The Presence (2 page)

A new client spent the better part of a sleepless night deciding what he did and did not want his lawyer to know. At the first meeting the client swept every particle of guilt or error under a monumental pile of words. TJ's grandfather had once suggested that the firm install a rack of wings and halos in the waiting room. That way new clients could stop in, try on a few pairs, find the ones that set right, save everybody a lot of time and trouble.

TJ Case's grandfather had used first meetings to clean his pipes. He had carved out the bowls, cleaned the stems, then polished the exteriors with a soft cloth he kept in his top drawer. A six-piper had been pretty standard. Anything over a ten-piper left him in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

As a fledgling lawyer, TJ had tried to stop new clients in mid-flow by asking a pertinent question. It hadn't worked any better for him than it did for anybody else. The clients stopped, looked tremendously aggrieved, said they were just coming to that, and went right back to where they'd left off.

So TJ began sketching, using his new-client meetings to draw what he called his “winged team.” The first time Catherine saw one of his drawings, she laughed, clapped her hands, and said it looked like an angel that had had a head-on collision with a rocket. She began taping his best efforts to the refrigerator door, right next to their daughter's finger paintings.

When Jeremy Hughes started his story, TJ picked up his yellow legal pad, leaned back far enough to hide his artwork from view, and wrote “contract” in the upper right-hand corner. This was the beginning of a list he would review with the client once this Mr. Hughes ran out of steam. Under that he wrote “details of deal,” then “bank,” “quarterly audit for control,” “name of lawyer and group,” and “how about a smaller deal on his own?” Then he started sketching. This fellow was going to wear a football helmet with little Mercury wings for wind shear and flap control.

All this ceased when Jeremy Hughes announced that he had stopped and prayed. TJ later told Catherine that if the man had done a handstand on his antique leather chair, he would not have been any more surprised.

His secretary chose that moment to buzz him. It was an unspoken rule that whenever he was meeting with a new client, she would call him fifteen minutes into the conference and say whatever came to mind. TJ called it his escape clause.

“The neighbor's cat had eleven kitties under my cellar stairs last night,” she said. “My little girl is in seventh heaven. She's got it in her head that they're all hers. I was wondering if I could sue my neighbor. Willful destruction of my peace of mind, or something like that?”

Normally he would think of something cute to say that would brighten each other's day with a shared smile. Today he simply said he would have to get back to her about it, and to hold all calls. He set the telephone down, turned his total attention back to Jeremy Hughes.

“Well, sir,” Hughes continued, “I opened my eyes, turned the corner, and right smack dab in front of me stood the prettiest little grove of dogwoods you ever did see. And there beside it stood the Church of New Zion. I guess you know the one?”

TJ nodded. It was his family's church. Had been for over a hundred years.

“I won't try to make it out like something it wasn't,” Hughes said. “Can't do that and expect you to give me honesty in return. Nossir. Truth is, I was a tad concerned when I saw the preacher out front, changing the Sunday announcement board. Had to stop and think when I realized where I was. But the answer to my prayer was maybe right there in front of me. So I said, Hidy, Lord, and went over to introduce myself.”

Hughes chuckled. “The reverend wasn't havin' a bit of me when I first got there. Like to have froze me up solid, what with that face of his all clamped down hard as stone.”

TJ nodded. He'd run afoul of Reverend Amos Taylor's “freeze 'em dead” look often enough as a child. Reverend Taylor had baptized him, married him, and buried more of his relatives than TJ was willing or able to count. For decades now the old man had been preaching and guarding his flock.

“When he decided I meant what I said and wasn't just some troublemaker, he popped out the biggest smile I'd ever seen. ‘Nigh onto blinded me. Took me into his house, sat me down, and told me ‘bout you. Carolina undergrad and Wake Forest Law, full scholarships to both, that's what he said.”

TJ's antennae worked overtime, searching for the slightest hint of derision, found none. The man was genuine, he decided. Strange as a two-headed shoat, but genuine.

“Always had a great admiration for somebody with education. Envy, too,” Hughes said easily. “My daddy was a backwoods country farmer. Never had much use for schoolin'. He said anybody who could sign his name and read the Bible knew all he needed to know. I've carried that burden with me all my life. Hardest test of faith the good Lord ever gave me was learnin' how to forgive my daddy.”

A pang of old heartache struck TJ. He wondered if Reverend Amos had said anything about his own father to this man, decided not, wondered for the thousandth time if that wound would ever heal.

“Now maybe you see why I gotta find myself an honest man. I don't need just any lawyer. Nossir. Fact is, I could stand on any street corner in this city, whistle one time, and be up to my ears in lawyers. I need somebody I can trust. Somebody who'll tell me where the bear traps are. I told all this to your Reverend Taylor. He's a remarkable man, by the way. Know what he said?”

TJ shook his head. He couldn't imagine what Reverend Amos had told this gangly white man in his patched trousers and muddy work boots.

“Said he always liked to hear a man pray. Best way he'd found to look inside a man's heart. Said it was almost as though the Holy Spirit was listening with him, giving him a second pair of ears.” Hughes' eyes had a luminous quality. “So that's what I'd like to ask you to do. Before I trust you with my family's future, if you see what I mean. What I'm asking, Mr. Case, is whether you'd be willing to pray with me.”

It was all TJ could do to nod his head. He was too astonished to speak.

Jeremy Hughes hunkered toward the edge of the chair. “I'll just say a few words; then you can take over.”

He bowed his head and began, “I thank you, Lord, for bringing me here today. It's a miracle that I'm here in this man's office. Shoot, my whole life's just one big miracle. Here I am, a hick from the backside of nowhere, sittin' in this fine office, doing deals with the best of them. It's all your doing, Lord, and I just want to thank you. Give me the strength to see what it is you want me to do with all this, and to live my life like you'd want me to. I ask all this in the precious name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

A balloon of pressure swelled in the center of TJ's chest, so big he could barely breathe, much less talk. Lord, Lord, help me, he said to himself. I have no idea what I ought to say. His heart sounded like faint thunder in his ears.

“Heavenly Father,” he prayed, and heard a calm strength in his voice. It steadied him, eased the pressure, made it easier to continue. “You have brought two strangers here before you, as different as Simon the zealot and Matthew the tax collector. Yet here we are, Lord, praying to you together. We cannot be doing this ourselves. It is only your presence here with us, filling us with the Holy Spirit, that makes this prayer possible.”

TJ heard himself saying the words, but he had no idea where the thoughts were coming from. None at all. It was like listening to someone else pray.

“We know that all things work for the good of those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose. Are you calling us to a higher purpose, Father? If so, then give us the strength and the wisdom to do your holy will. Let us see clearly what must be done, and then enable us to carry out our tasks with joyous hearts and with voices that proclaim your wondrous name.”

TJ paused to swallow hard. The lump was coming back to his throat. He wished he could stop, yet knew there was more to be said.

“Whenever two or more of us are gathered in your name, there you are also. You are with us here today, Lord. Be with us always. May every time we come together be blessed by your strength, your presence, your light to guide our way. In Christ's holy name we pray. Amen.”

TJ raised his head in time to see Jeremy Hughes give his eyes a backhanded swipe behind the curtain of his hair. He felt like doing the same thing, but made do with a series of fierce blinks.

“Well, sir,” Hughes cleared his throat, “I'm not sure I caught everything you said. I was too busy hearing something louder.”

TJ permitted himself a smile. “I didn't say a thing.”

Hughes laughed and whacked a dusty thigh. “Now if that ain't the truth.” He inspected TJ frankly, said, “Excuse me for askin', but I'd as soon have this out in the open right now. You got anything against workin' with a white man?”

“No. Not one bit,” TJ replied, glad he could answer truthfully. Holding his own gaze steady, he asked, “Do you mind having a black man for your lawyer?”

Hughes searched an inner pocket, pulled out a bulky sheaf of papers, handed them over, said, “Naw. The Lord turned me color blind ‘bout two minutes ago.”

****

TJ slid the cruiser's cabin door shut behind him and stepped out into the first faint hint of dawn. He knew Catherine was awake, but she would lie and doze for another hour. This was a daily gift she gave him. She guarded his hour of solitude more fiercely than he did, claimed it was all done in her own best interest. Catherine called it his hour of sanity. Remind you what's important, she would say, before you go out and let the world beat cymbals upside your head. You're what's important, he always replied. Now you're talking truth, she'd say. You just see you don't forget it.

He uncovered the portable Bunsen burner, filled a saucepan from the fresh-water container, lit the stove, and set the pan in place. From the cupboard under one of the seats he pulled out a mug, a flashlight, a spoon, a jar of instant coffee and his Bible. Catherine had arranged all the items before going to bed. Years ago, when they had first started using Jeremy's boat, TJ would jokingly ask her if she had remembered to put out his survival kit. Now it was simply unspoken habit.

The boat was far too big for the lake. When Catherine first saw it, she told Jeremy that fishing the Inland Waterway in it would be like putting a whale in a swimming pool. Jeremy replied, yeah, well, anybody who don't like it don't need to come back. That boat has more bathrooms than my momma's house, Catherine told him. But does your momma's house float, Jeremy asked. It would, Catherine replied, if she spent as much on it as you did on this. I need a boat big enough for my kids, Jeremy explained. Gotta have room for my kids.

Jeremy never went on the water without at least a dozen children screaming and scrambling over everywhere. The owner of the dock where he kept the boat called it a fisherman's worst nightmare come to life. Every time Jeremy came to pick up the boat, the fellow would stick his head out of the office and say something like, be sure to check it good for bombs.

Some of Jeremy's kids were from the two area orphanages, others were children of local tobacco sharecroppers. There were also a few local Indians, especially the ones whose parents hung around street corners and drank up welfare checks as fast as they came in. The boat was called
Asylum,
which Jeremy was quick to point out meant “a place of refuge.”

Ever since Jeremy's wife died of cancer eleven years ago, his life had revolved around his business interests and his kids. He was the unnamed sponsor of both the orphanages, as well as founder of a regional summer camp for the underprivileged. Whenever he was asked if he had any children of his own, Jeremy always replied, at last count, four hundred and sixteen.

****

TJ filled his cup with boiling water, spooned in coffee, flicked on the flashlight, and opened his Bible. He was working his way through Hebrews, but he always began his days by simply opening the Book and reading whatever passage caught his eye. He would then drink his coffee, meditate on the passage for a time, and pray. With his second cup he would begin his regular study.

The first passage he opened to was in Isaiah: “I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here
am
I; send me. And he said, Go, and tell this people, Hear ye indeed, but understand not; and see ye indeed, but perceive not.”

TJ switched off the flashlight and looked out across the water. I haven't done enough, he thought, giving way to a familiar guilt. I have everything in the world. Everything. And I still waste most of my time worrying over things that don't mean squat. Here I am with a wonderful wife. Two angels for daughters. Five lovely grandchildren. A good job. More money than I know what to do with. The best friend in the world.

He sipped his coffee and nodded his head. I waste too much time worrying about things of this world. What I've given back isn't even a drop in the bucket.

Almost in reply, he caught fleeting glimpses of his life. The retainer Jeremy paid him was more than enough to live on. Over the years he had gradually shifted other clients to his partners and taken on an increasing number of defendants who could not pay.

A stint on the local school board had led to his election to the city council. From there to the county board of commissioners. Ten years later he was elected to the state legislature.

In moments of strength, as he had watched the destruction of this second career over the seven longest months of his life, he had felt deep in his heart that he was following the principles set out by God. In weaker moments, which were many, he could only pray that he was.

He remembered what his grandfather had told him on the eve of his first election to the state legislature, just three months before the old gentleman had passed away. I'm so proud of you I could burst, he had said, but I'm gonna tell you something I don't want you ever to forget. Don't ever look to politics as a source of income, son. Do that and you're on the road to destruction. Keep yourself on the straight and narrow, a shining example to all those pride-swollen, idol-worshiping fools. And the instant you find yourself needing the money or the position or the title beside your name, quit! Stay on, and sooner or later you'll sell your soul to the devil called compromise. Stay in the service of your people only as long as it really is service. When it stops being service and starts being a job, get out!