Playing with Fire (16 page)

Ignoring him, she continues. “I know he's had a drug problem, and I'm afraid that has impaired his thinking even more than I realized. And since he appears to be incapable of taking responsibility for his actions or even making apologies to those he has hurt, I will take it upon myself to—”

“Why don't you just shut up?” shouts Zach.

Okay, now I'm getting scared. This is way over the line. Even for him.

Mom turns around in her seat and stares at him. “What?”

“Everyone just calm down,” says Steven. “Zach, that is no way to talk to your mother—”

Then Zach calls Steven a profane name, and I think my mother is about to jump over the seat and kill her son right here on the interstate. I am silently praying now, begging God for help. Any kind of intervention. Mom is so furious she's speechless. Steven seems to have given up.

“Zach,” I begin in a controlled but somewhat angry tone. “You are so wrong…about pretty much everything. We've all been fairly patient with you today considering
how you worried us, how you made us wait for you. And for you to act like this, well, it's just totally juvenile.”

He turns away from me, looking out the window.

“Well said, Samantha,” says Steven.

“Well said,” Zach imitates in a hostile tone but quietly enough that I'm the only one to hear.

I just shake my head. Sometimes I can't believe this guy really is my brother. It's like drugs have stolen his soul…addiction is holding his heart ransom. But even as I think this, I know that God is the Great Redeemer. He can deliver Zach from this. If only Zach was willing.

God, help my poor foolish brother. Help Zach to figure this out

T
hings do not improve once we get home. Mom

I and Zach get into one of the worst fights ever. Naturally, this results in Zach walking out. As he's leaving, Mom tells him not to come back. I cringe inwardly and retreat to my room. I hate this. I really hate this.

I hadn't really planned on going out tonight, but I promised Conrad I'd call him when I got home. So I do.

“How was the snow?” he asks cheerfully.

“Okay…”

“Okay? I heard they had six new inches.”

“Yeah. I guess it was pretty good.”

“You sound bummed, Samantha. Everything okay?”

And that's what unleashes everything. Suddenly I am sobbing. “I'm sorry. I can't really talk about this on the phone.”

“Can I come over?”

“It's not very pleasant here.” I can still hear Mom thrashing around downstairs. I think she's taking her anger out on the kitchen right now. I expect to hear the sounds of breaking glass at any moment.

“How about if I pick you up? We'll be late, but we can stilt make it to youth group.”

I don't feel like going to youth group tonight. But maybe that's when a person really needs it, so I agree.

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”. “Okay,” I say meekly. “Thanks.”

I attempt to do some quick damage control, but it's useless. Between the wind and sun on the slopes today and my crying jag just now, my face looks red and puffy and pathetic. My uncontrollable curls are safely contained in two braids, which I don't bother to remove.
Here's the test of a good boyfriend
, I think as I pull on a fresh top and study my ravaged image in the mirror.
Can he love this?
I put on some fresh lip gloss and grab my jacket, and just as I'm heading downstairs, the doorbell rings.

“That's Conrad,” I call out to Mom. “We're going to youth group.”

She mutters something, and I make a quick exit. Conrad immediately hugs me and, with his arm still around my shoulders, leads me to his car and opens the door. I'm surprised at how comforting it feels to be back in his old Gremlin, to feel like he's taking care of me. I lean into the seat and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asks as he drives toward the church. So I give him the shortened version of Zach being late, us being worried, him being in the bar, and the mean words and big fight that followed.

“That's too bad.” He pulls into the parking lot, but we remain in the car.

“I think it's all because of the addiction,” I say sadly. “Despite ninety days of rehab, I don't think Zach is over it yet.” Then I confess how I've been extremely worried about my brother. I don't tell Conrad about my dream,
but I do tell him that Zach hasn't been working his recovery program. “I actually fear for his safety,”

The drug world's a pretty scary place,” he says. “I can't imagine why anyone wants to go there intentionally.”

“It's insane.”

“Do you want to pray for him?” he offers.

“Yes! Thank you!”

To my weary relief, Conrad does most of the praying, and I do most of the agreeing. And I'm impressed with how well he seems to grasp this whole situation. And how tuned in he is to Zach's problem and how it impacts everyone around him. Finally he asks God to reach down and rescue Zach—from his addiction and from himself. He prays that God will do everything possible to bring Zach to his knees and back to God. Then we both say “Amen!”

“We're really late now,” I point out.

He nods. “I know.”

Just then my stomach makes a loud rumbling noise.

He turns and looks at me, then laughs. “Have you had anything to eat tonight?”

“Come to think of it, no.”

“Wanna go get a burger or something?”

I grin at him, thinking,
How much better can a boyfriend get?
“Sounds good to me.”

I try not to obsess over Zach as Conrad and I put away cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes. I figure the calories aren't going to hurt me much after a high-energy day of snowboarding.

“Feeling better?” he asks as we're walking back to his car.

I nod. “Thanks. You're good medicine.”

He leans over and kisses me before he opens the door. “You are too.”

“Were you feeling bad about something too?” I ask after he gets into the car. “I was so upset I never even thought to ask.”

He kind of shrugs, but the way he does this suggests something is bothering him also.

“What is it?”

“Well, I told you how Katie has been sick the last couple of weeks, and my parents were worried that she didn't seem to be getting better, right?”

“Yes.” I immediately remember the first time I met his adorable six-year-old sister—the little redheaded baton twirler. “Didn't your mom take her to the doctor last week?”

“Yeah. But they want to run some more tests.”

“More tests?”

“Something in her blood work didn't look right.”

I can tell by his voice that this really has him worried. “Do you think it could be a mistake?”

“That's what we're hoping. But the fact is, Katie isn't feeling too well.”

“I'm sorry. I hope it's nothing… I hope she's okay.”

He nods. “Yeah. Thanks. My parents are trying to act like it's all nothing and everything will be fine. But I can tell they're pretty worried.”

“I'll really be praying for her, Conrad.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to pray for her right now?”

He brightens. “Sure. That'd be great.”

So this time I take the lead, and Conrad does the agreeing. I really pray for God to intervene here. I ask Him
to show the doctors exactly what's wrong, with Katie. I ask Him to make her well again. And then I ask Him to give the Stiles family peace in the meantime. “Remind them to put their trust in You,” I finally say. “Remind all of us, dear heavenly Father. You love us so much, more than we can even imagine. Remind us that we can take all our cares and our worries straight to You. And You can handle them for us. Amen.”

“And amen.”

I'm not surprised Zach isn't home when I go into the house later. The truth is, I feel pretty certain he won't be coming home at all tonight. And while this seriously worries me, there's nothing I can do about it besides pray and trust God. I suspect we've just gone back to the old ways where he'll stay out late or disappear for days at a time, and there will be fights. Lots of fights between Zach and Mom.

I am relieved that Mom isn't thrashing around and slamming things anymore. I can see the light under her bedroom door, and I imagine she's reading in bed. I think about knocking on her door and saying something to her, but I hate to disturb her peace. I figure she can hear me. If she wants to talk, she'll come out.

I try to imagine what it would feel like to be her. I know it's not easy, but she makes it a whole lot harder by shutting God out of her life. I don't understand why or how she thinks she can do this alone. Sometimes I wonder if this whole deal with Zach isn't God's way of breaking her, to bring her back to Him. But then I realize that Zach makes his own decisions. And it's really not God's fault that he chooses to do drugs. That's ridiculous. Still,
I believe all things really do work for good when we love God and live for Him. So I'm trying to believe that even Zach's horrible drug problem could be the thing that brings good back into my mom's life. That's what I'm praying for anyway.

I add little Katie to my prayer list. I can't believe how long this list is getting, but then people just keep having problems. Someone's got to be praying. I get ready for bed, read my Bible verses, and then begin to pray. I drift to sleep after only a couple of names, but I know God understands. And He never sleeps.

I check Zach's room in the morning. It's messy, and his bed's not made, but I can tell he hasn't been home, because if he had, he would be asleep right now. But my mom is up. She sits at the breakfast bar, silently sipping coffee as I pour myself a bowl of cereal.

“Going to church?”

“Yes,” I tell her. Then as I often do, I invite her to come with me.

She sort of smiles. “Poor Samantha, you live in such a house of sinners.”

“Everyone is a sinner, Mom.”

She waves her hand. “Oh, I know. But your mom and your brother…well, we're not like you, are we?”

I'm not sure where she's going with this, but I know I'd better watch out. I have a feeling she's still in a bad frame of mind after last night. I just shrug as I take a bite of my Cheerios.

‘You're like your dad, Samantha. Just plain good at heart.”

“Like I said,” I say with cereal still in my mouth, “we're all sinners.”

“Yes, yes, I've heard that all before. But some of us just seem to be better at sinning than others.”

I try not to roll my eyes as I dig my spoon in again. “Whatever.”

“Do you ever wonder what your dad would think if he could see us now?”

I glance over at Mom and get sort of worried. Is she okay? I've never really heard her go on like this before. “Actually,” I say slowly, “I like to think Dad can see us. I mean, sometimes. Not always. That would be creepy.”

“Seems like it would make him sad to see us…”

“You mean because we're such a mess?”

“Well, not you, Samantha. You seem to have your head on right.”

“I make mistakes too, Mom.”

“Anyway, I think it would make your dad very sad to see howZach is doing…and me too. I'm sure he'd be disappointed that I'm not going to church anymore.”

I consider this. “You know what I think?”

Her brows arch in interest. “What?”

“I think people in heaven see everything totally differently”

“What do you mean?”

“It's just a feeling, okay, but I think they see things more like how God does. I think they understand that some things, like Zach's problems, are just temporary. Like maybe Dad knows Zach is struggling right now, but he also knows that Zach will eventually beat this and return to God and live a good, productive life.”

“You really believe that?”

I nod. “I'm trying to. I guess that's why they call it faith.
I mean, it doesn't look like that's going to happen, but it's what I'm praying for. And I'm sure it's what Dad is praying for. Or, like I said, maybe Dad sees it happening already. He's probably not the least bit worried.”

She frowns. “And what do you think your dad sees when he looks at me? That is, if this is even possible, and I'm not really convinced it is. I'm just playing along.”

“It's similar to Zach. Dad knows you've had some pretty hard struggles. And of course, he understands why. But I think he can see you beyond those things. I think he knows that you'll give your heart back to God and live a truly happy life again.”

She sort of smiles. “You really do have some incredible faith, Samantha.”

“Even faith is a gift from God, Mom. We can't really muster it up on our own.”

“But you have to be willing, right?”

“Right.”

“I guess you should start praying that I'll be willing,” she says sadly. “Because the truth of the matter is, I'm not. Not yet anyway. I'm still mad at God. I'm mad at Him for taking your dad…and I'm mad at Him about Zach.”

“So you blame Him for those things?”

“Well, everyone says that God controls everything, right?”

I stare at her, trying to understand why she thinks the things she does. Then I carefully answer. “God doesn't control us, Mom. We have our own free will. God didn't control the criminal who shot Dad any more than He controls Zach and the stupid choices he makes. Don't you know that?”