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His brain instantly shot out warnings, reminding him to avoid entanglements. He was here to atone for his past, not get involved. That thought brought a tiny flicker of sadness that he fought to ignore.
“I promise you’ll arrive in one piece,” he said, noting her grip hadn’t eased.
“But which piece?” Cassie teased in a tight voice. Once they were on the highway, she seemed to relax. “Just before Christmas I was in a fender bender in Toronto on very slick roads. I guess I’m still a bit skittish.”
“We’ll be there soon,” he assured her.
Cassie glanced his way, her head tipped to one side. “Do you ever have doubts about anything, Rick?”
The question made him blink as memories from a host of very bad days from his past made him wince.
“You have no idea,” he muttered as guilt rolled in.
Cassie studied him, a tiny frown marring her beauty. After that she remained silent until they reached Lives. Rick didn’t mind. Her question had sobered him.
“We’re home,” he said as he turned off the motor.
“Finally.” Bryan quickly unfolded himself from the backseat.
“A tall guy like you, you’ll be glad Laurel has a van.” Rick watched him stretch. Something about the kid didn’t seem right. When Bryan headed for the house, Rick called him back.
“Your bag?” he reminded.
“What, no bell boys?” Bryan attempted a laugh but it fell short. He swiped a hand across his face to remove a sheen of sweat, which was odd given the frosty temperature.
Rick also noticed that Bryan’s hand shook when he reached for the suitcase handle. The boy seemed confused as he struggled to maneuver his way to the door. Several times he veered off the pathway into the snow. Concerned by Bryan’s unsteadiness, Rick moved to assist him. He arrived just in time to catch Bryan as he slumped.
“Cassie!” Rick yelled. She was there in a second with Laurel.
“Bryan’s just been diagnosed with diabetes,” Laurel said.
“Get him inside and lay him on the floor,” Cassie ordered after a quick look. “Laurel, we’ll need some orange juice or something sweet.”
Totally out of his depth, Rick appreciated Cassie’s orders. He carried Bryan inside then propped up the boy’s head as Cassie dribbled some orange juice in his mouth.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked.
“I’m guessing his blood sugar’s too low.” Concern darkened Cassie’s eyes as she monitored the boy’s pulse and checked his pupils. “Bryan, when did you last test?” she asked loudly when his eyelids fluttered.
“Didn’t.” His head lolled into unconsciousness.
Cassie hissed out a sigh of frustration. She looked at Rick. “Can you go through his suitcase and find a small case? It would have test strips, syringes and a vial in it.”
Rick did as she asked. When he found the container, he unzipped it and held it open in his palm so she could easily get what she needed.
“Thanks.” With precise movements Cassie pricked Bryan’s finger and swiped it over a test strip, which she then stuck into the small monitor. She grimaced at the reading, measured out the correct dose from the vial and injected it into Bryan’s stomach. After a quick glance at Noah who stood watching, she offered him a smile then returned to monitoring her patient.
Rick noted the tender hand Cassie swept across Bryan’s forehead and the kindhearted words she spoke. To anyone watching, Bryan might have been her own child.
“Why didn’t he inject himself?” he asked, keeping his voice hushed.
“The doctor’s report says he’s struggling to accept his illness.” Laurel stood beside Noah, watching.
“A lot of kids do,” Cassie explained. “They think that if they ignore it, it will go away.” She looked at Rick, grim certainty in her eyes. “It won’t go away. Bryan’s got to learn to handle his diabetes or it will kill him.”
“Then we’ll help him do that,” Rick assured her.
Cassie gave him a funny look before she turned her attention to Bryan once more.
“Okay, he’s coming around. Laurel, could you bring a wet cloth? Can you help him sit, Rick?”
“Sure.” He slid his arm around Bryan’s back and eased him upright. “Take it easy, big guy.” When Bryan’s bleary gaze met his, he teased, “Is this any way to begin your first day here? Forgetting to take your medication?”
“I didn’t forget,” Bryan said, slurring his words a bit, but fully aware.
“You must have forgotten,” Rick told him in a serious tone. “Because deliberately not taking it sounds dumb, and I don’t think you’re dumb.” He sounded more confident than he felt, and he prayed that God would use his words to help Bryan. “Diabetes is not a death sentence.”
“It feels like one to me.” Bryan accepted Rick’s hand to pull himself upright. He wavered a bit before plopping on a kitchen chair.
“Diabetes isn’t the end of your life, Bryan.” Rick sat across from him. “In fact, it could be the start of a new life for you, a new beginning here at Lives Under Construction.”
Bryan glanced at Laurel and Cassie as if to ask if Rick was serious. But after a moment his gaze returned to Rick, who caught a flicker of curiosity under the boy’s tough attitude.
“New start?” the boy demanded. “How?”
“Well, think about it. Nobody here knows you or what you did before you came here. You’ve got a chance to begin a new year with a clean slate.” One glance at Cassie’s serious face told Rick he had to make his words count. “Managing your diabetes can be your first step to making your future into whatever you want.”
“You make it sound easy,” Bryan muttered.
“Oh, no, I didn’t say that. But nobody but you can decide your future, Bryan.” Rick paused to let that sink in. “You have to choose if you’ll waste the opportunity you’ve been given at a new life, or accept the challenge and use this time to figure out how to build yourself a better world.”
Bryan snorted. “I never heard anyone claim going to juvie was getting a break.”
“Well, then, let me be the first to offer you a new perspective. Besides, this is not juvenile detention. It’s where lives are under construction, on the way to being changed.” Rick held his breath, waiting for the boy to decide.
Bryan studied him for a long time, his eyes searching. Rick could tell that he was at least thinking about what he’d heard.
“You should rest for a while, Bryan,” Cassie said.
“Yeah. I feel tired. The plane was bumpy. The guy guarding me got sick.” He pushed to his feet and followed Laurel to the room he’d been assigned.
Rick rubbed a hand across his face, silently praising God for His help.
“How did you know to do that?”
Rick blinked. Cassie stood in front of him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do what?”
“Talk to him like that, get him to face his issues and see them from a new perspective.” She frowned. “You convinced Bryan he could start over. I think maybe you got through to him. How?”
Shifting under her intense stare, Rick knew there was more to her question than simple curiosity. He glanced around, saw Noah seated in a corner with the luggage, earbuds back in place.
“I prayed for the right words, Cassie. If they hit home it was because God used them, as He used you,” he added.
“Me?” she said, almost rearing back in surprise.
“You treated Bryan as if he were Noah,” he said softly. “You cared for him with love and tenderness. He felt that. All I did was try to help him see that not everything in his life is bad. There is good in the world if he’ll only drop his defenses and accept it.”
“But the words you used—” Her voice trailed away.
“Lives Under Construction is a new beginning for Bryan,” Rick reminded her. “He’s away from whatever circumstances got him into this situation. He can start over, if he wants to. It’s the same for you and Noah, isn’t it? It doesn’t really matter what brought you here. What matters is what you do with this opportunity.”
She studied him until they heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.
“Rick, you’re home,” a warm voice said. A slim, obviously pregnant woman embraced him, then turned to Cassie. “I’m Sara Loness,” she said stretching out a hand. “I’m the head cook. Welcome to Lives.”
“Thank you. I’m Cassie Crockett.” Cassie shook Sara’s hand then nudged Noah who finally rose. “This is my son, Noah.”
After Sara greeted Noah, Rick explained what had just happened.
“Poor Bryan. I’ll make sure supper doesn’t have a lot of sugar,” Sara assured him.
“And you should probably keep those away from him,” Rick said, eyeing the platter of cinnamon buns on the counter. “But not from me.”
“Why is it some people can eat whatever they want and never gain an ounce?” Sara smiled at Cassie. “I made extras,” she said to Rick as she set plates and forks on the table.
“Thanks.” Rick nudged Noah to the table then held Cassie’s chair. Rick took note of the fact that Cassie startled a bit when his hand accidentally brushed her shoulder.
“I thought I saw a skating rink outside,” Cassie said, her voice betraying nothing.
“Sara’s husband, Kyle, made it. He’s just coming in.” Rick waited until his friend entered the kitchen. Then he introduced Cassie and her son. “Kyle’s the activities director at Lives. He and I are teaching the kids hockey. It fosters cooperation, patience, a whole host of things.” Rick suddenly felt restless under Cassie’s scrutiny, as if he was being assessed for something, though he couldn’t imagine what.
“Want to join us?” Kyle asked Noah.
“I n-never p-played hockey,” Noah muttered.
“Between Rick and Kyle, who are the biggest hockey addicts in the world, you’ll soon learn,” Sara teased. “Do you like milk with your cinnamon buns?” Noah’s eager nod made her laugh. “So does Kyle. What about your mom?”
“Sh-she’s on a d-diet so s-she won’t g-get f-fat.” Noah actually grinned when the others burst into laughter.
“Noah Crockett! I am not.” Cassie flushed a rich red.
“Bad mistake, Noah, my man,” Rick told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Let me give you some advice. Never mention the words fat or diet in the presence of a woman.” He leaned over and whispered very loudly, “It makes them grumpy.”
Cassie and Sara shared a look.
“Here come the rest of the boys,” Sara said. “They were at a sledding party.”
When the current residents trooped into the kitchen, Sara introduced Cassie and Noah. “These fine fellows are Barry, Rod and Peter,” she said. “Michael and Daniel won’t arrive until tomorrow and Bryan is upstairs with Laurel,” she explained to the boys. “He’s not feeling well. I suppose you’re not hungry in the slightest after the sledding party.”
As one they began to protest.
Sara grinned. “Yeah, dumb question. After you wash you can join us.”
As they rushed to comply, Kyle left to answer the phone. Rick noted Noah hadn’t engaged any of the other boys, simply nodding at the introduction and returning to his music.
Rick knew why. That stutter was going to cause problems.
The first time he’d spoken to Noah he’d felt a familiar nudge in his heart. Experience told him that was God’s prodding and it meant he was to help Noah. But how?
A moment later he had his answer.
When Sara disappeared inside the walk-in cooler leaving them alone, Rick decided to sound out Cassie while her son was still involved in his music, before the others returned.
“Noah told me his dad killed himself,” he murmured. “That must have been very hard for you.”
Her whole body dropped as if he’d settled a weight on her shoulders. Silence stretched between them. Finally Cassie spoke.
“Very hard, but harder on Noah, I think.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help,” he offered.
It was obvious Cassie struggled to accept his offer. But after a long moment, she nodded.
“There might be.”
“Just name it,” he said.
“Would you be able to talk to Noah the same way you talked to Bryan?” Cassie asked in a hushed voice. “He’s been hurting, trying to understand why his father would do that. I can’t seem to reach him. But you might, the way you did with Bryan.”
Rick’s heart swelled with compassion for this mother’s hurting heart.
“Please?” she whispered.
“I don’t know that it will make any difference, Cassie, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help Noah,” Rick said, just before the other boys burst into the kitchen. He leaned closer. “The offer is open to you, too, if you want.”
She shut down—there was no other way to express it. “Thank you, but I don’t talk about the past. I appreciate whatever you can do for Noah, though.”
It was a warning. Back off. And yet as he sipped the coffee Sara had served him, Rick knew he was going to have a hard time doing that. Her husband’s suicide had affected her whether she admitted it or not. He had a hunch that refusing to discuss it was doing just as much damage to her spirit as it was to Noah’s.
Don’t get involved, his brain chided again.
She’s hurting, his soul answered. Am I not here to help others? How else can I make amends for my past?
His brain was ready with a retort.
Is it only amends you want to make? Aren’t you also trying to impress her?
His conscience reminded him that he needed to keep his motives clear, to focus on his mission.
