A Mother's Homecoming by Tanya Michaels Page A

be.
“Oh, there’s your dad.”
    Faith craned her neck, looking back toward the door. She heaved a sigh, clearly not sharing Pam’s ambivalence that their visit was over. “Goodbye.”
    Rather surprised by the lump in her throat and how hard it was to get out a farewell, Pam nodded in response. By the time Nick reached the table, she was able to add, “Take care of yourself. And listen to your father.”
    Faith crossed her eyes and made a face.
    â€œHey!” Nick reached out to playfully tap his daughter on the shoulder. “What happened to respecting your seniors?”
    â€œSorry.” Faith giggled, clearly not.
    â€œYou ready to go?” he prompted.
    Obediently she stood, but then threw one last imploring glance at Pam. “Maybe I can see you again?”
    Behind Faith, Nick’s eyes turned to thunderclouds. He’d been all right with this as an isolated event but obviously didn’t want it to turn into a habit.
    â€œNot unless we happen to run into each other,” Pam said, trying to take the sting out of her refusal. “I won’t be in Mimosa long, and I’m going to be really busy while I’m here. But I’ll never forget today.” That was the gospel truth.
    For almost two straight years, Pam’s existence had blurred together in hazy, kaleidoscope episodes, broken up by periodic hangovers and rare moments of clarity and self-loathing when she faced a counter full of empty bottles and had to admit that they could all be attributed to her. There was a lot she didn’t remember. And a lot she did she wished she couldn’t.
    What Faith had given her today, this single half hour that Pam would carry with her for the rest of her life—that alone had been worth getting sober.

Chapter Eight
    Nick had a case of the Saturday night blues, a restless dissatisfaction, marked by a lot of pacing and grouchiness and the world’s shortest attention span. In his early twenties, he’d struggled with this every week, the sense that everyone he knew was out somewhere having a good time, while he was trapped at home. He’d outgrown that long before meeting Jenna. Now that he was single again, if someone were to ask, he’d say that after a long week, he was perfectly happy to rent a movie and split a pizza with his kid, then call it a night.
    Not that the “kid” was so happy with that arrangement, he thought wryly. Faith had kept to herself for most of the afternoon, and he hadn’t wanted to press her for details about her conversation with Pam. His daughter knew he was here and would talk to him when she was ready. When she’d bounced down the stairs before dinner, he’d misinterpreted her sudden presence as exactly that.
    But it hadn’t been him she’d wanted to confide in—she’d asked for permission to spend the night at Morgan’s.
    He’d felt like an ogre as he reminded her, “You’re grounded.” In his humble opinion, Morgan should be, too.
    â€œThese are extenuating circumstances!” Faith had argued, breaking out the PSAT vocabulary words. She sometimes did that when she was trying to get her way, as if more highbrow language would convince him to take her seriously. “I had the first encounter I can remember with my mother today, probably the only one I’ll
ever
have. I need to talk to a friend.”
    â€œYou could talk to me,” he’d suggested.
    This was met with a roll of the eyes and a huffy sigh as she stomped out of the room.
    When the phone rang two hours later, he found himself almost wishing he’d capitulated. If Faith were out of the house Nick could take Joseph Anders up on his offer.
    â€œThanks for the invite,” Nick told his coworker, “but I can’t. It’s a little late in the evening for me to call up Mom or Leigh and ask them to come over last minute.” The problem with grounding your kid was that you