Blind Faith by Ellen Wittlinger

Author:Ellen Wittlinger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Chapter Twelve

Let’s see, how many people were mad at me simultaneously? Mom, Courtney, Roxanne … maybe Nathan? It might not have been a world record, but it was certainly my personal best.

Mom came back from church looking pleased, but she wouldn’t tell me what had happened there. Humming quietly, she went out to her studio to trim some pots. She remained silent through dinner, which was the usual homemade pizza I’d mentioned to Roxanne—produced with minimal help from me—but the scene was hardly the contented family picture I’d painted for her.

We’d been wolfing down pizza in silence when I dared to ask Mom, “So, how was church today? Did Reverend Samuel do your reading?”

Mom glanced at me briefly, as if she’d forgotten I was there, then took another doughy bite, obviously not intending to answer me. Sometimes I wondered why I kept trying. Mom and I were never going to be buddies. Why didn’t I just give up?

Dad stopped scarfing salad and glared at her. “For God’s sake, Christine, you’re acting like a petulant child!”

She fixed him with a frosty look. “In what way?”

“You know in what way. Refusing to talk about what happened today. It’s immature.”

“Oh, I forgot, you’re the expert on maturity.” She picked the asparagus daintily off her slice and popped it in her mouth. “Liz would know what happened if she’d come with me. And I didn’t think you wanted to know, since all my church friends are nuts and crazies.”

Her smile seemed to infuriate Dad all the more. He dropped his fork and it clanked onto the table. “Forget about me. You’re punishing your daughter just because she isn’t embracing your new beliefs as wholeheartedly as you do. Would Bunny have done that to you?”

I was so shocked by Dad’s attack, I gasped. Mom’s smile crumpled and her eyes welled with tears immediately. “That is the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for some tough love around here,” Dad grumbled.

Mom left the table then, throwing her pizza into the sink as if it were contaminated. As she raced upstairs, Dad and I looked at each other guiltily. I was glad he’d stood up for me, but I felt bad that it had hurt Mom so much. Didn’t he know that she was very fragile right now? He should have backed off—I could live without knowing what had happened at the Spiritualist Church, and obviously I was going to.

Very little pizza was consumed that night.

But the next morning Mom was back in her studio when I got up, a Lucinda Williams CD turned up loud.

“Should I put the sign out?” I asked when I walked in. Once again I was the one making the peace offering.

She jumped a little when I spoke, but at least she didn’t seem angry anymore. “Oh, Liz, I didn’t hear you. Yes, okay, why don’t you put the sign out.” She gave me a small smile, which seemed to take a great effort, and I returned it.

I

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