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I worried that her sequestered existence was so unhealthy. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not draw her out of her numinous shell.

“Priss, do you know any good family counselors?” I asked her that very week during our sisterly coffee summit in my kitchen. “Someone cheap but good.”

Priss's laughter pealed. “You know those don't go together, don't you? Cheap and good?”

“Aw, you know what I mean,” I laughed, too, at the absurdity of expectation. “I know you get what you pay for. Only thing — we can't afford to pay much, what with all the load we're already carrying.”

“I'll check with Lexie and see what we can come up with.”

The next day, she called. “Dr. David Shedd. He's a certified counselor.”

“I can't afford — ”

“He's a Christian who helps folks like you guys even if you can't pay. He feels it's a ministry.”

“I wouldn't expect him to work for free,” I said.

“You can pay him what you can. In his own words. He emphasized ‘don't worry about money. The main thing is getting help'.”

I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks for those merciful ones willing to help.

“Grab a pen and take down his number.”

Dr. Shedd worked in Social Services and came by our house on his way home from work to counsel our family. We each, in turn, took our medicine. Yes, foul-tasting medicine it was because neither of us wanted to be turned inside out.

Lordy. It was rough taking off the rose-colored glasses and really taking a gander at ourselves.

Dr. Shedd tried to convince Dan not to be so dogmatic and controlling with Faith. Dan countered with how Faith insisted on controlling him. Dr. Shedd asked Dan to think on it.

He advised me to not react to Faith so much. I agreed that I overreacted at times and was willing to meet halfway. But that I felt I was already doing that. He asked me to think on it seriously in the next week, every time a conflict arose. He suggested to Faith that she consider herself a guest in our home and to behave as a guest would. She agreed but gave him reasons why she felt abused. He
asked her to think on being a guest versus being an entitled family member.

The next week, we all admitted that we could improve our attitudes. For a time after the next sessions, we all three moved in a semblance of harmony, each acknowledging the other's space.

Then, months later, Jensen failed to e-mail for several days in a row. Faith called me up to her bedroom, a messy chamber that didn't embrace me. That had not changed dramatically. But I tried not to take in the clutter and focus on Faith.

“He's not responding to my messages, Mama,” Faith moaned, on the verge of panic. “Do you think something's happened to him? I see every few days where car bombs and stuff happen and kill troops. You don't think it's happened to Jensen, do you?”

My heart lurched at the distinct possibility. But I forced myself to remain calm. “No. I'm sure these lapses happen for legitimate reasons. They're not just sitting there twiddling their thumbs, waiting for e-mails.”

She huffed impatiently. “That's not funny.”

“I know it's not. But try not to worry.” I would call Lexie as soon as Faith was out of hearing range to check it out.

“Mama,” she slumped back against her pillows and I noticed the paleness of her puffy features. Dark shadows beneath her desolate eyes lay vivid against skin's whiteness.

“What, honey?”

“Pray.” She reached out and took my hand and closed her eyes, rolling over and curling into a fetal knot.

My heart constricted. Faith was not prone to ask that. She wasn't an atheist. Neither was she agnostic. She
believed. But most of the time, at least in recent years, she'd neglected her spiritual self. Even, at her worst times, scoffed a bit.

Today, I held her icy hand and prayed. For Faith. For Jensen's safety. And for our home. When I finished, I kissed her cheek and tasted the salt of her tears.

“Thanks, Mama,” she whispered.

“We've not heard anything from Jensen, Deede,” Lexie's tense voice relayed her own concerns when I phoned her a few minutes later. “He's not e-mailing me, either. I'm trying not to worry. I figure there will be times like this, when he's busy doing his thing there.”

“I didn't call to alarm you, Lex,” I reassured her. “I don't think there's anything to worry about. Faith has a tendency to obsess lately, is all.”

“Poor thing. She and Jensen have always been tight. This separation has to be hard for her. And her trying to get leveled out after rehab and all.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Take care and let me know if you hear from Jensen, okay?”

“Sure thing, honey. Love you.”

“Me, too.”

As soon as I rang off, I turned and nearly bumped into Faith.

“She's not heard from him either, has she?” Her words were almost slurred, her eyes dead.

“Faith, are you taking something?” Alarms buzzed through me.

“There you go,” she turned away, cursing. “Always suspecting the worst.”

“Are you?” I followed her to the stairs and watched her climb them, mumbling under her breath, sloughing heavily, weaving.

Her door slammed and I heard the loud
click
of her lock.

“Faith!” I called, banging on her door. “I wasn't trying to start a fight. I'm concerned, honey. Can I please come in?”

No response. The moments slid into minutes as I stood there, forehead pressed against door. Would this never cease?

I turned and retraced my steps downstairs. I tried to watch television until Dan came home. I couldn't harness my mind to focus. I found myself going over the past weeks. The counseling had fizzled when Dan and Faith continued barreling down a collision course.

I tried to be a mediator and keep my cool. But with a misspoken word here or a misguided look there, things between Faith and me began to slowly unravel. With Dan, Faith usually soft-pedaled and learned to dance around outright implosions. With me, in private, she left a trail of antagonism as solid as the Great Walls of China.

Did I stand up to her?

Strongly. At times, fiercely.

For the record, there is not one shred of martyr's complex in my psyche. I've been told that I have a healthy self-image. And I'm known as an expert negotiator. Dan always sends me ahead to the business-bargaining table. I've never in my entire life had difficulty in that arena. Relationship-wise, through calm discussion, I usually accomplish a meeting of minds, even in disagreement, and everyone walks away with mutual respect and a modicum of dignity intact.

But somehow, Faith's repertoire of how-to-go-at-life deleted
negotiation
. She was, from birth, equipped with a keen mind and even sharper tongue. She's adept at maneuvering and turning one's own words against one.

As Dan is fond of saying, “She's way ahead of us.” Yet — I think she has more of Dan's emotional make-up than he is aware of. The driven part.

Only thing is, Dan's drive is focused and disciplined.

Faith's is rampant, unruly and disruptive.

I heard the front door open and shut. Dan was home. He came into the den where I sat, TV remote dangling in one hand with me staring unseeing at the screen.

“Faith's not swept her cigarette ashes off the porch,” he muttered with disgust. “It looks terrible.”

I looked at him and sighed. “I know. It does. But she's having a terrible day.”

“Huh. She's always having a terrible day. It doesn't take two minutes to clean up her roost out there. But will she do it? No. I think she leaves messes on purpose, to tick us off. Pull our chains. To prove a point.” He marched to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

He came to sit opposite me as the coffee made. “If she would just — be nice, you know? Honor us? Show a little appreciation? It wouldn't be so bad having her here. Heck, I wouldn't mind helping her. Not at all.”

I nodded. I felt the same.

He continued, getting more irate by the moment. “But she's not grateful. She feels that whatever is ours is hers. She's not willing to work flipping burgers. It's beneath her.” He scowled and shook his head. “I don't get it. And she stays angry all the time, upsetting you and wearing me down. She's not teachable.”

His anger was building and so was the tension inside me. “Dan, Faith has been doing better … until this thing with Jensen came up. It seems to have spun her out.”

“I'm sorry, Deede, but I don't see a big change. I see that she still yanks our chains and demands and uses and shows no courtesy or kindness. The least she can do for us is to hold her dirty tongue and be kind.” He shrugged. “I don't see that happening.”

Dan went outside to water the flower garden, his niche. He loved to watch things grow and kept our landscape meticulously groomed. He also used the activity to sift and sweat away frustrations, to neutralize stress.

“Mama!” Faith called from the top of the stairs. “Help me!”

I ran just as she crumpled on the stairs, catching her before she began to tumble. I held her in my arms, listening to her gasping and turning white. “I'm dying,” she muttered. Then the spasms set in.

“Dan!” I screamed to the top of my lungs. “Help!”

“She's running a fever of 104.5 degrees,” the ER doctor told us. “We're doing an IV to bring it down.”

“Are you testing her for drugs?” Dan asked.

I glared at him for a moment, but he ignored me and plowed ahead.

“She's been through drug rehab but — does she seem to be on anything?”

“We can't know until we get the blood work done. I'm going to admit her because she seems to be in some kind of trauma. She will need overnight monitoring at the least. After that, we'll see.”

Lexie and Priss arrived at the hospital a few minutes later. I'd called them after dialing 911 and waiting for an ambulance. They rushed to embrace me in the waiting room. “How is she?” they asked in unison.

I filled them in and then asked, “Have you heard anything from Jensen?”

“Yes, thank the Lord!” Lexie took a deep breath as tears brightened her eyes. “He called today and said he hoped we hadn't been concerned about him. His unit had been working round the clock and he couldn't contact us.”

I caved in with relief. “
Thank God.
Faith has been so worried about him. We all have, in fact.”

I took them into Faith's cubicle, where they both kissed her pale cheek, but her eyes remained shut and her breathing shallow as the IV pumped life-saving, medlaced fluids into her.

We returned to the waiting area and Dan went back to spend a few private moments minutes with Faith. “Dan looks like last week's leftovers,” Priss muttered, though her eyes were incredibly affectionate.

“Yeh,” Lexie agreed. “Poor man. These kids are gonna be the death of us yet.” They stayed for a while, reassuring themselves that Faith was in good hands before departing to feed their families supper. I promised to keep them updated.

Dan came out of the ER looking pale and his eyes suspiciously red. “I thought she was waking up at one point,” he croaked hoarsely. I realized that the time with Faith had been emotional for him. Somehow, I knew that to talk about it would shatter something very delicate.

Both Priss and Lexie called, inquiring about Faith, promising to come back in the event she didn't quickly recover consciousness.

I prayed that wouldn't happen.

An hour later, the ER physician on call, Dr. Temp, came out. “Your daughter is coming around. Her fever is down. The culprit is a strain of strep.”