Trusting Him

by Brenda Minton

  "I'm sorry." Michael was. He was more sorry than he could say that this kid felt that people weren't there for him. What had happened to create cynicism in someone so young, with so much life ahead of him? "I can't help what other people have done. But I can tell you that I'm going to be here. And I think that you already know that Maggie is here. She's always here."

  The kid glanced in Maggie's direction. He sort of smiled. "Yeah, she's here."

  Michael didn't know what that meant, but it frightened him for Maggie's sake.

  * * *

  The last kid left at six o'clock. Maggie did a final check of the building and walked back to the kitchen where Michael waited for her. She held up her keys.

  "Are you ready to go?"

  "More than ready. That was more exhausting than I ever imagined. And those guys can really play ball."

  "You'll get used to it. And don't forget about Friday night."

  "Friday night?" The puzzled look told her he'd already forgotten.

  "Bowling. We try to have a regular activity at least twice a month on Fridays. This Friday is bowling, and I thought you might like to go. Look, if you have something else to do…"

  "No, I'll be here."

  She shrugged and he followed her out the back door. His cell phone rang as she was locking up. As hard as she tried to ignore him, his conversation carried.

  "I don't think I can see you. But if you need help, I'm here." He looked away, his brow furrowing. "No, I don't think so. Katherine, it isn't too late."

  Maggie walked on to her car.

  "Wait." Michael jogged up to her as she was digging through her purse, looking for her keys. "Sorry, I had to take that call. It was an old friend. One that I can't help."

  "You don't have to explain to me."

  "I wasn't explaining, I was just talking. I grew up with Katherine. Now she's in a place where I don't know how to help her." He looked away, but when he turned, his smile was back in place. "Are you going home, or do you want to grab something to eat?"

  "I'm going home. I have to help my grandmother with the yard."

  "I see. Yes, I guess I should head home, too. I keep forgetting that I have a lawn to mow."

  "See you Friday, then." She reached for her door handle, but his hand shot out, circling her wrist. When she glanced over her shoulder, his hand dropped to his side. "What?"

  "Maggie, the boy with the glasses, the one who doesn't think he can count on anyone. Be careful of him, okay?"

  "What?"

  "Be careful. I don't know, maybe I'm just being overly cautious."

  "You are. And don't worry, I am careful." She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. "Friday, Michael. Don't forget."

  He was still standing in the parking lot when she pulled onto the street. His cell phone was to his ear. She couldn't help but wonder who he was talking to and if he was falling back into old habits.

  * * *

  "Vince called again." Michael opened the front door for his brother. It was Thursday and he'd just had his second meeting with his probation officer. That should have been enough stress for one day. If only that could be the end of it. "I'm not sure if I can take this."

  "You have to decide." Noah pulled off his black-framed glasses and slipped them into the collar of his shirt. "Nobody is going to force you. If you want to call Officer Conway and talk to him, do. If you don't, then hang up when Vince calls. Get your number switched to unlisted."

  All good points. Michael tossed a crumb of bread into the corner of the room and avoided Noah's questioning look. "It's for the mouse."

  "I don't think I want to hear this."

  "Probably not."

  "Why don't you get a dog? Normal people have dogs."

  "The mouse doesn't eat as much."

  Noah walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tea. "Michael, make a decision."

  "I have an NA meeting tonight." Michael had survived the kids. Narcotics Anonymous, his first meeting, sounded simple after a dozen or so teenagers.

  "Michael, you can't discuss this at NA."

  "I know that." He brushed a hand across his face. When he looked up, Noah was at the door. He never stayed for long. "I think I can do it. The next time Vince calls, I'll talk to him. He says I owe him money. He's trying to use that on me."

  "So let him. Use it as a way to get in. As an informant, the police want one thing from you. They want names. You're the only one who can decide what you want to do about this."

  "What I want to do?" He sat in the sideways-tilting recliner. "I want to move past this. I want for this to not be my life."

  For a minute Noah's expression softened. "I know. Remember, someday this will be the past. Right now you have to concentrate on what has to be done. Get it over with so that you can move on. Make the move into Vince's life, Michael."

  Noah made it sound so easy, like something that people did on a daily basis. But who really went out of their way to make a deal with the devil?

  Chapter FiveMichael pulled over when Vince drove up behind him a few hours later. The call that Noah had suggested he make had been made. There would be no turning back. He parked in a well-lit parking lot, not wanting this first meeting, one that he wasn't really sure about, to be in a dark alley somewhere.

  He let Vince approach him. In his rearview mirror Michael watched as the man he once considered a friend stepped out of his Corvette. Four years had aged Vince. He was thin, his skin was sallow and he looked ten years older than he should have.

  A person couldn't put drain cleaner in their body without doing serious damage.

  "Michael Carson, long time no see." Vince leaned in the window. "How's church life?"

  "Fine, it's working for me."

  "Is it, Mike, or are you just making a good show of recovery?"

  Michael stared straight ahead, finding the answer that he needed. "Draw your own conclusions, Vince."

  Vince laughed. "You were always a hard one to figure. I'm not sure yet if I even want to talk to you. But I do know one thing. You owe me."

  "That's your opinion." Michael reached to turn off the radio. "I have to go."

  "See you soon?" Vince put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "You know, Mike, I don't like to play games. If I find out that you're playin' me, you'll be sorry."

  "I'm not playin' you, Vince. I'm trying to stay out of jail." He moved his shoulder, shaking Vince's hand free. "I might see you around."

  Vince stepped back from the car and Michael pulled away. His heart raced in his chest, needing a way out. He needed a way out. This time, though, he wasn't alone. If God was for him, who could be against him?

  He had something else to keep him moving forward. He had Maggie and the kids at church. For the first time in a long time he felt needed, and like he could be of use to someone.

  * * *

  Michael's first outing with the kids, and Maggie almost felt sorry for him. She had watched him climb into the driver's seat of the van full of teens, looking slightly on edge. Were the tight lines around his mouth due to the kids or had something else happened? Probably the kids. They could be an overwhelming bunch. Especially when ten of them showed up, like tonight.

  Ten teenagers, two adults and one twelve-passenger van, on their way to the bowling alley. Maggie wondered if this would fit her grandmother's idea of a promising date.

  She glanced sideways at Michael, who had insisted on driving. His concentration was on the road, but from time to time he glanced into the rearview mirror to check on the kids. From beneath half-closed eyes she studied his profile, strong with a generous mouth that smiled often, and hazel eyes flecked with green. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew the color. His steady gaze often connected with hers, startling her with the intensity of his attention.

  He glanced her way and caught her staring.

  "Something on my face?" He grinned and then flicked his attention back to the road.

  "No." She forced a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." And
she couldn't finish, because she wouldn't lie. The truth would have sounded ridiculous. I'm staring at you because you're so stinking gorgeous you don't look real. Or maybe, It scares me to be here in the dark with you and I'm glad we have ten teenagers to keep us honest.

  Both thoughts were so out of character that she quickly pushed them aside. These were "Faith" thoughts. Faith was the quirky one. Maggie had always been pegged as the serious one. Her entire life she had been the kid the teachers labeled as "shy" and often keeping to herself. Her mother would read the notes on the back of the grade card and ask her why she didn't play with the other kids.

  The list had been long. She felt silly in her yard-sale clothing, the other kids teased her for being shy and they asked why she didn't have a dad.

  Faith hadn't come along until later in her life to drag her out of her shell. And Maggie had been there for Faith when she'd struggled with cancer treatments.

  "I should probably warn you that I've never been bowling." He slowed to make the turn into the parking lot of the bowling alley.

  "You've never bowled?" Now he tells her.

  "Don't act so surprised, millions of people haven't. It wasn't on my mother's list of lessons we took." He shot her a grin and winked. "But I can speak two languages and waltz…if that would help."

  "Probably not. Don't worry, we can teach you to bowl."

  "That's what I was afraid of." He continued to smile as he pulled into a parking place. "Is there any way that I could claim a wrist injury and get out of this?"

  "No way at all." Turning to face the kids in the back of the van, Maggie aimed a warning look in their direction. "Okay, guys, remember the rules. Chance, rule number one?"

  Chance sighed, playing the part of the injured teen.

  "Don't leave the group without permission."

  Maggie nodded her head and then focused on another boy.

  "Brad, rule number two?"

  "Show respect to the other bowlers. No bad words, no fighting."

  "I think you covered rules two and three." Maggie smiled at all of the kids. "Rule number four— have fun."

  In unison they groaned, as if being told to have fun was the worst rule of all.

  Inside the darkened interior of the bowling alley a rush of activity surrounded them. First, everyone had to get shoes and then find the right bowling ball. Maggie scurried from one teen to another, trying to get them all taken care of.

  When she finally had a free moment, she turned to look for Michael. He stood off to the side, looking like a lost child at the mall. She wanted to ignore him, but she couldn't.

  "Did you get shoes?"

  He shook his head, the lost-child look again. His long lashes framed his hazel eyes and a shy, out-of-place smile lurked on the firm lines of his mouth. Maggie hooked her arm through his, a gesture that should have been one of camaraderie, but when he pulled her close it changed. She pulled away and led him to the counter where shoes could be rented.

  "What size do you wear?"

  "Eleven, I guess."

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at his feet. "You don't know what size shoe you wear?"

  "I know what size shoe I wear, but I don't know about bowling shoes."

  The man behind the counter handed Michael a pair of boat-size shoes. He stared at the red, blue and tan shoes like they were a contagious disease.

  "They won't bite."

  "I'm not sure about that."

  Maggie propelled him toward the benches behind their lanes.

  Michael pulled off his tennis shoes and slipped his feet into the bowling shoes, making only a slight frown.

  "You've really never bowled?" She tied the laces of her shoes and then straightened in the chair.

  "Not once that I can remember, but I'm sure I'll be fine. How hard can it be? Roll the ball down the lane and watch it knock down the pins."

  Maggie stood and he followed. "Oh, of course. You make it sound so simple. How hard can it be?"

  For Michael it wasn't too difficult. Maggie watched as he hit his second strike and then she went in search of a snack. When she returned he was sitting on a bench waiting for her. He inclined his head to the seat next to his.

  Maggie handed him the soda she'd bought for him and sat. She held out a bag of chips as she watched Chance prepare to stomp the competition.

  "Are you surviving?" She swallowed a bite of chips that had far too much sour cream and onion flavoring.

  "Yes, I'm surviving." He nodded toward Chance. "That kid has something special. He has a lot of anger, but he also has potential."

  "A lot of these kids have potential, Michael. The problem is, nobody expects that from them and they don't expect it from themselves."

  "You really take this personally, don't you?"

  She didn't know how to answer that. She did take it personally, not only because she cared, but because she had been one of these kids, the ones that were pushed aside and unwanted. She had been the dirty, hungry kid in second-hand clothing. If it hadn't been for her grandmother, and a Sunday school teacher named Irene, she might not have survived.

  For Michael she formed an easy answer. "Yes, I take it personally."

  His eyes narrowed. He had more questions. "You're doing a great job with them."

  "We try. If we can teach these kids to respect themselves, to believe in who they are and in whom God created them to be, we might change the entire course of their lives."

  He stared at her as if she had four eyes.

  "Is that too optimistic?"

  "No, not at all. I just wonder if the kids realize how lucky they are to have someone like you believing in them."

  "We all need someone to believe in us, Michael. God always believes, but that isn't easy for a kid to grasp. Sometimes it just takes the belief of one person to make the difference."

  "Do you believe…" He looked away, shaking his head but not finishing.

  "Believe what?"

  He laughed. "It sounds ridiculous for a grown man to say this."

  "I've heard ridiculous before."

  "Do you believe in me?" His gaze flitted away from hers, breaking the connection between them.

  Maggie's heart paused, as if it, too, wanted to hear her answer. It had to take a leap of trust, one she hadn't taken in a long time. She trusted her grandmother. She trusted Faith and Pastor Banks. She could count dozens of people she trusted. But did she trust Michael?

  She wanted to. She wanted to believe he wouldn't let them down. He wouldn't hurt her.

  "You're really having to think about this, aren't you?" His eyes reflected pain, but he smiled.

  "I want to believe in you."

  "You're painfully honest, Maggie. I like that about you."

  He stood and walked away, leaving her to deal with her painfully honest self. Yes, she believed in him. That didn't mean she had false expectations. She had believed in people before.

  * * *

  Michael glanced at his watch again. Only five minutes past nine. He hit the left turn signal and slowed the van to make the turn into the church parking lot. In the seat next to him Maggie laughed. After the conversation at the bowling alley, she had withdrawn. The laughter meant she was back with him. He shot her a look that asked for an explanation.

  "You've looked at that watch every two minutes for the last twenty minutes." She reached out to pat his arm. "I hope we haven't kept you from something."

  "My mom is hosting a fund-raiser. She expects me to be there."

  "You don't want to go?"

  "I'm not exactly the poster child of social acceptance at the moment. I'll go, people will stare, politely whisper behind their hands about where I've been and how embarrassed my parents are, and a few of them will ask me how I'm doing or if I have plans for the future."

  "It sounds horrible." She cringed and shot him a sideways look that he caught in the dim interior of the van. "I'm sorry. I should have come up with something more optimistic."

  "I'd rather hear that than plati
tudes about how it is all going to work out."

  "But it is going…" She smiled. "Sorry again. But next time you have something going on, let me know. I could have dragged Faith along tonight, and you could have gone to the fund-raiser."

  "I wanted to go with you tonight." He parked the van and cut the engine. "I'm not here just to kill some time. I want to be a part of this ministry."

  The back door of the van opened and the kids piled out, leaving them alone. He wondered about their actions, which seemed suspicious.

  Did teenagers play at matchmaking?

  He turned to face Maggie and caught her watching him, an intent look in eyes that sparkled like sapphires in the dim light of the van. Her lips parted slightly, as though she meant to say something. But for some reason that gesture drew him to her. Mesmerized, he leaned, his breath catching in his lungs at the thought of Maggie in his arms.

  The wary look that crossed her features stopped him. For a second it looked like panic. He leaned back into his seat, letting the moment pass. That was the smartest move. Neither of them needed strings. At least he didn't. He needed to get his life together, and to find out where he was going.

  And better this way than to find out the moment was his, not hers. Maybe she hadn't felt it.

  "I'm sorry." In the dim glow of the streetlight he saw her confusion. "I shouldn't push my way into your life." He tried to explain, reaching to tug at the tendril of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. The silky strand slipped through his fingers and what he meant as a playful gesture became something stronger and more intimate.

  "I need to go." She reached for the door handle. "Thank you for helping tonight. We couldn't have done this without you."

  "Maggie, wait."

  She shook her head. "No, Michael. It isn't you. It's me."

  With that, she slipped out of the van, leaving him alone to ponder what he had learned about himself and about Maggie. The panic in her eyes said it all, and yet he felt like it created more questions.

  * * *

  Maggie sat behind her desk for thirty minutes, contemplating what had happened in the van. In her limited experience, that had definitely been a "moment." And she didn't need that, not now, and not with Michael. She was focused on the youth group, which didn't leave room for "moments." Michael obviously had his own issues to deal with.