Trusting Him (3 page)

"I didn't expect you so soon."

He lifted a box of doughnuts and smiled. If he wanted friendship, that was a good first step.

"The receptionist told me where to find you." He took another step into the room. "I brought doughnuts."

"That sounds good."

He offered the gesture, placing the box in front of her on the desk. At close range she could see that his hair was still damp and curled against his collar. The smell of soap and aftershave lingered even after he moved away.

Maggie took a doughnut from the box.

"I wish I could offer you a good cup of coffee to go with them, but Pastor Banks beat me here this morning. His is barely drinkable."

And then more silence. What did she say after that? She motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He took the offer and sat.

"Have you enjoyed your first few days at home?" She grimaced as the words slipped out. Too bad there wasn't an etiquette book on right things to say in tough situations. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say."

His gaze connected with hers and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "I survived. And don't tiptoe around, trying to say the right things. I'm a big boy."

"Good, because I'm notorious for saying the wrong thing."

"I'd rather you be honest, Maggie. And if you have questions, I'll try to answer them."

"Honesty is always good."

"Fine, since we agree on that, I'd like to ask you a question." He dusted powdered sugar off his hands before looking up, his smile having disappeared. "Do you mind having an ex-con here? Do I frighten you?"

Mouthful of doughnut, and total shock— not a good combination.

Did she mind? Was she frightened? She stared at him, trying to find the right answer, an answer that would have told him too much. She had been frightened before. As a child, listening to her mother partying with friends, and on a cool night in September, the night Greg drove her to the lake. Here, in this room with Michael, no, she wasn't frightened.

His gaze remained unwavering, hazel-green pools in a face with defined features, but that hard edge that said he had lived through something difficult.

"I'm not afraid of you." Because of his eyes. The mirror of the soul. And his were kind, belying the hardness of his features. "There might be times when I mind that you're here, but that's because it took me by surprise that you would want to work here."

Another half smile. "That's definitely honest."

"You said…"

"I meant it. And thank you for the supplies you left behind. That first morning it was nice to wake up and find that you'd thought of the important stuff."

"The coffee was good?" Coffee, a subject she could deal with.

"Yes, and the toaster pastries." He looked away and she wondered what else had gone on in the last few days. "How did you guess?"

"About the pastries?" She shrugged and then smiled. "I didn't. Pastor Banks told me that you had mentioned missing Pop-Tarts. I thought it was a little strange, but hey, who am I to judge?"

"Yes, I guess it was a strange thing, but when you have four years to think about what you really miss, you can think of a lot. I've spent the last three days eating at every fast-food joint in town."

Too much, too soon. Maggie searched for a more neutral topic.

"How is your family?"

"We've had a good reunion. Mom even cooked."

"Sounds like a good homecoming."

His brows shot up at her comment and he half smiled. Okay, maybe not so great. Maybe he was just giving her the niceties, the details that would keep them on level footing as casual acquaintances. She was good with that.

"I can't undo what happened." He glanced toward the window as he made the statement that brought her front and center into his life. "My mom is always going to be afraid that I'll fall again. Dad is always going to think that life can go right back to the way it was."

"It might take time." She knew all about regret. She knew how it felt to live with choices she couldn't undo. Time would bring healing. Or so the saying went.

It was true, but she didn't think it would make him feel any better to hear those words now, not yet. He was a grown man and he'd figure it out on his own.

"This morning my mom called. She wanted to know where I'd be today and what I'd be doing. I'm almost twenty-eight years old and I'm still giving an account for every minute of my day."

"I'm sorry." Another platitude that wouldn't do him any good. The words had to mean something, or they were just words. Sorry. She thought it should be a verb, something a person put into action.

Her father had apologized to her mother twenty-seven years ago. He had followed the apology with the words that he didn't want to be a dad. He had other plans. Sorry.

Her mother had apologized for forgetting school programs, and not picking Maggie up after Girl Scouts. She had apologized the day before she took the overdose that claimed her life.

The police officer had apologized as she'd sat in the back seat of his car on her way to her grandmother's house. She had been fourteen and his apology hadn't really made sense.

Greg had apologized when he'd dropped her off at Faith's dorm the night he'd raped her. She could still see the accusations in his eyes and hear the callousness of his words.
I'm sorry, but this is all your fault. You let me think you wanted this.

Michael stood. "I'm going to get a cup of that coffee. Do you need one?"

"No, I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine. She was anything but. Her heart was tugging at her, telling her to be the one to give him a chance. He needed a friend, someone he could count on, and she could be that person.

Or could she?

"Michael, good to see you here." The booming voice stopped Michael as he walked down the hall, seeking the kitchen.

He turned to face the bear of a man responsible for his being here. Robert Banks had started a prison ministry and from that ministry Michael had found faith, both in God and in himself.

"Pastor Banks, good morning."

"Did you find Maggie?"

Maggie. Yes, he'd found her. And she was another person in his life whose trust he might never gain. It seemed like there were plenty of those people, and they were all waiting for him to prove himself.

Or were they waiting for him to fail? And he had failed before. In the year before he'd gone to prison he had tried, really tried, to get his life together. He hadn't wanted to end up like people that he knew, the ones who lost everything to addiction.

"Yes, I found her in her office."

"Good. She's the one in charge of youth, and in a month or so, when you're settled and feel like working, she'll be the person to show you the ropes. Until then, get to know her, and let her show you what this after-school program is all about. It's quite a ministry."

"I'm looking forward to working with her. Dad wants me at least four days a week. I can do the office work and legwork for him as a paralegal. But being here, well, you know how I feel about getting plugged in."

"That's the key, Michael, get plugged in. First to church, and then with the youth. You'll find that having people you can count on will make it easier when you face a struggle."

A few minutes later Michael returned to Maggie's closet size office. The cluttered room held a conglomeration of gray metal furniture that looked like hand-me-downs from a government office, or even the prison. He felt at home here.

Maggie stood at the window. He stepped quietly, not wanting to disturb her. When he scooted the chair across the tile floor, she jumped slightly and turned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You didn't."

She returned to her chair. The softness of her tone matched the soft look in her eyes. Her hands trembled. He wanted to tell her he understood.

He had a feeling he didn't understand. To give her space he got up, taking the place she'd vacated near the open window. No bars. He put his hand on the screen.

"You okay?" Her voice caught his attention and drew his gaze from the window to her face. His hand dropped to his side.

"Okay? Why?"

"You sighed."

"I'm fine. Sometimes I wonder how long it will take to get used to having my life back. I can eat when I want. I can take a shower when I please. It's more overwhelming than I had expected." He also hadn't planned on telling her all of that. Her soft look and the tenderness in her gaze— even if she looked unsure— that had been the lure, the reason for talking.

"You have your life back. That's a special gift."

"I do, but I don't have what I always planned to have at this stage of my life. I don't have the law degree, or a family of my own. I've never had a steady job."

He had never been in love. He couldn't share that with the timid blonde who stared up at him with a cup of coffee drawn to her lips and hesitation in her blue eyes.

"I think it will get better."

"I'm sure it will." He sat across from her, steadying himself when the gray folding chair started to buckle.

"Are you ready to get started, and to learn about our ministry?"

"I…Of course I am." What should he say now? Did she require an explanation for his reticence? Or would she understand?

"You can be a little more casual from now on. We don't normally dress up for this job."

He hadn't known, so he had worn slacks and a button-up shirt. It had seemed appropriate, even if it wasn't really comfortable.

His gaze settled on her pale blue T-shirt and capris. Her honey-blond hair was in a ponytail and a scarf was tied around her neck. Casual, but totally feminine. His throat felt a little dry. Probably from the day-old doughnuts.

"I wasn't sure about what to wear." He found himself suddenly unsure about quite a few things. "So, what do we do?"

She rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the desk. "We work with troubled teens from this neighborhood, and in the community. We mentor them, counsel them— generally step in for absentee parents. We provide after-school programs, summer activities— whatever it takes to keep them busy and off the streets. If they feel connected here, they're less likely to go out there looking for something to connect with."

"I think I can handle that."

"Do you have any questions or concerns?" She fingered one of the manila envelopes on her desk. Slowly her head came up, her gaze connecting with his.

"I can't think of any."

"Michael, you don't have to work here. This isn't required. You could go back to school, or get a job in Springfield." The words shot him down, making him wonder just how much she didn't want him around.

"I have a job. But I want to be here. I want to give back and make up for what I've done."

"You already have. You did your time. Working here isn't about a job or paying back. This is about having a call."

"I know that." Did she think that he didn't have a clue? "I'm here because I feel like God wants me here. I can help reach kids because of what I've been through."

"I didn't mean to sound like I don't want you here. Or like I'm judging you."

"Maggie, I never expected this to happen. It wasn't my goal when I was a kid…to end up addicted to drugs. But it did happen, and I am a different person now."

He brushed a hand through his hair, dismayed that he was the one shaking now.

"I'm sorry. You didn't ask for a lecture or an impromptu counseling session. It isn't really my place." She stood, looking for all the world like she didn't know what to do with him. Finally she continued. "But if you ever do need to talk, Pastor Banks is always available. And if you need a friend, I'm here."

"Thank you. And I don't mind your advice." But maybe he did. He wanted to be treated like he had something to offer this ministry, not like he needed to be ministered to.

"Okay then, it sounds as if we're on the same sheet of music. The kids come first. And we'll do this together, for them."

She paused, as if she meant to say more, but instead she shrugged and walked away. The empty cup in her hand suggested she might be on her way to the kitchen.

His gaze landed on the side of the gray-green desk. Kids had scratched their names in the rubber edging. Next to one name were the words "Jesus Saves." Another had carved, "I Hate My Life."

Funny how two kids in basically the same place could face life with such opposing points of view. He ran his finger over the torn edges of the words.
Jesus Saves…I Hate My Life
.

M
ichael went from work to his brother's that evening. He smiled when his older brother opened the door and motioned him into his apartment. Noah was the other oddity in the Carson family. Noah, who had a heart of gold and a career that made their mother cringe. His work for the DEA kept him out of touch, sometimes for months at a time. And sometimes even at home he didn't seem reachable.

Stepping into the small one-bedroom apartment brought another smile to Michael's face. If an apartment could reflect the personality of the person that lived there, Noah's apartment did.

The place was practically bare, with a fold-out couch, a recliner that tilted dangerously to the left and a small card table shoved into the corner of the kitchenette. Thrown into the opposite corner was a collection of tattered, falling-apart suitcases.

"Nice place." Michael wondered if Noah got the same lectures from their mother about living somewhere a little nicer.

"It suits my needs."

"You need a wife." Michael pushed aside a stack of newspapers and sat on the couch.

"That's the last thing I need. What I want is a new case, so I can get back on the road."

"I'm not sure what the romance is between you and your job. You're on the road for months at a time. You live in rundown apartments and eat out of tin cans." Michael had received that information from their mother and from reading between the lines of the letters Noah had sent.

"You know why I do this." Noah shoved his glasses into his pocket and brushed a hand through hair that hung nearly to his shoulders but was usually pulled back in a ponytail. "So what's going on?"