Testing His Patience

by Lyn Cote

  Gil slowed the car and parked behind the patrol car. He looked to Patience.

  She couldn’t speak.

  “I guess we better go in,” Gil said.

  She nodded.

  He held her arm as he helped her out of the car and up the stone steps.

  Tears wet her cheeks as she entered the jail.

  “Don’t…call my…daughter!” Ahead of them, Martina shouted in a slurred voice. “Miss Goody Two-shoes…out on the town with the…D.A. She won’t want to…bail me out! What…did I do anyway, huh?”

  “We’re going to book you for driving without a license and under the influence of alcohol.” Sheriff Longworthy adjusted his arm under Martina’s as she staggered.

  “I had to drive,” Martina said in a slurred voice. “That…jerk got the wrong idea. I just wanted a drinking buddy… A woman’s got a right…to defend herself!”

  Closing her eyes, Patience wanted to evaporate, disappear.

  The two law officers succeeded in getting Martina through an inner doorway behind the counter, probably to be booked.

  “So she not only violated her parole by drinking,” Patience murmured to Gil, “but she also drove without a license and probably stole the vehicle.” Wishing she could drop through the floor, Patience slid down to sit on a chair along the wall.

  The deputy at the counter glanced over, obviously curious.

  Gil sank down beside her. “I hate to see you suffer like this.”

  That’s why you need to forget me and move on to someone else. This isn’t ever going to change, is it, Lord? I belong to You, so I can’t ever just turn my back on her, disown her. My mother’s alcoholism is a life sentence for her—and for me.

  Much later on New Year’s Day after supper, Patience walked through the early darkness to see her mother in the county jail. Because of the holiday, she hadn’t been able to bail out her mother. Though it wasn’t a visiting day, the sheriff let her in at Gil’s request.

  Her mother watched the sheriff unlock her cell and let her daughter in.

  Patience perched on the bare mattress across from her mother. “Are you able to talk?”

  Martina turned her face away and didn’t reply.

  Patience stared around. The other cells were full and the other inmates were listening avidly, bored and hoping for an interesting scene between mother and daughter, a live soap opera for their enjoyment.

  That was one of the worst things about being caught up in the judicial system. One lost all privacy. And dignity. Soon, in a court of law, in front of God and everybody, a lawyer would ask the sheriff to testify to the fact that Martina had violated the terms of her parole.

  Fortunately for her mother, the man who’d picked her up and whom Martina had shoved out of his own truck hadn’t wanted any more trouble. Once he got his truck back, he’d refused to press theft charges. So her mother wasn’t facing any new charges.

  Patience closed her eyes, trying to blot out the dismal surroundings and the avid audience. “Why did you do it, Mother?”

  No reply.

  “Why? Do you hate yourself that much?” Hate me that much?

  “I can’t be like you,” her mother mumbled. “I can’t stay straight. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work. Just leave me alone. I don’t have what it takes to be a mother. Never did. You know that best of all. Go on. Leave.”

  So they’d entered the guilt phase of the downward spiral. Patience could write the script herself, word by word, stage by stage. She braced herself. “I’m not staying long. I just wanted to see you myself. Is there anything you need?”

  “No.”

  Patience pushed herself onto her feet. “Would you like me to pray with you?”

  “No.”

  Then I’ll pray for myself. God, I don’t know how or why this has happened. But I know You can carry me through the shame and hopelessness. You’re going to have to because I have no power of my own remaining to deal with this. It’s beyond me.

  A week and a half after the Christmas break, feathery snowflakes fluttered down outside the window of Patience’s schoolroom where the squirrel had chattered all those months ago in the early fall. Her class was again busy copying down the week’s spelling words.

  Restless, Patience rose and walked up and down the aisles, observing her students. They’d grown up so much in the past few months. She paused by Darby’s desk, longing to stroke his dark waves, so much like his father’s. Bent over his paper, Darby was concentrating on his work, no longer tempted by anything, not even the long braids of the girl sitting in front of him. I care about you, Darby, but I can’t let it show.

  He looked up and grinned at her.

  With a nod, she resumed her walk around the room. Her mother was still in jail, awaiting a court date to appear before a judge to appeal the revocation of her parole. If the appeal didn’t work, Martina would be returned to prison to begin serving the remainder of her sentence.

  Patience tried to make this seem real, but it felt like a movie she was being forced to watch. Or like a nightmare she was having and screaming in her mind, “Wake up! Wake up!” But this wasn’t a dream. It was her life, had always been and would always be.

  At the end of the school day, Darby dawdled around his desk. Patience tried to ignore him and made much of concentrating on correcting the day’s math assignment. Go home, Darby. Please don’t stop and talk to me again.

  “Teacher,” Darby asked in a small voice. “Why don’t you ever come over to my house anymore?”

  “I’ve been very busy.” She kept her gaze on the paper before her.

  “I miss you, and Blaine wants to know what’s wrong, too. Are we still friends?”

  You’re not going to make this easy, are you? Patience choked, suppressing the sudden urge to give in to tears.

  “Darby, I’m still your friend.” She said the words in a calm tone, completely at odds with her speeding pulse. “I’ve just been busy. Please say hi to your mom and Blaine.” She glanced down at her naked ring finger. The promise ring Gil had given her was in a drawer in her bedroom. I have to return it to him, but that would open them both up to explanation, recrimination…

  “I’m sure,” Patience continued, “we’ll see each other away from school sometime soon.”

  “Really?” Darby’s face lit with hope. “How about this weekend?”

  She shook her head.

  Darby’s chin fell.

  Lord, I know I’m hurting him, but I don’t have a choice. I care too much about him to inflict my problems on him…on Gil.

  In the mid-January evening gloom, Gil waited at Bunny’s front door, prepared to do battle—if he could only get Patience alone. He leaned on the bell.

  Bunny finally answered his ring. Her naturally cheerful face looked grimmer than he’d ever seen it. Then she recognized him and her face brightened. “Thank God you’ve come.”

  “I’m here to see Patience—”

  “Wonderful.” Bunny pulled him inside with a hand on his arm. “I’ve been living in a funeral parlor since New Year’s Eve. You’re the only one who can do anything to get Patience out of the blue funk she’s in. So do it. Please.”

  I’m glad you have confidence in me. I don’t. God, help me out here. I’m no good at talking outside a courtroom.

  Bunny ushered him down the hall and through her kitchen to the back hall and then gave him a push toward the stairs. “Don’t take no for an answer,” Bunny whispered loudly. “And kiss her until she’s silly—that’s my advice.”

  With a nod of agreement, Gil mounted the steps, and with each one his determination to make things right with Patience strengthened. I love her and I’m not letting her get away. And that’s final.

  Just as he was about to knock on the door at the top of the stairs, he caught himself. Instead, he reached for the knob and walked in. She wouldn’t be in the shower at this early hour, would she?

  “Patience? It’s me, Gil.” In the open doorway, he waited on the threshold of the empty kit
chen, a snappish chill flowing around his ankles.

  “Gil?” She appeared in the opposite doorway in jeans and an oversize red sweater.

  He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. His glasses fogged up and he swiped them with his sleeve.

  “What are you doing here?” Patience took a step toward him. “Is something wrong? Another robbery? Darby?”

  “Yes, something’s wrong.” He jerked off his coat and gloves and strode to her. “You’ve been avoiding me since New Year’s.” He closed his hands around her arms just above the wrists. “And it’s got to stop. Now.”

  Patience felt her resistance to this man, a stiffness, a resolve that she’d labored to build up over the past couple of weeks quake under his advance. No. I can’t give in.

  She wrested her arms from his grip. “Gil—” she made her voice steady and detached “—unless you have something about the Putnam case, or some concern about Darby as my student, we have nothing to discuss.” She faced him, not letting him come farther into her apartment.

  “We’re going to talk and that’s final.” Gil claimed her hands. “And it has little to do with Putnam, but a lot to do with Darby, but not as your student, as your friend. I can’t believe you’ve pushed us away. And over what? Do you think I care that your mother is an alcoholic? Or that I’ll reject you because she may go back to prison?”

  She tried to pull her cold hands from his chilled ones.

  He hung on.

  He wasn’t playing fair. Didn’t he know that there were boundaries to be observed? Well, if he wanted to strip off the gloves, she could, too. “Gil, you once told me that you came with baggage, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “What if I’ve decided I don’t want to…contend with your baggage? I don’t need a man with an ex-wife and a son.” She jerked away and went to the sofa.

  She waited for his response, despising herself for the hateful words she’d just said. I can’t let him win this. Darby and he are better off without me and my mother and all her problems. I can’t let him go all noble on me. He’s like that. He married Coreena, ignoring the fact that she came with sad strings attached.

  He reached her again and sat down right beside her.

  She moved out of his reach, pressing her back into the sofa arm opposite him. “No. Don’t you get it? Our brief time together is over. I’ve thought all this through and it just won’t work. I’ll finish my year here and go back to Chicago and start fresh.

  “I should have known,” she continued, “that this wasn’t going to work out right after the trial.” Or to be more exact, right after my mother appeared on Bunny’s doorstep. “My trouble is I just don’t know when to quit—”

  “I’m not letting you get away—” he interrupted.

  “But I’m going to learn how to walk away, starting now.” She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. “You should go home.”

  “I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say.” Gil reached to touch her cheek.

  She turned her face away from his hand. “Okay, have your say. And then leave.” She made herself flood the final word with an iciness that sliced both ways—through him and through her own heart. If I give an inch…

  “I know you’re upset over your mother’s…relapse and her legal problems.” His tone implored her. “I can understand that. But why do you think they have anything to do with us? I thought we’d worked this out. You are Patience. You are not your mother. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  His impassioned words burned like acid onto her spirit. No, you can’t love me. Let me go. I’ll only bring you pain.

  She shook her head with vehemence. “I’m sorry for you. But I can’t love you.”

  “Yes, you can and do. Why are you being so stubborn?” He tried to enfold her.

  She didn’t let him. She kept her arms around herself, a barrier she wouldn’t let him breach.

  He possessed her anyway, his arms resting on her back, his chin on top of her head. He wouldn’t release her. “I’m not giving up. With you, my life makes sense. With you, Darby is happy. I’m not letting go.”

  “You’re wasting your time—”

  He tried to kiss her.

  She wrenched herself free.

  He came after her.

  Her heart racing, she held out her hands to fend him off. “I have a ring to return to you.”

  “I don’t want your promise ring back.” He started toward her again.

  “No. I say no. Now leave.” She gasped for breath. “Leave.”

  He was breathing hard also. He stared at her.

  She looked back at him, but kept her hands out in front of herself.

  “Very well. I’ll leave…tonight. But I’ll be back.” He turned and hurried away, grabbing up his coat off the kitchen chair.

  “If you keep this up,” Patience shouted to his back, “I’ll resign early. I won’t be pushed.”

  At her door, he turned to glare at her. “I can be as stubborn as you.” And then he slammed out of her apartment.

  She sank to her knees, shaking. A sob tore through her, ripping at her heart, lungs, throat. Why did You let me love him, Lord, just to lose him? Why did You let me glimpse heaven just to let my mother snatch it away?

  With the TV remote control in hand, Gil sat in his living room alone. He’d just put Darby down for the night. He clicked on the television and then from channel to channel. The canned laughter burst out in little spurts from show to show. He clicked the power button and he was in silence again.

  He imagined Patience there with him, curled up beside him wearing those jeans and that oversize sweater she’d worn last night when he’d gone to her apartment. “Lord,” he prayed aloud, “how do I get through to her? I can’t let her go. Help me. I know I’ve not paid much attention to You over the past few years. But I know You have paid close attention to me. Help me. Show me the way. I need Patience in my life. I love her. Let me convince her.”

  The cell phone in his pocket trilled its tones.

  He pulled it out and opened it. “Gil here.”

  “I’m on my way to 114 Oak Street,” the sheriff growled. “A neighbor thinks there may be a robbery in progress.”

  Gil shot to his feet. “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riding a crest of adrenaline, Gil blew through stop signs and sped all the way to 114 Oak. Dan Putnam was free this time. Had he attacked again?

  In front of the address, Gil parked helter-skelter in the midst of three abandoned sheriff cars. Their rotating blue-and-white lights bathed the darkened neighborhood in a ghostly light. People stood at windows peering out around curtains and shades.

  Gil bounded out of his car, slipping and sliding on the ice and snow up to the house. He charged inside.

  “Halt!” a familiar voice rang out from the shadowy rear of the entry hall.

  “It’s me, Sheriff. Gil Montgomery.” Gil’s pulse pounded in his ears. He gasped for breath, not just from running. Would this be it, could it be the last robbery?

  “Come on back here,” the sheriff said with glee in his voice. “We caught him red-handed.”

  Gil loped the few feet and stopped inside the brightly lit kitchen. He scanned the room crowded with blue uniforms. He saw an older gentleman on a kitchen chair with a large German shepherd sitting on the floor beside him. Then he saw a hunched-up Wade Bevin leaning against the sink in handcuffs. “Bevin?” Gil gawked at the man. My witness for the prosecution? No.

  “Yeah, his luck ran out.” The sheriff’s voice pulsed with satisfaction. “Mr. Connolly has a very good watchdog. As Bevin broke into the kitchen, the dog attacked. He’s a retired police dog and knew just how to subdue and hold a prisoner.” The sheriff beamed at the German shepherd.

  Mr. Connolly stroked the dog’s tawny and brown-black head and murmured encouragement to him. “Nobody knew that about my pal here,” the older man said with obvious pride.

  “But he still knows his stuff. Don’t yo
u, boy? After he’d nabbed this creep—” Mr. Connelly motioned toward Bevin “—I called 911 and here we are. This scum won’t be attacking and robbing any more of my neighbors. He ought to get a stiff sentence for what he did to Bertha Perkins.” The man then voiced an uncomplimentary assessment of Bevin’s character.

  Gil silently echoed this. “How did Bevin get rid of the loot? Have you asked him yet?”

  “Yes, and he’s ready and willing to make a deal and implicate his accomplice.” The sheriff smirked.

  “Accomplice?” Gil stared at Bevin, fighting an undignified grin. Better and better. “Then let’s take our suspect down to the station and get his statement on tape.”

  Later, still in the dark early-morning hours, Gil and the sheriff knocked on the door of the tidy Victorian home on Main Street and waited.

  In the cold wind, Gil shifted, restless and eager.

  The sheriff gave him an encouraging look and lift of his chin. “No problem,” he mouthed. And then, “Don’t sweat it.”

  As they waited, an upstairs and then a hall light glimmered to life. The door opened as wide as its restraining chain lock would permit.

  The sheriff stabbed a document through the gap. “I’m serving you with a search warrant,” he said with gruff authority. “Open up, Caruthers.”

  A shocked silence. The hand that had caught the papers clenched around them.

  “Thank goodness,” Caruthers breathed finally. “Come in.”

  Both the sheriff and Gil glanced at each other, the sheriff obviously as startled by Caruthers’s response as Gil.

  The door clicked shut and then reopened with the chain unhooked. “Did he try to rob a third person?”

  “Who do you mean?” the sheriff barked as he and Gil entered.

  “Bevin, of course.” Caruthers fell back, giving them room. “The idiot.”

  “Are you saying that Wade Bevin committed more than the robbery tonight? That he was responsible for the first two also?” Gil pressed him.