Trusting Him (11 page)

"She's in Florida. She calls, but we haven't seen each other."

Michael leaned against the back of the couch and Jimmy talked. It felt good to be the listener, the one giving support. When Jimmy finally ran out of words, he stood.

"We should get some sleep. Let me get a blanket and pillow. I'd let you use the spare bedroom, but I'm using it for an office. I don't even have a bed in there."

"I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"I'll be right back."

Michael walked to the window and looked out. The gray car, Vince's car, cruised past. They were following him. They probably suspected he was an informant. Weren't they smart?

"I did see Katherine tonight, twice." He turned. Jimmy had dropped blankets and a pillow on the couch. "You were right, she's at rock bottom. I wouldn't have suspected it before, and she even looked like she was functioning at the party tonight. But she's in pretty bad shape."

"You're going to try to help her?" Jimmy sat, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Don't let it drag you back…"

"I'm not going to do that."

"I'm just saying…"

"I can do it. I just don't want to give Vince a reason to come after the people I care about." He arranged the blanket and the pillows on the couch. "At this point, in the condition Katherine's in, I definitely don't trust her."

"People you care about?"

Jimmy would latch on to that. Michael shrugged, because he didn't have a real answer, at least not one he wanted to think about. He could have said something about his family, or the kids at church. Instead his mind took another route, thinking about Maggie.

He would see her at church the next morning and he would see her each day that they worked together. Keeping his distance from Maggie Simmons wasn't going to be an easy thing to accomplish.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Maggie poured water into the coffeemaker and turned to smile at her grandmother. "I can't believe I managed to get up before you."

"I stayed up late, working on your quilt." Grandma pulled orange juice out of the fridge and poured a glass. "You never told me where you were last night. Is everything okay?"

Maggie turned so that her grandmother couldn't see her face or read her expression.

"Maggie?"

"I went with Michael. His family threw a welcome home party for him, and he didn't want to go alone."

"That's very sweet of you, dear. And he's a nice boy. I just keep thinking back to all of those prayers for him over the last few years, and look what God did with those prayers."

"Yes, God has done a lot."

"Well, there are still a few doubting Thomases in the church. They'll see, though. Michael just has to keep moving forward, and he'll show them that he is a changed person."

"Yes, he's a changed man." She took the glass of orange juice her grandmother pushed across the counter to her.

"There are people blaming him for the prowler the other night."

Maggie made eye contact over the top of her glass. She took a sip and set it down. "He didn't have anything to do with that. We think we know who it was."

"One of the kids?"

"Maybe."

"Maggie, honey, please be careful. I don't like that you spend so much time over there alone."

"I know, Gran, but during the day there are a lot of visitors, or people needing help."

"I just don't like it."

Maggie kissed her grandmother's powdery-soft cheek. "I love you, Gran. I promise I'll be careful. Now sit down and let me make breakfast."

Sunshine streamed through the kitchen window. Maggie reached to pull the miniblind closed, leaving the room in shadows. Her grandmother flipped on the light before opening the fridge to pull out bacon and eggs.

"You sit down, and I'll cook."

"But I wanted to cook for you today." Maggie pulled out a chair to sit. After years of the same argument, she knew who would win.

"I want to spend my day without indigestion," Grandma informed her— the same old reason. "Sit down, dear, let me cook."

Maggie did as her grandmother ordered, accepting the fact that she really wasn't the best cook in the world. The Sunday paper was on the table. She opened it thinking she would read, but then she couldn't.

The shrill ringing of the telephone shattered the stillness of the room. Maggie slid out of her chair and hurried to answer it. "Hello."

"Maggie. Good, you're still there." Michael paused. "I wanted to catch you before you left for church."

"I'm still here."

Michael didn't speak again, not right away. That gave Maggie time to escape her grandmother's prying eyes and ears. She walked outside, the cordless phone held against her ear with her shoulder and a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Michael?"

"I wanted to check on you. You didn't call last night."

She set her coffee on the table so she could pull out a chair, dusting it off with her hand before she sat. Some might have called it stalling. She preferred to think of it as gathering her thoughts. She hadn't called him. Why?

"Maggie?"

"I'm here." She should have said something more than that, but couldn't. Michael had called to check on her. A slender thread tugged on her heart, telling her that he was different. He didn't need to be fixed, like her kids, and he wasn't going to use her.

But then, she had made mistakes in the past. As a child she had even believed her dad would ride in on a white horse to rescue her. When he didn't show up after her mother's death, she put that dream away.

"You're okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Last night. I shouldn't have done that. I put you in a bad position, and I don't want to do that. You're right to keep your distance, and I need to remember that I have issues of my own to work on."

"We're fine, Michael. I think we both know that we have priorities."

"Good, I wanted to make sure. I really appreciated you going with me."

She didn't have an answer, not right away.

Michael laughed. "You don't have to tell me you had a good time."

"It wasn't so bad."

The call ended with him telling her he'd see her at church. She walked back into the kitchen where she met her grandmother's questioning looks. Maggie poured herself another cup of coffee.

"Michael Carson?" Her grandmother pulled the Crock-Pot out of the cabinet as she asked the question.

"Yes."

"How is he doing?" Grandma turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a roast.

Maggie watched, wondering about the roast and the carrots that followed. Her grandmother only thawed out a roast for Sunday lunch if they were expecting company.

"Grandma, why are you making a roast?"

"Because I thought it would be nice if we invited that young man over for lunch."

"Gran, I love you, but please don't do this."

"I just thought it would be good to show him that he has friends, people who are supporting him and believing in him."

"And I'm trying to be one of those people. But I can do that without letting him take over every aspect of my life. He's in my office, working with my kids and going to my church. Isn't that enough?"

Maggie heard a barely audible
tsk-tsk
from her grandmother. She leaned against the counter, the warmth of the giant mug of coffee seeping into her hands as she lifted it to her lips.

"Maggie, honey, I don't think God ever said, 'Be merciful and compassionate only when and where it makes sense or feels safe.'"

It seemed as if it was a day without easy answers.

"Gran, I love you."

"I love you, too, honey." Her grandmother patted her cheek. "And I'm praying for you, because I know this isn't easy, letting Michael in and allowing him to be such a big part of your life. I know that you have memories…" Grandma looked away, but not before Maggie saw tears. "Memories of your mother. Don't forget, she was my daughter. It hurt me, too. But I think it would be good for us both to realize that sometimes people get help and they recover. Life isn't hopeless, not when God is involved."

Maggie thought back to a lifetime of unanswered prayers. She had prayed, wondering if God was real. And then she had prayed for her mom, and for her dad to come and rescue them. She had watched her mom slip further and further away, until the day she left for good.

Remembering, Maggie heard the whispered pleadings of a child, begging God to help her mom. Asking Him why it had to be the parent who loved her and not the father that hadn't married her mother.

"Maggie, honey?" Grandma's gentle voice broke into the haunting memories of the past, drawing her back to a sunlit kitchen and a new day.

"I'm sorry, Gran, I just got lost in thought." She looked down at the cup she still held between her palms. "Michael Carson is just a man who needs friends. Maybe a prayer has been answered. Maybe he has a praying grandmother and we're an answer to her prayers for her grandson. He needs people he can depend on right now."

"And he's blessed to have you."

Maggie wanted that to be a good thing. Michael needed friends. She could be that for him. It sounded so easy. But then, every time she bought something that promised to be "easy to assemble," it never was, not really.

M
ichael knew where to find Maggie. He went in the side door of the church, effectively avoiding crowds of people, many of whom seemed to have opinions about his life. It had been several weeks. He hoped that eventually the talk and the speculation would end. When people saw that he had truly changed and that he could be counted on, maybe then.

The classroom where she taught was empty.

"Looking for someone?"

He turned, smiling at the woman walking toward him with an insulated mug of coffee. He knew that she had just refilled it and that she would take it into church with her. He smiled, finding it amusing that he had learned her personal habits so quickly.

"I thought I'd walk in with you." He lifted his empty mug. "And I'm going armed with coffee. I hope you didn't empty the pot."

"I didn't." She turned back toward the kitchen and he followed her.

"Maggie, about last night."

"Hold out your cup." She lifted the glass carafe and he held out his mug. "Michael, we discussed it. Let's not ruminate over it."

"Ignoring this won't make it go away."

"So, what do you think we should do? Do you think you should leave?"

"Is that what you want?"

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head. "No, that isn't what I want. You're starting to grow on me. We can't get rid of you now."

He sighed, relieved to hear that. The words were on his lips, to promise that he wouldn't do it again, but he held back, not sure if he wanted to make that promise.

"Good, because I'd like to stick around. And I don't want there to be problems between us."

"That's good to know. And now we need to go. I hear 'Blessed Assurance' playing."

Echoes of mercy, whispers of love— Michael knew the words by heart. It had been his favorite song during the sermons at the prison. He had memorized the words, finding strength in the knowledge that he had received mercy and a new beginning.

"Join us for lunch, Michael." Her grandmother's request as they walked out of the church, even though expected, still took Maggie by surprise. She looked to Michael, half hoping he would turn the invitation down.

"I'd love to."

Of course he would. If it had to do with food, Michael was there. He glanced her way and she put on a quick smile.

He continued the conversation with her grandmother. Maggie smiled at people walking past them on the way to their cars, to their lunches. Michael and her grandmother were in deep conversation. He towered over her tiny grandmother. They looked like quite a pair. Gran in her cotton dress, Michael in black pants and black shirt, his dark hair brushing his collar.

He looked past her grandmother to where Maggie stood. His gaze captured hers with a questioning look and she felt her stomach curl in response. Expected or not, she resented that response.

"Do you mind me coming over for lunch?"

Mind, of course she wouldn't mind.

Michael in her home, seeing the need for repairs. Michael sitting next to her at the small table in the kitchen.

Michael, not Greg, she reminded herself.

"No, I don't mind."

She opened her purse and started to rummage for her keys. Michael stood next to her, his smile tipping the right side of his mouth. At least he knew not to comment.

Somewhere in there, maybe at the bottom, those keys were there. She knew they were in there. She didn't have pockets. She hadn't left her keys in the car. Or had she? She groaned at that thought, because she did clearly remember locking the car doors.

"God, why are you doing this to me?" She mumbled the words into the bottomless pit of her purse, still seeing no keys.

"What?" Michael leaned closer. "Is God in your purse?"

"Oh, be quiet." She considered dumping the purse and its contents on the ground for a more thorough search. That would be more embarrassing than having locked her keys in her car.

"You can't find your keys." Michael chuckled…big mistake.

"Oh, like you've never lost your keys." She shoved her hand into her purse and pushed aside six months' worth of shopping lists, two bank deposit forms and half a dozen gum wrappers. Eww, and something sticky. "I know my keys are somewhere."

"That's a given." Michael remained serious this time. "Could the somewhere be your ignition?"

"In my locked car?" She mimicked what she knew he wanted to say. Having lost control and now facing a definite bad mood, she didn't try to tone her words down. Humiliation did that to a person.

He touched her shoulder and then his hand slid down, resting on the small of her back. An innocent touch, comforting, supportive. She tensed and Michael withdrew his hand.

"Maggie?"

"You're probably right. I think they are in my car."

"That isn't what I meant."

She looked up, refusing to answer his unspoken question. He would ask what was wrong. She didn't want to answer.