Trusting Him

His dad was more of a “this is just a bump in the road” sort of guy.

“I don’t want the noise of an apartment in the city, or the crowds. Maybe later.”

“Well, I do think you should call Katherine. Her mom said she was hurt that you never wrote. Michael, the two of you dated for three years. I think you owe her something.”

Michael’s mouth dropped and an explanation nearly escaped, one that couldn’t escape. His mother didn’t need to know, not yet. Katherine had been there during his meth years and she had been a part of that world. He hadn’t answered her letters and he didn’t plan on letting her in his life now.

His mom wouldn’t understand. She would never understand that—what it meant to be an addict. To stay clean, he needed to stay clear of temptation. The phone rang. Michael shot his parents an apologetic look as he went to answer it.

He hadn’t expected it so soon, but the caller identified himself as a probation officer. Michael would need to set up an appointment, and he would need to get in touch with his sponsor at Narcotics Anonymous.

Reality hit home as he wrote the addresses and numbers on a piece of paper. He had a lot to prove to a lot of people, and he had no intention of letting any of them down. If he let them down, he’d be letting himself down.

Thursday morning the door to Maggie’s office opened as she lifted a cookie to her mouth. She dropped it on the desk and brushed crumbs from her chin as Michael Carson walked in, hesitating just inside the door. He looked unsure, slightly wary and sweet. She hadn’t expected that the tough guy, with the perpetual five o’clock shadow and hazel eyes that challenged, had a sweet side.

“I didn’t expect you so soon.”

He lifted a box of doughnuts and smiled. If he wanted friendship, that was a good first step.

“The receptionist told me where to find you.” He took another step into the room. “I brought doughnuts.”

“That sounds good.”

He offered the gesture, placing the box in front of her on the desk. At close range she could see that his hair was still damp and curled against his collar. The smell of soap and aftershave lingered even after he moved away.

Maggie took a doughnut from the box.

“I wish I could offer you a good cup of coffee to go with them, but Pastor Banks beat me here this morning. His is barely drinkable.”

And then more silence. What did she say after that? She motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He took the offer and sat.

“Have you enjoyed your first few days at home?” She grimaced as the words slipped out. Too bad there wasn’t an etiquette book on right things to say in tough situations. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.”

His gaze connected with hers and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I survived. And don’t tiptoe around, trying to say the right things. I’m a big boy.”

“Good, because I’m notorious for saying the wrong thing.”

“I’d rather you be honest, Maggie. And if you have questions, I’ll try to answer them.”

“Honesty is always good.”

“Fine, since we agree on that, I’d like to ask you a question.” He dusted powdered sugar off his hands before looking up, his smile having disappeared. “Do you mind having an ex-con here? Do I frighten you?”

Mouthful of doughnut, and total shock—not a good combination.

Did she mind? Was she frightened? She stared at him, trying to find the right answer, an answer that would have told him too much. She had been frightened before. As a child, listening to her mother partying with friends, and on a cool night in September, the night Greg drove her to the lake. Here, in this room with Michael, no, she wasn’t frightened.

His gaze remained unwavering, hazel-green pools in a face with defined features, but that hard edge that said he had lived through something difficult.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Because of his eyes. The mirror of the soul. And his were kind, belying the hardness of his features. “There might be times when I mind that you’re here, but that’s because it took me by surprise that you would want to work here.”

Another half smile. “That’s definitely honest.”

“You said…”

“I meant it. And thank you for the supplies you left behind. That first morning it was nice to wake up and find that you’d thought of the important stuff.”

“The coffee was good?” Coffee, a subject she could deal with.

“Yes, and the toaster pastries.” He looked away and she wondered what else had gone on in the last few days. “How did you guess?”

“About the pastries?” She shrugged and then smiled. “I didn’t. Pastor Banks told me that you had mentioned missing Pop-Tarts. I thought it was a little strange, but hey, who am I to judge?”

“Yes, I guess it was a strange thing, but when you have four years to think about what you really miss, you can think of a lot. I’ve spent the last three days eating at every fast-food joint in town.”

Too much, too soon. Maggie searched for a more neutral topic.

“How is your family?”

“We’ve had a good reunion. Mom even cooked.”

“Sounds like a good homecoming.”

His brows shot up at her comment and he half smiled. Okay, maybe not so great. Maybe he was just giving her the niceties, the details that would keep them on level footing as casual acquaintances. She was good with that.

“I can’t undo what happened.” He glanced toward the window as he made the statement that brought her front and center into his life. “My mom is always going to be afraid that I’ll fall again. Dad is always going to think that life can go right back to the way it was.”

“It might take time.” She knew all about regret. She knew how it felt to live with choices she couldn’t undo. Time would bring healing. Or so the saying went.

It was true, but she didn’t think it would make him feel any better to hear those words now, not yet. He was a grown man and he’d figure it out on his own.

“This morning my mom called. She wanted to know where I’d be today and what I’d be doing. I’m almost twenty-eight years old and I’m still giving an account for every minute of my day.”

“I’m sorry.” Another platitude that wouldn’t do him any good. The words had to mean something, or they were just words. Sorry. She thought it should be a verb, something a person put into action.

Her father had apologized to her mother twenty-seven years ago. He had followed the apology with the words that he didn’t want to be a dad. He had other plans. Sorry.

Her mother had apologized for forgetting school programs, and not picking Maggie up after Girl Scouts. She had apologized the day before she took the overdose that claimed her life.

The police officer had apologized as she’d sat in the back seat of his car on her way to her grandmother’s house. She had been fourteen and his apology hadn’t really made sense.

Greg had apologized when he’d dropped her off at Faith’s dorm the night he’d raped her. She could still see the accusations in his eyes and hear the callousness of his words. I’m sorry, but this is all your fault. You let me think you wanted this.

Michael stood. “I’m going to get a cup of that coffee. Do you need one?”

“No, I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was anything but. Her heart was tugging at her, telling her to be the one to give him a chance. He needed a friend, someone he could count on, and she could be that person.

Or could she?

“Michael, good to see you here.” The booming voice stopped Michael as he walked down the hall, seeking the kitchen.

He turned to face the bear of a man responsible for his being here. Robert Banks had started a prison ministry and from that ministry Michael had found faith, both in God and in himself.

“Pastor Banks, good morning.”

“Did you find Maggie?”

Maggie. Yes, he’d found her. And she was another person in his life whose trust he might never gain. It seemed like there were plenty of those people, and they were all waiting for him to prove himself.

Or were they waiting for him to fail? And he had failed before. In the year before he’d gone to prison he had tried, really tried, to get his life together. He hadn’t wanted to end up like people that he knew, the ones who lost everything to addiction.

“Yes, I found her in her office.”

“Good. She’s the one in charge of youth, and in a month or so, when you’re settled and feel like working, she’ll be the person to show you the ropes. Until then, get to know her, and let her show you what this after-school program is all about. It’s quite a ministry.”

“I’m looking forward to working with her. Dad wants me at least four days a week. I can do the office work and legwork for him as a paralegal. But being here, well, you know how I feel about getting plugged in.”

“That’s the key, Michael, get plugged in. First to church, and then with the youth. You’ll find that having people you can count on will make it easier when you face a struggle.”

A few minutes later Michael returned to Maggie’s closet size office. The cluttered room held a conglomeration of gray metal furniture that looked like hand-me-downs from a government office, or even the prison. He felt at home here.

Maggie stood at the window. He stepped quietly, not wanting to disturb her. When he scooted the chair across the tile floor, she jumped slightly and turned.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t.”

She returned to her chair. The softness of her tone matched the soft look in her eyes. Her hands trembled. He wanted to tell her he understood.

He had a feeling he didn’t understand. To give her space he got up, taking the place she’d vacated near the open window. No bars. He put his hand on the screen.

“You okay?” Her voice caught his attention and drew his gaze from the window to her face. His hand dropped to his side.

“Okay? Why?”

“You sighed.”

“I’m fine. Sometimes I wonder how long it will take to get used to having my life back. I can eat when I want. I can take a shower when I please. It’s more overwhelming than I had expected.” He also hadn’t planned on telling her all of that. Her soft look and the tenderness in her gaze—even if she looked unsure—that had been the lure, the reason for talking.

“You have your life back. That’s a special gift.”

“I do, but I don’t have what I always planned to have at this stage of my life. I don’t have the law degree, or a family of my own. I’ve never had a steady job.”

He had never been in love. He couldn’t share that with the timid blonde who stared up at him with a cup of coffee drawn to her lips and hesitation in her blue eyes.

“I think it will get better.”

“I’m sure it will.” He sat across from her, steadying himself when the gray folding chair started to buckle.

“Are you ready to get started, and to learn about our ministry?”

“I…Of course I am.” What should he say now? Did she require an explanation for his reticence? Or would she understand?

“You can be a little more casual from now on. We don’t normally dress up for this job.”

He hadn’t known, so he had worn slacks and a button-up shirt. It had seemed appropriate, even if it wasn’t really comfortable.

His gaze settled on her pale blue T-shirt and capris. Her honey-blond hair was in a ponytail and a scarf was tied around her neck. Casual, but totally feminine. His throat felt a little dry. Probably from the day-old doughnuts.

“I wasn’t sure about what to wear.” He found himself suddenly unsure about quite a few things. “So, what do we do?”

She rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the desk. “We work with troubled teens from this neighborhood, and in the community. We mentor them, counsel them—generally step in for absentee parents. We provide after-school programs, summer activities—whatever it takes to keep them busy and off the streets. If they feel connected here, they’re less likely to go out there looking for something to connect with.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Do you have any questions or concerns?” She fingered one of the manila envelopes on her desk. Slowly her head came up, her gaze connecting with his.

“I can’t think of any.”

“Michael, you don’t have to work here. This isn’t required. You could go back to school, or get a job in Springfield.” The words shot him down, making him wonder just how much she didn’t want him around.

“I have a job. But I want to be here. I want to give back and make up for what I’ve done.”

“You already have. You did your time. Working here isn’t about a job or paying back. This is about having a call.”

“I know that.” Did she think that he didn’t have a clue? “I’m here because I feel like God wants me here. I can help reach kids because of what I’ve been through.”

“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 Three

Michael 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 here.” 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.