God's Not Dead 2 (23 page)

IT’S TIME.

In this world full of immediacy, it’s a shame so many people still procrastinate about matters of faith. The connections and the instant everything perhaps make the situation even worse.

Amy knows she’s been stalling for too long. She’s pressed the pause button on this song far too many times.

This evening it’s time to act. To go and do and say and
believe
.

The voice of the pastor speaking in the Kenyan accent echoes in her mind.

“It’s time to stop floating, Amy. It’s time to stop waiting for God to blow you back to shore. I think it’s time you start paddling to find dry land yourself.”

In the dim light of her Prius, Amy sees the screen of her phone
light up. The name
Brooke Thawley
appears. She picks it up and answers it.

“How are you doing, Brooke?” she asks.

She didn’t expect to hear from her so soon. Brooke disappeared before Amy could find her at the courthouse.

“I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

There’s a pause since, yes, in some ways, the girl did ruin everything. Or at least most everything. But Amy isn’t about to say any of this.

“It’s okay,” Brooke says. “You don’t have to answer. I
know
I did.”

“You were being honest,” Amy says. “That’s admirable. That’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m not even allowed to talk to her. How do I let Ms. Wesley know I’m sorry without making things worse?”

Amy used to love being in the middle, playing one side off the other, going back and forth like someone running on a teeter-totter. But now she no longer likes that. She no longer wants to run and bounce off anyone.

She wants to be strong and solid, set in place.

“Brooke, I’m sort of walking a tightrope here. Ethically
 
—as a journalist
 
—I’m supposed to
cover
the story, not become part of it.”

“So don’t answer as a journalist,” Brooke says. “Answer as Amy.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” she says into the phone. “But whatever it is, just let her know that you care.”

Brooke doesn’t say anything, so Amy feels she needs to explain more. “Listen
 
—you know what I saw in that court today? I saw a girl who’s
 
—what, sixteen, right?”

Brooke utters a weak and soft yes.

“You know what I was doing when I was your age? I was angry
at God and at the only parent I had in my life. A single mother trying her best to raise a rebellious girl who only gave her grief and heartache. My mother was trying to set an example for me, and I didn’t want any of it. Because
 
—well, you want to know why? Ultimately why I rebelled? Why I hated my mother so long?”

“Why?” Brooke asks.

“Because I was angry. I was angry at God for my parents divorcing and my father disappearing and my mother being so inconsistent and ill-prepared to be a mother. The anger came from being wounded and feeling like I couldn’t do anything about it. Feeling completely helpless. And that only made the anger grow.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice on the phone tells Amy.

“Brooke, listen to me. Today I saw a young woman go up on the stand
 
—
demand
to go up there to give her testimony
 
—and speak the truth.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” she says.

“Maybe not. Maybe it was the worst decision you could have made. But it was inspiring to watch, Brooke. We need more people like you in this country. Teenagers asking the right questions and searching and finally finding faith and speaking out for it.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“No, Brooke.
I
know. I
know
. God gave me so many chances with my mother. I ignored them all. Then I thought it was too late. But today in the court
 
—watching you
 
—I realized it’s never too late. Never.”

“Why?” the teen asks. “I mean
 
—why did you think that?”

“The story you told me about your brother. Remember when I asked you if he had faith and you didn’t know? You weren’t sure. And then I hear about you finding this Bible and there’s hope. I
could hear it in your voice. Your faith. The same faith that I found a year ago but then suddenly began to doubt.”

Brooke lets out a sad sort of laugh. “I’m the one calling you because I probably lost the case for Ms. Wesley.”

“Do not for one second think you did anything today other than standing up for your Lord,” Amy says. “A pastor told me this yesterday: ‘God delights in using us in ways we never dreamed of . . . and in giving us things we never even knew we wanted.’ I didn’t believe him yesterday when he said that. But I do now, thanks to you.”

Brooke utters an unsure thank-you.

“I’ll share this with Ms. Wesley the next time I see her. Stay strong. And pray that things will work out well tomorrow. Get others to pray too.”

“Okay, thanks,” Brooke says. “You sound like you’re driving.”

“Yeah, I’m in the car.”

“Where are you going?” Brooke asks.

“Somewhere I’ve needed to go for a long time.”

I KNOCK ON THE DOOR,
this time carrying a bag of subs and chips. Grace opens the door and doesn’t seem as excited to see me as she was the other evening.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

She looks comfortable in her jeans and a light and loose-fitting striped blouse with the sleeves rolled up.

“I scored big points the other night with the surprise Chinese food, so I figured I’d try my luck again.”

“More Chinese?”

“No
 
—I have subs. Six different kinds, actually. I figured you and your grandfather could choose.”

“We already had dinner,” Grace says.

“But it’s like
 
—it’s not even six o’clock.”

“He’s eighty-two.”

I nod. “Okay. Well, I’ll be eating subs for a while.”

Grace looks to the side of the doorway and rubs her neck.

“So did the birthday party start yet?” I ask.

The comment gets her attention and seems to relieve her a bit. “No. Not yet. The cupcakes are cooling.”

I nod. “I notice you said
cupcakes
. As in plural.”

“I could be talking about two of them.”

I smile.

“But
 
—I’m not,” she says. “Would you like to join us for some birthday treats?”

“Am I welcome?”

She acts like she’s thinking about it, then turns for me to follow her inside. I greet Walter, who is in the family room watching news so loud I can barely speak over it.

“Happy birthday,” I announce more than say.

He says something that I imagine is a thank-you. I follow Grace into the kitchen, where we won’t end up deaf.

“We usually eat at five and then he spends the next hour listening to how bad our world happens to be. Here
 
—let me get you a plate.”

She hands me a dish along with a napkin.

“It’s okay
 
—I don’t have to
 
—”

“Did you already have a sandwich?” Grace asks.

“No.”

“Then eat. You probably didn’t have much for lunch.”

She’s right. I put the bag of subs down on the kitchen island and then grab one marked
Italian
. This has a heart attack’s worth of meats and cheeses on it along with a side of bad-breath onions. The perfect sandwich not to have on a date.

Not that this resembles any sort of date.

“I’m sorry about what happened today,” I tell her.

Grace nods and opens the refrigerator door, her ponytail whipping to one side. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Soda. Anything with caffeine.”

I watch her fill a glass with ice and Diet Coke and comment on her full service. I thank her. Then I try to offer a little encouragement. “We don’t know what the jurors are thinking, so you shouldn’t worry about things yet.”

“Do I look worried?”

“Actually, no,” I say. “Which is great. I just
 
—I didn’t know how you were doing. I know you were frustrated when you left the courthouse.”

“I think
dumbfounded
might be the right word. All of this
 
—from the moment Principal Kinney called me into her office till now
 
—has felt like some kind of dream. You know, the kind you wake up from and can’t really remember. You just know it wasn’t particularly good.”

“They haven’t made a judgment yet, Grace.”

“The pastor’s appendix decides it’s time to go. Now Brooke crashes the party and decides to share everything and make us
 
—make
me
 
—look like a liar.”

“You’re not a liar,” I tell her.

“I know that. But like you said, we lost the case.”

“I didn’t mean to say that. I just
 
—it slipped out.”

“You were being honest,” she tells me. “So I’m preparing to be found guilty.”

I study her and find her calm fascinating. “And how are you preparing?”

She holds up one of the cupcakes she just made. It looks like it’s
probably vanilla. It’s the size of a softball. “I’m dealing with it by making Gramps his favorite: salted caramel cupcakes with caramel Swiss buttercream.”

I have to laugh. Actually, I think I gasp. “That sounds like some kind of chemistry experiment.”

“Each vanilla cupcake has a tablespoon of melted salted caramel in it. I’m going to frost them in a few minutes. Want to help?”

I nod. I suddenly think about bypassing the sub and going straight for the cupcake.

“The frosting is caramel Swiss buttercream that’s topped with crumbled pecan-coconut brittle,” Grace says.

I
almost
tell her that if the teaching thing doesn’t work out, she has a second career. Thankfully, for once I keep my mouth shut before saying something ridiculous.

After I inhale the Italian sub and we start to put frosting on the cupcakes, Grace asks me a question that I’ve been expecting for a while. I’m a bit surprised she hasn’t asked me before now.

“Do you mind telling me what happened out in California? How you ended up here? I know you said you worked for a judge, right?”

The frosting I’m attempting to put on the dessert is running over and making a mess.

Grace just looks at me and shakes her head. “Maybe I should do the rest of them?”

“I was a clerk for a Ninth Circuit Court judge. A prestigious job for someone coming out of law school. The future looked bright. I had a steady girlfriend
 
—thought we were serious. I was arrogant, but so were the rest of my friends, many of them lawyers themselves. I thought the last thing I’d ever do was come back to Hope Springs. Honestly.”

Grace stops working with the frosting and just stares over at me. “So what happened?”

“The judge
 
—it took him a week before he began to dislike me. For lots of different reasons. He didn’t like my sarcasm. He didn’t do sarcasm. And it’s not like I was flippant or anything, but I’m still me. That was the start. But honestly
 
—the old man’s a racist pig. I called him out once and he fired me because of it.”

“He did? You got fired for confronting him?”

“No, not like that.” I lean back against a kitchen counter and feel like a knife has been wedged into my side. I hate thinking about this, much less talking about everything. “I made some comments in private and we had an argument. It was more like I said some things and he went off and then the next thing I knew there were repeated questions about my work ethic and attitude and everything. He eventually managed to get enough strikes against me to let me go.”

Grace waits to hear the
Then what?
of the story.

“Then I had a bit of a double whammy happen to me,” I say. “My mother passed away right at the same time my girlfriend
 
—this love-of-my-life, soul-mate sort of girl
 
—dumped me. I came back to Hope Springs pretty crushed. Well, not
pretty
at all, just crushed.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace says.

“Then I got hooked up with my partner, Roger, and took a few cases. The very first one ended up getting me held in contempt of court. By none other than Judge Stennis himself.”

“You never told me that.”

“It wasn’t even that big a deal, just my stupid mouth getting me in trouble like usual. I had an objection overruled and I didn’t like it and I told the judge so. Not in so many words. Actually, I used
a lot of words, some of them pretty . . . colorful. He placed me in contempt, I lost the case, and the next time I saw him was at jury selection for your trial. But I don’t think he’s holding it against me. I’m just going to keep my temper
 
—and my mouth
 
—in check.”

Grace doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t think the conversation while decorating cupcakes should be this heavy.” The goopy mess in my hands doesn’t even resemble a cupcake anymore.

“And
I
don’t think that’s what
decorating
means,” she says with a laugh as she makes a face while looking at my messy dessert.

We talk a little more about my coming back to town and trying to start a new business and get back on my feet after my disastrous first case.

“All I know is life is hard,” Grace says. “My parents abandoning me. My complete inability to ever find someone who wants to go on a second date. My bills. And now this.”

Her tone isn’t one of misery. It sounds like she’s relaying details about an event in history.

Which is sorta what she just did.

“So do you believe God still cares? That he’s even there?”

“Yes,” Grace says. “And I can keep going because he brings opportunities and people who help.” She gives me an acknowledging smile.

“Ha. I’m thinking maybe the devil brought me.”

“Who said I was talking about
you
helping me?” she asks, finally taking my cupcake away from me.

This case and this place and this moment suddenly don’t seem to be the main thing. The most important thing. Maybe it’s bigger than that.

So tell her.

“Grace, look
 
—I need to tell you
 
—”

“Tom? Save your words for tomorrow. Okay?”

Shut down.

I nod.

“I’m not telling you to not say them or to forget them. I’m just saying
 
—don’t add an epilogue on a story that hasn’t ended yet.”

That’s good. I need to write that down and use it in court one day.

“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow it ends. Then we’ll know.”

“Yes. The verdict in the case of
Thawley v. Wesley
.”

I pick up another cupcake and hold it, wondering whether to try my luck again.

“And what about the case of
Tom v. Grace
?” I ask her.

“Have you filed, Counselor?” she says in a voice resembling Judge Stennis’s.

“Not yet.”

Those blue-topaz gems look my way. “I think I prefer you defending me, Tom.”

With those words she leaves the kitchen for the moment. I hear her talking to her grandfather. I smile and then skim some of the frosting off the bowl.

As I’m resting against the counter, glancing around the kitchen and feeling warm and lazy, I suddenly realize something.

This place feels like home.