God's Not Dead 2 (14 page)

AMY WATCHES
Tom walk toward the jury box, carrying papers in both hands. He doesn’t have the same kind of swagger and stature that Kane displayed earlier. But he does have something more important. A genuine smile. That’s something Kane will probably never manage to obtain.

Tom raises his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I have, here in my hands, a copy of the Constitution of the United States of America and the Bill of Rights. Arguably the two most important documents in the history of our great nation. These documents contain a list of our rights and duties, our freedoms and obligations as citizens.”

He walks down the row and shows each juror the documents he’s holding.

Amy writes a note on a fresh page of her notepad.

Visual aids always help.

“Rights . . . freedoms . . . duties. They define our citizenship. But despite Mr. Kane’s impassioned rhetoric, you know what you won’t find in here? No matter how hard you look? The phrase ‘separation of church and state.’”

Tom pauses and allows them to hear his words echoing in their heads.

“That’s right. That phrase is not in here, and it never has been. Because that phrase comes not from the Constitution but from a letter by Thomas Jefferson. Ironically, Jefferson was writing to a Baptist congregation, assuring them that they would always have the right to believe as they wished, free of government interference.”

Thomas Jefferson letter??

This is the first time Amy’s ever heard that.

“But lately, that phrase
 
—taken out of context
 
—has often been twisted and contorted to mean exactly the opposite. Just as Mr. Kane is looking to do. But the same Thomas Jefferson once asked, ‘Can the liberties of a nation be secure when we have removed a conviction that these liberties are the gift of God?’ Well, today, here in this courtroom, we are charged with answering that question.”

Tom walks back to the defense table and puts down the documents. Then he moves in front of Grace, who faces him without moving.

Wonder what she’s thinking?

Amy can only see the teacher’s back, but she still seems so stern and erect sitting there. Tom offers that smile to her, then faces the jury box again.

“One morning earlier this year, my client
 
—Ms. Wesley
 
—woke up as usual. She made breakfast for her dependent grandfather, then drove to work at her job as a teacher at Martin Luther King High School, a place where she was teacher of the year. Or at least she was until the incident which brings us all here today.”

The expressions on the jurors’ faces differ a bit from when they were listening to Kane.

Are they unconvinced? Already decided? Are they in a food coma?

“Ms. Wesley’s lesson plan for fourth-period AP History that morning didn’t contain any mention of God or Jesus or any other faith-related terms. She didn’t have a Bible on her desk in plain view. She didn’t write about Jesus on the board or call up his picture in her PowerPoint presentation. She wasn’t looking to preach or proselytize. She didn’t start the class with a blessing or lead the students in prayer. No . . .”

Tom walks back up to the men and women of the jury and puts a cupped hand over his mouth and under his nose, as if he’s deep in thought.

“What do teachers do? Do you know? What do teachers want out of their students, and what are they paid to do?”

He waits as if someone is supposed to answer him.

“They answer questions. They
want
students to ask questions, right? And they are paid to educate those kids. Questions indicate learning. And regardless of what the lesson plan might be, teaching has never been and will never be scripted. So teachers are trusted and put into classrooms and occasionally, if they’re good teachers and if their students are good learners, they end up answering questions. Right? So what did Ms. Wesley
 
—by all accounts a good teacher, teacher of the year, teaching an advanced class of good students
 
—do?”

Another pause. The only sound heard is someone covering a slight cough.

“She answered a question. Honestly and to the best of her knowledge and ability. Because that’s what she gets paid to do: answer questions. And for this, she’s being made an example of.”

Good logical points. Grace only answering a question. That’s all. So why here???

“From the very beginning, since hearing about this case, I find myself asking:
Is this the America we want to live in?
Mr. Kane and his fine team, for whom I have the utmost respect, will insist loudly and often that faith isn’t on trial here. But that’s
exactly
what’s on trial. The most basic human right of all: the right to believe.”

Amy can hear the sarcasm in Tom’s tone as he expresses his respect for Kane and his team. That’s a message sent to them. She begins to write more notes.

He’s telling them he’s not intimidated. And he certainly acts like he’s completely confident he’ll win the case.

“So, members of the jury, are we now in the business of making people
deny
their faith? Mr. Kane thinks so. He and his staff have traveled a long way to be here today. Not one of them lives within a thousand miles of here. But they’ve come to make sure that they put a final nail in the coffin of faith in the public square. They want to ensure that any question that even brushes up against faith can never be answered. That it shouldn’t be addressed except to say, ‘We can’t talk about that.’ But Mr. Kane’s afraid. He’s afraid that you, the jury
 
—the touchstone of common sense
 
—might not agree with his tortured interpretation of the Constitution. That you might understand that my client has rights . . . rights that trump his agenda.”

Rights and Agenda
-
Tom says those two words twice as loud as everything else.

“Since you surely realize that Ms. Wesley has certain rights
 
—certain constitutional rights
 
—you won’t be swayed by the well-articulated and extremely well-polished prose from Mr. Kane. I’m confident that you will wonder why you are here as well. What I hope you come to realize is that my client is guilty of no wrongdoing and innocent of any and all claims against her. Thank you.”

Tom walks back over to his table and glances at Kane. Amy doesn’t think it’s a take-
that
sort of look but more of an
Okay, let’s go, buddy.

Her mind is racing, thinking of the commentary she’ll be able to share about this case on her blog. If this had been a year ago, she would already be poking fun at Ms. Prim and Proper Christian Teacher and her nice-guys-finish-last lawyer. Cynicism used to fuel her more than caffeine. It would have caused her to race to judgment even before the opening arguments were finished.

But that’s then, and this is very much now.

“MR. KANE,
you may call your first witness.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I’d like to call Richard Thawley, aggrieved father of Brooke Thawley.”

I want to shake my head.

Aggrieved.

This is the word for someone wronged and persecuted and distressed. I think the word Kane really should use sounds similar.

Egregious.

That’s what I think of this father going up on the stand and the man about to interrogate him.

Richard Thawley actually looks proud to be up there. He reminds me of that climbing-the-corporate-ladder sort who will say yes while heading up and then gleefully stare down at the
others below. Everything I know about him says he’s trying to make his mark on life by trying to wipe out another’s.

“Now, Mr. Thawley, would you introduce yourself to the jury?” Kane starts out, ready to ask some basic questions before getting into the lawsuit.

I’ve spent my whole life listening to prosecutors. The opening arguments and the probing questions and the accusations and the intimidation. Until I went to college, all of this fell under one roof and came from one man.

My father is the reason I went into law. I wanted to be a defense attorney. Maybe to protect people from someone like him. Maybe simply to spite him.

Dad loathed defense lawyers.
Loathed
them.

I still remember the look on his face when I told him I was going to be one.

I haven’t had many victories with Dad over the years, but that moment was certainly one of them.

“So, Mr. Thawley. Take me through that day.”

“It started like any other,” he begins to say.

It’s not like we’re talking about the JFK assassination. Both of these morons need to stop wasting everybody’s time. Seriously.

Like a pro volleyball server, Kane lobs one up for his client. “What did it feel like when you found out that your daughter had been exposed to faith-based teachings in class?”

“It felt like we’d been violated. This was supposed to be history class, not Sunday school. My wife and I are freethinkers and rationalists. We believe in a nontheistic worldview, and that’s how we’re trying to raise our daughter.”

The tone in Thawley’s voice comes across as the ordinary guy who loves his family and is trying to provide for them. Such an
earnest, humble, middle-class father. He might as well be wearing a shirt that says
Bless America
. Not
God
bless because, of course, that would be truly offensive.

“Did you discuss this incident with your daughter?” Kane asks.

“I tried . . . but it’s hard discussing anything with kids that age.”

The father then turns to face the jury.

Oh boy, here we go.

I can virtually see him standing on the box marked SOAP in black capital letters before he continues.

“Brooke
 
—she’s sixteen. You all know what it’s like to be a junior in high school. You begin to form your own opinions and worldviews and thoughts about life. And of course, you feel like you truly know pretty much everything. Sometimes
 
—many times
 
—you believe you certainly know more than your father and mother.”

There are some chuckles in the room, some even among the older jurors.

“So
 
—those of you who have kids know this
 
—it’s hard enough trying to maintain credibility as a parent when it comes to talking to your children about matters of politics and faith and big issues. But when a teacher jumps in and argues
against
your position? In a place where she should be teaching your child the facts?”

Mr. Earnest has suddenly turned to Mr. Encroached. His simple and peaceful family living in a hut has been run over by Attila the Hun. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Attila the Hun.

Thawley continues. “We trust the school not to overstep its bounds in terms of what is and isn’t appropriate. Is that too much to ask?”

There’s no doubt he believes the words he’s saying, but there’s also no doubt he’s probably rehearsed them in his mind a hundred
times. Kane surely went over the words he would say and the way he would express them.

“Thank you, Mr. Thawley,” Kane says.

I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling at me.

“Your witness, Mr. Endler.”

I nod and look down at the open file in front of me. There are about a hundred pages in this file, and about ninety of them have absolutely nothing to do with this case. If I suddenly dropped them all on the waterfall of steps outside the courthouse and they scattered everywhere, people would have a good time reading about mock cases I studied in Stanford or seeing notes I took for the judge I worked for years ago. I think I even have the first twenty pages of that sci-fi novel I started.

The sheet I’m looking at now pretty much has nothing to study. But I want to appear like I have so much going through my head and so many details on this case that I have to just soak them in one more time.

“No questions, Your Honor.”

There’s no way I’m allowing Thawley any additional time to have the jurors fall for his protective-father bit more than they might have already.

The judge asks Thawley to step down and then tells Mr. Kane to call his next witness.

“Plaintiff calls Mrs. Antoinette Rizzo.”

I do have a sheet on Rizzo, and I turn to it. They’re scribbled notes I made after talking to Grace about her.

Almost retired

Burnt-out, get-me-out-of-here mentality

Good-bye and good riddance

Liberal, pro-choice, pro
-
women’s movement, anti-gun, pro
-
if-it’s-right-wing-it’s-wrong

But always nice to Grace and likes to crack jokes

Stays away from talking about politics and religion with Grace

It’s pretty obvious where someone like Rizzo stands on all this.

Kane once again allows the woman on the stand to paint a picture of herself for the jury. Rizzo is a hardworking teacher who has dedicated her life to serving children. She’s also been a good friend to Grace.

“You’ve had numerous occasions where you spent time with the defendant outside of school; is that correct, Mrs. Rizzo?”

She nods at Kane. “Yes. She’s a friend of mine. We’ve seen movies together. She’s been over to our family’s house for dinner.”

“And you’ve worked with Ms. Wesley for how long?”

“Since she’s been at the high school
 
—for the last six years.”

Rizzo continues to answer questions, recalling jokes she and Grace have shared, making it almost sound like the funny TV sitcom
Will and Grace
could be called
Rizzo and Grace
.

Eventually Kane stops twirling the lasso and drops it around Grace’s neck. He’s finally gotten to the point where he’s going to pass the rope over to Rizzo and allow her to pull it as hard as she can.

“Does Ms. Wesley talk about faith issues on the school campus?”

Everybody can tell they’re best buddies and they know each other well and Rizzo would never ever say anything negative against a kindred soul like Grace. Right?

“All the time,” Rizzo replies.

I’ll take
wrong
for $600, Alex.

“Everybody knows she’s a Christian,” Rizzo continues. “Truthfully, I don’t think she’d chew a stick of gum without praying first. And if I’m being honest
 
—it makes everyone feel awkward.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

I guess Grace’s summer vacation with Rizzo will now be called off.

“Your witness, Mr. Endler.”

I glance at Grace and see a wounded expression. It’s one thing to hear a guy like Kane insulting her character, and it’s another to have the parent of a student go on the stand and reprimand her. But to have a colleague
 
—an admitted friend
 
—simply throw her to the wolves like that? Unbelievable.

I smile and nod as I walk over to the short, curly-haired bulldog on the stand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rizzo. Thank you for being here today. I trust you had a good lunch?”

She gets a quizzical sort of expression on her face as she nods and tells me yes. I glance at Judge Stennis, and he’s giving me that
Don’t start this right away
look.

“I have a question for you. Do you have a favorite place you like to eat? A diner, perhaps? A coffee shop? Somewhere you love to go?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Kane shouts out behind me. “Irrelevant to the case at hand.”

I knew this was coming. “Your Honor,” I say in my own heartfelt tone, “I’m simply asking a question about Mrs. Rizzo’s favorite
dining establishments. It does, in fact, pertain to the case
at hand
, and it’s far too soon for Mr. Kane to object to a simple question like this, knowing he will most certainly be objecting to pretty much every question I ask.”

“Overruled. But get to the point, Mr. Endler.”

“So, Mrs. Rizzo, do you have a place you love to eat out at?”

“Well, I don’t drink overpriced coffee, so it’s definitely not that. I guess it’s the pancake house my husband and I eat at every Sunday.”

“And what is it called?” I ask.

“Flapjacks, on the north side of town.”

“Do you remember when you last went?”

“This past Sunday.”

Rizzo looks a bit amused and confused at the same time.

“What time?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Does this have
any
relevance to why we’re here, or is Mr. Endler going to just ask about Mrs. Rizzo’s breakfast experiences?”

“Sustained. Mr. Endler, please state your question.”

I wondered how much of a leash the judge would give me. Kane isn’t going to give me any at all.

“Mrs. Rizzo, you obviously know the details about things like that. About the place you like to eat breakfast and the day and the time you usually go. I’m sure you could give all of us many details about this if time and Mr. Kane allowed it. My question for you is this. You stated that Ms. Wesley talks about faith ‘all the time.’ So speaking of details and specifics, can you give an example of Ms. Wesley doing this?”

I can tell this educated professional who is almost twice my age didn’t see this question coming. She thinks for a moment while stillness covers the room.

“Not off the top of my head,” Rizzo says.

I make a loud and obnoxious
hmmm
sound. “Has Ms. Wesley, as far as you’re aware, ever started her class with a prayer?”

“No.”

“Ever asked anyone in the teachers’ lounge to pray with her?”

“No.”

“Asked
you
personally to pray with her?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Kane barks behind me. “Cumulative. The question has effectively been asked and answered.”

“Your Honor,” I say, moving toward Judge Stennis. “Mrs. Rizzo’s sworn testimony states that Ms. Wesley talks about her faith ‘all the time.’ Yet she failed to cite a single instance. I’m merely trying to discover some basis for her opinion.”

“Sustained. Mr. Endler, we’re done with this line of questioning.”

Come on.

“Very well, Your Honor. So, Mrs. Rizzo, in the school’s initial inquiry into this matter, you were Ms. Wesley’s representative on behalf of the teachers’ union, were you not?”

“I was.”

“And did you ever consider that your disapproval of Ms. Wesley’s faith might taint your ability to represent her properly?”

“Objection,” Mr. Objector says behind me. “Speculative.”

“Sustained,” Mr. Sustainer says above me.

This doesn’t seem to bother Rizzo. “I have never stated that I ‘disapprove’ of Ms. Wesley’s faith,” she says.

“And yet you’re sitting here testifying for the plaintiff in a case specifically stating that Ms. Wesley’s faith is a problem.”

“Your Honor. Objection once again.”

“Sustained, Mr. Endler.”

I give Stennis a look that probably resembles a kid about to
say
She started it!
when an elderly woman on the jury sneezes. The juror named Dave, who’s a pastor, can’t help but turn to her and say, “God bless you.”

The words echo in the courtroom.

“Careful,” I say, looking over at the guy. “Or you might end up on trial.”

There’s a small round of laughter. The judge looks more tired than annoyed. “Mr. Endler . . .”

I’m done. For the moment.