God's Not Dead 2 (6 page)

“SO YOU REALLY WANT
to take a case like that?”

I look at Jack Fields and know it’s a legitimate question. I’ve known the guy since our high school days. I’ve seen him become a cop, and he’s seen me become a lawyer. Ever since I came back to Hope Springs, Jack and I have managed to hang out like this every few weeks. He works mostly nights, with long stretches on duty and then a pair of days off at a time. Right now it’s almost eleven at night and there’s quite a big crowd at Sweeney’s Grill.

“It’s not exactly like I can say no,” I tell him. “To the union or to being paid.”

“Don’t they pay you whether you take a case or not?” Jack asks.

“Yes. Technically. I can choose my cases.”

“Plus you said this woman has a choice too, right?”

“Technically, yes, but going with someone else means she’ll have to pay for things out of her own pocket.”

“So you can’t get out of it then?”

I look over at him while he finishes the late dinner he ordered. I’m tired and I’m wondering about the case and I’m curious why my buddy doesn’t want me to take it. “I know it’s not the next O. J. Simpson trial, but it’s still different than the typical stuff I’ve been working on. It’s an actual trial.”

Jack is staring up at the muted television with ESPN showing. “Yeah, I know. But.”

“But what?”

He shrugs. “Just seems so
 
—I don’t know
 
—beneath you.”

I stare at him for a moment, thinking about his comment. His buzz cut looks extra buzzed in the orange glow of the restaurant.

“I’m living in my mom’s house that’s hovering near foreclosure. My grandmother doesn’t know who I even am. My dad still manages to make me feel fifteen again whenever we talk, which is hardly ever. I spend a lot of time handling teacher-union issues. Helping to sort them out before they go to trial. So what kind of criteria are you using for ‘beneath me’?”

“I’m just talking about the subject matter. Doesn’t sound like you.”

The whole religious thing. Got it.

I wonder if Jack and I have talked about faith and God even once since we’ve been friends. I don’t think we have. I know where he stands. His rough upbringing that led him to become a cop also led him to dismiss anything to do with faith. It’s clear from the stories he’s shared and the color commentary he’s added when sharing them.

“I think I can help this woman out,” I say.

“Sounds like she needs to maybe quit teaching and start working in a church.”

“Yeah, well.” I pause and think about Grace and our conversation. I also picture myself a few years ago. “It definitely fits this current chapter of my life.”

Jack shifts in his booth and gives me an incredulous glance. “‘Current chapter’? So you saying there’s a book about you? Gotta be pretty short.”

I roll my eyes. We show our love through mockery. “I’m not saying the chapters are all that great, but this still fits,” I say. “It reminds me of my wake-up call.”

“Your what?”

Since I’m already in the oversharing mood, I decide to tell him the story.

“You ever seen the movie
The Verdic
t
?” I ask him.

He just shakes his head. “I’m not a big movie guy. Unless it’s blood and guts.”

“It’s an old movie, like early eighties or so. Starring Paul Newman. They told me it was a classic lawyer movie but I never saw it until after the whole mess with the judge.”

“Oh yeah? So, good flick?”

I nod. “Yeah, you can say that. You ever see a movie that sorta wakes you up? To life? That makes you suddenly snort the smelling salts?”

“Yeah.
Scarface
.”

His lack of seriousness isn’t stopping me from continuing. “I remember watching
The Verdict
and thinking . . . yeah. There’s a moment when
 
—well, this lawyer, he’s this total mess
 
—and the first time I saw it, I was him. Younger and way different, but
still
 
—just this whole mess. He says at one point something profound. Suddenly he’s found himself.”

Jack looks at me. “What’d he say?”

“He says, ‘Maybe I can do something right.’ And the thing is, he does. It’s brilliant. It’s amazing.”

“So you’re defending God, then,” he says as he sips his drink. “Is this you doing something right?”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Way to pop a kid’s balloon there.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Yeah, and I am too. I never said I’m defending God. I never told her that either. You think I’m taking this case for
that
?”

“I don’t know why you’re taking this case.”

“Do you know how much insanity
 
—how much utter garbage
 
—is happening in our world these days?”

It’s a grenade of a question I’ve just tossed over in his lap. He looks at me with complete disbelief that I even asked that. “I think I see it pretty much on a daily basis. A little more than people like you.”

There’s nothing more irritating to Jack than questioning the ability or the role of a police officer. I respect that. I also know how to get his attention.

“Exactly. Listen
 
—I get it. I know you see that stuff every day. And here’s the thing. Here’s a teacher who is talking about
Jesus
. And
 
—oh no
 
—she quotes a Bible verse. Horror of horrors. The world is breaking and torched and completely messed up, but God forbid some teacher mentions Jesus.”

“It’s a little more than that.”

“Is it?” I say. “I’m not defending her beliefs. But seriously. Shouldn’t we spend more time on the pedophiles and the terrorists and the people who are doing things we know are wrong?”

“So you’re saying you agree with her?”

“I’m saying that you wouldn’t haul her away for what she did. Right?”

He shrugs. “I have more important things to do.”

“And that’s my point. I mean
 
—come on. You know? Students enter classrooms with guns. So why put a teacher on trial for trying to do her best with those students?”

“Well, it at least keeps bums like you employed,” Jack says with a grin.

“You’d be the worst counselor in the world,” I tell him.

“Not true. I give great counsel. Especially with some of the idiots I lock up.”

“You have such compassion.”

“This is like that stuff that happened at Hadleigh University last year. The student in class refusing to say there’s no God and everybody up in arms about it.”

I vaguely remember that. “That the professor who died?”

“Yeah. The guy finally believes and then he’s struck dead. You think God caused that?”

“This isn’t a debate about God. It’s just a legal issue.”
And I’ll keep it at that.

“Oh,
just
a legal issue, huh? So this is some kind of
To Kill a Mockingbird
thing with you?” Jack asked.

I’m surprised he even knows about that book and film. “You are so living up to the stereotype of the dumb, meathead cop.”

“No, I’m not.”

“A teacher talked about Jesus. The school didn’t like it and she lost her job. There are rights at stake here. That’s what this is about.”

“So are you gonna become some big Jesus follower now?”

“No,” I say. “But I believe she has the right to talk about him.”

“Rights are blurry these days,” the cop says. “Like a lot of things.”

“That’s why you have people like me. To help find clarity.”

“Yeah, and to overcharge to do it.”

I laugh and acknowledge his point. “In my former life, I certainly did exactly that. But it’s a new day, my friend.”

Jack nods and gives me that amused look that I know is going to be followed by another jab. “Just don’t invite me to Vacation Bible School when you convert.”

With friends like these . . .
“Don’t worry.”

The late-night walk home brings companions alongside me. They’re the kind you just can’t ever seem to get rid of. These demons of doubt.

I can’t help wondering if the neediness I feel in these hollow steps creates a desire for something else. Does loneliness reveal a true need for someone to come and fill those hollow places?

I realize I’ve walked down this sidewalk too many times.

I’ve seen these trees hovering over me like judging fingers.

I’ve passed through these intersections as often as I’ve overlooked the crosses on the churches I ignore.

But now it feels like this is a place on a map I didn’t draw. I’m near some kind of destination I didn’t plan to get to. There’s a gathering I didn’t ever think I’d be a part of.

Yet I still go forward.

Grace deserves better.

An objection of the subconscious. How very meta–John Grisham.

She deserves more, just like they all did.

Then I hear the voices that seem not to sound like me at all. They’re in my mind, but they’re not my heart and soul. They’re
his
.

This figure. This dark noose stuck around my neck and tightening. A judge and jury and executioner distancing himself with holy decrees.

Amazing the amount of angst a father can create within you, isn’t it? I know this. I’m cognizant of this. It’s not like I don’t realize the dysfunction and the absolute decay of any kind of normal parental relationship. But still . . . sometimes the night would look a lot better without these blocks of darkness standing in the way.

Then again, maybe it’s just the reality that I’ve had a little too much and the too-much brings out the too-little stuck inside of him.

I feel restless, like something else needs to happen. Like I can still change or do something
 
—anything.

What would you do, Tom? Tell me. What would you do to get to the absolute truth?

I stand on the curb, hovering just over the road, next to the red signal telling me to stand still, just below the carved-out lantern shedding some light over here. I wonder and then I suddenly know.

I know what I would do.

This makes me think of Grace. She seems to fit her name. She seems to be a nice contrast to the things I hide deep inside.

I know what I need to do.

I breathe in and scan around the block and then look up at the night sky I can just see between the trees.

There’s a chance to get past this season. There’s a chance to wait and see some rays of light shining through.

Maybe this case
 
—maybe Grace
 
—can be it.

IT TAKES AMY
about five minutes to feel the weight of the world pulling on Brooke Thawley. Something tells her that it’s not simply the situation at school that Brooke’s a part of. There has to be more to the story.

“So you’re a junior, right?”

The girl nods as she works on a fry. They’re sitting in McDonald’s with the meals Amy bought in front of them, but neither of them seems particularly hungry.

“Do you enjoy school?”

“Not these days,” Brooke says.

“You’re on the cheerleading team with Marlene, right?”

Another nod. “Yep. And captain of the debate team. And honor student. And homecoming queen.”

She lists these like items on a felony rap sheet.

“Busy girl,” Amy says.

“Yep. That’s me.”

This is the sort of girl Amy used to secretly hate in high school. A girl who seems to have it all. The long, dark hair and the pretty smile and the flawless skin and the smarts and a little bit of just about everything.

Looks are always deceiving.

It’s nice for Brooke not to be wearing any kind of persona in front of her.

“Did you like Ms. Wesley before all this?”

“Yeah,” Brooke says. “Everybody loves her. She actually knows how to make her classes fun. And she was helping me through some issues.”

Amy waits to say anything. Brooke eventually continues.

“My older brother just passed away a couple of months ago. He was
 
—
Carter
was at college and got into a horrible accident while driving. It was
 
—devastating, to put it mildly. My parents
 
—well, it just seems like Ms. Wesley has more compassion toward me than others.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Amy tells her.

“Yeah, me too. My father actually told me, ‘We need to move on.’ Like I got a traffic ticket or something. It’s just . . .” The girl sighs and looks down at her chicken sandwich.

“I can’t imagine what all of you are dealing with.”

“Marlene’s been a super-awesome friend. But even she doesn’t truly understand. She invites me over to her house and is always like, ‘Give your parents a little more time.’ She just doesn’t get them. My mother is so obsessed with me getting into Stanford.
Still.
After everything that happened. I don’t even want to go to college anymore. Honestly.”

Amy initially thought about bringing her digital recorder to this meeting, but now she’s glad she didn’t. This no longer feels like an interview. She’s talking to a young woman who is still very much grieving an incredible loss.

“So you said Ms. Wesley was helping you out?”

“Yeah. But nothing big or official, you know? I saw her at the coffee shop and sat down and we like had the most amazing talk. This was a few days before the thing in class, I guess. It was incredible. You ever meet with someone and suddenly think, ‘I wish I had
her
for a mother’?”

Ah. The cruel, cruel hand of irony suddenly showing up and slapping Amy in the face.

“If you only knew,” Amy says.

“Then you understand. She was just there and listening and let me talk about everything. I told Ms. Wesley that my parents were completely over Carter’s death and they wanted me to be as well. They’re like, ‘He’s gone forever and there’s nothing we can do.’ Like two drones hovering over me telling me to just move on. But everything in my life suddenly felt turned upside down. Marlene’s like the only friend I have that isn’t absolutely self-absorbed.”

“She’s a strong kid,” Amy says.

“I told Ms. Wesley the same thing I’d
like
to tell my parents
 
—that the only thing I know for sure is that I’m never going to see my brother again. Everybody’s asked me if there’s something they can do. The truth is, no one can do anything because the only thing I really want is five more minutes to tell my brother how I felt about him.”

An urge to share her own story with Brooke nudges at her, but Amy remains quiet. There might be a time and a place, but it’s not this moment.

“Ms. Wesley asked me if Carter believed there was something more after death. To be honest, I don’t know if he did. I don’t know if I do. We talked about it. She said it’s natural for everybody to think about these things, that it’s normal to ask questions and try to find answers. When I eventually asked her why nothing ever seems to get to her, Ms. Wesley said in the same manner she always does that it’s Jesus who allows her to be that way.”

“And that’s when you two began talking about faith?”

Brooke shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t some big discussion or anything. When Ms. Wesley said that at the coffee shop, it just seemed natural. Like, ‘Yeah, this is who I am.’ So I had a lot more questions about that. I didn’t think
 
—I really didn’t think anything of it when I asked that question in class. I guess I should have been a lot more careful.”

“Did you end up talking with the principal or anybody else?”

Brooke nods, her dark hair bobbing back and forth. She becomes more animated thinking about it. “Principal Kinney called me into her office and told me Ms. Wesley had been put under disciplinary review and her classes had been reassigned and all this stuff and that I couldn’t have any contact with her. Either at school or away from it. She had spoken to my parents, who agreed with her. I was like, ‘Do I even have a say in it?’”

“How’d she respond?”

“With a big, fat no,” Brooke says. “She said I didn’t do anything wrong, and I told her Ms. Wesley didn’t either. I felt like some lawyer representing her. Which I hope she gets someone awesome because she did nothing illegal or improper or whatever. Principal Kinney told me not to discuss this with anybody.”

Amy nods and raises her eyebrows. “Looks like you really took her advice.”

“I’ve never been someone to get into trouble or break the rules. That was Carter. But I just
 
—I don’t know. Maybe it’s him whispering these crazy thoughts in my ear or something. I just know Ms. Wesley didn’t do anything wrong. She answered a simple question of mine.”

“So you’ve decided to fight back? That was quite the demonstration at school.”

“It’s made lots of headlines,” Brooke says, unable to hide her delight. “My parents are absolutely mortified.”

“Do you plan on doing anything more?”

“Absolutely. So
 
—are you gonna help Ms. Wesley? Write some kind of piece on her or something?”

“I would like to talk with her and maybe share her story,” Amy says.

“That’s great.”

“I’d encourage you
 
—when your opportunity comes, tell the truth.”

For a moment, the girl looks around the restaurant. “Well, everyone is telling me to stay out of it.”

“What’s your heart telling you?”

Amy can tell she’s not asking anything the young woman hasn’t already asked herself.

It’s easier to rush to judgment than to stand firm in your faith. Amy knows.

She used to be the one rushing and judging all the time.