had done its job. She went into the kitchen to make something to eat, but any movement of her right arm or hand caused a searing pain. She initially tried some yogurt, but eating with her left hand proved more of a challenge than she’d thought. After several frustrating minutes, she settled for a slice of cheese and saltine crackers. She went to the refrigerator for something to drink and found that not only had Brandon opened the bottles of water, but also the carton of orange juice. She sent up a silent thank-you. What she wouldn’t give to have a man like him in her life—fine, sexy and a gentleman all rolled up in one. Today had been her first chance to see him in something other than a dress shirt and slacks. Just like everything else about him, his lean, muscular body was impressive. Memories of his biceps flexing as he opened the bottles of water flashed in her mind. It’s just my luck that the one time I meet a nice man he lives in a totally different state. Faith shook her head. She took her juice to the small dining table, came back for the crackers and cheese and took a seat.
While munching on her snack, her gaze strayed to the box of letters across the room. Automatically, her thoughts shifted to the man who was supposed to be her father. And again she questioned how different her life might have been with him in it. Outside of the letter she’d read the day she received the box, Faith hadn’t gotten up the nerve to read more for fear of what she would find.
Now, however, curiosity propelled her across the room and she took out the letters. She decided to start with the newest, thinking it would give her a clear picture of Thaddeus Whitcomb now. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to get the envelope open and the paper out.
My Darling Daughter,
I have not given up hope that I will one day hold you in my arms again. I hope this letter reaches you and finds you well. Know that I have never stopped trying to find you and will always love you. Please feel free to contact me or visit whenever you like.
Dad
He had included his address and telephone number. Tears misted her eyes. She laid it aside and picked up one that had been written twenty-eight years ago, when she was two. He had been stationed in Germany and included a picture of himself wearing his army uniform. Faith studied his handsome dark features and realized she looked a lot like him. For a while, she read more letters. In each, he always described the place and what was going on. She smiled at his sense of humor. All of the letters ended with him telling her how much he loved her and couldn’t wait to see her. Swiping at her tears, Faith became angry with her mother all over again. Her mother made it seem as though her father had come back as some sort of a monster, yet Faith only saw a man who had been denied the privilege of knowing his daughter. While she acknowledged that she didn’t know a lot about PTSD, by the tone of his letters, it seemed like her father had learned to cope well.
She picked up the picture of him holding her again and felt her emotions rising. Growing up, whenever she’d asked her mother about her father, she’d received the same answer each time—he’d died when she was two and no, there were no pictures. The pain in her heart swelled and she put the letters aside and went back to lie down. She tried listening to music and reading at first, but it didn’t help. Finally, she turned on the television and surfed through the channels, looking for anything that would take her mind off the myriad feelings bombarding her. In the end, she gave up. Her head hurt, the pain in her shoulder increased and she was starving.
Faith ate a handful of almonds, drank more water and snacked on a few grapes, but she needed something of substance. She thought about going out briefly before remembering she didn’t have a car. She didn’t have time for this. Her cell rang, interrupting her mental tirade.
“Hello.”
“Hey, girlfriend. Are you home yet?”
“Hey, Kathi. Yeah, I got home about three hours ago.”
“Glad to hear it. I get in tomorrow at noon and I’m staying until Monday. What’s the name of the hotel where you’re staying? I need to book a room.”
“No need. I have an extra bed.” She gave Kathi her room number and the hotel’s address.
“Even better. That way I can keep an eye on you. Do I need to stop and pick up groceries and stuff before I get there?”
“I have some food here.” Faith opened her mouth to say that she couldn’t cook with one arm, but decided against it. Kathi would change her flight in a heartbeat and be on the next plane out. “But we can go shopping for whatever you need once you arrive. There’s a grocery store a few miles away.”
“Okay. Is there anything you want from your place?” Faith had asked Kathi to check on her house until Faith returned.
“I don’t think so, but if I think of something later tonight, I’ll text you.”
“All right. See you tomorrow and make sure you rest.”
Faith laughed softly. “Yes, Mother.” They talked a minute longer and hung up.
Faith’s stomach growled. Back to the task of finding food. Determined to make it work, she pulled out a small skillet, butter and an egg. How hard could it be to scramble an egg with one hand? Five minutes later, she had her answer. She could stir the egg in the pan, but had difficulty scooping it out. As a result, she ended up burning most of it. Faith stared at the hard, brown bits on her plate and frowned. Sighing heavily, she dumped the inedible mess down the garbage disposal, set the pan in the sink and trudged back to the bedroom.
An hour later, a knock sounded. The clock on the nightstand read eight o’clock. Maybe housekeeping. She sat up gingerly, scooted off the bed and walked out to the front. She looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Brandon standing there. She quickly undid the locks and opened the door. “Brandon, hey. What are you doing here?” He had on a pair of basketball shorts and T-shirt that outlined his muscular chest and washboard abs.
He unleashed that mesmerizing smile and held up a white bag. “Thought you’d might have some trouble cooking.”
Faith sighed in relief. “Bless you. Come in.”
Brandon chuckled. “Sounds like you’re happy to see me.”
“You have no idea. Please tell me that what you have in that bag doesn’t require me to use a spoon and I’ll name my firstborn after you.”
His laughter filled the room. “Brandon is a nice name.” He carried the bag over to the table, took out a disposable container and opened it. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I took a chance on a club sandwich and French fries. Hope that’s okay.”
She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. “More than okay. Thank you.”
He sniffed and surveyed the room. “Were you trying to cook?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be easy to scramble an egg. It was. But by the time I could get it out of the pan with my left hand, it no longer resembled something edible.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t eaten anything since I left you?”
“I had a slice of cheese, five crackers, a handful of almonds and some grapes.” She shrugged. “It was the best I could do.”
“Then I’m glad I stopped by.”
“Me, too.” They fell silent.
“Well, I only came to drop off the food, so...and I really wanted to see you again.”
His soft confession made her pulse skip. And, truthfully, she had wanted to see him, too. Before she could talk herself out of all the reasons it would be a bad idea to spend more with him, she said, “Then why don’t you stay and keep me company.”
Brandon smiled. “I’d love to.” He seated her and took the adjacent chair.
Faith recited a quick blessing and started in on the sandwich. She was so hungry she devoured the first half in a matter of a few bites. She lifted her head and saw Brandon staring at her with faint amusement. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want some?”
“No,