“You’ve seen him grow up; would you say that, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Yes.” John rested his hands on his lap. “I’ve seen him grow up.”
“Now, Mr. Reynolds, you’re aware that this court is about to decide whether the defendant should be tried as an adult, is that correct?”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Is it your understanding that the defendant is only months away from his eighteenth birthday, an age that would make him legally an adult?”
“It is.”
“Very well then, Mr. Reynolds, is it your opinion that a young man almost eighteen years old, who agrees to participate in an illegal street race, should be tried as an adult?”
Abby caught a glimpse of Jake’s parents. They were both grimacing, holding their breath while they waited for John’s condemnation.
It never came.
“No, sir, I don’t believe Jake Daniels should be tried as an adult.” John looked at Jake while he spoke. “Jake is one of the good kids, actually. In the months before the accident, he had shown significant maturity, choosing to go his own way instead of following his peers.”
John paused, and the district attorney pounced. “Now, let me see if I’m understanding this correctly, Mr. Reynolds. You saw significant maturity in the defendant in the months leading up to the accident, but you don’t think he should be tried as an adult. Is that right?”
“Exactly.” John smiled at the D.A. “See, the fact that someone like Jake could be at a party, refusing to drink and in general being a good example for the others seems proof that he is capable of standing trial as an adult.”
Abby shifted her gaze to Jake’s parents. Tara was quietly crying, her hand over her mouth. Tim had his arm around Jake. Their faces were shrouded in disbelief.
John continued. “But anytime a good kid like Jake agrees to something as terribly wrong as street racing, I can only surmise one thing.” John hesitated. “He’s still a kid. A kid who used poor judgment to make a bad choice.”
He looked at Jake, and this time the boy lifted his eyes. He was crying, and in that moment, everyone in the courtroom must’ve seen the truth. Jake wasn’t a man; he was a boy. A frightened, shame-filled, guilty boy who would have given his life to take back the consequences of his decisions that awful Friday night.
The district attorney deflated like a worn-out tire. “Is that all, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Not really.” John rotated his chair so he could better see the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to go on record saying that I don’t believe jail time is best for a boy like Jake. If he was a repeat offender, that would be different. But Jake isn’t a defiant kid. He’s not anxious to get his license back so he can go out and race again. He doesn’t need prison time; he needs to take his story back into the schools, to talk to kids and tell them the truth about street racing. I’m willing to bet everyone who hears him will feel what he’s feeling. And maybe then we’ll stop this from happening to someone else.” He nodded once. “That’s all, Your Honor.”
John wheeled himself back to Abby. In his eyes she saw hope. A hope she’d been afraid was gone forever.
“You did good.”
“Thanks.”
In the background, Abby vaguely heard the D.A. call for a meeting with the judge. Before she had time to give it much thought, the hearing was over and Jake’s attorney was at their side. He kept his chin low, his hands clasped behind his back, a properly meek stance in light of John’s condition. But the exuberance in his face was undeniable.
It made Abby’s stomach turn. John hadn’t given his speech to make a defense attorney look good. He had given it to save Jake, a boy he knew and trusted and still believed in.
The attorney effused on about John’s graciousness, his act of kindness. But before John could respond, the judge called the hearing back to order.
“In light of the testimony given today by the victim in this case—” the judge glanced in Jake’s direction—“I have decided to hand the defendant over to be tried as a juvenile.”
Behind them, Abby heard Jake’s mother contain a cry. The hum of whispering overshadowed the judge’s words, and she rapped her gavel on the bench. “That will be enough of that.” The room fell quiet once more, and the judge looked at the D.A. “The attorney for the state has asked for time to talk with the defendant’s attorney about a plea bargain. They will set that meeting up, and we will convene again in three weeks to determine if this case will require a trial or not.”
Abby flashed a look at Jake’s attorney. The man was grinning, shaking Tara’s hand and then Tim’s, and finally Jake’s. Again, the windows in Abby’s soul shook with frustration, until she caught the expressions on the Danielses’ faces. Jake and his family were not smiling. Their attorney might have seen today’s outcome as merely a legal victory, but not the Daniels family. They were as painfully aware as she that John was still paralyzed.
Whatever penalty the courts meted out to Jake, in many ways they were all losers.
The hearing was over, and Jake’s attorney pulled Jake aside. Abby stood and wheeled John around. As she did, her gaze landed squarely on Tara and Tim Daniels. Tara was gathering her things when her eyes met Abby’s. The two of them hadn’t spoken since the accident. Other than their sympathy card, they’d kept their distance. Abby understood. It was as tumultuous a time for the Daniels family as it was for hers.
Abby wheeled John closer, maneuvering him between the defense table and the first row of spectator benches. Her heart beat faster than it had all day.
The moment grew more awkward until finally John broke the silence. “Tara . . . how’s it going?”
“I’m—” Tara’s voice cracked. She and Tim moved closer, and the four of them formed a small circle. Tara’s eyes filled, and she took one more step toward John. As she did, John reached up his hand, and she took it, her fingers trembling. “I’m so sorry. We would’ve been by but . . . I didn’t know what to say.” She lifted her eyes. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
The tears came in streams. Abby moved around John’s chair and took Tara in her arms. “Jake didn’t want this any more than we did.” She kept her voice soft, her sobs muted. Their hug ended, and they stood there, each planted in the awkward soil of unfortunate circumstances.
Tim cleared his throat and met John’s gaze. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has.” John shook the man’s hand. “You never said good-bye.”
“The situation wasn’t—” Tim glanced at Tara. “It wasn’t good, John. I’m sorry.”
He pressed on. “You remarried now?”
“No.” Tim’s cheeks grew red. “I took a leave from work. I’ve been staying at a hotel in town.” Again he looked at Tara, and something curious washed over Abby’s heart. Were Tara and Tim having feelings for each other? After years of being divorced? Tim shifted his gaze back to John. “We’ve been talking about a lot of things. Why I left, for instance. And why we couldn’t make it work.”
John glanced back at Abby, then leaned forward slightly. “Would it shock you to know that Abby and I nearly made a decision to divorce this past summer?”
Tara’s eyes flew open. “Abby? You and John?”
“We’d been talking about it for three years.” Abby wanted to stand on the judge’s bench and shout John’s praises. He was the one whose life had been forever changed because of the accident, yet here he was getting to the heart of an issue that—for him—would always be even closer to his heart than his legs: the dissolution of marriages. Especially Christian marriages.
Tim stuffed his hands in his pants pocket. “So . . . what happened? I mean . . . you’re still together.”
“We remembered why we got married and all the memories we’d made along the way. And most of all how dismal the future looked if we didn’t have us anymore.” John craned his neck again until his eyes found Abby’s. Then he returned his attention to Tim. “Things are better than they’ve ever been.”
Tara wiped at a tea
r and sniffed. “Tim wants us to talk about taking another try at being married.” She shook her head. “But I can’t do it. The divorce about killed us the first time. A second failure would do me in.”
“I tell you what . . .” John reached back for Abby’s hand, and she came up alongside him. Sincerity rang from his voice. “As long as you’re in town, how about you and Tara come by the house a few nights a week? Just to talk things through.”
Abby caught John’s vision, and her heart leaped. “Maybe we can share something from our story that’ll help you.”
Tara looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”
They were quiet for a while, then Tim looked at the ground, his feet restless. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, John. About your legs.”
John shrugged, his expression more at peace than it had been in weeks. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I bought the car.” Tim’s face was ashen. “Tara was right. It was the wrong thing for a teenage boy. I’ll . . . live with that the rest of my life.”
Ten feet away, the defense attorney patted Jake on the shoulder and made a quick exit. When he was gone, Jake stared at the four of them, then approached with clearly hesitant feet. Abby studied the boy. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Sometimes she hated him. Jake’s decision had cost John his ability to walk, and changed their lives forever. But other times . . .
She simply didn’t know.
This was one of those times.
When Jake reached them, he looked at his parents. “Can I have a minute with Coach?”
“Of course.” Tara collected her things and she and Tim moved toward the door. “We’ll be out here when you’re done.”
Abby gave John’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Want me to leave?”
“No.” Jake answered before John could speak. “Please, Mrs. Reynolds . . . I want you to hear what I’m going to say.”
Abby pulled a chair from the defense table and positioned it near John. When she was seated, Jake crossed his arms and inhaled. Abby tried to read the boy’s eyes. Was this a thank-you speech concocted by his attorney? Or was there something real on Jake’s heart? Even before he spoke, Abby knew it was the latter.
“Coach, my attorney just got done telling me I was lucky.” Jake huffed and the air left his body in a single burst. “Can you believe that?”
John said nothing, just kept his gaze on Jake and waited.
“I want you and Mrs. Reynolds to know that no matter what happens with the hearing in a few weeks, I am not lucky.” Jake’s eyes welled, but he didn’t cry. “I made a stupid decision, and it . . . it . . .”
He bit his lip and hung his head. For a long time he stayed that way, and Abby understood. His emotions were too near the surface to let go now. Not when he had more to say. Jake held his breath and looked at John again. “It was my fault, Coach. I never should’ve raced him. Never.” The boy’s knees shook. “I saw your truck pull out that night, but I was going too fast. I couldn’t stop.”
Abby’s heart fell. God . . . couldn’t You have held John back an extra minute? Enough time to spare him this?
Lean not on your own understanding, daughter . . .
She blinked. The strange words that played across her soul felt almost like a direct response from God. And with the same Scripture that had come to mind again and again.
Is that You, God?
I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
Jake was going on, explaining how quickly the accident had happened, but Abby wasn’t listening. Chills had gone down her spine the moment the Scripture flashed in her heart. It was a verse she’d read that morning in her devotion time. In fact, she and John had looked at it a little while ago . . . after Nicole’s wedding, when they first began reading the Bible together again.
It was the perfect verse, the one that described their situation exactly. She understood that now even more than she had back in the hospital in the days after John’s accident. The Word of God, His promises, these things God had spoken to them so that they would have peace. In the world they would have trouble—most definitely. First on the football field with parents and the administration. And then with John’s accident.
But in the end, though they didn’t see it now, God would win. God would always win. He would win over deceitful parents and spineless administrators; He would win over John’s car accident, and even his paralysis.
He would win even if John spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
Jake was saying something about Casey Parker leaving the scene and then coming back to call for help. “We were so scared, Coach. We thought you were gonna die.” The boy squirmed, his tears finally splashing onto his tennis shoes. “I’m so sorry.” Jake sank into a chair across from John and let his head fall into hands. “I’d give anything to take back those few minutes.”
Casey Parker hadn’t been to see John, either. Ever since finding out that the boy’s father had written the notes about John, Abby wondered if the man was maybe glad about what had happened to John. Not that he’d been injured, of course, but that he wouldn’t be coaching. It was an awful thing to think, but Abby couldn’t help herself. She was a coach’s wife, after all. And people tended to reserve some of their greatest disdain and poorest behavior for coaches. It was a fact of American life.
If John was thinking those things, he never mentioned them.
He leaned forward now as far as he could and gripped Jake’s knees. “Jake, look at me.” John’s voice was kind, but stern. The same tone Abby had heard him use with their own children when they were down on themselves.
Jake barely lifted his head and then let his fingers cover his face once more.
“I’m serious, Jake. Drop the hands and look at me.”
Abby was quiet, watching from her place at his side. This was the John she knew and loved, the one who would see something wrong and right it with a passion that couldn’t be contrived—or resisted.
This time Jake’s hands fell to his lap, and he met John’s gaze. Tears ran down both sides of his face. “Coach, don’t make me look at you. It’s too hard.”
The sorrow in Jake’s eyes softened Abby’s heart. He really was just a kid, a boy drowning in a river of guilt, with no way of reaching the other side.
John leaned closer still. “Jake, I forgive you. It was an accident.”
“It was stupid!” Jake’s features twisted and he uttered a soundless cry. “You’re in a chair, Coach. Because of me! I can’t take that.” A single sob slipped from Jake’s throat. “I want them to put me in prison. That way I don’t have to pretend my life is fine when I’m the one who wrecked yours.”
“You didn’t wreck my life. There’s nothing I can’t do if I work hard enough, and I’m going to work, Jake; you better believe it. I never let you boys settle for second, and I’m certainly not going to settle for second, now.”
Abby’s heart skipped a beat. This from the man who sat alone on their pier the day before, isolated and discouraged? She wanted to raise both hands and scream in victory, but she resisted.
Jake rubbed his knuckles into his forehead and shook his head. “It isn’t right, Coach. What you did for me today. I don’t deserve it.”
“It is right. You do no one any good sitting in a prison cell, Jake. You made a bad decision, and your life changed in a few seconds. Mine, too. But you won’t save anyone by sitting behind bars. Not the next street-race victim, not yourself. And definitely not me. You need to be out there sharing that message, telling kids to say no if someone challenges them to a race. That way you’ll save lives.”
“Coach—” torment wracked Jake’s face again—“that’s not enough punishment. How can I look in the mirror? I mean . . . it’s crazy. You and your family . . . you could never really forgive me for what I did. You shouldn’t forgive me.”
“Jake . . .” John’s tone was quieter than before.
“I already have.”
“Don’t say that.”
Abby closed her eyes. She could sense what was coming. Don’t make me forgive him, too, God. Not yet . . .
John settled back in his chair some. “The minute Abby told me what happened . . . that it was you driving the other car . . . I made a decision deep inside to forgive you.” John gave a single sad sort of laugh. “How could I hold it against you? It was an accident, Jake. Besides, you’re like a son to me. I forgive you completely.”
Abby shifted in her chair.
Speak, daughter . . . forgive as I forgave you . . .
The prompting in Abby’s soul was undeniable. Lord . . . please. Don’t make me say it now. He doesn’t need my forgiveness.
“Abby does, too.” John turned to her, his eyes so transparent she could see straight to his heart. Whatever other feelings John might wrestle with in the coming months and years, she doubted a lack of forgiveness would be one of them. He was being honest with Jake. He harbored no resentment or ill will toward the boy. None at all. John was still looking at her, waiting. “Tell him, Abby. You forgive him, right?”
“Of course.” She had to say it for John; she could sort out her feelings later. “We all do.”
Jake hung his head again. “I hate myself.”
“Then there’s the real problem. Forgiving yourself.” John dug his elbows into his knees, and Abby was struck by a thought. He can’t feel it . . . like he’s resting his arms on a table or a desk.
Jake was silent.
“Then that’s what I’ll pray for—” John bit the corner of his lip— “that God will give you the grace to forgive yourself. The way He forgives you.”
“God?” Jake’s eyes lifted once more. “Someone like God isn’t about to forgive me. Coach, it was my fault!”
“Have you told Him you’re sorry?”
“Yes!” The pain intensified. “A dozen times that first night. But still . . . I need to pay my penalty. I wouldn’t expect God or you or . . . or Mrs. Reynolds . . . or anyone else to forgive me until I’ve gone to prison for a long, long time.”