he knew for sure. She wanted him out of her life. He couldn’t give her that. He had a few things to prove to himself. He could be trusted. He could stay clean.
Maybe it would be better if Maggie reserved some of her determined dislike for him until he had proven those things. He wasn’t really the kind of person she needed to rely on, not when he wasn’t even sure if he could be relied on.
A few miles from his house he changed his mind about going home. He had seen a motorcycle dealer a mile or so before his place. For a few days he had been thinking about buying one. He hit his turn signal and headed in that direction, the windows down, letting the breeze sweep through the car.
Flashing blue lights disrupted his plans. He glanced in his rearview mirror and groaned. A quick glance down at his speedometer and he realized he hadn’t been speeding. As a matter of fact, he was going under the speed limit.
He pulled to the side of the road, hit the hazard lights button and waited. He had his license, registration and insurance card ready. The officer approached, his hand on his gun, looking prepared for anything. Michael rolled down his window.
“Officer.”
“Mr. Carson.”
Michael waited, knowing he didn’t have a prayer if he got upset. He knew the drill and had been prepared for this. That didn’t lessen the sting. Fresh out of the pen, of course he would be watched. And any wrong move could land him in trouble.
“Could you step out of the car, please? Keep your hands up so I can see them.”
Michael pushed the door open and stepped out, hands up, palms out. He had been here before. The difference this time was that he hadn’t done anything wrong. And that did make him mad.
“Could you tell me what I’ve done?”
“Routine traffic check. You swerved a little back there.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Turn around, put your hands on the hood of the car.”
Michael obeyed, but his insides shook. Anger, some pretty self-righteous indignation and a healthy dose of humiliation were doing battle inside of him, and were ready to roll out in one overwhelming emotion.
He flicked his gaze to his right and watched as the officer did a cursory check through the windows of his car. Looking for drugs was Michael’s guess.
“You won’t find anything in there.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for that? Sorry, I’m not in the habit of trusting felons.” The officer came back. “We’re going to do a field sobriety test.”
“Fine.” Michael turned to face the man, who stood several inches shorter than he did. “I’ll do whatever you say. But I’m clean. I’ve been clean for four years.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
Michael laughed at that. “Oh, yes, I did. Do you think drugs don’t get through the doors of a prison?”
“Straight line, heel to toe.”
Michael walked the line.
The steady thumping sound wasn’t familiar. Maggie walked out the back door of the church, trying to figure out what she’d been hearing for the past thirty minutes. For a while she had ignored it, and then she’d thought that maybe Chance had stuck around after they’d finished planting flowers. Now it was starting to grate on her nerves, like the dripping of a leaking faucet.
The red sports car in the parking lot surprised her. Michael Carson. How long had he been here? And why hadn’t he come inside? She walked around the corner of the building and spotted him. He wasn’t alone. That surprised her more than his presence. Chance was with him.
They were playing racquetball off the retaining wall next to the church. Michael would hit, the muscles in his arms tightening and perspiration soaking the back of his shirt. Chance, not so sure of this sport, would come back, making a solid effort.
They were talking. Maggie couldn’t hear them, not from her vantage point. But they seemed to be having a real heart-to-heart. Not wanting to disturb them, she stayed near the building, happy to observe without getting involved. Even if a corner of her heart felt a little envy. Chance wasn’t always the most trusting kid. He didn’t take easily to people outside his social circle. And he wasn’t given to smiles like the one he wore at the moment.
Maybe Chance found it easier to trust than Maggie did. She would like to think so. It would be good if he could connect with a man, someone who could be a role model.
She wasn’t quite prepared to put Michael Carson into that position. Not yet. He needed to show them that he could be that person.
“Hey, look who came out to join us.” Chance waved his racquet. “I told him you were still here.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t smile. That had to be because of her earlier dismissal of his offer to help. She crossed the parking lot to where the two now stood, racquets held loosely at their sides. Michael held the ball, bouncing it lightly in his hand. His gaze came up, connected with hers, making her doubt that it had been a good idea to come out here.
Broad daylight and she didn’t feel safe. Not that she felt in danger. Not really.
Chance cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed. He shot a look at Michael and then back to her. A casual shrug and he handed the racquet he held to Michael.
“I need to go. I, uh, have homework.”
Maggie came out of her daze. “Don’t lie, Chance.”
“I should have homework,” he hedged.
“See you tomorrow.” Tomorrow was Sunday, and church. Chance hadn’t worked up to that, not yet. She didn’t pressure him, just casually asked from time to time.
“Maybe tomorrow.” He darted away, and she knew he wouldn’t be there.
Michael started to move away. Maggie couldn’t let him go, not yet. She had to apologize. He didn’t deserve to have her push him away. She could let him work with her without letting him into her life.
She really had to work on that trust issue. Or so Faith kept telling her. She had to trust herself to make the right choices, and trust the people in her life not to let her down.
“I have some cola in the fridge inside, or bottled water. Do you want one?”
He stopped, turning with eyes widened in surprise. He pointed to himself and smiled. “Are you talking to me?”
“I’m talking to you.”
He held up the racquets and the ball. “Do you play?”
“No, I don’t play.” Well, that came out totally wrong. She managed a tight smile. “Racquetball. I don’t play racquetball.”
“That’s what I thought we were talking about.” He laughed, the sound sort of carefree and delicious, better than coffee with cream.
