Free Blind Faith by CJ Lyons Page B

world swirling around her.
    She was too old to believe in fairytales. Especially ones with happy endings.

CHAPTER 12
    Wednesday, June 19, 2007: St. Doriat, Canada
     
    "Daddy, don't go. I don't want you to go."
    Sam watched as Josh blinked furiously, fighting back his tears. In two years the kid had had a lot of practice and had also quickly discovered how fruitless tears were. But that look on his face, Josh trying so hard to be so very brave, was about enough to rip Sam's heart to pieces.
    He squatted down to place himself level with the five-year-old. Josh had taken a growth spurt over the spring and was now all lanky elbows and knees as Sam pulled him into a bear hug. He inhaled the fragrance of Johnson's shampoo. No more tears. Josh didn't really need the baby shampoo, not now that he took showers and washed his own hair, but it reminded Sam of Sarah, of the good days when Josh was little, when they were together.
    Sam sniffed, struggling to keep his own composure. No more tears. Josh wriggled within his grasp. "Daddy, you're squeezing me."
    "Oh am I?" Sam asked as he stood up, pulling Josh with him so that the boy's feet were dangling above the ground. "How's this then?" He raised Josh up, planted raspberry kisses on the bare skin above his pajama bottoms, was rewarded with an instant armful of giggling little boy. He bounced Josh onto his bed, allowed Josh to flip him over and pin him down for a full count.
    "I win!" Josh cried out. He released his father. Sam sat beside him on the bed.
    "You sure do, champ," Sam said as he nestled Josh into the pillows and drew the blankets up over him. He planted a kiss on Josh's forehead. "Now, remember everything we talked about. And you be good for Mrs. Beaucouers."
    Josh looked up at him with a solemn expression, one far too old for a little boy to ever wear. He frowned, bit his lower lip, and nodded. "When you come home with Mommy will you sing happy songs again? Ones that make me laugh like the song about Oscar the purple toad with the wart on his tongue?"
    "Better yet, we'll get Mommy to sing, she has a voice like an angel."
    Josh's eyes crinkled shut as he strained to remember. "Sometimes I think I can hear her, when it's dark and quiet." He opened his eyes wide once more. "But then I wake up and it was only a dream."
    Sam rumpled his son's still-wet hair. "I know what you mean, champ. That happens to me, too. I think it happens to everyone when someone you love and really care about is far away. It keeps you close to them. I'll bet Mommy hears you when she dreams, too."
    "But I was just a baby back then. I didn't know any real songs."
    "Doesn't matter."
    "Do you think she still remembers me? Will she know who I am?" Josh's frown creased his forehead into a deep furrow.
    "Of course she will."
    "Maybe this will help." Josh slid a wallet-sized school photo from beneath his pillow. Sam took it solemnly, hoping Josh didn't notice the tears he couldn't blink away. Josh had cropped the picture into a heart and glued it onto a red-felt heart with a large pin sewn onto the back. "So you can show her how big I've gotten."
    "And how handsome."
    "Aw, Dad. Will you give it to her?"
    "Of course." Sam pulled him tight once more, using the distraction to swipe his eyes dry on the back of his shirt sleeve, then kissed him again. "That one was from Mommy."
    Josh blew his breath out in the saddest sigh a five-year-old ever could produce. "You're going to bring her back, right? You promise?"
    Sam locked eyes with his son, holding Josh's keepsake over his chest in the flat of his palm. "Yes sir. When I come back, I'll have Mommy with me. I promise."
    If I come back.
    Sam turned the lights off and shut the door behind him. He shouldered his guitar case—everything else was already in the truck—and walked down the creaky stairs to the first floor of the old farmhouse. Mrs. Beaucouers, their landlady and surrogate grandmother these past two years, was waiting. A young sixty-seven, she was still