"You could try for a scholarship." He patted the boy on the back. "Don't sell yourself short."
John nodded and moved away, intent on another shot. Michael walked away, his phone ringing. Maggie watched as he moved farther away from the group. A small moment of doubt flicked through her mind. Would he fall? She hoped not. But she couldn't give complete trust, not yet.
Her mother had promised too many times that she was going to go straight and get clean. It had never happened. But her mother had never had an anchor. Michael walked back to where she stood, leaning against a tree. Michael had an anchor. He had something to believe in, to find strength in.
"I need to go."
"I don't understand."
"I have something to take care of. Will you be okay without me?"
"Sure, we'll be fine."
"I'll be back later." He pulled his keys from his pocket.
"We'll be done later."
"Maggie, I know you don't understand this." He looked over her shoulder. She knew the kids were back there, probably overhearing. He took her arm and led her away from the group.
She waited until they were far enough away before responding. "I'm trying to understand. I don't want to be unreasonable if you have something else going on. But you made a commitment to the kids, to be here and to be a part of this. That isn't a 'sometimes, when I feel like it and don't have something better to do' thing."
He shrugged back into his jacket. "I understand my commitment to the kids. I didn't mean for this to happen, but I can't let down someone who needs help."
"No, I know that you can't."
"I don't want to let you down, either." He sighed and then he backed away. "I have to go."
She nodded, recovering enough to offer him a smile. "I understand."
"I really hope you mean that."
So did she. As he walked away she said a prayer that he would be strong. And then she prayed for herself, because she suddenly realized that maybe she was the one who needed strength.
* * *
Michael walked along the brick sidewalk of the downtown shopping area. He hadn't been here in years. The changes took him by surprise. Loft apartments, restaurants and upscale shops lined the streets. There were people everywhere, all kinds of people.
The coffee shop was on the corner. He walked through the door, not at all charmed by the ringing bells that announced his arrival. Katherine sat in a corner of the nearly empty establishment. Her face was on the table and her arms covered her head. She didn't look up, not even when he sat down.
"Kath, you okay, baby?" He touched her arm and she jumped. The flesh was hanging on her and her skin had yellowed. The high school beauty queen who had worried about carrying a few extra pounds was gone. He felt hollow on the inside, knowing she had taken a good friend of his with her.
"What are you doing here?" she mumbled.
"You called."
"I didn't. I wouldn't call you. And shouldn't you be playing with the preacher girl?"
"Leave Maggie out of this."
She nodded and buried her face in her folded arms on the table. "Go away, Michael."
"I can't. I'm going to get you some help." He waved to the cashier and asked her for coffee and a few pastries, he didn't care what kind.
"Michael, you can't help me."
"I can, and I will."
"You think you can help everyone because you think you've found the answers."
"Maybe I have." He touched her hand. "Please, Kath. Have you had a hepatitis C test? We need to get you somewhere so you can get some medical help."
"No." She looked up, for a moment lucid. "Michael, Vince isn't happy that the cops are everywhere. He blames it on you."
"I can take care of myself."
"Can you take care of your friend?"
"You mean, Maggie?" He couldn't give in to anger, not with Katherine.
"Yeah, Maggie."
"She's a good friend."
Katherine looked up, a wistful expression on her face. "I want to be me again."
"Then let's get you into a treatment program. Katherine, I'll be here to help you." He could do that. He hadn't believed it at first, but now he knew. He was strong enough.
"But…" She jumped up, nearly tripping over her chair that fell backward in her attempt at running. "Vince."
Michael followed her glance toward the front of the building and saw the gray car cruise past. Vince had followed one of them. Vince, who had a vested interest in Katherine, and maybe even loved her in some odd form of the word.
Michael grabbed her arm, hurting inside when he realized his hand went completely around her forearm. "Come on, we're going out the back."
She stumbled again. This time he picked her up and ran.
Chapter ElevenMichael looked up when his dad's secretary, Janet, knocked on his open door. "Your dad wants you to do some research on the Forester case."
Michael nodded, but his head ached and the thought of more research didn't sound like the antidote to relieving stress. It had been two days since he'd helped Katherine check into a rehab facility. Her family was crushed. They had thought it was an eating disorder.
He still didn't get that. Did that mean they thought an eating disorder should go untreated? Either way, their desire to keep up the front of having the perfect family had almost killed their daughter.
"Do you want me to bring you the file?" Janet still stood in the doorway.
"Please." He smiled up at her. "And you wouldn't have a couple of aspirin and a big jug of coffee, would you?"
She laughed as she walked out of the room. "I just happen to have them both. I'll be back in a few."
Janet returned carrying a tray laden with coffee, a bottle of aspirin and a sandwich. Janet always thought of everything. Sometimes he felt as if he had two mothers.
"Don't take aspirin on an empty stomach," she warned.
"Oh, so that would be the reason for the sandwich?"
"Precisely." She started to walk away but stopped. "Don't let things get to you."
He nodded in reply. "Thanks, Janet. I'm okay."
As the door closed behind her, Michael slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. He really was okay. Except for the pounding in his head and the way his heart sometimes raced at breakneck speed. Like right now.
His cell phone rang, the musical tone jangling his nerves. He pulled it from the clip and answered.
"Hey, Mikey, just checking in again." The voice was too friendly, too chummy. Michael closed his eyes, remembering that for a time he had bought the "let's be friends" routine.
But that had been a long time ago. He was older now and wiser.
"Hi, Vince." He took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve. Resist the devil and he will flee.
"Got something down here, if you want to come and get it."
"No, I don't think so." He had to play the game a little longer. The noose was tightening. Vince would soon be gone. Michael would get the names, find out the connections, the police would finally have what they needed to make a conviction work.
Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.
He could almost hear Pastor Banks's voice as the two of them worked on memorizing scripture.
Vince laughed, the sound cold and carrying not even a hint of amusement. "You don't think you're interested. But I think you do want it."
"I'm not interested, Vince."
"Really? Is that little blonde you're hanging with making things difficult for you?" Vince laughed again. "Let's play church, Mikey. That'll make your life better. Then you won't want drugs."
"I'm not interested."
"You owe me. And I'm going to make you pay for taking Katherine away."
Michael pushed the off button on the phone. And then he turned it back on. The first number he dialed had been disconnected. Something had obviously happened to his NA sponsor. He searched for another and dialed.
"Hello?"
Her voice was like an instant antidote.
"Hi."
"Michael?"
"I'm going to play racquetball. Do you want to join me?"
* * *
Maggie watched his car pull into the parking lot. She grabbed the two bottles of water she had pulled out of the fridge when he'd called and headed for the back door.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you." His first words to her when she approached him were spoken in a rush.
"You don't have to be sorry."
"Yes, I do. You have a life and you're busy. Playing babysitter to a grown man shouldn't be your responsibility."
"I didn't think you were calling me for a babysitter."
"You're right."
He handed her a racquet and a ball. "You can go first."
"You know I can't play, right?"
"I'll teach you."
"What happened?" She waited until they were at the wall before asking.
"I needed to get out of the office." He nodded toward the wall. "Serve. Don't you have days like that? Days when you just need to be outside in the fresh air?"
"And what do you mean, 'serve'?"
"Hit the ball at the wall."
"I can hit the ball at the wall. I can even trip and fall."
"Very cute." He nudged her shoulder with his and then stepped away from her. "I couldn't reach my sponsor."
The rush of honesty came out, hurried, like he didn't really want her to catch it. She didn't serve. "I'm not the person for this."
"I didn't ask you to be." He took the ball from her hand. "I came to play racquetball. But I thought since you were good enough to meet me out here, you deserved honesty. I think that one of my steps is being honest. Maybe that's my own personal step, but it's something I have to do. I spent several years living a double life, trying to be the Michael Carson that my parents expected me to be and then being someone else when I wasn't around them."
"How did that work out for you?"
He grinned and served the ball. "Not so great."
The ball came bouncing back and Maggie was pretty sure that she was supposed to hit it at the wall. She did. Michael laughed, but he didn't correct her. The next time he hit the ball she caught it in her hand.
"So, if we're here, and we're being honest, maybe you should tell me what happened."
"Serve."
"No."
He shook his head and walked off. "Maggie, I need to do this. I can't talk yet. But if you'll give me five or ten minutes without talking, without you asking me questions, I'll talk."
She hit the ball and he somehow managed to get back in time to hit it. It wasn't a perfect game by any stretch of the imagination. Maggie knew that she messed up quite a few times. Michael never said a word.
He chased her wild shots, running until his hair hung damply on his forehead and perspiration glistened on his face. After fifteen minutes he stopped.
"Whew, you can't play, but you can definitely run me ragged."
"You have no one to blame but yourself." She nodded toward the picnic table. "I brought water."
"Thanks." He took the racquet and ball from her hand and followed her to the table.
"My old dealer called me today."
She sat back on the picnic table, sipping at the water and unsure of the proper response for his revelation.
"I…"
"You have to understand the statistics, Maggie. Addictions can stay buried within us, rearing their ugly heads the minute we drop our guard."
"I know about addictions." She fiddled with the cap of her water bottle. "And today, what did that do to you?" She bit down on her bottom lip, looking for better words. "I mean, you're here, so obviously you did the right thing."
"I did the right thing. Or at least I finally did the right thing. I called my sponsor, didn't get an answer, started to panic, and then I realized that I needed to pray first." He shrugged. "I prayed, and then I called you."
"I'm glad you did."
"You know, some days I'm stronger than others. There are times when the sound of his voice wouldn't bother me at all. Today it hit me at the wrong time. But I didn't have a desire to rush out and score some meth. I just knew that I had to get my mind off the call."
She hugged him, which hadn't been her plan. He didn't hug her back, a big sign that she'd made a mistake.
"I'm sorry I got carried away, but I'm proud of you."
He recapped his empty bottle of water. "Yes, well, I'm trying not to be too proud. I can't afford to get carried away. I can't afford to lose focus."
"You're taking my talk about not wearing your emotions on your sleeve a little to the extreme, don't you think?" Her attempt at humor didn't work. He shook his head and hopped down from the picnic table.
"Yes, that's it exactly." He backed away from her, hitting the trash can with the empty bottle in the process. "You're sweet, Maggie, and I appreciate that you were here for me today."
She let him walk away. She had gone far enough into his life for one day. Time to slowly back out and keep her defenses in place.
* * *
Michael handed the Weed Eater to a kid who looked like he could handle it. He glanced across the church lawn to the corner where Maggie planted flowers with a couple of the girls. Three days had passed since their racquetball game and in that time their conversations had been stilted, just touching on the weather and how the kids were doing. Maybe he had shared too much and been too honest about his struggle?
He glanced her way again, and this time their gazes connected. She looked away first, leaving him with unanswered questions. He didn't want to lose her friendship.
"Can you handle it, Zack?" He pointed to the Weed Eater the kid held.
"Sure, I guess. But why are we doing this again?"
"Because it saves the church a lot of money if we do the yard work. And because it's good to give of our time."
"Okay, that's cool with me."
Chance walked up, his smile tight and a tinge of blue on his cheek. He had showed up for church on Wednesday night. It had been the first time, and obviously it hadn't gone over too great at home. He had said it wouldn't.
"Can I talk to you?" Chance didn't give him time to answer. The kid grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. "Did you know that Curt is a weirdo, and he's been spying on Miss Simmons?"
"Okay."
"Did you know?"
"Calm down, Chance. Is Curt here?"
"Shoot, no. I told him not to come back here again."
Michael almost laughed. "Chance, that might not be the best way to handle the situation. I could talk to him."
"I had to do something. But maybe it won't matter. They might be moving him to a new foster home."
Michael shook his head. Another foster home. He couldn't imagine being these kids and being bounced around this way. If it wasn't foster care, it was from parent to parent.
"You're a good kid, Chance."
"Sure, okay."
"I mean it. And thanks for worrying about Maggie."
Chance shrugged and walked off. "I've got to mow."
A blast of water hit Michael in the back. He jumped and turned around. It was Maggie. She laughed so hard she lost her footing and fell back, the hose still in her hands. Two of the girls were helping her. Five minutes ago she'd been avoiding him. What had happened to change that?
"I think this is war." He ran for the hose, pulling it and Maggie toward him, both at the same time. The more hose he gathered to his side, the closer she got to him. "You are so going to drown for this."
Three feet away from him, she shrieked and ran, taking her two mighty soldiers with her. Michael grabbed the hose and sprayed, hitting all three of them across the backs of their legs.
"Do you give?" he yelled. "You know I'm going to win."
Maggie turned just as he sprayed, taking a face full of water. She sputtered and choked, wiping at her face with her hands. Michael dropped the hose and ran to her side.
They were both laughing. He offered her the end of his shirt to wipe her face.
"I'm sorry, Mag, I didn't mean to do that."
She opened her eyes, mascara running down her cheeks. "Mag?"
"Sorry. Maggie."
"I don't mind. It's just a first. And thank you for the use of your shirt." She blinked a few times. "Michael, how did you get the scar on your side?"
"An accident." One that he hadn't planned on talking about.
"A car accident?"
"Maggie, not right now."
She shrugged and her gaze flew to something behind him.
"What in the world is Chance doing?"
He turned, falling for it, and got a face full of water.
"Gotcha!"
Yes, she had gotten him. Before he could get his face wiped, she was gone.
* * *
Maggie changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that she kept in her office and then she went in search of something high calorie to make up for the yard work they had done. She glanced out the window as she poured herself a glass of milk. The kids were leaving. Except Chance. He stood under the basketball net, shooting one shot after another. Michael slapped him on the back in a gesture of camaraderie and walked off.
He would be coming inside now. She took a sip of milk and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. He would want to talk. After she had carefully avoided him since their racquetball game, now he was going to ruin it for her. Or maybe she had ruined it. After all, she had been the one to spray the hose. Why had she done that?
Oh, she remembered why. Because she had caught him glancing her way and she had seen the questions in his hazel eyes. He hadn't understood her silence. He probably thought his struggle offended her. Instead it was her fear of getting hurt that forced her to build walls.
She cared about him— as a friend. She had tried to tell herself that it was okay to care.
The side of her that feared getting hurt didn't agree. Michael had something to prove to himself, and she knew that he needed space to do that. She really wanted to give him that space. She needed it, too.
She had just sat behind her desk when he walked into the room. Actually he stopped and leaned against the door frame. She ignored the confidence that was such a part of his bearing. There he stood in white leather tennis shoes, faded jeans and a T-shirt, and he looked as though he had it all in control. The world was his for the taking.
Trusting Him Page 11
