"I didn't mean to sound like I don't want you here. Or like I'm judging you."
"Maggie, I never expected this to happen. It wasn't my goal when I was a kid…to end up addicted to drugs. But it did happen, and I am a different person now."
He brushed a hand through his hair, dismayed that he was the one shaking now.
"I'm sorry. You didn't ask for a lecture or an impromptu counseling session. It isn't really my place." She stood, looking for all the world like she didn't know what to do with him. Finally she continued. "But if you ever do need to talk, Pastor Banks is always available. And if you need a friend, I'm here."
"Thank you. And I don't mind your advice." But maybe he did. He wanted to be treated like he had something to offer this ministry, not like he needed to be ministered to.
"Okay then, it sounds as if we're on the same sheet of music. The kids come first. And we'll do this together, for them."
She paused, as if she meant to say more, but instead she shrugged and walked away. The empty cup in her hand suggested she might be on her way to the kitchen.
His gaze landed on the side of the gray-green desk. Kids had scratched their names in the rubber edging. Next to one name were the words "Jesus Saves." Another had carved, "I Hate My Life."
Funny how two kids in basically the same place could face life with such opposing points of view. He ran his finger over the torn edges of the words. Jesus Saves…I Hate My Life.
Chapter ThreeMichael went from work to his brother's that evening. He smiled when his older brother opened the door and motioned him into his apartment. Noah was the other oddity in the Carson family. Noah, who had a heart of gold and a career that made their mother cringe. His work for the DEA kept him out of touch, sometimes for months at a time. And sometimes even at home he didn't seem reachable.
Stepping into the small one-bedroom apartment brought another smile to Michael's face. If an apartment could reflect the personality of the person that lived there, Noah's apartment did.
The place was practically bare, with a fold-out couch, a recliner that tilted dangerously to the left and a small card table shoved into the corner of the kitchenette. Thrown into the opposite corner was a collection of tattered, falling-apart suitcases.
"Nice place." Michael wondered if Noah got the same lectures from their mother about living somewhere a little nicer.
"It suits my needs."
"You need a wife." Michael pushed aside a stack of newspapers and sat on the couch.
"That's the last thing I need. What I want is a new case, so I can get back on the road."
"I'm not sure what the romance is between you and your job. You're on the road for months at a time. You live in rundown apartments and eat out of tin cans." Michael had received that information from their mother and from reading between the lines of the letters Noah had sent.
"You know why I do this." Noah shoved his glasses into his pocket and brushed a hand through hair that hung nearly to his shoulders but was usually pulled back in a ponytail. "So what's going on?"
Sometimes Noah was the greatest brother in the world. No, he was always the greatest. But sometimes "the job" took over. It bordered on obsession. Noah couldn't see that maybe Michael just wanted to visit. No, he had to suspect that something was going on.
"Nothing's going on. Life is great. I'm the family felon. My future career choices are limited. Oh, and I'm being followed."
"So, when were you going to tell me about this?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" Michael leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted life to be simple again. He wanted easy decisions. He wanted to be a kid, deciding which camp to attend or what party— no, not a party— what friends to hang out with.
"Okay, so who do you think it is?" Noah pulled out a chair from the card table and straddled it, his arms resting on the metal frame of the back.
"It's Vince."
"Has he tried to contact you?"
"Not yet, but he will. He isn't going to forget a debt."
"With your help we can bring him in. He stayed out of sight after you got busted. I think he left the state. Since he's been back, he's been smart about moving his operation and using a lot of different people. His operation is a lot bigger than the average meth lab in a garage or shed."
"I know." He searched for the right words. "What I don't know is if I'm strong enough to fight him, or to go against him. I've been clean for four years. But I haven't really been put to the test."
"You have to believe in yourself. And you don't have to fight him. If you get in with him, you can get names, check out who is hanging out with him, and anything else usable."
Silence settled over the room. The dripping kitchen faucet beat out a steady rhythm in the stainless-steel sink and the tick-tock of the wind-up alarm clock grew louder with each passing second. Michael got up and walked into the kitchen. He searched the two drawers for tools to fix the sink. He found a hammer and considered smashing the clock. That would fix it.
"Michael, if this is too much, then don't worry about it. They'll get him."
"I want to help, but I don't want to get pulled back in. If I find out who he's using, I will let you know." Michael opened the fridge and pulled out a cola. "If I don't get to the house for dinner, Mom will be calling you to go look for me."
"I'll call you in a few days. We'll get together with the local P.D. and with your parole officer. You need to keep them all in the loop in case he does contact you. No reason to let them believe the wrong thing."
"Sure. Sounds good."
"It'll all work out." Noah's parting words as Michael walked to the door.
Michael turned, sharing a long look with his brother. Did Noah really think that it would all work out? Michael wasn't as sure. He definitely knew that it wouldn't be as easy as saying the words.
"I know it will. I'll be in touch."
* * *
"Why do we need to plant flowers?" Chance, always the most questioning of Maggie's teens, glanced over his shoulder to make eye contact with her. "I mean, really, Mrs. Ahrens never even comes outside. And I could be doing something else."
It was Saturday, which was why Maggie had only managed to lasso one kid for the project. She had thought it was such a good idea to plant flowers for an elderly neighbor.
"She looks out her windows, Chance. It would be nice if she had something to look at." Maggie glanced up and saw the curtain on the front window of the house move. "She's watching right now."
Chance looked up and waved. He flashed a brilliant smile, knowing his own charm. If he didn't learn to control that, she'd have serious problems with him and the girls in the group. It was definitely time for another abstinence class.
"So, when is the druggie going to start being a part of the group?"
Maggie sat back on her heels and pulled off her gardening gloves. "Druggie?"
She couldn't have heard him right.
"Yeah, the ex-con dealer."
"Chance, you're going to have to lose your attitude. I'm not sure why you're here if everything we do is so absurd to you."
He shrugged. "I come for the food?"
"I don't think so."
"Sorry."
"He isn't a 'druggie.' He's a guy who made a mistake."
"Call it what you want." Chance dug another small hole and carefully tipped a flower from the plastic cup that held it. "You know, I really do like planting flowers."
"I won't tell."
Maggie's attention was caught by the red sports car that pulled into the driveway. Michael. She sighed, knowing this wouldn't be easy. Chance and Michael. Oil and water?
"Speak of the— "
She raised a hand to cut the words before Chance could say them. "Don't even say it."
Chance laughed as he patted dirt around the flower and then picked up the water can to give it a good start. Maggie watched for a second and then she stood to greet their visitor.
"Michael."
"Pastor Banks said I would find you he
re." He glanced in Chance's direction, offering the teen a smile that Chance wasn't keen on accepting. "I was looking for materials on the adult Bible study."
"Oh, I have an extra copy. Or you can get one from Don. He leads the group."
"Good. I tried the bookstores, but they're sold out."
And for this he needed to hunt her down? Maggie wasn't buying it.
"Michael, this is Chance. He's one of our kids." She hoped her smile would be contagious and Chance would give a little.
He did. He stood and held out a slightly dirty hand for Michael to shake. Michael took it in a hearty grip. So, he wasn't afraid of dirt.
"Nice to meet you, Chance."
"Same to you, man." Chance stood a few inches shorter than Michael. His body was gangly, like most teens, and his blond hair needed to be cut. Or at least that was Maggie's unasked-for opinion.
"Do you need help with the flowers?" Michael's attention turned to focus on the box of plants still waiting.
"No, we're fine, and you aren't really dressed for this."
"I don't mind getting dirty."
Chance laughed, but Maggie ignored him. "No need. Really. We're good."
He stood in front of her for several long seconds before he finally nodded. "I understand. Well, I have somewhere I have to be, anyway."
"See you Sunday at church?"
He nodded and walked away. Maggie felt like an idiot. He wanted to help. She could have let him. Instead he backed out of the drive and she let him go.
* * *
It didn't bother him. Michael told himself that as he drove away from Galloway, heading south on a paved farm road, toward his place. He didn't need Maggie Simmons's approval. She didn't have to like him. It would help, but it wasn't a requirement.
What bothered him was that she had made it pretty obvious his help wasn't needed. He wondered if she planned on continuing that theme when he did start working with the youth.
The whole world needed for him to prove something to them. He had to prove he was clean. He had to prove that he could be depended on. Maggie Simmons seemed to want more than anyone, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was that she wanted.
One thing he thought he knew for sure. She wanted him out of her life. He couldn't give her that. He had a few things to prove to himself. He could be trusted. He could stay clean.
Maybe it would be better if Maggie reserved some of her determined dislike for him until he had proven those things. He wasn't really the kind of person she needed to rely on, not when he wasn't even sure if he could be relied on.
A few miles from his house he changed his mind about going home. He had seen a motorcycle dealer a mile or so before his place. For a few days he had been thinking about buying one. He hit his turn signal and headed in that direction, the windows down, letting the breeze sweep through the car.
Flashing blue lights disrupted his plans. He glanced in his rearview mirror and groaned. A quick glance down at his speedometer and he realized he hadn't been speeding. As a matter of fact, he was going under the speed limit.
He pulled to the side of the road, hit the hazard lights button and waited. He had his license, registration and insurance card ready. The officer approached, his hand on his gun, looking prepared for anything. Michael rolled down his window.
"Officer."
"Mr. Carson."
Michael waited, knowing he didn't have a prayer if he got upset. He knew the drill and had been prepared for this. That didn't lessen the sting. Fresh out of the pen, of course he would be watched. And any wrong move could land him in trouble.
"Could you step out of the car, please? Keep your hands up so I can see them."
Michael pushed the door open and stepped out, hands up, palms out. He had been here before. The difference this time was that he hadn't done anything wrong. And that did make him mad.
"Could you tell me what I've done?"
"Routine traffic check. You swerved a little back there."
Michael shook his head. "You're going to have to do better than that."
"Turn around, put your hands on the hood of the car."
Michael obeyed, but his insides shook. Anger, some pretty self-righteous indignation and a healthy dose of humiliation were doing battle inside of him, and were ready to roll out in one overwhelming emotion.
He flicked his gaze to his right and watched as the officer did a cursory check through the windows of his car. Looking for drugs was Michael's guess.
"You won't find anything in there."
"And I'm supposed to take your word for that? Sorry, I'm not in the habit of trusting felons." The officer came back. "We're going to do a field sobriety test."
"Fine." Michael turned to face the man, who stood several inches shorter than he did. "I'll do whatever you say. But I'm clean. I've been clean for four years."
"You didn't have a choice."
Michael laughed at that. "Oh, yes, I did. Do you think drugs don't get through the doors of a prison?"
"Straight line, heel to toe."
Michael walked the line.
* * *
The steady thumping sound wasn't familiar. Maggie walked out the back door of the church, trying to figure out what she'd been hearing for the past thirty minutes. For a while she had ignored it, and then she'd thought that maybe Chance had stuck around after they'd finished planting flowers. Now it was starting to grate on her nerves, like the dripping of a leaking faucet.
The red sports car in the parking lot surprised her. Michael Carson. How long had he been here? And why hadn't he come inside? She walked around the corner of the building and spotted him. He wasn't alone. That surprised her more than his presence. Chance was with him.
They were playing racquetball off the retaining wall next to the church. Michael would hit, the muscles in his arms tightening and perspiration soaking the back of his shirt. Chance, not so sure of this sport, would come back, making a solid effort.
They were talking. Maggie couldn't hear them, not from her vantage point. But they seemed to be having a real heart-to-heart. Not wanting to disturb them, she stayed near the building, happy to observe without getting involved. Even if a corner of her heart felt a little envy. Chance wasn't always the most trusting kid. He didn't take easily to people outside his social circle. And he wasn't given to smiles like the one he wore at the moment.
Maybe Chance found it easier to trust than Maggie did. She would like to think so. It would be good if he could connect with a man, someone who could be a role model.
She wasn't quite prepared to put Michael Carson into that position. Not yet. He needed to show them that he could be that person.
"Hey, look who came out to join us." Chance waved his racquet. "I told him you were still here."
Michael nodded. He didn't smile. That had to be because of her earlier dismissal of his offer to help. She crossed the parking lot to where the two now stood, racquets held loosely at their sides. Michael held the ball, bouncing it lightly in his hand. His gaze came up, connected with hers, making her doubt that it had been a good idea to come out here.
Broad daylight and she didn't feel safe. Not that she felt in danger. Not really.
Chance cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed. He shot a look at Michael and then back to her. A casual shrug and he handed the racquet he held to Michael.
"I need to go. I, uh, have homework."
Maggie came out of her daze. "Don't lie, Chance."
"I should have homework," he hedged.
"See you tomorrow." Tomorrow was Sunday, and church. Chance hadn't worked up to that, not yet. She didn't pressure him, just casually asked from time to time.
"Maybe tomorrow." He darted away, and she knew he wouldn't be there.
Michael started to move away. Maggie couldn't let him go, not yet. She had to apologize. He didn't deserve to have her push him away. She could let him work with her without letting him into her life.
She really had to work on that trust issue. Or
so Faith kept telling her. She had to trust herself to make the right choices, and trust the people in her life not to let her down.
"I have some cola in the fridge inside, or bottled water. Do you want one?"
He stopped, turning with eyes widened in surprise. He pointed to himself and smiled. "Are you talking to me?"
"I'm talking to you."
He held up the racquets and the ball. "Do you play?"
"No, I don't play." Well, that came out totally wrong. She managed a tight smile. "Racquetball. I don't play racquetball."
"That's what I thought we were talking about." He laughed, the sound sort of carefree and delicious, better than coffee with cream.
And just the fact that she had that thought meant that Faith had been a very bad influence on her.
"It's nice out here." She nodded toward the picnic table under the shade of a huge oak tree. "We could sit in the shade."
Not inside, confined in her office. She glanced toward the parking lot where her car was parked and so was his. People could drive by and get the wrong idea.
Michael nodded his understanding. "Not ready to face what people will think if it gets around that we were here together?"
Forget the delicious coffee-and-cream laugh. "That isn't it at all. I don't want to give people room to speculate."
"Ah, speculation. Yeah, I know what you mean. People do like to assume the worst."
The way his eyes shifted away from her, she thought that there was more to that comment, something he didn't feel like sharing. Probably the same something that had brought him back here with a racquet.
Speculation. Now she was doing it. Maybe he liked racquetball and didn't want to go to the club to play. "I'll get the colas and meet you back here."
When she walked out of the church carrying a couple cans of soda, he was sitting on top of the picnic table. His long legs, clad in shorts, were stretched out in front of him. She felt a moment of envy, seeing his tan, and guessing that it came easily for him.
He smiled, an easy smile that lifted one side of his mouth and flashed straight white teeth.
Trusting Him Page 3