Page 5 of Bad Habit
“Faith,” I said.
“Yes, faith…” He nodded toward the church, then shook his head. “Oh! That’s your name?”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Minnesota.”
“Faith Minnesota?”
“Faith Magnusson. You asked where I grew up.”
“Ah.” He held open the door of the gymnasium. “How long have you been in the Bay Area?”
“Three months and thirteen days.”
“And how many hours?”
I cocked my head to the side, calculating. Then I noticed his mischievous grin and how it made his eyes sparkle like freshly fallen rain on a grassy field. “Stop teasing me.”
He nodded with an apologetic look and gestured for me to go through the door.
On the threshold, I reached for the basketball, but he stepped up—so close to me that I had to back into the building—and then he followed me into the gym.
A few strides inside, he jumped up and threw the ball toward the basket. It passed through cleanly, bouncing down onto the hard floor, the echoing sound filling the room.
“Oh!” I clapped. “Very good job.”
“Thanks!” He laughed as he dashed past me and started bouncing the ball before it had fully settled. Then he jumped, spun in mid-air as he threw, and landed lightly on his feet as the ball dropped into the basket again, this time bouncing at an angle off the panel that held it to the ceiling.
“Ready?” he asked, holding the ball at his chest.
“For what?”
He thrust the ball forward. It bounced on the floor, then up toward me, stopping between my palms with a satisfying slap that stung my skin and woke my arms.
“Take a shot,” he said.
I shook my head. “Oh, I don’t play. I just supervise the children. Keep them safe.”
“Safe from dangerous men like me?” His grin was infectious. It was definitely a kind smile. And charming.
“Are you dangerous?” I bounced the ball against the floor, loving how it came up to meet my palms again.
“Nah.” He stepped toward me. “Not in the way that you mean, anyway.”
“And what do I mean?” I bounced the ball, this time using just one hand like I’d seen him doing, but I caught it with both.
“Well, I don’t want to rob you, or hurt you,” he said, “and I’d never do anything to harm those kids,anykids. I’m a decent guy.”
He did seem decent, although that was exactly how the Devil would present himself, wasn’t it?
That’s what Mother always said, but then how could one tell the difference between the Devil and a truly good man? According to Mother, all men were bad, but I didn’t want to believe her.
I took a deep breath and smiled back. Sister Henry was right. If I was going to stay in this city and serve in the mission, I had to learn to live among the inhabitants. I had to learn to trust my instincts. And as uncomfortable as this man made me feel, my instincts said to like him.
The uncomfortable feeling deep inside me was my failing, not his.
God was testing me. I could pass His test.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you at Mass.”
