Trusting Him Read Free

memo.
    Instead of giving in and going back to sleep, he laid there, relishing freedom. No prison guard would show up and tell him to get busy. He could stay in bed as long as he wanted, in a room with no lock on the door and no bars on the windows.
    His own bed. His own home. Nobody here would tell him to get to work. Nobody would tell him to head for chow. And nobody would keep him from messing up.
    What if he couldn't handle freedom?
    Get out of bed, do something. He pushed himself to leave the comfort of the mattress that had swallowed him in its softness the night before. Down the narrow paneled hall, to the sunlit kitchen. He paused at the window over the sink and looked out at hay fields across the road.
    This place was perfect. He was glad he'd taken Pastor Banks up on the offer to rent from the church. Here he could get his bearings. He wouldn't have to worry about his parents and how to protect them. He needed this time alone.
    For four years he'd had very little time on his own, without someone watching, listening. He had once heard that the Chinese people didn't have a word for "alone." There was no concept of the word in their overcrowded country.
    In prison there was no concept of the word, either. A person didn't have use of a word that they couldn't put into practice. Alone.
    But then sometimes, even with hundreds of people around, he had felt alone.
    He rummaged through the cabinet, smiling when he pulled out the bag of Starbucks coffee. Miss Maggie Simmons had thought of everything. Bless her sweet soul. He filled the coffeepot with water, added a few scoops of coffee to the filter basket and set the power button.
    While he waited for the coffee to brew he walked out the back door to the small deck that faced the woods. Springtime in the Ozarks. The air was cool, but hinted at a warm day, and the emerald-green grass was drenched with dew. Something moved. He watched, holding his breath to see what had darted through the trees. It appeared again, a small doe, ears twitching when she sensed his presence. A few minutes later she darted back into the woods.
    The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeted him when he walked into the trailer. Real coffee, the kind a person wanted to enjoy, not gulp down with a few spoons of sugar added to kill the flavor. He poured a cup and walked back outside. An old lawn chair had been left behind. He sat and propped his feet up on the wood railing of the deck.
    Now what? Think of the future, of life working for his dad as a paralegal? Or the past, and how it had changed everything, including where he should be now?
    One stupid mistake, trying meth, had led to another mistake— dealing methamphetamines when his dad had cut off his money. He leaned back, closing his eyes when he remembered back to those days. He'd been angry then, mad at his dad for taking away his money, and mad at his brother Noah for telling his parents why he had lost weight and why his grades were failing.
    Now he needed to thank them. His dad for taking away his money. His brother for noticing the signs of addiction. He also needed to make amends with the people he had hurt.
    Michael's addiction had changed the course of his brother's life, as well. Noah had been set to take the bar and would have been a lawyer for their father's firm. Now he was an agent for the DEA.
    Everything had changed.
    A car rumbled down the road, coming closer. Michael walked back into the house. He reached the front door as his parents pulled up the drive. They had given him the night he needed to be on his own. He smiled as he glanced down at his watch. His mom was out of the car, carefully walking toward the trailer in high heels that weren't suited for the rutted, overgrown lawn.
    He stepped onto the porch to wait.
    "Michael, oh, honey, your hair is too long." She hurried up the stairs of the porch, her heels beating a rhythm on the wooden steps. She hugged him to her, holding him close. He held her tight.
    "I love you, Mom."
    She