Chapter 13
“Can’t avoid me forever, Carter.” Anson clapped his hands and held them up, requesting the basketball.
Carter and Dylan had skipped Branching Out on Sunday after Eric’s visit to his office.
However, Anson knew Carter’s passion for basketball would bring him to the community center’s courts eventually, so Anson stopped by daily.
Finally, on Saturday morning, one week after the canoe trip, Anson’s repeated trips to check for him paid off.
Carter turned his back to Anson and lined up a shot. “I’m all set for the basketball season.” The ball swished through the hoop. “Or I will be, before November.”
Anson rebounded the ball and dribbled out past the three-point line. “What does that mean?”
“I joined the crew for the fall theater production with Dylan. Six weeks of working on the set will replace the suspension.” Carter guarded him lazily.
Anson scored. “School administration approved that?”
Carter claimed the ball. “Yeah.”
Anson followed him to the three-point line. Carter’s plan would be time-consuming, but less punishing for him than a basketball suspension.
“Are you mad?” Carter dribbled once.
“Nope. Not about the compromise, anyway.”
“Then what are you upset about?”
“That you were drinking at all.”
“You never drank in high school?” Carter attempted a misdirection.
If Anson hadn’t taught him the move in the first place, it might have worked. “Nope.”
“Not even once?” Carter took his shot.
Anson tipped it away from the basket. “Nope. Own it before it owns you.”
“Let me guess. Another Coach Voss quote?”
“Yup.”
“Nothing owns me.”
“Being benched could’ve been detrimental to scholarship offers.
Letting alcohol affect your dreams gives it an awful lot of control.
” When Carter had made the varsity team as a freshman, his dad started boasting that Carter would play for a Division I team.
Anson warned them of the steep odds, but it’d still been hard to watch time pass without an offer.
At this point, if Carter wanted to play college ball, they needed to focus on a broader range of basketball programs.
“We’ve got some promising leads.”
Promising to Eric, maybe. Anson held the ball outside the three-point line, suspending the game.
“If you keep drinking, you’re going to run into this problem again, only the consequences will be harsher.
Then you’ll have fewer options. If something goes wrong, it could impact the rest of your life, not just a basketball season. ”
Carter motioned him to get going.
Anson spun around him for a layup. They focused on the game until Anson gained a six-point lead. “What’s the draw?”
Carter dribbled near the free-throw line. “Playing.”
“Not that. What’s the draw of drinking?”
Carter took the shot. Missed.
Anson rebounded. “Behavior like yours suggests you wanted to get caught. Is something going on that you need help with?”
His cheeks were splotchy from the workout, so it was hard to tell if he flushed at the question. “No.”
“Then help me understand where you’re coming from.”
Carter shook his head.
Anson made another drive for the net. Carter moved in to steal the ball and rammed his elbow into Anson’s cheek. Pain fired from the point of contact. He raised his arms, stopping the game as he blinked to clear his vision. He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.
Carter cringed. “Sorry.”
“You were meant for more than this, Carter.”
“Like what?”
“Kids follow your lead. That charisma is a gift from God. He had a reason for giving it to you, and it wasn’t so you’d host parties on youth group trips.”
“You’re gonna say it’s for youth group?”
“Maybe. But I also hope you’ll lead the team to state this year.”
Carter scoffed. “Is this about God or not? Because no way He cares about basketball.”
“‘So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.’” Anson paused to let the Bible verse sink in.
“If we can eat or drink for His glory, we can play basketball for it. Sports teach us discipline, teamwork, and our own limitations. If we let God work with us through that process, powerful things happen.”
“Like we win state?”
“Like whether we win or not, we can be fulfilled. God does that—not championships, not scholarships, and definitely not underage drinking.”
Carter turned his face away.
Anson shot up a prayer for wisdom. “You’re not invincible.
Alcohol can make mundane circumstances dangerous.
Take the canoe trip. What if you’d fallen in the water?
I know from experience that it’s disorienting to be dumped into the water, and swimming fully clothed in a current is challenging enough.
You stumbled as you walked, and you weren’t wearing your life vest.”
“I would’ve been fine.”
“That’s what people tell themselves, but trust me. They’re not always fine.” When Anson had told Gury to be careful, he’d laughed. That was Anson’s last memory of him.
Carter should know.
Anson hated reliving the story, hated his part in it. If logic wasn’t enough to reach Carter, why would sharing about Gury change anything?
Carter studied him for a long moment. The overhead fans hummed. Laughing kids ran past the door. The prompt to share about Gury might’ve come from God. Anson’s mouth went dry.
Carter rolled his eyes. “That’s why you’re worried about me. You think I’m going to die, and you don’t think I’m going to heaven.”
Anson steadied himself with a slow breath. “I wouldn’t want to walk through life or death without Jesus. I don’t wish that on you either.”
Carter shrugged, then his mouth tightened. “Sorry about your face.”
Anson chuckled. “Looks that bad?”
“Nah. A little red.”
Anson touched the tender spot. Warm, but superficial. It probably wouldn’t even bruise, though he’d be biting the raised spot inside his cheek for a week. “I’ll survive. Just promise to think about what I said.”
Another shrug.
Pushing harder would get nowhere. Anson retrieved the ball from where it’d settled against the wall, restarted the game, and left the rest to the Lord.
“Remember, it’s possible—likely, even—that we’ll have to try more than one medication and dosage before we find the right fit.
Be sure to reach out if any side effects become too problematic.
” The doctor, a smartly dressed woman in her fifties, spared Mercy a sympathetic smile before passing Blaze yet another print-off.
“Do you have any questions before you go?”
Blaze shook her head. After the initial behavioral health appointment and a round of assessments, they’d come in for this follow-up.
Now, Mercy had her diagnosis. ADHD. Blaze had been so focused on getting them this far, she’d failed to read up on treatments.
She would have to study the papers before she knew what questions to ask.
She put her arm around Mercy as they shuffled out of the clinic. Well, Blaze shuffled. Mercy bounced.
“As soon as the drugs work, I’m going to be normal like everybody else?”
Blaze’s lungs deflated. “You think you’re different?”
“Well, yeah. I can’t ever remember stuff. Nobody else knows all the office ladies like I do because I’m always in there calling you. And sometimes people aren’t real nice about it, like I’m doing it on purpose or something. But I’m not. I’m just different, and now I don’t have to be, right?”
Blaze rubbed the center of her chest, but the ache didn’t ease. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“Don’t you?” Mercy broke away from her and skipped sideways. “You forget stuff too. It’s, like, our family thing. Mom used to forget a lot too.”
The ache anchored in her heart. Mom had forgotten things, sure, but addiction was the most obvious cause of her problems.
Mercy tugged Blaze’s hand. “When can I start?”
“The medicine?”
She nodded.
Blaze swallowed. Alcohol and drugs had done such damage to their family. Now medication to alter Mercy’s mental state was the prescribed answer? She’d steered the doctor away from stimulants, but the thought of putting Mercy on any medication constricted her ribs.
Would lifestyle changes alone be enough? The pamphlets outlined dozens of strategies for coping with ADHD. If only the changes weren’t so severe. Like, how in the world would they avoid all food dyes? Many Oaks didn’t have a natural foods grocery store.
Help me know what to do, Lord.
The only next step that came to mind was to keep their Wednesday night commitment. “Right now, we need to get home and eat so we can get to Rooted.” Blaze unlocked the car, and they piled in. “Remember, the doctor said it’s going to take time for the changes we make to make a difference.”
“So the sooner I start the drugs, the better.” Mercy’s seatbelt clicked.
“Let’s call it medication, okay?”
“Okay. So, tonight?”
If only distractedness would kick in now.
Blaze steered out of the lot. “I need time to research treatments and pray about what we should do. Medicine is only one option. And you heard the doctor. The prescription can have side effects. Things might get worse before they get better. If we start with other changes first, your symptoms might get better without the rough adjustment period.”
“Like what changes?”
“Getting rid of food dye. Less sugar. Eating more home-cooked meals.” Blaze’s body rested heavily in the seat. As much as she enjoyed puttering around the kitchen, she didn’t want the pressure of cooking as soon as she got home from work every day.
“Can we start that tonight? I want to be normal.”
The sentiment echoed in Blaze’s spirit. She’d already called her primary doctor’s office for a referral to work toward her own diagnosis and treatment.
According to the receptionist, her doctor could handle it, so Blaze scheduled an appointment.
At least one step had been easy. “I need more time to think about medication, but we can start looking at nutrition labels.”
The concession created a monster.
While Blaze heated their dinner, Mercy compared ingredient lists to one of the pamphlets and purged the pantry. By the time their chicken, pasta, and frozen vegetables were ready to eat, a pile of their favorite foods waited on the floor.
“There.” Mercy fluffed open a garbage bag.
Blaze motioned her to stop and picked up a box of cereal. “What are you going to eat for breakfast if we throw this out?”
“I dunno. Toast?” Mercy eyed the dinner plate Blaze had filled for her. “None of that has dyes in it, right?”
“As far as I know.” But considering the pile on the floor, she’d probably have to change her answer if she checked the label on the honey mustard dipping sauce. Thankfully, Mercy’s mission hadn’t reached the fridge where they stored it. Yet.
She took the garbage bag from her sister and set it aside so they could eat. During the meal, her attention kept wandering back to the pile. Some of her own favorites lay there. Plus, this food was expensive.
But to help herself and Mercy, she ought to get on board while her sister was still so excited about the bandwagon.
After dinner, she and Mercy sorted through the food on the floor. They would donate the unopened items to a food pantry. They carried the rest—minus some chocolate, a bag of chips, and a box of Blaze’s favorite soda—to the trash can outside before heading to the church.
By the time they entered the youth room, Anson was already running through opening announcements for the ten students who’d come. Maybe they needed to offer more enticing food to increase attendance. Pizza? Although that was probably a processed food that could worsen Mercy’s ADHD.
And perhaps Blaze’s. If she had it.
The kids sprang up and dashed toward the hall, and she realized announcements had ended. Nolan went with the students.
Anson pulled an inflatable ball from the bottom shelf of the supply cabinet. Passing the ball from one hand to the other, he turned from the cabinet and froze upon seeing her lingering. “There a problem?”
So many problems. She could use an outside perspective, especially from someone with experience with kids, but he’d hardly said two words to her since the canoe trip, and he’d skipped both Monday shows since.
Seemed a little extreme to avoid her for being clumsy. She shrugged and stepped into the hall.
But wasn’t giving advice part of what pastors did? Anson cared about the students. He’d probably break his silence to help Mercy.
Blaze started for the gym at a slow pace, forcing him to catch up. Once he was beside her, she said, “Mercy was diagnosed with ADHD. Do you think putting her on medication right away is a bad idea?”
Anson’s brow furrowed. “Medication isn’t a choice to be made lightly.”
“Exactly. It’s just, she’s struggling in a lot of ways.
I don’t know. All the implications and options and revelations are overwhelming.
This whole time, I suspected we were the problem.
Apparently, she did too. I never knew she thought that about herself.
Now that I know it’s a disorder, I don’t know if I should be relieved or depressed.
Especially since I think I might have it too. ”
He blew out a breath. “If those are the options, pick relieved.”
Maybe that was wise.
Anson jogged ahead then, leaving her to walk alone past the sanctuary, offices, and kitchen. She scoffed. What was that? Two platitudes and then he bolted? His absence at her shows and his reluctance to talk to her couldn’t be coincidence. Something had gone wrong.
If they were going to serve the youth together, she’d have to find out what.