by Pat Simmons
“Jesus, thank You for this moment with this incredible woman You kept just for me. Thank You for Calvary and for the blood You shed to sanctify our lives. Now I ask You to sanctify our food for the nourishment and enjoyment of our bodies. And, Lord, please remember my grandparents. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Shari repeated, watching him as she stole the first bite. “How’s Grandpa Moses?” she asked softly. A frown etched her brow.
Liking the sound of “Grandpa Moses” on her lips, he couldn’t stop his smile, despite the touchy subject she wanted to discuss. “Brittani’s mandate is taking an extra heavy toll on him and my grandma.”
“I noticed that your grandpa hasn’t called lately during our times together, and while I’ve appreciated that, I worry about him.”
“If Brittani has repented, she needs to do the right thing. As does Landon.” Garrett could feel his nostrils flare involuntarily with irritation at hearing his cousin’s name, so he took a few moments to inhale and exhale, choosing his next words carefully. “How can this situation have closure unless he steps up and takes responsibility for his actions?”
Shari dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then reached out and patted his hand. “Ecclesiastes four, verse nine: ‘Two are better than one.’ I’m here to hold you up because I love you. I’m your prayer partner, your shoulder to lean on.”
“Yes, you are, and a beautiful one at that.” Garrett snickered, then winked. “I love you far beyond my heart’s capacity.”
“And you have a big heart.”
They ate and chatted a while longer while listening to some gospel music Garrett played on his phone. When they were stuffed, they cleaned up, and then Shari tugged him toward the side patio, where they cuddled together on a porch swing, watching the clouds roll by.
Life is good, Garrett thought, and he believed that Jesus would calm the storms brewing within the Miller family.
Chapter 22
After an enjoyable weekend, Shari sat on her bed on Monday evening, reviewing the three-hundred-plus-page file on Jean Pickett. The case was an example of the increasing identity theft epidemic. To date, it was the biggest case Shari had ever taken on. Law enforcement agencies and the IRS had failed her client.
Combing through stacks of paper, Shari learned that Miss Pickett’s privacy had been compromised when her social security number had been used to create fake IDs that were sold at flea markets. She was determined to win this federal case, which would mean going up against an attorney from the Department of Justice.
The next morning, Shari dressed in one of her power suits, this one melon-colored with a double-breasted jacket, and her three-inch heels that crushed the pavement as she walked to the Criminal Justice Center. She wished Garrett would be in the courtroom to see her. Then again, maybe not. He would probably fuss at her later on about her shoes. At least she had reduced the additional five inches to just three. She was getting there.
After clearing the metal detectors, Shari opted to climb the three flights of stairs instead of squeezing onto a crowded elevator. It was as if her bouncing curls kept time with each step. Slightly winded, she exited the stairwell onto the third floor seconds before the elevator doors opened and spewed out a slew of riders. She scooted around the sea of colleagues and yanked on the heavy door to Courtroom C.
It had become a habit to check the side seats for any U.S. Marshals. None was present today. It didn’t matter. Whether or not she and Garrett saw each other in passing, they would manage to steal a moment to say “I love you” through FaceTime or text messages.
As she walked in, her client stood in the back pew. “Attorney Carmen, I’m ready to put this behind me.”
“Me, too,” Shari said. “Let’s get it done.” She conversed with Jean for a few minutes before proceeding past the bar.
When the judge called the Pickett case from the docket, Shari prayed for guidance and justice, then began her show. “Your Honor, our investigation has uncovered at least eighty-three people in twenty-three states using Ms. Pickett’s social security number. Sixty-nine of them are illegal immigrants. My client has continued to suffer because the government didn’t do its job of tracking and prosecuting these cases. It wasn’t until the IRS sent her a bill for seven years’ worth of back taxes that she initiated her own probe—a task that the IRS, SSA, and Department of Homeland Security are highly paid to do.”
When an agent took the stand to defend the procedures of his department, Shari didn’t back down, peppering him with yes or no questions.
“In conclusion, Your Honor, I’m requesting that the Social Security Administration make an exception and issue Jean Pickett a new number. The IRS should pardon all back taxes, clear her credit report, and erase the criminal charges she has incurred due to the fraudulent activities of others operating under her name. I’m asking that Miss Pickett be awarded actual damages of seventy-five thousand dollars for her time and injury to her character and punitive damages of three hundred thousand.” Shari was pushing it by asking the government to pay punitive damages, because they normally enjoyed immunity from civil suits, but there were exceptions to every case, and Shari believed in going after every possible loophole.
After Shari spent two days presenting evidence and arguing her point, the court recessed for deliberation. The next day, the judge returned with a decision, awarding Jean Pickett the full amount of actual damages and $200,000 for punitive damages.
Shari congratulated her client and thanked God for the victory. Next, she texted Garrett to share the news. It felt good to have someone who was excited about what was going on in her life. Within the hour, a stunning arrangement of flowers arrived at her office, along with a card that read,
Victory! I’m sure God was pleased as much as I am proud of you.
G
Staring at the note, Shari smiled. Garrett’s praise was priceless. It meant more to her than the pats on the back from colleagues and even her family’s bragging.
At home that evening, it was business as usual: Shari sat on the sofa with her eyes closed, soaking her feet and enjoying some much-needed relaxation. She didn’t realize she had dozed off until a husky voice whispered, “Hi there, Sleeping Beauty,” in her ear.
She smiled before her eyelids fluttered open. The cologne that tickled her nose was proof that she wasn’t dreaming. Shari met Garrett’s gaze. “Hi. You caught me again.” She sat up and quickly lifted her feet out the tub, then dried them off with a towel, before he could assist her. The consecrated foot-washing he’d given her had been so special, she didn’t want to diminish the gesture to simply a foot massage every time he saw her feet soaking in water.
Garrett presented her with a beautifully gift-wrapped box that she hadn’t noticed.
“What’s this?” She frowned up at him. “You already sent me flowers.”
“I sent them only because I couldn’t deliver them myself. Now, open this,” he ordered her, feigning a threatening voice that only prompted her to smack a kiss on his lips.
Then she did as he’d requested. After parting the layers of red tissue paper inside the oblong box, she gasped as she unearthed a striking figurine. She fingered the outline of the beautiful, classy woman—with skin the shade of chocolate—sitting alone on a bench. Draped in a red fitted dress with ruffles at the knees, the woman sported matching high-heeled shoes that completed her ensemble.
Lifting the foot-long sculpture from its resting place, Shari then picked up the card that had floated to her lap. It was a certificate of authenticity that read, “Vision in Red, Limited Edition.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
His gifts were one-of-a-kind and personal, always calling attention to her appearance or character. They weren’t the types of things she ever saw on store shelves. He either must shop at specialty boutiques or order online from stylish Web sites. Either way, he was far more thoughtful than most men. Shari’s eyes watered with emo
tion as she stared into his.
Reaching for one of her curls, Garrett twisted it around his finger. “I remember one morning when I saw you in the distance, making your way to the courtroom. You were gorgeous in your red suit and rocked your stilettos with every strut. I watched in amusement as other men gave my woman a pause of appreciation. Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave my post to greet you. Not long after that, I stumbled upon this piece online, and I ordered it immediately because it captured the image of you I had seared into my mind.”
Shari inhaled deeply to keep from crying as she reflected on the day he had just described. “I haven’t worn that suit since, because I lost the case.” Bowing her head, Shari exhaled. “I was representing the man who threatened to kill me when we visited the House of Corrections with the prison ministry. It wasn’t my fault he failed to appear in court and went on the run, allegedly committing additional crimes, after a warrant was issued for his arrest.”
Garrett lifted her chin with his forefinger. “No sad stories today, Attorney Carmen.”
“You’re right.” Despite her losses, she still had more than her share of victories.
They were a breath away from indulging in a kiss when his smartphone played a symphony melody. It wasn’t his grandfather’s ringtone, and they both sighed with relief.
Huffing, Garrett detached the device from his belt. “Hold that position, baby,” he mumbled. “It’s my sister.”
Shari was about to stand, anyway, but Garrett tugged her back down onto the couch. As he listened to Deborah, he frowned, and then his eyes glazed over before an expression of panic raced across his face. “I’m on my way.” He ended the call and jumped to his feet.
Shari’s heart sank. “What’s wrong?”
“Grandpa was rushed to the hospital with chest pains. He’s…in a coma.” Frantically, he dug in his pant pocket for his car keys. “I’m catching the next flight home.”
“Book two tickets,” Shari told him. “I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 23
It took Garrett half the usual time to get back to his condo. His packing consisted of stuffing pants and shirts—hangers and all—into a duffel bag, whether they matched or not. His mind raced as he logged on to his iPad and booked two flights to Boston. He had no idea whether Shari could stay for the whole weekend, but it didn’t matter. He simply appreciated her presence.
Shari was the bright spot in the middle of his chaos, and she was willing to put everything on hold in order to support him and his family as they dealt with the stress of Brittani’s shenanigans.
“Jesus, I don’t have the right mind-set for prayer right now, but please send Your angels to my grandfather’s side to minister to his needs. Lord, show up and show out in that hospital room, so that folks will know You are a healer. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
There is a time and a season. Circumstances happen to all, but I will deliver My people out of all of them. God reminded him of Ecclesiastes 9, which gave him comfort.
When Mrs. Carmen dropped Shari off at his condo an hour later, Garrett did his best to keep up the pretense that he had his emotions under wraps.
Standing in the doorway with a small carry-on, Shari took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Ready.”
When he stepped back to let her in, Shari wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled her head beneath his chin as he just held her. “Jesus, please give him strength,” she whispered.
Shari offered to drive his SUV to the airport, and he accepted. As they rode, he called his parents for an update but was sent straight to voice mail. He tried his sister—voice mail. Next, he tried his uncle.
The grief-stricken tone to the older man’s voice got to him. “Moses is like a father to me. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he’s still alive, praise Jesus.” He paused. “He’s still alive. He keeps mumbling, asking for the twins….”
Garrett gritted his teeth. Not the twins again. It took all of the Holy Ghost within him not to yield to a fleshly outburst. He wanted to wring Brittani’s neck and repent later. But scheming about and practicing premeditated sin wasn’t part of his lifestyle. This was simply another test whose outcome was known by Jesus.
“Moses is also asking for Shari,” his uncle stated.
Really? That was a shocker. He glanced at the woman who had captured not only his heart but also his grandfather’s. It was bittersweet to see her concentrating on the road ahead, having no idea that she had been summoned. “We’re on our way, Unc. See everybody when we get there.”
Once Garrett ended the call, he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Thank God he had a strong heart, or he might be lying in the bed beside his grandfather’s. Without saying a word, Shari rubbed his back with soothing strokes whenever they were stopped at a red light.
“All this is happening because I let that woman into my life,” he mumbled.
“Sweetie, everyone has thorns in life. Brittani was one of yours, but God already has the end planned out. It will be okay,” she said softly.
Garrett nodded, trying to believe in his heart what he knew in his head. He couldn’t comprehend this turn of events. Hours earlier, he was happy and in love, looking forward to a blissful future. Now, it felt like he had been tossed in the middle of a hurricane that was building to a category ten.
This can’t be happening. Even though he was well into his seventies, Moses Miller was strong and in good health with a never-ending supply of wit and godly wisdom. Garrett couldn’t fathom a life without his sidekick and spiritual advisor. Lord, I’m not ready for him to leave us yet….
“Babe, we’re here,” Shari whispered.
Garrett blinked his eyes open as they turned into the long-term parking lot at Philadelphia International Airport. She eased the car into a space, turned off the ignition, and handed him his keys.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded and went through the motions of getting out, retrieving their bags from the backseat, and linking hands with Shari for the walk to the terminal. She had to remind him to lock the car and activate the alarm, which he did like a zombie.
Garrett was glad that Shari had chosen low, sensible heels as her footwear as they hurried toward the check-in line.
The nonstop flight to Boston took off without delay. Shari was silent, allowing him space for his thoughts. He glanced over and saw her watching him. As always, Garrett was struck by her beauty and by the calming effect of her presence. “I love you.”
“I know.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he returned to his thoughts.
Lord, if my grandfather dies as a result of this mess, help me to refrain from committing double murder.
Chapter 24
Shari could empathize with Garrett’s anxiety over the prospect of losing a loved one. When her father had died instantly from a massive heart attack, eliminating the chance for anyone to say good-bye, the sudden loss had forced her into a state of deep depression for months that had turned into years.
She blinked, realizing that it wasn’t until she played “Thank You” for Garrett’s grandparents’ anniversary celebration that the hairline fracture that had lingered in her heart had finally healed. Without realizing it, she’d been praising God for the blessing that she hadn’t yet received.
When U.S. Air Flight 1715 landed at Logan Airport and had taxied to the gate, Garrett leaped up before most of the other passengers had unbuckled their seat belts. He was already inching down the aisle away from Shari when she called out, “Uh, Garrett?”
He whipped his head around, looking annoyed that someone was interrupting his mission, until his eyes connected with hers. He hurried back to her with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, babe. Forgive me?”
“Forgiven and forgotten for always.” Unbuckling her belt, she reached for her purse as Garrett tugged her out of her seat.
“C’mon.” He nudged her forward, barely offering apologies to the passengers he urged to get out of his way. They hurried through the airport terminal a
s if they were trying to catch a connecting flight instead of a cab to the hospital to join his family in their prayer vigil.
Before the taxi came to a complete stop at the curb, Garrett was already opening the door for Shari. “Brookline Ave., Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center,” he told the driver. “As quick as you can get us there.”
The taxi lurched away from the curb before they were settled. The ride was uneventful—if they didn’t count the three red lights the cabbie ran, the two pedestrians he nearly mowed down, or his constant conversation with himself. Clearly, he had missed his calling as an Indy car driver.
Shari snuggled closer to Garrett as they flew past a series of historic landmarks. She hoped that Garrett would one day bring her back here for a tour. “I know this is tearing you apart, but I’m here to help put you back together again, if I can,” she told him. “I love you, G, and everything that’s connected with you—especially your family.”
“I know.” He kissed her hair.
Despite the harrowing ride, Shari and Garrett arrived at their destination in one piece. After collecting the fare, the driver dumped them and their luggage at the curb, then sped away. Garrett’s rush to get to the hospital suddenly seemed to come to a shrieking halt. He took a deep breath as he gazed up at the imposing complex of buildings.
Shari leaned into him. “Ready?”
Although he nodded, Garrett didn’t make a move, so Shari gently tugged him toward the historic-looking entrance, which clashed with the modern additions and renovations. They walked through the lobby to the bank of elevators and joined several other people waiting to get on. Once they stepped inside, Garrett pushed the number seven.
As he and Shari exited the elevator, the gleaming white floor tiles almost blinded them. The corridor was deserted. Without moving another step, Garrett took a deep breath. “Baby, let’s pray.” He took Shari’s hands in his. “Lord, in the name of Jesus, once again I’m trusting You. Help me to accept Your will in our lives. I thank You for blessing me with Shari to love. I love Grandpa, too. Prepare us, prepare me….”
