The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (26 page)

No bikers responded.

We thought we were going to reach out to the bikers. Instead, God did a work in us and in our very own son. Atticus stood behind Patrick with his hand on his shoulder, and a few other friends of his stood there, too. I had no idea if they’d ever prayed in public before, but there they were, covered in tattoos and tears.

“Why am I crying like a baby?” One of the bikers asked Lily for a tissue.

Lily gave her a tissue and a gentle hug. “That’s the Holy Spirit, honey, just go with it. Tears are healing.”

I don’t know how anyone could sit in that service and not feel touched by God. You’d need a heart of reinforced steel not to sense His Presence that day. But apparently, some people didn’t feel a thing because they left before the service was over.

And called a board meeting for that afternoon.

When I met Aaron in the parking lot, I heard him talking on his cell phone.

“I understand you have concerns, but I’m going to spend the afternoon with my boys as I promised.” Aaron looked at me and rolled his eyes. “I can appreciate your eagerness to speak with me, but meeting with you right now simply isn’t possible. How about tomorrow morning around 8:00 AM? I can meet earlier if you wish.”

No, the Committee-of-Setting-the-Pastor-Straight didn’t wish to awaken that early to ream the pastor for insulting them today.

“Now what?” I hung on to Timmy’s hand to keep him from flying out to the middle of the parking lot as the bikes were leaving.

Aaron rubbed his forehead, looked up at the sky, and sighed with a groan. “Apparently a group of them left early and went to one of their houses and made a list of grievances for me in regard to our biker weekend.”

“Aaron, remember your sermon. If they rejected Jesus, they’re going to reject us. So, you must be reflecting Jesus to get the same treatment, right?”

“Right,” he spoke with sorrow in his voice. “It’s not that it bothers me personally to be rejected. But that their ears are closed to what God really said today. Their pride grieves me, Kirstie.”

“Honey,” I said. “It grieves God, too. Just remember it’s just a handful of people out of the entire congregation who is, on the whole, very loving and open-armed.”

We made our way to the far end of the parking lot where Daniel and Patrick watched Atticus and his friends get ready for their long trip home. I would miss this collection of misfits, but we’d gained a few local bikers this weekend and looked forward to getting to know them, too.

“I’ll be back up here for Patrick’s court date.” Atticus kissed me on the cheek.

I returned the kiss on his ruddy Santa Claus face. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy.”

He waved me off. “I can arrange my schedule to haul a load up this way with my truck. It’ll be business, anyway. I feel partly responsible for getting the young man in trouble.”

“We’ve been through this before, Atticus.” Aaron rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know that, Preacher. But I’m coming anyway.” Atticus sucked Aaron into a big bear hug. “Don’t forget what we talked about now.”

“I won’t.” Aaron practically disappeared in Atticus’s arms. He held my husband so tight I thought I’d have to go in after him. I wasn’t sure he was breathing.

Atticus finally let go, and his group roared down the road. I wondered what Atticus and Aaron had talked about.

Timmy was heartbroken to see them go and wailed with his mouth wide open.

“Oh, Timmy, don’t cry.” Daniel comforted him. “Wanna take a swim with me and Goliath?”

Timmy wiped his face. “’Liath. Swim. Dan-nel.”

“OK. Let’s go. Patrick, you wanna come?”

Patrick looked at Aaron and me. “In a sec. I need to talk to Mom and Dad.”

I didn’t like the idea of the boys swimming without an adult. “Go get Timmy ready, Daniel, but don’t get in the pool until we get home.”

“Right, Mom. Let’s go Timmy.” I watched the brothers walk hand in hand home.

“I’m proud of you for your recommitment, son.” Aaron settled his gentle hands on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Dad. But I’m worried.” Patrick looked tired.

I put my arm around him. “Patrick, sweetie, what’s the matter?”

“What if I mess up again?” A tear balanced on Patrick’s eyelashes.

“Oh, you will.” Aaron’s voice was tender. “We all will. If we didn’t, Jesus wouldn’t have needed to die.”

Patrick kicked at the ground. “I don’t want to mess up. I want to do good, but I don’t.”

“Patrick.” I clasped his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Whenever you’re tempted, talk to God. He’s right there to help you. He promises not to tempt us beyond what we can bear. He will make a way out. He always provides an escape.”

“Really?” He wiped his face and eased out from underneath my arm. He wasn’t Mama’s boy anymore.

“Really.” Aaron nodded. “If you want, you could memorize 1 Corinthians 10:13 where that scripture comes from. And whenever you’re tempted, repeat those words to yourself until the temptation passes.”

“I have a scripture I quote when I’m tempted.” I fiddled with Patrick’s hair.

“Really? You’re tempted?” Patrick looked astonished.

“All the time. You know that. When I yell at you and your brothers, and promise myself I won’t and do it again. Or when I think things I shouldn’t think, or say things I shouldn’t say. We all have shortcomings. Some of us just don’t get caught in public like you did.” How could my son think I was never tempted?

Aaron began walking home, and we followed. “No one’s perfect. I’m tempted, too. All the time. Especially in dealing with my children. I read and study instead of interacting with them. We all have our vices, our addictions.”

“Do you have vices, Mom?” Patrick asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“What are they?”

I looked at Patrick and then at Aaron. “Well, for one thing, I’m completely addicted to your father. I can’t get enough of him.”

“Mom. That’s gross.” Patrick ran to the house.

Aaron laughed. “So I’m a vice, eh?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you can catch me before I get to the house.”

I ran.

But not too fast.

36

I’d never been to court before. After Atticus bailed us out of jail in North Carolina, officers dismissed any charges against me because eyewitnesses filed reports that confirmed my story.

On the day of Patrick’s court hearing, I buttoned the jacket of my best gray suit with shaking hands. I hoped it made me look serious and conservative. After I slipped into a pair of low-heeled pumps I helped Aaron dress in a navy blue suit identical to Patrick’s, who stood waiting in the living room as pale as his white shirt.

After we arrived at the county courthouse, I tried to sit on an oak bench on the second floor, but my nerves kept me pacing back and forth in front of the courtroom doors. I couldn’t have been more shocked when I saw Clarence walk up the stairs. He didn’t look like the same man I’d seen at the rally. He’d slicked back his thick black hair, and designer, horn-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his shiny, scrubbed nose. The whiskers were gone, and his smile radiated like a model’s from a fashion magazine. He wore a silk taupe suit and tie, obviously expensive, tailor made, and much nicer than the ill-fitting polyester department store suit Aaron wore.

The gleaming black Italian-made shoes on his feet looked brand new, and the supple crocodile leather so highly polished, the toes reflected the courthouse lights when he walked.

I could spot over-priced, designer shoes a mile away. I’d sold shoes in college and in those days measured the worthiness of a man by the quality of his shoes. Thankfully, I’d proved that theory wrong by the time I woke up and noticed Aaron in his flip flops.

Clarence looked impeccable. I smiled to myself thinking about how shocked the judge would be to see the hairy shoulders and tattoos hidden underneath those exclusive, fashionable clothes.

I heard a group of footsteps ascending the stairs and turned away in case someone from town walked among them. When I peeked over my shoulder, I saw a large assemblage of men and women dressed in stylish suits. At first, I assumed they were all lawyers. But I quickly glanced back again when I realized everyone looked vaguely familiar.

“Atticus? Is that you?” I swiveled around on one of my inexpensive heels and scooted across the marble floor to where everyone stood. It was all I could do to keep from gaping like a baboon making faces at spectators in a zoo.

Oh. My. Atticus looked painfully handsome, dressed in a black suit, white shirt and purple tie. With his white beard and hair trimmed to perfection, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a fashion makeover. He was, in short, drop dead gorgeous.

Now I knew what Opal saw in him.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Kirstie,” Aaron whispered in my ear.

Atticus laughed at me staring at him. “What? You think I go around wearing my leathers all the time? I know how to clean up good.” Atticus laughed at me again. His booming, contagious laugh echoed through the hallowed halls of justice and reached a family standing on the other side of the building waiting for their verdict.

Opal came up the stairs just as I finished giving Atticus a hug. “Put your eyeballs back in your head, Opal,” I teased.

She became shy. “Hi, Atticus.”

“Opal.” Atticus turned red. Those of us looking on pretended not to notice and smiled at one another. The chemistry between the two of them was palpable.

“It’s time to go in,” Clarence said. “Now, you all know you can’t say anything during the hearing. Stay quiet, and let me take care of things. Atticus, behave yourself. Keep the talking down to a minimum. Better yet, don’t talk. I need y’all to sit right behind our table. If the judge sees this show of support behind Patrick, she’ll be more likely to go easier on him. They’re getting tougher on kids with underage drinking charges. It’s very serious.”

I was already nervous before. Now it was all I could do not to eat my freshly manicured nails to the quick.

Atticus smiled. “My lips are sealed. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Is there time for a prayer before we go in?” Flygirl stepped forward and grabbed hands with other bikers.

“Absolutely.” Clarence set down his briefcase, and we all joined hands to pray.

Flygirl prayed softly. “Father, bless Clarence, and help him to find favor in there. Help Patrick and his folks. Let everything be good, and let the judge be fair. In Jesus’s name. Amen.” Flygirl looked up and smiled at me. Her grin gave me courage.

We filed quietly into the courtroom, and I gave Patrick a kiss before he sat at the table beside his lawyer. It was all I could do to keep from crying. Here we were, a Christian family, sitting on the front row of a courtroom behind our little boy. When I held him in my arms the first time, I never pictured this.

“Where’s Timmy?” Atticus whispered in my ear behind me, forgetting his promise to stay quiet.

I wrote a note on a receipt I found in my purse. “He’s with Reba and Trace. He doesn’t sit still well in quiet rooms.”

“Understood.” Atticus wrote back. “Tell him I said hi.”

I smiled and whispered back, “Will do, Atticus. And, Atticus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here. And thank the biker gals and guys, too.”

“No problem.”

I kept looking behind me thinking that someone from church would walk through the swinging courtroom doors. I didn’t know whether they’d come out of mere curiosity or to support us. I thought at least Norman and Bernice and their group would make an appearance, but they never showed.

It would have been nice to receive the support of church friends. I was thankful Opal came. Lily had to work, and Reba and Trace were watching Daniel and Timmy. But I knew a lot of people whose schedule would have allowed them to come. Maybe they respected our privacy. I don’t know. But I couldn’t help wondering, who pastors the pastor when the pastor’s hurting?

While we waited for the judge to appear, the courtroom continued to fill with men and women neatly dressed. I thought I recognized several faces from the weekend bike rally. It was hard to tell without their biker gear if I knew them or not.

I leaned over and whispered in Aaron’s ear, “Remember, we can’t be late to Daniel’s recital tonight.”

Aaron nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. Who are all these people?” He looked around at a nearly full courtroom.

“I’m not positive, but I think they’re bikers who ride with Atticus. I know a lot of them are.”

“They are,” I heard Atticus whisper behind me.

Unbelievable. Bikers from all over Indiana and beyond filled the chairs in the courtroom.

“All rise,” The bailiff spoke, and we rose and listened as he introduced the judge. A serious looking gray-haired woman entered the courtroom dressed in a flowing black robe and a dainty Irish lace collar. She looked stern, grim, and important.

“Be seated,” the bailiff instructed.

The prosecutor did his lawyer thing and explained the charges, and Patrick’s lawyer called witnesses to explain how Patrick got access to the alcohol. He explained our home life and assured the judge we were attentive, caring parents. I didn’t understand all of the proceedings because my heart pounded loudly in my ears. I couldn’t hear what everyone said and couldn’t remember being this scared at any other time in my life.

“Are all these people here in support of this young man?” The judge looked over her glasses and waved her hand over the courtroom.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Clarence said. “They’re here to support Patrick today and come from as far away as North Carolina.”

“Patrick Donovan, please stand.” She removed her reading glasses and folded her hands.

Patrick stood. The hem of his jacket shook. He looked visibly nervous. I hoped the judge had children and could read how frightened he was. My mother’s heart wanted to shield him from this pain, but another part of me hoped he was learning his lesson before he learned to drive.

“Young man, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this many people come in support of a youngster when charged with underage drinking as I’ve seen in this courtroom today. You’re a blessed young fellow. Do you realize that?”