BEYOND JUSTICE

by Joshua Graham

  "There may be damage to the cervical spine, which means—" I felt a huge weight on my chest. "It means he might suffer respiratory paralysis or permanent quadriplegia." Right away, I pictured Aaron, alert and awake, lying in the hospital bed, confused and scared. "Daddy, I can’t move..." There lay a boy I used to chase around the house and scold for jumping on the furniture. Paralysis from the neck down seemed as cruel as death. I then recalled the image of Aaron trying valiantly to hold back the two big tears from running down his face, the last time I saw him conscious, the night I yelled at him in frustration. Impaled with regret, I rubbed my temples. Would that be his last memory? Would he ever know how much I really loved him?

  The last thing I wanted to do was break down in front of Pastor Dave, but that is exactly what I did. I didn’t have enough fight left in me to hold back. I held my head in my in hands and just let it all out.

  "Sam, I know that the doctors can’t do much for him now. But I have seen people healed of incurable diseases and conditions." I didn’t answer. Just let him talk while I regained my composure. At the same time I felt a rising curiosity. "I’ve seen people healed through faith and prayer."

  "The last time you all prayed for me, I got arrested."

  "True."

  "Look Dave. No offense, but I don’t think anyone can know how trivialized ‘religious encouragement’ feels unless they’ve lost someone close."

  "You’re right," Dave said. "But I do know."

  "How’s that?"

  "Didn’t Jenn ever mention it?"

  "What?"

  "About ten years ago, I lost my wife and son to a drunk driver."

  Sometimes you just don’t see it coming, when you’re about to be proven wrong. All this time, I thought no one could possibly understand my pain. And Pastor Dave, great a guy as he was, could only spout quaint platitudes. I realized that there were many more lessons to learn in life. "I’m really sorry, Dave."

  He let out a long breath. "It’s all right. Long time ago."

  After a short silence, I stood up and asked him if he wouldn’t mind coming with me to the backyard. Jenn’s flower bed had become overgrown and I thought if we worked on something—anything, like pulling weeds—it would take the edge off the awkwardness.

  "Blue Wonders are some of the heartiest plants," Dave said.

  "Grow like these," I said, pulling a scraggy weed from within the patch. It never stood a chance against the Blue Wonders.

  Quietly, we continued to work until finally he spoke again. "The guy actually accelerated past the stop sign after hitting Lisa and the baby. He crashed into a street lamp, killing himself."

  All I could do was shake my head. Not only had he walked this same road, he was miles ahead of me.

  "I was a mess," Dave said, his features darkened. "Of course I was devastated, but I was angry too. Angry at that idiot driver, angry at myself. I was even angry with God."

  I straightened up, wiped the sweat from my brow. November afternoons in San Diego can be pretty hot. "You? Angry at God?"

  "Yeah. I had just retired from the Corps. Just dedicated my life to ministry." He too stopped and wiped his brow. "After the burial, I tore up my seminary application and shook my fist at God. But I was told that it was okay to be angry with Him. He can take it. And there’s no use trying to hide anything from Him anyway."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I stayed away for a while. Couldn’t understand why God would allow this to happen to his children. Why didn’t He protect my family?" He caught a particularly tough weed and yanked twice before it came out at the root. Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked over to the fence that separated our properties. He reached for a garden shovel in his yard and started digging up more weeds from Jenn’s Red Riding Hoods.

  "After all that," I said, "how could you return to your faith, much less become a pastor?"

  "Well, that’s a story that could take all night to tell."

  "I might just ask you about it one day."

  "Sure thing," he said and glanced at his watch. "But I have to get going now." I stood up, removed my gloves, put them back in a supply box and stood at the back door. Dave put his shovel back over the fence and came to my side. "Hey, this is your first holiday without them. I know how empty that feels. Why don’t you come over for dinner? The group would love to see you again."

  "No proselytizing?"

  Dave smiled and patted my back. "Just dinner and company." They’d never really done that, but I just wanted to make sure. Old habits.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I arrived next door, the first thing I noticed was how warm and inviting Dave’s home was. He’d lived alone for years, but nothing about his house suggested solitude. Things were tidy, books lined handsome cases, paintings of idyllic scenery adorned the walls. Photos of his late wife and son hung prominently over the fireplace.

  One particular photo caught my eye: Dave and his wife Lisa holding their son. Dave came over and said, "Adam, he was six months old." The younger Dave stood proudly in full dress uniform next to his lovely wife outside their house in Sabre Springs. I could see the street corner over to the side in the background, where the street lamp stood. Where they were killed. Just a few paces from their home.

  "Beautiful family."

  "Thanks." Dave invited me to take a seat in his living room. I sat in a comfortable chair, which I quickly learned was a recliner, as he pulled the lever on the side. "I’m going to check on the Turkey."

  Ten minutes later, the rest of them arrived. Dave asked me to get the door. Lorraine, the motherly casserole woman greeted me with a warm kiss on the cheek. Alan and Samantha gave me hugs and Jerry, who hardly said a word the last time we met, simply smiled and presented me with a bag of pistachios, one of which he snatched for himself. Then, to my surprise, another guest came in from behind him— not one of Jenn’s Bible study group, but certainly one I was glad to see.

  "Hey there!" Rachel said, shaking my hand. "Oh, this is silly!" she said, and pulled me down to give me a hug and a kiss me on the cheek. My face heated up. I had not felt the touch of a woman since Jenn died. It was a bit odd because of our attorney-client relationship. Awkwardly, I returned the kiss and took her jacket, as Dave herded everyone to the dining room.

  The sweet aroma of corn slathered in butter, Turkey with stuffing and gravy, along with creamy mashed potatoes, tickled my nose as we gathered around the table. I tried my best to smile as everyone held hands and Lorraine said a blessing for the meal. It had been less than two months, but it felt as if I’d been without my wife and kids for years.

  I can’t remember the exact words Lorraine prayed, but she inspired me to think of things for which to be thankful. After she finished, we partook of the food, hot apple cider and pleasant conversation.

  Alan and Samantha announced that they were going to have a baby. A sudden hush came upon the room. They quickly turned to me apologetically. Samantha covered he mouth with her hand and looked like a Doe before a Peterbilt. "I didn't mean to be insensitive."

  "Don’t be silly," I said. "I’m happy for you both. There’s not enough good news these days, anyway." I proposed a toast to the expectant couple and allowed myself to enjoy this temporary sense of belonging. My surrogate family. They were all I had now.

  Turkey has something in it called tryptophan, which makes you feel relaxed, even sleepy. I hadn’t experienced much of either recently, but this combined with a glass of red wine and good company, was just what the doctor ordered.

  Lorraine came back from the kitchen with an apple pie she had baked. Jerry stood next to her grinning and holding a tub of French vanilla ice cream and an ice cream scooper. Far be it from me to turn down homemade apple pie a la mode, that would just be plain rude. We all made room in our distended bellies for dessert.

  Afterwards, we dragged ourselves to the living room where some of us men loosened a belt notch or two and reclined around the coffee table. Lorraine served hot tea.

  Rachel tol
d a story of how she met a cute gondolier last summer on a trip to Venice with two girlfriends from church. She bemoaned the fact that, though they’d promised to correspond, she lost his email address. It was then, for the first time, that I noticed: the way she smiled, just slightly crooked, how her jet black hair fell half over her face, how she brushed it aside with elegant, porcelain fingers, her silly soprano laugh. I caught myself staring at her, her smile suspended, waiting.

  "What?" she said.

  Snapping myself back to reality, I said, "Didn’t you give him your contact information?"

  "Of course not. I just met him. What if he turned out to be some kind of psycho cyberstalker?"

  "You live oceans apart."

  Rachel picked up her teacup, her violet eyes looking up at me as she sipped. She licked her lips and said, "Don’t you think it’s important to be careful on the internet?"

  "Of course I do. I just don’t believe in paranoia." I shrugged. "A little common sense is all you need."

  "Cyberstalkers," Samantha said with a shudder. "That’s why I never, ever use any instant messenger programs."

  Instant messenger.

  This brought back something I hadn't thought of since it happened. One evening, just a few days after the Coyote Creek shooting, Bethie had left the computer on, logged into her AOL Instant Messenger. I was about to sign out for her when one of her buddies popped up and asked if she wanted to play a game he’d written.

  Curious, I decided to impersonate Bethie.

  AnyBeth818: what kind of game is it?

  Huliboy: it's like checkers. I'll show you. click the link.

  I clicked it. Something installed in the background and a game window appeared. It was full of colorful game pieces—unicorns, mermaids, kittens. All on a bright pink game board. Looked cute and designed for children a bit younger than my twelve year old. I wanted to ask Huliboy his or her real name, but that might tip Bethie's friend off that it was her father chatting. I'd have to get more information in a clandestine fashion. I typed:

  AnyBeth818: anyway, my homeroom teacher, mr. bennett said I need to be on time during attendance or he'll mark me absent

  Huliboy: OMG! what are you on? ur homeroom teacher is ms fischer!!pls, you're always on time! tryin 2 confuse me or something?

  With Bethie's real teacher's name confirmed, I decided Huliboy was really a classmate after all. I continued to play the game for a couple of minutes with its childish music in the background and cute little squeaks and animal sounds the game pieces made every time you moved them.

  After two games, both of which I lost, I told Huliboy that I (Bethany) had to go to bed because I had an exam the next morning—which was true.

  Huliboy typed, "See you tomorrow." And I did the same. I would explain to Bethie in the morning that I'd met one of her internet buddies, played a cute game, and to tell this classmate that it was all in good fun. We'd all have a good chuckle about my losing a children's game to a middle-schooler. But with all the busyness of life, and stress from work, I had never gotten around to telling Bethie about it.

  Talking and laughing all at once, Allen, Samantha, Rachel and Lorraine continued to discuss the perils of the internet. "The filth kids have access to these days," Alan said, gently placing a hand on Samantha’s belly. "I’ll tell you this, no internet for my kid until he’s twenty-one." I thought about the porn that found its way into network directory and my cheeks grew hot.

  "Well, when it comes to computers," Samantha said, "I can't help but be paranoid. We have this guy at church—Neil Matthews. He was a victim of identity theft. Some hacker stole his information and charged over ten thousand dollars with three of his credit cards. They caught the guy, but Neil still had to pay for some of it. Investigators said that if he’d used some firewall software, none of it would have happened."

  My back ached from pulling weeds with Dave earlier. The tea’s aroma soothed my mind. Tendrils of steam floated into my face and warmed me as I took another sip. We each took turns recalling some of our more memorable Thanksgivings and laughed at stories of disastrous family dinners.

  "Like the time Bruno, my eighteen pound calico, climbed up on the table," Lorraine recalled, "jumped and landed spread eagle on the turkey and claimed it for himself.

  "That’s not as bad as when my uncle Henry had too much mashed potatoes and sneezed," Alan said.

  "Oh, hon!" Samantha said, shoving him with her elbow. "Not the Uncle Henry story. Please!"

  Before long, Jerry whispered to Lorraine who reported to us that it was getting past his bedtime and she had to drive him home. Everyone else took it as a signal that they too should leave, despite Dave’s urging to the contrary. Lorraine held onto Jerry’s arm as they walked to her car.

  Rachel, Alan and Samantha were putting their jackets and sweaters on when my cell phone buzzed.

  It was Children’s Hospital.

  The smiles around me dissolved as I listened to the nurse on the other end deliver the news. When I hung up, Dave came over. "What’s the matter?"

  I could barely bring myself to speak.

  "Sam, what's the matter?"

  Finally, I drew a stuttering breath. "It’s Aaron."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel, Dave, and I arrived at Children’s hospital in less than fifteen minutes, partly because of non-existent traffic on Thanksgiving day, partly because he had driven in excess of 80 mile per hour. A stern security guard met us at the entrance. He glanced at a photo in his hand and instructed us to stay in place. "Samuel Hudson?"

  "That’s me. I’m here to see my son. They said it was urgent."

  "I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait here."

  "What?"

  "There's been a temporary restraining order filed against you."

  Rachel came to my side. "When? By whom? He hasn’t been served."

  The guard pointed to the entrance. I turned around and saw Lieutenant Jim O’Brien walking towards us, his black and white squad car parked just outside the glass doors. A different partner, a female officer, remained inside the car.

  "Jim," I said, sighing with relief. "There’s been a misunderstanding here."

  "Afraid not." He handed me an envelope. "Consider yourself served." The TRO was filed by Oscar and Maggie Lawrence’s attorney.

  "Unbelievable," I muttered and showed it to Rachel.

  "I’m sorry," Jim said, thumbs in his belt. "Seems like the grandparents are suing for legal custody as well."

  Dave joined the huddle. "I’m going up to speak with Aaron’s doctor." The security guard got Jim’s approval and permitted Dave to go. "I’ll be back,"

  "I can’t believe this," I said, taking the paper back from Rachel. "They’ve hired Chatham, Young & Bauer."

  "Oh dear," Rachel said. "Them."

  Jim scribbled his signature on a Proof of Service document. "Do I need to stick around to enforce this?"

  "No."

  "I’ll be on my way, then."

  Before he got to the exit, I called out, "Just one question, Jim." He turned to face me. "How did you know?"

  He pointed down to the GPS tracker on my anklet. "The Lawrences’ wanted to make sure you didn’t get within a thousand feet. I would’ve preferred to wait at least until the morning to serve you, but when we saw you were approaching the hospital..."

  "You really think I would hurt my son?"

  "You’re a suspect. I was assigned to serve you the TRO. I have a duty to uphold."

  "You didn’t answer my question."

  "Yes. I did." And with that, he tipped his hat to Rachel and left. I stood there stunned. How could they do this? He’s my son.

  Rachel and I sat side by side, on blue, vinyl-padded chairs in the general waiting area for what seemed an eternity. I spent most of the time with my head in my hands, fretting, unable to speak. There were moments that I forgot Rachel was there, she was so quiet.

  At one point, I picked my head up. She appeared to be asleep, sitting back in her chair, h
er eyes shut. But her lips were moving. Her brow knitted while this was happening. I thought she might be having a bad dream.

  "Rachel?" I whispered, gently nudging her with my elbow. "You okay?"

  She opened her eyes. Sharp and lucid.

  "Bad dream?" I asked.

  "I was praying."

  "Yeah, well. The way things are looking, prayer might not help." She patted my knee and smiled. "Know something I don’t?"

  "In a way."

  "Care to let me in on it?"

  She turned to me, glowing like the dawn of a new day. "You might not appreciate it the way I do."

  "What?" How could she possibly look so positive, so excited?

  "I’m going to be completely open with you, all right?" I nodded, having no idea of where this was going. But I was determined to find out. "I just got a word."

  "A word?"

  "Yes. From God. Sometimes it’s referred to as a word of knowledge or a prophetic word."

  "So, what did God say?"

  She grasped both of my hands, and took a deep breath. "Okay. It’s really five words." She just smiled.

  "Would you please?"

  "All right, here goes." She paused—I wasn't sure if it was for drama, or to further torment me. Then she said the words. "It’s going to be fine." A subtle, smile stretched across her face. "Isn’t that wonderful?"

  My mouth remained slightly agape until I spoke. "Is that it?"

  "What do you mean, is that it?"

  "Can’t God be a little more—I don’t know—specific?"

  "It was like a sense of assurance. I don’t know specifically what He meant, but I know the word was for you. Have faith. God loves you. He loves Aaron. It’s going to be fine."

  Rachel was intelligent, hadn’t an ounce of deceit in her, nor was she insane. What motive could she possibly have to lie? And, I wondered, when God spoke, shouldn’t there be thunder, lightning bolts, writing on the wall, a burning bush, like Charleton Heston in The Ten Commandments?