by Sarah Monzon
He brought his hand up to cover hers, then lowered them both into his lap. One by one he traced her fingers, staring at the motion as if hypnotized. He didn’t look up when he asked, “Do you believe in a calling? From God? A specific purpose He has for each of our lives?”
The question settled around her. She searched her heart. Her mind. She had an answer. Knew what she believed. But… “Do you?”
He laughed, but it held no humor. “Michael called me a Moses the other day, but I don’t feel like a Moses.”
“No?” Who would? God had never spoken directly to her from a burning bush, though she’d often wished for that sort of clarity from the Divine Maker.
His eyes raised, and the mask of amusement he hid behind lowered, raw pain in its place. “I feel more like Jonah. Running, running…maybe even swallowed and spit out by a whale. But all that running has made me so completely drained.”
God had also called Jonah for a specific purpose, like Moses, though he’d tried to flee that divine summons. Olivia squeezed Adam’s hand. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be swallowed and spit out, to run and be pursued by a supernatural entity, though she believed God chased after each of His children with that dogged, relentless love. But if Adam admitted to identifying with Jonah, it meant his pace of flight was slowing. That his eyes were opening to more than just the guilty pressure compressing his heart. Didn’t it?
That gentle, prodding whisper. “Then maybe it’s time to stop running.”
“I can’t.” His voice broke.
Olivia brought their clasped hands to her chest. “Adam, I know about Brittany Forsythe. I know that you represented the man who raped her. That you won.”
His head hung, shame covering him in tangible layers. “She was only sixteen.”
“And you were only doing your job.”
His neck snapped, bringing flashing eyes to meet hers, but just as quickly the fight drained out of them. “That’s not an excuse.” His voice hardened. “I will spend the rest of my life making it right.”
Her body shifted even closer to him. “But that’s just it—you can never make it right. None of us can ever make any of our mistakes right.” His face turned to look away, so she squeezed his hand to bring back his attention, her eyes pleading with him to see and understand. “Adam, you can stack all your good deeds on your side of the scale, but it will never pay the price. The balance will never equal. You’re trying to atone for your perceived wrongdoing, but that’s not how grace works. The only thing that will make those scales balance is one single drop of blood. And that has already been shed.”
His jaw tightened, but she didn’t think he’d tuned her out. The soft prodding urged her to continue.
“It’s admirable that you want to support victims like Brittany Forsythe by selling your fancy car and living in a tiny house, but those things aren’t going to take the pain and weight of guilt that you’ve been shouldering all this time. You’ve built a prison around yourself. Shackled your wrists in chains of your own making.” He tried to look away again, so she placed her hands on both of his roughened cheeks and forced his eyes to meet hers. “God is the chain breaker. He’s offering you freedom from your self-imposed prison. Please.” Her gaze searched his eyes. “Please allow Him to set you free.”
He licked his upper lip, his throat bobbing. “I don’t deserve it. I deserve to be in jail.”
She felt a smile soften her face. “Actually, we all deserve the death penalty.” She sobered and kidnapped his gaze, a tickle to her memory of a verse she’d heard preached recently. She opened her mouth and spoke truth over him. “Jesus said, ‘He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recover sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.’”
He blinked, as if afraid to look into a beam of light when he’d locked himself in a dark room. His crumpled brow slowly unfolded, and he tilted his head. “Amazing Grace?”
Olivia leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “No more chains. We’ve all been set free.”
He exhaled again, and this time it sounded as if he were releasing things he’d pent up for a long time. He looked at her, his eyes clearing, though she knew his battle wasn’t over. God might toss His children’s sins—both real and perceived—into the depths of the sea of forgiveness, but the accuser—the prosecutor of man’s life trial—loved to try and dig the memory of them back up, whether the evidence was no longer admissible or not.
Adam rested his chin on his shoulder and peered at the food truck. “I can’t stop thinking about Curtis Haywood and his family,” he admitted.
“The woman who was here the other day with the little boy?”
“Yeah. His arraignment is coming up, and even if he’s released on bail, there’s no way his wife can come up with the money.”
“Does he have an attorney?”
“Court appointed.”
Olivia studied him. “You should take his case.”
“I’m not sure—”
She laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “Adam, you should take his case.”
She watched him mentally wrestle with the decision before surrendering with a nod. “I’ll go and see him at the jailhouse later today.” As if just realizing something, he jerked back and looked at his watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Seaside?”
She shrugged. “I quit.”
“Really?”
If she’d expected him to be surprised, she would have been disappointed. But how could she be when he was beaming down at her with pride? “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He reached into his front pockets and pulled out a wad of keys. Finding the right one, he slid it off the key ring and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“I’m promoting you to head chef and manager of Southern Charm.”
She stared at the silver key with wide eyes, fingering it like a rare jewel and not a piece of metal that had been cut into shape at a hardware store.
“I know it’s not some executive position at a fancy fine-dining establishment or anything, but—”
She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Thank you!”
His hands pressed into her lower back, pulling her even closer to him.
“I promise I won’t let you down. You might have to teach me how to drive the beast, but I assure you, I’m up to the challenge.”
Adam laughed, and Olivia’s smile brightened. She’d always loved his easy laughter, but it wasn’t until then that she realized the strain and forcefulness that had been behind the sound before. Now his laugh rang with light and had an ease that invited others to join in.
Her mind spun with ideas. She’d keep the most popular items on the menu for as long as they were in season. Once fall settled in, she could try a few new flavor combinations. Pumpkin was always a crowd pleaser, but maybe she could incorporate some lesser-known autumn ingredients like yucca and parsnips. Maybe on weekends she could—
She pulled up short. How could she have forgotten her weekend plans already? She eased out of Adam’s arms and gave him a mischievous smile. “As manager I can decide Southern Charm’s hours, right?”
He looked at her quizzically. “Uh, sure?”
“So it would be okay if the doors remained closed until after the weekend?”
His lips turned up in a flirty smile. “Why? Got a hot date or something?”
She wanted to laugh but instead pressed her lips down and shrugged with a pretend nonchalance. “Maybe.”
He gave her a chaste kiss but looked apologetic. “I wish I could take you out somewhere, but if I’m going to take on Curtis Haywood as a client, I’m going to need to start working on his case right away. But maybe—”
“Who said my hot date was with you?”
Color drained from his face, and Olivia felt a pinch of guilt as he stammered. “But…I thought…what about…” He started to pull away.
She tugged on his arm. “I found my sister. Rather, she found me.”
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“Your sister?” His face lit. He bolted off the bench and pulled her up with him, swinging her around. He set her feet back on the ground and tugged on the end of her braid. “I’m going to forgive you for being so mean. Wait. You’re going to see her this weekend? Maybe I can postpone compiling Haywood’s defense.”
She rested her hand on his chest. “No. You need to go. You’ve been trying to get away from this thing long enough. There’s no way I’m going to let you use me as an excuse to keep running.”
“But I don’t want you to have to do this alone. I want to be with you.”
“I know. And I appreciate it.”
“So I’ll call and arrange the meeting for next week.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll call and arrange the meeting today.”
“Olivia.” His brow dipped, voice coated in exasperation
“Adam.” Her cheeks pulled upward in the dance they’d established weeks ago.
They stared at each other, neither backing down.
Adam sighed. “Fine. But I don’t want you having to go alone.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be fine.”
“I know. Because you’re going to let your parents go with you.”
She bristled. Not so much because he was telling her what to do—hadn’t she done the same to him?—but because lingering anger still took up residence in her heart toward her parents.
He tucked her against him. “Look, I know there are still some hard feelings toward your parents, but they love you and want to be there for you, and moreover, you need them to be there.”
She didn’t say anything but could feel her muscles tightening, her defenses going up. He turned her with both hands on her shoulders and dipped his head to meet her eyes. “Sometimes the right thing to do is the hard thing. The thing that goes against our feelings and makes us uncomfortable, if it is God’s will, ultimately not only strengthens us but allows the work of sanctification to transform our hearts.
“Going to the jailhouse and interviewing Curtis Haywood, compiling his defense, arguing his case before a judge and jury…each step is going to be a battle between the truth you reminded me of—amazing grace—and my feelings of failure and guilt. But I can’t let those feelings get in the way. Not when I know what I need to do.”
Betrayal. Lies. Deceit. Selfishness.
The hurt washed over her again, still as fresh as when she’d learned she wasn’t David and Eileen Arroyo’s biological daughter after all. The sting of her identity being ripped from her. She blinked away the fog of pain, acknowledging the heart and spirit of the two who’d raised her.
Adam didn’t say another word to convince her, just implored with a steady look.
If he could push past his feelings to walk along a grace-filled road, so could she.
Chapter 31
Adam tugged at the bottom of his jacket as he mounted the steps to the Broward County adult detention center. Donning the suit from the back of his small closet had been like uncovering a part of himself that he’d shoved into the dark, cobwebbed recesses of his past.
The microweave didn’t feel altogether comfortable, but the cut of the fabric shaped to his physique seemed a second skin…one he’d tried unsuccessfully to scrub off. He ran a hand down his smoothly shaved face and checked his reflection in the glass door as he entered the building. The man looking back at him was one he never thought he’d see again, but he had to grudgingly admit, one he’d missed.
Confidence had been hard to find when he’d flipped and tucked his navy power tie and rolled down the collar of his starched white shirt. His head could wrap itself around the idea that, for some reason unknown to him, God had called him to this specific purpose—to defend even the guilty. But his heart wasn’t too quick to follow. He found it floundering in his chest, afraid he’d be a tool used to hurt the innocent and free those undeserving of a second chance.
The door squeaked open as he pulled on the handle. For some reason, he’d looked at this moment as some sort of dragon that he would have to slay. He hated that his imagination conjured up the one in Sleeping Beauty, and he made a mental note to make Amber sit through an Avengers marathon with him as payback.
But now that he was here, he didn’t feel alone. Yes, it seemed that God smiled down on him even as his own father had at the news Adam was returning to criminal defense. Olivia may not be with him, but he felt her just the same. The thought of her squared his shoulders and bolstered his confidence. It drowned out the familiar lies that he’d let speak over him for far too long.
As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out.
A GIF of Amy Poehler giving him two thumbs up and saying You Got This filled his screen, and he chuckled. Leave it to Olivia to cut any tension with a well-placed moment of levity. He quickly texted back so do you before returning his phone to his pocket. He hated that he wouldn’t be able to be there with her when she met her sister for the first time, but he trusted God the timing had been a part of His plan all along. Otherwise nothing would keep him from standing by her side and holding her hand through the reunion.
Adam breathed deep and refocused, his shoes echoing in the barren entryway, the stark coldness of shiny linoleum floors and cement white walls seeping into him. The sound, the smell, the site…all three worked to stimulate his memory. Of the inmates he’d represented in the past and the confidence he’d once had in himself to offer a glimmer of hope. Because one thing was certain, the hollowness of the building sucked all hope out of those incarcerated within its walls.
He stepped up to the plateglass partition. Every second he breathed in a lungful of filtered air, he seemed to find another piece of himself. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d locked away until then.
The officer asked for his identification, and Adam handed over his bar card as well as his driver’s license. After signing in, the officer pointed to a locker, where Adam deposited his keys and cell phone, leaving out his folder of papers and a quarter to retrieve his possessions.
The officer led him to an attorney/client visiting booth—a small, glass-encased room with a table and a few chairs. He took a seat with his back facing the wall and waited for another officer to bring Curtis in.
Footfalls sounded in the hall in front of the open door, followed by the clink of handcuffs. Curtis Haywood filled the entry. He’d worked in construction and had the frame for such labor. His cuffed hands slacked in front of him, his shoulders slumping in his orange jumpsuit.
“You aren’t my attorney.” Not accusatory, merely stating a fact. The dejection and weary acceptance in his voice struck Adam in the gut.
Adam stood but didn’t hold out his hand. The guards more than frowned on physical contact—it was strictly forbidden, a rule that had always been hard for Adam to follow. Instead, he indicated the chair across the table from him. “Please, have a seat.”
Curtis shuffled forward and lowered himself into the chair, watching Adam. Searching. For hidden motive, perhaps? People in Curtis Haywood’s position, those who’d been pushed to do things they wouldn’t normally do because of duress and then shown no mercy, often found trust a hard thing to give.
Adam leaned forward, his forearms planted on the table. “Mr. Haywood, my name is Adam Carrington. Your wife came to see me a few days ago.”
This drew Haywood’s attention, and he straightened, drawn like a parched man to a tall glass of water. “Tricia? How is she? Did you see my boy? How is—”
“They’re both well. “Adam smiled, hoping to offer Curtis as much reassurance in this visit as he possibly could. “Tricia came to talk with me about representation.”
He slouched, his spine bouncing off the back of the chair. “She shouldn’t have done that. Already got me a court-appointed lawyer.”
Adam opened his folder in front of him. “Mr. Haywood, I would very much like to represent you.”
He sniffed. “I don’t have any money to pay for no fancy lawyer.”
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“Pro bono, Mr. Haywood.” He tacked on, “That means for free.”
Curtis looked behind him at the guard standing just outside the door. He turned back and peered at Adam with none of the anger or hostility often driving men in the detention center. He seemed resigned and remorseful. “I did it, you know. For my wife and kid, but I did it.”
Adam curled his fingers into his palm to keep from reaching out and offering Haywood a comforting touch. Instead, he put all the compassion he could convey into his voice. “I know you did. Now we need to convince a jury the circumstances and motivation behind your behavior were ones of desperation and deserve leniency.”
“Do you think you can do that? Do you think a judge will let me go? Be with Tricia and my boy again?”
Adam wished with all his heart he could say yes, but ultimately, that was up to the courts and the judicial process to decide. “I don’t know.”
Curtis looked down at his hands.
“But I do know that I will stand between you and the judge. I can’t take your sentence, the consequences of your actions, on myself.” Olivia’s voice whispered in his ear. He wished to add someone has already done that, but he wasn’t sure how such a statement would be received. In time, though, maybe. Once he’d earned Curtis’s trust.
He shuffled through some paperwork until he come upon the document he required. “We need to control the narrative for your case.”
“What do you mean?”
“The prosecution is going to argue that you were present at the time of the robbery and that you had possession of a weapon.”
He nodded. “But that’s true.”
“Yes, but what they will conveniently leave out is that your weapon wasn’t loaded, and you had no plans to harm anyone. That instead of demanding all the cash in the register, you asked for a specific amount. One that I can prove totals to the cost of one month’s rent and a couple of days’ worth of groceries. Further, I plan to bring the situation with your previous employer and his work of slander and defamation to the jurors’ attention and how, because of that, you were unable to find work to support your family.”