My Name is Faith, but I Sure Don't Have Any

Chapter 1

Sara and I were sisters because of blood and because of sorrow. And I hoped I might be close to finding her. I sometimes wondered if life-and-death was too strong a term to describe my need to find her. Probably not.
All thoughts should have centered on this heady truth, but somehow I obsessed for the moment on more trivial matters–my hair, for instance. Was it smooth enough? Did it have those tiny white balls because I hadn’t purchased my favorite clarifying shampoo in a while? Quite a while, actually. An empty bottle remains in my makeup bag as a testament that, for a month, I didn’t have chemical buildup.
I brushed the left side of my hair as I looked into the rearview mirror. Definitely looking better. I was still in my trusty Toyota Corolla, affectionately nicknamed Tin Tornado. I’d parked in front of Phil’s Fry Emporium, the place I was meeting Amy, but I still had a few minutes. I hated being late, but I hated being early even more.
I looked around what very well could be my new home town Richland, Wisconsin. Checkered curtains hung in the antique shop across the street. A busty woman wearing jeans and a t-shirt proclaiming her “Number 1 Grandma” stood in the doorway, holding a rug. An aging station wagon drove by and honked, and I thought for a second the honk was for me. Was it okay to park outside of Phil’s? There didn’t seem to be any other parking, though maybe there were some spots in the back. The woman waved her rug, and the wagon slowed down. The driver had a single pink curler clinging to the back of her hair (she must have forgotten it). She leaned out her open window, and the two chatted for a minute.
I put the brush in my mohair purse—a relic from another day. While I hadn’t had much time for friendships when I worked in Chicago, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time shopping for bargains on the clearance racks of designer stores so I could dress well. I pulled my satin cuffs, and picked off a few sweater seeds. I was definitely part of the down-and-out crowd these days; hadn’t bought a new outfit since the Old Testament.

I closed my eyes and made the fourteenth vow of the week: I would stop fixating on my follicles and fashion, and try to find out where Sara was.

Evelyn Roiter had taken Sara and me in at the same time. Amy, the lonely chick, joined the Roiters a year later. She wasn’t related but might as well have been. Sara and Amy were the same age and being five years older, I played protective Mother Hen during those years with Evelyn and Garth Roiter.

I graduated high school and turned eighteen on the same day. That night Evelyn told me to get an apartment and a job. As I replayed that memory in my mind, I put my hand to my chest and pushed. Something ached. Maybe it was my heart. I pictured the organ separating, with Sara tugging one side and Amy the other.
I leaned back in the faded cloth seat while an intense wind blew across my windshield. The crocuses and tulips lining the street shuddered. Four o’clock. Time to meet Amy. I wanted desperately to see her, though I wasn’t anxious to face her.

I tried to avoid looking at my hair again but couldn’t overcome my mirroritis. I grabbed the brush. Make it perfect. Was that possible? Amy always had good hair. She could wash it, do nothing with it, and it still looked great. Hair like that should be banned, cut off, and given to those of us less fortunate. I shook my head. God, I need help getting over my hair. I hated asking for such trivial things, but I needed to get going.

I stepped out of my car and up the short sidewalk to Phil’s, wondering why Amy had wanted to meet me there. Only a few tables were full, which I could understand. With the name Phil gave his establishment, it didn’t have a chance, though I’m sure being the only restaurant in town helped.

My eyes adjusted to the low light and I saw Amy Greenwell sitting at a veneer-topped table in the corner. She looked the same as she had ten years before, only now her hair was long, straight…perfect.

I rushed toward her. “Amy, how are you? You look great.”

Amy returned my hug and didn’t let go for a long minute. “It’s good to see you, Faith. I want to talk for a while, but I only have a few minutes before work.”
I pulled back. “You don’t even want fries? Maybe they use peanut oil.”
Amy’s grin was different than I remembered. Hard to shake the image of a crooked-toothed fourteen-year-old. Her gaze was friendly, not piercing.

I smoothed my slacks as I sat on the flat vinyl cushion. “Remember playing with makeup in Mrs. Roiter’s attic?”

“ How could I forget?” Amy sat down. “Especially when you answered the door with purple and orange lipstick.”

I smiled. “The pizza man never recovered.”

I hadn’t thought about the good times very much. Maybe I should try to do that once in a while. “It really is great to see you. I’ve wondered how you were doing every day.” I pulled my hair back into a pony tail.

Amy touched my arm and I looked into her eyes, the color of sapphires. “Faith, let go of the guilt.”

I held my breath, and then let it out slowly. “Surely there was a way I could have stayed on at Roiters.”

Amy twisted in her seat. “And we wished you could have, but that doesn’t mean God wasn’t with us.” She reached across and squeezed my arm. Our roles had changed. Now she comforted me.

I wiped an eye with a corner of a napkin. I didn’t want to cry off all my mascara. I should’ve worn waterproof, but it didn’t really matter because my next question burned inside me. I’d wanted to find my sister for so long, but I didn’t know if I could form the words. I gripped the edge of the table. “What do you know about Sara?”

Amy fiddled with the greasy menu. She sighed and looked past me for a moment. “I got a letter from her three months ago with Richland as the postmark.”
“ She lived here?”

“ I don’t know. Probably.” Amy tapped the veneer with her pinkie. “I hope she’s all right.”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Amy fished in her purse and pulled out an envelope with a sunset stamp, handing it toward me. I took out a piece of notebook paper and unfolded it.

Amy,
Have you heard from Faith? Don’t have too much of that these days especially after running into you-know-who at the Laundromat. I think he’s stalking me. The police haven’t been much help. I’ll try to give you an address as soon as I can.
Friends 4-Ever,
Sara

I swallowed and pushed again at my chest. “Who’s Sara talking about?” I handed the letter back.

My old friend folded the envelope and smoothed it out. “I think she means Garth Roiter, but I’m not sure.” She threw the paper down on the table in front of her. “She didn’t write me again, so I started looking for her right away. I was so glad when you called. I…” The words seemed to die in her throat. She put her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

I stood and put my arms around her. I knew I should say something, but I didn’t have a clue what. What do you say when you’ve practically abandoned someone? I needed to get words past the lump in my throat, but I was sure anything I said wouldn’t help.

“ I’m here now.” My comfort sounded lame to my ears. The ache deepened.
Amy wiped her eyes with a tissue. “We turned eighteen, and for awhile we lived together. But then Walmart offered me an assistant manager’s position in the next town. We tried to stay in touch but…”

I sat back down, and my chair squeaked.

Amy leaned on her elbows. “How did you find me?”

“ A coworker at a drycleaner searched for your phone number on the Internet. That’s where I got the pants.”

Amy raised a brow. “The pants?”

“ Not too many jobs are worse in this world. About the only perk was the occasional item of clothing a customer forgot and the owner didn’t want.”
Amy giggled. “So I take it that those eggplant purple pants…” She paused and indicated my slacks with her hand.

“… are proof of God’s direct hand in my life,” I said, finishing her sentence.

Amy stood. “I’m so glad you’re here, Faith. You could always make me laugh like no one else.”

My heart was starting to hurt again. “Do you have to go?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.

“ My job needs me, or I need my job. I guess I never know which way it is. I hope you find Sara, for my sake as well as yours.” She paused a moment before shrugging into her coat.

“ Let’s get together again soon.” She seemed relieved I’d come. I was at least thankful for that.

As she walked out the door I watched, surprised she could be so strong and beautiful when I’d thought she couldn’t grow up without me.

My stomach growled. The half-pint of milk constituting my breakfast wasn’t going very far. Getting to Richland had taken my last quarter. I blinked to clear the sudden dizziness. No one had approached my table yet. A “Help Wanted” sign hung by the side of the front door. Phil’s sure needed some.

The sign beckoned like the old woman’s bony finger in Hansel and Gretel. I had no choice. Waitressing wasn’t exactly my dream job, but I had to eat…so I could search.

I’d run out of money once before—in Randall, Illinois, at the drycleaner. Being a waitress had to be better than that. Or was it?

On the other side of the room, I saw it. The dark blue piping on the bodice was enough to send me over the edge. Could I wear that uniform and stay sane?
Then I heard that still small voice that always pulls me back.

Go for it, Faith Fairhaven. You’ll be okay.

Somehow I had to be.