“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 bec
ause 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.
16
I FIND GRACE’S HOUSE just off one of the side streets ten minutes from the center of Hope Springs. Towering maple trees block out the fading light in the sky as I get out of my car and make sure Google Maps on my phone tells me this is the right place. I’m the king of GPS leading me into the middle of the country when I’m supposed to go to town hall.
I walk down a sidewalk a few steps before I hear a soft voice calling my name.
“Up here.”
There are stairs leading to a wooden porch lit by two lights, one on each side of the front door. I see the outline of Grace watching me climb up them.
“You found it,” she says.
“Yes, after the first two families I visited. A bit awkward to go into their houses, but finally . . . I’m here.”
I notice the blonde hair gracing her neck above her shoulders, but I can’t see her full expression. I just know she’s giving me one of those familiar Shut up already, Tom looks.
“Are you always this sarcastic?”
“It’s a cover for my overwhelming distrust of everyone.”
Grace looks up at me and I see the outline of her face. “So you distrust me?”
“Of course not. But I’m a lawyer. I distrust everyone. And everyone distrusts me.”
“Don’t tell any of that to my grandfather, okay?”
I pause for a moment. “Okay. But why would I be talking to your grandfather?”
“’Cause I live with him.”
Moments later I step inside the Victorian house and meet Walter Wesley. The frail figure greets me the moment I walk through the door.
“So you’re the genius who’s gonna save my granddaughter?”
His handshake feels like the grip of one of those soldiers portrayed in Band of Brothers.
Where’s the “genius” coming from?
“I’m gonna do everything I can,” I tell the man.
“Tom, this is my grandfather, Walter,” Amy says with humor on her face. “I’ve obviously told him about you.”
“Is ‘everything you can’ going to be enough?” Walter asks me.
Great question, pops. “I certainly hope so.”
“You sure don’t sound very confident,” he says.
I love crusty old men who tell me in their tones that one day if I’m lucky I’ll turn out like them.
“I owe it to your granddaughter not to be overconfident.”
“You’re the lawyer she’s been talking about, right?” he asks me.
“Absolutely. I’m a mixture of The Firm and A Few Good Men and—”
“If you say Mission: Impossible, I’m going to tell Grace to fire you for being infatuated with a short man in Hollywood.”
I laugh. “No, sir. Just joking around a bit.”
“He likes to do that, Grandpa. Just like someone else I know.”
Walter gets this look that’s completely classic. He’s suddenly a college buddy of mine after both of us have been busted.
“I’m getting the sense you don’t want to mess with her,” I tell Walter.
“Absolutely not,” he says, then turns to Grace. “I like him.”
As he disappears into the kitchen, I give her a look and a smile.
“First-time luck,” she says as I follow her into the living room.
Everything from the thick burgundy comforter draped over the arm of the sofa to the smell of apple pie makes this place feel like a true home. I spot a cat sneaking out of the room, then see a shelf full of family pictures that would take half an hour to study individually.
“Did you have dinner? We just finished a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, but thank you,” I say.
Not that three microwaved sausage biscuits can really be considered a meal.
Grace gets me to at least let her serve me some coffee and a piece of that fresh pie I was hoping to try.
It’s been a few days since the meeting with the superintendent and everybody else. I’ve spoken with Grace several times and we’ve gone back and forth over e-mail.
“This is really good,” I tell her after wolfing down the large slice of pie.
“I can tell.”
Grace is looking at my cleaned-off plate in amusement.
“Sorry. That’s why I don’t accept dinner invitations. Living alone has turned me into a Neanderthal.”
“Gramps loves fresh apple pie,” Grace says. “I usually am trying to get him to eat healthy—we have to watch his cholesterol—but every now and then I spoil him.”
I nod and tap my belly. “So does part of my retainer include fresh pie every time we meet?”
“Maybe that’s a good plan.”
I sit in the armchair, facing her on the couch. The coffee cup I take a sip from has the logo of a university on it.
“Did you attend Hadleigh?”
Grace nods, her pleasant smile stuck to her like the aroma of the pie.
“How about you?” she asks.
“You mean you didn’t go to the Thomas Endler website before deciding on me?”
“Actually, yes—I tried,” she matches with her own sarcasm. “But they said the site hadn’t been updated for several years.”
If only she knew.
“I went to one of those big-name schools you brag about years after graduating.”
“I’ll let you brag,” she says. “At least once tonight.”
“Stanford.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“The weather was sure nice. So were the girls.”
She takes the weather cue and talks about visiting California a few years ago. Probably to get away from my mention of California girls and any highlight of the male-female thing happening here. Grace seems to have one of those rare traits in today’s world: modesty.
Last thing I need to do is start talking about Sienna.
“Did you always want to be a teacher?” I ask her.
“I did. Initially I thought I’d be a grade school teacher.”
“That was my first thought, to be honest. That you look like you might teach kindergarten.”
“You’re not the first person who’s told me that. Which is funny because it makes me think, What exactly constitutes the look of a kindergarten teacher?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s probably not the same look as an MMA fighter. But you probably don’t even know what that stands for?”
“Mixed martial arts, thank you very much. And no, I don’t think I have the looks for that.”
“At least people aren’t saying you resemble a librarian.”
“No, though I could be one if I’m being honest. I grew up loving to read. That’s what prompted me to want to learn more. I couldn’t read enough when I was younger. I was so curious. Especially about history. I went through different phases in my life of reading about history. Some people remember their childhood through places they lived or through photos, but I remember mine through American wars.”
I laugh and shift in the comfortable armchair. “That sounds like a recipe for nightmares.”
“No, seriously—junior high was all about the Civil War. My freshman year I got into the Revolutionary War. Then the world wars. Senior year of high school I remember studying the Vietnam War and even writing a paper on it. Other girls my age were going to see The Devil Wears Prada while I was renting The Killing Fields.”
“So you’ve had a streak of rebellion in you all your life.”
“Yes, though rebellion isn’t the reason you’re here.”
I nod and agree with her. “And you never thought of moving away from Hope Springs?” I ask.
“Not since my grandmother passed away and I moved in with my grandfather.”
&nbs
p; “Do your parents live in the area?”
“Yes. But we don’t actually see them much, to be honest.” She pauses for a moment, then glances at my cup. “Would you like some more coffee?”
I nod, even though I really don’t want a refill. She scoops up the mug and goes into the kitchen.
There’s a lot more to Grace and her parents, and I assume I’ll learn more the longer I’m around her. It’s never good to hesitate when cross-examining someone in the courtroom, but in real life it’s sometimes better to hold on and wait.
Truth has a way of coming out when people have learned to trust you.
“I still can’t believe that it’s actually Brooke’s parents who are listed as the ones suing me. Thawley v. Wesley.” Grace looks a bit pale after we’ve spent the last hour going over all the filings and briefs.
“Obviously they don’t share their daughter’s curiosity about spiritual matters.”
“Do you know they lost their son this past year?” she asks.
“Yes. I read about that.”
“I don’t know if this is part of their—their grief perhaps? I know it’s been hard for them. Brooke said they had moved on, but I’m sure you don’t just move on when your son dies in an auto accident. How could you?”
“There are some things parents do that you won’t ever figure out,” I say.
I’ve got thirty-five years of experience with that.
“But still—I don’t understand such anger over something like this. They’re not only asking that I be fired but that I lose my teaching certificate. That means I’ll never work as a teacher again. Anywhere.”
The sinking feeling Grace has is a familiar weight I’ve carried around for several years now. “You’re right.”
I don’t want to heap coals on this fire, but I have to make sure she understands what we’re dealing with.
“You’ll have to also pay attorneys’ fees for the plaintiff, which is not going to be inexpensive.”
“It’s not like I have many assets. This house and everything in it belongs to my grandfather.”
“They can take everything you have,” I tell her.
She tosses the papers on the coffee table. “I just don’t get it. Why? Why are they doing this?”
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