Losing Faith (3 page)

“Dad, are you okay?”

“… the hospital … I can’t …”

The hospital?
“Are you hurt?” I bring my fist to my mouth.
Or maybe it’s Mom.
“Dad?”

“Just come … the hospital …”

Silence follows and I look at the display on my phone. It reads
CALL ENDED
.

I click on my phone book and dial Dad back. It goes straight to his voice mail. Following the tone, I ramble on in a panic. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m coming to the hospital as soon as I can. I hope everything … everybody’s okay. Is Mom with you? Okay, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

Next, I scroll to my sister’s number and hit send. Hers also goes right to voice mail. Faith always has her phone on, even when she’s at home. She’s the super-responsible one. Never been grounded for anything.

Turning cell phones off must be a hospital rule. Which means she’s already there and I, of course, will be the last of the family to arrive.

One minuscule step at a time, I move along the wall toward Dustin, who’s now near the open edge of the platform.

I can do this
, I tell myself. I focus on the floor and attempt to slow my breathing.

At least I’ll be there for only a second. Long enough to drag Dustin out so he can drive me. I slide my hand along the wall until I reach him. He doesn’t notice me right away and laughs too loudly at another guy’s joke.

Keeping one hand on the wall, I reach over and tug at his plaid overshirt. He finds my hand, laces his fingers through mine, and with a sudden tug, I’m at his side. By the edge. My heart beats like a thunderstorm in my chest.

He looks over. “Hey, babe. You gotta hear this.” He turns back to his friend. “Evan, tell Brie about this guy.”

“Dustin, I gotta go.” My sweaty hand nearly slips from his. I wrap my other hand around his wrist for some sense of security.

“It’s the funniest thing,” he says, as though he doesn’t hear me. “Tell her what his mom made him do.”

I pull him toward the staircase. “I mean it, Dustin. There’s some kind of emergency with my family. I need a ride.”

Dustin takes a big swig of his drink, and then passes it to Evan. “The girlfriend wants to get out of here. You know what that means.” He raises his eyebrows at Evan. His words slur, but I don’t care. Nor do I care about the show he’s putting on for his buddy. I force my mouth into a smile and hold my lips tight to keep my teeth still.

When Dustin reaches in his pocket for his keys, the motion knocks him off balance. The edge is so close. Suddenly, he jerks me down by the hand. The whole barn spins and I scream, squeezing my eyes shut. A roar fills my ears, Dustin’s hand slips from mine, and black spots blur my vision. The next thing I know, someone else’s arms grip my waist and I’m pulled, lifted … saved. I pry open my eyes and am amazed to see I didn’t go over.

Dustin rummages on the floor of the loft, still near the edge. “Where the hell are my keys?”

The group around him laughs, but he doesn’t notice. Evan, my apparent savior, leans over me, asking if I’m okay. I still hear my scream echoing into the night.

I nod. “I just … I gotta go.”

I crawl away from the edge, over to Amy, and grab her leg.

“Yeah, he’s so cute. I swear—” She stops and stares down at me like I’m some kind of psycho poodle.

“Amy, I need a ride. It’s an emergency. I have to get to the hospital.”

After a second, recognition crosses her face. She glances at the girl she was talking to, then back to me with more concern. “Oh. Okay. I’ll drop you off.”

She doesn’t say anything until we get into her brother’s beater Hyundai, and I’m glad. I just need to concentrate on my breathing for a few minutes.

“So, are you and Dustin on the outs, or what?”

“Huh?” I rattle the door to make sure it’s shut. “No, he’s just drunk.”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t leave him there like that. You better be careful. He could have anyone—”

“I’ve kind of got more important things to worry about at the moment, Amy.” She hasn’t even asked about the hospital. I could be dying of internal bleeding for all she knows.

As if she can read my mind, she asks, “So someone’s hurt, or what?”

“I don’t know. I mean, my dad sounded awful, and what if—” I stop myself. Faith’s big on speaking things into existence. Not that I believe in that stuff, but still. We sit in silence
through the next traffic light. Small beads of rain land on the windshield, and when she turns on her wipers they sound much too loud in the quiet car.

“Wow, I sure hope everyone’s okay,” Amy says.

But something’s really wrong and she isn’t driving fast enough. When we round the corner and the hospital comes into view, I fling the door open. “You know what? It’s fine. Just drop me here.”

She screeches the brakes. “Are you nuts? I’ll drive you, Brie. I’m driving you, aren’t I?” She shakes her head. “Shut the door and stop being such a bitch about everything.”

Amy calling me a bitch is like Faith calling me religious. But Amy’s the least of my problems. I yank the door closed. The quicker I can get there and find out what’s going on, the better.

She turns into the parking lot. “Look! Your dad’s van!” She uses her “making amends” voice.

“Great.” I jump from the car and force out my reply. “Thanks a lot for the ride, Amy. I really appreciate it.” I wave as I run past her car. She doesn’t offer to park. To come in. To find out if my family is okay. Instead, she nearly hits a light post when she zooms backward to spin in the direction we came from.

Amy’s always been pretty self-absorbed and I don’t have
time to be offended about it now. I race through the automatic doors and straight for the elevator, accosted by the antiseptic smell. Pushing the up button, it hits me that I have no idea what floor they’re on. I scan the wallboard and see
EMERGENCY CARE— 4TH FLOOR
just as the elevator doors open.

When I step off the elevator onto the fourth floor, the first thing that strikes me is the seriousness of it. Nurses and doctors bury their heads in clipboards. A man inches along with a walker as though it’s stuck in sludge. I’m almost positive people don’t have cute, healthy babies on this floor.

At the nurse’s station, I spot my sister’s blond hair, and the frumpy gray sweatshirt I saw her in earlier tonight. She leans over the counter toward the receptionist. I let out my breath and march over. At least she’ll be able to tell me what’s going on.

As I’m about to grab her by the shoulder, the red stitching on the seam of her top makes me stop. It’s not the same shirt.

She turns to face me, the striking blonde who’s not my sister, and moves aside so I can speak to the nurses.

“It’s awful,” one heavyset nurse is saying to another, completely ignoring me. “They must be having a horrible time.”

“Excuse me?”

They both stop and turn to me.

“Jenkins?” I say as a question, since I’m not really sure who I’m
looking for. My mouth tastes like metal when I speak.

The gossiping nurse frowns. She glances at the other nurse, and then points down the hall. “Uh, yes. The last door on the left.”

By the time I’m halfway down the wide hallway, the word “Chapel” posted above the last set of doors comes into view. Of course. Where else would Dad be? Must be on his knees in there with the hospital chaplain. My parents’ Big Plan is called predestination, and this is what they do in times of crises. Or anytime, really. They meet with other churchies.

My heart still beats hard against my ribs, especially when I notice the police officer pacing in front of the chapel door. I shimmy past him and nudge the door open. My parents are both inside, alone on either side of the small room, and I let out a small breath at the sight of them. The wood walls and ceiling seem jarring after the sterile hospital hallway. Mom perches on a chair to my left, bent forward, and in shadow. The solitary light from the far side of the room shines down on Dad, hunched over the pulpit.

“I got here as fast as I could. What’s—”

Dad looks up with tears streaming down his face. I glance from him to Mom, then to the rest of the sparse room. The four empty benches. The plants in pots along the side of the room that look too similar and too perfect to be real. Dad holds
a gray sweatshirt, one without red stitching, and crumples it in his tight grip.

“Where’s Faith?” I ask.

There’s a pause and time stops. Suddenly, Mom and Dad come at me so fast and so panicked that I feel like a baby choking on a penny. Having no idea what’s going on or how to react, I ball my fists and pull them to my face. My parents throw their smothering arms around me and I feel explosive heaves from their chests, as though the only air in the room is coming from them.

At least
they’re
breathing. My lungs are stuck together with Krazy Glue. “Where’s Faith?” I ask again, but it comes out in little more than a squeak.

Mom lets out a howl of a cry.

My parents squeeze me tighter and pet my head as though I’m a dog or a farm animal, and suddenly, I understand.

Faith isn’t here. Isn’t coming here.

I gasp, and my Krazy-Glued lungs tear apart.

I’m no longer the black sheep of the family.

I’m the only one.

chapter
THREE

s
everal hours later, the police follow us up our driveway without a word. I eye Faith’s Toyota and try to work out in my head, for the hundredth time, how she could be gone. Just the sight of her car makes my brain default to thinking she must be inside the house waiting for us. I blink hard to try to reset my internal algorithms.

Focus, Brie, focus.
You need to get through the rest of this night without falling apart.
I don’t know why I think this. To be strong for my parents? No, that wouldn’t make sense. They’re much stronger than I am.

I take a deep breath and try to distance myself enough to
set a plan for at least getting through the police statements. Setting some logical parameters has always helped me to keep a cool head and not fall apart in emotional situations. Like when Dad and I had that huge fight about me not going to church. I was just about in tears because he was forcing me to go, then suddenly I stopped speaking in the middle of our argument and went to my room. I calmly made a list of my reasons and passed it over at dinnertime. And okay, this is totally not the same thing, but it did work.

If I speak as little as possible, I can keep my delusional thoughts to myself until I’ve had time to process. That’s my plan, my guide to getting through this.

She’s really gone,
I tell myself again as Dad opens the front door.

Nuisance lets out a loud bark when the two male police officers walk through into our house, but no one bothers to quiet him. Nuisance would sooner lick them to death than actively assault them.

Mom sits on the edge of our sofa, and turns her eyes to the floor a foot in front of her. Her hair is falling out of its clip at the back and her wrinkled white blouse hangs loose out of her skirt. Dad unbuttons his suit jacket when he sits beside her.

No one’s mentioned whether I should be here or not, so I lean against the French door joining
the living room to the foyer, not committing to staying or leaving. Since the only other open seats are on the love seat across from Mom and Dad, the police officers spend a couple of uncomfortable moments adjusting themselves into it. If one of the cops wasn’t severely underweight, it could be a real problem. Nuisance likes this skinny guy though, and by the way he nudges his head under the cop’s hand, I suspect it’ll only be a matter of time before he attempts to find his own place on that love seat.

The other officer clears his throat and the large pockmarks on his cheeks vibrate. “I know this has been an unimaginable night,” he says softly, looking between my parents. “These are just routine questions we have to ask. Please feel free to take all the time you need.”

The phrase seems so weird since it’s not like they’re giving us time for anything. Sleep. A shower. All the time we need for what? To grieve? To let strange men into our house to ask questions? I take a few steps backward and hover by the coat rack.
Fell off a cliff. Dead. Gone.
I try to remind myself again of what is real, so I don’t laugh or something.

“Can you tell me the last time you saw Faith?” the pock-faced cop says.

Dad doesn’t hesitate. “Around six tonight.” He checks his watch. “Er, last night.”

Skinny Cop marks it down in his small notebook. “And did she leave by car?”

“We weren’t here,” Dad says. “But yes, she would have taken her car.”

I guess no one noticed when we parked right behind her Corolla five minutes ago. “Actually, I think she got a ride with Celeste,” I say. Just after it leaves my mouth, I berate myself for so quickly neglecting my oath of silence.

“Celeste?” Skinny Cop runs a finger over his notes.

“Schwartz.” Dad fills in the blank. “Celeste Schwartz. Her best friend.” Skinny Cop makes a note in his book.

Pock-faced Cop distracts me from wondering whether or not they’ve talked to Celeste yet with another question. “When was the last time you saw your sister, honey?” The way he says “honey” makes it clear that it’s just as uncomfortable for him as for me. This guy should be in traffic or something.

“She dropped me off at quarter after seven at the church. But her car’s outside, so she must have come back.”

Skinny Cop marks this down too. “And do you remember what she was wearing?”

Now this seems ridiculous. It’s not like she would have changed clothes at the top of the mountain. “Um, jeans and a sweatshirt.” I point to the one beside Dad, and wonder where they found it. At the top of the mountain? Or the bottom. I’m
strangely numb at the thought. It doesn’t seem like it could be real.

“And how was her mood when she left?” Both officers look at me.

“Um, okay.” I gnaw on my thumbnail, wondering why they keep talking to me.

Skinny Cop, thankfully, directs the next question to Dad. “Did you know she’d be up on Blackham Mountain last night? Does she regularly go up there?”