A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (76 page)

Jo dropped her head in her hands and stifled a sob.

“Oh, Jo . . .” Nicole rubbed small gentle circles on her back and searched for something to say. But she could think of nothing.

Finally, Jo found her voice again. “A year later I got pregnant with Matt. We were going to have another abortion, but something stopped me. I can’t remember what it was, but somehow I knew it wasn’t right. It didn’t matter if we were young and poor. It wasn’t the baby’s fault, and I wasn’t going to go back to that awful place again.”

Nicole’s heart skipped a beat. If Jo had aborted Matt . . . She couldn’t think about it. There was enough pain, knowing about Jo’s first abortion. “Matt doesn’t know?”

“How could I tell him? How do you look your son in the face and let him know you killed his sister?”

“Come on, Jo . . . don’t.” Nicole put her arm around Jo’s neck and brought her own younger face against Jo’s older one. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“But I know now.” Jo’s tears came harder, and Nicole saw a few nurses glancing over at them. Jo seemed to notice, too, and she lowered her voice. “Ever since Matt was born, I’ve regretted what I did. I’d a done anything to get that little sweetheart back, to have it to do over again.”

Nicole released the hold she had on Jo and settled back in her chair. “God forgives you, Jo. You know that, right?”

Jo nodded and sniffed again. “After I gave my life to Jesus last year, I had a chat with Denny. I told him what we’d done was wrong and he agreed. We went to church that night all by ourselves and had a little service for the baby. We got down on our knees and told God how sorry we were.” She lifted her chin a bit. “I never seen a grown man cry like that, Nicole. And I knew then that I wasn’t the only one who missed that baby girl.”

Nicole was struck by the image Jo painted. Both parents taking responsibility for what they’d done and asking God’s forgiveness. “What a wonderful thing, remembering her together that way.”

“Well, it wasn’t wonderful. It was painful. Hurt more than anything in my life, if you wanna know the truth. After we told God we was sorry, we asked Him to take care of our baby up there in heaven. You know, give her little hugs and kisses and pick wildflowers with her on a summer day. Teach her how to fish and laugh and love. Watch over her until one day we could be up there to do it ourselves.”

Jo was quiet again, studying baby Haley. “We sort of pictured our little girl like an orphan. A heavenly orphan.” Jo gave Nicole a sideways look. “And that night we promised God if He’d take care of our little orphan girl in heaven, we’d take care of His orphans down here on earth.”

Suddenly it was all coming together. “Your trip to Mexico?”

“Yes.” There was a quivering in Jo’s lip. “That’s why we’re going.”

“Wow . . .” Nicole inhaled sharply. “That’s beautiful, Jo.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of what I have to say isn’t so pretty.”

Nicole’s heart rate quickened, but she stayed silent.

“Ever since I heard about little Haley, me and Denny have prayed till I thought our teeth would fall out.” Jo placed her hand alongside the incubator. “But every time I pray, God gives me a picture that scares me.”

Nicole wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she couldn’t help herself. “What’s the picture?”

“It’s a picture of three little girls, running through the fields of heaven, arm in arm.” Jo paused and Nicole wanted to cover her ears. “One of them is your sister, Haley Ann; the other is our little girl; and the third one . . . the third one is your little Haley Jo.”

It took a moment before Nicole could breathe again. When she could, she forced a quiet chuckle. “Now, Jo . . . is that what’s bothering you?”

“Of course.” She cast a surprised look at Nicole. “I want little Haley to live more than anything in the world. More than I’ve wanted something for a very long time. But if God knows my heart, why do I keep getting that picture?”

Nicole sounded stronger than she felt. “Maybe because I got pregnant early, too. Maybe because you know that if Haley . . . if she doesn’t make it, she’ll be happy in heaven with her two aunts.” Nicole tossed her hands a few inches in the air. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t mean God’s going to take Haley home. You can’t think that, Jo.”

Something in Nicole’s words or maybe the tone of her voice, caused Jo to relax. The fear and torment left her face, and in its place there was only a distant sorrow. “You’re right. God’s going to save little Haley. I have to believe that.”

After a while Jo left, and Nicole stayed there by herself for nearly an hour, watching Haley, silently urging her to keep breathing, keep living. And praying that when Haley was old enough to run through fields of flowers, they would be the ones in their very own backyard.

And not the ones in heaven.

Twenty-eight

I
T WAS THE DAY OF HIS HEARING, AND
J
AKE FELT HE’D
aged ten years in the past four months.

Not a bad kind of aging, but a good kind. The kind that made him feel more sure about his faith and his future and his plans to help other teenagers avoid the mistakes he’d made.

If he didn’t get sent to a juvenile detention center, Jake planned to return to Marion High in the fall. Everyone he talked to agreed it was the best choice, the way he could most impact his peers about the dangers of street racing. Besides, that way he could be around Coach Reynolds again. And after four months away, Jake had no intention of finishing his high-school education any place except the campus where Coach could teach him. If not on the football field, then certainly in the classroom. If the court let him, that was.

He’d decided something else, too. He wanted another shot at football. Not so he could show up the underclassmen or put himself on a pedestal among his peers, but so he could play the game the way Coach had taught him to play. With heart and class and honor.

Of course, A. W. had been straight with him. He might not get the chance. The judge could easily sentence him to a year in juvenile hall, and if that happened, he’d spend his senior year in confinement.

Jake had prayed about the outcome of today’s hearing, and if that’s where God wanted him, that’s where he’d go. There was no question, he deserved whatever punishment he was given.

The courtroom was filling up, and Jake glanced at his parents. They were talking near the back door, looking friendlier than they’d looked at any time since the accident. He had asked his mother on occasion if anything was happening between them, but she was always evasive.

“We have a lot to talk about, Jake. Your father’s only helping me through this.”

Jake would raise an eyebrow, but leave it alone. Still, they spent enough time together now that he’d added it to his list of God topics— things he talked about with the Lord.

The judge entered the room and immediately his parents left their conversation and took their places on either side of him. A. W. straightened a stack of papers and whispered, “Here goes.”

When the judge was seated, she called the court to order. Jake’s case was first on her docket. “I understand the defendant in
State v.
Daniels
would like to enter a plea; is that right?”

A. W. was on his feet. “Yes, Your Honor. We’ve reached an agreement with the state on the correct charges.”

“Very well. Will the defendant please rise?”

Jake stood up, awed at the strange calm that had come over him.
Your call, God . . . whatever You want . . .

The judge glanced at a sheet of paper on the bench. “Mr. Daniels, you are being charged with the gross negligent use of a vehicle, reckless driving, and illegal street racing—all misdemeanors.” She looked at him. “How do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor. On all charges.” The words felt wonderful. He
was
guilty. There was no sense playing games about it. Whatever the judge did next was fine with him.

“Mr. Daniels, you’re aware that each of these charges carry with them a maximum of six months in a juvenile detention facility?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And that the combination of charges means you could serve up to eighteen months in such a facility?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge sorted through a file of papers. “I see that your attorney has provided me with letters on your behalf. I’ll recess this court for twenty minutes while I read through the file.” She looked at A. W. “At that point I’ll return and hand your client his sentence; is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He barely paused. “I’d like you to also consider the fact that my client has already signed up for community service events. He plans to speak to students at four high schools a year for the next five years as a way of helping kids avoid the mistakes he made.”

The judge was quiet for a moment. “Very well. I’ll consider that along with the letters.”

Court was adjourned, and Jake’s parents hugged him from either side.

“You aren’t nervous, are you, son?” His father searched his face, clearly surprised.

“No. Me and God already talked it out. Whatever happens, that’s what He wants. I’m not afraid.”

A. W. gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I am. If that makes you feel any better.” He nodded toward the judge’s chamber door. “She’s a tough one, that judge. No matter what the letters say, she could make an example out of you.”

Jake saw his mother wince at the thought, and he patted her back. “Mom, you gotta trust God on this one. If He wants me at a detention center, that’s where I’ll go. And everything will work out fine.”

“I know. I just . . . I’d like to see you back at Marion. Your ideas . . . about football and helping your friends . . . they seem so good.”

“How many letters were you able to get?” Jake’s father directed his attention to A. W.

“Five. That’s more than enough.” The attorney gazed up, trying to remember. “One each from you and Tara, one from Jake’s parole officer, one from the person at community service he’s been working with. And the best one of all—from John Reynolds.”

Coach Reynolds? Jake’s stomach flip-flopped inside him. “You asked Coach Reynolds for a letter?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I can’t believe you did that . . . he’s gone through enough without having to write a letter for me. I mean, whoever told you to do something like that, when . . .”

A. W. held up a hand, and Jake stopped his sentence short. Though he was quiet, he was fuming. He hadn’t been this angry in a while. The nerve of asking Coach for a letter that would help him get a lighter sentence.

“I didn’t ask Mr. Reynolds for a letter.” A. W. tilted his head, a look of vindication on his face. “Mr. Reynolds offered.”

Jake’s stomach stopped flipping and sank to his knees. What? Coach Reynolds—in the midst of dealing with his sick granddaughter and an upcoming surgery—had taken time to write a letter on his behalf?

Jake looked at his parents and saw they were feeling the same thing. They had all known Coach Reynolds was a great man. But this great? This concerned about a kid who had put him in a wheelchair? For the first time that day, Jake felt a lump in his throat.

The judge appeared and once more called the court to order.

“In the matter of
State v. Daniels,
I have reached a decision, one that even I am not certain is fair.”

She’s sending me to juvie . . .
Jake blinked and tried not to feel afraid.
Help me here, God . . . help me.

The judge continued. “Will the defendant please rise?”

Jake stood, his knees knocking ever so slightly.

“As I mentioned, it is within my right to sentence you, Mr. Daniels, to eighteen months in a juvenile detention center.” She paused and glanced at the district attorney. “But in this case, I have been inundated with requests to act otherwise.”

Jake saw his parents link hands.

“The letter that most affected me was the one written by the victim— Mr. John Reynolds.” She held up a piece of paper. “Mr. Reynolds writes, ‘I beg you to let Jake work off his sentence while attending Marion High in the fall. For you see, that is when I will return to school, and if the accident had never happened, it would have been Jake’s senior year. Being on campus without Jake will be a daily reminder of what happened that awful November night. Locking Jake up won’t make him a better driver or a wiser young man, nor will it lessen the impact of my injuries. But seeing Jake on campus at Marion High would be almost as good as walking again.’” She paused and looked at Jake before finishing. “‘Please, Your Honor, I ask you to help my recovery by punishing Jake some other way. He’s changed since the accident, and Marion High needs more kids like him on campus.’”

Throughout the courtroom the only sound was the faint sniff of his mother’s tears and the thud of his own heartbeat. Had Coach really said that? Seeing him on campus would be as good as walking again?

The judge set the letter down and glanced around the room. “For that reason, and because the defendant is pulling straight As at the continuation school, I am hereby waiving all juvenile detention center time. Instead, I will agree to the community service plan, where the defendant will speak to high-school groups four times a year for the next five years.”

Jake was so happy he could’ve floated out of the courtroom. Not because he’d dodged a bullet, but because he was going back to Marion High, back to the same campus as Coach Reynolds! And because he’d have one more chance to play football the way he should have played it all along.
God . . . I’ll make it up to You . . . I promise . . .

Beside him, his parents looked suddenly a decade younger, and Jake realized something. They’d been more worried about his being sentenced to a detention center than they’d let on.

The judge rapped her gavel on the bench. “Order.” When it was quiet, she continued. “In addition, the defendant’s driver’s license shall remain revoked, and he shall not be permitted to apply for a new license until his twenty-first birthday. Between now and then, he will attend a ten-week driver’s safety course, this year and every year until he is twenty-one.” She looked at Jake. “Most often when I hand down a sentence, I have a sense as to whether justice was served.” She angled her head. “This time I’m not sure.”