God's Not Dead 2 (22 page)

“Reliable eyewitnesses always differ slightly in their accounts. When two or more witnesses see the same event, they usually experience it differently and focus on different aspects of the action. Their statements are influenced greatly by their unique interests, backgrounds, and perspectives. My goal in assessing the Gospels was simply to determine whether they represent valid, reliable eyewitness testimony in spite of any apparent differences between accounts.”

Kane does his best to show the entire room his reaction, which looks a bit like he just heard a five-year-old say he’s about to fly to the moon.

“As a devout Christian, did you feel like you succeeded with this determination?”

Your first misstep, Peter.

“Oh, Mr. Kane, I’m afraid you misunderstand. When I started my study, I was a devout atheist. I approached the Gospels as a committed skeptic, not a believer.”

The flat reaction on Kane’s face tells me he’s stunned and annoyed. The quick look over to Simon and Elizabeth at his table resembles a sports-nut father staring at his son after he strikes out with bases loaded in the ninth.

Jim Wallace is good. He decides to take advantage of the moment and keep sharing. “You see, I wasn’t raised in a Christian environment, but I think I have an unusually high amount of respect for evidence. I’m not a Christian today because I was raised
that way or because it satisfies some need or accomplishes some goal. I’m simply a Christian because it’s evidentially true.”

“Motion to strike, Your Honor,” Kane barks out.

“Granted. The jury is instructed to ignore Detective Wallace’s last remarks.”

I have to hide my smile.

Good job.

“No further questions.”

Kane wants to get out of there before more damage is done.

The judge excuses the witness. I give Wallace a nod to show my thanks and appreciation as he walks past. I expect Judge Stennis to wrap things up for the day and share the timeline of closing arguments, but the door cracking open behind us gets everybody’s attention. I can’t help looking back like the rest of the room.

Brooke Thawley is racing to the front of the courtroom. She looks as confident and self-righteous as Kane himself.

Uh-oh.

I thought we were ending on a strong note. Maybe not a high, but at least a good place to stand while the jury members consider the details and the facts.
Facts.

Brooke stops at the spectator rail and then starts to speak. But it sounds a lot more like yelling. “She didn’t do anything wrong,” she shouts out. “She was trying to help me.”

I don’t think any of this is going to help
me
.

THERE’S CHAOS
in the courtroom, and it takes Amy a few moments to realize it’s Brooke Thawley’s fault.

Where’d she come from?

Amy was writing down thoughts on the last witness and heard the door behind her crack open but didn’t think anything about it. It was only when she heard the girl’s voice that she looked up to see what was happening.

Brooke was in front of her, screaming that the teacher didn’t do anything wrong, that she was just trying to help her, that she was innocent.

Amy watches the judge wield his gavel and whack it with attempts to restore order. The bailiff moves toward Brooke to escort her out of the court. Everyone is looking at the teenager in complete surprise.

“Order
 
—I’ll have order,” Judge Stennis shouts. “Young lady, your youth is no excuse for disturbing the sanctity of this court.”

“This case is supposed to be about me,” Brooke shouts around the bailiff blocking her from the judge. “I’m almost seventeen years old, so it’s not like I can’t think for myself. But I don’t even have the right to speak.”

Wish I had that kind of guts at her age.

“You’re not allowed to speak unless you’re called as a witness, young lady.”

Amy wonders when the judge is going to call her a whippersnapper. She can see Tom leaning in to Grace and asking her questions.

He’s probably wondering if he should put her on the stand. Probably wondering what he’ll hear.

Whatever Grace tells him makes the decision.

“Your Honor, we would like to call Miss Brooke Thawley to the stand.”

Now it’s Kane’s time for an eruption. “Objection, Your Honor!” His words echo all over the room. “Miss Thawley is a minor
 
—her parents are her guardians and don’t want her subjected to the emotional pressure of testifying against her own teacher.”

The judge seems to be the only one in the courtroom with any calm sense. “Mr. Kane, I’ll rule on your objection in a moment.” He turns his ponderous gaze to Brooke. “Miss Thawley, are you willing to testify on your own behalf?”

“Yes.”

“And do you understand that you’ll have to answer all questions truthfully
 
—regardless of your feelings? And that failure to do so is punishable by law?”

Amy sees the young woman’s head nod, her body language
strong and defiant. “I’m not afraid of telling the truth. I’m only afraid of
not being allowed
to tell it.”

“I’ll allow the witness,” the judge says. “Objection overruled.”

Kane gives a look of disbelief. It’s one that Amy feels too.

She doubts this is going to go well.

It takes Tom a while to get his bearings. He asks Brooke to introduce herself and talk about her parents and school. Amy writes a note on her pad.

Tom’s stalling ’cause he’s probably freaking out.

Eventually the lawyer gets around to asking a legitimate question that might start to help his case.

“Brooke, in class
 
—who first brought up the name of Jesus: you or Ms. Wesley?”

“I did.”

Brooke looks unusually mature for a high school junior.

“Was this part of a question you were asking?” Tom asks.

“Yes.”

“And at that time, did you feel like you were asking a faith-based question?”

“No, not at all,” she says, sounding earnest and heartfelt. “It just seemed like Martin Luther King Jr. and Jesus were saying similar things, so I brought it up.”

Amy notices that Tom is feeling more comfortable now as he moves around. He stops close to Brooke, talking as if he might be teaching a group of high school students.

“And did you consider Ms. Wesley’s response to be a reasonable answer to your question?”

“Yes.”

“So if I’m hearing you correctly, you asked a question in history class
 
—regarding a historical figure
 
—and your history teacher answered it in a sensible manner?”

“Yes.”

That’s what this whole case is about. Amy knows just like everybody else that the key is whether they’ll agree that Jesus was indeed a historical figure.

Tom has asked enough, so he tells Kane he can question her.

When the opposing lawyer stands, Amy notices that there’s some kind of energy in his step. It’s like he just drank a Red Bull. She can’t see his face, but Amy bets he’s got a spark in his eyes. One that was gone just a few minutes ago.

“Hello, Miss Thawley. It’s a pleasure to have you join us.”

The sarcasm is noted by Brooke. She gives him a fake smile.

“So, tell us, Miss Thawley. You like Ms. Wesley, don’t you?”

She answers with a very confident yes.

“Would you say she’s your favorite teacher?”

“Yes . . . absolutely.”

I’m not liking this. Kane knows something here.

Amy suddenly wants Brooke to get off that stand. Now.

“And do you think Ms. Wesley likes you?”

Tom stands and objects to the question. “Speculative,” he says.

“Your Honor, the question speaks to the state of mind of the witness, if not Ms. Wesley herself.”

Judge Stennis nods and wrinkles his mouth like some kind of thinking frog might. “I’m going to allow it. Overruled. You may answer the question.”

Brooke looks at the judge and nods. “Yes . . . I think she likes me.”

“Do you think there’s any possibility that in answering your
question, Ms. Wesley might have been looking to share her ideas about her faith
 
— a faith she holds most dear?”

“No, not at that moment,” Brooke answers.

A sudden
ding
sort of look appears on Brooke’s face.

Not at that moment?

Amy knows that if she’s seeing that look, so is Kane. She hears him slowly clear his throat.

“Not at that moment? Do you mean that there were other moments in which Ms. Wesley did share with you about her faith?”

The young woman suddenly doesn’t seem so excited to talk. Her eyes glance down. Amy can only imagine what Tom might be thinking.

“Miss Thawley?” Kane says, sounding the most menacing he has since the start of the trial.

The combination of age and experience and couldn’t-care-less attitude and hair gel is absolutely too much for Brooke. She seems to sink in her seat, looking at the judge for some way out but obviously not finding one.

“You must
answer
the question, Miss Thawley,” Stennis tells her.

Amy knows that’s his way of saying,
How dare you interrupt my courtroom, you youngster you.

Brooke looks over at Grace and Tom with a sense of regret.

“Yes . . . but it was outside of school . . . and it was only one time.”

“Move to strike,” Tom calls out after standing. “Your Honor, this is irrelevant. No actions off the school campus are at issue here.”

“Denied. Mr. Kane seems to have found a loose thread. I’m inclined to let him pull it and see what unravels.”

Amy can only think of two words. It’s a song she remembers from when she was young by a band called Garbage.

“Stupid Girl.”

And yes, this is garbage. This girl has acted stupid and has suddenly changed the entire story line of the case.

Amy sees Tom leaning into Grace, but this time he doesn’t seem to be asking her a question but rather talking. They both must be wondering what in the world is happening.

The poor teenager on the stand looks like she might cry. Kane does something smart. Instead of continuing to attack, he seems to back off with a kinder tone and demeanor, like he’s some friendly adviser.

“Brooke, it’s very important that you tell the truth here. You understand that, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Kane says like a kindergarten teacher. “Now can you explain what you meant when you said you talked about faith outside of school?”

“My brother died in an accident six months ago. Ms. Wesley noticed I wasn’t doing so well and asked me if everything was all right after class. I told her I was fine, but then I went and found her at the coffee shop later on.”

Amy knows where this is going.
Exactly
where it’s going.

“And did Ms. Wesley refer you for psychological counseling?”

Brooke seems surprised by the question. “No.”

The lawyer moves closer. “Did she suggest that maybe she wasn’t the right person to be discussing this with you?”

“No. She was nice. We talked for a long time. I could tell she really cared. I asked her how she kept everything together so well, and she said Jesus helped her.”

Kane nods carefully, then leans toward her to ensure she focuses on him.

“So she’s the one who brought up Jesus. Did her endorsement of Jesus lead you to exploring Christianity?”

Brooke looks around, first to her parents and then to Grace and Tom.

“Yes, at first. But when the Salvation Army came to pick up my brother’s things just the other day, one of the workers found his Bible and gave it to me.”

This must have just happened.

Amy can see Brooke’s parents looking at each other as if it’s news to them, too.

“So did you talk to Ms. Wesley about this Bible?”

“No,” Brooke says. “This was after everything happened. I mean
 
—I didn’t even know Carter had one. I just know that I started reading, and once I did, I realized I didn’t want to stop. The things Ms. Wesley had been talking about just made me curious.”

Kane nods and then walks over to the jurors, perhaps to get their attention or make any bored ones wake up. Amy can tell that not a single one appears to be bored in any way.

“So, Miss Thawley, if I’m understanding you correctly, without Ms. Wesley’s direct influence, you never would have asked the question that put us all here in the first place, would you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that
 
—like I said, I found my brother’s Bible and started to read
 
—”

“And based on your readings, would you now consider yourself a believer?”

Brooke looks nervous but doesn’t hesitate in answering. “Yes.”

“Maybe even consider yourself a Christian?”

The resounding yes seems to hover around the room for a
moment. Once again, Amy is impressed with the strength of this young woman.

“So, Brooke
 
—at the risk of seeming redundant: Is it likely that
any
of this
 
—your question about Jesus in class, your Bible reading, or your newfound commitment to Christianity
 
—is it likely that any of this would have come about without Ms. Wesley’s direct involvement?”

Brooke can only shake her head. She has to tell the truth, more now than ever before. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Kane says. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Amy feels uncomfortable in her wooden seat. The primping from Kane as he sits down . . . the muffled “No, Your Honor,” from Tom after being asked if he wants to redirect . . . the quiet hush in the courtroom . . . the pale look of shame on Brooke’s face . . .

Amy closes her eyes and wants to slip out of this room. But she knows she needs to talk to Brooke. To ask her some questions. And maybe, possibly, encourage her.

Her parents certainly won’t.

MOMENTS AFTER BROOKE
makes her confession to Kane, Grace looks at the jury and then leans over to me.

“Why do they look so angry?”

If I didn’t have to hide my expression, I’d be looking exactly like them. “They think we lied to them,” I whisper.

“But we didn’t,” she tells me.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Truth is overrated in the courtroom. Perception, on the other hand, is everything.

Everybody files out of the courtroom before I move to start picking up my folders to put into my briefcase. Grace is just waiting for me to say or do something.

“I have to prepare you, Grace. We’re going to lose this case.”

She just nods. “I know. You were right. I’m going to lose everything.”

I want to say something, to say the
right
thing, to not be sarcastic or cavalier about this, so in searching for the words I end up saying nothing. I just hear her sigh. A long and exhausted and frustrated sigh.

“At the end of the day, maybe it wasn’t worth it after all,” Grace says.

But it was. It has to be. I know it was the right thing to do.
“No
 
—listen, Grace. What I said before
 
—I was wrong. It
is
worth it.”

Confusion fills her face. She stands up before I can say anything more. “Then maybe you should just ask the jury to convict me and get it over with.”

I hear the tapping of her pumps as she leaves. I stand up and think about chasing her but realize she doesn’t want that and nobody needs to see that.

But whatever she’s thinking right now
 
—she’s got it all wrong. I replay what I said.

“It
is
worth it.”

I try to think what she might have thought I meant by this. Did she think I was being condescending, as if I were saying,
“Good try, kiddo!”
Or maybe she thought I was hitting on her?
“This gave us the chance to meet one another.”
Or did she just think I was saying something like every other male out there, trying to fix something that can’t be repaired?

This room suddenly feels cavernous. For some strange reason, I think of Jonah. Stuck in the belly of a whale. That little fable has always made me laugh. It’s always made me think of the beginning of
The Empire Strikes Back
when Han Solo has to put a wounded Luke Skywalker in the belly of a dead tauntaun in order to survive the subzero temperatures.

This is my problem in a nutshell. I hear a story from the Bible and then start thinking of
Star Wars
or something like that.

But what if the stories about Jonah and Noah and Moses are indeed true?

What if
all
the stories
 
—including the ones about Jesus Christ
 
—are true? Not just the being born part and the preaching part and the coming-to-Jerusalem-on-a-donkey part. Not just being hung on a cross to die.

What if Jesus really did rise from the dead the way the Bible says he did?

I’d be pretty excited if I actually could believe something like that.

Something like that would mean . . . it would mean everything. It would change everything. The air would feel different and the mirror I sometimes glance at in the morning would look different and the sky above would resemble something else completely.

It’s like the black-and-white world would suddenly change into some kind of Matisse painting.

If I could believe . . .

I start heading to the exit, knowing the world isn’t black-and-white but full of gray. The color tries to fill in the cracks and the broken spots, but it never seems able to. At least not with me.

I wanted to believe we were going to win. For a short time, I think I even did.

Now, as I walk down the hallway toward the stairs of the courthouse, I realize that believing is a foolish thing. Whether it’s believing in your parents or in a job or in the love of your life or in the hopes that maybe life is going to change for the better.

Belief is a dangerous thing because it takes just one reality check to make it all disappear exactly like it did moments ago.