Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  “He deserved it.” I picked up the Barnes & Noble bag from the grass. “I have something for you.” First I pulled out the can of pepper spray. “If he comes after you again, use this. It will give you enough time to get away. It won’t kill him or anything. He’ll just be miserable for a while.” I handed it to her, noticing her bright purple fingernails. She and Arianna must have turned this disaster into a slumber party. With them standing on the top step, she was almost as tall as me. I pulled out the book next. “It saw online that this was one of the best books for someone who has a parent who drinks.”

  She took it from me, gaze studying the cover. “I never really thought of my dad as an alcoholic. He doesn’t drink like this very often.”

  “Just read the book,” I said. “I think it might help.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Spencer.”

  “You ready to go?” I asked.

  “Just let me get my purse.” She slipped inside.

  Relief swept through me. She was going to get help.

  “That was really sweet,” Arianna said. “What you did.”

  Girls. “I wasn’t trying to be sweet.”

  “I know. And that’s what made it sweet. Isabel is going to meet us at urgent care. Dad will follow. I don’t suppose you brought a hairbrush?”

  I glanced at myself in the reflection of the living room window. My hair was matted to one side of my head, sticking up like Wolverine’s. I was wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday. My white PPCS Lions Basketball T-shirt was a wrinkled mess, the right sleeve stained with blood where Grace’s head had touched it. My knuckles were bruised and crusty with dried blood from Mr. Thomas’s face. I tucked that hand behind my back.

  Grace came outside again, and we all climbed into the banana. No one said much on the ride across town. I caught Grace staring at my bloody hand, but I needed it to drive so I let her stare. We drove right past the scuzzy urgent care on Franklin, then up over the railroad tracks and into downtown. I pulled up along the curb where Isabel was waiting and let the girls out. Then I drove to the parking garage and found a place to leave the car.

  It had only taken me a total of ten minutes to park and walk over to the urgent care, but by the time I arrived, Grace had already been taken in.

  “They came right out to help her,” Arianna said as I sat down beside her. “Isabel went with her to help fill out the paperwork.”

  “So it was an emergency,” I said, aghast that Grace had spent the entire night in agony to protect her deadbeat dad.

  Extend grace always, I reminded myself.

  “They gave her a hard time,” Arianna said. “Asked how it happened. They didn’t believe she was mugged.”

  “Think they’ll call the police?” I asked.

  “They can’t,” Arianna said. “The second time, yes. But not the first time. They can’t call the police unless there’s a pattern. I think that’s why Grace didn’t want to go to the hospital or the urgent care over by her house.”

  My heart sank. “Because she’d been both places before.”

  Arianna winced. “Exactly.”

  And so we waited. Isabel came out to sit with us and worried over Grace. Arianna continued to spout medical facts and laws. I played Clash of Clans on my iPhone.

  It was almost an hour before Grace finally appeared, escorted by a male doctor. Her arm was in a sling and she had a bandage on her head.

  “The receptionist needs you to sign one more form, Ms. Thomas,” the doctor said, pointing her toward the waiting room window.

  Grace wandered that way. Arianna and Isabel ran up to join her. I stayed put. The doctor glanced my way, did a double-take, glared, then stomped toward me, eyes narrowed.

  “You came in with Ms. Thomas?” he asked, eying the blood on my shirt and hand.

  That got my hackles up. “I drove her here, yes.”

  “I saw that write up in the paper about you getting arrested for drugs. Athletes like you think you’re gods and can do whatever you want without any consequences, but I’m going to be keeping an eye on that girl. And if she gets ‘hurt’ ”—he made air quotes— “again, I’ll be calling the cops and pointing the finger at you. You hear me?”

  Whoa! Technical foul. This guy was way out of line.

  “Yeah, I hear you.” I stood up so I could look down on the guy. “And I appreciate your concern. Now you listen to me. I did not do that to her. But I’m going to be keeping an eye on her. And if she gets ‘hurt’ ”—this time I made air quotes—“again, I’ll be calling the cops and pointing the finger at the guilty man. Yes, I know who’s guilty. And it’s not me. That clear?”

  The doctor jutted out his chin. “We’ll see.”

  “That’s right we will.”

  He walked away. The people sitting in the waiting area were all staring. I decided to wait outside.

  When the girls found me, no one was saying much. Grace looked tired and pretty much ignored everyone. On the ride back to her house, Arianna informed me that Grace had a spiral fracture, a concussion, and that she’d gotten four stitches in her head.

  “They shaved part of my hair away,” Grace mumbled, staring zombie-like out the window.

  I couldn’t see that any of her hair was gone, though the bandage was likely covering it up. I arrived at Grace’s apartment, all three girls got out, so I drove home.

  Grandma’s car was still in the driveway. Weird. She should be at work. Then again, so should I. I cringed, suddenly realizing I’d been a no-show today at the real estate agency. Jessica was probably going nuts. And Grandma would likely have twenty questions ready the moment I walked inside.

  I sat in the car and tried to come up with a decent story.

  I failed. Everything I invented sounded like a lie.

  I called Jessica, apologized, and told her I’d had an emergency and would be there tomorrow. She was actually really nice about it. I hoped Grandma would be too.

  I went in the house, stopped just inside the door. Grandma was sitting in her chair, crocheting. The screen door wheezed closed behind me.

  “You aren’t going to work today?” I asked.

  “I called in a sub. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  In a minute. I was still trying to decide where to start. “I took the pepper spray from your bedside table.” Interesting. I hadn’t planned to start there.

  “Why would you do that?” Grandma asked.

  “Someone needed it.”

  “Who?”

  I swallowed, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Grace.”

  Grandma got up and walked toward me. She took me by the arm and pulled me to the sofa. We sat together, side-by-side, and she took hold of my hand—my left hand, thankfully. I tucked my battered one down by my leg.

  “Is she in danger?” Grandma asked.

  “Not at the moment.” Images of Grace and Mr. Thomas flashed in my memory. “At least I don’t think so.”

  I’d been on autopilot for the past fourteen hours with only a quick nap to keep me going. Everything caught up with me then, and I sort of erupted with words and told Grandma everything, how since I’d met Grace I’d been having prophecies about her getting hurt, how she’d confessed last year that her dad sometimes hit her, how Arianna had called me last night when Grace hadn’t answered her calls, and the whole story from then until this morning at urgent care.

  For the record, I didn’t cry. I was just really tired. So my eyes might have watered.

  “I wondered when Shelia told me Grace didn’t come to work today.” Grandma hugged me. “Spencer, I’m proud of you for trying to help your friend, but I have to tell Mrs. Thomas. You understand me?”

  I nodded, relieved deep down. Grace would probably be mad, but I didn’t have the strength or desire to fight Grandma on this. I wanted Mrs. Thomas to know. The more people who knew, the more people who would be keeping an eye out for Grace.

  I sat on the couch, wincing, as Grandma made the call. Turned out Mrs. Thomas already knew. Ariann
a’s dad had broken the news. Thank you, Mr. Sloan.

  When Grandma got off the phone, she came back to the couch, hugged me again, then took my car away for a week to punish me for driving the girls.

  “That’s totally fine,” I said, frustrated and desperate. “I can take the bus to my OTM. But, Grandma, please just let me have the car by myself to drive Mr. Thomas to AA. I promised I’d take him. Please don’t make me skip this. He needs to go to that meeting.”

  Grandma Alice looked at me, those eyes probing mine. Then, to my shock, she caved. “There and back. That’s it.”

  I took a deep breath. “There and back again. Thank you.”

  ****

  To my surprise, when I knocked on Mr. Thomas’s door that night, he came right out, climbed into the banana’s passenger seat without a word.

  I didn’t really want to talk to him, either.

  I drove down the street. The awkward silence seemed louder than my engine.

  “I actually didn’t think you’d come without a fight,” I said.

  “That’s my wife’s fault.”

  “I’ll have to thank her.”

  He shot me a nasty look, and I decided I preferred the awkward silence.

  We arrived at Cornerstone Christian. I parked out front and walked Mr. Thomas inside.

  “I’m sure I can find my way,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But since I’m driving you, I’m just going to sit in the back and play games on my phone. Saves me gas. I’m a poor teenager, you know. Don’t worry about me. I won’t bother anyone.”

  His glare said he didn’t like being babysat.

  According to the website, the meeting was in Martin Hall, but when we went in, some guy jumped up and said we weren’t allowed. Members only.

  “He’s a new member,” I said, pointing to Mr. Thomas.

  “He needs to be invited by one of us first,” the man said.

  “That’s dumb.” I mean, seriously. This was a church, and Mr. Thomas needed help. What was with the bouncer?

  “Spencer, hello.” Pastor Muren approached, slowly, like I might attack. “Can I help you?”

  “This is Mr. Thomas,” I said, nodding to Grace’s dad. “He needs the class. Desperately. Please?” I added. “It’s important.”

  “Tonight’s meeting is for members only,” Pastor Muren said. “We have open meetings once a month for the public.” He turned his attention to Mr. Thomas. “I’d be happy to talk with you privately about that.”

  “No thanks,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’ll come back some other time.”

  “Oh, no you won’t,” I said, fear shooting through me. I couldn’t let this fail. If Grace’s dad didn’t get help, and soon, she might really get hurt. Or have to move away. “You can start tonight by talking privately to Pastor Muren.”

  “I’m happy to talk if you are, sir,” the pastor said to Grace’s dad.

  Mr. Thomas’s face went slack, but he nodded.

  “Right this way,” Pastor Muren said, leading Mr. Thomas toward his office.

  “I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” I called after them.

  ****

  Waiting in the lobby was so boring.

  The AA meeting ended, and Mr. Thomas was still in Pastor Muren’s office. When he finally appeared again, he walked right out the front door like I wasn’t even sitting there. I chased after him. He was headed toward my car, so I stayed behind him and didn’t say anything. He got in. I got in. I started the car and headed for Grace’s place.

  At a red light, I risked a glace his way. That puffy eye was turning a gruesome shade of green. Arianna had been right to talk me down. I’d been stupid to beat up the guy. He could have pressed charges. An arrest for assault would not have improved my already-pathetic public image. In that regard, I got lucky in a big way. I just hoped the guy could get some help.

  “So, can you go back next week?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Cool.” Maybe everything would work out after all.

  “I didn’t think pastors had these kinds of problems,” Mr. Thomas said. “I thought they were perfect.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. “No one’s perfect,” said the guy who’d beat him senseless last night.

  “Yeah, but pastors are supposed to set an example. I didn’t expect he’d be a drunk too.”

  “Pastor Muren?” A drunk?

  “He said the church people knew.”

  “Oh. I don’t go to his church. Just the youth group.” But knowing this explained quite a bit about why Nick was . . . well, Nick.

  We rode in silence for a while, and I kept thinking over what he’d said. “I think Pastor Muren is setting an example,” I said. “He goes to the AA meetings, right?”

  “He usually leads them.”

  “See? So he’s helping people.”

  “Yeah, I guess nobody’s perfect.”

  Didn’t I just say that?

  I dropped him off and headed home, thinking that the night hadn’t gone too bad. Pastor Muren seemed to have made an impact on Mr. Thomas. Maybe things would be better now. God would do his thing.

  But I couldn’t help but wonder what had drove Nick’s dad to drink.

  REPORT NUMBER: 14

  REPORT TITLE: I See Fireworks and Join a Man Club

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, July 3, 1:13 p.m.

  Since I couldn’t become Grace’s chauffeur, I became her shadow, her bodyguard. I followed her whenever I could and texted her daily to make sure she was okay.

  Oddly enough, she never once called me a stalker.

  That was good, right?

  Kip tagged me on Facebook for an announcement about an AAU tournament coming up in a few weeks. The Adidas Super 64 in Vegas. I swear I puked a little when I read about it.

  I’d never managed to join an AAU team. Couldn’t now even if I wanted to. Amateur Athletic Union teams went to tournaments like the one in Vegas where guys like me—only, ones with two good knees—would play ball in front of an arena full of recruiting coaches.

  The lucky devils.

  I stewed for a good ten minutes over ways to get Kip back for being a jerk about rubbing my injury in my face, but ultimately decided to ignore him. I still pined over the fact that I wasn’t yet back on the court. It had been five and a half months since the surgery. Mario had switched me to strength training exercises, strictly focused on building up my muscles. It had been tough to move from simple squats and balancing exercises to lifting weights five days a week, but the new regimen would help me reach my goal all that much faster.

  I just had to stick to my plan, work my knee until it was better, then play my best all senior year. Sure, it would be too late for a lot of schools, but if I could at least get a walk-on offer to a D-I school, I’d take it. I really felt like that much was possible. Once I was on a college team, I’d work hard and prove my worth.

  I missed the first meeting of Gabe’s Brothers in Arms man club as I’d been taking Grace’s dad to AA. I’d told Gabe I had forgot, but when week two rolled around and I had the same scheduling conflict, I texted Gabe that I couldn’t come because I had a commitment.

  He called me. “What commitment, Spencer?”

  So, without using Grace’s name, I told him what.

  “Spencer, that’s great that you got your friend’s dad to go to AA. You think he’s going to stick with it?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. Sorry it’s on Tuesdays.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll move Brothers in Arms to Thursday nights instead. Will that work?”

  Uh… “Sure, I guess.”

  “Great,” Gabe said. “See you Thursday.”

  Which meant I still needed to buy that Francis guy’s book. I wondered if it came in ebook format.

  ****

  Wednesday was the Fourth of July. In Pilot Poi
nt each year, the city shot off fireworks on the top of the Verdugo Mountains. You could see them from pretty much any yard in town. There were a handful of parties I could go to—some of them even drug and alcohol free—but I wanted to be where Grace was. I hinted around to see what her plans were. I mean, if she was supposed to be spying on me, she’d have to spend time with me so she’d have something to put in her report.

  She didn’t respond to my hints, so I finally just texted her and asked if I could come watch the fireworks at her place. To my delight, she said yes.

  I packed a pillowcase with snacks, including ranch flavored Doritos, Grace’s favorite. In my pocket was my first attempt to flirt on paper.

  Now, I know she didn’t like me how I liked her. I know she’d just been spying on me all this time because Prière had put her up to it, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to impress her. That didn’t mean I had to give up. Right?

  I continually reminded myself that I was okay with just being friends.

  I parked by the curb across the street from her apartment so that my car was facing the mountain. I didn’t really want to go knock on her door, considering the stellar relationship I had going with her dad, so I texted her that I was parked out front.

  A full five minutes went by before she replied.

  be rite out

  This next wait gave me plenty of time to ponder why Grace couldn’t spell. Was it just a texting thing or did it reach into her school work too? What kind of grades did she get? They must have been decent or she wouldn’t have been able to cheer. Could it be auto-correct? Or was she using the speech-to-text feature?

  The door opened, and all thoughts of her spelling problems fluttered away. Grace exited the apartment. She was dressed in a red and white tank top and black sweats that were pushed partway up her calves. She was wearing pink bunny slippers on her feet, had draped her purple comforter around her shoulders like a massive scarf, and was hugging her One Direction pillow under her arm. Her other was still in a sling.