Janice Macdonald - Keeping Faith

“Nothing changes, does it?” The words shot out before Hannah could think about them. “Your daughter’s doing fine, by the way.”

He stared at her. “My daughter?”

“Yes, your daughter. Who will be six on Saturday. Probably just slipped your mind, huh?”

“You…you ended the pregnancy. You had an abortion.”

Hannah blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother told me you had an abortion.”

“My mother?” She gaped at him. “My mother told you that! And you believed her?”

“You were very upset the day you told me you were pregnant,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. “You said we were too young. We had a fight and you left. When you didn’t come home that night, I went to see your mother. She said you’d gone away and she wouldn’t tell me where. But she definitely gave me the impression that you’d gone to have—”

“My God, Liam. Why would she tell you that? There was never any thought of having an abortion.”

“Obviously, that’s a question you’ll have to ask her.”

Dear Reader,

As a parent or grandparent, we want only the best for our children and grandchildren. But conflicting opinions can result in a painful and emotional tug-of-war. In Keeping Faith, six-year-old Faith is the center of a universe that includes her mother, Hannah, her grandmother Margaret and three aunts. All would do absolutely anything for her. And so would Faith’s father, Liam.

In this book I’ve tired to explore issues of trust and boundary setting, and the complexities—and, of course, the numerous joys and rewards—of the mother-daughter relationship.

I love to hear from readers and try to write back whenever possible. Please visit my Web site at janicemacdonald.com and let me know how you enjoyed this book.

Best wishes,

Janice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my mother, Dorothy, my daughter Carolyn and my granddaughter Emily.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HANNAH RILEY HAD NEVER actually experienced a gun going off at close range, but when she opened the Long Beach Press Telegram Monday morning and saw Liam Tully’s picture, she figured the effect would have to be pretty similar. Around her, all sound and movement ceased. Oxygen seemed sucked from the room. The picture blurred.

Liam Tully? It couldn’t be.

It was. A little older than the last time she’d seen him—six years older, to be exact—but definitely Liam. Thin face, too thin to be conventionally handsome. Deep-set eyes. Terrific smile.

The caption beneath the picture read: Liam Tully, lead singer for the Celtic folk group, The Wild Rovers. The group from County Galway will perform next Friday through Sunday at Fiddler’s Green in Huntington Beach as part of a four-week California tour.

Hannah read and reread the announcement. Stared at Liam’s picture as though it might reveal something the caption didn’t. Stared at the picture and saw herself as she’d been the last time she’d seen Liam. Twenty-five, pregnant and scared to death. Of everything. God.

Carefully, as though it might detonate, she set the newspaper aside and smiled up at the dark-haired woman who had just walked into her classroom. Hannah stuck out her hand and searched through her brain, suddenly gone blank, for the woman’s name. Becker.

“Hi, Mrs. Becker.” She glanced at her watch. “You’re a little early, but if you give me a minute, I’ll find Taylor’s assessment results.”

Four-year-old Taylor had flunked a mock prekindergarten screening test two days ago. The real test, in which he would be put through his paces—skipping, hopping, wielding scissors and filling in the blanks to questions like “A bed is for sleeping and a table is for…”—was a few weeks away, but his mother had called to ask Hannah what could be done to improve her son’s performance.

As she retrieved Taylor’s folder, Hannah had an insane urge to propose to Mrs. Becker, a brittle-looking blonde in a black pantsuit, that Taylor be allowed to be himself. An easygoing child who delighted in running through the sprinklers on La Petite Ecole’s manicured lawn and showed little enthusiasm for mastering the alphabet.

She resisted the urge. Parents who paid thousands of dollars a year to send their children to La Petite Ecole, who crammed their kids’ schedules with extracurricular classes in early math and classical music appreciation, did so in order to crush the competition when it came time for kindergarten.

And, as Hannah continually had to remind herself, most parents—however misguided their motives might seem—really only wanted the best for their children.

Most parents.

She dragged her mind back to Taylor Becker’s mother, who had just asked her a question and was waiting for an answer.

“Sorry.” Hannah smiled at the woman.

“I was asking if there’s anything else we can do.” She hesitated, her face coloring slightly. “I bought him this darling T-shirt to wear for the test. I’m sure it sounds silly to you, but I started thinking that if he were dressed in a really hip shirt it might set him apart from the others.” Another pause. “We don’t want him to fail again.”

Hannah looked at her for a moment. “If I can give you a piece of advice, Mrs. Becker, I would strongly suggest that you don’t use the word fail. Especially to Taylor. And I’d also suggest that you try to relax. If he sees you’re stressed, he’ll get anxious and maybe not do so well. Children pick up on negative emotions.”

IT WAS CRAZY, but all afternoon—ever since she had read the article about Liam—she’d had the fantasy that when she got home, Liam would be waiting for her. At one point the feeling was so strong she’d actually picked up the phone to make an appointment at the beauty parlor—this was not one of her better hair days. And then, remembering that he was probably still a few hundred miles to the north, she’d put the phone down and revised the scenario. There would be a message to say he’d called. She could still recreate the sound of his voice. Even after six years, she could conjure it up. Let’s get together, he’d say in her fantasy. Let’s talk about what happened. I miss you, I still love you. But as she opened the front door, Hannah knew Liam wouldn’t be waiting inside and, as she stood in the kitchen doorway watching her daughter, she knew, too, that there had been no call.

Faith, a week shy of her sixth birthday, sat at a large wooden table in the center of the room. Brow furrowed, she was squeezing pink icing onto a row of cookies. A California girl, all tanned limbs and sun-bleached hair, worn now in a tightly controlled ponytail that set off her clear skin and blue eyes.

Liam’s eyes.

Children pick up on negative emotions.

Most parents only want what’s best for their children.

Liam wasn’t most parents.

Hannah didn’t need Liam in her life.

Faith didn’t need Liam in her life.

Children pick up on negative emotions.

Hannah consciously slowed her breathing, stayed in the doorway, smiling now as she waited for either her daughter or her mother, who was on the phone, to look up and see her.

Her parents had moved into the large Spanish-style house a block from the ocean in Long Beach just after Hannah’s first birthday and, of all the rooms in the house, the huge square kitchen figured most prominently in her childhood memories.