Waves of Faith: A Novel

By Jennie Bailor

After years of failed relationships, Faith Kase, a twenty-something vet tech from mountainous Vermont, literally runs into the one thing she has always desired: true love. Cole Richards, an infatuation from school, is everything she remembers, only better. Caught in a brilliant explosion of raw passion and spell-binding adoration, their connection quickly defies the average relationship.

Only when tragedy uproots her fairy tale happiness does she become consumed with the missing link. Her maternal grandmother, Louise--who lives in Newport, and is her one other familial extension besides her mom--proves easy enough to find, but in forming that relationship she destroys another, losing herself.

In this heartwarming drama, Faith, a naturally passive-aggressive avoider, must re-define all that she knows: her hope in the future, and distinguishing between the life she was convinced she was meant to have and the life which now awaits her. With unwavering help from her small, tight-knit inner circle, she finds what the dynamics of prayer and support can do, and encounters an extraordinary being who lifts her up from her downward cycle, lighting her path, and enforcing the power of what faith in all that is good can truly accomplish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468558708

Jennie Bailor

Jennie has been an avid reader of fiction for over twenty years, dreaming of the day her own book would be published. Passionate about writing, love, wine, and God--though not necessarily in that order--she pursues each wholeheartedly. She resides with her husband and three children in Lancaster, Ohio.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© 2012 Jennie Bailor. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 6/22/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5872-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5871-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5870-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Broken

She loved…

Just A Dream

Clumsy

Right through Me

Shut up and Drive

At Last

You and Me

You Have Stolen My Heart

Comedown

She lost…

Lost in You

Lightning Crashes

By Your Side

Patience

Home

Eighteen Days

Bad Day

Far Behind

Bring Me to Life

Far From Home

She discovered…

When the Wind Blows

Wish You Were Here

Don’t Fall Away

Over and Over Again

Bottoms Up

Healing Rain

One year later…

Acknowledgments

About the Author

This book was written in honor of my own personal sunshine and loving grandmother, Annalee Wilkinson. I miss you.

For Erin Leigh and Erin Leigh, my two very best friends since birth. Your input, sacrifices, and solid support have proved amazing.

Prologue

Broken

Faith exhaled slowly, painstakingly trying to keep all her emotions in check. In reality, she was carefully attempting to perform a new technique her mom had learned from a self-help seminar. This particular one emphasized the advantages of different breathing strategies as effective ways to cope with stress.

Her mom was forever researching any class that sounded even remotely beneficial for herself and her loved ones. Anne Kase had attended psychology conferences, yoga classes, meetings led by passive gurus, and so-called therapeutic head-on conventions, all in the name of self-improvement. If Faith could have drawn a line graph for the extreme range of emotional distress all these different roller-coaster methods caused her, the markings would be off the charts, consequently defeating the initial purpose. From becoming an idle doormat to adapting a border-line case of verbal violence, it seemed to Faith that there was no middle ground, no sane way to deal with anything.

And these days, that was all Faith desired: a healthy, normal state of mind.

But the breathing was different. It actually seemed to be calming her nerves, which at this point were so frayed and on edge that she was seriously considering pouring herself a nice glass of Riesling, or maybe some Moscato—even if it was only ten o’clock in the morning. The sweet, refreshing wine would help, or at least conceal, any problem. Cringing, and feeling more than slightly like an alcoholic at the thought, she closed her eyes tightly instead and focused on her mom’s words. Anne had sworn up and down that this beneficial technique offered instant results. At the time Faith had groaned inwardly, but now, sitting on her bed and facing her other options, she almost smiled. Almost. The wine sentiment vaporized into the air like a dreamy illusion.

Anne might be onto something here.

Her faithful golden retriever, Max—current roomie and companion—looked up at her, wagging his tail as she stood up to stretch. Faith always called her mother by her first name, and in fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she had verbally used the common, more familiar title of mom. She knew it had started when she was old enough to mimic people. Everyone else had called her mom Anne, why should she be different? What had started out as a child’s curious experiment for a proper term of endearment was never corrected, and Faith had always had the unspoken suspicion that Anne enjoyed it. Not that Anne was delusional about her age, but the older Faith became, the more she noticed her still young and single mother cozying up to the idea that the two of them could pass for sisters. With both women carrying the same height and small build, as well as possessing long strawberry-blond ringlets that framed their medium-toned skin, and green eyes with golden flecks, it was easy to see why. Strangers constantly offered comments, and while it didn’t bother Faith a bit, she had enjoyed a good laugh the first time she realized that Anne had unconsciously (or who knows, maybe quite consciously) picked a point in their lives when she had stopped correcting them.

Still standing, she decided to go for another round of the breathing.

To be fair, their bond went beyond the disciplined nature of many mother-daughter relationships. Faith appreciated Anne in a way that was rare, but it had always been that way. She had been conscious from an early age what sacrifices Anne had made to feed and support them, and her mom was by far her biggest idol.

Faith drew in a satisfying breath, the edge gone. She had to admit that she was doing an abnormally decent job at multitasking: practicing silly therapy and focusing on her mom, thereby distracting her usually over-stimulated brain cells. That was the goal, after all: to stay distracted.

Her mom was scattered and unorganized, but she was ferociously intact with her goals, her life, and her daughter. She would do whatever necessary to sustain them, as she had proven time and again, and Faith knew that she had taken her fair share of mental beatings. As strong as she was, though, Anne had an internal remorsefulness about her that refused to dissipate. Faith knew that it was due to her childhood, but her mom hid it with all the valor of a wounded soldier, making it difficult to detect.

Anne grew up in Rhode Island with her mother, Louise Kase, who was loving but too strict. When eighteen-year-old Anne had met Faith’s future dad, Louise had immediately forbid her to see him, due in part to her own reckless past. A similar situation had arisen with Louise almost nineteen years earlier, but the older woman was naïve enough to think that Anne would ultimately see what a loser Jake Baker was.

Unfortunately, Faith’s grandmother had given her daughter too much credit. Naturally stubborn and just slightly rebellious, Anne had secretly run off to Vermont with Jake, gotten married after six weeks of dating him, and refused to speak to her mother for years. Not even when he took off one morning, eight months later, without any explanation, without so much as a backward glance, and without stopping to concern himself with the choices he had left behind, including his one-week old daughter. Even the idea that he had ended up proving Louise completely right hadn’t deterred his actions, and he had heartlessly left Anne to clean up the emotional mess.

Unwilling to reach out to her mom, Anne had dealt with the loss and her child by herself, enforcing the quiet sadness that took hold of her indefinitely. It only took a week, however, for Anne to figure out who she wanted to be, and she admirably had forced herself to go to college with the goal of becoming a social worker. Helping people seemed to be foremost in her mind, in light of her own plight. Graduating four and a half years later, she landed a job at the nearest hospital in Bennington. Her salary wasn’t anywhere near what she deserved, but she earned decent enough pay and benefits, including admission to those classes she was always taking to better herself. Whatever Anne’s motivation, it seemed to be working—at least for her, and Faith was grateful for that.

As of recently, the situation between her mom and grandma had drastically improved—due to a past tragedy that Faith had shared with him, even she had had the pleasure of initiating an overdue relationship with the older woman—and though Faith herself was currently going through a trying time (yet again), she was at least happy for the two of them.

Faith sighed heavily, severing her self-preservation effort. Happy. That half-hearted attempt at such an overrated emotion wore her out; quite cynically, she had become convinced that the word no longer held any true value. In fact, she had come to loathe it. It reminded her of recent days, days when she actually wanted to get out of bed, days when she felt something, anything, besides the tear where her heart used to beat, days where she still belonged to him. She forced herself to remain calm. Those days had been over for months now, yet she was always amazed at how easy it was to remember that part of her life, the part she was constantly trying to escape.

Therapeutic breathing now ruined, Faith gazed around her tiny one-bedroom apartment. It was not much, but she was proud of it, and right now it was all her job as a tech at the veterinarian practice could afford her. Her kitchen was more of a galley, and there was no dining room to speak of, but she had her living room, bath, bedroom and walk-in closet, as well as a tiny office, and that was more than she had expected to get. Affordable places in Manchester were not easy to acquire; she would have taken less, if necessary.

She busied herself by straightening up her bedroom and bath. She hated cleaning, but it was the only thing she could do right now to keep her mind preoccupied. As long as she kept busy, she wouldn’t have to think about other things. She knew that statement itself was common sense and maybe bordered on the side of being redundant, but she rather liked it. It especially helped her when certain images threatened to creep back into her thoughts. She had worked diligently over time to let go, forget, and move on, but more often than not, the persistent, dangerous thoughts of him would force their way into her brain, making it impossible to forget that there had definitely been something there worth holding on to.

She swept, dusted, and disinfected. She cleaned Max’s plastic bowls, frowning at the dried, hardened lump of dog food as she scrubbed vigorously, and even took him on a walk, which neither one was accustomed to on a Saturday afternoon. It was rare for her not to be in the office at this time of day, on any day. Dr. Mason was constantly volunteering or returning favors, and he was infamous around the small office for calling any of his three employees at all hours for assistance. But Faith never truly minded; she loved what she did, and most importantly, it kept her occupied. They even did the occasional house call for small, home-bound animals. In any big city, that was likely unheard of, but not here. Just more reasons why she had always loved Manchester: the small-town feel and friendly people. And atop her list, until recently, had always been the one stable thing that was part of Vermont, part of her hometown, and therefore, part of her life: the Green Mountains.

This range was a small portion of the Appalachian Mountains, extending approximately two hundred and fifty miles, and it was a dependable constant in Manchester’s ambiance. The thick perimeter of layering evergreens stretching up to the vast expanse of blue sky were the town’s unique show-and-tell, and they kept the rural country land carefully confined. Housing a small downtown that was both charming and modern, the true beauty of the area was in the natural scenery. Red barns and white-sided homes punctuated the countryside, adding to the rustic down-home feel. Farms were abundant, with horses being especially popular; the Vermont Summer Festival, held in the neighboring town of Dorset, was famous for its horse show and attracted fans from all over; Faith had actually met a couple from Scotland last year. But no matter where anyone was from, both locals and visitors compared this town to living in the bottom of a bowl, with the lush curtain of trees forming the sides, embracing its population. Faith had always felt safe within these soft walls of pine.

Now, though, all those once-protective, comforting characteristics seemed rigid and suffocating. Lately she felt as if the bottom of her bowl had grown too deep and the sides too steep, closing in on her and feeling more like a prison, making an escape impossible.

When they returned from their walk, Max ran straight for his water. Grass and small clumps of debris fell out of his mouth as he sloppily slurped the liquid, creating a dirty puddle where Faith had sanitized earlier. She rolled her eyes and placing her hands on her hips, looked around the apartment. What to do, what to do…? She thought about calling Abbey or Brooke, her two best friends. After reaching voicemails on both phones, however, she decided to read a book. Boredom was not an option today, nor loneliness. Although they were difficult to escape, either one left a disturbing mental image of how she would end up for the evening if put into practice. From experience, she knew it would involve a box of soaked tissues and a bottle of the earlier forgotten wine, and she didn’t want Max to have to witness that type of grieving tonight.

Not giving it much thought, she grabbed the latest Sparks novel, Dear John, and made her way to what she considered the greatest benefit of this place: the window seat. It was situated in the living room, along the back wall, and was unusually spacious and comfortable. As a house-warming gift, Anne had had the seat upholstered in a luscious light gold fabric that both of them had chosen, but her favorite feature the seat offered was something money couldn’t buy: the view. Faith’s apartment complex was on a hill that butted up to the back end of a golf course. Beyond those bright greens were more rolling hills, with ancient barns in dire need of paint jobs, and even a small chapel in the far-off distance trying to peak through the coniferous trees that dotted the land. The picturesque scene was a familiar comfort to her, like a mug of hot chocolate on a frost-filled snowy day, and it was about the only thing that she could say hadn’t changed in the past nine months.

Faith started reading but halfway through the second chapter, she wished she’d chosen a different book. She really should have known better. Yes, Sparks was one of her favorites, but right now she needed the opposite of what he could magically weave on to paper. A horror story—something bloody and mysterious—would have been better suited for her tonight.

She paused, willing rational thoughts. The problem was not the book itself. The problem was something that consistently failed to elude her. Desperation. Panic. However she chose to define it, the outcome was always the same. It crept out of nowhere: grocery stores, with her girlfriends, at the park, and in the clinic where she worked. It had no parameters—no guidelines at all as to how she should prepare for it—so that it seemed to sneak up on her every time, and try as she might, she was always unprepared for the shock of it, like jumping into a blast of cold water.

She was acutely aware that the worst part of it all was the sense of helplessness that overtook her every time. That she could not control her emotions while surrounded by others was maddening, but she was an expert at holding them all in; whenever these situations arose, she refrained from crying out, or falling down, or sobbing hysterically. She repressed the urge to run away from wherever she was and whoever she was with, while frantically repeating in her mind that it did absolutely no good for her to be alone. Because while all of that might be somewhat challenging, it was nothing compared to the more persistent moments that were downright frightening.

These happened in the silence. The silence was her worst enemy anymore. It provoked the problem as nothing else did. Nighttime was a never-ending battle because of it. She wished she could just jump into bed and suffocate the noise in her thoughts, but instead of subsiding, the noise would crescendo, and because of this, she dreaded the darkness. The memories always seeped in, insisting on crawling through her mental blocks, unyielding and relentless, no matter how hard she fought them. They were like an incurable disease, infecting and tormenting her until she cried herself to sleep.

And this book…with every sentence, the reminder of her past was immediate; so clear, so poignant, she felt she could reach out and touch it. And it was unfortunate, but subconsciously she knew that this very disease, while unhealthy, kept her feeling connected to him and all that they had been, and that by far was her scariest downfall.

After finishing the chapter with much difficulty, she got up to turn her radio on, hoping to eliminate the dreaded effects of the quiet. She sat back down in her original spot, placing the book on her lap. She took another deep breath to steady her emotions and tried to remember what Anne had taught her: lean back and close your eyes, in for five counts, out for eight. Or was it in for eight, out for five? She couldn’t remember, and figuring it didn’t much matter, she did the former, focusing her thoughts on a relaxing place. A place where she and Max could go to get away from everything and unwind.

A sudden jolt seared through her stomach as the powerful feeling of déjà vu hit her and she remembered the last time she had envisioned the South. Savannah, Georgia, to be specific. They had discussed taking a long road trip, with him insisting that that would be the perfect place to vacation. He had already been there a couple of times because of the military, and he couldn’t wait to show her around. The buildings and homes, the night-life, the historical aspect, and just the natural beauty. He had been so excited, reiterating how it was one of his favorite places to be and promising that she would fall in love with it. His excitement had made her laugh; it always did.

She sat up abruptly, and the book, which had been lying on her knees, fell with a thud to the floor. The trip had never happened.

A stolen bit of overheard information from the night before pierced her, practically slicing her in two. Her breathing faltered. She felt the unwelcome but familiar pangs of longing as her heart ripped open a little more than it already was.

This wasn’t working. None of this was working. She could tell herself whatever she thought she wanted to hear. That the breathing techniques helped. That every day was better than the last. That she would forget and move on. That sooner or later her nightmares and panic attacks would end. But the truth was she didn’t know if any of that would stop. Every day wasn’t better than the last, and whoever said that time heals all things obviously had never had his heart broken. Because that’s what her heart was.

Broken.

And she was beginning to feel as if time wasn’t on her side, that it too was her enemy, cruelly laughing at each passing second. Faith gently rubbed her temples, hoping to prevent the onslaught of headaches she knew were coming. They always started in the front of her forehead and then proceeded to migrate to the back, pulsating powerfully on their way. She was beyond exhausted. She had spent months fighting it: day after endless day, which had turned into week after endless week, trying to manipulate her mind into viewing it as a situation that ended as it should have, and trying to contort the details of her memory of him.

But the memories always bounced back, clear and perfect. How his short auburn hair looked after he ran his hand over it. How his chocolate-brown eyes twinkled when he teased her…and how intense they were when she would unknowingly catch him staring at her. How effortlessly he spoke to her with words of passion and sincerity. How toned and defined and beautiful his body was, and how it glistened with sweat after they had taken a run or played tennis or made love. How the very essence of her was caught up in him, as if they were part of each other…one soul.

As her thoughts progressed in vivid detail of him, she felt her heartbeat and her breathing finally slow into a calm, rhythmic manner, and without meaning to—without even being totally aware of what she was doing—leaned back in her favorite seat, and for once, she stopped fighting. After months of mentally draining her body, she finally let her suppressed, forbidden memories take her to the place she longed to go back to more than anything: the place where she knew she belonged.

She loved…

with everything she had.

The hill in the front yard was not very steep. Truth be told, it was more of a small incline that was an inconvenience for the girl’s mother to mow. To the two junior-high students, however, it served its purpose. She was thirteen, he almost fifteen. He shyly motioned for her to sit down and she eagerly obliged, happy just to be with him. They had known each other for several years now, but aside from stolen glances and occasional greetings and an obvious infatuation they shared with each other, they had barely communicated. Today, though, the boy’s cousin (who lived just down the street from the girl) had arranged for this rendezvous between the two, tired of them doing very little about their feelings. They were both red-faced with fair skin and sweaty palms, but when he looked at her, the boyish adoration was as clear as the mountains looming in the background, and the connection between them was undeniable. They talked, tentatively, and for only a brief period; he had no choice, he knew his parents were expecting him back at any moment. He was torn, and everything in his demeanor let her know this. Visibly desperate to stay but reluctantly standing up, he told her he had to go. Something in his voice made her understand without asking that it was a permanent leave. Still sitting, she looked up at him in shock, her stomach twisting and her throat dry. Years later when her memory of this day would come alive after a long decade plus of dormancy, she’d wonder why, at that moment, when she could’ve and should’ve asked a hundred other questions pertaining to what he said, she could only think to utter one. What if you don’t come back? Her voice had caught in her throat and she hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t noticed. His sad smile in response indicated to her that he did, which proved fortunate; it gave him an unusual dose of courage, and for a second, she could tell that his nerves were forgotten. Even then it struck her as impossibly romantic that she could read his expressions. He stared at her for a minute, his warm brown eyes seemingly memorizing every delicate detail of her. It was becoming clear from his gaze that what he may have lacked in assertiveness, he more than made up for with observation and a tenderness that had overtaken his entire being. She imagined him speaking the three little words that she was probably too young to hear. Instead, he said, I will always be thinking of you. And one day I will come back. He left quickly, so quickly that she began to wonder if he had only been a figment of her imagination. If those few precious moments with him had been real at all or just something that she had wanted to happen. Over the following years, as she progressed through high school and then college, she would unintentionally forget about him and this moment. Time, she naively came to believe, could erase anything. Even love.

Chapter 1

Just A Dream

"Faith! Come on, hurry up…Faith! The shrill voice sounded impatient, and rightfully so. After shopping for most of the day, being stuck in traffic for an extra forty minutes, and now waiting on her best friend to apply the final touches to her makeup and hair for another twenty-five, Brooke Hart was becoming annoyed. We’re already an hour late. And if you don’t hurry your little butt up, I swear I’m going to leave without you. Faith Nevaeh Kase, are you even listening to me? Are you—" She broke off mid-sentence as Faith, fully put together and ready to go, entered Brooke’s living room.

Faith tipped her cowgirl hat in a respectful gesture. You know, patience is a virtue, ma’am. We can’t all be naturally adorable or have fabulous places to live in. If I were you, I’d just appreciate your surroundings while waiting. Her voice was cheerful and she made a sweeping gesture with her hand while grinning. Brooke’s house literally had it all. Fully stocked and well decorated, Faith often reminded her best friend how lucky she was. I was here waiting on you, remember, grump-butt? She pushed her thumbs through her belt loops and did a funny little dance in her boots. Besides, I had to touch up this frizzy mane with your flat iron. It’s practically a miracle I got ready in twenty minutes as it is.

Twenty-seven, Brooke corrected, checking her watch. So you’re saying I should be grateful to you?

Grinning, Faith threw her arms up in the air. Exactly. For the first time she got a good look at her friend’s costume, and peered closer. They had decided to dress up for the holiday, and Brooke had the luxury of having the day off, thus enabling her to get ready at her leisure. She nodded approvingly. Nice black hat. Well, at least your costume matches your attitude. Where’s your broomstick?

Brooke stood up looking threatening. Gorgeous, but threatening. I’m going to cast a spell on you if you continue to be so cheerful, she grumbled under her breath.

Pretending to strain, Faith leaned forward. I’m sorry, what did you say?

Brooke finally broke out in her pretty smile, showing her perfectly straight teeth. Attractive beyond what should be legal and (thanks to her equestrian parents) wealthy beyond what was necessary to sustain a girl of twenty-four, Brooke’s house wasn’t the only thing that had it all. I said it’s about time for you to get a hearing aid. And remind me to get you a key. Now let’s go! Voodoo Carnival isn’t going to wait on us.

Brooke and Faith grabbed their jackets, blue and black, respectively. They had bought them on clearance at the Betsey Johnson outlet store at the end of summer when they had been home visiting on a weekend, almost done with school and in a mood to go blow money. Well, technically Brooke had plenty of money to blow. It was Faith who didn’t come from a wealthy background, but Brooke had helped her justify the purchase, reassuring her that it was not only something she wanted but something she needed. And besides, she had added, what kind of celebratory shopping trip would this be if Faith didn’t actually buy anything? Faith had willingly consented, conscious of the fact that no matter what the occasion, Brooke always had a way with persuasion.

Almost two hours north of Manchester, they were inseparable roomies at Vermont Technical College. At that time, they each had one more quarter to go, and since they both had gotten not only a late, but also a slow start in college, they were already older than most. At twenty-three and still seniors, they took their time agonizing over their statuses and complained to anyone who asked what they did for a living that they were professional students. It was a never-ending joke between them that they would be in school forever.

Coincidentally, the two of them learned that they had overlooked some basic classes, and instead of graduating in June with most every other senior, each of them would have to take her last quarter in the summer and graduate in the fall. Untraditional but doable, it was torturous to hear. They knew the clear benefit was getting to graduate together, but they were still disappointed. The classes they had avoided were in subjects neither one of them could stand, and the entire summer had been pure misery.

Faith had been missing a couple of credits in the communications department, something she had purposely put off because the thought of speaking in front of someone, let alone an entire audience, made her break out in a rash. Prone to being red-faced and easily embarrassed, she avoided any class that required speeches or an extreme amount of verbal participation, and she had done quite well until that one popped up. Originally wanting to opt for the alternative English class offered instead, she had been crushed to find out it was full. From that point, her options had been limited: she could wait until the next quarter—thus prolonging graduation even further—or she could suck it up and learn how to face a crowd. The decision hadn’t been easy, but it had been clear enough.

Since she had spent so much time at the school, she was secretly hoping the higher-ups would be kind to her, and let her bypass Effective Speaking, as it wasn’t structurally important in building a foundation with animals. But unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be, as the administration didn’t think much of her typed letter explaining that she’d be doing the professor and other students a disservice by attending the course. It was…how had she put it? Oh yes, she’d written that forgoing the class was the most sacrificial thing she felt she could do for the university, especially since she knew the ability to speak in front of people was profoundly important in culture and poise; still, she had no interest in offending any of the other students by not being able to perform up to standard. Faith had worked diligently on the letter and had been wholeheartedly pleased with the arguments she presented. Even her advisor had seemed amused and slightly impressed at her spunk, birthing a tiny seedling of hope. But alas, the faculty hadn’t agreed, decidedly apathetic about Faith’s nerves, and had forced her through the gauntlet anyway. It had been her own personal hell.

Brooke, on the other hand, had been missing credits in math, her worst subject. After much debate about what to do with her life, and disappointing her wealthy, Seabiscuit sperm-raising family by switching her major from equine studies to respiratory therapy, she still needed a finite mathematics course and one statistics class to fulfill her requirements and graduate.

Faith had tried to be optimistic when Brooke was fighting her way through both. It could be worse, you could have had to do calculus or trig. Brooke had just glared at her and then wondered aloud how noticeable it would be if both professors simultaneously vanished from the university.

In the end, it had all worked out, and here they were now, moved back to Manchester just in time for the fall festivities—newly graduated independent ladies ready for a night out on the town. Each girl had worked hard at landing a job and a home in the previous weeks, and now they were beyond excited to party. They were living the dream, as Brooke liked to say. Abbey, their other best friend who couldn’t join them for the concert, would always jokingly retort that it had taken them long enough. She had graduated two years earlier and had been holding a steady job as a nurse at Northshire Medical Center, the local clinic. It wasn’t as big as the Bennington Hospital, where Faith’s mom worked, but that’s why Abbey liked it: smaller-scale, regular hours.

They headed out, Brooke carefully locking her door. Brooke had told Faith that she’d heard about two months ago that the Connecticut-based band was making a rare appearance in Manchester for a special Halloween concert, an event she clearly didn’t want to miss. Specializing in rock, Voodoo Carnival was notorious for their hot group of singers and their opening number, a sizzling version of the Stones’ Can’t You Hear Me Knocking. The last time they had been to Manchester was on Abbey’s birthday, and Levi, one of the lead singers, had invited the girls to do a pre-show shot of their favorite tequila, Don Julio. Originating from a different state, the band didn’t make it up their way as much as the girls would have liked, but the few times they had been in their area, everyone had had a blast.

Tonight the concert was taking place at a local restaurant and tavern across town, The Perfect Wife, but the band was such a huge draw for the area that tickets were still required, and Brooke had thoughtfully purchased them for Faith’s graduation present.

They pulled into the crowded parking lot of the tavern with the ever-popular name. The Perfect Wife was divided into two sections, according to preference and budget. Around the side and down a set of covered stairs was the glass-enclosed white linen-covered candlelit table retreat—a secluded haven to go to for a quiet fine dining experience. More romantic and expensive, Faith had only been in that part a couple of times. The tavern, on the other hand, was on the main level, flush with the parking lot and extending patio. Supplying an electrically charged atmosphere with high-top tables, a bar, and various bands, it was noisier and stimulating. This side also offered food at more reasonable rates, therefore attracting a fair amount of young