Keeping Faith: A Novel (33 page)

and then an unfamiliar woman–the lawyer?–

marches Mariah right back to the driveway and into a Jeep.

Ian pushes his way to the front of the crowd, a swarm of people who touch the fenders and doors of the Jeep as it slows to a stop at the end of the driveway. The police push them out of the way,

and the SUV inches forward. Ian stares at the passenger window, willing Mariah to look up.

As the Jeep pulls out of the driveway, she does. He smiles at her for encouragement, and she cranes her neck as the car continues to move,

turns in her seat, taps her fingers to the glass as if she would touch him.

KEEPING FAITH BOOK II THE NEW TESTAMENT

Keeping Faith

TEN

When love begins to sicken and decay,

It useth an enforc`ed ceremony.

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

–William Shakespeare,

Julius Caesar October 27, 1999 Mariah stands beside Joan in the middle of the judge’s chambers, terrified of making a wrong move. She is uncomfortably aware that she’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, while Joan is wearing an olive suit, and both Colin and his attorney are dressed in Armani.

She stands ramrod straight, as if posture might count when it comes to deciding who will retain custody of Faith.

“Mariah,” Colin whispers behind his lawyer’s back, but the man hushes him.

The judge has been diligently scribbling away at his desk, and although it is past three o’clock, neither Joan nor the other lawyer has made any move to remind him that the hearing was supposed to start. Mariah realizes that the judge is wearing earphones. Very tiny ones, like news anchors wear–the kind that snake over the shell of the ear like a hearing aid. He reaches beneath his desk, pushes at something, and then tugs the tiny plugs from his ears. “All right,” he says,

turning to Colin’s lawyer, whom Mariah thinks she may have seen on the regional news. “Mr.

Metz, what do you have to say?”

The man smooths his tie with a feline preening that makes Mariah think of a ferret. “This is a matter of life and death, Your Honor. Mariah White is endangering my client’s child.”

Mariah feels everyone’s eyes settle on her. A flush works its way up her neck.

“Your Honor, my client only recently became aware of the dog-and-pony show that has become his child’s life, and the constant threat of physical endangerment. He’s in a position now to provide her with the safety and security she needs, and he feels that it is of the utmost importance that she get out of her mother’s household. It’s why we felt strongly about an ex parte hearing, and it’s why we’re confident that you’ll decide my client should have full custody.

But in the interests of safety, we want her removed from the home right now, before any more irreparable damage is done.”

Judge Rothbottam purses his lips.

“Six weeks ago your client legally ceded custody to his ex-wife, which leads me to believe he didn’t consider her a threat to the child’s welfare then. As far as I can see, the only thing that’s changed is a little press activity on the front lawn. What’s life-threatening about that?”

“In addition to the psychological stress of being paraded in front of the media daily, my client’s daughter has been hospitalized for intense trauma to the hands.”

“Trauma?” Joan sputters. “Your Honor, there’s absolutely no medical proof that Faith’s injuries were caused by trauma. In fact, several doctors have gone on record saying as much, and, as I’m sure you know, there’s an issue here that Mr. Metz is conveniently ignoring, which is that the child is apparently performing miracles and speaking to God. And as for the media–

well, their descent on the household has absolutely nothing to do with my client. She has done everything humanly possible to provide her daughter with a normal life in spite of them.

Mr. Metz’s charge of endangerment is nothing but a thinly veiled attempt to turn a weak case into the sort of wildly dramatic spectacle in which he prefers to be involved.”

Mariah cannot take her eyes off Joan Standish. She’s never heard the woman string together that many words, and so compellingly.

Judge Rothbottam snorts. “Well,

Ms. Standish, that was some pretty histrionic grandstanding yourself.”

Metz sits forward at the edge of his seat, a pit bull ready to spring. “Your Honor, the issue that Ms. Standish is trying to obscure is that a child is in jeopardy. Three months ago,

when my client left, his daughter was a well-adjusted little girl. Now she’s a victim of psychotic hallucinations and serious bodily injury. I urge you to err on the side of safety here, and give my client temporary custody of the child until the hearing.”

Joan completely ignores Metz.

“Judge, the divorce has been hard enough on Faith. The last time she saw her father, he was half naked and carousing with some other woman.”

“I beg your pardon!” Metz says,

livid.

“Don’t beg mine. The last place Faith White should go is to her father’s house, Your Honor. Please let her stay with my client.”

Judge Rothbottam picks up his earphone and begins to laboriously wind the wires into a tight sailor’s noose. “I think I’ve had enough for one afternoon. It doesn’t appear to me that the child is in any immediate crisis, Mr. Metz.

We’ll have a custody hearing in five weeks.

I trust that’s enough time?”

“The sooner the better, Your Honor,”

Metz says. “For Faith’s sake.”

The judge does not bother to look up from his calendar. “I’m appointing a psychiatrist,

Dr. Orlitz, whom I want to evaluate your client, Metz; and your client, Standish; and their daughter as well. It’s a court order, which means that you all will cooperate. You’re free to get your own psychiatrists, of course, but you’ll also speak to Dr. Orlitz. I’m also appointing Kenzie van der Hoven as guardian ad litem, and I’ll expect you to give her any information she needs. If you have an objection to Ms. van der Hoven, I want to hear it now.”

Joan whispers to Mariah, “She’s good.”

Metz feels his client’s eyes on him, and shrugs. He doesn’t know jackshit about GAL’S in New Canaan, New Hampshire. Manchester is one thing, but for all he knows Kenzie van der Whatever is Joan Standish’s sister. “We think that’s fine, Your Honor,” Metz announces in a strong, clear voice.

“We do, too,” Joan adds.

“Marvelous. The custody hearing will begin Friday, December third.”

“I have a conflict,” Metz says, poring over his calendar. “I’m scheduled to be taking a deposition in the case of a boy who’s divorcing his parents.”

“Is that supposed to impress me, Mr.

Metz?” Judge Rothbottam asks. “Because it really doesn’t. Find someone else to do it.

You’re the one who wants this case tried expediently.”

Metz folds the leather binding of his Filofax. “I’ll be here.”

“Joan?”

“I don’t have any conflicts.”

“Excellent.” The judge pushes the earphones into place. “I can’t wait.”

Joan pulls into the driveway and touches Mariah’s arm. “Remember what I told you.

This isn’t the end of the world.”

Mariah’s smile does not quite reach her eyes.

“Thank you. For everything.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I was impressed.”

“Girl, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Joan laughs. “I might have taken on this case for free, just to stand up to Malcolm Metz. Now, you go on inside and play with your daughter.”

Mariah nods and gets out of the Jeep, flinching at the questions hurled from distant reporters, and at the sight of a tremendous poster of Faith’s face held by a large group of women. She feels fragile, an ornament made of spun sugar, but she steels her composure while she climbs the porch steps. As soon as she opens the door,

her mother and Faith come running into the parlor. After a searching look at Mariah’s face, Millie turns to her granddaughter. “Honey, I left my reading glasses on the arm of the couch. Could you get them?”

As soon as Faith is out of hearing range,

Millie closes in. “So?”

“In five weeks we have to go to court.”

“That son of a bitch. I knew you–“

“Ma,” Mariah interrupts. “Don’t do this now.” She sinks down on the stairs and scrubs her hands over her face. “This isn’t about Colin.”

“It’s not about you, either, Mariah, but I’ll bet five weeks from now it will be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That your Achilles’ heel, unfortunately,

is a target as big as a barn. And that Colin and his fancy lawyer are sure to strike there.”

“By then Joan will have come up with something,”

Mariah says, but she knows she is trying to convince herself as well as Millie. What court would pick her as the better parent?

Maybe Colin’s right–maybe it is her fault. She has made poor choices before regarding Faith; this could be yet more proof of her inadequate parenting: one rash decision, one selfish move, one conversation that took root in Faith’s imagination and brought her to this point. There have been times, after all, when Colin questioned Mariah’s judgment with good reason.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Millie mutters,

pulling Mariah upright. “You go right upstairs and steam that look off your face.”

“What–“

“Take a hot shower. Clear your head.

I’ve seen you get like this before, all full of doubts about whether you’ve got the good sense God gave a beetle, much less a competent mother. I swear, I don’t know how Colin does it, but the man’s a Svengali when it comes to your mind.”

She pushes Mariah up the stairs as Faith comes into the parlor with her grandmother’s eyeglasses.

“Oh, good,” she says to the girl. “Let’s go see if we can find Sunday’s comics.”

Aware of Faith’s eyes following her,

Mariah smiles with every step. She deliberately shoves aside the thoughts that batter away at her:

what Joan will say in court, what the judge will make of Mariah’s hasty escape to Kansas City, what Ian will say and do now that they have returned. She undresses and turns the shower on so that a white mist fills the bathroom.

Inside the stall, the water pounds heavy and hot,

but Mariah cannot stop shivering. Like the survivor of an accident, the close call hits all at once, and she is by turns frightened and stunned.

What if, five weeks from now, her daughter is legally removed? What if, once again, Colin gets his way? Mariah slides down to the tiled floor, arms crossed tight, and lets herself fall apart.

After Faith is bathed and put to bed, Mariah walks into the living room to find Millie peering out from the edge of the curtains. “Like Yasgur’s Farm,” she murmurs, hearing Mariah come up behind her. “Look out in the field. You can see all those little flickering lights … What were they holding up back then–candles?”

“Cigarette lighters. And how would you know about Woodstock?”

Millie turns and smiles. “Don’t underestimate your mother.” She reaches for Mariah’s hand and squeezes. “You feeling better yet?”

At the simple, sweet concern, Mariah almost breaks down again. She lets her mother lead her to the couch and lays her head in her lap. As Millie begins to smooth Mariah’s hair back from her brow, she can feel some of the tension ebb, some of the problems fall by the wayside. “I wouldn’t say I’m feeling better. Numb is more like it.”

Millie continues to stroke her daughter’s hair. “Faith seems to be holding up all right.”

“I don’t know if she understands what’s happening.”

There is a moment of silence. “She isn’t the only one.”

Mariah sits up, color flooding her face. “What do you mean by that?”

“When are you going to tell me the rest?”

“I already told you everything that happened in court.”

Millie tucks a strand of Mariah’s hair behind her ear. “You know, you look just the way you did when you stayed out with Billy Flaherty two hours past curfew.”

“It was a flat tire. I told you that almost twenty years ago.”

“And I still don’t believe you. God, I remember sitting up in bed watching the clock and wondering, What on earth does Mariah see in him, with his brooding and his moods?”

“He was only sixteen, and his father was an alcoholic, and his parents were in the middle of a divorce. He needed someone to talk to.”

“The thing is,” Millie continues, as if Mariah has not spoken, “the other night I was lying in bed watching the clock and wondering, Why on earth is Mariah staying with Ian Fletcher?

And you come home, and you’ve got that same face on all over again.”

Mariah scoffs and turns away. “I don’t have any face on.”

“Yes you do. It’s the one that says it’s already too late for me to keep you from going over the edge.” She waits for Mariah to look at her again, slowly, and with great reservation. “So you tell me,” Millie says softly. “How hard was the fall?”

A stillness settles over Mariah as she realizes that her mother is no more prescient than Mariah herself. All the moments she’s awakened in the middle of the night a split second before Faith’s cries fill the dark,