Page 97 of Bad Habit
“No.” His head shook vigorously. “It doesn’t make up for anything.” His voice broke. “I get that. It was the last time.Honest. Please let me make this up to you.”
“Mac…” Such a big part of me wanted to forgive him, to believe what he was saying—just moments after he’d revealed that he’d lied—but the rest of me was afraid. And that part of me was smarter. Sister Henry and Mother were right. Men lied. Mac lied.
“I’m calling the police.” My chest hurt with each breath. Mac would go to prison, our future was ruined, and my broken heart was more painful than I’d ever imagined.
“Don’t do that. Please.”
“You donated drugs to the mission!”
His shoulders dropped, then he stepped forward. “Can we… can you at least leave my brothers out of it?”
For a second I was confused, then I remembered: he’d said he’d done this one last job for his brothers, and on some level I admired his loyalty and concern for his family. “Sure.”
“And make sure no one touches that formula.”
“I am calling the police.”
“I know, but the formula. You need to get it. Now. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Imagine if someone opened one of those cartons around a baby.” He looked ill, panicked.
I nodded. The formula boxes hadn’t been opened. I was supposed to be sorting donations right now, and the only key to the storeroom was in my pocket.
“I’m so sorry, Faith. So sorry.” He backed up to the wall and slid down to sit, head in his hands. “Go, now. Make sure the formula’s secured, and then call the police. I won’t go anywhere.”
Heartbroken, I stood frozen, a million things running through my mind.
I might be able to forgive Mac. In time. That’s what Jesus would want me to do. I did believe Mac deserved a second chance, like anyone would, a second chance to be a good and honest man—but that didn’t mean he’d get a second chance with me.
I loved Mac. I would always love him. And I would always be grateful that he helped me figure out that I wasn’t meant for a life in the Church, but he’d lied, and that meant I couldn’t trust him, and if I couldn’t trust him, how could we be together?
My instincts were improving, but clearly I still had a lot to learn about whom to trust. Until I figured out that particular life puzzle, I had to at least act on the most obvious signs. If Mac lied about this, something so big, how could I ever trust him again?
But I didn’t want to ruin his life. I didn’t want to see him locked up.
“Take the formula,” I said. “Get it out of here, and I won’t call the police.”
He looked up at me, a question in his eyes. “Really? Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I need to get the dolly off the truck.”
“Fine. Go get your dolly and I’ll unlock the storeroom. Just get it out of here. And then I never want to see you again.”
“Faith.” He reached forward.
“I won’t call the police. Not today. But if I ever see you again. If you even try to contact me, if you even show up on that basketball court when I’m there. Iwillturn you in. I’ll tell the police everything I know—about you, about yourbrothers—everything you confessed to me. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you all pay for your crimes.”
Turning my back on him, I left the gymnasium, then slumped back against the closed door. This was the right thing to do. The right thing for me. Probably the right thing for Mac, too, although that part wasn’t for me to judge. Why did doing the right thing hurt so bad?
