Trusting Him

by Brenda Minton

  Maggie heard a barely audible tsk-tsk from her grandmother. She leaned against the counter, the warmth of the giant mug of coffee seeping into her hands as she lifted it to her lips.

  "Maggie, honey, I don't think God ever said, 'Be merciful and compassionate only when and where it makes sense or feels safe.'"

  It seemed as if it was a day without easy answers.

  "Gran, I love you."

  "I love you, too, honey." Her grandmother patted her cheek. "And I'm praying for you, because I know this isn't easy, letting Michael in and allowing him to be such a big part of your life. I know that you have memories…" Grandma looked away, but not before Maggie saw tears. "Memories of your mother. Don't forget, she was my daughter. It hurt me, too. But I think it would be good for us both to realize that sometimes people get help and they recover. Life isn't hopeless, not when God is involved."

  Maggie thought back to a lifetime of unanswered prayers. She had prayed, wondering if God was real. And then she had prayed for her mom, and for her dad to come and rescue them. She had watched her mom slip further and further away, until the day she left for good.

  Remembering, Maggie heard the whispered pleadings of a child, begging God to help her mom. Asking Him why it had to be the parent who loved her and not the father that hadn't married her mother.

  "Maggie, honey?" Grandma's gentle voice broke into the haunting memories of the past, drawing her back to a sunlit kitchen and a new day.

  "I'm sorry, Gran, I just got lost in thought." She looked down at the cup she still held between her palms. "Michael Carson is just a man who needs friends. Maybe a prayer has been answered. Maybe he has a praying grandmother and we're an answer to her prayers for her grandson. He needs people he can depend on right now."

  "And he's blessed to have you."

  Maggie wanted that to be a good thing. Michael needed friends. She could be that for him. It sounded so easy. But then, every time she bought something that promised to be "easy to assemble," it never was, not really.

  Chapter NineMichael knew where to find Maggie. He went in the side door of the church, effectively avoiding crowds of people, many of whom seemed to have opinions about his life. It had been several weeks. He hoped that eventually the talk and the speculation would end. When people saw that he had truly changed and that he could be counted on, maybe then.

  The classroom where she taught was empty.

  "Looking for someone?"

  He turned, smiling at the woman walking toward him with an insulated mug of coffee. He knew that she had just refilled it and that she would take it into church with her. He smiled, finding it amusing that he had learned her personal habits so quickly.

  "I thought I'd walk in with you." He lifted his empty mug. "And I'm going armed with coffee. I hope you didn't empty the pot."

  "I didn't." She turned back toward the kitchen and he followed her.

  "Maggie, about last night."

  "Hold out your cup." She lifted the glass carafe and he held out his mug. "Michael, we discussed it. Let's not ruminate over it."

  "Ignoring this won't make it go away."

  "So, what do you think we should do? Do you think you should leave?"

  "Is that what you want?"

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head. "No, that isn't what I want. You're starting to grow on me. We can't get rid of you now."

  He sighed, relieved to hear that. The words were on his lips, to promise that he wouldn't do it again, but he held back, not sure if he wanted to make that promise.

  "Good, because I'd like to stick around. And I don't want there to be problems between us."

  "That's good to know. And now we need to go. I hear 'Blessed Assurance' playing."

  Echoes of mercy, whispers of love— Michael knew the words by heart. It had been his favorite song during the sermons at the prison. He had memorized the words, finding strength in the knowledge that he had received mercy and a new beginning.

  * * *

  "Join us for lunch, Michael." Her grandmother's request as they walked out of the church, even though expected, still took Maggie by surprise. She looked to Michael, half hoping he would turn the invitation down.

  "I'd love to."

  Of course he would. If it had to do with food, Michael was there. He glanced her way and she put on a quick smile.

  He continued the conversation with her grandmother. Maggie smiled at people walking past them on the way to their cars, to their lunches. Michael and her grandmother were in deep conversation. He towered over her tiny grandmother. They looked like quite a pair. Gran in her cotton dress, Michael in black pants and black shirt, his dark hair brushing his collar.

  He looked past her grandmother to where Maggie stood. His gaze captured hers with a questioning look and she felt her stomach curl in response. Expected or not, she resented that response.

  "Do you mind me coming over for lunch?"

  Mind, of course she wouldn't mind.

  Michael in her home, seeing the need for repairs. Michael sitting next to her at the small table in the kitchen.

  Michael, not Greg, she reminded herself.

  "No, I don't mind."

  She opened her purse and started to rummage for her keys. Michael stood next to her, his smile tipping the right side of his mouth. At least he knew not to comment.

  Somewhere in there, maybe at the bottom, those keys were there. She knew they were in there. She didn't have pockets. She hadn't left her keys in the car. Or had she? She groaned at that thought, because she did clearly remember locking the car doors.

  "God, why are you doing this to me?" She mumbled the words into the bottomless pit of her purse, still seeing no keys.

  "What?" Michael leaned closer. "Is God in your purse?"

  "Oh, be quiet." She considered dumping the purse and its contents on the ground for a more thorough search. That would be more embarrassing than having locked her keys in her car.

  "You can't find your keys." Michael chuckled…big mistake.

  "Oh, like you've never lost your keys." She shoved her hand into her purse and pushed aside six months' worth of shopping lists, two bank deposit forms and half a dozen gum wrappers. Eww, and something sticky. "I know my keys are somewhere."

  "That's a given." Michael remained serious this time. "Could the somewhere be your ignition?"

  "In my locked car?" She mimicked what she knew he wanted to say. Having lost control and now facing a definite bad mood, she didn't try to tone her words down. Humiliation did that to a person.

  He touched her shoulder and then his hand slid down, resting on the small of her back. An innocent touch, comforting, supportive. She tensed and Michael withdrew his hand.

  "Maggie?"

  "You're probably right. I think they are in my car."

  "That isn't what I meant."

  She looked up, refusing to answer his unspoken question. He would ask what was wrong. She didn't want to answer.

  "Let's go look." He moved in the direction of her car. The keys were there, hanging in the ignition. Michael cast a questioning look in her direction, complete with raised brows and a quirky grin. His hand went to the door and he pulled on the handle, locked of course. He tried the back door and then moved to the passenger side.

  All locked, she could have told him. She never locked her doors, but today she had. Of course she had, bad luck always went in threes.

  Bad luck number one: Michael called, ruining her Sunday. Number two: she locked her keys in her car. What would number three be? The ideas that popped into her mind were less than pleasant.

  "An extra key wouldn't be a possibility, would it?" Michael broke into her reverie, his tone crackling with humor.

  "Yes, on the key chain." And locked in the car. She closed her eyes as he groaned. Her day was going from one bad blond joke to another.

  In her mind she pictured the flurry of e-mail forwards with the subject heading, "Did you hear about the blonde who locked the keys in her car?" She
really hated blond jokes.

  "So, we all ride home together in Michael's car. Later the two of you can figure out how to get that door open." Grandma had arrived on the scene after saying goodbye to her friend, and her suggestion sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution.

  Pulling up in front of their home a few minutes later, Maggie glanced sideways to gauge Michael's reaction. She tried to see the small home as he saw it. Okay, it didn't look so bad. Small but well-maintained, the square house was encircled by a picket fence. The tiny yard needed mowing, but rosebushes bloomed profusely along the front, offsetting the neglect of the overgrown lawn.

  Of course in her mind she could still picture the home where Michael's parents lived. And she knew he had to see the comparison, as well.

  Her gaze locked on the roof. He would never know how it leaked. Roofs were really expensive to replace. She would get it done eventually. And so what if the carpet was a little threadbare? Filled with love, her home grew in dimension.

  Splat. The first drop of rain hit the windshield as they stepped out of the car. More followed. So much for "partly cloudy and a slight chance of precipitation."

  Running for cover, Maggie looked up at the sky, now knowing what the third in the series of bad luck would be…the leaking roof. The three of them rushed through the rain and into the house. They were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of roast beef simmering in the Crock-Pot. Maggie forgot the leaking roof, but only for a minute.

  "Maggie, you get a bowl for the living room, I'll get one for the bedroom. Michael, sit down and relax, we'll have dinner on the table in a jiffy."

  Grandma's orders shot through the room. Maggie shook her head, wondering how her sweet little grandmother ever dredged up such a powerful voice. Michael stood in the living room looking just as surprised. She shrugged and offered him a smile.

  "Go ahead and sit down." She nodded toward her favorite chair, the recliner, and handed him the remote. "I'm sure you can find a game to watch."

  "No, let me do something. Can I set the table?"

  "Set the table?" Her brows rose. "You know how to set a table?"

  "I haven't been at a country club for the last four years."

  Maggie rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry, Michael."

  "You've seen where my parents live, and you're having a hard time separating me from that place. That isn't who I am now. You can't go through what I've been through and then blithely go back. Even if I wanted that, people wouldn't let it happen."

  "Well, I like who you are now."

  "So, let me set the table."

  "Okay, maybe, but I have to get bowls."

  She rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, finding a couple of large bowls. "Here, you can go stick these under the leaks."

  "Ah, a job I can do." He took the bowls and she watched him walk away. A sigh heaved out of her. This hadn't been her plan, to let him into her personal life, to allow him space in her world.

  Why not? The thought nudged at her. She pushed it back where it came from. She had answers, very reasonable ones. She didn't have to explain them to herself. But the biggest— she didn't want to be let down— kept returning as a reminder.

  Grandma smiled when she walked into the kitchen. With effort Maggie returned the gesture. Plates. She needed plates. Michael was back. As she pulled the plates down, he rummaged in the cabinet next to her, pulling out glasses. He didn't ask her for help, but opened the freezer and started emptying ice-cube trays.

  "Turn the radio on." Grandma's quiet voice had returned.

  Maggie set the plates down and reached for the small radio they kept on the counter. She found a country station and turned the volume on low.

  "I like that song." Michael smiled over his shoulder as he set glasses down on the table.

  She didn't need to know that he liked country songs about finding true love, the kind that lasts forever. She could have gone her entire life without knowing that. Rather than comment, she picked up the pile of plates and scooted past him to the table.

  As she set the plates on the white-painted table that she'd bought her grandmother for Christmas, Michael appeared at her side holding a basket of rolls her grandmother had baked the night before. The yeasty, fresh-baked aroma wafted up, reminding her that breakfast had been more than four hours ago.

  Other mouth-watering aromas filled the room, drawing the three of them to the table. Maggie moved to her chair. As she reached for it Michael pulled it out and gestured for her to sit down. When she hesitated, he nodded and motioned to the seat. What was she going to do, push it in and pull it out for herself?

  She sat and he took the seat opposite hers.

  "Michael, why don't you ask the blessing?" Grandma reached for Michael's hand, he in turn took hold of Maggie's. She closed her eyes, making it easier to accept his touch, the strength of his hand on hers.

  When he said, "Amen," she pulled her hand from his and reached for her fork.

  Outside, the rain continued with spring fierceness. Thunder crashing blended with the songs on the radio, occasional static, the clank of silverware and ice jiggling in cups.

  The void of conversation grew louder.

  Maggie tried to think of something to say, but she really didn't know what, not to Michael. The weather topic was out. They all knew it was raining. Politics, that conversation would only ruin their appetites.

  Silence continued until a drop of rain fell on the center of the table.

  "Not another one!" Grandma jumped up, moving plates of food as she did. "Get a bowl, Maggie."

  Heat burning her cheeks, Maggie hurried to do as Grandma asked. Michael helped by moving food. This day would never end, not soon enough for her liking. She returned to the table with a plastic bowl and set it down to catch the drops of rain.

  They all sat back down and resumed their meal. Grandma mentioned something about church. Michael told them how much he was enjoying the trailer and living in the country. Maggie pretended interest in both topics.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael move his empty plate to the side. She raised her head, her gaze locking with his. He winked and looked away.

  "I'll help do the dishes." Michael aimed that comment at her grandmother.

  Maggie shook her head slightly and sliced her hand across her throat to silence him. Typical male, he didn't notice. Or chose not to. A smart guy like him, it wouldn't take him long to catch on. As his hand reached to gather plates, Grandma slapped it away.

  "You'll do no such thing, Michael Carson. Dishes are my job." Grandma's gaze flitted to the window and she smiled. Maggie followed her gaze. Sunshine, golden and warm, filtered in through the kitchen window. No more rain.

  "I should help," he insisted, obviously not getting it.

  "You can help." Grandma stood, gathering plates as she did. "You can help Maggie get the keys out of her car."

  "I'd love to."

  "Good boy," Grandma put the dishes on the counter and turned on the faucet.

  "Grandma, I can manage to get my own keys. Michael probably has somewhere he needs to be." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't you, Michael?"

  "No, actually, I don't. Come on, Maggie, this will be fun. Get a hanger and we'll go break into your car."

  "This cannot be my life."

  But it was her life. A few minutes later she couldn't deny that fact. She was in Michael's car and they were pulling away from her house. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Michael move and she knew that he was watching her.

  In the close confines of his car she couldn't miss the small details. The scent of his cologne, the way it drifted through the air when he moved, and the subtle scent of the leather upholstery. He shifted gears as he pulled out onto the road, brushing his arm against hers.

  It was that touch, his arm against hers, that brought back a flash of memory. Night time, a deserted park, Greg, his voice soft, seductive and then angry. The memories shouldn't be so strong, not after so many years. It had been several years s
ince it had really bothered her.

  But in the last few weeks she had been put to the test. Michael had done that. For whatever reason, or maybe for many reasons, he brought back a past she had left behind. He made her think about her mom, about the dad she didn't know and about Greg. She was surviving, though. At least she had that— the knowledge that she was moving past the fear.

  "Maggie?"

  "Yes?"

  "Your grandmother is great. But I guess you know that."

  "She practically raised me, and I wasn't always an easy kid to love."

  "I can't believe that."

  His quiet statement caught her attention. She turned and smiled at him. "You have no idea."

  And she wasn't about to tell him.

  "Here we are." His unnecessary statement came at the perfect moment. He pulled his car in next to hers. Maggie reached for the door but his hand on her arm stopped her from escaping.

  He had no way of knowing what that did to her, to have her hand on the door, wanting to open it but not being able to. He didn't know about her nightmares or the memories that touch evoked.

  Moments ago she had convinced herself that the fear had been put in the past. A simple touch brought it back. But it wasn't a simple touch, a kiss or a word, it was his hand on hers, keeping her from getting out of the car.

  "Michael, I have to get out of the car." She pushed the door open, pulling free from his restraining hand.

  Eyes closed, she leaned against the car, waiting for peace to return. Obviously the old fears weren't completely gone. Michael had joined her. The woodsy scent of his cologne hinted at his presence. He didn't touch her. She opened her eyes and tried to smile.

  "What happened?"

  "Happened?" She blinked a few times, clearing her eyes of unshed tears.

  "Maggie, I don't know what happened to you, but I do know fear. Whatever this is, keeping it inside doesn't help. If you keep it buried, and hidden, it's going to turn into something larger."

  "I'm not hiding anything."

  "You are. And the only way to heal is to open the wound."

  "I know that." She slid past him and walked toward her car.