Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

He stomped down the hall, straight to the lounge and yanked up the phone. Her landline rang and rang until voice mail greeted him. The temper he’d kicked himself about earlier grew like a wort. He punched in the numbers to her cell phone, and another voice mail greeting ran down his ear drum.

  Panic swallowed his temper. His heartbeat quickened. He sputtered into the phone, “Kwe, I had no right swearing at you. You got every right to be pissed. But we gotta talk. You owe me an explanation. I’m gonna keep calling and filling up your voice mail until you talk to me. You’re the foster mother of my son. What if I need to speak to him? It goes against the rules. You can’t ignore me.”

  He hung up.

  The phone rang. He yanked up the receiver. “Kwe?”

  “How dare you.” Her accusing words bordered on screeching.

  He sat forward. “Yep. I got a lot of nerve. Who is he?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It’s my business if he’s sitting at a table in a restaurant with my son. I got every right to know.”

  “Fine.” Sand didn’t possess the amount of grit that Bridget’s voice did. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. They met at a workshop designed for principals of the Catholic School Boards in various districts. We know Stephen’s mother through church. He’s visiting her before the school year begins. Naturally, Jude invited Stephen to join us for brunch. We usually eat at The Bistro, but Stephen suggested Benny’s. Is there anything else you need to know? Let’s see. I switched dish soap brands. I’m now using Sunshine Soap.”

  Adam stifled his snort. “What was wrong with the other brand?”

  “It failed to fulfill its promise.”

  Ouch. She sure knew how to bite someone. “Yeah? What exactly did it fail to do?”

  “It promised longer lasting suds. At first it did the job but then it stopped. I was washing dishes in nothing but hot water.”

  “Stopped, hey? Maybe you should give it another chance? Maybe the brand is better now. New and improved. Isn’t that what those companies are always promoting? Finding ways to improve the stuff?”

  “Why should I bother when I found a new brand that does a better job?”

  “Does it really, kwe?” His voice softened. “It may work now, but it ain’t Super Suds. You said Super Suds didn’t dry your hands. Left them feeling really nice. Had a great smell. Pots and pans came out super-clean. Even shone.”

  There was about a five second pause that left Adam flexing and un-flexing his fingers.

  “Why should I shell out money on a brand that stopped working for me?”

  “It doesn’t cost much. Take a chance.”

  “I won’t give Super Suds another chance. It failed me... big time.”

  “Then I’ll buy you another. I betcha you’re gonna remember all that it did for you.” He squeezed the receiver he clutched.

  “Maybe I’m trying to forget all that it did for me.” The sand in Bridget’s voice vanished. Her pitch echoed the lost teenage girls on the streets of Winnipeg, trying to find a safe place to hide, anything better than the homes they’d fled from.

  Adam set his elbow on his knee and cupped his forehead with his palm. He’d done this to Bridget—hurt her badly, took her trust and stomped her faith into the mud.

  “Kwe, I know I made promises in the past, fucked them up bad, too. I don’t expect you to believe me if I make new promises—”

  “I thought we were talking about Super Suds?” Dejection tinged Bridget’s answer.

  “Never mind the dish soap.” Times like these, when Bridget’s shoulders sagged in defeat and her lower lip dragged downwards, she wasn’t his spunky kwe wearing the boxing gloves, ready to trounce him. Her misery was his misery. Her grief, his grief.

  “Kwe...” Adam swallowed. He walked on hot coals now. Hell, he’d rather take on four Syndicate Skins than tangle with Bridget. “Do me a favor and keep an open mind.”

  “An open mind about what?” A hint of Bridget’s shoulders back, chin raised, and eyes harder than rocks soaked the question she’d asked.

  Her old fire reawakening dissolved the worry flecking the back of Adam’s neck. “An open mind about... anything.”

  “Anything?” Flames erupted in her abrupt answer. “Anything is all you have to say?”

  Adam gulped. Sweat slithered along his brow and down his back. He squeezed his toes. The words sitting at the base of his throat, he forced through his clattering teeth. “Me. Us.”

  The dreaded silence washed over the lounge. Adam rose. He held the phone in one hand and the receiver in the other.

  “No.” Bridget’s response was flatter than the pancakes the new kid had made this morning for table twelve.

  Something resembling a needle invaded Adam’s chest. She couldn’t mean no. He searched to even his breathing. “I’m not asking right now. I’m saying keep an open mind for later.”

  “Later? Seriously?” Her voice rose an octave.

  “Well, you let me kiss you.” Adam flopped back in the chair.

  “That was a mistake.” The sharpness in her tone said she was readying to yank on the gloves. “How dare you—”

  “Can you put a lid on it and hear me out?” This damned conversation had gotten out of hand. The things Adam did for this woman. “I fucked up. I fucked up bad. Really bad. I let you down. I let my son down. I let myself down. I’m working on me. I’m working on my son. Now I’m trying to work on you.”

  “Why?”

  Oh boy, not only was Bridget wielding an axe at his pride, now she had his balls in sight. “Why’d you think?”

  “Never mind. I gotta go.”

  “Dammit. ‘Cause I love you, woman.” Adam slammed his palm against his temple. He’d gone and done the unthinkable. His head fell back against the top of the chair.

  * * * *

  Bridget clutched the bottle of Sunshine Soap. She leaned against the kitchen counter. Her chest vibrated from fear. Something like a wad of cotton filled her mouth. He still loved her. “I’ll... I’ll call you. I-I need t-time to think.”

  “At least you didn’t hang up.” Resignation coated Adam’s reply. “I guess I should count myself lucky.”

  “Bye.” She fumbled to press the off button. His number still flashing on the screen was a tidal wave of panic crashing down her spine. She tossed the phone on the counter and bolted for the bedroom.

  A flood of memories appeared. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fists on her temples.

  The first time in her bed—his strong hands powerful enough to choke a man to death had melted to feathers when he’d caressed her thigh, slid his palm along her hip, and settled his fingers a breeze away from the nest of hair trailing to regions he’d yet to touch. And she’d touched him. Stroked the strong muscles of his shoulders, explored the hard flesh of his stomach, kissed the powerful balls of his biceps.

  His words. I love you, kwe.

  Words, only mere words.

  The whiskey on his breath when she’d surprised him with takeout that night. He’d stood there, unflinching, telling lie after lie. But she’d known the truth. Her gazed had dropped to his feet covered by socks, and his toes had fisted. Toes she’d witnessed curling and uncurling while in bed two weeks earlier as he’d cupped her face and declared his love, stating they should marry.

  Bridget stumbled to the other side of her queen-size bed. She rested her hand on the nightstand, a hidden spot for her vibrator. Lonely nights spent sliding a plastic object inside her, cupping her own breast, but longing for...

  No! There’d be no second chances.

  * * * *

  When Adam got off the bus after finishing his shift at work, Logan, who must’ve been waiting and watching, came down the street.

  “‘Sup?”

  “I got a job.” Logan jogged over. “I’m working at Burger World.”

  Way to go for both of them—cooking, while Mr. Toothpaste Smile was the principal for a Catholic school. At least during the meeting with his PO on the lunch hour
, Adam had gotten permission to attend Healing the Spirit. The PO was going to write up a letter for Adam’s boss to review so he’d grant time off.

  “We going to a meeting tonight?”

  “Yep.” Adam lit a cigarette.

  “Did you hear anything from your friend about The Gator?”

  “Friday.”

  “It’s taking too long.” Logan’s voice was as whining as Kyle’s when he didn’t get his way. “We should go there.”

  “Can’t. You don’t got enough sobriety time and you ain’t old enough. And I can’t violate my parole.”

  “Nobody’ll find out.” Logan’s voice shifted to pleading. “We’re just gonna go there and check it out, see if anybody knows anything. I can’t do this anymore.” He kicked a rock. “I gotta find out what happened to her. It’s driving me nuts, man. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat.”

  “Easy.” Adam rested his palm on Logan’s shoulder. The kid was holding up pretty good considering he’d lost his girlfriend and unborn baby. Life was fragile for Logan right now, and he might end up using after losing the woman he’d loved and the child he’d never know.

  Adam should talk to Bridget again. To hell if she had lined up another date.

  They headed inside the halfway house. Adam meandered into the lounge. He’d shower after supper.

  Logan continued to stare, eyes glassy.

  Adam rubbed his face. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hit a pool hall and other places where teenagers into drugs hung out. First, he’d call Bridget.

  Chapter Thirteen: All Gone to Hell

  Just as Bridget opened the door to the condo, the landline rang. After sitting on her cell phone all day, waiting for the dreaded call, it’d arrived while balancing a bag of groceries, her purse, and a child squirming to dart inside.

  “Change your clothes first.”

  “‘Kay.” Kyle scrambled down the hall.

  Bridget scooted into the kitchen and set the groceries and her purse on the island. The number for the halfway house flashed on the screen. Her chest expanded, threatening to push through her skin.

  She squared her shoulders and pressed the answer button. “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s me. Look, I threw you a curve ball last night, but this isn’t about that. It’s about the kid.”

  The heaving in Bridget’s chest shifted to a slow breath up and a slow breath down. Praise the Lord. “What kid?” She removed the lettuce from the soft bag.

  “Logan.”

  “How is he?”

  “Not good. He’s getting impatient. He doesn’t wanna wait until Friday.”

  “We have no choice. I understand he deserves answers, but I have a busy schedule. I asked until this Friday.” She shoved the produce into the fridge bins.

  “Look, I was eighteen once. You were eighteen once. Nobody’s patient at eighteen. Especially a kid who had a shitty life. All he had was Sheena and the baby. It’s why he went to rehab.”

  “I know. I know.” Frustration crept up Bridget’s spine as she kept shoving groceries into cupboards. “I don’t want him to wait either, but I have other responsibilities.”

  “Like a date?” Jealousy smothered Adam’s quick-spoken question.

  “No, not a date.” Presumptuous man. Bridget held the bag of rice in the crook of her arm. “I do belong to the Catholic Women’s Association and the Indigenous Women’s Alliance. I have a board meeting on Thursday. And we’re meeting about Sheena.”

  “You are?” Adam’s demanding tone became hope-filled.

  “Yes. It’s an emergency meeting. They don’t want another girl falling through the cracks. We also have grave concerns about another child in care dying.” She shoved the rice into the turntable cupboard.

  “Thanks, kwe.” The gratitude in his words shimmered with velvet.

  “You’re... welcome.” Bridget clicked her nails against the counter, groceries put away.

  “You think about what I told you?” The way he spoke, husky, she could see him wetting his lips and his dark eyes pinching ever so slightly, scrutinizing her.

  She leaned against the kitchen island and rested her forearm over her stomach that tweaked. “I’m still trying to digest what you told me.”

  “Y’know, a friend in the program told me we feel something right away when someone tells us something. What we think on is what action we’re gonna take about what we’ve been told.”

  When he’d confessed his love, elation and fear had consumed Bridget. “You’re right.”

  “What’d you first feel?”

  “I... I can’t say right now. I need time to think. Think about what action I’m going to take in response to what I was told.” Thank goodness she didn’t stutter, because her knees sure did.

  “Guess you shoulda been the social worker instead of your brother. That sounds like something I’d hear from a counselor.”

  What did he expect—for her to jump into his arms after what he’d done? “I need time to think.”

  “It’s fear. I bet one of the feelings you felt was fear.”

  She ground her teeth. “I didn’t give you permission to peek at my brain.”

  “I’m not. It’s normal to feel what you’re feeling. Everyone feels it.”

  They were getting too close. If Bridget lowered the massive wall a smidgen, he’d drink again. Wind up in prison again. Hurt Kyle again. Hurt her again.

  “Kwe?”

  “No.” The word flew from Bridget’s mouth.

  “No what?”

  “No, I won’t give you another chance. Before, you had good intentions. This time, you still have good intentions. But nothing’s changed.”

  “What’d you `mean nothing’s changed? Everything’s changed.” Gone was the sweet velvet tone. He’d morphed back into demanding damn Adam.

  Bridget sharpened her own tone. “I can’t see what’s different this time. I can’t see what would stop you from pulling the same crap on me.”

  “You don’t believe me?” He sputtered.

  “Adam, what’s changed this time?”

  “I told you what’s changed. I saw myself going the same way as my uncle. In the program, we’re told if we don’t sober up, there’re only three places we go—prison, the psych ward, or six feet under. I’ve been to prison. I ain’t going to the looney bin where my sister is. And I sure ain’t going where my uncle is.”

  Shocked smothered Bridget’s skin in goosebumps. “Your sister’s in a psych ward?”

  “Yeah. Tried to kill herself about three months ago.”

  “Which sister?”

  “Candace.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “The same.”

  If Bridget didn’t slam on the brakes, she’d end up helping the royal family of dysfunction. “I have myself to think about. I’m thirty-six. I’m not getting younger. Maybe I want a family of my own? Maybe I want a home of my own?”

  “I can give you that.” Silk draped Adam’s low rumble.

  Bridget’s nose twitched. “How? You’re a cook at Benny’s.”

  “Yeah. I am.” Hurt and anger lurked in his voice. “It’s an honest living. I’m not doing B and E’s. I’m not pulling armed robberies. I’m not dealing drugs. I’m not stealing cars.”

  “No, you’re not. But you’re not right for me.”

  “I s’pose Bible Boy is, huh?” The hurt vanished. Only anger remained, brittle, like crunching broken glass.

  “Who?”

  “That principal church guy.”

  Bridget sucked in a big breath. “I have to go. I’ll see you on Wednesday for Kyle’s visitation.”

  “Fine,” Adam huffed out.

  Bridget switched off the phone. There’d be no regrets. Then she should tell that to her heart beginning to curl up and whither.

  The phone rang again. Bridget snatched the cell, but the number on the display wasn’t the halfway house. She sagged against the kitchen island. “Hello.”

  A man cleared his throat. “Bridget?”

 
She remained sagging against the island. “Yes.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I asked Jude for your number.”

  “It’s okay,” she managed to politely say.

  “Great.” Stephen breathed a sigh. “How’s Kyle? I didn’t want to call earlier. I assumed you needed to unwind when you got home.”

  “Thanks for your thoughtfulness. As I told you before, my schedule’s quite hectic. I devote my free time to my foster son.” She reached into the fridge to retrieve the marinating pork chops she’d broil for supper.

  “Do you have a heavy schedule this week?” A flicker of hope filled his voice.

  Bridget tossed the pork chops on the island. Thursday evening was the meeting about Sheena Keesha. Then there was Kyle’s soccer practice on Tuesday evening. Friday, she’d go to The Gator. “Three nights are busy.”

  “Which nights are those?”

  “Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.” She removed the lid from the container that held the pork chops.

  “Oh. I see.” He paused for a moment. “What about Wednesday evening?”

  Bridget cringed. Wednesday was when she met Adam for Kyle’s visitation. “Uh, Wednesday’s fine. It’s what I call our takeout night. We’re busy after work.”

  “Perhaps I could bring you both out for pizza?”

  “It’s a wonderful offer, but I don’t allow Kyle to accompany me on dates.” Shit, she hadn’t meant to sound so darn firm.

  “Ah, highly understandable.” Stephen lightly laughed. “Would you have time then? I know it’s last minute. Normally, I’d ask you out for next week, but I’ll be back in Kenora then. School year. You must know staff returns a week early.”

  “Of course I do. Jude and I split a sitter for the kids when he returns to school. She’s quite reliable. I could ask her if she’s available Wednesday night.” Bridget made a face at the pork chops. Why wasn’t she blowing Stephen off with excuses?

  “When can you let me know?”

  “I’ll call her tomorrow at work. Then I’ll call you back. What’s your number?”

  He gave it to her. Bridget tapped the digits into her contact list. “Okay. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”