Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 (38 page)

“I wish you were coming back.” It was true. Even though she could understand the Williamses’
decision, she felt as if high school had so much to offer Simon. She believed things
could get better, even though she had no idea how.

Simon shot a look toward the kitchen. “You and me both. Homeschool? Puh-lease.”

Heather didn’t know what to say. She’d expected Simon to want to stay home, not return
to the scene of his torment. “You want to come back?”

Simon waved his hands around the room. “Would you want to spend all day in here? With
them?”

The home was lovely, and his parents spared no effort on his behalf. How very like
a teenager to find such an environment intolerable. “What about Kikowitz?”

“He’s a jerk. I hate him.” Evidently Simon didn’t see what that had to do with it.
He held up his phone. “I got a text from Candace. She told me she felt bad about letting
it slip to Jason, that he’d sort of pulled it out of her when she hadn’t meant to
say anything. She said she’d understand if I didn’t want to help her with her algebra
anymore, but that she’d be really glad if I still could.” He shot Heather a knowing
glance. “She got another D. Really, it’s not that hard—the girls in my class seem
to get it okay.”

“Simon.” Heather tried to hide her astonishment. “Aren’t you upset by what’s happened?”

“Sure I am. It rots. Kikowitz is a jerk.” He leaned in. “And I gotta say, Max is kind
of a jerk, too. I mean, it’s nice that the guys tried to help me out and all, but
even I could have told him something like this was gonna happen. Aren’t adults supposed
to know better? My parents will never let me play hockey now.”

“Yes.” Heather could not help but laugh. “Adults are supposed to know better.” In
many ways Simon was already so much wiser than his years. “I’m glad to know you see
Max’s response wasn’t the right one.”

“It was kinda cool but sorta stupid. How many other freshmen have henchmen?”

Maybe Simon wasn’t as wise as she thought. “Henchmen?”

“That’s what Dad called them. Well—” the boy smirked “—Dad called them lots of things,
but he said they were no better than some villain’s henchmen, getting revenge on the
bad guy by being bad themselves.”

“Your father is right, but I think
henchmen
is going a bit far.”
That’s Max Jones,
she thought.
Always going a bit too far and luring others to do the same.

“I see it like this. When a mean kid trips and falls in the lunchroom, you know you
shouldn’t enjoy it, but you do. You know what I mean?”

“Simon, revenge is a really slippery business.” She thought of her father and how
the pursuit of justice had slid so easily into the craving for revenge. She’d found
and read some of Max’s earliest press statements from his accident, and she’d seen
the same dangerous hunger in his words. She thought Max had grown beyond it; she knew
her father had buried himself in it and now she wondered if her role here was to ensure
Simon never went there at all. She scooted her chair closer. “I know you go to church,
so I know you understand that God needs to play a part in how you handle all this.
Your response to all this has to come from who you are, not who Jason is. Or who Max
is. Or even who your parents are.”

Simon shrugged his shoulders. “Pastor Allen was here this morning—Mom and Dad called
him right after they called the police and school. He said pretty much the same thing.
About me, that is—he left out the part about Mom, Dad and Max.”

“Well, Simon, what do you want to do about all this?”

Simon slumped back against the chair cushions. “I want it all to go away. I just want
to go to chemistry and Ping-Pong Club and have it all go away.”

Heather slumped back against her own chair. “I hear you on that one.”

Simon raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re really ticked at him, aren’t you?”

“Who? Jason? You bet I am.”

“No, Max. I heard my mom telling my dad how you told her she could trust Max to be
a good influence and all. Sorta botched that one, didn’t he?”

Heather remembered thinking once that Simon might have a good deal to teach Max. “Yes,
he missed it by a mile.”

“He’s still figuring it out, I guess. He’s been in his chair, what, a year? I’ve been
in mine my whole life. We’ve gotta give him time.”

Heather smiled. “How old are you again, Simon?”

He grinned. “Sixteen in December.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, and he groaned and flinched like every other teenage
boy she’d ever known. “No, you’re not. You’re much, much older than that.” She stood
up, a silent prayer of thanks that God had made her path clear. “Do you really want
to come back to school?”

“Better than being cooped up at home, even with Kikowitz.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Twenty

“M
om?�� Heather gripped the phone tightly.

“Heather? It’s Thursday. Aren’t you in school?”

She sank into the couch. “I’m not going in today.”

“Honey? Are you all right?”

“No.” What was the point of hiding it? “I mean I’m fine—physically—but I need some
advice.”

Heather could hear her mother settle into her chair. “All right, then, what about?”

“Did you ever get to the point where you could forgive Dad for the way he behaved
after I got hurt? I mean, did it ever get better with him, or between you?”

She heard Mom suck in a breath. “That’s a big question. Maybe it would help if you
tell me why you’re asking.”

Heather spilled out the whole story. In between fits of crying and anger, she chronicled
the stormy progression from choosing Max as Simon’s mentor to the horrors of what
had been scrubbed from Simon’s sidewalk. “I’m hurt. Simon’s hurt. The fire department
is hurt. I think even Jason Kikowitz is hurt. Mom, this went from bad to amazing to
worse so fast I can’t figure out what to do.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’ve been tangled up in such a mess. It hardly seems fair.
You’ve had more than your share of this kind of thing already between Mike and your
dad. I had no idea things had gotten so...personal...between you and this Max fellow.”

Heather sank farther into the couch cushions, suddenly exhausted. “It sort of crept
up on me. How can someone be so wonderful and then so horrible?”

Her mother’s sigh held so much regret. “I asked that about your father so many times.
He loved you so much. He would do anything for you. But your accident seemed to bring
out something...I don’t know...raw and angry inside him. Something that became bigger
than him, something that swallowed up all the love inside him even though I think
it was born out of his love for you.” She paused before adding, “Yes, I forgave him,
but it was a long time before I could.”

Heather was hoping for something that would feel more like a solution. Instead, her
mother’s words made her feel as though she were living in a continual cycle of the
same problem. As if injury, disease and their aftermath would haunt her the rest of
her life.

“Why do you think Max did what he did? Did he tell you?”

“He thought he was standing up for Simon. Letting the bully kid know that there were
bigger, stronger bullies who would defend Simon. He said he thought it had to be done,
and he’d take the heat for it so that Simon wouldn’t be a target again. Only he’s
just made Simon a bigger target—and let all of us down in the bargain. How can he
claim to care about me and do something like this when he knew I was trusting him
with Simon?” She grabbed a tissue off the coffee table as the tears started up again.
“How, Mom?”

“He went about it all wrong, absolutely. But even I know that people lash out when
something precious to them is threatened. I’m not making excuses, but it may be that
Max wasn’t quite ready for how much he’d come to care about you and Simon.”

“He picked the worst way to show it.”

“Oh, I agree. But even your father’s vengeance began with his deep love for you. Your
father just kept on going down the sinkhole, getting darker and darker. Seems to me
Max will either wake up to what he’s done and try to set it right, or he’ll head down
a sinkhole of his own.”

“What do I do?” Her words sounded like a little girl’s whine.

“I don’t know that there’s much you
can
do right now. Try to be there for Simon—do what’s best for him. Pray. If Max is the
man you think he might be, he’ll own up to how he’s hurt you. Your heart will tell
you what to do then.”

“What if it tells me to walk away? Like I did to Mike?”

“You know why you left Mike. Don’t start doubting that decision just because it’s
come on you again. You are a survivor, Heather. You’ve healed from more than most
people your age. God would not want you with someone who will hurt you. I’m certain
what Max does next will tell you what you need to know. But I’ll still pray.” Her
mom’s voice took on the edge of tears now, too. “I’ve never stopped praying. I’m so
proud of you. You know that?”

“I do, Mom. Thanks.”

Heather set down the phone and echoed her Mom’s advice. “Okay, Max Jones. The ball’s
in your court.” She remembered the way Max had flung himself out of his chair to make
Simon feel better that afternoon they had played Ping-Pong, and her heart twisted.
Get through to him, Lord. He could be so wonderful.

* * *

“Will you tell him to give me a call or stop by the cabins?” Max handed the church
secretary a card, feeling naive for expecting Pastor Allen to be free and available
whenever a sorry soul came waltzing into church in need. God probably only worked
like that in the movies. Then again, when that steeple had appeared in his sights,
all lit in sunshine like a neon arrow pointing “Go here”...

A thought struck him. “Hey, what’s the name of that older lady from the knitting group,
the short one, kinda feisty? Her name starts with a
V,
I think...”

“Violet Sharpton?”

“Yes, her. Are you allowed to give me her phone number?”

“I won’t need to. She’s just down the hall in the church library. You can go talk
to her yourself.”

Max found himself not entirely ready to put this particular plan into action. Still,
he’d heard the knitting ladies talk about how shawls were best for times when words
wouldn’t do, and he knew he didn’t have the words to apologize to Heather. He’d hoped
that talking with the pastor would help him find the words...but maybe he could show
his remorse in another way. Max wheeled himself out of the office in the direction
the secretary had pointed, trying not to think that maybe Pastor Allen wasn’t available
just so Violet Sharpton could hear his outrageous request.
I’m not ready to be one of JJ’s “God appointments.”

When he turned into the library, Mrs. Sharpton was standing at a table stacked high
with children’s books.

“Hot Wheels! You’re the last person I expected to see today. How are you, Max?”

How to answer that? “I’m in a bit of hot water, Mrs. Sharpton, and I think I might
need your help.”

She whipped off her glasses and came around to his side of the table. “Well, now,
that’s a mighty intriguing answer. Let me sit down and you can tell me what’s up.”

At first he yearned to spill out the whole story, but he decided some of the details
weren’t quite public and perhaps it was time to show a little discretion for a change.
“I’ve done something that’s hurt Heather Browning, and I’d like to ask you to make
a special prayer shawl as my way of apologizing.”

The older woman folded her hands. “Oh, my. That sounds serious.”

“I suppose it is.” Max cast his eyes around the room, suddenly self-conscious. This
was a silly, mushy idea and he shouldn’t be here. And yet it also seemed like the
perfect gesture. “It’s...it’s not something I can easily fix. As a matter of fact,
it might not be something I can fix at all, which is why I think the shawl might be
a good idea.”

“Means that much to you, does she?”

The older woman was making grand assumptions, but her eyes were so amused he found
he couldn’t get angry. “Well, I don’t really know yet, Mrs. Sharpton.”

She waved his denial away with a
tsk.
“Call me Vi. And of course you know. You wouldn’t be here with your face so red if
you didn’t.” She gave him a “fess up” look that would have had him sinking guiltily
into a chair if he wasn’t already in one. “What did you do, son?”

He really didn’t want to go into it. Then again, if Gordon Falls worked the way everyone
said it did, everyone would know before the end of the day anyhow. He told her the
shortest version of recent events he could manage.

“Well, now, I don’t know what to say.” She planted her thin little hands on her hips.
“Half of me wants to clap you on the back for giving that hooligan a what for, and
the other half wants to knock you upside the head for showing such a poor example.
What ever made you think that was a smart idea?”

Before he realized it, Max had spilled the whole business about Mike Pembrose and
the speech Luke Sullivan had given him. He hadn’t even told most of that to JJ, so
he had no idea why it all came out to this little gray-haired spitfire of a woman
who somehow seemed kind and chastising at the same time. “I think we’re pretty much
a lost cause, Heather and I, and that’s for the best. Still, I feel like I have to
do something and not leave it like this.”

Vi sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “So, you’ve decided it’s
a lost cause, have you? Better to not give Heather a chance to let you down than to
risk taking it any further. That Luke Sullivan was right all along, you think.”

Well, when you put it that way...
Max shrugged, at a loss for an answer.

Violet Sharpton reached out and whacked him on the head. “Luke Sullivan is dead wrong,
young man! And where he is right now ought to prove it to you!”

“Ouch!” Max couldn’t quite believe the woman had such a left hook.

“I’m glad that hurt. You need to wake up. You’re not afraid she’ll leave you—you’re
afraid she
won’t!
” She addressed the ceiling—or God, Max wasn’t quite sure which. “What’s the matter
with young people today, wanting life all tied up in pretty bows with all the problems
solved?”

“I hardly think my life is all tied up in—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Hot Wheels. I’m just getting started. You got hurt bad—I get
that. Lots of men I know wouldn’t be able to pull themselves out of a hole like that,
much less with your admirable sense of panache. You’ve got a right to be angry—but
only for a while and not at the whole world. Heather Browning could be the best thing
that’s ever happened to you. Only I think you already know that. So step up to the
plate, son—or wheel up to it, in your case—and grab at a chance with her. You will
not regret it even if she does break your heart in the end because
you will have given it a shot.
” She grabbed his hand, shaking it with each word. “And that’s what matters.” Her
eyes teared up a bit, making Max wonder what in life had given her all that fire.

“I’ll bet Mr. Sharpton is an awesome guy.”

Her expression gave Max the answer. “He was, honey. He truly was.”

Had his parents ever loved each other like that? Fierce and full of life? He’d never
heard Mom talk about Dad that way. Alex and JJ had that maybe, but it was still so
new for them. At the end of it all, he wanted what Vi had had. Anything else wouldn’t
feel like enough. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She sniffed. “Don’t be sorry. Be telling me what color yarn to buy.”

“Do you think you could pull off pink with flamingos?”

Her smile sparkled, even with the tears still brimming in her eyes. “After your flamethrower,
I can do
anything.
”

Max rolled past the church office ten minutes later. “You can tell Pastor Allen he
doesn’t need to call me back.”

The secretary looked up, baffled. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. Violet Sharpton just took me to church.”