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Fitz held the swing in place as she sank carefully onto the cushion. Then he joined her, letting his weight off his feet tentatively. The ceiling gave a tiny groan, but that was it.
Faith sighed. “Everything in and around this house seems to be falling apart. My father did his best, but his arthritis made it hard to keep up with repairs.”
“How are your parents doing now?”
“Oh, very well. They leased a camper back in June, and now we only hear from them when they have cellular connectivity.”
“Was your father a pastor or a priest?”
She chuckled. “What makes you say that?”
“You and your sisters’ names.”
She smiled. “That was my mother’s doing. She raised us in the church I still attend, though I haven’t been there lately. I’ve just been too busy.”
She was about to be even busier now that her new business would begin on Monday.
A reflective silence fell between them.
“I’m worried about Grace,” Faith admitted. “She’s still trying to adopt Mateo.”
Fitz slanted Faith a startled look. “How?”
“She told me the SEAL said he could help somehow.” She reached over, dragging a small table in front of the swing, and heaved her booted feet atop it.
Her sigh of relief made Fitz remember how he used to massage Mary’s feet when she was in her third trimester. The offer to do the same for Faith stuck in his throat. It seemed like both the right and the wrong thing to do.
“I love the quiet of the country.” Faith’s husky voice lulled him as she began to rock them ever so slightly, back and forth. “Living downtown wasn’t for me. I grew up out here. I just love seeing the stars at night and listening to the crickets and the tree frogs. It’s so peaceful, don’t you think?”
He listened, hearing the pleasant chitter of insects and Olivia’s sweet voice beckoning the fireflies to her jar. “Very peaceful.” He couldn’t help comparing it to the sterile, urban atmosphere of his penthouse downtown, or the bustling Big Apple where he’d grown up. “I just wish you didn’t have to work so hard.”
She huffed. “Just trying to get my venture up and running before this baby comes.”
As her eyes sparkled with moisture, he sensed the grief and desperation rising inside of her.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.” His hand covered hers. He fought to stay detached, to offer comfort without getting too close.
But she immediately turned her hand over, folding her fingers over his. And then he didn’t have the heart or the will to pull away. Her hand in his was the sweetest thing he had felt in…he couldn’t remember how long.
“Don’t be sorry.” She cast him a sad smile. “When I married Jerry, even though I was just nineteen, I was aware that he needed danger in his life the same way I need horses in mine. It made him feel alive, like he was making a difference. I took a chance and loved him anyway. It’s all a part of being real.”
Her words met an inward resistance, so he kept his mouth shut.
Her eyes turned to his. “Did you ever read an old children’s story calledThe Velveteen Rabbit?”
The days of reading bedtime stories seemed a lifetime ago. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s about a toy rabbit who wants to be real. He’s talking to the old Skin Horse, who says, ‘You can only become real by being loved. Your fur will get worn, and your eyes will get loose and jiggly. But once you’re real, nothing can take that away from you.’”
The evening air seemed suddenly thick and hard to breathe.
“I was married to Jerry for fourteen years,” she continued. “He made me real. And, yes, being real hurts sometimes, but it’s mostly wonderful. I have no regrets, except for the fact that my children will grow up without their father’s love and guidance.”
Faith was so much braver than he was. The night he’d come home to a bloodbath, he had cut his shattered heart from his chest and buried it along with his family’s bodies in the vault at St. Raymond’s cemetery.
He never wanted to be real again.
A panicky feeling enveloped him. He sat forward, prompting her to stop the rocking. “I should probably go.”
