“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.
Chapter Three
Michael 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?”
Sometimes Noah was the greatest brother in the world. No, he was always the greatest. But sometimes “the job” took over. It bordered on obsession. Noah couldn’t see that maybe Michael just wanted to visit. No, he had to suspect that something was going on.
“Nothing’s going on. Life is great. I’m the family felon. My future career choices are limited. Oh, and I’m being followed.”
“So, when were you going to tell me about this?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Michael leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted life to be simple again. He wanted easy decisions. He wanted to be a kid, deciding which camp to attend or what party—no, not a party—what friends to hang out with.
“Okay, so who do you think it is?” Noah pulled out a chair from the card table and straddled it, his arms resting on the metal frame of the back.
“It’s Vince.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“Not yet, but he will. He isn’t going to forget a debt.”
“With your help we can bring him in. He stayed out of sight after you got busted. I think he left the state. Since he’s been back, he’s been smart about moving his operation and using a lot of different people. His operation is a lot bigger than the average meth lab in a garage or shed.”
“I know.” He searched for the right words. “What I don’t know is if I’m strong enough to fight him, or to go against him. I’ve been clean for four years. But I haven’t really been put to the test.”
“You have to believe in yourself. And you don’t have to fight him. If you get in with him, you can get names, check out who is hanging out with him, and anything else usable.”
Silence settled over the room. The dripping kitchen faucet beat out a steady rhythm in the stainless-steel sink and the tick-tock of the wind-up alarm clock grew louder with each passing second. Michael got up and walked into the kitchen. He searched the two drawers for tools to fix the sink. He found a hammer and considered smashing the clock. That would fix it.
“Michael, if this is too much, then don’t worry about it. They’ll get him.”
“I want to help, but I don’t want to get pulled back in. If I find out who he’s using, I will let you know.” Michael opened the fridge and pulled out a cola. “If I don’t get to the house for dinner, Mom will be calling you to go look for me.”
“I’ll call you in a few days. We’ll get together with the local P.D. and with your parole officer. You need to keep them all in the loop in case he does contact you. No reason to let them believe the wrong thing.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“It’ll all work out.” Noah’s parting words as Michael walked to the door.
Michael turned, sharing a long look with his brother. Did Noah really think that it would all work out? Michael wasn’t as sure. He definitely knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as saying the words.
“I know it will. I’ll be in touch.”
“Why do we need to plant flowers?” Chance, always the most questioning of Maggie’s teens, glanced over his shoulder to make eye contact with her. “I mean, really, Mrs. Ahrens never even comes outside. And I could be doing something else.”
It was Saturday, which was why Maggie had only managed to lasso one kid for the project. She had thought it was such a good idea to plant flowers for an elderly neighbor.
“She looks out her windows, Chance. It would be nice if she had something to look at.” Maggie glanced up and saw the curtain on the front window of the house move. “She’s watching right now.”
Chance looked up and waved. He flashed a brilliant smile, knowing his own charm. If he didn’t learn to control that, she’d have serious problems with him and the girls in the group. It was definitely time for another abstinence class.
“So, when is the druggie going to start being a part of the group?”
Maggie sat back on her heels and pulled off her gardening gloves. “Druggie?”
She couldn’t have heard him right.
“Yeah, the ex-con dealer.”
“Chance, you’re going to have to lose your attitude. I’m not sure why you’re here if everything we do is so absurd to you.”
He shrugged. “I come for the food?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sorry.”
“He isn’t a ‘druggie.’ He’s a guy who made a mistake.”
“Call it what you want.” Chance dug another small hole and carefully tipped a flower from the plastic cup that held it. “You know, I really do like planting flowers.”
“I won’t tell.”
Maggie’s attention was caught by the red sports car that pulled into the driveway. Michael. She sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be easy. Chance and Michael. Oil and water?
“Speak of the—”
She