Sweet Sanctuary (22 page)

He shook his head, scratching his whiskery chin. “Every day, been puttin' the kid in the truck, headin' out to make the deal”—Lydia cringed at the way he equated the sale of a child with a simple business deal—“but he kept lookin' at me with Eleanor's eyes. An' I kept thinkin' about Eleanor . . . what she'd want me to do.” Nic's voice softened, a tenderness creeping in. “An' I couldn't do it. Couldn't make the deal. So I brought him back here.” The tenderness disappeared as he straightened and blustered, “But I can't do nothin' to please him. So tomorrow, I'm gonna follow through.” Nic's swaying became more pronounced, and sweat beaded on his forehead and temples.

Micah's brow creased in concern. “Are you okay, Nic? You don't look so well.”

Nic snorted with humorless laughter. “I'll be okay. Just need some o' my . . . candy. Been waitin' for the boy to go to sleep before I took care o' myself.” Lydia clutched Nicky tighter as Nic stumbled to a decrepit table and reached into a rumpled paper bag. He turned with a small square packet in his hand. “I'll be fine an' dandy here in no time.” Micah followed and reached for the packet, but Nic pulled it back, his expression fierce. “Whadda ya think you're doin'?”

Micah shrugged. “Just curious. What kind of candy makes you feel better?”

Nic grinned and shook the packet in Micah's face. A small amount of white powder drifted downward. “This kind. An' I need it
now.
”

“Is that morphine?”

Nic drew back, his brows coming down in a sharp V. “You some kind of cop?”

Micah chuckled. “Nah. Not even close.”

Nic scowled at Micah for a moment, as if measuring him. Then he released another snort. “Yeah. It's morphine. Now get outta my way so I can take it. Already got the sweats an' shakes. I gotta get this in my gut.” Nic started to push past Micah, heading for the sink.

Micah took one step, blocking Nic's pathway. “No. You don't have to take it.”

Nic gawked at Micah, his jaw hanging slack. “Are you trying to be funny, mister? 'Course I gotta take it.” Nic grimaced, rubbing his withered shoulder. “You don't know the pain that comes when I don't take it. I got no other choice.”

Micah inched closer to Nic. “Listen, I'm a doctor, and—”

Nic swore. “Oh, just what I need. Another doctor. It was a doctor got me hooked on this stuff! Said, ‘Take it, Nic, it'll ease your pain.' So I done what he said, an' I been battlin' pain ever since!”

Micah nodded, his expression kind. “You've had a rough go, there's no denying it, but I can help you beat this addiction if you'll let me.”

Nic sank against the edge of the counter, the little packet pinched between his fingers. He stared at it with watery eyes, his face drooping. “What's the use? I ain't worth nothin'. Even my old man told me so—what good's a one-armed farmhand? Tried to prove him wrong, but I can't get beyond needin' this stuff to get through the weeks. All I do anymore is find ways to get it. It's no life, but it's all I got. . . .”

“It can be better, Nic.” Micah's voice grew more intense. “If you want it to be better, then we can make it so. We'll work together to help you beat this addiction.”

“The only way I'll ever beat it is to die.”

The words emerged on a strangled groan. Despite the man's deplorable behavior, sympathy rose in Lydia's chest. How awful to be held in such tight clutches. Nic was in prison—a prison of his own making. She struggled upright, carrying Nicky, and crossed to the men. Although everything within her desired to race out the door with Nicky and never come back, she knew they'd never be free of Nic unless they did what they could to help him beat his addiction.

Gathering up every bit of gumption she possessed, she spoke directly into Nic's drawn, whisker-dotted, hateful face. “Listen to me, Nic Pankin, you said you wanted to be Nicky's daddy. You chose not to sell him so you'd have the chance to be his daddy. But you know Eleanor wouldn't want Nicky's daddy to be addicted to that . . . that foul drug. So get yourself clean! Trust yourself to Micah. He's a fine doctor, and he can help you because he has a Higher Power on his side.”

“Higher power?” Nic's bleary gaze roved in Micah's direction, then swerved back. “You mean opium?”

“No, I mean God.”

Nic threw back his head and laughed, ending with a vicious cough that doubled him over. “God? Did you say God?”

Lydia held her chin high, refusing to be cowed by his ridicule. “Yes.
God.
Don't for one minute question His power. Micah and I prayed to find you, and we did—before you could do something stupid.” With a burst of bravado she snatched the packet out of Nic's hand. “God knows exactly where you are, and He knows what you need. He sent Micah here to help you. So stop being so disagreeable and let him help you.”

Nic stared at Lydia, and even Micah gazed at her in openmouthed surprise. She took a step backward, replaying her statements in her mind. Had she really demanded Nic accept
Micah's assistance? How many times in the past week had she wished ill on the despicable man? Yet in those minutes she realized that even more than she wanted him to suffer, she wanted him to live, to find freedom from the chains that had held him in bondage for so many years, and for him to find his way to God. How different his life would be—Nicky's life would be—if Nic changed.

Her body quivering in hopefulness, she repeated, “Let Micah help you.” She held her breath, waiting for Nic's response.

Nic's face was deathly white, the sweat causing his pale flesh to glisten as if he ran a high fever. His cheek twitched, and he brought up his trembling hand to press against the quivering muscle. His watery gaze darted from Lydia, to Micah, and then settled on Nicky. For a few brief seconds, Lydia glimpsed a tenderness in his eyes, and her heart expanded. Somewhere underneath this hard, unyielding man was a kind heart trying to break free. For Nicky's sake, Lydia prayed Nic's kind side would finally emerge.

“What do you say, Nic?” Micah took Nicky from Lydia's arms. He held the boy on one broad arm, angling Nicky toward his father. “Will you try, for Nicky?”

Nic locked eyes on Nicky, and it seemed he drew strength from the little boy's presence. After a long, tension-filled moment, he finally gave one brief nod of his head, his shaggy hair flopping. “I'll try.” He released a shuddering breath, his body slumping forward. “I'll try.”

Lydia reached for Nicky, and the little boy tumbled against her. She spoke quietly to Micah. “I'll take Nicky to the house, gather up some decent food and clean sheets, then—”

Nic lurched upright. “You ain't takin' him nowhere. I never said that.”

Lydia started to argue, but Micah's hand on her back stopped
her. “Nic, what you're going to face in the next few days is a battle. It won't be easy. You're a strong man—you can face it without crumbling. But Nicky is just a little boy. He shouldn't have to watch. Let Lydia's parents take care of him for a few days. As soon as you're better, you ask for him, and I promise I'll bring him.”

Nic pressed his lips together, his narrowed gaze pinned on Micah's face. Then he shuddered as if struck with a chill. Fresh sweat broke out across his forehead. “Okay. Okay, take him outta here.” He swung on Lydia. “But he promised!” He waved his hand at Micah. “You heard him. He promised to bring 'im back.”

“And Micah keeps his promises.” Her gaze collided with Micah's, and Micah's warm smile embraced her as tenderly as the gentlest hug.

Nic spun and propped his hand on the filthy counter. “Go now before I change my mind.”

With one last look at Micah, Lydia scurried out the door, carrying Nicky. Not until she put Nicky on the seat did she realize she still clutched Nic's packet of morphine. She wouldn't bring that vile substance into her vehicle. Tearing the packet open, she emptied the contents into a puddle of dirty water along the curb. She watched the powder dissolve in the murky water and then, satisfied it could bring harm to no one, she slid behind the steering wheel next to Nicky. She took his small hand. The sight of his pale, thin cheeks pained her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Nicky nodded, the familiar lock of hair falling across his forehead. He tugged at the corner of his mouth with a grimy finger. “I didn't like it there, Mama. Do I have to come back?”

There was a very good chance, unless a judge acted quickly on her motion to assume legal custody of Nicky, he would have to return to Nic's apartment. Emotion clogged her throat as she answered truthfully. “Yes, Nicky, but hopefully not for long.
Mama is trying to arrange it so you can live with Mama and Grammy and Poppy again. We'll have to pray real hard.”

Nicky nodded, his eyes solemn. “I prayed while I was with . . .
him.
I prayed you would come and get me.” A small smile crept up his cheek, one dimple appearing. “And you came.”

Lydia leaned forward to kiss the end of his nose. “Yes, I did. I prayed I'd find you, and I did. Jesus answered both of us.”

“Then I'm gonna pray that I can live with you forever and ever. And Jesus will answer.” Nicky's confidence increased Lydia's belief.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you home.” She started the engine, and as she pulled into the empty street, an unpleasant thought struck. They were counting on a morphine addict being seen as an unfit parent. If Nic was clean, would the judge side with him?

26

M
icah sat in one of the kitchen chairs and watched Nic pace the room, restless as a caged tiger. The tall man hadn't ceased his erratic movements since Lydia and Nicky's departure nearly three hours ago. “How many days has it been since you had a hit, Nic?”

Nic's foot swung out to kick at discarded clothing and trash in the way. He shrugged his good shoulder. “Not sure. Kinda lost track of time. No job to go to messes the days up in my mind. I know I've had a couple hits since I got the boy.”

Micah nodded. “Must've been hard to get when you had Nicky to take care of.”

Nic spun, his eyes narrowing. “Everything's harder when you got a kid around.” He resumed pacing, muttering almost to himself. “But there's somethin' about that kid . . . Couldn't go through on the deal . . .”

Micah sat quietly and allowed Nic to pace. He knew in time Nic wouldn't have the energy or the desire to be on his feet. Might as well allow him the luxury of storming around the room while he still could. He was encouraged by the fact that Nic was taken by Nicky. Especially since it sounded like Nicky'd
been weepy rather than friendly. Nic's inability to discard his son indicated an element of goodness buried deep in the man's soul. Micah sincerely hoped they'd be able to unearth that goodness when he was freed from his desire for morphine.

A light knock sounded on the door. Nic looked toward it but made no move in its direction, so Micah crossed the floor and opened it. Lydia stood in the hallway, her arms filled with several bundles. Micah took all but one and she followed him into the room. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she placed her bag on the grime-encrusted counter. Micah hid a smile. No doubt somewhere in these bundles were cleaning supplies that would soon be put to use.

“I brought everything I could think of that we might need for the next few days.” Lydia kept her voice low, speaking only to Micah as they untied bundles. She began unloading items and organizing them on the table. Micah was glad he had run a rag over the table earlier so they had one clean surface to use. She named the items as she unloaded. “Clean sheets. Food staples—I'll shop for fresh vegetables and meat each day since Nic doesn't have an icebox. Towels and washrags. Aspirin.” She turned and watched Nic in his frenetic pacing for a moment, then brought her gaze back to Micah. “Is he all right?”

Micah shrugged. “He's in the restless stage. It will be much worse than this before it gets better.”

Lydia shivered. “It makes me nervous, having him march around this way.”

Nic suddenly stormed to the table. His scowl swept across the items Lydia had brought, and he turned to her with a sneer curling his lip. “You think I'm some kind of charity case?”

“Not at all.” Lydia maintained a calm, even tone. “If Micah is going to stay here, he'll need these things to see him through the week. He's got to eat, and he'll need something on which to sleep.”

Nic scratched his chin. His scowl faded. “Okay. Okay. I gotcha.” He swiped his hand across his brow to remove the perspiration, then resumed his pacing. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he repeatedly rubbed the spot.

Lydia leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “How long until the morphine is out of his system?”

Micah dropped his voice, too. He didn't want Nic to know exactly what could happen over the next few days or the man might change his mind about getting clean. “At least a week, Lydia. I don't know when he last had some—he doesn't remember—but he knows he's had it twice since he took Nicky, so I'm guessing it hasn't been more than two days.”

“He actually took that stuff in Nicky's presence?” Lydia's face reflected her horror.

Micah nodded, his own heart twisting at what Nicky must have witnessed. “But whatever Nicky saw while Nic was on morphine would be better than watching Nic trying to clear his system. The suffering will be intense. The symptoms will reach their peak in two or three days and run at that level for another two or three days before lessening. Nic's got a rough row to hoe.”

Lydia glanced at him again, and her expression softened. She shook her head. “I've been so angry with him, but right now I feel sorry for him. He got started on this pathway quite by accident, and now he's trapped.”

“Well, we're going to untrap him,” Micah said. “I hope you brought my suitcase.”

Lydia nodded. “It's in the car, as well as cleaning supplies and some blankets to make a couple pallets on the floor.” She wrinkled her nose again. “But before I put my clean blankets on this floor, it's going to get a good scrubbing. Do you think you can convince Nic to pace in the corner long enough for me to clean everywhere else?”

“I'll see if I can get him to help me carry in the rest of the things from your car, then I'll try to keep him occupied while you scrub.” He balled his hands on his hips and frowned at her. “But you said a couple of pallets. We only need one. You're not spending the night.”

Lydia's eyebrows rose. “Oh?” Her challenging tone sent a clear message. He'd have his hands full trying to persuade her to leave. But he wouldn't argue with her now. He turned to Nic. “Hey, Nic, can you give me a hand?”

“A hand . . .” Nic released a snort. “That's all I got to offer.”

Micah was exhausted. He'd been with Nic for three days and knew the man must be worn out, as well, because he never slept for more than an hour at a time. Even when he did appear to be sleeping, he thrashed and groaned, keeping Micah from resting fully. Nic went from hot to cold, throwing off his covers and flailing, completely drenched in sweat. Then minutes later he'd wrap himself in the same covers and shiver as if he'd turned to ice. He complained of muscle cramps, and Micah rubbed his back or legs to help relieve the cramping. Even though he ate little, nausea frequently overtook him and he retched until Micah feared he'd turn his stomach inside out. Watching was awful. But experiencing it had to be worse.

He'd managed to convince Lydia to spend part of her day and all night at her own house by reminding her Nicky needed her. Even then she'd wavered, arguing that Micah would require assistance with Nic. But in the end she'd agreed, for which Micah was grateful—she wasn't constantly exposed to Nic's suffering. However, as Micah's mouth stretched into a wide yawn, he realized he might need her to spell him one night soon or he'd be useless to Nic.

He would give Nic credit for one thing—as often as he cried out in misery from the powerful effects of cleaning the morphine from his body, not once did he ask for the drug. The man shook and twitched and kicked his legs uncontrollably, but he gritted his teeth and didn't resort to begging.

In one of Nic's more lucid moments, Micah had asked what made him decide to try to end the habit. Nic looked at Micah with eyes so dilated the irises were nearly swallowed by his pupils and choked out two words—“My kid.” Micah squeezed Nic's healthy shoulder in understanding. Nicky had given Nic the motivation to come clean. And, Micah suspected, when all was said and done, the man would fight tooth and nail to keep the boy. He ached for Lydia's certain loss, yet he admired the man for his determination.

A gentle creak intruded. The door to the apartment opened slowly, signaling Lydia's return. She didn't knock anymore—the sudden noise aggravated Nic—so she just crept in as quietly as possible. Her brown eyes swept the room until she spotted Nic, bundled in his blanket, snoring in the corner, then found Micah at the table. She crossed to him. He admired the trim fit of her brown trousers and simple white blouse. Lydia looked stunning no matter what she wore.

He shook his head, clearing those thoughts, then turned his attention to the small cloth-covered basket in her hand.

“I brought your supper,” she whispered, seating herself across from him. “Are you hungry?” Her gaze turned sympathetic. “You look awful.”

Micah chuckled. “Thanks for your honesty.” He flipped back the cloth napkin to reveal thick sandwiches and shiny apples.

“Well, you do. You look as if you haven't had a wink of sleep.”

“I've had a few winks,” he said, succumbing to another yawn. “I'll be fine.”

Lydia shifted sideways in the chair and watched Nic for several silent seconds. He shivered in his sleep, his feet moving back and forth as if running a race. “What about him?”

“He'll be fine, too.” Micah offered a silent prayer of thanks and then bit into a sandwich. The roast beef tasted wonderful. He bobbed his head in Nic's direction. “I'm proud of him, Lydia. By now most men would be writhing in agony and begging me to give them something to put them out of their misery. But not Nic. He writhes, but he doesn't beg. I've never met an addict who has worked so hard to come clean.”

Lydia bit down on her lower lip. “And he's not doing it for himself, is he?”

Micah slowly shook his head, his appetite fleeing as tears pooled in Lydia's eyes.

“I thought about it the day I took Nicky home. If Nic is clean, he'll be able to hold a job, and he'll probably move into a better place, and then he'll be able to keep Nicky. A judge would let him keep Nicky.” She blinked rapidly, removing the glimmer of tears. “Yet I've been praying for him, that he'd be able to be clean. I can't wish otherwise. It's so hard, Micah.” Her voice turned hoarse with emotion.

Micah placed his hand over hers, wishing he could embrace her instead. “I know.”

She sighed. “Father thinks I'm crazy for helping him. He says Nic deserves whatever he gets for forcing Eleanor into hiding and misusing a drug all these years.” Lydia looked again at the slumbering form in the corner. “But I saw something in his eyes when he looked at Nicky. I truly believe, deep down, he wants things to be different, but he's caught.”

“Oh, he's definitely caught. But he's fighting for his freedom now. And I believe he's going to win.” Micah paused, then asked, “How's Nicky doing?”

A small smile teased the corner of Lydia's lips, her eyes taking on a glow. “Nicky is doing well. He's so happy to be back with us. I've never gotten so many hugs. At first I was afraid he would be angry with me for allowing Nic to take him, but he's forgiven all of us and is our little ray of sunshine, like he's always been.” She clouded for a moment. “He does ask each morning if this is the day he has to go back to ‘him'—he doesn't use Nic's name or the title ‘daddy.' I told him he'd probably have to return here for a while, but that I would try to make it so he could come back and live with me always. Every night, I tuck him in and listen to him pray, ‘Jesus, let me live with Mama forever and ever. Amen.'”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, obviously fighting tears. “Oh, Micah, what happens if Nic takes him permanently? What will happen to Nicky's faith? He's so young and so trusting. I can't bear to think of him being brokenhearted. . . .”

Micah got up, rubbed his achy hips, and went to his suitcase. He bent over stiffly and removed his Bible, then returned to the table. “Lydia, let me share something with you.” He flipped to Psalms, the sixty-first chapter. “I've been reading to Nic. It seems to calm him. Let me read you what I shared with him early this morning.” He put his finger underneath the words to focus his bleary vision and then read aloud, “‘Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.'”

He looked up, meeting Lydia's gaze. “No matter where we are, Lydia, God hears our cries. Our prayers are never so far away that God can't hear them and respond. Right now your heart is overwhelmed with worry. Nicky's heart will be overwhelmed with sorrow if he's forced to separate from you. But both of you can find your strength in the Rock of Christ Jesus.
He
is the
rock that is higher than you or I. When we stand on His strong foundation, we have the strength to face whatever comes along. Teach Nicky to stand firm in Jesus' strength, Lydia.”