Finding Faith

Page 6

I looked back at the angel in front of me. Her name was Faith. It was a good name for her. I didn’t know much about the meaning of faith, but something told me she was the epitome of the definition.
“Yes, Daddy?” She shrank in front of him.
And then it all made sense. The pastor’s daughter—somehow she became ten times more appealing. I’m not sure what it was about untouchable girls, but it was human nature to want something you couldn’t have. The odds of me bagging a preacher’s daughter were slim to none, but I’d never cared much about odds.
She went into herself at the sight of him. I didn’t think she could get any smaller, but I was wrong. He must’ve been a hell of a strict man. The poor girl probably didn’t have much of a life. It was obvious she’d never seen a fashion magazine since she had no sense of style. The sad-looking skirt said it all. She was entirely too pretty to be dressed like an Amish chick.
“I think it’s time you came back in,” he said as he looked over at me and gave me fake smile.
His low voice spoke volumes. He didn’t want his daughter anywhere near me. I thought it was funny. I started thinking that maybe if I flirted hard enough, he’d release me and tell my probation officer that I did everything I was supposed to.
She turned back to me and smiled. I couldn’t help myself. I winked and gave her my grin I knew the girls liked.
“It was nice meeting you, Faith. I hope I get to see more of you.”
If looks could kill, the funeral home down the road would be wiping my ass and gutting me. Her father wasn’t happy with me and I was just fine by that. I wasn’t a huge fan of his nonstop blabbing either.
The front door of the church slammed after he ushered her back in. I laughed softly to myself as I lit another cigarette and relaxed. Not much later, the people started leaving the church and going to their cars.
I didn’t bother calling my mom to come and get me. I’d already caused her enough shit as it was. The least I could do was let her relax for the rest of the night. So after having the preacher sign my paper, I set off for home on foot.
I hadn’t really had to walk anywhere since I’d bought my old Mustang when I was sixteen. Thankfully, my mom didn’t ask where I’d gotten the money since it took me months of selling white gutter glitter to afford it. Selling cocaine at sixteen had gotten me quite a bit of shit, but nothing as good as my sixty-nine Mustang. It looked like shit but ran like a champ. At least it did until I got stupid and blew up the fucking thing racing it.
I was halfway down the road when my mom pulled over and picked me up.
“You didn’t have to walk, Jimmy. I told you I’d be there.”
I’d always loved it when she called me Jimmy. My name was James, but she’d taken it upon herself when I first came to her to give me a nickname. At twelve years old, it was a nice change, just like her home had been. Being moved from one foster home to another meant living in some pretty shady places. The moment I walked into her house, I felt like I was home.
She looked over at me with tired eyes. The new pain medicine she was on was really taking its toll on her. Right after I was sent to her, she started having awful pains in her legs and lower back. She went to a different doctor every month, but no one could ever tell her what was wrong. It was the fifth doctor that finally diagnosed her with multiple sclerosis.
Over the years, she’d gotten worse. Her vision was wearing down and there were some days when she had problems moving. I was there to help her out as much as I could. She hated the help, but she needed it.
It was almost as if we were perfect for each other. I was an unwanted foster child who was dumped in foster home after foster home, and she was a woman who was unable to have kids. No one wanted me. Once she was diagnosed with MS, she needed me. It worked.
I could still remember the first time I’d called her mom. I got in trouble at school and the principal called her in. I’d introduced her as my mom in his office that day and the look of pure happiness on her face filled me with joy. I knew in that moment that calling her Mom had effectively erased her memory of all the bad things I’d gotten mixed up in since I moved in with her. It stuck from that point on. She called me Jimmy and I called her mom. We worked. We understood each other.
“I know, but I knew you weren’t feeling good when I left earlier. I have two feet and I could use the exercise.” I playfully patted at my stomach.
“Yeah, you’re such a fatty. Who wants a six pack when you can have eight?” She joked as she reached over and poked my stomach. “So how was the church thing?”