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“What happened?” Priss asked, eyes filled with tears. I could not for the life of me, speak. It was as though I'd drained out, leaving only a hollow, numb shell.

Dan took a deep breath, blew it out. “She tried to hang herself on the ceiling fan. It held until she passed out. But it wasn't strong enough to sustain her weight long enough for her to suffocate. It fell and, fortunately, sometime during the fall, the rope slipped free of the fan's base. Faith hit the foot of the bed and bounced to the side about the time the fan crashed against her, barely missing her head. It did get in a hard lick on her forehead, giving her a nasty
concussion. Also bruised her hip. They're checking her out now to see if oxygen deprivation was long enough to — ” He suddenly caved and burst into tears. Violent, masculine weeping. We three females rushed to throw ourselves at him, arms binding us, tearfully sharing in this, yet another tragic family heartbreak.

It was Priss, sweet Priss, who finally dried her tears and declared, “It's a bona-fide miracle, folks, that Faith wasn't killed. Either by the rope or the impact of that heavy ceiling fan. But the Almighty simply wasn't ready for her yet.”

“That's right,” Lexie agreed, snuffling back more tears.

Earl joined in. “Got that right, Priss. Ol' slewfoot didn't win on this one.”

“Thank God,” Adam sniffled and blew his nose. “The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy. But he failed with this family. Faith comes from Eagle stock.”

Dan turned and drew both men into his arms and embraced them. “Thanks,” he murmured hoarsely. “I needed that.” They stood like that for long moments, unashamedly weeping together in one of the most splendid displays of manhood I've ever witnessed.

I saw Chloe turned to the window, her shoulders heaving. I walked over to her and pulled her into my arms. She melted into me and cried her heart out, dampening the shoulder of my pink pullover shirt. But that was okay. Those tear were precious.

“I-I do love her, Aunt Deede,” she sobbed quietly.

“I know, honey,” I murmured, kissing her herbal smelling crown.

“Do you think she knows?” she asked.

“I'm sure she does.”

For the next forty-eight hours, we kept vigil there near the ER. We had no assurance that Faith was not braindamaged from oxygen deprivation. There was no way of knowing how long she'd hung before the fan broke free of the ceiling.

“But the fact that she survived is a good indication that she didn't hang there very long,” Dr. Temp said. He shrugged and gave us a tight smile. “We'll soon see.”

Within two hours, Faith opened her eyes during our visit window in the ER.

Priss was with me. She grasped my hand tightly as Faith looked around blearily.

“W-where am I?” she rasped. The rope burn blazed red against her pale neck.

“The emergency room,” I said hoarsely.

“Aunt Priss,” she grated and gave a loopy smile. “What?”

Then she grew quiet and looked at me, questions in her bleak eyes.

“I found you,” I said. “Just in time.” I watched the memory return.

“Oh God,” she moaned and closed her eyes. Then she grimaced. “Why is my head pounding so?”

“The ceiling fan fell and hit you on your hard head,” Priss filled in, seeing me tearing up.

Faith gave the most pitiful snort I'd ever heard. “Dang it all! I didn't even get that right, did I?” she slurred, looking at me, her eyes glazed, lids drooping. “I guess Daddy's right, huh? I really
can't d
o anything right.”

“That's not true, honey.” I leaned and kissed her cheek.

“Yup,” she whispered hoarsely, “I really screwed up this time.” A smile brushed her pale lips.

“Please, don't — ” I said, tears spilling over.

“Jus' kiddin',” she whispered, feebly lifting her fingers as her eyes slid shut. She was out again.

The next day, we brought Faith's laptop to her bed and let her read Jensen's e-mails to her. “How does he know?” she asked, still a bit groggy and hoarse but gaining strength by the hour.

“I told him, honey,” Lexie said. “He needed to know. He was concerned because he hadn't heard from you in the past few days.”

Faith smiled as she finished reading his messages.

We were all so happy to see Faith acting normally that the world fell into place once again. Dan went out and ordered pepperoni pizza from Papa John's, Faith's favorite, and we all surrounded her with love and celebration during the following stabilizing hours before her release.

Strangely, in the darkest of times, sunlight broke through, giving us respite.

Peace.

Dan seemed different after Faith's suicide attempt. Oh, not a miraculous turnaround thing, rather he seemed not quite there. As though he was trapped in a stunned time warp. Like he'd gone through a mild tasering.

Faith slowly reverted to her former mind set, and I was a bit disappointed that she'd apparently not had a mind-shattering wake-up call with her near death experience.

She refused to talk about it. “It's over,” she insisted. “I won't go there again. You'll have to trust me on that one.”

So I tried to trust her, but I found myself being more vigilant than I'd ever been.

“Please,” she snapped at the end of that first week at home. “Stop peering around corners at me, Mom! I know what you're doing. I told you I would never try such a stupid thing again. Chill out. Please?”

“So I forced myself to chill,” I told Priss the next day when she dropped by to see Faith and have our private sister's coffee time together. I relayed Faith's words to her.

“Hmm,” she sipped her hot brew. “Sounds like she means business. I suppose we'll have to believe her.”

“Well, actually, Faith will do what she doggone well wants to, regardless of what anyone says or does. But I think she's serious about this, too. At least, I pray she is.”

“Me, too. Come 'ere, Poopsie.” She reached down for our little twirling fur ball and hugged her. She was rewarded by a thorough pooch-smooch all over her face.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I'm glad she doesn't love me that much.”

“You're just jealous,” Dan had come in. He reached and grabbed Poopsie, sending her into ecstasy, and received the same affectionate frenzy as Priss.

“Maybe,” I joked and laughed. “But I don't think so.”

He looked at me and asked quietly, “How's Faith?”

“She's doing fine,” I said, overly cheerful.

He looked a little doubtful.

Other things were brewing.

After Sunday church service, I huddled outside in the June sunshine with my sisters, to give them an update on Faith.

“Faith still faces a possible felony charge that could mean prison, one that spawned from the three strikes you're out Clinton Law, remember?”

“Oh God,” Lexie groaned. “I hated that ruling when he made it. Each case is unique and he forced it all into one mold.”

“Faith made horrendous choices back then, among them was being in the wrong place with the wrong person at the wrong time. Not saying she's not culpable, but I know this hangs over her head like the guillotine blade. I can see it in her eyes. But you know Faith. Faith does not talk about her problems. Makes them too real.”

Priss nodded. “I know. Sometimes, she opens up a little to me. Just gives me a peek, actually. I know she has trouble sleeping.”

“Insomnia batters her into this whimpering, hurting heap.” I swallowed back the spurt of panic I still felt after having come so close to losing her. “Only then do her eyes puddle with great tears and she moans, ‘God, Mama. I don't want to go to prison. It'll kill me for sure.'”

Priss and Lexie both held back tears as I talked.

And I knew it would. Somehow, I knew any tiny morsel left of the once vibrant, beautiful girl of the past would wither away in the belly of the beast.

“Bye, darlin'.” I felt Dan kiss my forehead and the door slam behind him before I could open my eyes and sit up. I pushed back the bed covers and padded barefoot to the den.

Dan would go to the post office for mail and then swing back by before going to work. It was his morning
thing, chatting with the postmistress and other acquaintances who came in.

From her bed in the corner, Poopsie caught my eye, and I felt a sudden urge to coddle her. I stretched out on the leather sofa. “C'mon, Poopsie,” I coaxed in my sweetest voice. She looked at me for a long moment during which I fancied that she checked my sincerity.

“C'mon,” I cajoled in a more melodic way, figuring that my non-alpha status needed a bit more enticement for Madame Poopsie.

She sprang to her feet, crossed over and leaped up on the sofa, an amazing feat for such a small creature. “Good girl.” I patted my chest. “Here, girl. I need a little affection. C'mon, baby.” And I thought, how
pathetic
to be so needy.

Immediately, she scampered aboard and flattened out across my bosom. Only thing, her black button eyes riveted to the front door. They nearly bugged out, hypnotically staring at the doorknob. And I knew that, in her doggie mind, Dan stood just outside that door, through which he'd moments earlier disappeared.

“
Shoot fire
, Poopsie,” I whined, waving my hand before her unwavering eyes. “Could you give me just a few minutes of your adoration? He gets it all the time.”

Her head remained alert and her gaze glued to the door. I gently pulled her face around until she had to look at me. “Kiss, kiss?” I wheedled. That's all it took for Dan, Faith or Priss to get an affectionate snog on the mouth area. Heck, even Jensen got exuberant kisses.