Doesn't he get it? No one'll hire him now. Jordan wanted to shake the man, make him renounce the faith that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Instead Campbell looked surer of himself than ever.
It was often the way his opponents looked in defeat, and that baffled Jordan beyond understanding.
The proceedings were over and Hawkins was pumping his hand, patting him on the arm and telling him he was a god among men. Even as he did so, a handful of local reporters circled around Jordan hungry for quotes and sound bites. He paid no attention to any of it. His eyes were glued on Campbell, watching as the man stood and shook the hands of his two attorneys. That done, he moved toward the spectator section of the courtroom and embraced a pretty woman whose eyes were filled with unshed tears. Campbell placed his hand alongside the woman's face and stroked her cheek with his thumb, his face lowered close to hers. Whatever he was saying to her, she smiled and nodded in response, circling her arms around his neck and holding him tight.
Seems like a nice couple…
They stayed together longer than any standard hug, and Jordan felt a knot form deep in his gut. They were praying. Anger worked its way into his bloodstream, quickening his heart and turning his stomach. Here, in the aftermath of what had to be the greatest blow of their lives, they were praying. Talking to the same God who had let them down and asking…for what? Another job to replace the one Campbell had just lost? Money to fall from the sky? What possible good could it do to pray now, when praying had already cost him everything?
“Mr. Riley…Mr. Riley…” Jordan faced the reporters with an easy smile he knew would make the next day's New York Times. Hawkins had told him from the beginning that image was every-thing and Jordan prided himself on doing his part to keep the firm in a good light. “Mr. Riley, what message do you think this sends to teachers across the state?”
Jordan opened his mouth to answer and for an instant caught a peripheral view of Campbell and the woman walking out of the courtroom, their arms around each other. I refuse to feel bad. He faced the cameras squarely. “This case sends a message to every instructor in America: We will not allow teachers to use a public classroom to impose religion on innocent children.”
The questions went on for thirty minutes, long after Hawkins winked at him and left through the double doors. When it was over, Jordan loaded a stack of papers into his briefcase and made his way to the parking lot and his shiny white Lexus. It was quarter after four and he had a date that night with Ashley Janes. Beautiful, plastic-coated Ashley, the well-known model he'd met at a corporate dinner the year before. She was a welcome distraction, but too caught up in the jet-set crowd and her own popu-larity for anything long-term.
“You're fun, Jordan,” Ashley had told him after they'd gone out a few times. “Just as good-looking on my arm as I am on yours.”
At the time her words had felt like a slap in the face and he'd regretted his attraction to her. But since then he'd come to under-stand what she meant. Their looks were just one of the aspects they enjoyed about each other, and since neither of them was looking for a commitment, their relationship was ideal.
Jordan tossed his briefcase in the backseat and headed toward his apartment in the heart of the city, where a forest of dirty buildings made up the landscape and the hum and screech of traffic was constant. Jordan wouldn't have it any other way. The distractions of city life kept him from thinking about the ghosts of his past—ghosts he'd spent a lifetime outrunning.
He smiled to himself. After Monday he'd have one less mem-ory to run from.
He'd already shared his thoughts with Hawkins, and again more recently at a general meeting with the firm's three partners and twenty-one attorneys. To a man the group was excited about Jordan's plan, and why not? Suing a conservative little town such as Bethany, Pennsylvania, over something that should have been taken care of decades ago was right up their alley. Since it was Jordan's idea, he was given the go-ahead to spend a few days in Bethany, where he would file the suit, then round up the city offi-cials and see if they were interested in complying without going to trial.
If not, the suit would inevitably make headlines across the country Victorious headlines. And a victory in Bethany would go a long way toward helping him forget the past and the things that had gone wrong in that town so many years ago.
Jordan took the elevator to the twelfth floor and made his way into his apartment. The building was nice, security guards and a workout room that Jordan used every morning at five. He grabbed a glass of ice water, took it into the living room, and kicked back in a white, leather recliner. The view from his front window was standard city fare: No sky, only the angular walls and windows of a handful of buildings.
Jordan loosened his tie. No, there was nothing homey about his apartment. Professional decorators had appointed it with leather, chrome, and glass, but there were no personal details, no photographs or sentimental knickknacks. Just a place to unwind at the end of the day and sometimes—when he couldn't help himself—a place to wonder what if…
What if his mother hadn't died that awful summer in 1985? What if she'd lived long enough to see him and his sister through school, to be a part of their lives, to make them a family? What if God had seen fit to let her live instead of…
He shook his head. What if the state hadn't placed him and Heidi in separate foster homes? What if—wherever his little sister was, whoever she'd grown up to be—she still remembered him? And what if he hadn't lost track of his childhood friend, a beauti-ful girl with blond hair and blue eyes as innocent as a baby's?
Most of all what if there really was a God who had loved him?
Jordan took a sip of ice water, and the questions ceased. If there was a God then He was unreliable and inept. Or perhaps sinister and judgmental—striking people down at random. Because that summer in Bethany, Pennsylvania, Jordan had prayed his heart out, begging God to spare his mother and believing all the while He would. But Evelyn Riley died anyway. At first Jordan figured there was nothing God could have done to help his mother's sickness. Later he realized the truth: Either God didn't exist or He didn't care about a young boy's prayers. And so Jordan had turned to the courtroom, determined to push what remained of society's religious deceptions into hiding or expose them for the lies they were.
That was why he needed to go back to Bethany—to even the score. With God.
He stood up and set the glass in the kitchen. There were places in his heart that he was sure weren't ready to visit his hometown again, to walk the streets where the old Jordan—the naive, trusting Jordan—had died alongside his mother. Where the person he was today had been birthed in bitterness. The place where he'd lost the three women who had ever really mat-tered to him.
His mother, his sister…and a girl he had never quite been able to forget.
A girl named Faith.
Three
Faith Evans checked her look in the mirror and made cer-tain every strand of her long, blond hair was tucked neatly into the knot at the back of her head. Dick Baker, the station manager at the WKZN affiliate where she worked, had frowned on her hair from the beginning, giving her two options: cut it or wear it up. “Makes you look too young,” he'd grumbled. “Don't make me work to justify having you on the air, Evans.”
Faith had seen other anchors with hair similar to hers— halfway to their waists—but the issue wasn't worth arguing about. Besides, she was under enough scrutiny already.
She made her way back to the soundstage, but before taking her place she saw one of the associate producers. “It's Wednesday… are we running the special?”
The man stopped what he was doing and stared at her, unblinking. “Special?”
“Wednesdays Child. Remember?” Faith held her breath. This segment was especially important. He had to include it in the lineup.
She'd started the Wednesday's Child program six months ear-lier and used her own time to put together the two-minute seg-ments. Each one highlighted a special-needs chi
ld who was up for adoption through the state's social services department. So far more than half the children featured had been adopted, and more than once her boss had said the program was a success. But without her constant reminders, the station executives tended to forget the segment altogether.
“So what're we talking?” A tired look crossed the man's face. “One minute, two?”
Faith kept her frustration in check. “Two.”
He checked his chart. “Okay, immediately after sports.”
“Thanks.” Faith felt the familiar surge of hope. There were reasons for her attachment to the state's homeless children. Reasons that went far beyond good citizenship or Christian char-acter. Faith headed back across the soundstage and eased herself onto the stool opposite the one where Ron Leonard already sat studying his notes. Okay, Lord, these next thirty minutes are for You… help me make You proud. “You ready?” She smiled the question at her coanchor.
Ron was fifteen years older and his position anchoring for the Philadelphia station had clearly been a demotion for him. Generally his mood reflected that truth and tonight was no exception. Rather than answer, he bunched his eyebrows together and looked hard at his watch.” When the producer says 10:45, he means 10:45. Not 10:47.”
Faith swallowed. “Thank you, Ron. I'll try to keep that in mind.” Her voice held not a trace of sarcasm. She respected Ron and knew he was right. Every minute counted. “I had to check on the Wednesday's Child segment.”
Ron's shoulders dropped several inches.” It's not on the schedule.”
“I guess we should write it in. Two minutes, right after sports.”
A heavy sigh escaped through Ron's clenched teeth. “We're a news station, not a church.”
Faith ignored his comment and studied her notes. In many ways she was marked by her beliefs and the fact that she was Bob Moses’ daughter. It was why she'd agreed to use her middle name at work. Faith Evans. Bob Moses was well known locally and by using Faith's middle name, her boss hoped viewers wouldn't identify her as religious or one-sided.
It was something he had worried about since the day he hired her.
Before that first newscast Dick pulled her aside and gave her a warning she remembered to this day: “The viewers may not know who you are, but I do. Bob Moses is a visible person with extreme religious views.” He'd tapped his pencil on his desk. “I like your work, Evans, but the executives expect me to keep my anchors in line. This station is not a pulpit for you to preach your doctrine, do you hear me?”
Faith had been shocked by his warning. After four years at Penn State and five years working her way up the ladder as a sports reporter, Faith had still believed there was fairness in reporting. But in the two years since taking the position as night-time news anchor, there were many times when she'd seen other-wise. Too often stories that favored a conservative, Christian worldview were cut or changed or balanced with opposing inter-views that lasted longer and sounded more professional. It was as though the executives had mandated a certain politically correct response for most news topics, and the station manager's role was to see that response carried out.
Occasionally a child's outstanding achievement or the way a family survived a personal tragedy might be worthy of a news story, but not without heavy editing. Stories along those lines tended to feature Christians who attributed their success or sur-vival to God, but rarely did their statements of belief make the final televised piece.
There wasn't much Faith could do about it. It was an industry rule that anchors and reporters be unbiased in their work. It was written that way in her contract. If she used her visible position in any way other than to report the news without opinion, it was grounds for dismissal. She knew the rules and she had no intention of breaking them. Not with all that had happened over the last few years.
“Three minutes…” The off-stage warning caused Faith to sit straighter in her seat as she memorized the story order. Ron had the first segment: Gunman takes a hostage. She had the next one: budget cuts at the city hospital. Two more follow-up segments, including cutaways to taped interviews, and they'd have their first commercial break. One more eight-minute news segment with additional footage, another commercial break, weather, and then sports.
“Three, two, one…and…go!” The voice stopped abruptly as intense, upbeat music filled the soundstage. Faith and Ron adjusted themselves on their seats and sorted briefly through their individual stacks of paper as they faced the camera, serious expressions in place.
“A gunman takes three hostages in a shootout today that left one local man dead and another critically injured…” Ron's voice was crisp and upbeat with the polish that comes from years of working the cameras.
“And good news for the city hospital. Budget woes may be over but at whose expense…?” On cue Faith glanced at Ron.
“Good evening everyone, I'm Ron Leonard.”
Back at the camera. “And I'm Faith Evans. Welcome to tonight's edition of WKZN News. “
Faith angled her head toward Ron and he kicked in with pre-cision timing. “A burst of gunfire ripped through a family home in the two-thousand block of Westchester Avenue this morning as an escaped convict broke in and took three people hostage. We have more on that from Alicia Rodriguez who was there at the scene.” A thirty-second segment filled the screen with live reports and statements from family members. Faith and Ron checked the story order again and prepared once more to go live.
The newscast continued without a hitch, and Faith prayed between stories for the little girl in tonight's Wednesday's Child segment. Rosa Lee, a six-year-old biracial Asian sweetheart aban-doned by her parents at birth and shuffled through five foster homes since then. She was legally free for adoption but she had a problem: She had been born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left hand.
Faith had spent an afternoon with Rosa and her social worker over the weekend, amazed at how well the child worked to com-pensate for her handicap. Even so, the missing fingers were another strike against her. Chances were Rosa might never be adopted, unless God used the news segment to touch someone's heart.
Ben Bloom, the weatherman, was wrapping up.
Lord, prepare the right person's heart even now… Faith loved talking to God even in the middle of a newscast. It was some-thing her dad had taught her when she was only a child. Father, please… find a home for little Rosa, please.
A brief commercial break ended and the sports segment began. Chase Wilson was a former college athlete with model-like looks, a beautiful wife, and three children. He was in his early thirties, and rumor was the network had plans to move him into the national spotlight sometime soon. Women viewers often wrote to the station saying Chase was the reason they tuned in at all. He smiled and began talking into the camera.
“We've got baseball scores from around the league and stories from NFL camps, but before we get to that we have breaking news on a player out of Dallas. Tight end Mike Dillan's name is back in court tonight after two women—longtime friends—filed paternity suits claiming he was the father of both their children.”
Faith felt the blood drain from her face. Mike Dillan? Not tonight…she couldn't think about him now. But images of the rugged athlete filled her mind as Chase continued.
“The women claim he impregnated both of them at a party three years ago…”
Three years ago? That was when she and Mike…
Faith forced herself to remain in position and prayed that she didn't look as shaken as she felt.
The monitor showed taped footage of Coach Graves at a press conference admonishing Mike Dillan and any other player who continued to act irresponsibly Faith struggled to focus while Chase finished and looked first at her and then at Ron, a casual smile draped across his face. “Exciting time of year in sports…”
Ron straightened a stack of papers and tapped them on his desk as he grinned at Chase. “Days of October right around the corner.”
Faith lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows in
a manner intended to be teasing and lighthearted. She doubted she was fooling anyone, including the viewers. Everyone in Philadelphia probably knew about her and Mike. “Doesn't look like my Mets'll be anywhere near a field by then.”
Chase chuckled and flashed a handsome smile in her direction. “That's the nice thing about August. Everybody has a chance. Even your Mets, Faith.”
A round of easy laughter died out, and Faith took the cue as the camera zoomed in on her. Focus, Faith, focus. “Each week for the past six months we've been bringing you a segment called Wednesday's Child, highlighting special-needs children who are up for adoption in Philadelphia's social services system. Tonight we take a look at six-year-old Rosa Lee.”
Saxophones led the way as the haunting strains of a child's lullaby filled the station and faded into the laughter of children playing at Jericho Park. Rosa was living with a foster family in Bethany, and the park was her favorite place to play Faith noticed that the cameraman had avoided the hundred-year-old Jesus statue, anchored just to the right of the play area.
Throughout the piece, a phone number remained on the screen for viewers interested in adopting Rosa. Faith watched the monitor as the camera panned in past the other children and settled on the dark-haired little beauty. Mike Dillan forgotten, Faith again savored the child's giggles as she'd done over the weekend when they'd been together for the interview. From the moment she met Rosa, Faith had felt captured by her, desperate to find her a family. Faith heard her own voice begin to sound over the footage.
“Rosa Lee's life has never been easy. Not since the morning her mother abandoned her on the steps of a Philadelphia hospital days after her birth.” The camera zoomed out from Faith strolling the park grounds, her face serious, eyes on the camera, to Rosa running alongside three other children, chasing butterflies across the park's grassy hillside. An edit showed the same children eating a picnic lunch and a close-in shot gave the television audi-ence a first glimpse of Rosa's deformed hand. “Rosa was born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left hand, making her one of thousands of special-needs children up for adoption across the United States.”
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