Trusting Him

by Brenda Minton

  His own bed. His own home. Nobody here would tell him to get to work. Nobody would tell him to head for chow. And nobody would keep him from messing up.

  What if he couldn't handle freedom?

  Get out of bed, do something. He pushed himself to leave the comfort of the mattress that had swallowed him in its softness the night before. Down the narrow paneled hall, to the sunlit kitchen. He paused at the window over the sink and looked out at hay fields across the road.

  This place was perfect. He was glad he'd taken Pastor Banks up on the offer to rent from the church. Here he could get his bearings. He wouldn't have to worry about his parents and how to protect them. He needed this time alone.

  For four years he'd had very little time on his own, without someone watching, listening. He had once heard that the Chinese people didn't have a word for "alone." There was no concept of the word in their overcrowded country.

  In prison there was no concept of the word, either. A person didn't have use of a word that they couldn't put into practice. Alone.

  But then sometimes, even with hundreds of people around, he had felt alone.

  He rummaged through the cabinet, smiling when he pulled out the bag of Starbucks coffee. Miss Maggie Simmons had thought of everything. Bless her sweet soul. He filled the coffeepot with water, added a few scoops of coffee to the filter basket and set the power button.

  While he waited for the coffee to brew he walked out the back door to the small deck that faced the woods. Springtime in the Ozarks. The air was cool, but hinted at a warm day, and the emerald-green grass was drenched with dew. Something moved. He watched, holding his breath to see what had darted through the trees. It appeared again, a small doe, ears twitching when she sensed his presence. A few minutes later she darted back into the woods.

  The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeted him when he walked into the trailer. Real coffee, the kind a person wanted to enjoy, not gulp down with a few spoons of sugar added to kill the flavor. He poured a cup and walked back outside. An old lawn chair had been left behind. He sat and propped his feet up on the wood railing of the deck.

  Now what? Think of the future, of life working for his dad as a paralegal? Or the past, and how it had changed everything, including where he should be now?

  One stupid mistake, trying meth, had led to another mistake— dealing methamphetamines when his dad had cut off his money. He leaned back, closing his eyes when he remembered back to those days. He'd been angry then, mad at his dad for taking away his money, and mad at his brother Noah for telling his parents why he had lost weight and why his grades were failing.

  Now he needed to thank them. His dad for taking away his money. His brother for noticing the signs of addiction. He also needed to make amends with the people he had hurt.

  Michael's addiction had changed the course of his brother's life, as well. Noah had been set to take the bar and would have been a lawyer for their father's firm. Now he was an agent for the DEA.

  Everything had changed.

  A car rumbled down the road, coming closer. Michael walked back into the house. He reached the front door as his parents pulled up the drive. They had given him the night he needed to be on his own. He smiled as he glanced down at his watch. His mom was out of the car, carefully walking toward the trailer in high heels that weren't suited for the rutted, overgrown lawn.

  He stepped onto the porch to wait.

  "Michael, oh, honey, your hair is too long." She hurried up the stairs of the porch, her heels beating a rhythm on the wooden steps. She hugged him to her, holding him close. He held her tight.

  "I love you, Mom."

  She held him back, gave him a long look and then hugged him again. "Look at him, George. He doesn't look any worse for wear, does he?"

  Michael made eye contact with his dad. Neither of them disagreed with Shelly Carson. They rarely did. And if she felt better thinking that he looked good, therefore he must be good, Michael was happy letting her believe it.

  "He looks great, Shel. And it smells like coffee brewing. I could sure use a cup, since you dragged me out of bed before the sun came up."

  "We have a lot to do today. Michael needs to get his driver's license. He'll need his car, clothes and a checking account."

  Michael motioned his parents inside, as his mother continued to let them know what she had on her agenda for him. It would have been easy to tell her that he had other plans, things that he needed to do, but not today. He would give her this day.

  He could handle it today, having his schedule planned for him. He had handled it for four years, but this time it felt different. This time it was being done by a person who loved him.

  "I'd like for you to start work on Monday," his dad said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Why in the world do you want to live in this place?"

  The conversation had been overdue. Michael knew his parents would want answers. Being a lawyer was out of the question. As a felon he could work as a paralegal for his dad's law office, but he would never be a lawyer. His job and his trust fund would pay the bills. Working at the church filled another need, one his parents wouldn't understand.

  "This place sort of suits me. It's quiet out here, and this is a good starting place. I can be alone, spend time thinking about the future." Michael glanced around the sunny yellow kitchen with the avocado-green appliances.

  "You could do all of that in town, in a nice apartment," his mother offered. He loved her optimism, her willingness to just sweep his past under a big rug.

  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.

&n
bsp; "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."