The Judge Who Stole Christmas (17 page)

Hannah scrunched her face in confusion.

“Not yet,” Hester said. “But we're going to see it this afternoon, just before our Christmas Crusade in Madison Square Garden.”

Deborah turned toward Tiger. “Now, for Tiger—” she glanced at the televangelist—“and only for Tiger—what do you think of your daddy?”

“He's brave,” Tiger said quickly, parroting Hannah. “And strong.”

Theresa smiled to herself. Tiger always liked to one-up his sister.

Deborah smiled too. “And what have you asked Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

Tiger froze. Theresa could almost see the wheels turning in her son's mind. She wondered if she should interrupt and tell the host they didn't believe in Santa. But as usual, she was a few seconds too slow.

“A puppy,” Tiger said.

At this, Hannah's mouth opened into a perfect little circle and she put her hand over it as if Tiger had just cussed on national television.

“And what about your daddy—did you ask Santa for anything about your daddy?”

“That he won't be in jail.”

“Awww,” said one of the women operating a camera.

“And there you have it,” Deborah said, looking into the camera. “A judge determined to follow the law and a father determined to follow his conscience. This morning, we've talked with the family members stuck in the middle.”

On Saturday morning Jasmine's mom, as usual, was the first one up. By the time Jasmine made it to the kitchen, the coffee was brewed, the pancakes were piled high on a plate, and the bacon was frying.

“Your client made the front page.” Bernice handed the paper to Jasmine.

“Manger Madness Escalates” proclaimed the headline of the
Virginian-Pilot
. Jasmine skimmed the article quickly—all the predictable stuff about the separation of church and state and the rule of law. Halfway through the first column was a quote from David A. Arginot III, identified as the new attorney for Thomas Hammond, predicting all manner of victory in the courts.

“He's not my client, Mom. I withdrew.” Jasmine set the paper down and poured a cup of coffee.

“Thought you had twenty-four hours to change your mind,” her mom said.

“I did. But Thomas wouldn't return my calls last night. And now the paper says he's got a new lawyer.” Jasmine wasn't quite sure how she felt about all this. Relieved? Yes. Now her New York job was intact. But also disappointed. “Besides, he wouldn't follow my advice.”

“His loss,” her mom said.

They turned on the television while Jasmine sipped her coffee and helped herself to a couple of pancakes. Three times during breakfast, Bernice went upstairs to rouse Ajori. Finally, at just a few minutes before nine, Ajori stumbled into the kitchen, earphones and iPod already in place. She was dressed in her workout clothes and sandals.

“You might want to heat up those pancakes,” Bernice said.

“I'll eat later.”

“You want to call him again this morning?” Jasmine asked.

“Huh?” Ajori took out an earbud.

“You want to call him again this morning?”

Ajori snorted. “Are you kidding?”

A few minutes later, Ajori and Jasmine put on their fleeces, grabbed their gym bags, and headed out the door.

They waited at the gym, along with the rest of the Possum Lady Bulldogs, for nearly forty-five minutes. The whole thing had been Jasmine's idea. After last night's game, she spent nearly an hour talking to the team about Coach Barker. “He got thrown out tonight sticking up for you,” Jasmine explained. “I don't like his style either, but he's just trying to make you the best ballplayers possible.”

The girls were a tough sell—in part because Jasmine didn't believe it herself. But she knew it was the right thing to tell them.

She also knew that after every Friday night loss, Barker would call for a brutal Saturday morning practice. Though it took every one of her legally trained arguing muscles, Jasmine talked the girls into calling Barker and letting him know that they would be at the gym Saturday morning. Ajori had left the message on behalf of the team.

But now, forty-five minutes after the scheduled starting time, Barker still hadn't shown. “You want to call him again?” Jasmine asked her little sister.

“Uh . . . no?” her sister declared as sarcastically as possible.

As the team disbanded and the vehicles left the parking lot, Jasmine thought about Barker and grew furious. What kind of coach quit on his team? left his players hanging? What could he possibly be thinking?

On the drive home, with Ajori riding in the passenger seat in her iPod-induced haze, Jasmine thought about the terrible chemistry between Barker and his team. This, in turn, made her miss her dad so much that she had to fight back the tears. Barker liked a style straight from the fifties. Her dad understood players. Her dad knew the game. He loved his teams. Her dad would never quit on his kids, even if they didn't run the offense very well.

Quitting. A sudden pang of guilt tingled through Jasmine's spine. Wasn't that her dad's number one principle?
Never
ever
quit. Quitters never win; winners never quit. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Can't never could.
The clichés that Jasmine hated so much now stormed through her brain.
Whatever it takes . . . and a little bit more.
The quote her dad gave the paper after the state championship loss:
“This team's never lost a game, though the clock ran out on us a few times.”
The sign over the locker room door as they entered the gym: “Sacrifice Self for Team.”

What would he think of her now? Bailing on Thomas. Running from a legal fight just because her client wouldn't follow her advice . . . just because a future employer didn't want the publicity.

She knew the answer as soon as she allowed herself to ask the question. But there was nothing she could do about it now except to pray for one more chance.

With each talk show on Saturday morning, Theresa's doubts increased. Every host had questions that she couldn't answer. What about the Muslims? Couldn't Thomas set up the manger scene on church property? And the toughest one: Did she agree that the manger scene was just part of the history of a secular national holiday that was no longer regarded as a religious event?

Of course she didn't agree, but she didn't want to disrespect the town's justification for displaying the manger scene, either. Instead, she stumbled around and looked like a fool. Eventually, she settled for her old standby: “That was their opinion.”

After the shows, a young assistant for Reverend Hester named Johnny whisked them around New York City. It was overwhelming—all the people and the monstrous buildings—and Theresa couldn't help but stare at the tops of the huge skyscrapers like the tourist she was. The wind whipped through the streets and cut right through her wool winter coat. She hoped to see snow, but Johnny told her it was too cold to snow. Instead, their little crew stepped around the slush left from an earlier snowfall, with little piles of black snow and ice lining parts of the curb.

They spent a few minutes gawking at the giant tree at Rockefeller Center and watching the ice skaters. “They're not very good,” Tiger commented. Then Johnny hailed a cab, and they took a breathtaking ride to Herald Square and pushed their way through the revolving doors into Macy's department store. It was the biggest store Theresa had ever seen—you could probably fit Possum inside it twice—and it was absolutely jammed with people from pretty much every country on earth. Before long they were swept up the escalators with the mobs headed for the toy department. When they got there, Tiger and Hannah wandered around for a half hour with their mouths agape, expanding their Christmas lists while exploring endless rows of gadgets and toys. Their trips to the Dollar Store would never be the same again.

Just before they left, Theresa noticed Hannah linger near a shelf filled with dolls and become rather quiet. The dolls were chubby little replicas of babies that reminded Theresa of Bebo.

She ran her hand down Hannah's hair. “You okay?”

“I wish Daddy could be here.”

“Me too. But Daddy's got a good lawyer. He'll be fine.” Theresa had explained to the kids that Thomas had to be in court this morning. Even in the midst of touring New York City, she thought of little else.

“When will we know what the judge said?” Hannah asked.

“Daddy's lawyer is going to call Mr. Johnny as soon as court's over.” She knelt down and gave Hannah a reassuring hug. The little girl worried enough for both of them.

“Will he go to jail?” It was the third time she had asked that question.

Theresa leaned back, still kneeling, and looked into Hannah's troubled eyes. She gently brushed the hair out of her daughter's face. “Hannah, you know I can't say for sure. But God won't let anything bad happen.”

“Look out!” Tiger yelled. Nearly thirty feet away, he had discovered a small battery-powered replica of a motorcycle and climbed on board. The thing was low to the ground, and now he was cruising down the aisle, dodging legs, and heading straight for Theresa. Johnny watched and smiled broadly.

“Mom! Look at this!” Tiger yelled . . . just before the crash.

They were heading back to the hotel when the call came on Johnny's cell phone. He answered and listened for a moment. “She's right here,” he said before handing the phone to Theresa.

“Mrs. Hammond, this is David Arginot. Are you enjoying your time in New York?”

“It's been great.” Theresa waited, not interested in small talk.

“Well,” Arginot said, “there's no easy way to say this. Thomas is back in jail. We had a tough morning . . . but we'll get this reversed on appeal, I can promise you that. . . .”

Theresa felt like she'd been body slammed. Jail again! Despite her fervent prayers! Arginot rattled on about the details of the hearing—words that didn't penetrate Theresa's stupor. She tried to act strong in front of the kids, gritting her teeth and forcing back the tears. She didn't want to speak for fear the dam would break, but there was something she
had
to know—right now.

“How long?” she asked, interrupting an explanation of the appeals process.

“Excuse me?”

“How long is he in for?” She glanced at the kids. Tiger stared at her. Hannah had her eyes closed in prayer.

“Until he agrees not to set up the manger scene again on the Possum town square, or at midnight following Christmas Day, whichever comes first.”

“Lord, help us.”