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Faith's attorney, Otto Winn, was a young, handsome, charismatic bachelor she'd met at a party of mutual friends after her divorce from Jack. When she began her criminal activities to support her drug use, she'd quickly migrated to him for help. From the very beginning, however, Otto was adamant that Faith involve her parents. “They must support you in this.”

We soon learned what he meant by “support.” He only included us in discussions when he wanted more money. That was the only time we mattered. Once he received the pay, we did not matter. He would proceed to usher us out of his office, smiling all the way. The thing lacking was, as Aretha Franklin belted out,
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

I understood that this was his profession and he deserved to be paid for his time. But in our financial bind, the fees were enormous to us and even though he gave us small, poorly itemized receipts, we were never sure of our status in face of his accountability. He was very skillful at tacking on “fees” and making it look like he was doing us great favors.

Otto was good at his game.

Now, after thousands of dollars in legal fees, Faith faced her final charge. Because Otto had flubbed one case by not getting it properly filed, it was filed in two different counties. Now, she faced two charges for the same shoplifting crime. Despite his promise that he would
“take care of it” Otto never followed through. We were only just now savvy to that grave omission. Added to that was another misdemeanor charge. Totaled up, Faith had three charges stacked against her, which could, after President Clinton's “Three Strike” law was passed, reap her a prison sentence.

“I'm really nervous about this court appearance,” she told me. “Really scared.”

“It'll work out, honey. We need to rev up our prayers, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

I wasn't as confident as I should have been. Faith didn't fret unless she faced something overly threatening. Her fear was contagious, but I wasn't about to let her see it.

Today, I simply wanted to enjoy the changes in our daughter. “What's playing at the movies?” I asked. “Dad's going to be working for a few more hours. We could catch a matinee.”

“Sure we can afford it?” She cut her eyes at me, serious. Another change. Concern for our wallets.

“My treat,” I said.

She looked up the movie agenda on the Internet and off we went to see Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp's new flick
The Tourist.
As we sat in the darkened theatre and munched on buttery popcorn, I felt the difference in Faith. Little by little, she was allowing her affectionate side to emerge. Not in just word but in deed. Dishes regularly ended up clean and stacked in their proper cabinets and floors dusted. Laundry was completed, folded and put away.

We even read poetry to each other from my college textbooks collection. We had to wait until Dan fell into
exhausted slumber before I ventured up to Faith's room to sprawl on her bed with her or join her on the softly lamp-lit front porch with background accompaniment of crickets. Dan remained vigilant, locked into his dark, rigid stance. I tried to encourage him to lighter ground while getting to know my daughter again.

Sometimes, Faith and I lounged in the den, plastered like boneless, curing hides to the naugahyde sofas, listening to Sirius XM music of every genre and time period. We would switch from Escape tunes like the Carpenters'
We've Only Just Begun
to Siriusly Sinatra's
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
or Sammy Davis Jr.'s
I've Gotta Be Me
to Sirius XM Chill with Slusnik's
Luna's Sun
From hip-hop to Broadway tunes to praise, Faith and I basked and reveled in our affinity for music, our genetically connected likeness. We sang together to the 50s and 60s tunes, as well as the 80s and 90s, sharing each other's musical repertoire.

We talked like old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. We discussed our family and friends, our likes and dislikes. She hated mayonnaise with a passion. I hated pickled beets. We both loved rich gooey cream cheese icing and Hershey's candy bars. With almonds. Faith wanted to know all about my younger years. My boyfriends. Why I liked them and why we broke up. I wanted to know about her crushes and date experiences because she'd not been one to share openly in those days.

I could now be her friend. Not her judge. What a glorious liberation.

We talked about our personality likenesses and differences.

“We're as different as Clint Eastwood from Jim Carrey,” I declared, laughing.

It was true. My pragmatic approach and idealistic way of looking at life was totally at odds with Faith's in-your-face, impulsive shoot-from-the-hip near manic persona. When I entered a room, though not reticent, I observed and quietly mingled.

When Faith entered a room, it was hers.

When some of the family had remarked that Faith always seemed to be “on,” she was hurt. “Mama, why can't they accept that this is just —
me
?”

I couldn't explain without deeply wounding her that her unique brand of sizzling energy was consuming and exhausted those who lingered long under its impact. Her presence sucked up all the space and radiance. I couldn't even put it into words. It was at its zenith during her slide into drugs. Now, with her having completed detox, her evening-out lent her a mellowing aura.

But few witnessed what I did. Few gained entrance into Faith's off-the-beaten-path world. Now, I just peeked through the cracked door. Dan had not sought access to her inner sanctum. I was now realizing that his domain was, in ways, just as extraordinary as hers. Just tuned a little differently.

At the same time, Faith saw me in a light that no one else saw me. It was evident that she looked at me through those 50s 3D glasses, whose
view
results in aspects of the
seen
leaping out and virtually attacking the viewer. It was also a classic case of projection, her analysis of me. Everything I even lightly criticized reaped a “well, you speak harshly to me, too,” or “you think you have to have the last word, too.” It was eerie, having my words bounce off her and return to me in their identical form. Faith never cut me any Mother-slack.

That set Faith apart from my family. Everyone in my family reverenced parents.

That was not to be in our household. Unless Faith herself decreed it so.

But our times together now forged new directions in our relationship. They could, with the help of the Almighty, be better than ever.

I was counting on that.

When ten-year-old Maddie came on weekends, Faith's room was meticulous. She now cared what her baby girl saw and felt when she was with her. Faith was also becoming more fastidious in her grooming, a ritual neglected during her downward addiction spiral. It was as though she'd come out of a long hibernation and was slowly acquiring new appetites.

My thoughts
poofed
when I felt her hand slide into mine in the darkened movie theater. I looked at her there in the silvery glow from the big movie screen and thought how beautiful she was. Now, the inner beauty was gradually emerging to join the outward.

“Love you, Mama,” she whispered, gently squeezing my hand and smiling.

“Me, too,” I whispered back, swallowed and turned my attention back to Angelina and Johnny on screen.

But, through tears, their images now blurred.

We arrived at Lexie's house an hour early, Faith, Maddie and I. Dan was going to come on just a little later, when he finished mowing the grass on our lush lawn. April in South Carolina is heavenly. We have no extreme seasons here. They gently segue like a smooth-flowing creek with bends that magically unveil another time of
year. Though rare, March may produce a light snow and then forty-eight hours later, the temperatures climb up into the eighties.

The past week had been mild. Today was short sleeve weather. The occasion was Mom's surprise birthday party. Thus the early gathering before her arrival. Priss would deliver Mom when she received the all clear call.

Mom had been doing well since her heart procedure. At least, she always insisted that she was.

Maddie dashed in ahead of us. I put my hand on Faith's arm, halting her. “What?” she asked, puzzled.

“I know I don't have to say this, honey. But just for the record … please be careful not to touch anyone's belongings. Don't even give a hint of interest. Too many things have disappeared and should that happen with you here, you know that you'll get blamed.”

Faith's ire visibly raised but she merely nodded. “I know, Mama. I'm not stupid.”

“Definitely not.”

Inside, Faith and I joined Lexie to hustle about setting things in order.

“Hi, Chloe.” I stopped to give my niece a hug when she ambled down the stairs.

“Hey, Aunt Deede,” she squeezed me back and gave me a big smile. She was in her final year of college now, close to earning her business degree. She would work in her Uncle Earl's bustling hardware business after graduation.

“How's it going, Chloe?” Faith asked as she passed, arms loaded with colorful streamers and balloons.

Chloe's smile dissolved as she mumbled something under her breath and spun in another direction. My heart plunged, but I managed to keep my expression neutral.

“Why is she so mean, Mama?” Faith murmured tightly as her cousin flounced away. “I've tried to be nice to her, but she's determined to be hateful.”

I groped for something to say that might console Faith. It was true. She had gone out of her way to make amends for having offended Chloe in the past only to have them tossed back in her face.

“Just give her time, honey. Apparently, she still doesn't trust your motives.”

“Huh.” Faith scowled and attacked the decorating with a vengeance. I would have laughed at the vision she made — a so un-Normal Rockwell, furious artist at work — had I not felt so disturbed over Chloe's stubborn refusal to forgive.

Betty and Ginger had brought kabootles of lively decorations from their Simply Divine Gift Shop and worked together creating groupings of flowers and lacy napkin holders and all manner of pretty accents that reflected Noni's tastes.

A few minutes later, standing on a chair to stretch the streamers and balloons to corners, I heard Faith call out, “Chloe, come help me, will you, please?” I was in the kitchen and stepped to the doorway to gauge what Faith's needs were.

Chloe, standing only a few feet away, idly placing napkins on a table, cut Faith a cool glance and said, “Can't. I'm busy.” Still reed thin, Chloe had morphed into a fairly attractive young woman, and I though how much prettier she would be if she would just lighten up and smile more.

Faith, struggling awkwardly with the paraphernalia, as well as her balance, snapped, “Can't you stop just a minute and help?”

“Sorry,” Chloe intoned, a familiar retributive spark lighting her eyes. “Call Jensen.”

“I'll get him,” I said from the kitchen doorway, wiping away with a damp cloth remnants of homemade chicken salad and rushing to locate him. I hoped to maybe ward off a major clash. I would have helped Faith myself, but time was short and I needed to finish some of the food preparation.

I bumped into Maddie as I climbed the stairs to search for Jensen. “Maddie?” I caught her by her thin shoulders as she tried to turn aside, her face pale and somber. “Why the tears?”

Head lowered, gaze averted, she shook her head slowly as a tear trickled down her cheek.

“Tell me, sweetheart? Has somebody hurt your feelings?”

She sniffled and nodded, her face dissolving into grief as I pulled her to me. “Who?” The top of her auburn crown nearly reached my chin. It smelled of herbal shampoo. How she had grown lately.

Her tears continued for long moments, flowing from her tender heart. I hugged her to me, wishing I could protect her more. She was emotionally fragile, much like me at her age. Then she snuffled loudly, swiped her eyes and muttered. “Chloe.”

My gaze narrowed. “What did she do?”

“S-she caught me in her room and told me to ‘get out this instant.' I just wanted to look around because it's so pretty in there. She was so hateful, Mema. Why doesn't she l-like me?” The tears spilled over again.

“She does, honey,” I improvised. “She's just having a hard day, apparently. Go help us in the kitchen. You can
garnish the chicken and potato salads with olives and pickles. Tell Aunt Lexie I sent you to help.”

That brightened her up and she rushed off to do my bidding as I continued my search for Jensen. “It's okay, Mama! Don't bother Jensen.” Faith called from downstairs.

“Ginger's helping me.”

Jensen was nowhere to be found so I returned to the kitchen. “I sent him to the store for more bagged ice,” Lexie informed me as she put more seasoning in her delicious Sam's Club potato salad and mixed it thoroughly. “I didn't know you were looking for him.” She'd been out of ear-shot of the snarking between our daughters.