Faith

"You're a damn fool, Brian Haner." His mother sat in her kitchen rocker and scowled.

"She lied to me. She's been lying for years."

"Hogwash." She fiddled with the doily on the table. "She did what she had to do, nothing more, nothing less."

Brian prowled around the room. He still wasn't sure why he had come there instead of heading for Clancy's Bar. He walked in the rain for an hour, maybe more, then found himself standing on his mother's doorstep. "You knew, didn't you? You knew I was Claire's father."

"I had my ideas." The rocker squeaked gently as she moved. "She had the look of you.

That brought a peculiar thrill, one he did not know what to do with. "She's the image of Faith."

"True enough if you don't look hard. The eyebrows are you, and the mouth. The sweet Lord knows the temperament is. Brian, if you had known you were to be a father ten years back, what would you have done?"

"I'd have come back for her." He turned, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'd have panicked," he said more calmly. "But I'd have come back."

"I always thought so. But it--well, it's Faith's story to tell. You'd best go on back and hear it."

"It doesn't matter."

"Can't stand a martyr," she muttered.

He started to snap, then sighed instead. "It hurts. It really hurts."

"That's life for you," she said not unsympathetically. "Want to lose them both again?"

"No. God, no. But I don't know how much I can forgive."

She raised both brows. "Fair enough. Give Faith the same courtesy."

Before he could speak again, the kitchen door burst open. In the doorway stood Faith, covered with rain, face washed with tears. Ignoring the wet she brought in with her, she ran to Brian. "Claire," she managed to stammer.

When he took her arms he felt the shudders. Terror flowed from her into him. "What's happened?"

"She's missing."