Losing Faith by Denise Jaden

expect. He studies me, eyes circling my face, as though I’m a mathematical equation, something he has to figure out. “Angry,” he murmurs. “Angry.” He turns away again and I can’t tell if he’sthinking of how horrible I am or if his mind is somewhere else. We ride the rest of the way in silence.
    Inside our front door, Mom’s coat lies across a chair. I let out a breath, but snatch up the coat and hang it in the closet. Mom’s the one who always nags at the rest of us to do this, and I try not to think about the oddity of cleaning up after her.
    After seeing the coat, Dad heads back out the front door. “I’ll put the van in the garage.”
    The house is quiet, which means Mom’s already gone up to their room. Good. I don’t have a clue what to say to her yet.
    As I unzip my boots, a shadow appears behind me from the living room and I almost come out of my skin.
    “What? Oh, Mom. It’s you.” Still with my other boot on, I stand there, lopsided. “You’re home. I mean, I’m glad you’re home. I didn’t mean what I … I’m so sorry about what I … said. Mom, are you … okay?”
    She stands as still as the empty room behind her with her head down, listening, or not, to my rambling. If we were normal right now, she’d be pondering my apology, wondering whether or not she should let me off the hook. But if we were normal, I guess I’d have nothing to apologize for.
    “Mom?”
    Her clammy hand reaches to the back of my neck andpulls me in. She kisses me on the forehead, something she never does, backs away, and turns for the stairs. In her right hand, she grips the Jesus statue from the mantel.
    The way her hand wraps over his face makes me think she’s not taking it upstairs to pray.
    During the burial the next day, the three of us are zombies. Thankfully, none of us have to speak or actually do anything. We’re all just there for show. I keep my eyes on the ground as the pallbearers lower the casket, as Pastor Scott reads from his Bible, as the small group of extended family and my parents’ friends say good-bye. Still no Celeste. Faith’s humming in my head is the constant that’s keeping me distant from it all. Keeping me in an alternate reality.
    I try to focus on the least emotional people of the crowd. Men are the safest bet and I count how many are wearing dark suits. Back by the trees there’s a guy in jeans, which is a bit out of place, but if Dustin had come I’m sure he would have worn jeans too. This guy’s so far away from everyone else that he doesn’t even look like part of the service, but I can tell by the way he stares toward the closed casket that he must be here for this. For Faith.
    I inch back from my parents and they don’t seem to notice. I’m lost in my thoughts and in Faith’s humming, whenI notice the guy in jeans glancing around. His features are chiseled, even from a distance. I’ve always loved longer hair on guys, and when he pushes his dark bangs away from his face, my heart skips a beat.
    I know this is not the time to think about cute guys, but still, I take another step toward him. How did he know Faith? How come I don’t recognize him? He doesn’t look like the clean-cut guys from church youth group. I take another step, edging out of the circle of mourners this time. They’re all so captured by Pastor Scott’s speech, none of them seem to notice.
    Mystery guy wears a red and black checkered jacket and now that I’m closer I can see the crease down the front of his blue jeans. He holds a bundle of carnations down at his side. I try to ignore the clothes and concentrate on his etched expression, intent and contemplative. Something about him seems different and I’m drawn toward him.
    Maybe he senses this, because he turns in my direction. I’m not sure what I’m doing exactly. I have a boyfriend. I guess I just want to say hi, maybe ask where he knows Faith from. But suddenly he jolts like he’s been woken up from a dead sleep, drops the