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Her angry outbursts and irrationality took a downward swing.

Even so, as she slowly tapered off the drug, she battled more, but less dramatic, withdrawal.

Somehow, miraculously, we muddled through it.

We celebrated Faith's “graduation” with a weekend trip to Myrtle Beach. Jensen and Maddie went along, exploring sand and surf with Faith, gallivanting all over and in general, making spectacles of themselves.

Dan and I? We enjoyed air-conditioned comfort and stolen moments of intimacy while the younger crowd romped and played outside during daylight hours. After wonderful restaurant seafood dinners, we would all meander to the Myrtle Beach Pavilion for rides and entertainment.

Dan and I managed to soak up a little sun. But I'd already discovered that at our age, sun did really weird things to skin, which in my case no longer simply freckled. No. Blotches and fuzzy brown protrusions appeared, things I always thought were reserved for witches and wizards and relics of humanity.

Besides, the heat was atrocious. So Dan and I munched away at junk food, watched movies and basked in the cool suite, gazing out at the rolling, blue Atlantic and enjoying the lulling sound of surf and wave.

I look back on those four days and sigh contentedly. How idyllic they were.

How peaceful.

And I'd let myself think — during that sweet interlude — that the dark times were all behind us.

How wrong I was.

Those next months, till this day, stand out like a three-dimensional horror saga.

That Faith had ceased to do drugs did not bring back my daughter.

And now, my husband, the man I'd known all through the years — Faith's father — was but a shell of himself. Seemed that since that day Dan discovered the theft of his checks and subsequent funds stolen, he'd not been the same.

The proverbial camel's straw had crashed down on him.

Faith? After the initial triumph of getting clean, she slowly morphed into this new version of herself. The silence surrounding her was deafening at times. She remained an enigma. I could not, for the life of me, solve the riddle of who she was.

“I don't really know her,” I shared with Dan in those early post-rehab days. “Will she ever come back, the Faith we knew?”

“I don't know her, either. Haven't for a long time.” That was pretty much the extent of Dan's allusion to Faith. He simply turned her off.

The disconnection blasted like a cannon. Reminded me of the time the DSS officer had investigated Dan for child abuse. He'd felt betrayed by Faith. Now, he succinctly abdicated the Daddy-stance. It whammied my gut
every time he excised her out of our discussions. “I don't want to talk about it,” was his pat reply.

“Can you not forgive her?” I pushed him for clarity.

“It has nothing to do with forgiveness. It has to do with trust.”

Anything I said beyond that resulted in his walking out.

But I knew.

Yes, trust was an issue.

At the same time, his growing aversion to Faith had
everything
to do with forgiveness.

“Hi, Jensen!” I greeted my nephew, Faith's soul mate, at the door on a rainy summer day.

He stooped to hug me, scooped me up and swung me round and round until I was drunk as a skunk, then set me down, steadying me, laughing like a hyena.

I blinked away the loopy stars and took his beautiful face in my hands. “I love you, sweet boy!” I gave him a big kiss on his bristly cheek. “When did you start growing a beard? Huh, I ask you?”

“About fifteen, twenty years ago, Auntie. Where's ol' motor mouth?”

“Shut up, Tank,” Faith yelled from the kitchen and came out toting a bag of cheese Doritos, stuffing her mouth. She walked up and hugged him and held out the Dorito bag for him to pilfer.

“Wha's happening?” he asked her as they plopped on opposite sofas, feet planted on the glass topped coffee table.

“Well, I took my period two days ago and it's already dried up. I'm like an old woman with raisins for ovaries.”

Jensen threw back his head, arms spread wide, fingers orange with cheesy powder. “Lord. Do I have to listen to stuff in ‘this is more than I want to know' category?”

“Oh heck, Jensen. You're just one of the girls.”

From the kitchen, which opened up into the den, I laughed out loud at that one. Jensen, at six three, two hundred pounds of solid Stallone brawn and exotic male beauty that rivaled the composite features of Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp, propelled by the wit of Ryan Reynolds, was the farthest thing from anything resembling a girl.

“Aunt Deede,” he called. “Do I have to sit here and be insulted like this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You just come by here to pick a fight with me,” Faith sniped, crunching into another Dorito.

And something inside me fluttered upward, happily acknowledging that this side to Faith rarely emerged lately. The one that engaged and entertained. Celebrated.

“Nope,” he got up, yanked away her chips bag and dug out a fist full. “I came to see what's going on with you.” He dropped the bag back in her lap. “You've not been answering your phone. I've left you at least a dozen messages — very seriously
concerned
voice mails, mind you — and you haven't had the common courtesy to respond. I take extreme umbrage.” For emphasis, he popped several Doritos in his mouth and crunched his way back to the sofa.

“If you two will excuse me,” I said, “I'll go work on my column.” Actually, I felt they needed some privacy to hash out what was ailing Faith. She was notorious for ignoring calls and text messages.

But ignoring Jensen's messages?

This was not an encouraging development.

“Sure, Aunt Deede,” Jensen rose and gave me a solid peck on the cheek.

As I silently typed in my office, their voices drifted in and out. And as Faith gained momentum, her voice grew characteristically strident. I didn't eavesdrop. The sound rode to me.

“I thought when I got off drugs, everything would magically turn out right. That everybody would be happy with me.” She snorted with disgust. “Wrong. I'm so unhappy, Jense. I'm really screwed.”

“Faith, you've got lots of life ahead of you,” Jensen implored.

“
Hah.
Tell Dad that. He says I've already blown it. That I'll never amount to anything. And — ”

“Faith, I know Uncle Dan and he wouldn't say — ”

“Maybe not in those exact words, Jensen. But they add up to the same thing. Dad hates me. Plain and simple.”

“He does not hate you!” Jensen insisted. “You've got to realize that you've ticked him off with all your crap. Know what? If I'd stolen from my parents, ended up in the slammer over and over, costing them caboodles of cash, and dishonored them like you, they'd have already kicked me out. You can betcha bottom on that.”

“Huh.”

A long silence.

“Faith,” Jensen's voice gentled. “I've got something to tell you. That's why I tried to call you so often this past week.”

“What? Are you getting married or something?” Faith's relief at subject change was apparent in the lilt of her voice.

“Something.” A long throat clearing. “I'm being deployed next week.”

“What?” Faith shrieked. “Jense — where?”

“Afghanistan. For a year.”

Jensen had served in the Air Force Reserves for the past four years and so far, their unit had been exempt from war duty. Now, seemed the luck of the draw had run out. Tears rushed to my eyes — our little Jensen going to war.

I heard Faith burst into tears, an unusual thing, and I half rose, then thought better and resettled into my desk chair. Reeling with shock that Jensen was being deployed, I had to remind myself that this was not a time for me to intrude.

“Why
you
?” she wailed. “What am I going to do without you here, Jense? I have
nobody.
” More sobs. “I just wanna die.”

“Don't talk stupid.” I heard the worry in his voice.

My heart felt strangely squeezed that she felt I was not there for her. And that the loss of Jensen was more than she could bear. I snuffled and swiped a Kleenex off my desk.

“Listen,” Jensen said gently, “you'll do just fine with me gone. You're stronger than you think, Faith. Trust me on this. We'll stay in touch online. Daily. I'm going because I can be of use in communications. My quote ‘computer skills' unquote will come in handy. So they say.”

I knew Jensen, like no other, could divert Faith from dark solutions.

A snuffle. “Online? Really?”

“Yeh.” A soft chuckle. “Ol' computer nerd here done already checked it all out. See, they have these two Internet lines. One is civilian and unclassified and open to
everybody — which you and I will daily use to stay in touch. The other is, of course, the classified network. So, no probe-lem, chick-a-dee ...”

The conversation continued to more upbeat data. Light teasing.

A few minutes later, Jensen approached my chair, swooped and kissed my cheek.

He whispered, “Bye, Aunt Deede. Hang in there, y'hear? We'll get through this mess soon.”

If anybody in the world knew Faith, it was Jensen. He loved her unconditionally.

Still.

I reached up and hugged his muscular neck. “I overheard about your deployment,” I confessed.

He grinned, showing Mario Lopez dimples and teeth. “I figured you did.”

“You be safe, now, and do stay in touch with Faith. And with me.”

“You got it.”

“But I'll see you Sunday at church. Right? We'll connect there.”

“You betcha.”

On his way out, I heard him call to Faith. “See you in church Sunday.”

A joke. Usually. Because Faith had, by now, become the clan “heathen.”

Did she care?
Hah.

But this time, Faith surprised me and called back, “Yeah, see you there.”

Faith ping-ponged between going and not going to church on Sunday morning. I left her alone. I'd learned
many years back to not push Faith. That perverse streak in her was entirely too quirky and unpredictable.

In the end, she appeared downstairs fully dressed, makeup and hair in place. “Ready?” she called impatiently, grabbing her Marlboro 100s from the kitchen counter. “I'm gonna take a minute and smoke.”

“Hurry up and wait,” Dan mumbled in mimicry. His handsome brow furrowed as he pulled on his suit coat and straightened his tie. “She is such a control freak,” he muttered. He opened his mouth again, then clamped it shut.

I knew he was about to complain about her bad nicotine habit again but opted to let it go in the name of harmony. Sundays, he said, were a time of peace.