HIDING - every scar has a story

37. Trust.

{Pete}

Pete was already in bed when the phone rang. A pool of light spilled onto the open pages of his book as Melanie snored lightly beside him. He checked the call display. It wasn't anybody he knew; he let it go.

Jon appeared in his doorway holding out the phone from the kitchen, his hair rumpled over his pale face. "Dad, I think you should take this. It's Cary. He's in trouble."

Pete took the phone, searching his son's face as he said, "Hello?"

"Is this Mr. White?" The woman sounded stressed and annoyed.

"Yes."

"This is Marissa from the Youth Emergency Shelter. Ciaran Douglas gave us your number as a possible contact person. We've asked him to vacate the premises before midnight tonight. Will it be possible for you to come pick him up, or should I give him a bus ticket?"

Pete tried to put this all together. Jon was watching him, gripping the doorjamb tightly. "I'm sorry Marissa, could you hold on a minute?" He covered the phone, frowning at his son. "Jon, the Youth Emergency Shelter wants me to pick Cary up tonight. Do you know anything about that?"

Jon's face was tight and secretive. "No."

"So Cary is kicked out of his house, and the youth shelter in the space of three days and you don't know why?"

"No, I don't."

It took an effort not to react when Jon was so obviously lying to him. "And why should I drive out there tonight to play taxi for Cary?"

Jon turned his face to the darkened hallway, like there was someone there with the answer. "It's not what it looks like, Dad." His voice was strained. "Please believe me."

That at least sounded like the truth. Pete put the phone back on his ear. "Hello, Marissa? Could you please put Ciaran on the line?"

There was a rustle and a mutter of voices. "Hello?" Cary's voice sounded thick and slurred. Pete couldn't help wondering if he'd been drinking.

"Cary, what do you want me to do for you?"

There was a silence. "I'm sorry Mr. White. I told them not to call you. I don't need to go to the hospital. Sorry to wake you up."

"Okay, just wait a minute. What do you not need to go to the hospital for?"

Cary was infuriatingly slow to respond. "I was in a fight. It's just some bruises. Please don't trouble yourself Mr. White."

Pete put his feet on the floor. "I'm already troubled, Cary. I'll be there in thirty minutes. Stay there."

///

By the time he'd gotten dressed and spoken with his wife, Jon was waiting at the door with his jacket on. "I'm going with you," Jon said.

Pete gave him a level look. "What are we doing right now Jon?"

"Cary needs our help," Jon said. "He's my best friend. I'm coming."

Pete took his time putting on his jacket, thinking. When he faced Jon again, his mind was made up. "Son, you can come. But hear me very clearly—I will do this for Cary once, but if he continues the way he is, your friendship with him is over."

Jon's lips quivered and he bit them together, silent.

Jon was silent for the entire drive, staring at the dashboard with his hands clenched together and pressed between his knees. It took Pete two tries to find the youth shelter parking lot in the back. He frowned as he got out of the car. The concrete yard was a mess: there was a picnic table on its side and broken glass everywhere.