Have Faith
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Rebuilding Faith Ch. 01 free porn video
Bill Holder tried to sleepwalk through life, after Jennifer divorced him. But his wakeup call came from the police. They politely informed him that his 14-year-old daughter, Lisa, had been arrested for shoplifting. Ashamed that he had neglected her, Bill became a dedicated father.
Now twenty-two, Lisa was a senior at Boston College, on her way to becoming a physicist, (whatever that is). She said there was good money in it — music to his ears. Jokingly, Bill asked if that meant she could fill his prescriptions at a discount.
She answered with the traditional ‘Daaaaaad!’ to convey her exasperation with his foolishness. He could still bring out the little girl in her.
‘Oh! That’s a pharmacist isn’t it.’ He wondered if she would miss his stale sense of humor.
No one needed him anymore and he became depressed. Wise doctor Murray suggested exercise, which sounded like an admirable way to produce a heart attack. His girl would get a sizable insurance settlement. So Bill jumped on the dusty stationary bike and pedaled until his heart was pounding harder than a drummer at an infantry charge. He pumped iron until he couldn’t straighten his arms for days. No luck, the only thing Bill got for the effort was a toned body. At least he’d leave a fit corpse.
Bill called Lisa and told her that he needed to make some changes.
He had to pull the phone away from his ear, when she yelled, ‘HELLO! It’s about time!’
After selling the house, he put the rest of his possessions in storage. The family construction business he practically gave to his greedy kid brother, Jack — who’d probably be bankrupt within five years.
Finally, Bill was a free man and officially a tourist… at least until the money ran out.
‘Every great rock and roll band makes a farewell world tour, so why shouldn’t I,’ he thought. So his travels began with a 7-day tour of Rome. A few lady friends hinted a desire to accompany him, but when you feel like putting your head in the oven you don’t want someone around to tell you that you’re baking at the wrong temperature. As a result, he flew solo, first class.
Bob and Ethel Morgan, a nice couple from Wisconsin celebrating their 40th anniversary, chatted with him on the Rome tour bus. After talking exclusively with Bob for a few miles, Bill got the impression Ethel didn’t appreciate him distracting her husband from marital bliss, so he distanced himself at the Coliseum. Bill wanted to end life right there, as a gladiator, but the guide informed him that wasn’t an option anymore.
The Sistine Chapel is where his Roman holiday took a strange detour. The structure was much smaller than he imagined, 134 feet long by 44 feet wide. He’d built larger foyers. The plain, boxy exterior masked the splendor that lives within. As Bill entered, an overwhelming fatigue engulfed him. Sagging onto an empty bench along the wall, he leaned back to admire Michelangelo’s portrayal of the creation of Adam. God looked surprisingly European.
Closing his left eye, Bill pointed with his right hand and slowly traced down Adam’s arm that reached out to his Maker, wondering what it must feel like to touch the hand of God… Suddenly, he was surrounded by fire and a man’s voice was screaming, ‘Faith! Faith…’
That’s when Bob shook him, ‘Bill, wake up buddy.’
Opening his eyes, Bill could barely distinguish the concerned face hovering over him. ‘I’m awake,’ he said, struggling to straighten up, and feel normal. ‘How long was I out?’
‘I’d say about 5 minutes. You were mumbling something — sounded like ‘faith’.’ Bob laughed, ‘What happened, you get a vision?’
‘I must’ve been dreaming.’
In mock astonishment, Bob pointed at Bill’s head, ‘Your hair! It’s turned completely white!’
‘Very funny.’ Bill stood up and headed for the door, ‘ Follow me if you want to go to the Promised Land.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Sixth floor of the Marriott.’ He walked the 3 kilometers back to the hotel… irrationally agitated.
Bill grew mentally exhausted, but was unable sleep for more than a few minutes. Nightmares about fire repeatedly woke him, sweaty and disoriented. Afraid of getting sick in a foreign country, he flew back to Kennedy International the next day, and slept peacefully the entire flight.
Suddenly, the inexplicable exhaustion was gone. He felt rejuvenated when they landed, and decided to rent a car. Driving north on Route 17, Bill made a right turn into the Catskill Mountains, hoping to get lost. It amazed him how close you can be to New York City and still find wilderness. Miles of lakes and forest scenery unfolded outside the window. Shortly after midnight, he passed a huge earthen dam. A sign flashed in the headlights, ‘Welcome to Woodhaven, Nicest Town by a Dam Site’. Bill chuckled. Then the engine stalled. The car rolled quietly down Main Street until friction and gravity killed its momentum. Turning the key made a clicking sound like a roulette wheel… he’d lost.
The next morning, church bells woke him to find a half-dozen cookie crunchers peeking in the car windows.
‘BOO!’
Squeals of laughter faded as they ran down the street and into The First Baptist Church.
Bill got out, stretched, and then walked over the ‘Car Haven Garage’. The placed appeared deserted, so he left and wandered over to the only place that showed signs of life. The worship service began, as he slid into the last pew. Every head turned to inspect the late arrival. A murmuring wave rippled through the sanctuary.
When the announcements began the congregation focused their attention on the pulpit.
‘… And finally I want to remind you all to continue praying for Mrs. Simmons, as she tries to rebuild before summer.’
Bill felt so thankful for just being healthy and alive, that it put him in an unusually generous mood, and Mrs. Simmons sounded like a worthy cause. Grabbing one of the offering envelopes from the pew in front of him, Bill placed $2000 worth of traveler’s checks inside. Writing ‘Mrs. Simmons’ on the front, he dropped it in the offering plate.
Before the last hymn ended, Bill walked out to avoid curious strangers, and returned to his car, hoping the mechanic would soon appear.
Ten minutes later, Bill glanced back at the church. A woman stood in the doorway and look anxiously in his direction. Then she waved and actually ran to him.
‘Mr. Holder?’ she asked, a little breathless.
She held his traveler’s checks, so Bill took a stab at her identity. ‘Yes, Mrs. Simmons?’
‘I want to thank you for this gift. It’s an answer to my prayers,’ she smiled brightly. Small creases gave her hazel eyes richness.
Imperiously, Bill stood in judgment. The tanned complexion and her youthful enthusiasm denied the age that random gray strands of hair hinted. She had a bandaged thumb and traces of dirt under her nails, evidence of involvement in the reconstruction. The denim jacket she wore looked more appropriate than the yellow dress underneath. A burn scar on her left leg disappeared up under the mid-calf hem. He wondered how far up it went and how it happened. She didn’t look the type to fall asleep drunk with a lit cigarette.
She scrutinized him and became distressed. ‘Are you sure you can afford this, Mr. Holder?’
Bill realized he must look like a vagrant — wrinkled clothes, face covered with salt and pepper stubble. ‘Yes, Mrs. Simmons, I can. I’m glad I could help.’ With annoyance, he continued, ‘I look this way because I had to sleep in my car last night. Will the garage be open today?’
She laughed at the question. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be lucky if Fred crawls out of his bottle before Tuesday.’ She looked back from the repair shop, once again serious. ‘May I offer you a place to stay and something to eat until your car is repaired? There’s an empty trailer on my land. You’d have privacy.’
Bill didn’t relish the idea of living in t
he car until Tuesday, but he felt awkward taking refuge with a woman whom he’d just given two-grand. ‘Maybe you should talk it over with your husband first.’
She held his stare, and replied, ‘My husband was a New York City police officer, Mr. Holder. He was killed in the line of duty six years ago.’ Her inflection and grim face exposed both pride and heartache.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could manage.
Briefly considering his lack of options, Bill held out his hand, ‘I accept your offer of hospitality, Mrs. Simmons… and please call me Bill.’
‘Okay, Bill’, she took his hand. A shiver tingled through him when she said, ‘I’m Faith.’
His curiosity tweaked, he asked, ‘Faith, what are you rebuilding?’
‘Do you want the long or short version?’
‘Short.’
‘An angry crack dealer burned down my bunkhouse.’
‘Okay, I want the long version.’
She grinned. ‘I run a summer camp for ‘at risk’ inner-city children. One of my girls went home and turned in her neighbor for dealing.’ Faith confidently walked away, ‘I’ll get the truck and we can talk on the way home.’
Warmth of anticipation fired through him.
Blaze
- 29.09.2020
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