Chapter 9 - THE DAY FAITH STOPPED WORKING FOR ME
Faith graduated eighteen months after she first entered my mansion.
By then, she no longer lived in the small apartment she'd almost lost.
She rented a better place near the hospital.
Her own money.
Her own lease.
She had stopped being my caretaker nine months earlier.
That mattered.
She completed clinical rotations.
Worked part-time.
Visited Mrs. Gable.
Visited me too.
Sometimes.
Not enough.
I had learned not to say that.
At graduation, I sat beside her younger cousin and Mrs. Gable.
Wheelchair.
Black suit.
No embarrassment.
When Faith crossed the stage, she saw us.
Then smiled.
Afterward, I found her outside.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I handed her an envelope.
She narrowed her eyes.
“No money.”
“Good start.”
Inside:
A letter.
She opened it.
Three paragraphs.
My handwriting.
A recommendation for the rehabilitation hospital where she wanted to work.
She looked at me.
“You wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“It says I'm patient.”
“With everyone except me.”
“Accurate.”
Then I asked:
“Dinner?”
She stared.
“As what?”
“Not employee.”
“Correct.”
“Not caretaker.”
“Correct.”
“Not the woman responsible for my emotional rehabilitation.”
She laughed.
“Extremely correct.”
I took a breath.
“As Faith.”
Then:
“And Dominic.”
She made me wait.
Eleven seconds.
Possibly twelve.
Cruel.
Then:
“Yes.”
Our first date was terrible.
I picked a restaurant too formal.
She made fun of the wine list.
I complained about the chair height.
May you like
She stole my dessert.
We went again.
