by D. M. Webb
“Okay.” The little girl sprinted out of the kitchen. The screen door clanged closed.
Maggie rubbed at the back of her neck, trying to work out the tension. Her muscles refused to unknot. One horrible night thinking about that bad boy brother, and look what she had to deal with. Muscles that refused to loosen. And why, oh why, did she always gravitate to the men with bad boy attitudes?
She collected the magazines off the table and dumped them in the wicker basket by the couch. Poppy loved looking at the fashion magazines.
Oh, what she would give for just a small amount of time to herself. After picking up Poppy this morning, she had been on the move nonstop, but at least it kept her mind off David. She growled. Almost kept her mind off David. There she went again, thinking of him.
“Oh, flipping monkey tails.” She stuffed the throw blanket back into its corner on the couch to hide the rip Samson put there. She really needed to get that cat de-clawed.
Poppy flew into the living room. “I found it, Miss Maggie. Papa Johnny said to look on the carport, and there it was. Ready to go out yet?”
“In a moment, Poppy. Let me straighten the house. You can help by taking yours and Papa Johnny’s shoes and putting them in the shoe box by the door.”
“Okay.”
Maggie smiled as Poppy picked up her father’s shoes, holding them away from her with a forefinger and thumb while pinching her nose with her other hand. She didn’t blame Poppy in the slightest. Her father’s garden shoes were rough on the nose. She did it herself whenever Dad wasn’t around.
Maggie stacked the devotional books on the coffee table and replaced her father’s ministry Bible, reinserting the bookmark. She stood and looked around. “Well, Poppy, I think we finished the chores. What say we head on out to the koi pond?”
“But, I thought we were going to play ball?”
Maggie sighed. “Okay. I just thought we could relax a little around the pond, tease the fish, and all.”
Poppy’s eyes lit up. “Tease the fish?”
“Oh, yeah.” Maggie walked to the china cabinet that dominated the living room’s corner. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small bag of fish food pellets. “You drop these in a little at a time around the pond and watch the fish swim in circles. It’s quite funny when you get them to go under the little waterfall.”
Poppy clapped her hands together. “Yeah, let’s do that, please?”
Maggie shut the cabinet’s door as the doorbell rang. She frowned. She hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. “Go on out back while I see who’s here.”
As Poppy hurried to the backyard, the doorbell chimed one more time. Maggie pulled the heavy steel door open.
She blinked. David stood there, the storm door propped open against his back. His eyes widened slightly before looking down at the steps. “Maggie.”
She tamped down her joy at seeing him. He didn’t deserve that from her. Wariness flowed through her heart. A coldness rolled off him. She saw a bitterness in his stance.
“David,” she stood to the side, “come in.” Daggum her courteous nature. It was part and parcel of being a preacher’s daughter.
He slid past her and into the living room. She eased the door closed and turned to him. His arms were crossed, hands clenched. He avoided looking at her.
“Is there–”
“I came here–”
They stopped and smiled. He raised his head. She held back the gasp as she studied the red bruises along his jaw and left eye. A shallow cut trailed along his left jaw line. Stubble covered his face. She stepped forward. Pain hit her in the gut when he took a slight step to the right and away from her.
He looked away. His voice sounded as though he had gargled with sand when he spoke. “I came to see if Bro. Johnny had time to talk with me.”
“Okay. Dad’s out back. I’ll go get him.” She motioned at the couch. “Have a seat.” Again her confounded courteous nature.
He perched gingerly on the edge of the couch as if every movement caused him pain.
“Do you need a drink?”
A flash of an emotion–fear? longing?–flew across his face; then it was gone. He shook his head. “Not right now. I . . . I’m not thirsty for anything yet.”
He kept his eyes averted from her. She nodded and gave him a last look. His hands were once again clenched, and he rocked slightly. Her heart melted into a glob of hurt and compassion.
Why couldn’t she stay angry at the man?
She started to reach out to touch him but instead withdrew and hurried out of the room. Whatever had happened and whatever consumed him, he needed her father right now, not her.
The back door squeaked as she pushed it open. Her father sat at the patio table, leg crossed over his knee and his phone plastered to his ear. She stepped closer.
“–yes, I understand. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry . . . We’ll help him through this, Dean. Trust in the Lord.” He smiled and then chuckled. “I know you do, Dean. Hold on a moment.”
Her dad dropped the phone a few inches from his mouth. “Maggie? Is he here?”
Good gracious, what was going on here? She pointed to the house. “Yeah, if you mean David. He’s parked on the couch, waiting for you.”
Her dad put the phone back to his ear. “He’s here, Dean. I’ll call you when he leaves . . . Okay. Bye.” He stood and turned to her.
“Dad? What’s going on?” She spied Poppy near the pond, poking the water with a blade of sage grass. Her world whirled about in her mind. Two people she loved here. Both crying out.
“Apparently, David is having some problems. You know I can’t tell you, honey, but give him time with me. He’ll come around and let you know.”
His hand patted her upper arm before he started walking to the parsonage. She hurried to him. “Dad!”
He stopped as she grabbed his hand. “Yes?”
“Tell him, let him know . . . that I lov– care. No matter what’s going on, I’m here for him. I don’t want him to think that I might not be.” She let go of his hand as he nodded and disappeared into the house.
What would happen now? How could she help him?
Her questions went unanswered. No sudden insight. No sudden proclamation. Just Poppy’s giggle as she teased the goldfish. Maggie stuffed her hands, and the fish food bag, into her pockets and kicked at a pebble as she trudged to Poppy. She eased down to the ground, her legs bent to the side.
Sun blazed off the red hair as Poppy looked up. “Who came?”
“David.”
“Mr. David is here?” Poppy hopped up, casting her sage grass away.
Maggie snagged the girl’s shirt and halted her flight. “Not now. He needs to talk to Papa Johnny, okay? We’ll see him before he leaves.”
Poppy slumped and then sank cross-legged on the edge of the small pond. “Oh, okay, then. Maybe after Papa Johnny gets through?”
“Maybe. Here.” Maggie opened the bag and pulled out a pellet. “Take one at a time and drop it along the edge, leading the fish to the waterfall.”
She smiled as the girl led the fish in a circle until one swam under the waterfall, only to be pushed to the other side of the pond. The girl’s high-pitched giggle warmed Maggie’s heart, erasing some of the hurt. She shielded her eyes against the sun and glanced back at the house. Her love was in there, and she saw his pain. But he didn’t ask for her. What could be so terrible that he couldn’t tell her?
She glanced up at the sky and sent up another prayer before returning to Poppy’s fish adventure.
: : : : :
David’s knee bounced as he sat on the edge of the couch. He didn’t expect Maggie to answer the door. Stupid. She lived here. Of course she would answer. A part of him had hoped she would, but the other part wished it had been Bro. Johnny. It would have made things simpler.
He scrubbed at his face and winced. Agony shot behind his eyes. His whole body was a mess of bruises. His gut wrenched painfully from hunger. The th
ought of food made it flip over. He pressed his hands together and held them to his lips. Which was better, hunger pains or nausea?
A bump against his foot brought his gaze down to the floor.
“You must be Sorta.” He picked up the small kitten that Maggie had told him about. It nosed his hand and curled into a ball within his palm. The kitten’s purr rumbled against him.
He absently stroked the kitten as his eyes traveled the ceiling, finding patterns and faint faces in the sheetrock crackling.
“David?”
He whipped his head around, wincing again, and started to rise as Bro. Johnny walked in. The kitten dug its claws into his arm in protest.
Bro. Johnny waved him back down on the couch. “Don’t get up.” He settled in the chair near the couch and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Shall we begin?”
David laughed. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
He set the kitten back on the floor, and it shot across the room to fight the dust motes streaming in from the window.
“Why should I spend time on pleasantries when one of my flock is in pain and turmoil?” Bro. Johnny smiled. He reached forward and pulled a big Bible towards him and then handed David a small, thin pamphlet. “Your father called. He didn’t give me details, but he said that you needed help with an addiction.”
David’s face flamed. Shame flowed through his veins as he played with the pages of the devotional book. “It’s bad. I’ve tried to stop, but it keeps getting stronger, worse.” He jumped up and started pacing. His hand rubbed at his neck, squeezing, releasing. Bile threatened to rise up his throat. “I . . . I don’t know how to say it. Jeremy called intervention time at Mom and Dad’s. I broke.
“Do you know how awful that feels? Breaking and crying in front of your family?” Anger rose from the pit of his gut. He held a hand out at Bro. Johnny. “I can’t control anything anymore!”
“And that is where we will start.” Bro. Johnny’s soft voice halted David’s pacing.
He dropped his hands to his sides and stuffed them in his pockets. “What do you mean?”
“You believe that you have to be in control. You alone. That’s the first hurdle we will have to overcome. When we, as God’s children, try to control our lives, our destiny, our decisions, we will ultimately fail.” Bro. Johnny flipped through some pages, searching the lines of words. “When do you pray? When do you talk to the Lord?”
David shrugged. He sighed and collapsed on the couch, leaning his head back against the top edge. Such a short couch. “I stopped. I was angry. God let Rebecca die. I lost so much that night.” His voice broke.
He searched out more faces in the ceiling. There was one. An old man with a beard. “I . . . I cursed Him. Cursed Jeremy because he didn’t try. But–”
He sniffed. Why were the words so hard? There was another face. Little girl with a big grin. “But I saw scars on his hands this morning. And now, I wonder. Did he try? Those were burn scars.”
He slanted his eyes over to the preacher. Bro. Johnny leaned back in his chair, Bible resting on his leg, ankle crossed over knee. He held a finger near his lips, listening.
“Don’t stop. Tell me what you feel, David. I do not judge you. Man will sin and will fall. Jesus gives us the grace to move forward and to learn from our mistakes, helping us and picking us up.”
David took a deep breath. “I hate saying it. It makes me sound so vile . . . so ugly.”
“Sin is ugly, but when we cast it off, it can’t stain us. Do you know why?”
“Because we are washed in His blood.”
“Do you believe that?”
A tear traveled down David’s face. “I do.”
“Then speak everything out loud.”
Another face. A glaring, deformed face with jagged teeth. He blinked. His eyes sought out a different pattern. A face with big cheeks and wide smile. A goofy face. A small smile pulled at his mouth. “I drink. I’m an alcoholic. I want it all the time. Even tried to quit, but I couldn’t. Last night, I tried . . . oh, man. You’re her father!”
“I’m your pastor. Right now that’s all I am.”
David sat up, ending his search for faces in the ceiling. He stared at the floor, tracing the black lines in the hardwood. The words rushed past. “I tried to get her to go home with me, to sleep with me. She refused. I went to a bar. Got drunk. Something with a woman, but it’s all hazy. Got into a fight. Spent the night in jail. And then intervention time with the family.” He took a shaky breath. “I had two DUIs in St. Louis. And the bad thing is, I don’t care. I honestly don’t care. I want to lose myself in the drink.”
Bro. Johnny cleared his throat. “I have to ask, did you have sex with the woman?”
David glanced at him. “No! I thank God that I didn’t–”
“Don’t do that.” Bro. Johnny’s stare pierced him. “Don’t thank God if you don’t mean it. Are you using it as an expression or truly thanking Him?” David looked away. “Your heart isn’t right, David.”
He flared his nostrils. “Ain’t right? I came here for help, to talk, not to be put down!”
Bro. Johnny’s hand latched onto his arm, holding him in his seat. “Listen to yourself. One statement, and anger takes control. Where would you go now, if you left?”
David sank against the cushions. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Where would he go? The answer stared at him, glaring and mocking him from the darkest part of his mind. “I would go . . . go get a drink. Drown the pain.”
“Exactly. Do you want to be a slave, David?”
He raised his eyes back to Bro. Johnny and took a real, long look at the man. Maggie’s father. His preacher. Cobalt eyes that should have been cool, twinkled in a face that enjoyed the sun. Wrinkles surrounded the eyes and lined his forehead. He almost laughed at the freckles that covered the man’s cheeks. So much like Maggie’s. A trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard lined his jaw. It was a face that loved everyone. A face that commanded attention. A father’s face.
David swallowed. Bro. Johnny was so much like his own father. “No, sir. I don’t.”
“Well, you are. It’s obvious that you have a problem, and you’ve allowed alcohol to be your master. In order to change, you must decide that you do not want to be a slave to it any longer. The only real way to defeat it is to become a slave to Christ. Where alcohol as your master offers death, despair, and guilt, Christ offers grace, mercy, freedom, and love. The alcohol’s master is Satan, who is weak compared to the strength of Christ. Which master will you choose, David?”
David hid his face in his hands, tears pooling in his palms. He rocked forward.
“Let’s read. John chapter eight, verses thirty-four to thirty-six. Jesus answered them, ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin. And a slave does not abide in the house forever, but a son abides forever. Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.’”
David wrapped his arms over his head. Tears coursed down his face and hit the hardwood.
Bro. Johnny’s arm reached around his shoulders. “So, I ask again, which master will you choose?”
“I want freedom. I want Jesus back.”
Bro. Johnny squeezed his neck. “Jesus never left. He is waiting for you to return.”
David raised his head. What a sight he must look. Red eyes, red bruises, whiskers covering his jaw, and snotty nose. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and rubbed at his nose. One of the old-fashioned teachings that stuck with him. He almost snorted at the errant thought.
“What do I do now?”
“You,” Bro. Johnny pointed at the book, “read that every day. Let it speak to you. Follow along with the Bible. Each morning, open to Proverbs. One chapter for every day. And I want you to be here once during the week. I know your schedule will keep you working odd days and sporadically, but on a free day, stop by. You and I have a lot of work to do.”
David stood. He tried to smile. “You don’t
look at me like I’m pond scum.”
“If I did that, David, I would have to look at myself the same way.” He stood and placed a hand on David’s shoulder. “And the next step will be to go out that back door, apologize to my daughter, ask for forgiveness, and start anew.”
An invisible anvil slammed the breath out of him. “She’ll hate me.”
“I know my daughter better than you right now. She’d never condemn you. But speaking as her father, I will bust you over the head if you hurt her again.” The cobalt eyes turned cool.
David nodded and averted his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now I have things to get in town. Tell Maggie I’ll be back by dinnertime.” Bro. Johnny propelled him across the kitchen and to the back door. “Go.”
The screen door squeaked. His day went from horrible, to terrifying, to upside down, to calm, and now back to horrifying. It was amazing that he was still sane.
: : : : :
He didn’t deserve her, but here she was, lying next to him, holding his hand. On the other side, Poppy shifted. The trampoline bounced slightly.
She giggled. “If I do this,” she pushed with her foot, making the trampoline sway up and down, “it makes the stars all jiggly.”
“And makes my stomach all jumpy. No bouncing, please, Poppy.” Maggie raised up on an elbow and peered over David’s chest. “Here, come lay between us.”
David grimaced as her little body slithered over his and wiggled between him and Maggie. She wormed her way into the small space. The trampoline bounced again as she plopped back and continued gazing at the stars.
He looked over at Maggie and smiled, their intertwined fingers resting above Poppy’s head. “Thank you.”
Maggie blinked. The reflection of the stars twinkled in her eyes. “For what?”
“For forgiving me and giving me a second chance.” He turned to his side, sending Poppy giggling as the trampoline danced underneath them.
“You jiggled the stars, Mr. David.” A yawn escaped her.
