God's Not Dead 2 (8 page)

I’M WONDERING HOW
in the world they fit this massive conference table in this room when I realize it’s physically impossible. They must have constructed it inside the room. It’s astounding that they went to all that effort since they’ve done absolutely nothing else to make the room look even halfway inviting. The drab white walls look like pale skin you wince at in passing at the beach. The fluorescent lights above us are similar to the ones I’ve seen when visiting prisons. The artwork is in the style of . . . oh wait, there’s not a piece of art or color or life anywhere. Except for the people at this massive table that’s fit for the cast of
The Lord of the Rings
.

“Ever been in here?” I ask Grace.

“No. Have you?”

One arm of her chair seems wobbly, and I’ve been watching with amusement as she’s tried to adjust it so it will stay still. “Yeah, I’ve pictured this in my nightmares. Are they planning a parade in the middle of the table?”

We don’t even have to whisper our conversation since the other dozen people getting ready for the meeting are on the far side of the table. Which means they’re on the other side of the room. This isn’t a Ping-Pong table. It’s a tennis court. I’m just waiting for the first serve to be hit.

Principal Kinney sits upright with her leather binder in front of her. Superintendent Winokur is next to her, his wavy hair matching his gray suit. I wonder how many days of his life this man has worn a suit. Way too many, probably. It makes me a bit sad. I’m not really sure why. Perhaps a psychologist would expand upon this, but for now I just keep it as some random thought in this cell of a conference room.

The school’s attorney is on the other side of Principal Kinney. I’ve run into Bob Fessler before. He’s the kind of guy who is absolutely satisfied doing what he’s doing, trying to satisfy those who need to be satisfied. His smile is about as phony as the tough-guy look he’s got going on now. He’s in a suit as well, and just seeing this picture makes me glad I’m not wearing one.

There’s a difference between professional and classy and being one of those guys.

I hear song lyrics in my head.

“You’re the pretender. What if I say that I’ll never surrender?”

Grace leans over to me. “So what are you thinking?”

I smile. “Actually I was just thinking of a Foo Fighters song.”

She gives me a blank look.

“You know
 
—Foo Fighters. They’re the ones who
 
—”

“I know who they are,” Grace says. “I teach high school.”

“So you’re saying that’s a prerequisite for teaching high school? Does the administration give you a pop culture manual or something?”

“No, the students do.”

“Well, excuse me,” I say, smiling. “Somehow I just don’t picture you jamming out in your car to Foo Fighters.”

“I don’t picture you as a Foo Fighters fan either.”

“No?”

Grace squints and pretends to be deep in thought. “No, I picture you as the hipster, trendy guy. Someone going to see Aquilo playing at some small venue on a Thursday night.”

I know she’s having fun with me. “Aquilo, huh? That a real band?”

“Wait, you haven’t heard of them?” She shakes her pretty head. “Oh, that’s right. You’re old.”

I laugh and receive several glances from the other side of the room that seem to object at any kind of frivolity in this setting.

The others surrounding the principal, attorney, and superintendent are ones I haven’t met personally. Grace knows some of them
 
—five are teachers in the union, a few are staff members at Martin Luther King Jr. High, a couple are probably seat fillers just to make sure the entire side of the table facing us is full.

A disheveled woman who looks a bit like Ressie did when I first saw her tossed out that car window rushes into the room making it clear that she knows she’s late. The folders she carries spill onto the table as she puts them down.

“That’s Liz Morris. She’s a VP with the teachers’ union,” Grace says.

“Does
VP
in teachers’ unions stand for something I don’t know?”

Grace ignores my sarcasm. “Shouldn’t she be sitting on our side?”

I give her a
Really, now let’s grow up a bit
look. “Not today.”

I almost expect Winokur to stand up and have someone crush a gavel on this table while saying,
“Hear ye, hear ye . . .”

Instead, the superintendent clears his throat and then calls everybody to order with a low, Charlton Heston voice. “I assume Ms. Wesley knows this board has the power to recommend any of a number of disciplinary actions, up to and including her termination?”

Well, there’s nothing like getting to the point, is there?

I can see Grace about to talk, but I get there before she can.

“She does. And the board should be aware that in the event of such termination
 
—which we would view as both wrongful and without cause
 
—she reserves all rights of redress.”

Winokur leans forward and glares at me. Suddenly I’m sixteen again and facing my father after wrecking the car I wasn’t supposed to drive.

“We have discussed the matter of district policy with Ms. Wesley, which she has agreed she broke in her fourth-period history class
 
—”

“I’m sure Ms. Wesley
didn’t
agree she broke any sort of district policy, simply because there was none she could have broken,” I interrupt.

This prompts the lawyer to speak up. “There are state and federal guidelines that are clearly set in place for classroom situations just like this one, Mr. Endler.”

“And of course that is why we are all here in this tiny little room, correct? Guidelines for dealing with the reputation of a highly respected teacher who has been out of work for three weeks and has had to deal with financial and emotional repercussions.”

The financial and emotional things have never come up once with Grace, but of course they’re huge and demand an answer on our side of the table.

Bob Fessler instantly backs down and puts on that evil Jeremy Irons smile of his that reminds me of Scar from
The Lion King
. “There might be a way around all of this unpleasantness that would satisfy all parties.”

There’s that word again:
satisfy
. The box I put the school’s attorney in is called
Appease
. He wants to make sure the school is happy and the principal is happy and his family is happy and he is happy and everything just goes away in a nice and tidy manner.

Everyone faces Fessler as he continues. “We can simply all leave here with a disciplinary notice in Ms. Wesley’s file stating the board’s objections to her behavior. That and a response from Ms. Wesley acknowledging the inappropriateness of and apologizing for her actions, along with a pledge not to engage in similar discussions in the future.”

I didn’t expect Fessler to go there so soon. I didn’t think it would be this easy.

Now Grace can go back to a classroom and a paycheck, Kinney can go back to law and order, Fessler can buy himself another suit, and I can go back to more paperwork over educationalese.

And God doesn’t have to be bothered anymore.

I nod. “I’m confident we can move forward on that basis
 
—”

“No.” Grace looks at me as she says this. Then she turns to the firing squad across the table. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Well, that was short-lived. . . .

“I’d like to request a brief recess to have a word with my client,” I say in the most optimistic tone I can muster.

My client who just lost her mind.

I stand up and wait for Grace, looking at her and seeing no trace of regret for her words. We get into the narrow hallway outside the conference room and I just shake my head and laugh. “You
do
understand what’s happening in there, right?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down.

“Yes.”

“Okay. So I’ll just sum it up in the best way possible. This is the part where you say you’re sorry, thank me
 
—your lawyer
 
—and then go back to your classroom, pick up your life, and move on. No headlines, no fuss, no big deal.”

“I can’t do that.”

I suddenly imagine Grace as one of those precocious kids who looks sweet and adorable but who throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way.

“Why can’t you do that?” I ask.

“Because I gave an honest answer to a legitimate question in a setting where I’m responsible for speaking the facts.”

I nod in order not to curse. The world is full of people who couldn’t care less about the facts. I just so happen to be representing one who actually does care.

“Grace, you don’t want to do this. It’s the wrong decision.”

She’s not backing down. “Is it? I’d rather stand with God and be judged by the world than stand with the world and be judged by God. I’m not going to be afraid to say the word
Jesus
.”

I stand there for a moment, really uncertain of what to say. This isn’t some political debate. I’m not Tom Brokaw here. I’m her attorney.

She really believes all that too.

I let out a breath. “Okay, then.”

When we’re sitting back down looking over at the severity
staring at us, I get this feeling they already know what Grace has decided. Fessler seems to have a smug look wrapped around his head like a hot towel. I really hate having to do what I’m about to do.

“While Ms. Wesley apologizes for any inconvenience her actions may have caused, she
stands by her statements
and does not retract or recant them either in full or in part.”

Superintendent Winokur’s “So noted” comes out sounding a bit more like a judge saying, “Hang ’em.”

He pauses to see if I have anything more to say, but I don’t. I can’t really think of anything to say. I had thought I’d have to convince them to give Grace a chance, not the other way around.

“Having little choice then,” Winokur continues, “this board recommends continued suspension
 
—without pay
 
—pending further review by a court of competent jurisdiction, which will determine whether or not Ms. Wesley violated local, state, or federal guidelines. This proceeding is adjourned.”

Grace leans toward me. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, pretty much so. For now.”

There’s muffled conversation on the other side of the room. I stand and wait for Grace to walk out before me. As we near the doorway, Fessler calls me over. I tell Grace I’ll be a minute.

“This isn’t the time for a plea bargain yet,” I say, trying to make a joke to relieve any tension.

“Does she know what she’s doing?”

“She thinks she does.”

“Did you give her the reality of the situation?”

“Yes, I did, but thank you for your thoughtful consideration,” I tell him.

“You know that the ACLU has already been in touch?” he says.
“And they’re not at all interested in naming the school district as a codefendant. She’s going to be completely on her own here.”

The only thing surprising about this is that Fessler is telling me about it. I nod and appear to be thinking for a moment. “Can I just
 
—well
 
—it’s embarrassing. But can I ask you one thing?” I say.

“Yeah.”

“What’s the ACLU again?”

“It’s the American Civil . . .” It took him just about two seconds to get that I was mocking him a bit. “Does your client know how trivial you’re making this out to be?”

“There’s absolutely nothing trivial about the treatment Ms. Wesley is being subjected to or about her commitment to her students and Martin Luther King Jr. High School. I always treat the person I’m talking to with the respect they’re bringing to the conversation.”

He ignores my statement as he glances at the figures all passing us by.

“The ACLU has been dreaming of joining a case like this,” he says so that only I can hear it.

“I bet you haven’t.”

“This won’t be my case. They’ll send in the big boys for this.”

With that he leaves me alone in the room. I stare back over the immense conference table, wondering what it would take to move it.

Where would one even begin to try?

THEY SIT ON THE PARK BENCH
facing a nearby playground like neighborhood mothers watching their children. Amy and Mina don’t have any children. Neither of them even has a boyfriend. They are, however, strangely bound together by two such relationships. Mina is Marc’s sister. She is also the ex-girlfriend of Dr. Jeffrey Radisson, the now-deceased philosophy professor at the center of last year’s Hadleigh University debacle.

“I needed someone to talk to,” Amy says to the stunning woman she still can’t quite call a close friend. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“You’ve been so kind to me in the last year. Especially considering my brother was so horrible to you.”

“I still find it almost impossible to believe you’re his sister. Of course, you resemble each other. You both were born with wonderful DNA.”

The gentle smile makes Amy comfortable enough to share anything. She knows Mina has had a rocky road this past year.

“Have you seen Marc lately?” Amy asks.

“No. Why?”

“He’s been trying to get ahold of me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I think the latest string of girlfriends have shown him that it’s hard to find amazing women like you.”

Amy laughs. “
Amazing
is not the adjective I’d use when describing myself.”

“Do you plan on talking to him or seeing him?”

“I’m trying
 
—and hoping
 
—not to.”

“Good,” Mina says. “I love my brother and will never sever ties with him, but he’s an idiot. A selfish one too.”

Amy knows this from personal experience, but she also knows how Marc effectively abandoned his sister after their mother passed away. This was ultimately how Amy connected with Mina. She came to the funeral to give her respects and ended up being able to help Mina with some of the things Marc should have helped with. He was barely even there for the visitation and the service. A week later, Mina called Amy to get together. This woman had been through a lot in a short span of time.

First she loses an ex-boyfriend and then she loses her mother.

The only way Mina was able to get through it all was with her faith.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Mina says over the sound of children laughing in the background.

“You told me one time
 
—remember when I cooked you that awful meal that I was too embarrassed to give to you?”

Mina is wearing sunglasses, but Amy can still see the amusement all over her face. “You brought a pizza by instead.”

“Yes. I didn’t realize how careful you were about the things you eat.”

“Are you kidding?” Mina says. “I eventually ate that whole thing. I felt bad doing so, but still. When you’re single you don’t have to watch the calories so much.”

“Or when you’re dating some guy who actually really cares about you,” Amy says. “The real you that can only be seen when you get past the exterior.”

“Are there guys out there like that?”

“I’m not sure,” Amy says with all honesty. “I always hope for one.”

“Me too.”

“I remember asking you how you handled everything after Professor Radisson died and then your mother passed away. I couldn’t believe how joyful you were.”

Mina stares back out at the playground. “I wasn’t joyful all the time. I still really miss my mom. I think about her every day.”

Same here. Only difference is my mom’s still alive.

“I remember meeting this pastor named Dave. A wonderful man. The kind we were just talking about. Someone who can see the real you. I was going through so much, and he helped me understand more about God during that period.”

“What church does he pastor?”

“Church of the Redeemer. I actually met him after this disastrous dinner party where Jeffrey acted terribly. It was the first time I truly saw what kind of man he was. I was really wounded, and out of the blue I met this pastor. I actually thought the guy was
hitting on me at the coffee shop. We sat and talked and he simply asked me a few questions, then shared his thoughts.”

“So you didn’t go seek him out?” Amy asks.

“No. But do you think that was accidental, meeting him? Pastor Dave asked me if I believed God was incapable of making mistakes. I told him I believed this. He said doesn’t it make sense, then, that if God made me in his likeness and image, didn’t it show that he cares about us? He said that God showed that care in the incredible fact of allowing his own Son to die for my sins. He asked me if I believed that, too, and I told him I did. Then he said, ‘So who cares what your boyfriend thinks?’ I was actually a bit taken aback, but he said
 
—”

Amy can’t tell if Mina is just reflecting or getting choked up, but it doesn’t matter. The wind brushes over them and allows Mina to exhale.

“He told me that if I believe all of these things, then I have to believe that my worth is immeasurable.
Immeasurable.
I’ve thought about that every single day since. It’s hard, sometimes, to believe it.”

“Tell me about it,” Amy says.

“Pastor Dave said it was a simple concept, yet not so easy to accept and understand. He said that to the wrong person, I’d never have any worth. But to the right person, I’ll mean everything.”

The thought of Marc pops back into Amy’s head. “We both certainly picked the wrong ones, didn’t we?” she says.

“Yes,” Mina says. “And what I’m the most sorry about is that one of them happens to be related to me.”

Amy pulls out her best Southern drawl as she says a famous quote. “‘You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you
acknowledge ’em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.’”

“I know I should probably know, but who said that?” Mina asks.

“Harper Lee. Or I should say, Jem from
To Kill a Mockingbird
.”

“Such a great book.”

Amy looks out to see kids swinging, their bikes and scooters parked nearby. Bigger kids are sitting on the steps of the play structure equipped with two slides, a swinging bridge, and two towers. Passing time as if they have too much of it. Surely longing to grow older and be able to do their own things as adults.

“I miss being young,” Amy says.

“You
are
young.”

“No, I mean being a child. I was like in fifth or sixth grade when I read
To Kill a Mockingbird
. I remember wanting to grow up to write like that. To tell incredibly moving stories like Harper Lee did.”

“And you ended up being a writer.”

“Yeah,” Amy says with a sigh. “Not sure if you can call it that. Ridiculing people on a blog can’t quite be called writing.”

“Have you ever written any fiction?”

“No. As I got older, the dream just seemed so . . . It’s sort of the way I picture meeting that right guy. Or even the way I’ve started thinking about God. That they’re so far off. They’re only things in my imagination. That’s my issue. One of my
many
issues I’ve been dealing with. I thought maybe it would be good to go see that pastor you spoke with.”

Mina takes her hand and squeezes it. It’s such an initially jarring thing to feel the touch of someone else when you haven’t had that for a while.

“I’m glad you came to talk to me,” Mina says. “And yes, it would be good to talk to Pastor Dave as well. Just know this
 
—God will listen to you. It might not seem like it, but he will. The first time we met, the pastor told me that in God’s eyes, I’m his beautiful daughter. I know your father left you guys when you were young, so it’s hard to put God into the role of a father, but he is one. He’s the perfect Father.”

“I need to hang out with you more often,” Amy says.

Mina is still holding her hand. It doesn’t seem unnatural in the slightest.

“When I used to talk to my friends about stuff like this, all they’d do is bash my dad and talk trash and make it into some ugly melodrama,” Amy says. “It’s a strange thing seeing the world
 
—or at least trying to see the world
 
—through a spiritual viewpoint. It changes the way you think. About everything.”

“I think that’s the Spirit. It’s almost magical, discovering God speaking through his Word and his people and then somehow working through you.”

Amy doesn’t reply because she’s still not sure if God is doing anything with and through her.

I want to believe God can, but I don’t know.

Echoes of screams and laughter wash over them. Amy misses being a child because it was so easy to believe back then. The world hasn’t disappointed you too many times yet, and you haven’t disappointed yourself yet either. The sky doesn’t have all those pockets full of regret hanging over you. You simply see the endless blue and you believe anything is possible.

God, let me be a child again.