Trust in Me (4 page)

Setting her purse down on the table, she straightened her shoulders and stuck her hands into the pockets of her nylon jacket. If nothing else since Danny’s death, she’d gotten tougher. “I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for Ronny.”

A quick glint of something—annoyance, or maybe just guilt—flickered in his green eyes. Right now they were hard and flat, the color of jade. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Many people wouldn’t.”

His gaze slipped from her to the WANTED posters on the wall. His sigh was evident in the movement of his shoulders.

“I just want you to know I appreciate it.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “And the whole town appreciates your coming back to help us out.”

Still nothing.

“Why
are
you here?”

He faced her, almost against his will. The stoic mask was in place, though his light complexion was flushed. Rotely, as if he were reading from one of the publicity flyers, he said, “I’m here at the request of the town council to help revive the economy of Glen Oaks. My reputation as a driver, along with Doc Holt’s as my former crew chief, has attracted the best NASCAR drivers in the world for an exhibition race in September. My comin’ out of retirement, and the new car Doc’s workin’ on, are the lure—along with the track’s refurbishment. Your town’s hoping to recapture its status as one of the finest raceways in the world.”

Patiently, she stared at him, waiting for a real answer.

The mask slipped. Digging his hands in his trouser pockets, he said in low, gravelly tones, “I
owe
you. I
owe
this town.” His voice cracked on the admission.

“No, Mr. Quaid, you don’t.”

“Tell me that boy out there didn’t get into trouble because he lost his daddy. Tell me he didn’t backslide because I came back to town.”

“Ronny’s issues aren’t your fault.”

“Of course they are.”

Wide-eyed, Beth cocked her head. “Is this how you’ve felt for ten years?”

A muscle leapt in his throat. “More or less.”

She gave him a small smile. “Then maybe that’s why God sent you back here.”

“God had nothin’ to do with my comin’ back.”

“You’re here to pay a debt you don’t owe, Mr. Quaid. It’s not your fault Danny died.”

“My car played chicken with your husband’s for ten laps before his skidded off the track, causin’ it to flip twice and crash into a stone wall. Everybody said my blockin’ was too aggressive.” His mouth thinned. “There was even an investigation.”

The stark words resurrected a vivid image. For a minute, she relived the scene she’d watched from the stands: the high-pitched screech of the tires, the shattered glass, the thud of Danny’s car crashing into the concrete wall. Ten years had blurred the memory, but sometimes it still had the power to shake her. In a hoarse voice, she told him, “The NASCAR sanctioning body declared the collision an accident of indeterminate cause.” She frowned. “Auto racing is a dangerous sport. Everyone out there is at risk. It’s why I don’t want Ronny involved.”

The man’s face clouded with naked emotion. “Your son wants to race?”

“Yes. But he won’t. Not just for me, for his grandparents. Julia and Carl are horrified at the thought, just like they were about Danny. They have a fit when Ron even goes to the races held at the track now.”

“He should do something else. It’s a tough life.”

Beth remembered Danny’s high every time he climbed out of the car. His unshakable belief that he was going to be the best. His refusal to even listen when she expressed the concern every person who loves a driver feels when he gets into a race car. “I know. I don’t want that life for my son. He’s good in art; I wish he’d pursue that. I need to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

“A parent can only do so much.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong about that, Mr. Quaid. A parent can save a child’s life.”

“Or destroy it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin’. Look, for the record, I don’t want any thanks for this. As I said, it’s the least I can do.” He looked away. “Besides it was a good excuse to spend some time with Doc after his heart problems.”

“I heard about that. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. Ornery as ever.”

She crossed to him; Tucker Quaid was unusually tall for a driver, and she had to look up at him. This close she could smell some woodsy scent on him. “Well,
for the record
, I don’t blame you for Danny’s death; if it makes a difference, I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself.” She reached out and squeezed his arm; he looked like she’d given him a gift. “Anyway, I appreciate your wanting to keep Ronny out of jail. I’ll see you at the Council meeting.”

“What?”

“You’ll have to go when the case is presented.”

“Can’t I just send a statement?”

“I’m not sure. They’ll want to talk to you, I’d guess.”

He seemed resigned to that. She wished she could help, but she had a hundred and sixty pounds of trouble waiting for her outside that door. Right now her son needed her.

And truthfully, she was shocked to realize she wanted to help this man. Though her own past, and having a minister as a brother, had helped her to forgive Tucker Quaid, she’d never envisioned feeling sorry for him.

With that strange emotion in her heart, Beth turned to leave the police station. The door creaked as she opened it.

His words stopped her. “Mrs. Donovan?”

Circling around, she faced him. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“There’s somethin’ different about your relationship with the boy. I can tell you’re as mad as a hornet at him. But there’s no animosity there. It’s as if you
understand
him.”

She smiled serenely. “I do understand him. I know exactly where he’s coming from.”

“How?”

“Because, Mr. Quaid, by the time I was Ronny’s age, I’d done a lot worse things than steal some boots or slash up a car.”

o0o

AS if performing a sacred rite, Beth poured the whole milk into the pan, turned on the gas and watched it flicker. When she was young, she and her best friends Annie and Margo used to make hot chocolate to soothe themselves if things got really bad. All three of them still kept up the ritual.

Willing her hands not to shake, she told herself that this, too, would be all right, that God would watch over them once again. He’d certainly carried them through scrapes before.

This is more than a scrape.

She swallowed hard. Her baby boy was in trouble. That little dark-haired infant with the brown eyes and dimples in his cheeks was in for it this time. Beth knew just how long it took to make the law throw up their hands.

“Hi.”

She glanced up. He filled the doorway, looking so much like his father in jeans, socked feet and one of his blasphemous T-shirts; Danny had loved sacrilegious T-shirts, too. Usually she found them entertaining. Not tonight. She cringed at its message.
I feel much better now that I’ve lost all hope.

“Hi, buddy.”

His grin was the little-boy expression he’d donned when he had frogs in his pockets or a stray cat stashed away in his room. “That for me?”

“Of course.”

When the milk began to boil, she stood on tiptoes to get the chocolate—the expensive Swiss kind Ronny loved. She couldn’t reach the shelf. He must have put it there himself.

“I’ll get it.”

She poured the milk in mugs and took them to the table. He joined her and dropped into a seat adjacent to hers. When she added the chocolate, its rich smell soothed her. The crowning touch was tiny marshmallows. She remembered when Ronny couldn’t say the word clearly.

And, as always, when it was ready, they clanked cups. “I love you, buddy,” she said hoarsely.

Tears formed in his eyes. “I love you too, Mom.”

“We’ll get through this, Ron.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“I’ll do better this time, if I have the chance.”

“God will give you the chance, honey. I know it.”

“Then I’ll do better.”

“I believe you.” Behind him, a picture of his father grinned out at her from a silver frame. She swallowed back the emotion. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”
When I can do it without crying
. It was important not to cry.

“All right.”

He seemed relieved as he finished his drink, kissed her on the cheek and headed upstairs.

Beth sat alone in the kitchen, thinking about her son. At least he had a mother to stand by him when he did stupid things. And she’d be there forever, no matter what, because she loved him and because she’d gone through this kind of thing alone.

That would
never
happen to
her
child.

She picked up Danny’s picture and stared at it. God, she just wished she had someone to share this with.

Chapter 2

IT was almost one A.M. by the time Linc returned to his apartment. As he traipsed up the rickety steps to three small rooms over the church’s garage, weariness accompanied him like an old familiar friend. He’d been up since six in the morning, grappling with his sermon for Sunday, visiting Mrs. Temple in the hospital, and taking care of the hundreds of other details that were his sole responsibility in the congregation.

They were blessings, he reminded himself, not burdens. And he had a gift for being a minister here in Glen Oaks. His ability to handle the odd church, with its interesting and sometimes eccentric assortment of parishioners, was one of the reasons God had sent him here, Linc was sure. Sometimes, he wished he knew the rest of God’s plan, but that mostly remained a divine enigma.

With a sigh, he unlocked the door and dragged himself into the living room. He cursed softly as he stumbled on his baseball glove, bent over, and tossed it onto the frayed chair. He’d played catch with some of the boys in the empty lot earlier that night. Like many of the kids in Glen Oaks, they needed a role model. When Linc had needed someone to emulate at a critical point in his life, God had sent former diner owner and all-around savior, Tony Scarpino, who’d rescued both him and Beth. Now Linc was paying back some dues. For that and for other things.

Just as he collapsed on the worn but comfortable couch, he caught sight of the blinking light on the phone.
Messages
. Lord, give him strength, he wasn’t up for this. Church members called at all hours, and Linc met their needs no matter what the personal cost. But before he went to sleep that night he’d wanted to think about this newest development with Ronny and how he was going to help his sister. Stretching out flat on the sofa, he pressed the answering-machine button, closed his eyes, threw his arm over his forehead, and listened.

“Reverend Linc, it’s Connie Smith.” One of the more active members of the church. “I wanted to remind you the Ladies’ Aid Society is meeting tomorrow morning at nine in the fellowship hall. We hope you can start us off with a prayer.”

He could do that.

“And please,” she said stiffly, “ask Mr. Portman
not
to clean during our meeting.”

Poor Henry. He was one of the volunteers who helped keep the church running. Many of them made more work for Linc, but he’d never deny them their contribution. He made a mental note to watch for the silent, but dedicated, man before nine.

Be-ep.

“Reverend Grayson, this is Rosa DeMartino.” Rosa sounded sad tonight. “I won’t be at the women’s group meeting tomorrow. Something’s come up.”

Damn
. Linc could guess what that was. Her husband, Sam DeMartino, had openly opposed Rosa’s involvement with the newly formed women’s self-esteem group that Linc had begun. And Linc was worried about the situation between the couple. He was afraid of missing the signs, like he had with his friend Annie. His guilt over Annie’s situation still haunted him, mostly in the early morning hours like now when you saw your mistakes, distorted and magnified as if you were looking through a fun house mirror. Sometimes, he ached with the need to share his insecurities with a partner, to have someone to help him clarify things and make the hours of doubt less lonely.

No, not somebody. Margo. Eve to his Adam.

Another beep. “Hi, handsome. It’s me. Um, it’s midnight. Either you’re out taking care of your flock, or you’re dead to the world asleep. If it’s the former, call me when you get in.” Linc frowned as Margo’s voice quavered on the last word. “No matter what time it is.”

Fully awake now, he sprang up from his supine position and punched out her number. She answered on the second ring.

“Hi, honey,” he said casually. One of the first things he’d figured out early on about Margo was that she spooked easily. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same, Rev.” It was good to hear the sass in her voice. That husky teasing tone had driven him nuts as a teenage boy.

“Saving souls, as usual.” He fingered the nubby couch fabric. “What’s going on with you?”

Ignoring his question—she did that whenever she wasn’t ready to talk—she asked, “Anything I should know about?” Their shared history made the question normal.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. I was gonna call you tomorrow. Ronny’s in trouble again.”

“Oh, no. Tell me.”

Briefly Linc sketched out Ronny’s newest escapade to his mother’s best friend.

“Damn that kid’s behavior.”

Linc chuckled. “Pot calling the kettle black, Mary Margaret?”

Use of her full name made her laugh. “I guess. How’d Bethy take meeting Quaid face-to-face?”

“Like a trooper. She’s too strong.” He grinned, though the circumstances were dire. Somehow, Margo always made things better. “Beth told Quaid about our checkered past.”

Margo sputtered, “She
what
?”

“Apparently he asked why there was no animosity between us and Ron. Beth came right out and told him.”

“He’d find out soon enough.” A brittle edge slipped into her voice. “The sanctimonious Glen Oaks grapevine is still milking that, I’m sure, even after all these years.”

Complaints about the town, and the church, were a familiar part of her catechism. Rightfully so, he knew. Her mother’s skewed view of God and Christianity had almost destroyed Margo.