Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  of Spencer Garmond.

  My stomach bottomed out.

  What the what?! Had everything between me and Grace been fake? Telling Arianna she liked me? All part of her assignment? And what did this assignment mean? Did Prière think I was up to something shady?

  “Spencer?” Arianna called.

  I jumped. “Yeah. Coming.” I rolled back the closet door and found a blue and pink striped shirt I recognized, yanked it off the hanger.

  Stupid dumb girls. Stupid dumb Mission League and their stupid dumb red cards.

  I carried the clothes back to the bathroom and held them up. “How’s this?”

  Arianna had moved Grace to the edge of the tub and was running water from a detachable showerhead through her hair. “Just leave them on the toilet.”

  I set the clothes on the toilet seat and stood there gawking, not knowing what to do with my BFG self in this tiny bathroom, feeling bad that Grace had blood in her hair, wishing I could have prevented it, wishing I was more than an assignment to her, that she actually liked me.

  “Spencer, could you give us a few minutes?” Arianna’s eyes darted toward the door.

  I swallowed. “Oh, right.” I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. I paced up and down the hall for a few minutes, annoyed, overly emotional.

  Everything still reeked. A familiar song carried down the hall from the front of the house.

  Don’t Fear the Reaper.

  I don’t think so. I ran out to the living room, located the entertainment system, and clicked off the stereo. The resulting silence pressed against my ears.

  I thought about this, told myself that I was a professional. I had signed a contract and so had Grace. Therefore I had to put aside the red card. It wasn’t her fault that Prière knew I liked her—that I’d be happy to spend time with her and tell her things. Now that I was thinking about it, I didn’t remember telling Grace much of anything. She certainly never asked me any weird questions, like she’d been trying to find out stuff.

  Either way, letting this go for now was the right thing to do.

  Easier said than done, but I came to my senses then. My grandma didn’t raise no helpless fool. I decided to make myself useful. I found a trash bag under the sink and began picking up beer cans. I counted twenty-two. How could anyone drink that much liquid by himself?

  I washed down the kitchen counter and took the trash out to the dumpster. I came back inside and found some air freshener spray under the kitchen sink. I sprayed it throughout the apartment and opened a few windows to get some airflow.

  “Spencer?” Arianna appeared at the mouth of the hallway. “You cleaned?”

  I shrugged. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fixing her hair.”

  “Are you kidding me? Shouldn’t we call the police?” Anger burned in my chest.

  Arianna pursed her lips. “Probably, but Grace has kept this a secret for a reason. We need to find out why.”

  “It’s been going on for years,” I said. “That’s why her and her mom leave sometimes. She said her dad is sick but he was doing better.”

  “Sick.” Arianna scowled, and I knew what she was thinking because I’d thought the exact same thing. “How long have you known about this?”

  Okay, apparently I didn’t know what she was thinking.

  “I can’t believe she told you and not me,” she said.

  “She didn’t exactly tell me,” I said.

  “You saw something?”

  I nodded and let her interpret that however she needed to. Everyone in the Pilot Point Mission League knew I was gifted in prophecy, but I’d never told anyone except Grace about how that worked. It was just too personal. And it opened me up to those looks where people think I’m lying or crazy.

  Though Arianna seemed to feel better thinking Grace hadn’t chosen me over her. “When she comes out, we’ll talk to her.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “But no more swearing,” she commanded.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  I went back to cleaning until Arianna again called my name.

  This time Grace was standing in the living room, wearing the clothes I picked out, one arm tucked across her middle, cradling the hurt one. She looked pale, like she might faint. Her face was clean and her hair had been brushed into a ponytail. Her eye was still swollen.

  “We want to take you to the hospital,” Arianna said.

  Grace’s back straightened. “I said no.”

  “Grace, I can’t fix your arm,” Arianna said. “I mean, I could try, but I won’t. Not when you could get proper help.”

  “It will be fine,” Grace said. “Don’t worry.”

  “It looks broken,” Arianna said. “You must have seen it in the mirror.”

  Grace started to cry. “It does hurt, but I don’t want to… I can’t…”

  I was ticked off. Livid. Like a bull about to charge but no red cape was in sight at the moment. “Grace, your dad… He should go to jail.”

  She looked up at me, all small and helpless, and shook her head. “I don’t want to press charges.”

  “It isn’t up to you,” I said. “Assault is a criminal charge.”

  “You can worry about that later,” Arianna said, shooting me a glare, “but you need to get your arm looked at right away.”

  “In the morning. I’ll go to urgent care. The one on Maple.”

  “The one on Franklin is closer,” I said.

  “I don’t want to go to that one,” she said. “It’s scuzzy.”

  Well, at least Grace was still Grace. “And what will you tell them?” I asked.

  “That I fell.”

  “Grace, that won’t do,” Arianna said. “You look like you were beat up.”

  “She was!” I said.

  “I’ll tell them I was mugged,” Grace said.

  “Grace, you can’t lie,” Arianna said. “You’ll only make it worse. What really happened? Just tell us.”

  “Dad got mad yesterday because I was out late with the cheer team and forgot to make him dinner. Mom is out of town, and when she’s gone, it’s my job to cook. So I came straight home after preschool today to make everything nice so he wouldn’t get mad again. But he got laid off today. By the time I got home, he’d already been drinking. He started fighting with me the second I walked in the door. I tried to hide in my room, but it doesn’t lock and he came in.”

  “Why don’t we call your mom?” Arianna asked.

  Grace shook her head. “If Mom finds out this happened again, she’ll take me away. Like before. I don’t want to go to Miami. I want to live here.”

  Understanding settled over the room.

  Arianna looked troubled. “I understand that you want to live here, but your dad could have killed you. He needs help.”

  “We should tell Mr. S,” I said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “If either of you tell anyone, I’ll hate you!” Grace yelled.

  “That’s a price I’m willing to pay,” Arianna said, “to know you’re safe.”

  Wow. Good words. I wish I’d said that.

  “It doesn’t happen that often,” Grace said. “Once or twice a year.”

  “That’s once or twice too much,” Arianna said.

  “Let me think about it, okay?” Grace said. “Promise you’ll let me decide how to tell?”

  Arianna nodded. I shrugged and looked away.

  “Spencer, why don’t you go home?” Arianna said. “I’ll stay with her.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so. How about I take you guys to your house, Arianna?”

  Grace shook her head. “I can’t just sneak out. I’ll get in trouble. I’m not allowed to be out past eleven without permission.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What if he comes back?”

  “He went to the bar. He won’t be back until morning. And Mom is coming home tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Well, I’m staying.” I fell onto the couch and put my
feet on the coffee table one at a time. “I’ll be right here.”

  “I don’t think my dad would like it if he found you here,” Grace said.

  “We’ll be okay, Spencer,” Arianna said. “I can call my dad or uncle, if I need to. Besides, you’re not the only one who took League Combat Training.”

  “Now you’re going to take on Grace’s dad? Is that it?” I asked.

  “Just go home, Spencer,” Grace said, walking down the hall to her room.

  My heart cracked a little then. Fine, if that’s what she wanted. I left the house, slamming the door behind me, and climbed into my car, but every time I reached for the keys, I couldn’t start the engine.

  I didn’t have to be inside the house to keep watch. I could stay right here in the car. Like a stakeout.

  The thought had me glancing in my rearview mirror for the black sedan. Sure enough, it was back there, lights off. Maybe I should go tell Kimbal and Mr. Sloan what had happened. They’d report it, and Grace’s dad would never hurt her again.

  But then she’d hate me.

  Did that really matter anymore? She had never really liked me in the first place. It had all been her assignment. I needed to focus on Grace’s safety.

  While I thought that over, I reclined my seat and tried to get comfortable. I must have fallen asleep because a slamming car door jolted me awake. I checked my phone. It was 2:51 a.m. I squinted out the driver’s side window and saw a man staggering toward the house.

  Mr. Thomas was home.

  REPORT NUMBER: 13

  REPORT TITLE: I Try Hard Not To Kill a Man

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grace’s Residence, 780 S. Pine Street, #107, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, June 26, 2:51 a.m.

  I got out of the car and walked toward Mr. Thomas. Sprinklers hissed in the yard to the right of the apartment complex. My steps made no sound on the sidewalk.

  Mr. Thomas stood at the top of the short stairs, screen door open, and fumbled with the door knob. He cursed under his breath and knocked on the inside door. “Grace!” He banged harder. “Open this door.”

  “Maybe she can’t,” I said.

  “Eh?” Mr. Thomas spun around, squinting at me in the darkness. “What’s this?”

  “Maybe Grace can’t come to the door because you broke her arm.”

  His eyes swelled, but quickly narrowed. “What are you doing outside my house?”

  “Waiting for you,” I said, reaching for him.

  I had not prayed about what I would do or say if he came home. I had been stewing in anger ever since I’d first seen Grace on the floor of that bedroom. God and his right to enact justice was far, far from my mind.

  I pulled him by the front of his shirt, down the steps to the grass and let him have it. In his intoxicated state, Mr. Thomas was no match for a seventeen-year-old angry bear. Plus, I had a good eight inches on him and was pretty much all muscle, where he was nothing but fat and flab.

  He went down with my first punch, but I was so ticked off, I bent over him and punched him again. It felt really good to hurt this loser. I vaguely noticed the porch light come on behind me, heard Arianna say something, but it wasn’t until I’d hit Mr. Thomas a third time and she put herself in front of me that I heard her actual words.

  “Stop it. Right now,” she said, hand pushing against my chest, eyes fierce.

  I jerked back, stepped around her. “He needs to know what it feels like.”

  She sidestepped, keeping herself between me and Mr. Thomas. “You don’t get to decide that.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Spencer, you don’t want to get arrested again, do you? If we make much more noise out here, someone is going to call the cops.”

  That shut me up.

  “What is goings on ’ere?” asked a hairy man with a thick European accent. One of the Sloans.

  I shrank back. My anger turned to shame. No sign of Kimbal, at least.

  “Dad!” Arianna ran to embrace her father, apparently. He and his identical twin brother would always be Sasquatch to me since I couldn’t tell them apart.

  Arianna was already spilling her guts, betraying Grace to her dad.

  The sound of Mr. Thomas puking pulled my attention away from the confession. The guy looked pretty bad, and while I felt guilty for having gotten caught, I would have done it again in a heartbeat.

  Mr. Sloan moved to help Mr. Thomas to his feet.

  “You’re not taking him inside, are you?” I asked.

  “ ’E is in no condition to ’arm anyone,” Mr. Sloan said.

  “We’ll be fine, Spencer,” Arianna said. “Dad is going to stick around. You can go home. My uncle will continue to guard you.”

  “But what about going to urgent care?”

  “They’re closed now,” Arianna said. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning and drive us? I looked it up. The Maple Street urgent care opens at ten.”

  I nodded. I would drive them. It was the only way to make sure Grace got help. “Is your dad going to call the police?”

  “I don’t know, Spencer.” Arianna’s face looked as worried as I felt. “Pray for her. And me. Pray for us all.”

  ****

  It was 3:20 a.m. when I tiptoed into my room. I eased onto my bed, breathing softly as the springs creaked, straining for sounds of Grandma moving. Apparently I hadn’t wakened her. Good. I kicked off my shoes and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. So I prayed, like Arianna had asked me to, but my mind kept drifting into fix-it mode. I had to work at the real estate agency tomorrow. Regardless, I got up and opened my MacBook, eager to do something for Grace.

  I Googled “How to help an alcoholic” and “Friend’s parent is an alcoholic.” I also looked up “Penalties for people who abuse their kids,” just to get an idea of what Grace was trying to protect her dad from. The more I learned, the more confused I became. I started to see where Grace was coming from. I mean, when I looked up the legal stuff, it was all harsh and echoed the way I felt. Yes, put the guy away. But when I read the other stuff, I saw that people just wanted to help their loved ones—that the addicts were people too, even if they messed up big time. It reminded me of something Kerri Stopplecamp often said, “Extend grace always.”

  I didn’t have a whole lot of “grace” for Mr. Thomas, but since I cared about his daughter, I figured I could stretch myself a little and play this her way. For now.

  Alcoholics Anonymous seemed to be helpful for people like Mr. Thomas. There just so happened to be an AA group that met at Cornerstone Christian on Tuesday nights. I printed out the details, thinking that Mr. Thomas needed to make himself a member.

  I also stumbled upon a book I thought might help Grace. I looked up Barnes and Noble and saw they opened at 9:00 a.m. I’d swing by in the morning on my way to pick up the girls.

  I vaguely recalled setting my phone alarm, shutting my MacBook, and lying down.

  ****

  My alarm woke me, and I stared in confusion at my phone until my memory caught up. I sprang from bed, grabbed the printout on Cornerstone’s AA group, then opened the door and peeked into the hallway. I could hear Grandma in the kitchen and smelled bacon frying. My stomach growled but I had no time for breakfast. I slipped into Grandma’s bedroom and swiped the little can of pepper spray she always kept on her bedside table, then snuck out the front door.

  I swung by Barnes and Noble, bought the book, then drove to Grace’s apartment. I gathered my things and carried them to the front door. Rang the doorbell. Waited. Rang again. Heard footsteps. My stomach fluttered. I took a deep breath. Who would answer?

  The inside door opened. Mr. Thomas looked at me through the screen, red-eyed, face swollen and bruised. The smell of fresh coffee surged out the screen door.

  “You’re up early,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” he sneered.

  I dropped my stuff, opened the screen door, and pulled Mr. Thomas outs
ide by the shirt. “I’ve come to talk with you. Sir.” Down the three steps we went, and I pushed him up against the wall of the apartment, between the steps and the living room window, holding him there with my hand against his chest. “This will only take a minute of your time.”

  “I’m busy.” Mr. Thomas shifted to get away, but I was stronger.

  The screen door wheezed open. “Spencer?” Arianna said. “What are you doing?”

  She and Grace had come outside and were standing on the top step, Grace watching me with those wide, blue eyes.

  “We’re just talking. Where’s your dad?”

  “Cleaning up from breakfast,” Arianna said.

  How… weird. “Mr. Thomas, I have found you an Alcoholics Anonymous group. They meet once a week on Tuesday nights. There is one tonight. Are you free? Good.”

  I glanced behind me and saw my printout on the grass. I picked it up and shoved it against Mr. Thomas’s chest. He took hold of it.

  “Here’s how this is going to work,” I said. “If you refuse to go tonight, I will call the cops and tell them everything. Is that clear?”

  “Spencer, don’t,” Grace said.

  Mr. Thomas stepped toward me. “You think you can come to my home and threaten me? You go ahead and call the police, kid. I’d love to tell them about how you attacked me last night.”

  I shoved him back up against the wall. “You’d be in way more trouble than me. You abused your daughter. She has a broken arm. You smashed a clock against her head! You will do this.” I flicked the paper in his hand. “It’s not a negotiation. And to make sure you go, I will drive you there myself. Every week.” I let him go. Stepped back.

  “I don’t have to take this.” Mr. Thomas pushed past me and climbed the steps. Arianna and Grace drew back as he stormed inside.

  “7:00 tonight!” I called after him. “I’ll be here!” Somewhere inside the apartment, an interior door slammed.

  “AA is a good idea, Spencer,” Arianna said.

  “I’ll make sure he goes,” I said.

  Grace stared at me, eyes wider than ever. “Arianna said you punched my dad.”