God's Not Dead 2 (27 page)

I DECIDE TO END THE DAY
by celebrating my victory with someone who won’t have a clue who I am. But after seeing the joy in everybody back there at the courthouse, this just seems right. I can’t explain it to anybody else, not even Grace. One day, maybe, I’ll be able to put it into words. But I’m still processing this myself.

Back there, seeing the smile on Grace’s face, all I could think about was Mom. Seeing those students singing and laughing, all I could picture were the students in my mother’s classroom. The ones who attended the funeral, some grown kids in their twenties or even closing in on my age. Grace and her high school class brought me back to my mother.

Which brings me here.

I have to pass The Captain. I nod and smile and say, “Good evening.”

Surprisingly, he nods back. He doesn’t smile, but I actually get a nod.

This is my day. I need to go play the lottery.

I have no idea I’m about to win it.

I walk in and approach my grandmother carefully. She’s sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, a book in her lap.

“Hello, Ms. Archer. I’m Tom Endler, your attorney.”

I’ve said this so many times it sounds like I’m on a channel, pitching something.

“Tom.”

The excited voice tells me everything. She says my name and I suddenly know.

“Since when do I need an attorney?” Grandma asks with a laugh. “Look at you. My, you just keep getting more and more handsome.”

I’m out of breath, my legs suddenly weak. Actually, my whole body’s weak. I lean against the door I just opened.

“Well, come here and give your Nana a hug.”

I drop the stupid briefcase I brought in and then walk over and bend down and embrace her.

“Okay, okay, you’re going to suffocate me,” she calls out.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“What’s wrong, Tom? Do you have bad news?”

I shake my head and wipe my eyes. “No. It’s nothing. Just
 
—it’s good to see you.”

Good
being the understatement of the century.

“Well, sit down. There’s a chair over there.”

“The bed’s fine,” I say, sitting right across from her.

She’s so beautiful. The way the wrinkles circle her eyes and lips like a half-moon when she smiles. The eyes that have lightbulbs behind them.

“So how have you been?” she asks.

I swallow. It’s been a long day and I’m tired and emotionally spent, so this is all a bit too much. In a great way. Like finding extra presents on your bed the night after Christmas.

“I’ve been good. Great, actually. Today
 
—it was a great day. That’s why I’m here.”

“Really?”

She’s so happy for me.

Joy for something I’ve done from someone I care about? It’s impossible to quantify how good it feels.

“I won a big case today,” I say.

“Well, tell me all about it. I’ve needed to hear some exciting stories.”

I nod and begin telling her.

I’ve needed you to be able to hear them.

I tell her about the case, about Grace Wesley and what happened in her history class, about the suspension and my getting the job, about how the trial went. I even tell her about my final argument, which landed me in contempt but ultimately won the case.

With every detail, Grandma listens with an animated face that’s so proud. I tell her about the celebration on the courthouse steps, about the chants of “God’s Not Dead,” about all of it.

“And do you believe that, Tom? Do you believe it?”

I smile, looking down, wondering how much Grandma remembers. If she remembers it all, she’ll know that the Tom from years ago would shake his arrogant head and say a resounding no.

“Maybe,” I say.

I’m given this door
 
—no, maybe it’s just a window of time. So I’m not going to waste it lying or bothering to hold back. It’s true. Right now I’m a maybe. I’ve seen some strange things and seen how
normal
faith has looked on people like Grace and Brooke.

“Your mother used to tell me how worried she was about you. Worried about the anger. How she felt like it was a huge barrier between you and God. Like the Great Wall of China.”

I guess Grandma knows more about me and my faith issues than I’d even guessed.

“Your mother prayed for you every day and night, Thomas. Not just when you were young, but even more so when you were older. Do you know that?”

I nod, facing the floor again, trying not to let Grandma see my tears.

“People wonder about prayers being answered and not being answered, but you know
 
—God doesn’t promise he’ll answer them. And when he does, it’s in his own time and way.”

I look up and see the Grandma I always remembered and I have to laugh. I wipe my eyes. “Yes. You’re certainly right about that.”

He decided to answer mine right here in this room tonight.

“She would always say that she didn’t care about any kind of success you might have. About being some big-time, big-shot lawyer. She would pray that God would protect you and guard your heart. She once said you’d run away from him. That you’d run west where the sun could try to outshine his Spirit. She prayed every day that you would come back around.”

I think about Judge Nettles. It’s a name I haven’t even uttered in my mind for some time. I think about everything that happened
in California. Being arrogant enough to believe I was bigger than a judge, bigger than the system in place. Then being tossed and having my world turned upside down. I think about the following dark times. Then finally coming back around after Mom was gone.
Because
she was gone.

The past can be given to you on a single postcard with a simple snapshot of every important thing that’s ever happened. Memories don’t have shapes or outlines or boundaries, and sometimes they can all be compressed into one room and one moment in time. Like now.

“Your mother never gave up on you. That spirit of hers
 
—the way she used to be with those children she taught. I would look at her gentle soul and be envious. Do you know that? So envious. And you know something else, Thomas Endler? When I see you, I see your mother inside of you.”

My face feels heavy and my eyesight glassy, and I do my best to swallow past my dry mouth. I have to wipe my eyes again. “Thanks for saying that.”

My voice is so weak.

“She would have been proud about that big court case you had. Very proud.”

“Yeah.”

All this time, I’ve been coming to this place hoping and wanting to talk to this woman, wishing I could do so with her knowing whom she was talking with. Now I’m here and she knows and I can barely get any words out.

“You put your trust in the heavenly Father. No matter what happens. No matter the bad times that come. ‘But we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not
ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.’ That’s Romans 5:3-5.”

I just shake my head. “Good memory, Grandma.”

She nods. “Yes. Sometimes I surprise myself.”

For a second I think about this verse and then remember Grace talking about it with Amy and me in the parking lot after the first day of the trial. I’m guessing this Romans book must be a pretty popular one in the Bible. Maybe I’ll check it out. It’ll give me something good to talk with Grandma about.

A nurse comes and checks on us, giving my grandmother some pills. “Are you going to stay for a while?” she asks me.

“Definitely. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

We sit there in a room that smells like old age filled with toys that look like childhood. I find myself in the middle, with memories I want to forget and a future I don’t want to think about.

“Would you mind sharing some more stories with me?” I ask Grandma.

Her spotted hand, which seems like it’s nothing but bones, sets the shaking cup down on the small table next to her. “What kind of story would you like?”

“About my mother. Or about you. Or about when I was a kid.”

So Grandma begins telling some stories, and I listen, and each sentence makes my heart feel a little better. Even if I’ve heard the story before or if it’s some random tangent that doesn’t make sense.

Grandma knows the stories. But there’s something far more important.

She knows me.

THEY’VE BEEN THERE
in the coffee shop for an hour, talking all about the aftermath of the trial and the last week at school. Brooke has been almost breathless, sharing story after story. All along, Amy’s been waiting to get to the main reason she wanted to meet.

“Can I say something?” she finally asks.

Brooke apologizes, her face a bit flushed. “I’m sorry
 
—I know I’m just talking and talking.”

“It’s okay. It’s just
 
—I’ve wanted to give you something for a while now.”

She gives Brooke the box first. The girl takes it with curiosity and then peels off the top and unwraps the tissue paper. Her eyes
and mouth widen, and for a moment Brooke acts like she can’t touch what’s inside.

“Take it out,” Amy tells her.

So she does. Amy can see the young woman’s hand quivering.

“Oh, my
 
—I can’t . . . What is this? Amy, I don’t
 
—why are you giving this to me? Is this real?”

Amy nods. “It’s a white-gold diamond locket. Very expensive
 
—extravagant, exclusive
 
—use whatever adjective you like.”

Brooke starts to hand it over to her while shaking her head.

“No, Brooke, it’s yours. Seriously.”

“I can’t.”

“Listen. Someone gave me that as a present some time ago. It’s someone who is not in my life anymore, thank God
 
—literally. I’ve wondered what to do with it. But the last few days, it came to me.”

“What?”

“You gave me a gift,” Amy says. “By asking a question and starting the dominoes falling and then standing strong. Despite your parents and your school. You shared your story. That was a gift. Not only to me but to many others. And this
 
—this is the least I could do. I mean, come on
 
—I’m
regifting
.”

“This looks valuable.”

Amy laughs. “Oh, it is. And it’s yours. But here
 
—I wrote something too. I want you to see why. There’s always a why, at least in Amy Ryan’s wacky world.”

Amy hands her the folded note. Brooke opens it and begins to read.

The truth is, sometimes there’s something magical about written words. So many are spoken, and too many are typed and shared online. These are written in Amy’s own handwriting. Her one-of-a-kind signature.

Dear Brooke:

This is a gift to you because you are a gift. To see someone so young standing up for what she believes is truly inspiring. I’ve seen faith lived out in you. And it’s been startling, stunning, and it’s helped the Spirit move in me.

There’s a song I heard not long ago by a singer/songwriter named Christa Wells. I’ve thought about it when it comes to you. It’s called “Shine,” and that’s exactly what you’ve done with everything to do with Ms. Wesley and the trial.

This gift
 
—it’s just fancy jewelry. Very fancy jewelry. That’s all it happens to be. But this represents your faith. This is just a tiny representation of your faith, and how God shines through you.

The song says it better than I could. Check it out sometime. The best part is in the chorus, where it says, “We give back what we’re given, to color this world. . . . Be the friend you never had. Be the one to take a stand. Say it your way.”

Brooke
 
—I hope as you continue to grow, you will continue to be this type of friend and to take those necessary stands and to color this world and say it your own way. Just like you did with Ms. Wesley.

Never stop shining, Brooke.

Your friend,

Amy

THERE’S A KNOCK
on my office door. It makes me think my partner is outside with some bad news. Instead I find someone a lot more lovely and likable than Roger.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Grace.

“I saw the lights on. Starting work on another big trial?”

I laugh. It’s been a week since I said good-bye to her. We’ve corresponded via e-mail a few times, but that’s been it.

“Actually, I’m working on level 275.”

“Level what? What’s that for?”

“Candy Crush.”

She rolls her eyes and lets out the slightest bit of a chuckle. “That’s sad,” Grace says.

“Is this an intervention? Or are you handing out tracts?”

“I see you’ve got the facial-hair thing going again.”

“Yes. I played the part of the polished lawyer for one day. I’m back to just plain old me.”

“Good for you.”

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Doing well. The students had a big welcome party for me. Principal Kinney has avoided me as much as she could.”

“I’ve seen quite a bit of you in the news.”

“I’m glad it’s all over,” she says. “I just wanted to come back to my class. That’s all.”

“I was going for winning $333 million,” I say. “But they say that was a different case.”

“Ever the jokester.”

“Yes, I am.”

I would invite her to sit, but the one guest chair I have is full of stacked folders from my good ol’ days. I’ve been doing some housecleaning. It’s time to let go.

And maybe let God?

Okay, that’s just a saying. But it still has swirled around in my head from time to time.

I walk over to my desk. Just to feel less awkward standing right next to her by the doorway. Perhaps I feel better having something official between us. It’s nice to see the casual Grace in jeans and a T-shirt. But she doesn’t look sloppy or like someone who’s staying in on a Friday night.

It
is
a Friday night, you know. And it’s only nine o’clock.

“Can I ask you something?” Grace says.

“Sure. But if it’s about those rumors of me becoming an associate with Peter Kane, they’re absolutely false, for the moment.”

She shakes her head. “I swear you’re like one of my students. Are you ever serious?”

My hands clutch the top of my faux-leather armchair. “More than you know,” I say.

“So tell me: what you said in your final insane outburst
 
—do you believe those things?”

I chuckle and look at the mess on my desk. A decade of papers telling the story of my life. “I was quite full of it,” I tell her. “I believed a few of those things. Other things were just for drama.”

Grace moves closer to the desk, then picks up a paperweight that’s a heavy stone gavel. “I like it,” she says.

“It was a birthday present.”

From another time and another place.

Grace seems to get it and puts it back. “Tom
 
—I know something. I know that all the closing arguments in the world still sometimes won’t change someone’s mind.”

I nod. “So you’re basically saying my job is meaningless?”

“No, you know I don’t mean that.”

“So if they don’t change someone’s mind, what can?” I ask.

“Being there,” she says. “Talking. Listening.”

“Like you did with Brooke, right?”

Those eyes land on mine and don’t move this time. “Like I’m doing now.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

“Can I be so bold as to ask you out on a date?” Grace says. “Not a Grandpa Walter sort of date. But a real one. Dinner. Adult conversation. No lawyer talk.”

My heart has suddenly decided to water-ski and has gotten out of the murky water on its first try. “No lawyer talk?” I exclaim. “That sounds like the best date ever.”

Then suddenly I become a boy again, looking at her and then my desk and then having this really dumb question. I can’t help asking. “So, when you say date . . . are you meaning
 
—?”

“Tonight,” Grace answers. “Now.”

“Okay. Good
 
—great. That’s what I thought.”

“I’m still wondering about the whole graduating third from Stanford thing.”

As I grab my wallet, phone, and keys, I nod. “I wonder about that every day of my life.”

It’s not far from the truth.

A few hours later, we step out of Sweeney’s Grill. The conversation hasn’t stopped once or gotten weird or awkward. I feel stuffed on shrimp tacos and guacamole. But more than that, I feel full from simply talking and laughing and being real in front of this lovely woman.

We walk toward our cars and I’m already wondering how to end the night. I want to be appropriate and I don’t want to step over the line but I’m also thinking about a good-night kiss. Over the line? A tiny thing like that? I know, but then again I don’t know
 
—I’m assuming
 
—I’m not sure.

Can you be any more of a fifteen-year-old?

We’re approaching her car when I hear her say something.

“So I figured it out.”

I look at her with curiosity and amusement. “You figured what out?”

“I made a vow.”

I nod again. Still not connecting with what she’s saying. “Oh yeah?” I say.

“To carry you home.”

Suddenly I get it. Just like an opposing attorney, she’s using my words against me. And I couldn’t be more impressed. That random comment about the song I shared with my ex
 
—

She remembered.

I’m reminded that Grace Wesley is a history teacher. A very good history teacher too.

She remembers lots of things.

“I weigh more than you,” I tell her.

“Well, I know I might not look like it, but I’m strong.”

“I know exactly how strong you are. But
 
—you know
 
—my home is really not that far from here.”

The outline of her face is bathed in the glow from the streetlight above. We stand on the sidewalk next to her car. She just looks up, grinning.

“That’s not the home I’m talking about.”

There’s something nice between us now. We can talk about a topic as personal as faith because that’s the whole reason we met. It’s come up from time to time tonight, but never in some kind of me-versus-her sort of way. There’s no opposition here. There’s just two friends. Or two people who are friends and might be more one day.

“What? Are you going to pull me up there with you?” I say with a half smile.

“Nope,” she says. “I just want to help you see the road.”

I nod, glance down the sidewalk in the direction of my house, then back at her, standing in front of her car.

“You already have,” I tell her. “In more ways than you realize. It’s just
 
—I know that road. It’s bumpy. It’s like a kid having a nightmare experience on a roller coaster and vowing never to get back on one.”

Grace looks at me, seeming to understand. Always this look of genuine empathy. “The great thing about faith is that it has no past. It’s not weighed down by memories and doesn’t have a shadow. God’s light is too bright for that.”

She steps closer to me. “Everyone has his own road in front of him, a road only one has ever traveled down before. It’s up to us to decide whether to follow him.”

She leans in and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek, then gets into her car and drives off.

I watch Grace drive away, and make a promise not to let her go.