Faith, Trust and. . .Pixie Dust?

Chapter 3

PG-13

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I don't own them ~ they're all Tim's.  I just borrow them for stories ~ or they borrow my head!  :0)

Song lyrics: "I'll Try" from Return to Neverland, by Jonatha Brooke ~~ I'm just borrowing them as well.

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I can finally see it

Now I've got to believe

All those precious stories

All the world is made of faith, and trust. . .

. . .and pixie dust

I was glad Dad was still serving sandwiches and munchies.  It wasn't far from the Pogue, so we walked, enjoying the early fall weather.

"So, you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"Oh, this little place I love.  Actually, my dad owns it."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  That medical scare thing about a year and a half ago that you were so worried about. . .?"

"He's fine.  It was negative.  So he bought this bar ~ well, actually he bought it before he knew."

"That's cool.  I'm glad he's ok, Jordan."

"Yeah.  Me too."

When we got there, Dad insisted that we sit at the bar while he fixed corned beef on rye for all of us.  He joined us in a bite of lunch and we all talked about old times and life in general.  After a while, Paul looked at his watch.

"Jordan, Max, this has been great. But if I'm going to be any good at the shelter tonight, I need to get some sleep."

"Alright, Paul.  It's been good to see you.  Don't stay a stranger."

"Not now that I know where you are, Max.  Promise.  Jordan. . ."

"I'll walk you out."  I hopped off the barstool and moved towards the door.  As we got to the door, I turned to look at Paul.  "Paul. . .about last night. . ."

"Jordan, it's ok.   You don't have to. . ."

"No.  I do.  Paul, you let me ask questions I never felt safe asking before.  Questions I always thought were wrong.  Thank you for letting me do that.  In some weird way, I feel like something. . .I don't know. . .  I feel calmer today.  Calmer than I have in. . .well. . .years.  Thank you."

"Jordan, I've known you for a long time.  I know you didn't really pay attention to me until high school, but I remember when. . .when your mother was killed.  I made my mother take me to the service.  All I wanted to do was help you."

"Paul, I. . ."

"It's ok.  I think last night I got my wish."

"Yeah. . .I guess so.  You did help.  All those questions. . ."

"I'm sure you've probably got more, and that's ok.  Anytime you want to talk, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Paul."  I leaned over and kissed his cheek.  "I. . .I guess maybe, just maybe, science isn't my only friend."

"Jordan Cavanaugh.  Does this mean I'll be seeing you at Mass on Sunday?"

"I don't know about that.  But maybe sometime."

"The door's always open."  He kissed me on the cheek and walked out the door.  I turned and walked back to the bar, where Dad had been watching with interest.

"What was that all about?" 

"Paul?"

"Yes, Paul.  I'm not accustomed to seeing you so chummy with priests.  I've known you to stay far, far away from anything related to the church since. . ."

"Yeah.  I know.  But we reconnected last year ~ that homeless guy who claimed to be Saint Francis.  And then. . ."  My voice trailed off, lost in thoughts from the night before. . .and so many years prior.

"Then what, sweetie?"

"Last night I heard this song.  And it just got me thinking about stuff.  And then I went out for a run and found myself at the shelter's door and face to face with Paul.  He let me in and we talked for hours.  About all these questions I've had for so long."

"And did you get any answers?"

"Some.  Mainly I got that it's ok to have questions and doubts.  But that they don't always have answers."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Well, it doesn't mean I don't want them, but I think I can live with it.  I might even try church again ~ at some point.  But I don't know.  Baby steps.  Baby steps."

Dad leaned over and gave me a big hug.  "Jordan, I know things aren't easy.  But I'm glad you've got Paul to talk to.   And you've got me too."

"Thanks, Dad."  I returned the hug.  We both jumped as we heard another voice behind us.

"So, is this a family party or can a friend join?"  We spun to see Garret standing there.

"Garret, what are you doing here?"

"Lunch.  I know Max makes a mean corned beef on rye.  And I don't know.  I just had a feeling you might be here and need a friend or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  I can't explain it, but I had this dream that you were in some kind of trouble and then all morning I haven't been able to get you off my mind.  I knew it was your day off, and when there was no answer at your apartment, I took a guess."

"Oh.  Ok."

"So, everything ok?"

"Yeah.  I. . .it's a long story, Garret.  A long story, and I need to get some sleep.  How bout I buy you dinner tonight?"

"Sure.  Say around 7?"

"I'll pick you up at the morgue.  And Garret, things are alright.  For the first time in a long time, I really think they are."  I gave him a hug and walked out the door to catch a cab home.

Garret looked at Max questioningly.  "What the hell. . ."

"I'm not sure, Garret.  But for the first time in about 24 years I see a glimmer of something in my little girl's eyes I remember from before. . .  Faith, trust. . .hell, maybe even some pixie dust.  I don't know.  I just. . ."

"Yeah.  I know what you mean, Max.  I know what you mean."

So I'll try

Because I finally believe

I'll try

Cause I can see what you see

I'll try, I'll try, I'll try, I'll try. . .

To fly.

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Finito!