Trust in Me (17 page)

Matt’s natural enthusiasm kicked in and his blue eyes glimmered with interest. It took him a minute to quell it. “I don’t remember any.”

“Are there some for dance?” Faith asked ingenuously.

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about that.” Joe smiled. “Tell me about your dance.”

“We’re getting ready for our recital now.”

“What’s its theme?”

“Broadway Musicals.” She studied him. “How do you know about recitals?”

“I went to every one of Mommy’s when she was in high school.”

“Mommy’s a beautiful dancer.”

“She was then, too. I remember one time when she was in
Swan Lake
she looked so pretty it almost made me cry.” Joe could still see her float across the stage, dressed in puffy white gossamer, her long hair in a knot at her neck. The fleeting image was tainted when he remembered what happened afterward. He hadn’t been happy about the male partner who had touched her. His throat seized up at the loathsome image.

“Daddy, you okay?”

“Sure.” He forced himself out of the past and struggled to keep the bad memories at bay. “Tell me what song you’re dancing to.”

“My class got three.” Her tone was proud. “Aunt Suzie picked her favorites for us.”

Faith told him all about her recital; she fawned over him as he ate the somewhat gooey cake she baked, and that Matt complained about. It didn’t take Joe long to realize he was going to have to talk to Matt about his behavior. He got the opportunity when Faith fell asleep on the couch while watching Disney’s
Sleeping Beauty
.

His son had gone to the dining room to do some homework, and Linc had trekked upstairs to see Annie. Joe heard noise—scraping and some pounding up there—and wondered what she was doing. Matt demanded his attention, though, and Joe left the couch and found his son with
Sports Illustrated
out over his math book. When he saw Joe, he promptly secreted the magazine away.

“Need any help here?” Joe asked, plopping down in a chair. Once he’d recovered, and gone back to school, he found that everything came easily to him.

“Nope.” Matt pretended interest in his schoolwork.

“Thought of any of those sports idioms?”

The kid swallowed hard and glanced at the magazine. “No.”

“Matt, I—”

“Do you mind? I got homework to do.”

Drawing in a heavy breath, Joe shook his head. “Yes, I do mind. Especially your attitude.”

Sulky blue eyes leveled on him. “I don’t care what you think.”

“Well, I care what you think. And I’m not going to give up on trying to forge a relationship with you.”

Matt said nothing, but Joe saw the need in his eyes. To believe. To make peace with his father. He’d seen it a hundred times in the kids he worked with.

And remembered vividly having felt it himself.

“However, I won’t allow you to hurt Faith because you’re mad at me.”

Little-boy innocence won out. “Hurt Faith?”

“You were nasty about the meal. You knew she was excited about it.”

“I wasn’t nasty.”

“Yes, son, you were. Because you’re mad at me.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Son.”

Joe hadn’t even realized what he’d said. But he’d go with it. “You are my son.”

“Yeah, some father you are.” He threw back the chair. “I don’t wanna be with you anymore.”

Joe snagged a handful of his sweatshirt and held him back. “I’m sorry to hear that, Matt. Because I want very badly to be with you. I’ll let you go now, but remember what I said about Faith. Don’t take your anger at me out on her.”

As soon as he released the shirt, Matt bolted away. Joe heard heavy footfalls on the steps, then a door slammed. .

Sighing, he mentally repeated his mantra.
Remember why you’re here. You can do this. You’ve changed.

His gaze fell on the
Sports Illustrated
under Matt’s book. Leaning over he slid it out and perused the cover. His spirits lifted when he saw it was an older edition, and in big black letters on the bottom of the cover, “Where did those sports terms come from?” He glanced after Matt. Maybe this wasn’t such a disaster with his son as he thought.

Chapter 9

LINC bolted awake, his body covered in sweat. He was breathing hard and didn’t know where he was. Immediately, he reached for Margo, but his hand landed on a hard surface. Sucking in air, his eyes began to focus. He was in his church apartment. On the couch. He was thirty-eight, instead of seventeen.

And Margo was not here.

Lying back on lumpy cushions, he glanced at his watch, the lighted dial telling him it was almost midnight. Now he remembered. He’d come back to his apartment from an emergency hospital visit and found a message from Margo. It said she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be able to talk tonight.

But he could tell by the tone of her voice, she didn’t want to talk to him. Pissed off at her distancing, he didn’t bother calling her back.

Not a good idea, son.
God’s voice came to him in the darkness.

No?

You know it isn’t. You can’t help her if you don’t talk to her.

 
Does she need my help?

What do you think?

Come on, God. Give me a break. Just answer the damn question.

God paused.
All right, call her.

And?

Don’t blow it. Be patient. Kind. Understanding.

Hey, that’s me to a tee,
he
thought, even though sometimes, with Margo, he reverted back to Jesse James
.

I liked Jesse, too, you know?

Oh, sure
, he told God as he picked up the cordless and dialed her number.

After four rings, he heard a slurred, “’Ello.”

“Aw, geez, I woke you.”

“Linc?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Listen, baby, go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Midnight. You’re a night owl, and you’re usually still up.”

“It’s fine. Actually, I dozed off on the couch reading some specs.” A rustle. A chuckle. “I was dreaming about you.” Her defenses must be really down from sleep for her to tell him that.

“Funny, I was dreaming about you, too.”

“Bet mine was better, Rev.”

“Yeah?” God, she could be a tease. “Don’t count on it.”

“It was X-rated.”

“Mine, too.”

“Shit.” She sighed. “This isn’t doing us any good.”

“Margo, can’t we—”

“No!” Her voice lost its husky teasing. “Why’d you call?”

“It’s Sunday night.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

He could lie. But he caught a glimpse at the cross she’d given him, illuminated from the outside streetlamp, and decided not to. “Yeah. I was hoping you’d be back by now.”

“Nothing’s wrong, is it? With you or Beth or Annie?” She drew in a breath. “That goddamned Murphy didn’t do something, did he?”

“Please, honey. Don’t take God’s name in vain.” Usually she didn’t, out of deference to him.

“I don’t believe in God, Linc.” Her tone told him she was exasperated.

“I know. And I can’t tell you how sad that makes me.”

A very long pause. Then, “Why would I, Linc?”

He stilled. She
never
wanted to talk about this. God was right in advising him to call her. “I know you suffered at the hands of the commune, in His name. But that wasn’t God working there. It was evil.”

“If He existed, He should have helped me.”

“I think we’re what we are today because of the troubles we had then.”

“I think He abandoned us then. I’ll never forgive him for that. I’ll never trust him.”

“God never abandoned any of us. He got us through it all.”

“You got me through it.”

“Then you owe me. Give God a chance.”

“No.”

“Think about it.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Either change the subject or I’m hanging up.”

Change the subject, boy.

“All right, how’s work?”

Her hesitation was just long enough to alert him. “Good. We’re going hot and heavy on the new products.”

“And Pretty Boy? Is he still going hot and heavy for you?”

I told you to be kind and understanding, Linc.

“I’m sorry,” he said before she could answer. “I hope everything’s okay with him. I know you were upset about his hitting on you.”

“I think I overreacted, Linc.”

“What?”

“I overreacted. He misread the signals.”

Linc’s whole body froze. The only thing he could feel was the rapid tattoo of his heart. “You mean, you...” He couldn’t get the words out. “You…led him on?”

“No! Of course not. But we spend a lot of time together. And he’s a toucher, you know. I realized I let him be affectionate, maybe more than I should.”

A long pause on his end this time. Finally he asked, “Margo, what are you saying?”

“Nothing, this is coming out wrong.”

“Exactly what signals did you give him?”

“Don’t interrogate me.”

Calm down, Linc. This isn’t helping.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Really. Please, talk to me.”

“Linc, he and his wife are having problems.”

Oh great. “Margo, that’s the oldest line in the book.”

“No, really, he’s messed up because of it. We’re friends. He turned to me...it was no big deal.”

Use your degree in psychology, jerk. “You thought it was a big deal Friday night.”

“I was just upset about Ronny. And Tucker Quaid showed up. And seeing Joe again. Fuck it, Linc, that was emotional for all of us.”

“I know. But don’t fall for Philip’s lines, honey.”

“They aren’t lines.” Her voice had gone cold.

“The hell they aren’t.”

“Linc, you’re pushing. You can’t run my life anymore.”

“I don’t want to run it. I want to be part of it.” A big part. Bigger than she’d allow.

“You are. But we can’t depend on each other like we used to.”

“Why?”

“
You know why!” Now she was pissed.

Well, so was he. And just like in the old days, her temper spiked his own. “If you’d try to get over your hang-up about religion and put some trust in God, maybe we’d have a chance.”

“Hang-up? How dare you? Of all people, you should know...” She stopped abruptly. Then she said, “This conversation is over. Good night, Linc.” And the phone went dead.

He stared at the receiver, feeling like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster. Disoriented. Displaced. How the hell had the conversation taken that turn?

You weren’t kind and understanding, son.

No kidding.

You blew it.

Should I call her back?

No, you’ll just make it worse. Go to sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning.

It took all of Linc’s willpower to listen to God’s advice. Slowly, he got up and headed toward the bedroom.

o0o

AFTER hanging up, Margo rose from the couch and strode into her bedroom. As she undressed, she thought about the phone conversation with Linc. She couldn’t stand fighting with him. But he was so hardheaded sometimes, and she got so mad at him.

For asking her to think about God.

For choosing God over her.

Ah
, she thought as she slid into three-hundred-dollar silk pjs.
There’s the rub
.

She went through her nightly routine. Brush her teeth. Clean her face. In the minor, she caught sight of her eyes. They were troubled. She dropped the soap in the sink. Damn it, she hated hurting Linc. It made her sick to her stomach. And attacking him tonight would hurt him in a way nobody else could. She knew she had power over him, knew she could inflict a kind of pain that would stay with him for a long time.

“You’re a bitch,” she told herself. “A first-class bitch. He’s the nicest man you know, and you jab him about religion, jab him about his life all the time.”

Finishing in the bathroom, she padded to the bed and slipped underneath the Ralph Lauren sheets. It was dark in her room. Dark like...

Usually, she short-circuited the images. But tonight she didn’t. Instead she let them come.

Because, if she was honest, she was tempted to think about God. Okay, so she’d think about Him. About what He’d let happen to her. In His name.

It was dark, then, like now.

Only she lay on dirt, instead of silk sheets, and she was cold, so cold, she was shivering...

And crying. “Mama, please, let me out of here.”

No answer.

Then she heard it. The scratching. Oh, no. She was in the basement of the commune. In a small room off to the side. It smelled like rank water and old potatoes. They kept food down here and it must have spoiled.

Something was after the food.

Rats.

“Mama, please!”

She didn’t know why she was yelling. They wouldn’t hear her. They’d left her here forever. She wasn’t sure how long, because there was no light. But it had to be more than a day. She was starving, and cold.

“Mama...”

Maybe she should just pray. Get it over with. If she did what they said, if she gave in, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could bide her time until Linc got her out of this godforsaken town.

God. Where was He?

More scratching, then something scurried past her. She screamed. Her whole body shook. Okay, she’d try it. The words fell clumsily from her mouth. “God, please, if you’re there. Please, help me, I can’t stand this. I’m so scared.”

Nothing.

She waited.

Still nothing.

She tried three more times.

And nothing happened.

Except a rat ran across her foot making her yell out again. Except that she got sick to her stomach from the fear that it might bite her. Except that she had to wait hours and hours more until at last someone released her...

She shook herself out of the past; she was cold and hungry and shivering again. It always happened when the images came. She sat up and switched on a light. She was no longer that vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl.

Who had indeed prayed. To a God, who could have helped her but hadn’t.