"Which is exactly why you need to be here. Because you can relate to what some of these kids are facing."
"I don't want to let you down."
Good, because she didn't want to be let down. More and more she found herself believing in him. That scared her more than the idea of always being alone.
* * *
Michael pounded on Noah's door. His brother finally opened, holding the phone to his ear as he motioned Michael inside. He turned the phone off and tossed it on a table as he pointed to the couch.
Michael sat. "Why isn't Vince in jail?"
"You're asking the wrong guy. I'm not on the local team. I know a few people. I was willing to help. Now it's up to them, and I'm afraid I'll be leaving in a couple of weeks. Why?"
"Because I just left an apartment where some very nice people were socializing, and Vince is getting suspicious. He isn't very happy about me getting help for Katherine. Maybe I shouldn't have stepped in, but I couldn't leave her like that, and I didn't realize that they'd developed a relationship."
"I doubt if it had anything to do with love. She just needed a way to get hooked up with her fix." Noah walked to the fridge and pulled out a couple of colas. He tossed one to Michael. "How is Katherine doing?"
"I think she's going to be out in a few weeks. She's doing great, I guess. Or at least she is as long as she's locked up."
"You did a good thing, going to bat for her. I know it wasn't easy."
"No, it wasn't. But now I have to figure out the best way to keep Maggie safe."
Noah shrugged as if the answer was easy. "Keep your distance."
"You make it sound easy."
Noah set his can of soda on the table. "I guess I'm just used to it."
Michael digested that statement and realized that he had just been given an important look into his brother's heart and life. He kept his distance. From everyone.
"I'm not sure if I can keep my distance. Remember, I'm helping with the youth at the church."
"I know that. But I'm telling you, if she doesn't matter to you, she won't matter to Vince." His eyebrows shot up. "Does she matter to you?"
"She's a friend. She's had enough tough times in her life. She doesn't need for me to add to them with my personal drama."
"This is almost over, Michael. Start creating a normal life for yourself. Don't let these things control you. Your life is much bigger than a few incidents with Vince."
"Or the harassment of a few cops who don't believe I'm clean."
"They can't help themselves. If they think you're going to give them a break, they're going to keep their eyes on you."
"I've given them the only break I can. I'm getting the names of people that Vince is using." He stood up and walked to the door. "I've done what I could to make amends."
"Take care of yourself." Noah's words followed him out the door.
Michael would take care of himself. And he had something else he wanted to take care of. Maggie had gone shopping in Branson. He had the day to get this job done.
Two hours after leaving Noah's, Michael pulled up in front of Maggie's house. After parking, he eyed the roof. He felt a moment, or longer, of doubt. How in the world could he do this job?
"Michael, what are you doing here?" Betty stood in the open front door, staring at him over the rim of her glasses as he walked up to the house.
"I…" He held up the tools he'd bought. "I'm going to fix your roof."
"Now aren't you a sweet thing." She stepped out the door onto the front stoop. "Michael, do you know anything about roofing a house?"
He held up the book on roofing. Betty looked at the thin publication. Her eyes narrowed and then widened as her mouth formed an O. "I see."
At least she didn't laugh. He felt a little comforted by that. But then, people who were frightened generally didn't laugh.
"I guess I don't really know how— " he looked up at the roof again "— but I think I can do it."
"Of course you can." Her smile reassured him. "Maggie isn't here."
"I know. That's why I'm here." He took a step toward the house. "Would you mind showing me the areas where the roof leaks?"
"Of course, come on in. We can have a glass of cold lemonade while I show you around."
An hour later the supplies were delivered and Michael found himself on the roof, ready to begin the job of roofing.
Sort of. Well, he was ready. He just didn't know where to start. Or how.
He squatted precariously, holding the how-to magazine in one hand and a hammer in the other. The magazine pages flipped in the wind and he tried to push them down so that he could read the page on "first steps to roofing."
A car honked and his foot slipped. He scrambled to steady himself and lifted his hand to wave at Pastor Banks. The magazine slipped down the roof, the wind tossing the pages. Michael watched as his guide to roofing fluttered to the ground. He sighed and shook his head. It would have been easier to hire someone.
Somewhere he had heard that gifts were more special if they were made by hand, not store-bought.
Pastor Banks parked his car and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He glanced from the pile of roofing materials, to Michael. A broad grin spread across his face.
"Are you moonlighting as a roofer?"
"Something like that."
Pastor Banks grabbed the magazine and an extra hammer before reaching for the ladder. He shifted the heavy aluminum contraption and then jiggled it before putting his foot on the first rung. Michael could have told him that climbing the ladder took a lot of faith.
"I know you can probably do this on your own," he started with that statement as he sat, "but I've been meaning to get something done about this roof for several months. The two of us should be able to get it patched up, and then later maybe some of the men from the church can finish the job. If you don't mind the help, of course? And maybe you could stop calling me 'Pastor' and call me 'Robert'?"
Michael sat back on the slope of the roof and laughed. Raising his shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow and then shook his head.
"I think Betty would prefer for me to have help," he admitted. "She looked a little worried when she left. And I think I can manage to call you Robert, at least while we're facing death together."
"I can't think why Betty would be worried." Robert Banks chuckled as he started to work.
"If she was praying when she left, it was probably for the safety of her house."
"She's definitely a praying woman," Pastor Banks agreed.
Michael watched the other man's actions and began to mimic his movements. Pastor Banks had definitely done this job before. As the two of them worked, they discussed the church and then Michael's job. The topic of conversation switched to Maggie, a topic Michael had wanted to avoid.
"Maggie is a special young woman," Pastor Banks started. "I've watched her grow up, and she's done remarkably well, all things considering."
"To be honest, I don't know that much about her life." Michael turned to face the other man. "But I admire what I do know about her."
"Michael, I have to ask. Is there something going on between you and Maggie?"
Michael sat back on his heels. "Why would you think that?"
"People talk, Michael. The church is abuzz with gossip. Nice how they forget that gossip is one of the top ten— 'Thou shalt not bear false witness.'" Pastor Banks sort of laughed. "I think they think that gossip is a gray area, not really a sin, and great entertainment."
"Yeah, well, I definitely don't need for people to gossip about my life. I've given them enough real information to work with."
"So, about Maggie?"
"We're not involved. I think of her as a friend. But as for involvements of the romantic kind, I don't have that in mind. I have a lot to learn about life and about myself before I can undertake relationships."
"That's understandable. And don't worry, Michael, I think you have more of a grasp on life, and yourself, than you think."
"Sometimes I th
ink that, too. Sometimes I doubt it. Depends on the day and the circumstances."
"Would it help you if you knew that we all doubted ourselves?"
Michael grabbed a few nails from the pouch around his waist and picked the hammer back up. "Yeah, that helps."
"The work won't get done on its own," Pastor Banks reminded.
"What about Maggie's dad?" Michael pounded nails into the shingles he had placed on the roof.
"You'll have to wait for her to tell you what she wants you to know."
"I don't know if that day will ever come. I'm not high on her list of people to trust."
"Don't push her. She'll open up in time."
Michael lifted his shirt again, wiping the perspiration from his forehead and neck. "I can't pay for the mistakes other people in her life have made."
"True, very true. Be her friend and let her make the decision to let you into her life." Pastor Banks reached for more shingles and went back to work.
"I'm not like her father."
Robert sat back on his heels. "She told you?"
"I overheard."
"I see." He placed a section of shingles on the roof. "Jacob Simmons isn't her favorite topic."
"I'm sure he's not."
Michael let the conversation drop. The sun turned up the heat and the roof grew warmer. Pastor Banks pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his face.
"Phew, it is hot up here. What do you think— let's finish this last bad spot and get down before we both suffer from heatstroke?"
"Sounds good to me."
Michael sighed with relief when he stepped down off the ladder. It took a minute for his legs to adjust to terra firma. Pastor Banks took the final step and joined him.
Michael pulled two bottles of water out of his cooler. "Here you go."
"Thank you." Pastor Banks took the bottle Michael offered him. He unscrewed the lid and downed half the contents in one gulp. "Let's sit down."
Michael nodded and dropped to the ground under the shade of a pretty ancient walnut tree. He finished his water and screwed the cap back on. Pastor Banks was staring at the empty bottle in his hands.
"I'm going to give you some advice, Michael."
Michael looked up, ready for any kind of advice he might hear.
"About relationships."
"Something I haven't had a lot of opportunity for." Michael laughed. "And something I'm not sure I'm ready for."
"You'll be ready. Probably sooner than you think. And when it happens, remember this, relationships are hard work. Building the relationship is work. Maintaining it is work. Keeping it fresh, also work."
Michael laughed. "That's the advice? I thought you were going to tell me something magical that would make it work. You've blown me away. I thought when love happened it would be her feeling it, me feeling it and, tah-dah! Love."
"Boy, are you naive." Pastor Banks stood. "I should get home. I have a relationship of my own that is feeling neglected and would like to go out to dinner tonight."
"I couldn't have done this without you."
"No, but I admire that you would have tried."
Michael hoped that the other project he had undertaken would be as well received as the roofing job. Maggie needed healing, bridges built that would connect her to people who would shelter and care about her. It wasn't his place to build those bridges, but he had taken the steps anyway.
If something should happen to him…He briefly closed his eyes, pushing away thoughts that couldn't bring him peace.
Chapter Thirteen"You let him fix the roof?" Maggie blinked a few times, thinking her grandmother had obviously lost her mind. She dropped the bags she'd carried in from her shopping trip and turned to give Faith a look that would stop the giggles.
"He looked so earnest about it, dear. He wanted to do something good, and I let him."
"He's taking over my life."
"Taking over your life?" Faith laughed. "For someone who is normally pretty serious, that's a little on the dramatic side. Unless, of course, there's more to this than you're telling us?"
Faith smiled at Maggie's grandmother and added a conspiratorial wink. Maggie walked down the hall to the kitchen. The sinkful of dirty dishes looked like a good distraction and a way to work off her anger or whatever the emotion was that tumbled around inside her.
"I've been saving money to get that roof fixed." Maggie turned on the hot water to wash dishes. She squeezed a good squirt of lavender-scented liquid into the water and inhaled when the aroma drifted up. She had always thought that lavender was supposed to be soothing. Obviously not.
"Well, now you can thank God for answered prayers and use the money for new carpet." Faith set the plates into the sink and grabbed a dishrag. "And thank God for sending Michael Carson."
"Yes, of course." Maggie scooted Faith out of the way and grabbed the rag from her hand. "Go play the piano for us."
"You're using me. Play the piano yourself."
"Gran gets sick of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'" She shot a smile at her grandmother. "Right?"
"And 'Twinkle Twinkle.'" Grandma joined Maggie at the sink. "Go play for us, Faith. We've missed hearing you."
"Yes, I'm such an amazing talent," Faith commented as she walked out of the room.
Maggie ignored that comment. Faith had a gift, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Someday…someday she would not only recognize it, but hopefully use it.
Faith yelled from the living room, accompanied by the sound of her fingers running over the piano keys. "I'm going to play, but you're going to stop fighting with Michael. Give the guy a chance. He needs to prove himself, so let him."
"I'm trying." Maggie smiled at her grandmother who was watching her. "But the two of you have to remember that this is about helping him as he gets involved in ministry, not about giving him carte blanche to my life."
For some reason that seemed impossible. Michael had already invaded, taking up space not allotted for his presence. He had invaded her dreams.
* * *
The telephone on her desk was ringing when Maggie walked into her office on Wednesday morning, a cup of coffee in one hand, a box of cookies in the other. She set the cookies down and reached for the telephone. Michael walked in behind her, carrying two paper bags.
"Hello?" She answered the phone and watched as Michael pulled bagels, cream cheese and a plastic knife out of the bag. He reached into the other bag and produced single-serving containers of orange juice.
Maggie pointed to her coffee and cookies. As she listened to the caller trying to sell her siding for her house, Michael reached for her cookies. She watched as he left the room with her breakfast, leaving behind food that looked terribly healthy…and almost appetizing.
She put the phone down and reached for a bagel. The telephone rang again, startling her. Michael had entered the room and had started spreading cream cheese on the bagels. She picked up the phone, smiling a thank-you to him as she lifted it to her ear.
"Maggie Simmons." She smiled at Michael and lifted her bagel as she mouthed the words "thank you."
"Maggie." A long pause followed. She took a bite of her bagel and waited. "Maggie, my name is Jacob Simmons. I'm your father."
The room tilted and started to spin. Michael's face loomed above hers. She set the bagel down, but she couldn't form words to respond to her caller. Tears that she didn't want to shed welled up behind her eyelids and her throat tightened with emotion.
Jacob Simmons? Just like that, he barged into her life, claiming the title of "father." That word should mean something. Pastor Banks was a dad. She had seen him with his children. She knew what the word meant. Pastor Banks had been more of a parent to her than the man on the other end of the phone.
"Maggie?" His voice should have sounded familiar, but it didn't. She'd never spoken to him, not once in her life.
"Yes, I'm here."
"I know this must be a shock."
Of course, a shock, that's what it was. She was glad he tol
d her how to feel because at the moment she didn't know what name to put on the wrenching pain that twisted inside her.
"Yes, it's a shock." She drew in a deep breath.
"I know this call is a surprise to you, but I'd like to see you," he continued, sounding nearly as personal as the man who had tried to sell her siding not five minutes earlier. She had siding on her home. She didn't need a father, not now. She'd passed the years when she'd needed someone to hold her, to tell her that nightmares weren't real.
"You want to see me? So, you're scheduling an appointment."
"Maggie, this isn't easy."
"No, it isn't easy, is it?" She looked away from Michael's concerned gaze. "It isn't at all what I expected. I always thought that if you called it would be a great moment in my life. It isn't."
"If I could just have a chance to talk to you."
"You've had twenty-six years of chances."
"I know that I've let you down. I know that I hurt you. But I do want to see you."
"Just like that, you want to see me? What happened to the promise you made to my mother, that you would take care of me if something happened to her? Something did happen, she died. And you weren't there."
"I know."
Of course he knew. She squeezed the bridge of her nose and waited for her vision to clear. Michael was sitting on the corner of her desk. She met his clear, compassionate gaze.
"I'm not sure if I want to see you."
"I understand that. But I think we do need to see each other. I've made a lot of mistakes. The biggest was not being a part of your life."
The words sounded so right. It was what she'd always prayed for, what she'd always wanted to hear. But why now?
"Why now?" Only he had the answer to that question.
"I received a phone call from someone who was tracking me down for you."
"I see." Her gaze came up, locking with Michael's, and she knew immediately who had tracked her father down. Her heart didn't know how to respond to that knowledge. "I never contacted you because I didn't want to force you to be a part of my life. I thought your absence said it all."
Trusting Him Page 13
