difficult. Her memories of a mother who could never seem to quit using drugs, followed by Maggie’s own years of rebellion, were the real problem. Choices she had made, wrong decisions—those things haunted her. A night that she couldn’t reclaim added to the heap. A dark road, a guy she had trusted, pushing her to go where she hadn’t wanted to go.
She walked away from the door, her heart racing as the memory continued to flash through her mind, an instant replay that had dulled with time but hadn’t faded.
Greg had taken what she hadn’t wanted to give. She had trusted him, even considered that they might have a future together. Their future ended that night, sending her life on a completely different path.
The door to the trailer rattled as it opened. Maggie jumped and turned, Faith’s red head peeked in. She smiled and held up the cooler.
“Relax, it’s just me.”
“I knew that.”
Faith carried the cooler into the kitchen. “Nice place.”
“He doesn’t have to live here.” Maggie took the bottle of water that her friend held out to her. “His parents have a home in River Oaks Estates. On the ninth hole of the golf course, I think.”
“Claws, my friend? That isn’t like you.” Faith opened her bottle of water. “Sit down with me.”
“I need to finish sweeping.”
Faith backed up to the counter and with a hop she was sitting, the bottle of water next to her. “Why clean it for him if you dislike him so much?”
Maggie shrugged. “Because I’m a nice person. And because I don’t dislike him. I don’t know him.”
“You’re too sweet, Mags. And you gotta admire that he would want to live here, and not with his parents.”
“Yes, that’s something to admire.”
“So—” Faith looked down at the bottle of water she had picked up “—so maybe he isn’t another rich guy who takes what he wants without thinking of the consequences. Isn’t that what you’re thinking? You think he’s using his money to get what he wants. He’s out of prison, has a second chance, and now he’s going to walk in here and make it all better by doing a good deed.”
Maggie looked out the window, concentrating on a sparrow that had landed on the railing of the deck. Was Faith right? Maggie sipped from her bottle of water, shrugging as she turned to face her friend.
“Thanks for that, now I really feel like a heel. Yes, maybe that is what I’ve been thinking. I haven’t even met the guy but already I’ve put him in the box with other people who have let me down. I’ll work through it.”
“Money or not, his life isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”
“Life rarely is a walk in the park.” Maggie smiled at her friend. “But I guess we both know that, right?”
Faith was a cancer survivor. Maggie had survived her father’s abandonment before her birth, her mother’s death and Greg. They had made a pact a long time ago to not dwell on darker days, but to move forward. But sometimes that was easier said than done. Sometimes life tossed in a few obstacles, just to keep them on their toes.
Maggie wanted to think that Michael Carson was a temporary obstacle. He would get settled, get back on his feet and move on.
“We’re both survivors, Maggie. Which is why, even though it hurts, you’re going to give Michael Carson a chance.”
“Yes, I’m going to give him a chance. Mercy, isn’t that a key ingredient to living our faith?”
“You got it, sweetie. We all need mercy, a little forgiveness and a second, sometimes a third, chance.”
Maggie smiled, the appropriate response. She had received enough mercy, and more than one second chance of her own. But Michael Carson, this faceless entity, in her life and in her ministry?
“Faith, I’m fine. You don’t have to babysit me. It’s been six years. I’m nearly twenty-seven, which makes me a grown-up. I’m not afraid to be here alone.”
“I know, but I want to be here for you.” Faith smiled, her eyes sparkling with humor.
Maggie got it then, and she felt like an idiot for not getting it sooner. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because your curiosity got the best of you. You just want to see him.”
Faith put a hand on her chest, her eyes widening in an overly sincere fashion. “Mags, I can’t believe you think that of me. Honey, I’m hurt.”
“And I’m right.”
“Okay, I admit that idle curiosity might have something to do with my being here. I’m a writer, you know, I do like to study people. And I do care about you.”
“The world is your…” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of the word. “Whatever.”
“Stage?” Faith supplied. “No, not really. I think that would make me an actress.” She hopped down from the counter. “Let’s get some fresh air. This place smells like pine cleaner and bug spray. And I think I just saw a mouse.”
“Yeah, I think he lives under the couch. Let me grab my purse and we can go.”
Faith’s hand on her arm stopped her. Maggie turned, catching the compassionate look in Faith’s green eyes.
“Maggie, remember, he’s not Greg, and he isn’t your dad.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not judging him, Faith. I know all about making mistakes.”
A car engine rumbled to a stop in the driveway. Maggie looked out the window, Faith nudging in right behind her. Pastor Banks got out of the car first. Michael Carson followed, exiting from the passenger side.
Maggie pushed aside the lecturing voice inside her mind, the one that told her she was behaving like a teenager. Faith whistled softly, obviously not getting the same mental lecture.
“You are in big, big trouble, Maggie Simmons.”
Maggie shrugged off the warning as Michael Carson reached into the back of the car and pulled out a battered duffel bag. He turned to stare at the trailer, his stance casual, but his shoulders looking tense beneath a snug, dusky-blue sweater, a white T-shirt showing at the neck. He didn’t pose a threat to her. He looked like other men she knew. His jeans were faded, his brown hair a little too long; he didn’t bother her at all.
He didn’t bother her until he walked through the door, taking up too much space in the narrow room, and slamming headlong into her resolve with hazel eyes that connected directly with hers.
She saw then that Michael Carson wasn’t at all what she had expected, or told herself he would be. He wasn’t a hardened criminal. He didn’t have cold eyes. He had eyes that challenged her to doubt him.
The two women standing in front of him didn’t move. Michael Carson suspected that if he jumped or yelled “boo,” they would probably scream and run. Were they expecting him to do something suspicious, criminal or thuglike? He hoped not.
He had been afraid of this reaction, and thought it would be more the norm than the exception. Being prepared didn’t make it easier to accept.
The smaller of the two women, a blonde with twilight-blue eyes and a complexion that reminded him of summer sunshine, wore a wary look. The redhead, she was more curious than wary. She smiled, managing to look a lot like someone who was up to something. His attention turned back to the blonde.
“Michael Carson, let me introduce you to Maggie Simmons, our youth worker.” Pastor Banks smiled and nodded toward the blonde. “And her incorrigible friend, Faith Lane.” The redhead.
Michael thought the introduction he had learned in his support group might be in order: My name is Michael Carson and I’m a recovering drug addict. Maggie