God's Not Dead 2 (15 page)

AMY JOTS NOTES
in blue ink while Kane examines Principal Ruth Kinney on the stand. The two of them talk like longtime college buddies having a conversation while hanging out on the dock down by the lake.

Witnesses against Ms. Wesley:

• * Parent of a child in class at school
  
• * Union representative at school
  
• * Principal at school
  

It’s like an inverted triangle, with the weight at the top and the bottom slicing a sharp dagger to the heart.

All she needs is a student to testify against her.

Amy is almost certain it will happen. These lawyers surely have their ways.

Kane has spent the last few moments asking Principal Kinney about her time at the school and how she stepped out of a successful corporate career to “give back” to the field she feels indebted to: education. And what better place to do it than high school? Kinney pontificates a bit on helping students be progressive and open-minded these days.

God is so old-school, so Old Testament.

Kane then asks her about Ms. Wesley.

“She has always been a fine example of Martin Luther King High School ideals,” Kinney says without hesitation.

“So was it surprising when you first learned about what happened?”

“Very.”

“How did you hear about the incident in question?”

“My office received a couple of calls from parents about what they had read online. Two parents of different students.”

“Were either of those parents the Thawleys?”

“No,” Kinney says, her jaw and expression solid as stone and impossible to chip away at.

The principal continues through the step-by-step of what happened.

“Were you surprised when Ms. Wesley refused to admit any wrongdoing?”

Up to this point, the principal has not said a single bad word about her star teacher. There’s no throwing a teacher under the bus. But now a rigid veil of disappointment lowers over Kinney’s face like a disappointed parent’s.

“Frankly, yes, Mr. Kane. I was quite shocked.”

“By what Ms. Wesley said?”

Principal Kinney looks over at Grace.

Amy writes:

Giving a look of YOU LET ME DOWN

“I was stunned that Ms. Wesley allowed that to happen in her classroom. She knows better. I have nothing against what someone believes. I respect that. But I also respect what the walls of a school building mean and the sanctuary inside each and every classroom.”

Preach it, girlfriend.

Amy is glad she’s a writer and not a lawyer. It would be hard to fight her sarcasm and cynicism up there.

Kane places his hands together with the tops of the fingers touching each other. A distinguished look of solemn contemplation.

Kane going with the dignity, wise, a stance like Steven Spielberg standing before a group of film students.

“So, what was the school district’s final determination?” he asks.

“Grace has been suspended, without pay, pending the results of this trial.”

Kane nods at the principal. Pauses and appears to be thinking. “But doesn’t that seem kind of unusual? Leaving it up to a third party to determine if Ms. Wesley should be fired?”

“We’ve decided to accept the court’s interpretation of wrongdoing, either way.”

Kinney has surely been coached on not only what to say but how to say it. Amy writes down some more thoughts.

Respect faith and keep it in its place.

But more than that, respect education.

And over that, beyond everything and anything, respect this court.

Soon Tom is allowed to cross-examine the principal. And soon he finds himself being objected to.

“Every principal I’ve ever known has been the type who felt like they were a bit bigger than their job title allowed, and they loved being able to exert that authority on helpless students and even teachers. Do you feel like it’s your word that goes?”

Kane objects, but Kinney answers anyway. “I respect the position I’m in as well as the rules of this district. We have procedures. The union does not like to be put in a situation like this, and neither do I.”

Tom spends time asking her more questions about her position and her authority and her relationship with Ms. Wesley.

Tom not getting anywhere with questions to Kinney.

But Amy’s attention perks up when Tom changes gears.

“Ms. Kinney, what is the
full name
of the high school over which you preside?”

“Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial High School.”

A name only mentioned a dozen times already.

The lawyer nods and rubs the back of his head. If Kane was the director talking to the students, then Tom surely falls in the latter category.

“I notice the name fails to mention Dr. King’s title as ‘Reverend Doctor.’”

Mr. All-American Tom better watch where he’s headed with this.

It appears as if Principal Kinney thinks the same thing. A grin takes off like a hot-air balloon over her face. “While I realize that Dr. King had
ties
to the faith community
 
—”

“Very generous of you, given that he was a Baptist minister,” Tom interrupts.

Kinney moves forward in her chair as if to remind everybody of her strength and education and bearing. “It’s his work in the field of civil rights that we prefer to highlight.”

“Back off” is what Kinney just told Tom.

“But that’s the whole point,” Tom says. “You consider his faith and politics to be two separate things. But I don’t believe they are. And Dr. King certainly didn’t.”

The plaintiff’s attorney’s chair slides back with a jolt as the lawyer stands and shouts, “Objection! Speculative. And counsel is testifying!”

Judge Stennis, looking like a tired father dealing with a troubled teenager, gives another “Sustained. The jury is instructed to ignore Mr. Endler’s preceding remarks.”

Amy can’t help but chuckle. Every good point Tom makes is
objected to, and most of the objections are sustained. But the lawyer doesn’t seem like he’s going to let this go. Not yet.

“Ms. Kinney. Are you familiar with Dr. King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”?”

The principal is still dignified and hasn’t lost the aura of respect and order. Even with a question that one might consider insulting.

“Yes. It’s a seminal piece of civil rights history.” The words are expressed with a note of pride.

“But in that letter, Dr. King makes numerous faith-based references, does he not?”

“Offhand, I don’t recall,” Kinney says.

Or you don’t really want to recall, right?

Tom clears his throat even though Amy bets he doesn’t really need to.

“Allow me to refresh your memory,” Tom says. “Dr. King cites the example of the three youths from the biblical book of Daniel who were tossed into the fiery furnace by King Nebuchadnezzar when they refused to worship him. Elsewhere Dr. King mentions the apostle Paul and refers to ‘the gospel of Jesus Christ,’ and he even expresses gratitude to God that the dimension of nonviolence entered his struggle. Is this coming back to you now?”

I bet after all those principal visits he surely had as a student, Tom’s gotta love giving it a little to one on a stand years later.

Kinney nods but refuses to make it seem like a big deal. “Yes.”

“And in his speech titled ‘I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,’ he stated that he just wanted to do God’s will. I could go on, but I won’t.”

“Objection. Repetitive.”

Tom looks back at Kane as if to say,
Would you just let me ask something?

“Counsel seems to have admitted as much himself. Sustained.”

As Tom goes back to the table, he gives a glance at Grace and then a wink. He looks at a sheet for a moment. “So, Principal Kinney. In your opinion, would Ms. Wesley, had she chosen to do so, have been allowed to present those examples I just mentioned in her class?”

“Objection. Speculative.”

“I’m going to allow it,” Stennis says this time. “Overruled. The witness may answer.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

For the first time since being in the seat, Kinney takes a moment to answer. “No. If it were up to me . . . she wouldn’t have been allowed.”

“Why not?” Tom asks.

“Because those examples are too closely associated with faith.”

The lawyer circles closer to Kinney, as if trying to hear her better.

“So in other words, they’re facts, but they’re facts that are too dangerous for discussion?”

“I wouldn’t say
dangerous
,” the principal says. “The word I’d use would be
controversial
.”

“Ah,” Tom says. “But aren’t facts just facts? There’s nothing controversial about two plus two equaling four. Or E = MC squared. Or the date man first landed on the moon. So why the controversy regarding these particular facts?”

“I’d say the fact that we’re all here today speaks for itself.”

Kinney’s statement receives some laughter. Tom smiles and nods.

“I’d say you’re right. Thank you for your honesty.”

He’s extremely comfortable in front of everybody. Definitely belongs up there.

“So one last question, Ms. Kinney. In your orientation at the beginning of the semester, your memo to the staff stressed diversity and tolerance, did it not?”

She nods, her lips tightening and her jaw somehow looking even more sharp as she states a confident yes.

“Would it be fair to say that, except for Christianity, all other forms of diversity are welcome?”

Kane stands and shouts an objection while Tom looks back at him, clearly having known it was coming.

“I’ll withdraw the question. No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Endler, you seem to have a penchant for injecting commentary where it doesn’t belong,” Judge Stennis tells him as he walks back to his table. “You would do well to avoid further provocation of this court.”

Tom turns and nods before sitting. “I apologize, Your Honor. I will look to curtail it in the future.”

As Tom sits down, Kane raises his hand and says, “Redirect, Your Honor.”

The lawyer heads straight to the principal.

“Ms. Kinney. I understand you attended a service at Ms. Wesley’s church a short while ago. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct. It was an event honoring several students who go to that church for their community service.”

“And who was it that invited you to that service?” Kane asks.

In a confident and casual manner, the woman looks over at the defendant. “Ms. Wesley.”

“I see. And where were you when this invitation was extended?”

Amy can see the smug look starting to spread over Kinney’s face.

“At my office.”

“On school grounds?” Kane asks.

“Yes.”

Several of the jurors move their heads to look at each other.

“During work hours?” Kane asks again, driving the point home.

“Yes.”

Kane gives a masterful grin as he starts to head back to his table, then turns again.

“Oh
 
—and one last question. Is it true that Ms. Wesley accepts donations for a Christian charity right there in her classroom?”

“Yes, she does,” Ms. Kinney says.

Ouch.

“Thank you again. No further questions, Your Honor.”

“You may step down, Ms. Kinney.”

Amy watches the principal rise and walk back to her seat in the courtroom. Every movement and angle of her body and even the way she sits feels rigid. Harsh and cold and impossible to chip away.

“Next witness, Mr. Kane?” the judge asks.

“Your Honor, having no further witnesses, and reserving the right to recall, the plaintiff rests.”

Amy sits there a bit surprised.

No more witnesses? They’re that confident in the black-and-white of this issue?

“So be it. This being Friday, we’ll adjourn early. Jurors are reminded they are not to discuss the case with anyone. Neither reading, nor viewing, nor listening to any media coverage related to this case is permissible. Court is adjourned.”

The pounding of the gavel is like the ringing of the school bell. Amy sits while everyone around her stands to leave. She watches Tom lean over and talk to Grace. His client doesn’t say anything for a few moments as she listens to him. He’s not expressive, so it’s hard to know if he’s sharing an opinion or an overview or giving her more facts.

I need to ask her some questions. Before she leaves. Before the weekend.

Amy makes her way outside the doors to find the best place to hide out. She’s become a master of sneaking up to strangers and stopping them with a series of questions. She no longer ambushes people in order to manipulate their words and show them in a bad light, however.

This won’t be an ambush.

It’ll be an opportunity for Grace to make a definitive public statement.

And it’ll be an opportunity for Amy to use her gifts for building up instead of breaking down.

“I HATE HAVING
to literally run away from those reporters,” Grace says.

We’ve made it to the parking lot a block away from the courthouse. I told Grace to park there in order to do exactly what we’re doing
 
—staying away from the reporters. It’s not like they’ve been waiting outside by the dozens, but there were still enough to make it difficult to avoid them. I pulled my best arm-around-the-shoulder-with-other-arm-blocking lawyer routine that I’ve never had to do before. But I’m beginning to really think I’ve never had a case like this one.

“Don’t worry about them,” I say. “Nobody followed us, so it’s all
 
—”

“Excuse me.”

I see the auburn hair first and am about to tell the woman who
has obviously followed us after all to go away when I realize it’s the reporter I spoke to the other night.

“Hi, Tom,” she says. “I’m sorry to follow you guys. I just wanted to get some sort of statement from you. Is that possible?”

Grace looks at me and waits to see if I allow one.

“I’m Amy Ryan. I’m a blogger.”

Amy extends a hand and Grace shakes it.

“We don’t want to make any public statements yet,” I say.

“Off the record, then. I promise.”

I glance at Grace. “It’s up to you.”

“Sure,” she says.

“These people are looking to destroy you,” Amy says. “And not just financially. Do you really think it’s worth it?”

For a moment, Grace just looks around the parking lot, thinking. “I hope so,” she says.

“So do I. Do you feel the questions they’re asking about you are valid? Do you see their point of view?”

“She shouldn’t answer that,” I say. “We feel the whole thing is out of line.
Their
point of view is like you said
 
—trying to destroy a teacher. I don’t think anybody would really like that.”

“Grace . . . personally, is this impacting your faith?”

“Yes.”

I’m surprised to hear this and am about to ask her how, but Grace continues.

“It’s making it stronger.”

“How can that be?” the reporter asks.

The cars on the nearby street emit a steady buzz. The glow of the afternoon sun is starting to tilt, but I can still feel beads of sweat as we talk. I want to get some shorts and a T-shirt on. I look at Grace and find her calm expression refreshing.

“I’m praying a lot more these days. Of course, I guess I have a lot more time to pray, right? Since prayer isn’t allowed at school.” Grace pauses and looks at both of us, then shakes her head. “That was a joke. Okay, so it was a Christian joke. I guess those aren’t that funny. But I am praying a lot, and I’m trying to find peace by reading Scripture.”

“And that works?” Amy asks.

“Yes. It really does. The passage I read this morning was Romans 5:3-5. It says we should be happy when we run into bad situations in our lives. Those things develop endurance, and endurance develops character. We can have hope in this and know God loves us. I was thinking about that during the testimony, especially the moments where they were questioning my motives as a teacher. Or when they were saying I was doing something wrong in my classroom.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

I nod at Amy. “Yes, since tomorrow’s Saturday and we’ll have two more days to focus on the trial.”

“I meant Monday.”

“We’ll be more ready come Monday morning,” I say. “Listen
 
—Ms. Wesley’s had a busy day . . .”

“Thank you both. Really
 
—I want you to know I’m on your side.” Amy reaches into her purse and pulls out two business cards. “I just had them made. Here. I’ll be posting a new blog this weekend.”

I look at the title of her blog. “
Waiting for Godot
? Sounds like some kind of art-appreciation website.”

“Look up that play. Maybe it’ll make sense once you see what it’s about.”

With that, Amy takes her cue and thanks us and shakes our hands again before she leaves.

I watch her walk down the sidewalk before saying anything to Grace. “You still feeling good? Honestly?”

Grace nods. “Yes. I didn’t like what they were saying today. I’m just curious what the jury was thinking. They were always engaged.”

“That can sometimes make me nervous,” I say.

“How do
you
feel?”

“Good. I just need to get some kind of hook, you know? Something I can lock into the jurors’ hearts so I can pull them onto our boat.”

“Sounds like you want to kill them,” Grace says.

I laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to do that. I know it’s been a long day for you, so I’ll let you go. But does it still work to get together tomorrow to go over some more files?”

“Sure.”

“I wish I had a whole staff that could do that, you know?”

“It’s fine. Whatever I can do to help.”

Something in me wants to say more just to keep talking, but I know she needs to go. And so do I.

“Get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

She slips into her car and starts it up. I head back down the sidewalk to my parked car. It’s strange because I get this weird feeling inside.

I really didn’t want to see Grace go.

“Tell me about your daughter.”

It doesn’t take me long this evening to ask my grandmother a personal question. I’m tired and don’t really want to make small talk about something like a will that is all just to make her feel comfortable. I think it helps bringing her another Beanie Boo
stuffed animal. This time I gave her a little pink elephant. It’s funny how roles get reversed. I feel like a grandfather giving a gift to a grandchild.

Evelyn is sitting in her wheelchair on the side of the room. She’s already had her dinner at the old folks’ hour of 5 p.m.
Wheel of Fortune
is thankfully off and she isn’t watching television; she told me the only shows on now are those murdering-spouses-for-sex-and-money kind.

“Carolyn? She doesn’t ever visit me anymore. I don’t know why.”

I’m not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse for Grandma not to know her only daughter is dead. I never try to correct her when she says things like this. I don’t want to freak her out.

“She’s a gentle soul,” Grandma says. “I remember her father always being so hard on her and never understanding her sensitivity. But that’s why she was so good with children. Carolyn wanted a little sister. Would’ve been the best big sister. But I knew it wouldn’t have been right to try to bring another child into this world with that man. Two were enough with Bob. He managed to ruin Edward and it took everything I had to protect Carolyn.”

Wow, she’s talkative. Must’ve had her Mountain Dew.

“Does Carolyn take after you in that area?”

“Me?” Grandma laughs. “Oh, dear heavens, no. I think it skipped me. Really it was from my mother. She was a dear soul. But folks were different then.”

I wish I could tell my grandmother just what a wonderful mother I’d had and how she had indeed been a gentle soul for as long as her soul lasted on this earth. Too short a time. Way too short.

“Carolyn wanted to be a teacher, and she worked so hard at it.
She’s still teaching, I imagine. But I just
 
—I don’t understand why she never comes around. You might want to find her. Maybe you can ask her why.”

I’ve heard Grandma say bad things about Mom, so this is refreshing.

“I might try that,” I tell her.

I don’t know what else to say to someone missing a dead person whom she thinks is still alive.

I miss Mom every day. I’d do anything to believe she was still somewhere out there, waiting to just knock on my door.

It’s late Friday night and I can’t sleep. I went by the office after seeing my grandmother. The emptiness depressed me, so I texted several people to see if anybody was around to hang out. Everybody had plans. My long list of three friends I texted. So it turns out I had a hot date with a dog named Ressie.

I’m rethinking the day in court and everything that was said. Somehow I end up thinking that it used to be the men would set out to be the hunter-gatherers, fending off the few who would try to prey on them. They would kill or be killed and they would split skulls and watch blood spill. Primitive and primal at the core.

Sometimes I think things haven’t changed one bit. We simply strike with rhetoric and laws and objections and arguments. But we’re still stomping over one another, trying to get ahead, trying to simply survive.

God might be alive or he might be dead, but I know nobody really, truly cares about that in a courtroom. They only care about being right.

Grace cares.

And once again I’m pulled back, pulled to that place, pulled to
the picture I don’t want to see again. I know deep down why I suddenly care so much and why Grace is more than a simple client.

Mom cared.

Yes, she did.

Mom did indeed care. And believed. And lived that out. And then died.

Mom
cared
. Past tense.

Life can be lived in present or past tense. And you can be a first or a third person. It’s a choice we all have to make.

This savage life that needs only one single letter to become
salvage
. Yet we grasp and can’t find the nails to drive into the plywood sheets protecting us from the coming hurricane.

I close my eyes for a moment and know I’m tired. Not from tonight or this week but from spending the last decade trying to find those nails.

Visiting Grandma wiped me out.

The weekend has arrived, and it welcomes the weary. I’m one of them, and I’ll sit out of the sun and the rain and try to get my mind in order. This sort of head-case spiraling got me into trouble years ago and it looks like I haven’t changed my ways.

I don’t want to admit the obvious, but I have to. I have to make an objection to my melancholy mind.

Saving Grace isn’t going to save Mom.

And it’s certainly not going to save me.