The Forgiving Hour (11 page)

She should have been afraid. She should have been terrified of being on her own. She knew almost nothing about their financial condition. She had only a part-time job and no education beyond high school. How were she and Mike going to get along?

At one point she’d wondered if he was taking that girl with him.
That girl.
His mistress. Claire didn’t even know her name.

She should have felt
something.
If not fear, then rage or sorrow or self-pity. Something.
Anything!

Dave jerked a tarp over his belongings in the truck bed and tied it down with bungee cords. When he was satisfied that all was secure, he strode up the walk toward Claire. “Where’s Mikey?”

“He went over to John’s.”

“If he thinks I’m chasing after him to tell him good-bye, he’s mistaken.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think he wanted to say good-bye.”

“He’s probably run off to cry on his friend’s shoulder. The boy’s weak, Claire. You’ve got him tied to your apron strings.” He pointed at her. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have any more kids for you to ruin.”

She couldn’t feel anger or hurt over that comment. She’d stopped feeling anything in recent weeks. Intuition told her that pain would return, along with a host of other unwelcome emotions, but for now she felt nothing.

She watched Dave leave as if this were happening to someone else.

And perhaps that was true.

For Claire Porter would never be the same again.

PART 2

Bitterness

For I see that you are full of bitterness and captive to sin.
Acts 8:23, NIV

ELEVEN

O
CTOBER
— T
HREE
Y
EARS
L
ATER

Claire parked her car in a visitor’s space in front of the school. She made no move to get out of the car, needing a moment of stillness first.

Dakota was in trouble again. It was only October, and this was the third time some sort of infraction had caused the school’s secretary to call her. This time the principal, Martin Hathaway, had asked to see her in person.

Following a resigned sigh, she opened the door of the faded blue Mazda and got out, then stood staring at the main entrance of the high school. It hadn’t changed much since she had been a student. Temporary classrooms dotted the lawn behind the science and math building, and a new roof had been added to the gymnasium. But overall, it looked the same as it had in the seventies.

It seemed only yesterday that she’d walked those hallways, clutching textbooks to her chest, giggling with her girlfriends, waiting for another breathless moment alone with Dave, feeling all the anxiety of a fifteen-year-old girl in love.

A familiar spark of anger ignited at the memory. This was her ex-husband’s fault. Silently cursing his name, she slammed the car door closed and headed for the school’s administrative offices.

A few minutes later, when she entered the reception area off the main lobby, she saw her son sitting on a corner chair. His head was tipped toward his chest, his eyes downcast, staring at some spot on the floor. His long legs, holes in the knees of his Levi’s, were stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. Studied nonchalance. Practiced indifference. That was the impression he was trying to give, and Claire knew it. She also knew he didn’t feel as blasé as he looked.

“May I help you?” the woman on the opposite side of a long counter asked.

“I’m Claire Conway. I’m here to see Mr. Hathaway.”

Dakota straightened, his gaze meeting hers. Regret flashed across his face, replaced quickly by a look of defiance. He got up but didn’t say anything.

Her only child was six feet tall and still growing. His eyes were a piercing shade of light blue, his blond hair the pale white-yellow color of straw. Claire was glad he didn’t physically resemble his father — she didn’t need a constant reminder of the man who’d broken her heart — but Dakota did have the same sort of magnetism for members of the opposite sex. Too handsome for his own good, Claire often thought, judging by the number of girls who called him in the evenings and on weekends.

The secretary buzzed the principal. “Mr. Hathaway? Ms. Conway is here to see you.”

A few moments later, the nearby door opened, and a smallish, middle-aged man appeared. His salt-and-pepper hair was thinning on top, and his scalp glowed in the sunlight that streamed through a window to his left.

“I’m Mr. Hathaway.” He motioned toward his office. “Won’t you come in?”

She glanced at Dakota. Her son’s expression remained wary and unrepentant.

Hathaway answered her unspoken question. “We’ll have your son join us in a bit. I’d like to talk to you privately, if I may.”

“Of course.”

He stepped aside and allowed her room to enter. “Please have a seat,” he said after closing the door. Then he strode to his chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Did Miss Prescott explain the nature of the problem when she called you?”

“Not really.”

The principal flipped open a file folder in front of him and studied the paper on top. “Dakota is apparently quite bright, but our concern isn’t about his grades. It’s his attitude. An attitude that seems to extend toward any person with authority. He has a boulder-size chip on his shoulder and is daring one and all to knock it off.”

Claire nodded. The principal’s assessment wasn’t news to her. She’d watched Dakota’s attitude evolving over the past three years, her sweet-natured son turning into this belligerent teen. What she didn’t know was how much of it was because of his age, how much had to do with his father’s desertion, and how much was her fault.

“Ms. Conway, have you considered getting counseling for Dakota?”

She hated discussing her private affairs with this man or anyone else. But if it would help her son …

“We both saw a counselor three years ago.” She lowered her gaze. “That was right after his father and I got divorced. But I couldn’t afford to continue the sessions. We hadn’t any insurance coverage, and I couldn’t pay without it.”

“I see.”

Yes, he probably
did
see. He probably saw plenty of such situations nowadays. This high school had to be filled with kids from single-parent homes. But did most dads just disappear, cut off all contact, and seem to forget they’d ever fathered a child? That’s what Dave had done.

Claire thought back to the summer of her divorce. She’d taken back her maiden name as a small act of defiance and hadn’t been particularly surprised when her son said he wanted to change his name too. He didn’t want to be Mike Porter, he’d said. It reminded him of his dad calling him “Mikey.”

So, with his mother’s help, Michael Dakota Porter had petitioned the courts to legally become Dakota Conway. Claire had expected Dave to object. She’d secretly hoped it might bring him to his senses. But he hadn’t cared. He’d signed the necessary forms without missing a beat, allowing all traces of familial ties to be erased by the stroke of a judge’s pen.

There’d been no contact from him since. She didn’t even know where he was living. The last time she’d tried to write to him at his Portland address, her mail had been returned as undeliverable.

“Ms. Conway?” The principal’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

She looked up, straight into Mr. Hathaway’s compassionate gaze. “He’s not a bad boy.”

“No, I don’t think he is,” he replied softly. “But he’s heading for real trouble if something doesn’t change. I’d like to find a way to turn things around before it’s too late.”

“Please, tell me exactly what happened this morning.”

Dakota stared at the closed door, wondering what Hathaway was saying to his mom. He’d felt ashamed when she walked into the office, ashamed because he was the cause of her having to leave work, ashamed because when he faced her again, he knew she would look at him with those sad, confused eyes of hers. She would blame herself; she always did. But he knew she wasn’t to blame. He was. Of course, he didn’t mean to disappoint her like this, any more than he’d meant to mouth off to his U.S. history teacher.

Still, he wouldn’t have done things any differently this morning. Mrs. Foster had been riding Sally Thompson extra hard, harder than usual, picking on the girl when it was obvious Sally couldn’t answer the questions. The teacher had intentionally embarrassed his classmate, and everybody knew what the old hag was doing. Sally was nearly blind without her bottle-thick eyeglasses, the ones she’d lost last week.

About the fourth time Mrs. Foster called on Sally, Dakota had just plain had enough. So he’d told Mrs. Foster what she could do with the Bill of Rights, in graphic terms.

That was when he’d been sent to the principal’s office.

Dakota shifted on the hard wooden seat of the chair. What was taking them so long in there?

“Hey, man. What’s going on?”

He turned toward the main door. “Hey, John.” He shrugged. “I’m waitin’ to see Hathaway.”

John Kreizenbeck entered the room and came over to sit beside him. “Kids are sayin’ you really told old Mrs. Foster off.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom in there?” John jerked his head toward the principal’s office.

He nodded.

His friend let out a low whistle. “Foster probably had it coming, but I think you’d better get control of that temper of yours before you land in
real
trouble.”

“You think?” The two words were laced with sarcasm. The last thing Dakota needed was a lecture from his best friend, even if John was right.

John obviously wasn’t offended by the remark. He grinned, slouching in the chair, at ease as usual. “Yeah, I think.” He glanced out the window, watching students as they headed for their next class. “The youth group at church is going bowling tonight. Care to join us?”

“I got a feeling I won’t be going anywhere for quite a while. By the time Mom’s finished in there with Mr. Hathaway, I’ll be lucky if I get to leave the house again before I’m thirty.”

“Bet you’re right.” His friend chuckled. “Well, just thought you should know we all miss you and wish you’d start coming again. We’ve got us a great new youth pastor. Things’re really happening.”

Dakota grunted his response.

It was a long time since he’d done anything with the Kreizenbeck family. After his mom had been forced to sell the house, they’d moved away from the old neighborhood, and with Dakota’s whole world turned upside down, he’d become an expert at avoiding people — especially a family that was as happy and whole as the Kreizenbecks. He couldn’t bear to see others who were content. Not when he had to watch his mom struggling to hold things together, scraping to pay the rent and put food on the table. Things were tough, thanks to Porter’s skipping town and saddling his mom with all the unpaid debts.

Porter.
He muttered a curse beneath his breath, and his mouth thinned into a hard line.

He never thought of Dave Porter as a dad. As far as Dakota was concerned, he didn’t have one.
He
was the man of the family now. It was up to him to take care of things for the two of them, up to him to make sure his mom was okay.

And you’re doing a great job of that, aren’t you?

His face grew hot with shame. His mom shouldn’t have to be in there with Hathaway. Why’d he have to mess up all the time, giving her all this grief?

John leaned toward him. “There’s somebody that can help you, man.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Dakota gave his friend a hard look. Bitter words rose in his throat but wouldn’t come out. Through the haze of time, he remembered the peace he used to feel, sitting in church with the Kreizenbecks. He’d liked listening to the pastor, liked hearing the choir sing. Back then, he’d believed everything was going to be okay. Really okay.

John seemed to understand. “Nobody said life was gonna be easy. God never said things would always go our way. He just said you wouldn’t have to go through it alone.” He punched Dakota in the arm. “You think about it.” He lifted a hand in farewell. “Catch you later.”

The glass door to the main hallway swung closed behind John mere seconds before the principal’s door opened and Mr. Hathaway appeared.

“You can come in now, Dakota.”