“Why can’t you …” He crushed the bunch of leaves in his fist.
“Why can’t I what?”
Todd spun. “Be like you are all the time.”
Morgan tried to decipher what he meant. “You mean, be like this?”
The kid was shaking, his breaths making shallow jerks in his bare chest. The wet trunks clung to one leg.
“Do you really think I’m going to hurt you, Todd?”
“Not now.”
Not sober. Morgan sat down in the chair beside the door. “There’s a guest robe in your closet.”
Todd walked over and pulled on the blue-and-white-striped terry robe. Its midcalf length reached the floor on Todd and he swam in the sleeves, but at least his teeth would stop chattering. What did he know about troubled kids? Only that Todd wanted something from him, and he’d started it in the first place. He’d never had to approach Todd on that porch, not been forced to take him hiking or to the movies or exploring. He had wanted to do it, seen the need and responded.
Todd slid down the wall and sat beside the window. His face was wary.
“You don’t want me to drink, is that it?”
“Like that would happen.”
Morgan drew and released a slow breath. It was like reasoning with a recalcitrant pup. “Not everyone who drinks gets mean.”
Todd rolled his eyes to the side and found a leaf on the floor. He tore the tip off, then piece after tiny piece.
“Is that why you won’t talk to your dad?”
Todd swore.
This was going nowhere. Morgan rubbed his face. “You seem to think I’m like him.”
“You are. You’re a stinkin’ drunk.”
Anger flared. Morgan gripped the arms of his chair. “And you’re a foulmouthed, self-centered kid.” He stood up. “Why am I wasting my time with you?” He went to his room, showered the ocean salt from his skin and hair, dressed, and went down to the office to work. Todd could take a hike for all he cared. He skipped lunch and methodically addressed all the professional issues he’d intended to put off until the next week. Denise was as perplexed as she was pleased.
Consuela demonstrated neither pleasure nor acceptance and made regular trips to the office that she usually avoided. “Your guest is watching the movies.” “The boy is sitting in your car.” “Todd is throwing oranges at the house.” “He’s going to the beach.”
Morgan looked up at that one. “Alone?”
Consuela spread her hands. “Who would be going with him?”
Sighing, Morgan left his desk and went out the lower door. He didn’t see Todd in the yard and stalked toward the path. From the top he saw him walking along the shore with a stick. He hurried down, then sauntered after Todd until his longer stride caught up. Todd topped and poked the translucent remains of a sand crab.
Morgan said, “I’m sorry.”
Todd flicked the crab into the speckled foam and watched it wash away, then lodge again in the sand.
“Come on. You gotta give me somethin’, Todd.”
Todd threw the stick into the shallow breakers. “Why don’t you send me back?”
“I will if that’s what you want.”
“It’s what you want.”
Morgan fought his frustration. Was this what he’d missed all these years? No-win conversations with someone who thought him alternately God and the devil? Some roller coaster of emotions too illogical to define? “Could we get on the same page?” He stepped around to Todd’s front. “You’re putting stuff on me that doesn’t belong. I drink alcohol because I like it. I’m not answerable to you for that choice. I already agreed I had too much last—”
“Every night.”
“How would you know?”
Todd looked at him then. “Because I do. I know what it looks like. I know what it sounds like.”
Another person putting their experience on him. Twice now he’d admitted to Todd that he’d overindulged. Two times, the kid knew of. With that he’d labeled him a stinkin’ drunk? And he hadn’t even been drunk when Denise did her suspecting. He’d been sick, plain and simple. He rubbed a hand through his hair.
“You don’t see it.” Todd bit his lip, such a vulnerable, little-boy thing it hurt Morgan’s heart.
“What don’t I see?”
“How it changes you.”
Why did that hurt? Morgan swallowed, spread his hands. “So I won’t drink while you’re here.” It wasn’t agreeing with him anyway. A week off might be just the ticket to get his system back on track.
Todd shook his head and started walking. Morgan clenched his teeth, fighting the irritation. Why was he trying to please some punk who wouldn’t meet him halfway? It wasn’t even his own kid. He’d never seen his own, never been allowed to. Todd sure couldn’t fill that slot. “Maybe I should send you back,” he called after him.
“You’d rather drink anyway.”
“You know something? You’re right.” Morgan turned his back and stalked up to the house. He’d call Stan and tell him it wasn’t working.
Good luck and good riddance. Since he couldn’t leave Todd at the shore by himself, he sent Consuela down to keep watch. He might just go to town, but when he went around the front of the house, his neighbor Dana raised a hand in greeting and crossed the street with her young teenage son.
Morgan returned her greeting and added, “Hey, Matt.” Her son was the likeable sort. But then, his life was pretty good. “What’s up?”
“Go ahead, Matt.” Dana nudged him.
The boy raised his blond, freckled head. “I have to interview someone for a youth group assignment.”
“Someone he finds interesting and knows personally,” Dana added.
Morgan kept eye contact with Matt. “What’s the slant of the interview?”
Matt frowned. “I don’t know. Just stuff about you, what you do, that sort of thing.”
He wanted to interview a stinkin’ drunk? “Okay.”
“Go get your notebook, Matt.” Dana turned after he hustled back across the street. “Thanks, Morgan. He was nervous about asking.”
“No big deal. I’m glad to help.” That’s all he’d wanted to do with Todd.
They sat down on the front porch furniture amid the crimson geraniums emitting their not-so-fragrant perfume. Morgan answered the basic questions, then elaborated, even leading Matt to questions he hadn’t prepared. He might not understand slant, but he’d get a more interesting biography with some direction, some angle, not just rote facts.
At last Matt smiled and said thanks. Morgan got an idea. “Hey, Matt. I’ve got a kid here about your age. Would you like to watch a movie tonight, keep him company?”
“On your big screen?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” Matt turned to his mother. “Can I?”
“If you have your biography written.” She turned to Morgan. “A relative?”
How much should he tell? “No, he’s a friend. Met him at my brother’s ranch. Actually …” The truth seemed right. “He’s a foster kid. We hit it off a month ago, and I invited him out here.” Morgan watched Dana’s face for the protective-mother look he expected to precede the backtracking.
But her smile was gentle. “That’s nice, Morgan. Boys need men to stand for them.”
“Well.” He ran his hand through his hair, knowing what Todd would say to that. “He’s not keen on me just now.”
Dimples appeared in her cheeks. “How would it be for Luke to come, too?”
Morgan pictured the next son up, maybe fifteen? “Sure, if he wants to. We’ll fix up a mess of munchies …”
“The movie needs to be PG or better.”
He hadn’t considered that. Todd’s own language could violate that rule.
“Why don’t I have Luke ride down to the video store and choose something?” Dana suggested.
For a sweet-faced petite woman she certainly took control of a situation. Maybe he should send Todd to her. “Sure.” He smiled.
She turned to Matt. “You�
��d better get writing.”
He got up. “Thanks again,” he called as he headed across the street.
Dana stood also. “That might not be what you had in mind.”
Morgan shrugged. “I hadn’t planned anything.”
“We don’t budge on that rule.”
“It’s fine. But … Todd’s not too predictable. And his mouth …”
She nodded. “I’ll talk to the boys.”
For the first time that day, he felt peaceful.
CHAPTER
33
Jill opened the door, surprised to see three friends from church. She had spent the morning and part of the afternoon cleaning her place and preparing plans for the upcoming school year, assuming she had a job and would be allowed the autonomy she needed to do the best she could for her kids. It had depressed her to think they might not even give her the same caseload. If Mr. Daley’s expertise was severe and profound, she could see him skimming the kids like Joey from her schedule.
The rain had lessened, but the large green umbrella Pat held over all three friends ran streamlets onto the threshold. “Surprise,” Pat said with her trademark smile.
“Hi.Come in.” She hadn’t planned for company, but the house was clean and fresh. Now if her mood only matched.
After the others stepped in, Pat closed the umbrella and left it standing on the porch just outside the door. “How’re you doing?” Her deep brown eyes were surrounded in lashes that curled almost back on themselves over caramel-colored lids that hung at half mast, giving a sultry expression she never intended.
“You never miss your class.” Deborah glanced quickly around the room. “We thought you might be really sick.”
Gina held up a can of Campbell’s. “We brought the chicken soup.”
Jill sighed. “I’m not sick. I just … wasn’t up to it today.”
Pat nodded. “I hear you. Some days are like that.”
Were they? Did these women curl up like worms awaiting the next deadly peck?
Pat said, “I just added your flock to mine. But they were all askin’, where’s Miss Runyan?”
“Do you want something to drink? I can make some iced tea.”
“Sure, honey. That sounds nice.”
Gina carried the soup jar to the counter. “Hope you don’t mind us barging in. With some people we wouldn’t think twice if they missed their class. But you’re like clockwork.”
As a teacher, Jill knew firsthand the hardship of an irresponsible absence. But it had seemed more phony and irresponsible to pretend to be something she wasn’t.
Deborah touched her arm. “Hey, this is a cheer-up party.”
Jill tried a smile, then set the kettle to boil. Pat glided in, taking the pitcher from the counter. “Want me to fill this with ice?”
Jill nodded. “Sure.”
Gina said, “The truth is, we’ve been worried about you for a while.”
Jill turned from the stove. Had she been so transparent? Was the whole church talking about her?
Pat slid an arm around her shoulders. “If you’re bearing a burden, that’s what friends are for.”
Jill stood silent. She couldn’t begin to tell these women the burden she was bearing. They knew the Jill Runyan she pretended to be, the soft-spoken Sunday school super teacher. She was such a hypocrite, but that didn’t mean she could step up and confess to the world. She’d almost worked up the courage to tell her parents. But these women …she had to work with them, see them every week, impress them.
“You don’t have to tell us.” Deborah touched her hand.
Gina said, “We just want to cheer you up. And if you’d like to share what’s got you down, we’re here.”
It was there before her, the chance to let go of the secrecy. She heard Morgan’s mocking tone. “We’re safe as long as no one checks my phone records.” Had she actually called him, shown her concern, prolonged the impossible?
Pat squeezed her shoulders. “You think you’re the only one with stuff? Think again, girl.”
Jill sighed. “My stuff beats your stuff any day.”
“Maybe.” Pat’s smile warmed the kitchen. “But God doesn’t see it that way.”
Jill turned and took down the box of decaffeinated green tea. How would it feel to just tell it all? Stop pretending? She lifted the lid of the steaming kettle and dropped four bags in. The relief would be immediate, but it wouldn’t last. Shelly knew, and Dan and Brett, but they didn’t hold her to the same standards as these women. And there were other people to consider. Her parents most of all. She could not risk word getting back to them, even if these friends did understand.
Jill opened the cabinet and took down glasses. “I would just appreciate your prayers, for me and two others.”
“That works,” Pat said.
Jill smiled for real, thankful they didn’t push. She hadn’t considered these women friends, not the hang-out-together sort, though she knew they were close to each other. To her they were church friends, Sunday friends. Well, it was, after all, Sunday. She poured the steeped tea over the ice. “Do you like it sweet?”
The answers were mixed, so she got the sugar canister and let them doctor their own glasses.
“Why don’t we all sit down.” Pat stretched one dark elegant arm toward the living room.
They settled in with the rain casting the room in grays. Jill turned on the lamp next to her giraffe chair. Sweetly and without pretense, the women prayed for her unspoken concern. Their willingness to support her even without knowing the situation was a balm to her spirit.
Pat crossed the room and knelt before her. “You need to remember what you are.”
Jill looked into her eyes. “What am I?”
“A daughter of the King. A bride of the Bridegroom. Beloved.”
Tears welled up. The words held so much love.
Deborah came to stand behind Pat. “And know that all things are possible with God.”
Jill shook her head. “I just wish I knew what was supposed to happen.”
Pat smiled. “Then fall on your knees and ask, and when the answer comes, listen. Then do.”
Jill swallowed. “That’s the hard part.”
“I know it.” Pat squeezed her hand. “But you gotta let people uphold you. Who you got praying? You standing alone?”
“I guess so. Mom might be praying for me, but not about any of the rest. She doesn’t know either.” Not the new aspects that would dredge up the old.
Gina rested her hands on her hips. “You need to tell her. Not because she needs to know, but because it’s hurting you to keep it in.”
Jill winced. Altogether too perceptive. If it was time to bring things to light, that was the place to start. But sometimes it seemed it would be easier to shout it from City Hall than voice it to her mother. And Dad? No way.
“Don’t let the enemy steal your courage.” Pat covered her hand with the other. How could she know what had just gone through her mind? “Let’s just take authority over that right now.” And she prayed.
Jill closed her eyes as something eased inside her. Maybe she would call her mother, see if there was a time they could talk. She was not fully confident but encouraged enough by the time they left to do her daily devotional, then get on her computer and journal, then check for mail from Kelsey. The letter was brief. Jill, could you please send me a picture of you? I want it next to Morgan’s. Love, Kelsey.
Halfway through the movie, Stan called. Morgan left the boys tossing popcorn and peanuts and went into the office to talk freely.
Stan’s voice sounded as if he was using a cordless phone in a tunnel. “Just calling to see how Todd’s doing.”
If he’d called a few hours earlier, Morgan would have said he was catching a morning flight home. But Todd had actually warmed to Dana’s sons and not shocked them so far. It was a good move on Dana’s part to send her older boy, Luke. Not only was he gregarious, but Todd related at a different level than with shy, innocent Matt. They’d played a game
of pool in which Todd waxed them, and Morgan wondered how many pool halls he’d frequented.
“He’s doing all right. We’ve had some ups and downs.” The downs being like a bungee jump from the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Well, that’s Todd. I have to say, I miss him. I’ve been home with Melanie and Sarah for the week, but I think Todd and I were making some headway.” Stan sounded eager for affirmation.
“I guessed as much. He’s talked about you in positive terms, and when we’re not knocking heads, he’s eager and amiable. Whatever you’re doing, it’s making a difference.”
“Lots of prayer.”
That would be Stan’s modus operandi. “He’s got his sore spots.”
“Which ones have you poked?”
“His dad.”
Stan was quiet a moment. “Well, he beat him up pretty bad. Once the mother left, he just went off the deep end, bender after bender, and Todd took the knocks. It’s all in his case history, but I don’t usually tell it.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, the way Todd had reacted. But it was all the more frustrating that the kid made the parallel between that kind of man and him.
Stan cleared his throat. “I wasn’t easy about sending him out there. But he just came alive talking about it, and when I prayed it seemed the right thing to do.”
“I understand your hesitation. You have a heavy responsibility.” He’d been surprised himself.
“One of the checks is, I need to talk to him every night.”
Morgan glanced through the crack in the door. “He’s watching a movie with some neighbor kids, but hold on, I’ll get him.” Morgan brought the phone to Todd. “It’s Stan.”
Todd sagged into the couch in his typical attitude and took the phone. “Yeah? Yeah. Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Bye.”
Morgan would have offered the office, but the conversation was over. He checked, and Stan had hung up. Morgan leaned on the arm of a chair and watched a few minutes of the movie, then went to return the handset. He noticed Todd’s gaze follow him to the base at the bar.
He had told him he wouldn’t drink, but Todd obviously didn’t believe him. Well, Todd had grounds for his distrust. He hung up the phone and rejoined them. Seeing Todd relax sent a pang. The kid didn’t need any more stress in his life, certainly no more fear of being hurt. And he suspected the emotional hurt and betrayal was as bad as any beating.
The Still of Night Page 41
