she loves her end of the year vacation. However, she has an investment opportunity she's keen to try her hand at. I think we can persuade her to take the job if we can somehow give her an advance before the holidays, so she can get in on this deal.”

  My jaw drops. What's she doing?

  Peter's laugh begins in his gut and pours out of his mouth. I almost cover my ears, it's so loud. “I like initiative, you know. Hard line negotiations right out of the gate.”

  He pats his stomach. “You even waited until I had food in my belly to spring this one on me, huh?”

  “Actually,” I say, “I am interested in the job but—”

  “She was worried you'd think her investment wasn't a wise one, but I assured her you don't get involved in the specifics.” Shauna glares at me. The message is clear: let me handle this.

  I lean back and cross my arms. “What do you think, sir?”

  He smiles. “I think I'd like you to explain the yearly reports to me. Let's see how ready you are for this big promotion. Dazzle me, would you?”

  I'm lucky Shauna and I reviewed these earlier, or I'd fall flat on my face right now. “Well, I'm not sure about the dazzling, but I think I can muddle my way through.”

  I don't impress Peter Meacham, but he doesn't seem to want to take the offer back either. Unfortunately, the annual report is long, like Dead Sea Scrolls long. By the time we're done, I glance at my watch. Seven forty-two. I groan inwardly. Even if I left now, I'd never make it in time. I imagine Amy's face. The poor kid is gonna be devastated, and it's all my fault.

  Finally, the dinner wraps up around eight-fifteen. No mention has been made of my advance. “Any chance of that advance, sir?”

  Peter grins. “You want the job, and I'm glad. But you're gonna have to wait for the bonus like the rest of us. Trust me, amazing investments come around often. Very often. You'll find plenty of things after the money is in hand, and you'll probably thank me for stopping you from dumping your money into this one.”

  “The thing is,” I say, “it wasn't—”

  Shauna touches my arm. “I tried to tell her, it wasn't that great an opportunity to begin with. But if she's really insistent, she can always empty out her retirement account, or take out an equity line of credit.”

  I keep things together until I reach my car, but then I break down and sob on the steering wheel. I could have skipped this entire dinner and gone to Amy's play. But work is my priority and I've kept it that way. Amy's not my kid and her dad's not my boyfriend, so why do I feel so awful about missing it?

  This is exactly why I should never have gone out with a dad in the first place. At least after tonight, Luke won't push me anymore, I can virtually guarantee. I doubt he'll even be speaking to me.

  I should drive straight home, but when my tears dry up, I glance behind me at the feathery wings spread across half of the backseat. The stupid wings I never should have mentioned, much less spent hours hunting for. Or driven by Luke's place of work with.
I really hope none of those contractors mention that I dropped by. I've lost my mind since meeting him, and it's time to get things back on track.

  I point my car toward home, but somehow I end up halfway to Luke's house before I realize what I'm doing. It may be irrational, but I want to apologize. Not to Luke, but to Amy. The precocious little girl who loves Froot Loops and will advocate for why she should get them. The tiny little thing who hides in cabinets, and negotiated with her dad for more bedtime stories. The little girl who mournfully and plainly told me that no mother comes to her performances, and she picked an angel because that's what her mom is.

  The worst part is that I was that little girl. Only, my mom didn't have a good excuse like being dead. No mother came to my science fair. No mother came to my math competitions. No mother came to my graduation from high school, or from college. I vowed I would never be anything like my own mother.

  Now it's my fault Amy's disappointed.

  When I reach the Cove, I drive past Luke's RV and notice his Raptor parked behind it. I park my car a few spaces down and put my hand on the handle. Except I can't bring myself to open it. I want to apologize, to explain what I was doing. But when I really think about what I was doing...

  I was trying to make my sacrifice for my sister easier for me. I wanted to avoid the necessity of tax penalties or high interest. And it didn't even work.

  What's wrong with me lately? I'm a CPA, but somehow that made me lose sight of what matters, and it's not money. It's not making sure my retirement's on track either. It's making sure my sister and her son are taken care of. After all, that's why I'm not ever having kids myself. So that I can have the security I always longed for.

  I grab a post-it and write a brief message: Tell Amy I'm sorry, M. I stick it to the wings and leave them on the steps to the RV.

  I don't know what I was thinking. I'm not the kind of girl who can enjoy ice cream knowing it's my last bowl. I'm the kid who winds up filling the melty bowl of ice cream with her own tears.

  Chapter 11

  Luke sends me two messages on Friday. A photo of Amy with cardboard wings, and a big old cheesy smile, and a second photo of Amy wearing pajamas, and my white feathery wings. She's waving in the second one. I type fifteen responses, and delete them all without sending.

  Obviously he's pissed. He has a right to be. I watch Gilmore Girls until midnight on Friday and fall asleep on the sofa without brushing my teeth.

  I always wake up on Saturday and run eight miles in the park around the corner from my little blue house. I don't have a dog to run with, and I don't have a jogging partner, but that's never bothered me. Until today.

  On the first mile, I count three dog joggers, and two couple runners. Single joggers? Me and a lady who's seventy if she's a day. I want to stop counting, but I can't seem to help myself. I run faster and faster, running ten miles instead of my usual eight. When I finally walk back to my house and bend over double, the numbers stream like a litany through my head. Eight people on a run with their dogs. Nine couples jogging together. Three singles, counting myself.

  I'm drinking a glass of orange juice and waiting to stop sweating before I shower when my phone lights up. Eight-thirty a.m. on a Saturday, and Luke's calling me. He's such a dad.

  I want to answer and tell him how sorry I am. I want to ask him if Amy was devastated, or whether she even noticed I wasn't there. I want to pick up, and beg him not to leave in a few weeks. Which is precisely why I don't answer the phone at all.

  Instead, I group text Paisley, Trudy, and my oldest friend from school, Addy. GIRLS NIGHT OUT? I COULD REALLY USE ONE.

  Addy texts back right away. I'M IN.

  Paisley texts next. HECK TO THE YEAH.

  I smile. She's so young.

  Trudy calls me instead of texting.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey it's me.”

  “I'm sorry, I don't know any mes.”

  “It's your baby sister! It's Ger-trude.” She pronounces each syllable slowly. “You know, we had the same crappy parents. Dad passed out on the sofa every day? We ate ramen every day but Friday, when we splurged on hotdogs?”

  “Oh,” I say. “That me. I vaguely remember you. Okay, what do you want?”

  She sighs. “I'd love to go out, but I don't think I can find a sitter for Troy.”

  I smack my head. Of course she can't. I'm such a jerk.

  “We've only been home from the hospital for one night,” she says. “I don't want to freak him out.”

  I should apologize. I should tell her of course she can't go anywhere. But I can't help the words that pop out next. “What about Chris? Surely he could take a night, since you've dealt with all this alone.” I'm so angry at him for being a complete waste of space. Who doesn't even come to the hospital when his son is sick?

  “Chris doesn't know yet.”

  My head almost spins off. I breathe in and out a few times before I speak to avoid yelling at her. “I don't care what your relationship's like right now, he has a right to know what's going on with his son, Trudy.”

  “He has a girlfriend, Mary. When I asked him why he cheated on me, he said ever since we had Troy, I've been such a drag that he just needed to be with someone fun again. I can't save my family unless I figure out how to be fun again, and monitoring sugar levels and making a three year old take insulin isn't fun.”

  I swear. Of course Trudy isn't fun. Chris abdicates his responsibilities, leaving her to do everything for their family. It makes it impossible for her to be fun. I don't waste my time explaining that right now.

  “He's a loser Trudy. He's lucky if all I do is hunt him down and castrate him. When you call and tell me your son's sick, I don't get to say, 'oh that's inconvenient for me, maybe hit me up next time something bad goes down. Maybe I'll be less annoyed then.' That's not how it works, because family isn't about some kind of twenty-four seven party. It's being there when the crap hits the fan.”

  And now, for my second act, I've made my sister cry.

  “You're better off without him Trudy, and he's a complete idiot in my book, but he deserves to know what's going on. You can't hide the parts of your life involving Troy from him, because those things aren't about you and your insecurities, or your relationship, or even his girlfriend. Your job is to make sure Troy has the support he needs. Swallow your fear and call your husband right now. Not so he can watch his son for what I'm sure is a much needed girls' night out for you, but so that he has a chance to do the right thing.”

  Trudy whispers, “What if he doesn't?”

  “We can only control our own actions. If he doesn't, well you won't need to worry about him having a girlfriend when I'm through with him.”

  Trudy barks a laugh, and it's far from her normal bubbling joy, but I'll take it. “And hey, I know it's later than you wanted, but I should be able to get the money you need by Wednesday or Thursday of next week.” A home equity line of credit will take too long, months it turns out, but if I empty out my retirement account, even with the withholdings, it should be enough.

  “Thanks Mary. You'll never know how grateful I am. I'll call Chris today, I swear.”

  “You better. I'll check in tomorrow, and if you haven't told him by then, I'll call him myself. I'm joking about the castration, because I like not being in jail, but I doubt there will be a realm further from fun than any conversation he and I might have.”

  Once I've showered, I head over to the Sub-for-Santa office where I know Paisley is waiting for me to meet with nominees. It's one of my favorite things to do, so when Luke calls again, I pretend it didn't happen. He doesn't leave a message or text me, so it's relatively easy to ignore.

  Paisley makes it a little harder. “Your phone's lighting up like a roman candle on New Year's. What's up?”

  I blush.

  “Luke, huh? Why aren't you hunched over it, fingers frantically sending witty banter back to the big guy?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “If you aren't careful, you
r eyes will get stuck that way.”

  “Oh please. That's just something moms say.”

  “Well,” Paisley says, “since your mom bailed like a loser, I figured you might not have heard. But seriously, why aren't you replying?”

  “He's not texting,” I say. “He's calling.”

  Paisley's jaw drops. “What is he, sixty?”

  I nod. “I know, right? People don't call, not anymore. And I missed his daughter's play, and I have no idea how to tell him sorry. Actually, I don't even want to say sorry. I'm mad I'm in this situation, and I think I ought to just break things off. We were supposed to have a date tonight, but obviously that's off now that I ruined everything. He hasn't brought it up at all, not even to talk about where or what or when.”

  “Hence the girls night?”

  I nod.

  Paisley bites her lip and doesn't bring it up again, and that's when I know I'm probably right. I've irredeemably screwed this up, and it shouldn't even matter, but for some reason it does.

  Around five, Paisley and I have worked through sixteen families, adding eleven to our list for this year. Paisley leaves to get ready for our girls' night, but I stick around to compile a list of match emails I'll need to send to sponsoring families. By the time I finish, I feel calmer about everything.

  I am not my mother. The only duty I owe is to my sister and her son. I'm fulfilling that, even if it sets my retirement back a little. Or a lot.

  My phone bings, and it's a message from Addy. BEN IS SICK AND WANTS ME HOME. CAN WE DO TOMORROW?

  Addy's high maintenance husband would drive me nuts. He's sick, so she has to stay home and what? Ladle chicken noodle soup into his mouth? I roll my eyes, but before I can reply, Paisley does.

  BEN CAN SUCK A LEMON.

  I smirk. TMW. FINE BY ME.

  Paisley sends a variety of colorful emoticons, which I take to mean she's okay with moving it to tomorrow.

  On the drive home, I'm almost relieved. After my long run, and my long Saturday in my secondary office, I'm ready to unwind, not go dancing. I pull into my garage and walk through the door into my kitchen. I take my boots off and leave them by the door. Then I unzip my skirt and lay it over the back of a chair. I toss my blouse on top of my end table, and once I reach my bedroom, I pull on a Metallica t-shirt, big flannel pajama pants I stole from Foster, and fluffy pink bunny slippers Paisley gave me last Christmas.