Free Losing Faith by Denise Jaden

stop sign, and even though I can’t picture this man busting into our house to steal all Faith’s possessions, I don’t blame Mom for the added caution. Before I reach our driveway, the man heads for his truck and hops back into the driver’s seat. Mom still stands with her hand outstretched.
    “Hi,” I say when I get to the door.
    This seems to break her from hertrance. She lowers her hand and nods, but looks like she won’t even be able to say hello without breaking into tears.
    “Let’s go back inside,” I tell her, and don’t have to give directions beyond that. Silently, she lumbers up to her bedroom. I think about following her upstairs to peek into Faith’s bedroom, but I’m not sure I’m ready to see it in case it’s empty and bare.
    The doorbell rings a few minutes later. For a second I’m worried it’s the thrift store guy being pushy, but I answer it to another outstretched casserole.
    “That’s so nice of you,” I say, “but my mom … Well, I’m really hoping she can get back in the kitchen soon. To take her mind off of things.”
    “Put it in your freezer, dear,” Mrs. Ramirez says. “It’s there if you need it.”
    I thank her and Nuisance nuzzles his nose into the opening when I attempt to close the door.
    “All right, I’ll take you for a walk.”
    Normally when I walk Nuisance, it’s not really a walk, more of a sprint, with me being dragged behind. But today he meanders, like he’s waiting for me to take charge. At least choosing a direction gives me something to think about. Something to distract me from my other thoughts, like whether ornot I should call Dustin. Or if it’s still too early to invite Amy to the house. Or maybe I should make plans to go out with her. I need to get a foot back into my social life, but I’m just not sure how to do it right now. Even the thought of spending a whole evening hanging out seems exhausting.
    For half a second I consider talking to Amy about what I’m going through. But the thought doesn’t take root. She’s my path back to normalcy. Besides, she’s not the type to get into heavy emotional conversations.
    When Nuisance and I get back to our street, there’s another van in our driveway. I jog to the house, hoping they haven’t rung the bell yet so I can intercept them before Mom has to deal with whatever it is. Nuisance keeps pace, but I’m sure it’s using all his resources.
    “Hello,” I call to the sandy-haired guy walking to the doorway.
    When he turns, I see the vase of flowers in his hands. “Is this the Jenkins house?” he asks, reading from a swatch of paper stuck in the arrangement.
    I nod. “Thanks.” After taking the flowers, I open the door and put them on the hall table. They’re buds, of course. I turn to offer one more thank-you, but the delivery guy is already back in his van. After closing the door, I scan the buds until I find a small card nudged in the top.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, and Brie,
So sorry I couldn’t be with you at the memorial service for Faith. My grandmother is having health problems and we had to leave town suddenly to be with her. I don’t know when we’ll be back, but my heart is with you all during this difficult time.
Love,
Celeste and the Schwartz family
    I prop the card beside the flowers. Poor Celeste. As if losing your best friend isn’t enough. I consider e-mailing her, but what would I say? It’s not like we were really close, and I don’t seem to even have any comforting words for my own parents.
    I head to the living room where the cushions and blankets sit balled up in a pile at the end of the couch. I pick one up and start folding. Toast scraps decorate a plate on the hutch beside haphazard papers. They must be Mom’s since Dad has been at work all day. I’m glad she’s at least eating something.
    Everything looks different. Of course the only real changes to the room are the mess and the little empty spot on the mantel. A ring of dust sits where JC used to be.