Learning to Trust

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Hey.” She caught the ball and whirled on him, surprised. “Wanna shoot hoops this afternoon?”

  She frowned instantly. “I don’t do hoops.”

  “Wanna keep score? I’m going to do pickup basketball teams after school and we need someone to manage the scoreboard.”

  A spark of interest brightened her eyes. “You mean the machine that lights up the scores on the wall?”

  “Yes. What kind of time do you have before your little brother gets home?”

  “An hour and ten minutes.”

  “So if you take the late bus home, you’re okay?”

  She hesitated, shuffling her feet slightly. “Will anybody come? To play, I mean.”

  It wasn’t a big secret that the tough guys in the seventh and eighth grades were avoiding him. “We’ll see.” He’d announced that he was convening a schedule of pickup games. Maybe if something helped fill those empty late afternoon hours, they’d have fewer disenchanted adolescents looking for trouble.

  A door opened up the hall. Two eighth-grade boys came their way. Tillie’s chin dropped quickly. “I better not.”

  Tug wasn’t one to take no for an answer. “Hey, guys, we’ve got open basketball after school today. My partner and I are looking for takers. He’s coming by at dismissal. You in?”

  The first boy scorned him with a look.

  The second one darted a dark glance at Tillie, then splayed his arms. “So two big guys want to show a bunch of eighth-grade kids how tough you are by beating us at basketball?”

  Tug grinned. “Feeds my ego, so yes. You ready to get hosed?”

  “Man, you got the wrong boys here.” The first kid scowled up at him. “I don’t throw balls at no hoops.”

  “You could learn.” Tug reached a hand toward Tillie. She passed him the ball. “The high school is starting a freshman team next year. They’ll want guys ready for fall tryouts. You can learn a lot in a year.”

  “Then why you talkin’ to her?” The boy nailed Tillie with a dark expression. “Tillie’s going to play basketball? I don’t think so.”

  Tug was tempted to correct his manners, but Tillie beat him to it. “First off, Royal, I can shoot hoops if I want to, but I don’t want to. But I will be scorekeeper for you.” She tipped her chin and met Tug’s gaze. “I’ll take the late bus home to get Alfie.”

  “See you then.” Tug started away, then turned. “And, guys, you’re welcome to just show up. Every day, once your teachers release you, come to the gym.”

  “Not gonna be much fun when nobody shows up.” That was Royal talking, and when he talked, a significant percentage of the other kids listened.

  Tug shrugged, dribbled twice, then palmed the ball into a one-finger spin. “One-on-one with my partner? I’m down with that. But you’re welcome to join us.”

  The boys exchanged looks as he turned to go down the hall.

  Would they show? Would anyone?

  He didn’t know, but if there were no alternatives to going home and hanging out with nothing to do, how could they stop the growing cycle of kids leaning toward gangs and drugs and crime?

  Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.

  There was truth in that old proverb. Grandma Moyer had kept four children busy, and when folks would question her strained schedule, she’d point to that plaque on the wall. It was a quality his father had passed down to Tug, although he could do with a little less busy right now.

  With the election so close, he couldn’t wish the days by quickly enough. He wanted to win, yes. He’d worked hard. He’d be good at the job and he had the respect of the department.

  But he didn’t want to win at any cost, so he’d ignored Ross’s jabs and stabs and went about doing his job. Right now that entailed figuring out the teen hierarchy at the middle school and quashing the negative vibes. If he could get that done this fall, he’d consider his resource-officer placement a success. And when the district superintendent agreed to a meeting about reinstating trade classes on woodworking and basic electricity, Tug hoped they’d get even more options into place because not all kids were meant for college. Would the district be able to come up with the funds? Maybe not at first, but if they could garner some space and tools, they might be able to get a few of those retired farmers and laborers to step in and help kids see the true benefits of hands-on labor.

  * * *

  “Danny Adams is a match, Christa.” Jubilee Samson sank into the chair in Christa’s classroom on Friday afternoon and sighed deeply. “I can’t say what the judge will think, but I know what the law says, and if a parent has a right to a child, that right will take precedence over anything else as long as the parent is capable.”

  Christa clenched and unclenched her hands. The action did nothing to relieve the rising stress within. “You’re sure, Jubilee?”

  “Absolutely certain. Judge Bettig is horribly backlogged, so he might not get to this for weeks, but if Danny Adams pleads hardship, he might get it moved up the docket.”

  “Hardship?” The word made her frown. “Tug said he’s got a decent job now.”

  “Not financial hardship. Emotional hardship from being denied time with his son. It’s not uncommon and he could make a case for it, especially if Marta never revealed Jonah’s existence to him.”

  Christa tried to keep her fingers still. Didn’t happen. Stress had shown in her hand movements from the time she was a baby, according to her mother. A habit she’d brought right into adulthood. “And yet he found out. After she was gone.”

  Jubilee made a face as Tug came into the room. “Folks talk, same as always. Maybe there was no reason to talk about an old girlfriend before that. Death and crime can seal lips or open mouths. It all depends on the person.”

  Tug stuck his phone into his pocket. “I got your text, but I still don’t quite believe it. First, what was this guy doing with Marta when he’d been clean for nearly two years and she wasn’t?”

  “We all make mistakes, Tug.” Jubilee didn’t seem nearly as surprised. “It’s human nature. And maybe they’d had an old relationship that reignited for a brief time.”

  “Well, it had to be brief because Renzo has found nothing that places Danny Adams in Marta Alero’s life. And that seems odd to me.”

  “Drug users fly under the radar all the time.” Christa didn’t have to pretend a calm she didn’t feel. Not with these two. “I watched that happen in Sinclair. I expect it’s the same most anywhere, don’t you?”

  “Flying under the radar is different from being unfindable,” noted Tug. “I’m sure Renzo’s put in a lot of effort.” He settled a hip on the edge of her desk. He’d changed out of uniform to play ball with middle-school kids, and he’d come down to the elementary school dressed in warm-up pants and a black T-shirt. “What’s your advice, Jubilee?” He turned her way, hands out, palms up. “The whole thing isn’t sitting right with me, but I can’t tell if that’s because I care about Christa and the boys or if my gut’s correct. Renzo got the same vibe, but there’s nothing to go on. The guy’s got a history, sure. But he’s cleaned it up and he’s been flying right for years, so that should reassure me. And yet it doesn’t, so maybe my lack of neutrality is skewing my judgment.”

  Jubilee stood. “I’m not a fan of slick men. Never have been. And Danny’s slick, all right, but he’s also clean. His apartment checks out. He had a little money trouble a while back, but he cleaned that up, and as a woman who raised three kids on her own, I know that lack of funds can mess with your head. He got through that and his credit rating is better now.”

  “Which means he’ll get Jonah.” Christa stared down at her hands. “I hate that I’m so conflicted about this,” she said softly. “He’s the boy’s father. Of course he’d want him. And I’m sure he’ll take good care of him. Why else would he fight so hard to get him?” She sighed and raised her eyes to meet theirs. “I stepped into the
ir lives to help at the perfect time, so maybe that was my role in all of this. Maybe that’s why God put me here, now, so I could be a gateway. And if that was my purpose, then it was a good one. But the thought of both boys having to adjust to life without their mother and without one another has made me an emotional mess. I put on a happy face at home and in school, but I can’t trust myself not to cry in between. Which—” Christa stood up then, too “—is all right, I guess. I’m saving face at the right times, and that’s what we grown-ups do.”

  “I’ll call when I hear anything about court dates.” Jubilee rounded the desk and gave her a quick hug. “You just keep being you and do the best you’re able with the boys. They’re blessed to have you, even if it is only for a short while for Jonah. The Lord giveth...”

  “And the Lord taketh away.” Christa murmured the words as Jubilee left the room. Then she turned to Tug. “Right now I feel like a total jerk because I’m supposed to say blessed be the name of the Lord, but that’s not how I feel. Even when I know it’s right. And that makes me even more ashamed of myself, Tug.”

  He didn’t respond with words.

  Instead, he stepped in and opened his arms, and when he hugged her close, her heart didn’t race like it had before.

  It settled. The stress and anxiety of Jonah’s fate faded in his arms, as if they could handle anything together. And when he let her go a minute later, he snagged a few tissues from her desk and thrust them into her palm. “Mop those eyes. Let’s get home to the kids. I’ve got campaign things all weekend, but I’ve got two hours right now and I heard something about fried apple pie and cider at my mom’s. Reason enough to hurry home, right there.”

  “I’ve never had a fried apple pie. Or a fried pie of any sort. They actually make such a thing?”

  “My great-grandmother grew apples in the Ozarks and there was enough of the South in her to bring good apple stock and great recipes when they moved west. She was a particular sort of woman.” He slanted a grin down that said more. “My mother did not come into her take-charge ways by accident, and that’s all I can say about that. But when Great-Grandma took a burn at how some folks were doing business in Missouri, she and Great-Grandpa sold off during the apple boom there and came west. My apple roots go deep, but the farming genes seemed to have missed me.”

  He swung the door open for her to let her pass through. “I always wanted to be in law enforcement, there were no other kids to take over the farm, and when my wife died after Dad’s heart problems, he sold the farm and retired. Then along comes Nathan, who loves everything about apples and orchards and farming, and I’m pretty sure I pulled the linchpin right out of what could have been a solid family enterprise.”

  “Except maybe your parents sold the farm because they wanted to be the best support they could be to you and the kids. And your dad’s health had to be a big factor, didn’t it?”

  “Yes. But if I’d gone into farming, maybe I’d have taken the stress off Dad. Maybe we’d have been able to keep it going strong. It’s a moot point now.”

  “And yet you still carry the guilt like a yoke. That’s got to get real heavy, Tug.”

  He hauled in a deep breath. Glanced down. Then he angled the exit door open for her as they approached the parking lot. “Heavy and useless. I understand that logically. It’s the emotional side of the decisions that make me question.”

  “Except your father’s one of the happiest people I’ve met.” She clicked her key fob, opened the back door of her car and set her teaching bag inside. “So if he’s content with his choices, why aren’t you? Because that might be a really important thing to think about.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He knew why.

  It was the what-ifs.

  The what-ifs plagued him. Not all the time, but regular enough.

  “Do you second-guess yourself on the job?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. “Not usually. That would be counterproductive.”

  “Then why do it with everything else?” She was looking at him, and for the first time in a long time, his vision cleared.

  “I feel responsible.”

  “For things that are out of your control.”

  He glanced left, then right before bringing his gaze back to hers. “Our choices affect others. There’s always a ripple effect.”

  She leaned her back against the door she’d just closed. “I expect you’ve weighed your life choices carefully. That’s what guardians and protectors do. They study the terrain, wanting to take care of the people around them.”

  “Who looked out for you, Christa?” He leaned forward and braced his arm along the top of her car, gazing down. “Who was your guardian?”

  She squinted slightly. Bit back a sigh and dropped her eyes, then raised them to meet his gaze. “My mom tried. But it was hard. A new country, a new language, two little girls and endless menial jobs, always just scraping by. I will never negate her sacrifice for me and Marta. But our neighborhood was like a quagmire, dragging you down. And even the churches seemed to cringe under the weight of the hopelessness surrounding us. The whole thing was just sad.”

  “Exactly why I’m working at the schools this term,” he told her. “So we can get rid of the quicksand and give these kids firm footing. And why I do my videos. I wish it had been different for you. And yet maybe you’re who you are because of what you’ve seen. Dealt with. Been through.”

  This time when she dropped her gaze, she didn’t look back. She slipped out from beneath his arm and rounded the car, then pulled open her door. “I expect we’re all an accumulation of things, aren’t we? Good and bad.”

  He wanted to delve further. See what cast that shadow of sorrow that flickered when she talked about her past, but she had enough to handle right now. “I’ll see you at the house.” And when she started to demur, he gave her a look that he hoped made her come to her senses. “Mom’s homemade fry-pies are totally worth the trip. If you throw hot apple cider into the mix, it’s nothing to shrug off.”

  She smiled. Then climbed into her car.

  It was a fleeting smile, though. He hated that there was nothing he could do about that—because whenever he was around Christa, he wanted to make her world a better place. But that was next to impossible with Jonah’s fate hanging over their heads.

  The simple goodness of his mother’s pies helped.

  By the time he walked into Darla’s kitchen, the scents of mulled cider and glazed pie had worked their charm on Christa and all four kids.

  “Grandma, these are the best ones you’ve ever made.” Vangie licked glaze from her fingers and gave an over-the-top sigh. “I love apple-pie-for-supper night. Even better than strawberry-shortcake-for-supper night because these pies are the best.”

  “You have an apple-pie-for-supper night?” Christa asked as Jonah drank cooler cider from a sippy cup.

  “Tonight,” Darla answered. “And in May or early June, we always have a strawberry-shortcake-for-supper night. We feast on all the strawberries, sponge cake and whipped cream we want.”

  “That’s like the best idea ever.” Christa’s expression was priceless. “You are creating amazing traditions.”

  “And memories,” noted Tug as he slung his hoodie on a hook inside the door. “A lot of stuff from growing up kind of melds together, but I remember a lot of those supper nights. Like when Uncle Jack and Aunt Carol announced they were having a baby. And when Mrs. Riley finally started talking to Mrs. Boone after sixteen years of scornful looks and silence. I have discovered the amazing effects of limitless desserts on people.”

  “I’m pretty sure the mellowing of age helped those two ladies,” Darla replied as she drizzled a thin vanilla glaze over more folded pies. “Time does help heal wounds, but a good dessert has its own healing powers, and I can testify to that.”

  “I’ve never had anything better.” Christa marveled at
the pie on her plate. “It’s perfect. The texture, the flakiness, the fruit. This must have taken you all day, Darla. Thank you.” The smile she gave his mother held back nothing. “Thank you for this, but also for setting the example of how to be a great mother. And please say you’re willing to coach me along the way.”

  “Gladly. Here.” She slipped another one onto Christa’s plate. “The little guy’s eating at least half of yours, and I don’t do the fried pies often. But it seemed like a good weekend to think about simple, wholesome things.”

  “So we’re not thinking of Dad’s heart tonight,” Tug teased, and his parents laughed.

  “The docs told me that my new construction had a good twenty years of mileage,” Glenn assured him. “As long as I stay on my diet most of the time, I’m good to go. If nothing else, my heart attack taught me that you can’t stop living—but you should also live smart.”

  “And you’re like the smartest person I know,” crowed Nathan from a spot at the end of the table. “You know so much about frogs and toads and apples and things to do on a farm, Grandpa. I want to know all the stuff you know when I grow up, okay? Like everything.” Nathan threw his hands wide to underscore his intent.

  He was so different from his world-changing sister. Nathan liked peace and quiet, but when it came to farms and apples and fruit, his eyes shone. Excitement triggered his smile and enthusiasm.

  “And I’m happy to share everything I know.” Glenn winked at the boy. “Nothing an older fellow likes more than to have someone who wants to hear what he has to say.”

  His mother hugged Nathan’s shoulders once she set more pies onto the table. It warmed his heart. Too soon he had to be out the door for a town meeting on the north side of the county. His kids were staying with his parents for the night, and Christa had buckled two tired boys into their car seats to take them home. He walked her to her car door and swung it open. When she’d tucked herself in, he shut the door and she rolled down the window. “This was fun, Tug. It was a perfectly wonderful old-fashioned celebration. I’m so glad you guys shared it with us. It’s definitely one for the memory books.”