I pulled the purse over to me and unzipped it. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. There were so many things I wanted to know about Faith—things about the last four years of her life that I couldn’t help but wonder about. Had she been in any other relationships? Was she in one now?
It wasn’t a big purse, so I was surprised when I pulled out a full-sized journal. Smiley faces and crosses covered the outside cover. The binding was unraveling it had been opened and closed so much. It sounded like it was cracking when I opened it, and the pages all looked as if they’d been wet by some dark liquid.
I flipped through the pages quickly and landed on a page with a dried flower stuck in the center. The flower was old and cracking. I wondered briefly if maybe a boyfriend had given it to her. I felt bad for that thought when I read the passage and realized the flower was from Amanda’s funeral. The words on the page told how Faith had felt when Amanda died and how she wouldn’t have made it through without me. I felt tears sting my eyes. I could remember how she came to me and how badly I’d needed her, too.
I slipped the flower back inside the book and moved on. Flipping through the pages, I found my name a few times and every time, it had been something sweet written in there about me. I smiled to myself when I got to the page where she talked about being with me at the beach. When I found the page about the night she’d given herself to me, I had to wipe tears from my cheeks.
It was wrong to read her journal, but it was so insightful. It made me angry that I’d missed so much of Faith’s life when she was such a big part of mine. If I went by these words, I was a big part of hers, too.
I flipped through a few more pages until I didn’t think I could read another word. There was so much truth. She had so much love for me, yet she had walked away to keep me from going to jail. It had killed her to walk away from me. I could see that in the painful words that were written for me, blurred by stale tear drops on the old paper.
When I flipped through the pages again, a folded-up piece of paper fell out. Unfolding the paper, I looked down at the words scribbled across the page and felt shocked at what I was reading. It was a letter from me, except it wasn’t. I’d never written a letter. It wasn’t even my handwriting. Not to mention, the words that were written across the page were words I would’ve never said to Faith. I loved her—I still did. I would’ve never hurt her that way, and I was already feeling shitty about the way I’d been treating her.
The jagged handwriting that swept across the page looked familiar, and I was positive I knew where I’d seen it before. Rushing back into my bedroom, I grabbed my wallet and pulled out Faith’s letter. I ran back into the kitchen and laid the two side by side. As I suspected, the handwriting was almost exactly the same.
Just like that, everything became so clear to me. Someone was hell-bent on keeping Faith and me apart, and I was positive I knew who that someone was. The preacher man, as holy as he pretended to be, had spun so many lies around Faith and me that we no longer knew what to believe.
I hated that bastard for taking away the only woman I’d ever loved. I hated him for taking away a future that I’d longed for my entire childhood. Not that I wasn’t happy with Blow Hole, but had I been with Faith, things would’ve turned out much differently. I could’ve had a family—kids.
I’d thought a lot about finally having kids and being there for them the way my father never had been. I’d give my kids the life I never got. I’d be in their life no matter what. At least one good thing had come from being a foster kid when I was younger. Because of my time in the many foster homes, I knew exactly what not to be when I had children of my own. I knew that no matter what, I’d be a damn good father.
All of that seemed like an impossible dream. There was no way to make it better. Too many bad things had happened over the years—too many bad memories. I’d said too many things that I couldn’t take back, and I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see my face again. My chest burned when I thought about never seeing her again. I’d lost her again, and this time I had only myself to blame.
The fact was I loved her. I’d never really stopped loving her, and when I wasn’t too busy hating her, I could see that. Faith was all I ever wanted, and I was going to try with all my might to get her back.
I took a shower and got dressed. When everyone woke up and left for the day, I stayed and waited for Faith. Even if she didn’t come back to work, she’d have to come back for her purse. That was another thing… Her working for me had to stop. She was the girl I loved, and I wasn’t going to have her scrubbing toilets anymore.