Free Taking Faith by Shelly Crane Page A

hit something. I know that's so stupid and messed up." His face twisted and he turned so she couldn't see his face. "Have you ever tried so hard to do what you thought was good and right and it was never good enough? I had to hit something, Amy, just once in my life to feel like the man my father wanted me to be. But it couldn't be you. There was no way on heaven or this Earth that I could hit you. But you know what?"
                  She stayed silent, knowing he was silently torturing himself. He finally looked over at her and she shook her head. He continued, "I didn't feel like a man afterwards. I didn't feel good or right. I felt like the bastard I am and I felt like cutting off my own hand just so I could never do it again."
                  "I'm sorry, Roger," she told him, pretending not to see the way his eyes glazed with wetness.
                  "You should never," he muttered and came closer to her face, "ever say that you're sorry to me. Or anyone else in this town."
                  "I'm sorry for what was done to you. It wasn't right. My being kidnapped wasn't right, but what was done to you wasn't either."
                  "What's that old saying about two wrongs…" he mused and plopped back in his chair forcefully.
                  She sighed and licked her lips. "I'm going to do the dishes. Why don't you go take a nap or something?"
                  "Why?"
                  "Because you look like hell," she said bluntly, but softly.
                  He laughed, a real laugh. "Well, then. I guess that's my cue." He stood and drank the last of his coffee in one gulp. "Thanks, Amy. I'll change the locks so my father can't come in uninvited anymore, all right?"
                  She nodded. "That would be nice, I guess. As long as you won't get into trouble."             
                  He didn't say anything to that, just left the room. She heard his loud sigh and groan as he plopped back into the bed, the springs squeaking a little from the force. She finished the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom. She just needed to keep her hands busy.
                  She needed to think.
                  After a while, she took a mini tour of the living room. She hadn't seen it, hadn't even really paid attention before. The first thing she did was check to see if the front door was locked. It was. She understood Roger's position on that and the trust would have to go both ways. Besides, who was to say that she wouldn't one day run when she saw a real opportunity?
                  She searched his walls and saw his little knick-knacks on a shelf near the door. There was a town bank calculator displayed like a treasure. There was a mug from some coffee shop. There was also a small picture frame with him standing in front of Mitchell's Supply with his father, both looking unhappy and sullen.
                  These were the things he treasured?
                  She decided then to set out and find his life, his history. There had to be something. She looked in all the drawers and cabinets and shelves, finding nothing, but eventually opened the doors to the entertainment center. There was one plain red photo album there. She lifted it gently, setting it on the carpet in front of her as she crouched. She opened the front cover and found one picture in the front. It was Roger as a baby.
                  It wasn't a professional picture, just a candid of a baby playing with a spoon. He was wearing a blue jumper, his black hair piled in little curls on the top of his head. She smiled as she flipped the page, but the rest of the book was empty. Completely empty! What did Roger have to show for his life other than bruises and scars then?
                  It was then that Amy decided. She needed this man right now,