“And so you spend your life prosecuting drunk drivers.…”
“As many as I can.”
She could think of nothing to say. This was the compassion she felt from Matt, the understanding. He knew her pain, knew it personally.
Matt drew a deep breath. “After that, I doubted God for a while, too.” He lifted his eyes from the picture, and Hannah was struck at the peace she saw in his gaze. “But then I found out the truth. God’s ways are not our ways. This world is a fallen place, and bad things do happen to good people. They even happen to Christians. Truth is, I couldn’t have made it through without his strength.”
Tears stung at Hannah’s eyes, but she refused to give in to them. What Matt was saying had the strong ring of truth to it, but she couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t believe God was real … that he’d done nothing but watch as her family was ripped apart … as Matt’s dearest friends were destroyed.…
Matt tucked the photograph back into the frame. “I know you don’t believe it, Hannah. But God loves you. Even now.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she nodded. “It must help … prosecuting them.”
But he slowly shook his head. “Not really. The law is still pretty loose where drunk drivers are concerned. That’s why this is such a big deal. We’ll be making history if we win this one.”
Hannah glanced at Matt’s left hand and couldn’t hold back the question. “You’re not married, are you?”
Matt shook his head. “Never had time. I’ve spent ten years right here, increasing public awareness, waiting for the day when we could get it into the murder-one category.”
Good. This was safe ground. This was the kind of conversation she wanted to focus on. “Now here we are.”
Matt smiled, and again she saw understanding in his expression. “Not yet. We still have a lot of work to do.”
“And that’s where the victim impact panels come in.”
“Exactly. If we can fill this room with a dozen jurors who are familiar with the idea that killing someone in a drunk driving accident can be murder one … well, that’ll make my job that much easier.”
Hannah nodded. Her role was clearly defined and she was thankful. She would do this, working for the memories of Tom and Alicia, alongside Matt Bronzan, who had his own memories to fight for. They would win their murder-one conviction and then, in their own ways, they could get on with life.
“Hannah …” Matt’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you mind if I pray for you?”
Her heart constricted. “Now?” She desperately wanted to avoid this, but she didn’t want to hurt him.
Matt smiled again. “No, not now. But throughout the trial. I don’t know …” He paused. “You’ve lost so much already. I guess I can’t imagine losing all that and God, too.”
Hannah glanced out the window and waited. After a long while she finally spoke. “You can pray, Matt.” She looked at him and felt tears well up in her eyes. “But everything I want, I’ve already lost.”
“I know. I’m not trying to change your feelings. But Hannah, my door’s open. Anytime you want to talk, if you need anything, I’m here. And I will be praying.”
She believed him, and it gave her a sense of comfort. And hope. She stood up then. “I’d better get going. I have to meet Carol.”
Matt rose and reached for her hand. “Thanks for coming.” He looked suddenly self-conscious. “I probably told you more than I should have. But I thought you should know where I’m coming from. What I believe, what drives me.”
She nodded. She was grateful he had done so … and she felt a closeness to him that warmed her. With a start she realized she was holding his hand a bit too long, so she let go and crossed her arms. “Thank you, Matt. Maybe after the trial we can put this thing behind us—both of us. Unless there’s another delay, of course.”
“I’m not worried about it.” Matt slipped his hands in his pockets. “More time means more days to convince jurors that Brian Wesley is guilty of murder-one.”
Hannah tilted her head. “Some people would think that doesn’t sound very Christian.”
“My obligation to forgive doesn’t erase my obligation to provide punishment. Without rules and penalties, this country would have fallen apart decades ago. I like to think that my job is actually quite Christian. Further questions?” He grinned.
Hannah studied him. “You certainly can argue.”
“Only when I believe in the cause.” He moved around his desk and opened his office door a bit wider. “Let’s stay in touch. I want to know how the first victim-impact panel goes, okay?”
Hannah nodded and thanked him again.
As she walked slowly back to her car, she considered Matt and Carol, their strong beliefs, and the role they played in this, her season of grief. She sighed. The world was filled with non-Christians, atheists even. All her life she had shared classrooms and committees and airplanes with them. She drove behind them on freeways, shocked at the boldness of their Darwinian fish and the mockery they made of the Christian world view. They seemed to rule Hollywood, the media, and the voting polls. They had elected Clinton, after all. Millions of them walked the United States.
Yet in this, her darkest hour, when she herself had finally come to join the ranks of nonbelievers, she found herself relying completely on the strengths and abilities of two very devout Christians.
Twenty
My eyes fail from weeping, I am in torment within,
my heart is poured out on the ground
because my people are destroyed.
LAMENTATIONS 2:11A
The sun was sinking slowly behind the mountains, and Hannah wondered if theirs was the only house in America that didn’t smell of turkey and gravy and home-baked pumpkin pies. She had asked Jenny about celebrating Thanksgiving and got little response. Now it was four o’clock in the afternoon, and Hannah had just about finished making a small platter of tacos.
“Jenny, time to eat,” she called from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a paper towel and set the tacos on the table.
“I’m not hungry!” Jenny shouted from upstairs.
Hannah sighed. She should have skipped cooking altogether. It wasn’t as if making tacos instead of turkey could eliminate fifteen years of Thanksgiving memories. The smell of greasy hamburger made her nauseous. She walked to the foot of the stairs and yelled again. “Jenny, we agreed on tacos for today! I’ve cooked them and they’re ready. Please come down here and eat.”
Hannah could hear her daughter padding out of her bedroom toward the stairs. “Mother, I told you I’m not hungry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Jenny drifted down a few stairs so that Hannah could see her face. “If I wasn’t around—” Jenny was almost snarling—“you wouldn’t have to cook at all. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Hannah stared at her for a moment, then her anger started to build. “I want two things, young lady, and maybe you’d better take notes so you don’t forget.”
Jenny rolled her eyes, something she never would have done before the accident. Now, she did it constantly. Hannah continued. “First, I want us to stop fighting. It’s getting old. We’re supposed to be helping each other through this, and instead we’re like enemies. It’s ridiculous.”
Hannah waited, but Jenny remained silent, her arms folded defiantly. “Second, I want you to get down here and eat your tacos.”
There was silence again. Finally Jenny released a frustrated burst of air. “Fine. Whatever. You wouldn’t know anything about losing your appetite because you don’t even miss Daddy and Alicia.”
“What?” Hannah’s temper rose another notch. “How can you even say that?”
“It’s true! All you care about is that guy who hit us—Brian whatever his name is. You want him in prison so badly you’ve forgotten about Daddy and Alicia.”
“That’s a lie and you know it, Jennifer Ryan! Everything I’m doing is because
I miss Daddy and Alicia, I miss—”
“Then how can you even think about eating tacos?” Jenny’s eyes blazed. “On Thanksgiving Day? I just don’t understand you, Mother.”
Hannah fumed silently. “Forget it. Go back upstairs and sit alone in your room. I thought we could start something new, enjoy a dinner together, just the two of us. But forget it.”
“Fine.” Jenny turned and stomped back upstairs, down the hall, and into her room.
Hannah wandered back to the kitchen table and sat down. She took a single taco from the platter and set it on her stark plate. It was cold, and tiny white flecks of hardened lard had appeared on the fried tortillas. Hannah pushed her chair back from the table, dropped her head into her hands, and closed her eyes.
How had so much changed since last Thanksgiving?
Suddenly she was there again. She could smell the turkey, hear the televised football match between the Cowboys and the Redskins.… She could almost see Jenny and Alicia, giggling and darting about the house while Tom and a handful of church friends chuckled in the background.
Each year they had filled the house with a ragtag group of stragglers, friends who had no family in the area. She had never been the greatest cook, and last Thanksgiving was proof. In the seconds before dinner was served, the sweet potato casserole caught fire, setting off smoke alarms throughout the house.
“Just like Dad always says,” Alicia had teased. “You know it’s dinner at the Ryan house when the smoke alarms go off.”
Hannah had been frustrated, but Tom had come up behind her and circled her waist with his arms, whispering in her ear. “Don’t worry about it, honey. You can’t be good at everything.”
Hannah remembered turning around and collapsing against his chest. “Yes, but it’s Thanksgiving. I should be able to pull off a meal like this after more than a decade of experience. At least once a year.”
“But you’re good at so many other things.”
Hannah pouted. “Like what?”
Tom put a finger under her chin and lifted it gently as he gazed into her eyes. “Like loving me. Loving our children. God gave me the best woman I could ever hope for. You go ahead and burn the sweet potatoes. Burn the whole meal, for all I care. I could never love another woman like I love you, Hannah Ryan.”
She blinked, and the memory faded. The wilting tacos looked even less appetizing now. She could still feel Tom’s breath on her neck as he’d whispered those lovely things to her. Tears slid from beneath her closed eyelids, and they fell hot on her cheeks. Tom, I need you. I can’t do this alone.
With the holidays there would be so many yesterdays to wade through. First Thanksgiving. Then, starting tomorrow, the whole world would be making frenzied preparations for Christmas. The entire holiday season seemed overwhelming.
How could Tom and Alicia be gone? Forever? And when would Jenny stop acting so selfish and try to move ahead, as Hannah was doing?
She stood up, took the plate of tacos, and tossed them in the trash. Tuesday would be her first victim impact panel appearance. She had gone over her notes a dozen times, and she was ready. It was time to start making a difference, time to start reaching the jurors.
Twenty-one
What can I say for you?
With what can I compare you, O Daughter of Jerusalem?
To what can I liken you, that I may comfort you?…
Your wound is as deep as the sea.
Who can heal you?
LAMENTATIONS 2:13
It was days later, and as victim impact panels went, it was an obvious place to start, even if Jenny wasn’t excited about the idea.
West Hills High School—where Alicia had been so involved, so popular. If any students would be receptive to a lesson on the evils of drinking and driving, it would be the kids at West Hills. And not just the older students. Hannah would be speaking to the junior high as well, since they, too, had been invited to the assembly.
Hannah slipped into a silk blouse and slim, navy, dress slacks. She had thirty minutes, so makeup would have to be done in a hurry. Leaning forward, she checked herself in the mirror and saw that the dark circles were going away. Sleep was a remarkable cure. Her body had learned to compensate for the nightmare of her waking hours by requiring long stretches of blissful sleep, replete with vivid dreams of happy yesterdays.
Studying her image more closely, Hannah saw it again. There was something different about her eyes, something hard. Before the accident people used to say she had the eyes of a child—eyes that shone with Christ’s light. She snorted softly. Christ’s light was nothing of the sort. What people had seen back then was simply a pure, unadulterated joy that came from having her family alive and healthy.
The eyes that stared back at her now looked eighty years old, flat and lifeless. The brightness had been clouded by something Hannah couldn’t quite identify, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t will the light back.
Well, not to worry. She knew what it would take—Brian Wesley’s conviction. Only then would the cloud lift and the sparkle return.
Jenny entered Hannah’s bedroom and stared at her mother with listless eyes. “What time are we leaving?”
Hannah started, studying her daughter for a moment. Why hadn’t she seen it before? The light was gone from Jenny’s eyes, too. It was all so unfair. She smiled sadly at Jenny. “Let’s say in about half an hour.”
Jenny exhaled slowly. “Do I have to go, Mom? Couldn’t I just hang out in the library and work on my homework?”
Hannah turned to face her daughter. “Jenny, I don’t understand you. Do you realize the importance of what’s happening today? I get a chance to tell those kids what happens when you drink and drive. I have one hour to explain how wrong that man was who killed your dad and Alicia. Film crews will be there, journalists, reporters. They’ll take notes and pictures, and then everyone in Los Angeles will know that Matt Bronzan is seeking a murder-one conviction against Brian Wesley.”
Jenny huffed. “I know, Mom; you’ve told me four times since yesterday. But what’s that got to do with me?”
Come on, Jenny, you’ve got to care about this. What’s happened to you? “You should be up there beside me, that’s what. You’re a victim, too, you know. Or am I the only one who’s suffering here?”
Jenny looked at her, and Hannah was deeply troubled at how hard the girl’s gaze was. Like stone. Or ice. “No, Mom, you’re the only one who’s flaunting it.”
At the cold, curt words Hannah opened her mouth, but Jenny cut her off, angry words spewing like molten lava. “You want to take our private misery and lay it out for everyone to see. You cry for the cameras and tell the world how Daddy and Alicia were killed. That way if enough people know, then maybe, if we’re really lucky, that prosecutor will put Brian Wesley in prison for life.”
Jenny paused long enough to take a step toward Hannah. “But, Mom, have you ever asked me what I want? No! Because you don’t care about me. The only time you want me around is if it works into your agenda.”
Hannah swallowed hard. When had her little girl grown so contemptuous of her? “Jenny, please, we’ve been through this before.…”
“I know it and I hate it as much as you do. Why won’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to be up there on the panel beside you. I’m not ready to have a question-answer session. I … I don’t want to tell someone what it feels like to have your sister killed in the seat beside you.” Jenny began weeping then, and Hannah thought the girl looked like she might collapse. “I don’t want to do it, Mom. I just don’t.”
Hannah drew a deep breath and tried to control her temper. She knew she should go to Jenny, hug her and tell her everything was going to be all right one day. But her daughter’s temper tantrums had become tiresome, and Hannah sat on the edge of her bed instead. A dozen questions darted through Hannah’s mind. Why don’t you care? Why won’t you help me? Don’t you think I’m hurting, too?
Hannah released the breath she’d been holding. �
�Jenny, I can’t believe some of the things you say to me anymore. You think I’m only interested in using you, using your pain for publicity? Is that it? Is that what you really think?”
Jenny nodded and sniffed.
Hannah wasn’t sure how she kept her voice controlled, but she did. “Well, that’s a lie, young lady. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I care about you and your future and the way this has changed our lives forever. I love you, Jennifer Ryan, but yes, I am putting my entire life into helping Matt Bronzan convict that killer of first-degree murder. And once he’s locked up, once he’s punished for what he did to us, we can start fresh, learn to live again. Because this is all we have left. Me and you.”
Jenny stared at her mother as if nothing she’d said made any sense. “You think everything’s going to be okay just because some guy goes to prison? It doesn’t work that way, Mom.”
Hannah was tired of fighting. “Finish getting dressed. I’ll take you to school. After that it’s up to you. Come to the assembly with your class or stay away. Don’t sit on the panel with me unless you want to.”
Jenny walked away without another word.
The silence continued the entire trip to school. When they pulled up, Hannah reached out and tried to take Jenny’s hand, but Jenny opened the car door and quickly stepped out.
Hannah leaned over in the seat, craning her neck to see her daughter. “Jenny, I hope I’ll—”
The car door slammed shut.
Hannah entered the auditorium and saw that the media had already arrived and set up. Oh, good. Thank you—”
Hannah froze. Thank who?
The question stumped her for a moment, but she shook it off. Thank good fortune, thank the media, thank no one in particular.
She made her way across the wood floor, over a maze of heavy black electrical cords lining the back of the auditorium, where two of the three major networks had cameras stationed. Reporters milled about with notepads, interviewing students who wandered past. Hannah notched the minor victory—Carol had said there was always a chance the media wouldn’t show.
Waiting for Morning Page 19