A Reason to Stay (14 page)

O
n Saturday morning, she rose to find Geary lounging on the sofa eating a bowl of Fruit Loops and glued to a Road Runner cartoon on television.

“What are you—ten?” she teased as she headed for the coffeepot.

Her husband grinned. “I like how no matter how his plans backfire, Wile E. Coyote always gets back up and tries again.”

She poured coffee into her travel mug and fastened the top. “Yeah, but he's always trying to take out the Road Runner. I mean, what did the bird ever do to him?”

“I never said he had a good plan. Only that he never quits.” Geary lifted his bowl and drained the milk. “You going somewhere?”

Faith rolled her eyes. She marched over and took the empty bowl from his hands and placed it on the counter. “Uh, you're cute, but cute does
not
excuse bad manners. And yes, I told you I planned to go to River Oaks today for research.” She grabbed her purse off the back of the barstool. “And about the twins' program at church tomorrow. No promises, but I'll try.”

“You sure? 'Cause that'd be great.” He pulled her into an embrace, nearly spilling her coffee despite the lid. “Got time for me to adequately thank you?”

She wiggled free. “Don't push your luck. Not all of us have your schedule.” Smiling, she headed for the door.

See? She was good at this marriage thing. All it took was some compromise.

The clock on her car dashboard read nearly eleven o'clock by the time she exited the 610 to Westheimer Road. Armed with an iPad loaded with electronic files of information she'd researched, she turned north on River Oaks Boulevard, at LaMar High School. To her left was a church elegantly made of light gray stone. On the right was a shopping center, like any small strip mall you'd find in neighborhoods across the metro area.

Only this wasn't any neighborhood—this was River Oaks, the most affluent neighborhood in Houston.

It didn't take long before the scenery abruptly changed. A single lane turned into a boulevard with lush grass medians and stone monuments, marking the entry to an enclave of stately homes that were partially tucked out of view behind gated fences, pines, oak trees, and meticulously manicured hedges.

Some of the homes, she'd learned, were over twenty thousand square feet with multiple pools and garages that could shelter a dozen vehicles. Most included separate residence quarters for household staff, nannies, and gardeners who worked full-time for the wealthy families fortunate to live there. Many of the estates had been passed down several generations, but a good portion were purchased in recent years by businessmen who had admirably hit it big in oil or real estate—or both.

There were, of course, the occasional women who had built a name for themselves—many of them colorful characters. Take, for example, one of the most well-known and highly regarded residents, Lynn Wyatt, who made the social columns on a regular basis for hosting outrageous parties attended by worldwide celebrities. Years back, she'd hosted a dinner party for Princess Grace with Mick Jagger attending.

In her research, Faith stumbled on an article that said when Houston's former first lady, Elyse Lanier, moved into her peach-colored mansion bordering the country club, she removed the fence. When a friend warned that people dining at the club could now see into her backyard, she replied, “Exactly.”

No doubt, ingredients for tabloid-type exposés highlighting celebrity and the lifestyles of the rich and famous were plentiful. But as a serious news reporter, Faith had to ask herself why any of that mattered to her viewers.

When she stumbled on the answer to that question, she'd have her story.

After taking a quick preliminary driving tour through the streets of River Oaks and snapping a few photos for future reference, she decided to head to a spa she'd seen online last night, located not far from that church she'd seen earlier. She passed DeeAnne Roberts on the way. Faith couldn't help but smile to herself, knowing her competition wouldn't recognize her in Geary's pickup.

While her fellow reporter would likely seek exclusive interviews with the famed residents, Faith would go for an entirely different approach.

She hated to waste the pedicure she'd just paid for less than a week ago, but a reporter had to do what a reporter had to do.

Door bells tinkled as she opened a heavy wooden door flanked by terra-cotta pots filled with bright red geraniums and blue lobelia. A tall girl with long blonde hair looked up from the sleek counter. “Hi, welcome to Jacques Bonheur. Can I help you?”

“I'd like a pedicure, please.”

A sympathetic expression crossed the girl's magazine-quality face. “I'm so sorry. We are booked weeks out,” she said in a voice slightly tinged with a foreign flair—one Faith suspected might be fake. The girl lifted a pen to a large appointment book. “Can I schedule something for you?”

Faith sighed. She should've expected this.

She gave the size 2 darling her own brilliant smile and dug into her bag and retrieved her wallet. She plucked five twenties from the bill compartment and placed them on top of the appointment book. “I'm afraid my schedule won't allow for a future appointment.”

The girl's brows knit, then she looked up again. Recognition dawned.

Before the tony receptionist could speak, Faith leaned across the counter and placed two more twenties on the counter. “I'm Faith Marin of KIAM-TV, and I'm going to be broadcasting later today and
really
need that pedicure.”

The girl quickly nodded. “Oh, I so understand. Let me see what I can do.” She directed Faith to a sugar-pink divan with stainless steel accents, positioned against a window overlooking a beautifully manicured planting area leading to the parking lot. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

The girl returned quickly, sporting a broad smile. “We're in luck. One of our technicians will work to fit you in. Can I get you a glass of wine or some sparkling water while you wait?”

“The water would be great.” Faith picked up a magazine, hoping she didn't have to sit long before being called back.

The receptionist returned with a stemmed glass of water, garnished with a sprig of mint. “You're that gal who talked the Hildebrand kid off the bridge.”

Faith nodded, never sure how to respond when someone posed in a statement what probably should've been a question. “Uh, yes. That was my story. Now I anchor the weekend broadcasts.”

The front door opened and three women entered with identical airbrushed complexions—Botoxed, microdermed, and chemically peeled unnaturally smooth.

The receptionist quickly turned in their direction. “Hi, ladies. We're ready for you.”

Upon returning from taking the beautiful trio back, the girl
slipped a card into Faith's hand. “I'm really interested in the news business and would love to talk to you about what it takes to break in.”

Faith nodded and tucked the card in her purse before responding. “Sure. You can call me anytime.” While she wasn't necessarily dying to open the proverbial career door for a young and stunningly beautiful wannabe, the contact might prove valuable at some point. Good reporters worked to build a large and varied network of story sources.

With a conspiratorial wink at her new friend, she added, “Hey, I'm just curious. Who were those women?”

The girl grew reluctant. “Uh . . . those women?”

“I'd be happy to arrange a private tour of the station,” Faith quickly offered, causing any reservation the girl had about sharing customer information to suddenly vanish.

The receptionist responded by revealing their names. “The women come in quite often, always together,” she said while checking the computer screen. “I don't think they live here in the Oaks.” She typed something and then lifted her head. “Ah yes. They reside about sixteen blocks away.” The pretty blonde receptionist lowered her voice. “If you want to know the truth, I highly suspect they're hunters.”

“Hunters?”

“Yeah, you know—women who are looking to marry wealth.”

A picture of the ill-fated Anna Nicole Smith formed in Faith's mind, and how the buxom blonde who'd looked so dumb had outsmarted many by marrying oil-soaked billionaire J. Howard Marshall, a former resident of River Oaks. The marriage lasted only fourteen months before Marshall passed at the age of ninety, leaving his twenty-six-year-old widow dripping in wealth, even though the funds were tied up in protracted probate litigation.

Maybe there was something here.

Minutes later, Faith sat in a plush leather recliner with her feet
immersed in warm water that smelled slightly of jasmine. She was tempted to close her eyes and lean back against the massaging rollers. Instead she focused on the conversation of the three women located only feet away.

Faith started making mental notes.

She listened carefully. In very little time, she realized she had it. Her story.

Across from her were three career gold diggers, but it was Faith Marin who had just struck the real gold.

F
aith slipped into the program on Sunday morning twenty minutes late. She hurried into Lake Pine Community Church and was quickly redirected to the older section of the small complex, which was connected to the worship center by a breezeway where the children's performance platform was erected at one end, with rows of aluminum folding chairs filling the remainder of the large room.

The Marin family sat in the front left row, an alarming discovery given it required her to march up the entire center aisle, alerting everyone in attendance that she was not on time.

Any effort to reduce the distraction her entrance caused was nullified given the need to murmur “excuse me” repeatedly as she brushed against the knees of Penny Baker and her daughter-in-law and past Dr. and Mrs. Brock before finally reaching her empty seat beside her husband.

“Hey, where've you been?” Geary whispered.

“Sorry, time got away from me,” she whispered back, hoping he'd understand. He'd wanted her to go to church with him, but she'd begged off, needing extra sleep from working all night at the dining table. She'd promised to meet him for the twins' program, not expecting to get caught up again when she'd peeked at her
project this morning. Before she knew it, her coffee had grown cold and she'd cut the time so close she had to skip a shower. Instead she simply pulled her hair back into a ponytail and put on a dab of mascara, glossed her lips, and raced out the door.

Her mother-in-law, obviously overhearing their exchange, patted her knee. “Don't worry about it, dear. Glad you're here now.”

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but the comment only served to magnify her guilt. In the dim light of the room, she worried her nail between her teeth. Could she help it if juggling all this was getting to be a little bit too much? The pressure to bring in a story that was fresh and interesting, that would help her stand out, was immense. On top of that, fitting into the Marin family was a bit like walking a muddy field in heels.

Instinctively, she knew they all thought she had her priorities wrong. But none of the Marins really understood the demands of her job, one that sometimes required everything in order to succeed.

Geary fished for a living. Sure, she knew his profession carried a certain amount of stress, but nothing like what she experienced. His schedule was much more flexible.

Besides, it was her job at the station that provided their health insurance, retirement benefits, and a steady paycheck. Geary and his family should understand when she often had to make her career top priority.

Up on stage, a group of toddlers finished singing “Jesus Loves Me.” Well, at least they stood up there while the teacher sang. One little guy, Faith guessed him to be about three, picked at his nose, stopping only to wave at his parents while exiting the stage.

The pianist immediately switched to a lively tune while a group of high school kids set up a canvas backdrop hand-painted with a tent and palm trees. Another couple of kids hoisted in buckets and poured sand at the base of the scene.

With the stage set complete, a Sunday school teacher led about a dozen children, all kindergarten age, up the steps and centered
them in position. All wore sandals and were dressed in long tunics with colorful sashes, except for the two on the end—Gabby and Gunner.

The Sitterle kids wore white T-shirts and sweatpants covered in large white cotton balls with matching hats that sported ears. Apparently, Geary's niece and nephew were sheep.

Down the aisle several seats, Dilly beamed. Bobby Lee elbowed Wendell with pride.

Faith had to admit, her husband's niece and nephew were pretty cute up there.

She slipped her hand into Geary's and gave a squeeze, a signal that she wanted a truce, even if war had never been officially declared.

As if reading her mind, he squeezed her hand back.

Veta leaned in her direction. “Those costumes were a real pain to make,” she whispered.

Faith listened to the story of Joseph and his brothers, of how they sold him into slavery as a result of their jealousy. Years later, God would turn what they intended for evil into good, ultimately setting up a situation for Joseph to bless the very ones who'd hurt him most.

She'd heard that story a number of times and wondered if Joseph felt bitterness in those years when he'd been exiled at the hands of his family—the ones who were supposed to love and care for him but didn't.

She wondered if he felt like God had abandoned him.

Her own mother had done her best, she supposed. Perhaps she'd tried to love well, and couldn't. Wasn't that the whole gist of the Bible story? What good would it do to harbor ill will for all the ways her mother's love fell short, when all that would do was sap her energy and keep her from becoming all she could be?

Even so, her mother had definitely fallen short of winning any parenting awards.

One Easter, her mom made a big deal of going to church. She bought brand-new outfits at Sears—a little pinstriped suit for Teddy Jr. complete with a tiny blue tie, and for Faith a light yellow dress with white polka dots and a wide satin sash that tied at the back. “Now, don't get your clothes dirty,” she warned as they shuffled into the car.

Unfortunately, Faith got a bloody nose on the way home from church. “No!” her mother screamed when she saw the dark red splatters on the front of the dress.

Ignoring her bloody nose, Faith's mother tore the dress from her back as soon as they reached the front door, then ran to the kitchen sink with it, dousing the fabric with dish soap and running cold water over the stained portion. Her mother scrubbed harder and harder, murmuring under her breath.

A few days later, Faith accompanied her mom back to the Sears store. Handing a receipt to the clerk, her mother smiled and said, “I'd like to return this dress. I'm afraid it didn't quite fit my little girl.”

The woman behind the cash register scowled. “Store policy is not to accept returns on purchases that have been worn. I'm sorry.” She tried to hand the dress back.

Faith's mother refused to accept the garment. Instead she shook her head. “What do you mean you won't take the dress back?”

“The dress has been worn,” the clerk repeated.

This seemed to push her mom over the edge. She screamed in protest, “What kind of fool are you? Do you know who my husband is? Are you aware I am a loyal customer who has shopped this store for years?” She pointed her polished red nail at the distressed young woman. “You'll take that dress back or I'll never bring my business to this store again. Do you hear me? Never!”

A small crowd gathered, some pointing and whispering. Faith recognized a little girl from school. The commotion seemed to scare her and she hid behind her own mother's legs.

Geary leaned over and startled her back to the present. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Huh?” Faith let the bad memory slip from her mind. “Yeah, sure.”

Up on the stage, the teacher bent down on one knee and addressed the kids in the program. “Can anyone tell me what the moral of this story is? What are we supposed to do when our brothers or sisters do something that makes us mad?”

Gunner glanced sideways at his sister. “Smack 'em,” he loudly announced without giving his answer a second thought.

His quick response garnered a laugh from the audience, despite the misdirected nature.

Gabby, on the other hand, didn't find her brother's remark so funny. She scowled and paid him back with a shove. Before Gunner had a chance for retribution, both Dilly and Bobby Lee darted onto the stage, taking hold of their little darlings. They marched them off the stage while the Sunday school teacher, who now looked a bit harried, quickly closed out the program and thanked everyone for coming.

When the lights came up, Veta shook her head. “Dilly and Bobby Lee sure have their hands full with those two.”

Wendell agreed. “Nothing a little party on the backside wouldn't cure.”

“Now, honey, we raised our family. You let them raise theirs.”

He folded his arm around his wife's shoulders. “Yes, dear.” He winked at Faith. “But I think a refresher sermon on training up your children might be appropriate for next Sunday.”

As they parted in the parking lot, Wendell waved and shouted in their direction, “See you at the bowling alley.”

Faith looked at Geary as they neared his pickup. “The bowling alley?”

“Yeah,” he answered as he took out his keys. “Mom promised the kids we'd all go to Gutter Busters after the program. And I think Dilly said she had some big news she wanted to share.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “But, honey, you know I'm on air tonight. I need to spend this afternoon working on my story.”

“All day?”

“I told you that. I want to have my idea ready to pitch to Clark tomorrow. At least in skeleton form.”

Geary opened his door. “But what do I tell my family?”

Really? Was he going to pull that on her again? Make her feel guilty? Especially after she just gave up her entire morning to watch his niece and nephew in a church program?

“Fine! I'll go.” She stomped to the passenger door and yanked it open. “You'll have to bring me back for my car.”

“Are you going to be unreasonable about all this?”

“Unreasonable? My job can't always take a backseat to your family plans.” She turned on the radio, dialing into her favorite classic channel.

Geary scowled as he pulled out of their parking spot. “Jobs come and go. But family is what is really important, don't you think?”

His comment made her blood instantly run thicker, warmer. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn't
mean
anything, only that—”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like you're accusing me of not having my priorities straight.”

Couldn't he recall all the concessions she'd been making lately? Seems the compromises were getting pretty one-sided. She didn't see him making a lot of adjustments in their married life.

“Don't put words in my mouth, Faith. You're overthinking things again. That's not what I meant.” He pasted on an exaggerated smile and waved at the Hendersons as he nosed his pickup forward.

“Well, what did you mean?” she challenged.

“I mean, we don't want to start this marriage with all the emphasis being shifted from what's really important. That's all.”
He leaned over and changed the channel to a country western station. “Sundays are supposed to be a day of rest, a time to focus on family.”

Oh, he didn't really just change her channel! She glared at him and reached for the radio dial.

He looked across the seat at her. “Oh, now that's a bit childish, don't you think?”

Shaking inside, she held up her hand. “Look, I'm not doing this.” True—she could verbally spar with him, try to make him see what a jerk he was being. But what was the point? She certainly wasn't about to turn into her mother here in the church parking lot. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Geary rubbed at his chin. “Okay, listen, I'm not trying to start a fight here. I just wanted to make sure—”

In exasperation, she glared back at him. “Please don't push your luck. I gave in and said I'd go already.”

His jaw locked. “Fine.”

“Fine,” she repeated.

They rode to the bowling alley in silence, a silence that marched across the sunbaked asphalt with them and through the front door.

Inside, Gutter Busters was like any bowling alley, with bright flashing lights, far too much noise, and the smell of fried food mingled with the slight aroma of lane oil.

Just her idea of a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon when she had work stacked up. Especially when she and Geary had let themselves grow sour with one another.

At the rear of the building, the owners maintained a full-service Chinese restaurant with paper lanterns hanging over booths with red leather bench seats. A large wall menu announced that they offered kung pao chicken, chow mein, spring rolls, and fried rice, in addition to four kinds of pizza and hand-scooped milk shakes in thirteen flavors.

Geary joined his dad up at the counter. He and Wendell sparred about who would pay. Wendell won.

Without saying anything, Geary put his hand on Faith's back and guided her to their assigned lanes. “You need my help?” he asked.

“Nope. I got it.”

His mother watched, looking first at him, then back at her. “Everything okay?” she asked.

Faith forced a bright smile. “Yeah, sure. I haven't been bowling for years. I just hope I can keep up with all of you.”

Veta was too polite to press the matter. Instead she patted Faith on the back. “Well, c'mon. Let's show these men how it's done.”

The Marin family found ways to be enthusiastic about almost everything, but never more than bracing for some good old-fashioned competition.

Wendell quickly split them into two teams—Geary, his mother, and Bobby Lee on one team, Wendell, Faith, and Dilly on the other.

Geary placed his ball on the return. “Hey, Dill. You up for this?”

“Goodness, yes. I'm not sitting anything out,” Dilly replied. She lifted little Sam into one of the hard plastic seats on the other side of the ball return.

Faith gave Geary's nephew a little smile. He stared back, his thumb tucked deep inside his mouth.

Bobby Lee stepped forward. “Before this competition begins, Dilly and I have news.” He placed his hands on his wife's belly. “The Sitterle family just learned we're having another baby.”

Dilly giggled. “Yup, we prayed for the Lord to rain down blessings and he forgot to turn off the faucet.”

Veta's hands went to her mouth. “Oh my goodness. That's wonderful.” She rushed to her daughter and drew her into a tight hug.

Wendell patted Bobby Lee on the back. “Well, God said to be fruitful and multiply. Congratulations!” He turned to Geary. “Better take lessons, son.”