Keeping Faith. Janice Macdonald

a troublemaker. If he tries to get Faith… Well, Helen gave me the name of an attorney who specializes in this sort of thing. When you’ve calmed down a bit, we need to give him a call.”

      “Mom.” Hannah held her hands to her face for a moment, then took them away. “I don’t believe this, I just don’t believe it. You lied to Liam, deprived him of his daughter. Deprived Faith of her father and you’re talking about legal action?”

      Rose called from the kitchen, and Margaret glanced up at the house. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “Listen, Hannah…” Her voice broke, and she swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Don’t make me the enemy, okay? Any of us. Helen, Rose—”

      “So they were in on it, too?”

      “Don’t say it like that. We were out of our minds with worry about you. Your father, too, to the point that it killed him. Imagine how you’d feel if Faith’s life was in danger. Wouldn’t you do whatever it took to save her?”

      “Faith’s a child, Mom. I was a grown woman. It’s not quite the same thing.”

      “We found you walking along the side of the freeway,” Margaret said. “Distraught, irrational, talking about killing yourself. And for what? For a fly-by-night musician, a womanizing jerk who wasn’t aware enough to recognize the state you were in.”

      “That still didn’t give you the right to lie. To me, or to Liam.”

      “To hell with Liam.” Margaret’s voice rose. “Liam isn’t my concern. You are. You’re my daughter and I was scared to death for you. You were clinically depressed. That’s the term the doctor used. Maybe it was wrong, maybe I should have stayed out of it and just thrown up my hands and said ‘oh well,’ but I couldn’t do it. If you’re mad at me, so be it.”

      “Margaret,” Rose yelled from the doorway. “Hannie. Come and have some coffee cake. Debra has something to tell you.” She winked at Margaret. “Good news.”

      “Come on, sweetie.” Margaret touched Hannah’s arm. “Please understand that this worked out for the best. You’re happy now. You’ve got your life back together. Faith’s happy. All of this other stuff is in the past. Just let it go. It’s not important.”

      Hannah shook her head. What was the point? Her mother absolutely couldn’t see the enormity of what she’d done.

      “Hannie.” Margaret peered into her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not going to see him again. What possible good can come out of that?”

      “Liam deserves a chance to know his daughter, that’s all I know. And I’m going to see that he gets it.”

      THE DOCTOR IN THE E.R. had a high forehead and a pinched-looking mouth and he wanted to know if Brid was Liam’s wife. Dazed and groggy from too little sleep and God knows how many black coffees, Liam shook his head.

      “No, but I’m her best friend.”

      The doctor raised a brow. “Then you should have gotten treatment for her long before this.”

      Liam swallowed the words he’d been about to say. He didn’t like this doctor with his condescending attitude. He was in a foul enough mood that it was all he could do not to pick up the little prat by the lapels of his starched white coat. He’d been on the phone with Hannah’s mother when someone yelled out that Brid had collapsed. In an instant he’d dropped the phone and, ignoring Brid’s protests, had driven her to the emergency room.

      “What are you?” the doctor asked. “Some kind of band?”

      “That’s right,” Liam said. “Some kind of band.”

      “She said you’re on tour.”

      “She’s right,” Liam said. “How is she?”

      “She needs treatment,” the doctor said. “She has an eating disorder. I’d suggest you get her into some kind of program or she won’t be doing much touring anymore.”

      “AH, THAT’S A LOAD OF COD,” Brid said when Liam told her what the doctor had said. “I’ve let myself get a bit run-down, that’s all. I’ll start taking my vitamins again.” She sat up on the narrow cot, reached for the tie at the neck of the cotton hospital robe. “Now, clear out of here, Liam, while I find my clothes. We’ve got a show tonight.”

      “The show’s canceled tonight,” he told her. “Probably the next few nights, too. No more shows until you’re well enough.”

      “CANCELED?” Hannah stared at the bartender, who was polishing glasses in the dimly lit main room of Fiddler’s Green. A couple of guys sitting at the bar looked her way then returned their attention to the televised basketball game. “But I thought they were supposed to be here for three nights.”

      “They were.” The bartender picked up another glass. “One of them called a while ago to say the girl singer was sick. Strung out on drugs, or something, would be my guess. Anyway, tonight’s going to be karaoke.”

      Hannah bit her lip. Okay, this was a sign. A warning that maybe her mother was right. Maybe nothing good could come from seeing him again. Margaret had been crying when Hannah left the house. “Think of what’s best for Faith,” Margaret had begged her. “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she’d replied.

      Now she wasn’t so sure. What was the point of having Liam breeze in and out of Faith’s life? And why risk all the rebuilding she’d done of her own life? Why upset everyone and everything? Because she owed it to him. Simple as that. He’d been lied to and the least she could do was try to make some kind of amends.

      “Do you have any idea where I can find him?” she asked the bartender.

      “Him?” The bartender grinned. “The singer? Liam something or other?”

      She nodded and felt her face heat up. God, this was embarrassing. “Look, it’s not what you’re thinking…”

      “Hey.” He flicked the towel across the top of the bar. “I’m not paid to think. All I can tell you is what I told the other girls who came in asking about him. I think the band’s staying at some place in Huntington Harbor.

      Hannah checked the urge to ask, What other girls? How many other girls? Liam had always drawn girls. Well, so what? He could bed a different girl every night, and she wouldn’t care.

      “Do you have the address?” she asked.

      “Yeah…” The bartender grabbed a napkin and drew a map of Huntington Harbor. “There’s a party there tomorrow, that’s how I know where they are. Huge house on the water with a yacht the size of the Queen Mary on the dock outside. Some big cheese from L.A. owns the place. A record promoter, or something.” He winked. “Told me to invite hot-looking chicks.”

      Go home, Hannah thought. You don’t need this.

      “Hell…” With a sigh, he threw down the pen he’d been using and reached for another one. “I should probably photocopy these damn directions.” He handed her the napkin. “You’ll probably have to take a number.”

      “BRID WILL BE FINE, Liam.” Miranda Payton, the record producer’s wife, sat next to him, feet dangling in a pool that had been built to look like a tropical lagoon. “I sent my own daughter to Casa Pacifica when I realized she was spending half her life in the bathroom with her finger stuck down her throat. They straightened her out in no time. Quit worrying about her and enjoy yourself.” She brought a frosted glass to her lips, eyed him over the rim and smiled. “You could be in a lot worse places.”

      Liam laughed. An understatement if he’d ever heard one. Beyond the purple bougainvillea-covered wall that separated the property from the private beach, he could see the Pacific Ocean. The sun was hot on his back, and Miranda had brought out a jug of something icy that tasted like rum and bananas. The exotic scent of it mingled with the suntan lotion she was massaging into her legs. If