paralegal? Or the past, and how it had changed everything, including where he should be now?
One stupid mistake, trying meth, had led to another mistake—dealing methamphetamines when his dad had cut off his money. He leaned back, closing his eyes when he remembered back to those days. He’d been angry then, mad at his dad for taking away his money, and mad at his brother Noah for telling his parents why he had lost weight and why his grades were failing.
Now he needed to thank them. His dad for taking away his money. His brother for noticing the signs of addiction. He also needed to make amends with the people he had hurt.
Michael’s addiction had changed the course of his brother’s life, as well. Noah had been set to take the bar and would have been a lawyer for their father’s firm. Now he was an agent for the DEA.
Everything had changed.
A car rumbled down the road, coming closer. Michael walked back into the house. He reached the front door as his parents pulled up the drive. They had given him the night he needed to be on his own. He smiled as he glanced down at his watch. His mom was out of the car, carefully walking toward the trailer in high heels that weren’t suited for the rutted, overgrown lawn.
He stepped onto the porch to wait.
“Michael, oh, honey, your hair is too long.” She hurried up the stairs of the porch, her heels beating a rhythm on the wooden steps. She hugged him to her, holding him close. He held her tight.
“I love you, Mom.”
She held him back, gave him a long look and then hugged him again. “Look at him, George. He doesn’t look any worse for wear, does he?”
Michael made eye contact with his dad. Neither of them disagreed with Shelly Carson. They rarely did. And if she felt better thinking that he looked good, therefore he must be good, Michael was happy letting her believe it.
“He looks great, Shel. And it smells like coffee brewing. I could sure use a cup, since you dragged me out of bed before the sun came up.”
“We have a lot to do today. Michael needs to get his driver’s license. He’ll need his car, clothes and a checking account.”
Michael motioned his parents inside, as his mother continued to let them know what she had on her agenda for him. It would have been easy to tell her that he had other plans, things that he needed to do, but not today. He would give her this day.
He could handle it today, having his schedule planned for him. He had handled it for four years, but this time it felt different. This time it was being done by a person who loved him.
“I’d like for you to start work on Monday,” his dad said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Why in the world do you want to live in this place?”
The conversation had been overdue. Michael knew his parents would want answers. Being a lawyer was out of the question. As a felon he could work as a paralegal for his dad’s law office, but he would never be a lawyer. His job and his trust fund would pay the bills. Working at the church filled another need, one his parents wouldn’t understand.
“This place sort of suits me. It’s quiet out here, and this is a good starting place. I can be alone, spend time thinking about the future.” Michael glanced around the sunny yellow kitchen with the avocado-green appliances.
“You could do all of that in town, in a nice apartment,” his mother offered. He loved her optimism, her willingness to just sweep his past under a big rug.
His dad was more of a “this is just a bump in the road” sort of guy.
“I don’t want the noise of an apartment in the city, or the crowds. Maybe later.”
“Well, I do think you should call Katherine. Her mom said she was hurt that you never wrote. Michael, the two of you dated for three years. I think you owe her something.”
Michael’s mouth dropped and an explanation nearly escaped, one that couldn’t escape. His mother didn’t need to know, not yet. Katherine had been there during his meth years and she had been a part of that world. He hadn’t answered her letters and he didn’t plan on letting her in his life now.
His mom wouldn’t understand. She would never understand that—what it meant to be an addict. To stay clean, he needed to stay clear of temptation. The phone rang. Michael shot his parents an apologetic look as he went to answer it.
He hadn’t expected it so soon, but the caller identified himself as a probation officer. Michael would need to set up an appointment, and he would need to get in touch with his sponsor at Narcotics Anonymous.
Reality hit home as he wrote the addresses and numbers on a piece of paper. He had a lot to prove to a lot of people, and he had no intention of letting any of them down. If he let them down, he’d be letting himself down.
Thursday morning the door to Maggie’s office opened as she lifted a cookie to her mouth. She dropped it on the desk and brushed crumbs from her chin as Michael Carson walked in, hesitating just inside the door. He looked unsure, slightly wary and sweet. She hadn’t expected that the tough guy, with the perpetual five o’clock shadow and hazel eyes that challenged, had a sweet side.
“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
