Chapter 37
Anson felt the force of Blaze’s words and the aftershock as he replayed them. She’d said she’d especially kept the truth from him. When she’d made him work to gain the promise of exclusivity, he suspected she’d withdrawn. Only now did he comprehend how far or why.
“Are you angry?” Her shoulders were as rigid as prison bars as she stared at the floor.
He was so much more than angry. Disappointment, pain, offense, and rejection all vied for control.
He’d thought she prized honesty. He’d opened up to Carter and Dylan at her insistence.
Meanwhile, she’d kept a secret. But before he could call her on the double standard, Coach’s voice came back to him.
Responses trump reactions. He planted his feet, steadying himself against the onslaught of his tangled emotions.
“Are you going to report us?”
“Report you?”
“To the authorities.” Blaze looked up.
Stiff with shock, he could barely shake his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I don’t know where she was. Some of the details line up.”
He inhaled. Exhaled. “Do you think it was her?”
“Not really, I guess. But she could—”
He motioned her to stop. “Then neither do I.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, then dropped her hand and blew out a breath. “Really?”
“Yes. When I was talking about reporting things, that was about acting on knowledge, not unsubstantiated possibilities.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “Thank you.” Finally, she lifted her gaze. Her lower lip trembled. “But you are angry.”
“I’m …” He wasn’t going to say he was disappointed. Disappointed sounded too much like a scolding parent. “I’m fine.”
That was a lie he hadn’t meant to tell.
The lines around her mouth deepened.
He clenched and straightened his fingers, as if the right response was something he could grasp.
“You saw a threat and went into protection mode.” That had nothing to do with his feelings, but maybe it’d give them a place to work from.
She’d been protecting herself and Mercy from …
him. “I’ve let you down in the past. I know that.
I just thought we put that in the past.”
Red splotches appeared by Blaze’s collarbone and crept up her neck.
“I wish you’d trusted me enough to let me in on it sooner.
Instead, you thought it’d be better to let it eat you up like this?
You must’ve really expected something terrible from me.
” He recalled what she’d said just before telling him the story.
“Did you really think I’d try to have Mercy taken away? ”
“No. Not on purpose. I just …” She swept her fingers over her eyes, but more tears fell instantly. “I thought one thing might lead to another. But you’re right. I should’ve trusted you.”
His phone rang. He rubbed his forehead. Should’ve silenced the thing when he’d walked in, but he hadn’t expected to end up in a serious conversation.
“You can get that.” She backed farther from him. “It is kind of late. It might be important.” Her gaze shifted to the oven clock. It was only 8:45—dark outside the windows, but not that late. She shrugged as if to acknowledge her error.
“Or it might be one of the kids planning to ask if my refrigerator is running.” A much easier question to field than how to respond to Blaze.
He shifted away from the counter to pull the device from his pocket.
“Almost no one has reached out since I got fired, so the odds of them prank calling are low, but never ze—” He read the name on the display.
Truth might be more contagious than he’d ever realized. “It’s Carter. I need to take this.”
She picked up a knife and the last potato. “We can talk Friday.”
Friday. Because tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and she didn’t want to join him. “I’m supposed to be at my parents’ house until Sunday night.”
“Oh.” She worked her lips. “Monday or Tuesday then.”
The phone kept ringing. He hesitated to leave at all, but he’d been working toward a breakthrough with Carter for years.
He couldn’t fail now. If the conversation went nowhere and ended soon, he’d come back, work through things with Blaze tonight.
For now, Anson passed through the living room toward the door. “Hey, Carter.”
“Hey. There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”
He closed his eyes a beat, a wordless thank you to God. But even as he stepped out of the house, he knew he also had Blaze to thank. If not for her advice, he wouldn’t have opened up about Gury. He and Carter wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I’m listening.”
“My parents fight. A lot. Dylan hates it, so he splits whenever they get going. Mom and Dad don’t even notice. If it’s late at night, sometimes he doesn’t come back home.”
Anson climbed into his SUV as Carter’s statement scattered his thoughts like a cue ball breaking the rack. “Fight how?”
“Yelling. Mom complains Dad’s always gone. He says it’s how we pay for everything. It doesn’t sound that bad, I guess, but they’re both pretty unhappy, and nobody seems to know how to fix it. I’m not sure they’re going to make it. Sometimes I think it’d be better if they didn’t.”
Anson’s parents had argued occasionally.
Once or twice, he wondered if they’d work it out.
Each time, the thought of divorce terrified him.
To suspect his parents might be better off apart, Carter’s home must be a battlefield.
But Eric and Samantha were only background to what Carter was saying about his brother. “Where does Dylan go?”
“Friends’ houses, sometimes. But Dad lost his church keys a while ago. He had to get someone to make new copies for him. I think Dylan’s got the original set.”
Anson replayed the meeting where he’d asked the leadership board about their keys. Eric had never admitted to losing his. Had he forgotten or lied by omission?
“I knew you were worried about a kid sleeping at the church,” Carter said, “but it didn’t seem like a big deal until Dylan woke me up all worked up about a fire at church.
He was in tears. He said you’d know what to do, but he wouldn’t let me call you.
So we texted. He calmed down some after that, but before the fire, Mom and Dad argued.
I didn’t see Dylan go, but when he woke me up, he was sweating and panting, and he smelled like smoke.
I’m actually surprised Mom and Dad didn’t notice. ”
Dylan wasn’t driving yet. Whether he’d gone on foot or taken a bicycle, racing the mile or two between the church and the Newsome house would explain the sweating and panting. “He said your family learned about the fire when someone called your dad.”
“He woke me up before that. We heard Dad’s phone ring.
He won’t tell me any more than what I told you, but I think …
” Carter’s voice grew rough. “I think my brother’s in trouble, and I don’t want it to get any worse, like it did with your brother.
Dylan’s too afraid of Dad to tell our parents what happened. ”
“Okay. It’s going to be all right.” He was still working out how that would be true, but reassurance seemed like the place to start. “Thank you for telling me.”
“What’ll happen?”
Anson sighed as he stared at the steering wheel. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you guys really need to talk to your parents.”
“I’m telling you. Dad’s … look, he’s the reason I’m not on the basketball team.”
“What?”
“I wanted to be—that’s why I did the whole stagehand thing. And now that I know about your brother, I get why you reported us. It was pretty dumb to begin with. I kind of thought if I got in trouble, Dad would stay around more to keep me in line or something, and Mom might be happy.”
Anson’s stomach churned. He never would’ve guessed that the acting out was a misguided attempt to save his parents’ marriage.
“With Dad, either he’s your biggest fan or your biggest enemy.” Carter’s voice faltered. “He’s a fan of me, so he didn’t believe I did anything wrong. All that happened was he got extra mad at you. He hasn’t liked you since the day I told him what you said about the odds of getting on a D1 team.”
Frustration cracked through Anson’s muscles, but he suppressed a reaction that wouldn’t help. “He won’t consider his own son an enemy.”
“Why not? He thinks Mom’s one.”
Anson wanted to say he was sure it wasn’t that bad, but how would he know?
If the rift between Eric and Samantha had caused the kids to react in the ways Carter described, something major had gone off course.
Knowing Blaze’s upbringing reminded him that parents didn’t always have their kids’ best interests in mind.
Were Carter and Dylan in danger? What about Samantha—or even Eric?
Before he could pose a question, Carter said, “With me, Dad wants to talk about college and basketball, and he attends my games and stuff. He started the Division I talk. That was cool for a while, but at this point, it’d actually be good if he believed in me as a basketball star a little less.
Like, if he could be okay with me playing for a less competitive team and working on a degree that’ll get me a job after college.
But that’s how he is with me. Total fan.
With Dylan, it’s different. Most of the time, Dad doesn’t even see him, but that won’t last if Dylan burned the church down. Dad would have him thrown in jail.”
“That’s not up to him.” Anson didn’t know who would decide, but Dylan was a minor. It likely was an accident. They wouldn’t send him to jail for that, would they? “How’s Dylan holding up?”
“He’s mostly been in his room. I think. Maybe he’s still sneaking out. He said something about running away, but he didn’t mean it.”
Anson rubbed his face. He’d underreacted to a kid breaking into the church. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “What’s your family doing for Thanksgiving?”
“We’re going to my aunt and uncle’s house at, like, four.”
Which meant the Newsomes weren’t hosting and didn’t have plans first thing in the morning. “Is everybody still up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Anson weighed his options one more time. The kids needed help. The sooner, the better, since it seemed likely Dylan had already made one devastating middle-of-the-night decision.
Is it my place to go have the conversation, Lord?
He’d already been fired, so he had little to lose by poking sensitive topics. Besides, Carter had chosen to open up to Anson, and neither of the boys seemed willing to talk to their parents alone.
“How about I come over, and we all have a talk?”
“Dad isn’t going to want to see you.”
“I’ll invite Pastor Greg too.” They’d need a mediator, and Greg was still an MOBC pastor who would want to be involved. “I imagine he’ll be able to make it.”
“Dad doesn’t hate him so much, but I don’t think he listens to him either.”
Probably not. “I’m going to pray that God will smooth the way.”
Carter was silent for a few beats. “You really think praying’s going to help?”
“I prayed quite a bit before I told you about Gury, and God answered those prayers.”
“Because I talked to you?” His flat tone suggested he wasn’t impressed by the evidence.
“God cares about you and your family. I know things seem messed up, but I think you’re about to have a front-row seat to watch the Lord in action.”
Carter grunted. Still skeptical, then. “So you’re on your way?”
“Let me coordinate with Greg. I’ll text you when we’re on our way.”
“Okay. Then I’ll get Dylan. And maybe Mom. She can handle Dad. Sort of.” Carter disconnected.
Anson surveyed the dark neighborhood. If he’d been stumped over how to respond to Blaze a few minutes ago, he would be completely out of his depth walking into the Newsome house. They needed someone who could handle Eric, and Anson doubted he, Greg, or Samantha could. It would be up to the Lord.