Distortion (Moonlighters Series)

by Terri Blackstock

  Cathy tried not to cry. “I’d like to ask that you show mercy, keeping in mind that the greater good was served. He was wounded trying to save my sister.”

  “Duly noted. Now I’ve made my decision. For the crime of violating a court order and carrying a gun illegally, I sentence you to one year in the state penitentiary.”

  “No!” Cathy blurted.

  The prosecutor turned to her in disapproval, as if she were nothing but an amateur. But Michael touched her hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’ll go by fast.”

  She wasn’t satisfied. “Your Honor,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “We ask that you suspend his sentence.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that. We can’t have convicted felons carrying weapons for any reason. If I let this go, I’ll have dozens of other felons coming up with similar reasons.”

  “But you know the circumstances of his conviction!”

  “The circumstances don’t matter, Miss Cramer. Only the law matters. Again, if he’d wanted a jury to decide this, he could have pled not guilty and had a trial.”

  Cathy looked at Michael again. He shook his head. “I did it, Cathy. Let’s just get this over with.”

  She had never been more frustrated with him. “Then we’d like to petition the court to give him house arrest for the duration of his sentence.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. As it is, he’ll probably only serve half the sentence. I’m not going to change my mind.” He hammered his gavel.

  Cathy threw her arms around Michael’s neck, and he held her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll call you every day. The time will fly.”

  “I love you,” she whispered, touching his face.

  “I love you too,” he said. “Spend this time planning our wedding.”

  She stared at him as they snapped cuffs on his wrists. Had he just proposed to her? “Our wedding?”

  “I’m going to marry you the minute I get out,” he said. “If you’ll have me.”

  Her mouth twisted, and she managed to nod. “I’ll have you.”

  The bailiff pulled him away. Michael smiled back at her before they led him out of the room.

  CHAPTER 66

  Juliet sat with her hands in her lap, fidgeting with the strap of her handbag. The courthouse hall was empty except for three people talking quietly in a cluster near the bathroom.

  Why was she trembling? She knew she was doing the right thing. Still, she felt unprepared. What if she wasn’t up to this? What if she didn’t have enough to give?

  There had been so many decisions to make lately. First, she’d had to decide what to do with the money they’d found in extra accounts here in Panama City. The feds hadn’t been interested in it since there was so much in the international accounts, but she knew the money hadn’t come from Bob’s practice. He’d probably kept some of it close so he could spend it as he wanted. She didn’t want drug money. She would keep only the money in their joint account—the money Bob had earned legitimately through his medical practice. But any funds that had a questionable origin—whatever the feds hadn’t taken as evidence—she had decided to give away.

  She’d chosen to give it to a nationwide drug program that had a high success rate—one that honored Jesus, not just some ambiguous higher power. She loved the irony of using drug money to heal its victims.

  But that hadn’t resolved everything.

  She heard voices around the corner at the security guard’s station, then Cathy and Holly burst into the hallway. “There she is,” Holly said.

  As her sisters came toward her, Juliet looked away. She didn’t really want them here. They would try one last time to talk her out of it, and she didn’t want to hear it. They couldn’t understand. They never would.

  Cathy sat down next to her on the bench. “Juliet, you don’t have to do this,” she said in a low voice.

  “I know that.”

  “It’s too much of a commitment. No one would expect you to do a thing like this.”

  Juliet turned to her. “I’m not asking you to agree with my decision. But I am asking you to respect it.”

  Cathy wilted. “I do. I just don’t want you to be more stressed out than you already are. It hasn’t been long enough. You’re still grieving.”

  “I’m not the only one.” She looked toward the door that would open soon. “And too much time has passed already.”

  “But, Juliet—”

  The door opened, and Juliet stiffened expectantly. A woman stepped out and held the door for someone else.

  Another woman came through, holding a baby.

  Juliet stood, and her sisters’ protests hushed as her gaze locked onto the baby’s little face.

  Robbie looked so much like Abe and Zach. Like Bob. Like one of her own.

  Tears sprang to Juliet’s eyes, and she smiled as she stepped toward them. Robbie looked as if he’d been crying. His nose was red, his eyelashes wet.

  “Hi, sweet Robbie,” she said in a soft voice. “Can I hold you?”

  The baby considered her, then leaned toward her, granting her the privilege. She took him, laughing through her tears, and kissed the top of his head. He smelled like baby powder.

  “His things are in these bags,” the temporary foster mother said.

  The lady from the adoption agency passed the bags to Cathy and Holly. “We gathered up everything we thought he’d need. You’re allowed to move his crib and other big items from his home, but you’ll need to call me first.”

  Juliet nodded. “I think I already have everything I’ll need from when his brothers were babies. But I may get some of his personal things so he’ll feel more at home.”

  The baby touched her face, and she smiled and kissed his hand. “Are you going home with me?”

  Cathy came closer. Juliet hoped she wasn’t going to protest again.

  “I’ll take his suitcase,” Cathy said softly.

  Holly reached out for the diaper bag. “Does he take a bottle?”

  “He takes formula,” the foster mother said. “Also solid food. He’s a good eater. But he’s been crying a lot ever since . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Juliet hoped her boys would distract him. “Let’s get you home,” she said to Robbie. “You’ll be getting hungry soon.”

  She started toward the door with Cathy and Holly flanking her. She glanced at her sisters. They both had tears on their faces.

  They walked beside her as she bounced the baby to her car. As she unlocked it and opened the back door, Holly stroked the baby’s hair. “We’ll help you,” she said.

  “I know you will. I’m counting on it.”

  Cathy opened the trunk and put the suitcase in. Then she took the keys out of Juliet’s hand. “I’ll drive so you can sit in the back with him.”

  Juliet smiled at her. “Thank you, Aunt Cathy.” She slid into the backseat and put Robbie into his new car seat. As she buckled him in, she kissed his face. The baby smiled.

  Joy entered her heart like a timid stranger. “These are the good days,” she whispered.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  At this writing, I’m coming off an exciting weekend during which I have celebrated an abundance of riches—in the form of three grand babies born this year (2013). We already had one grandson who is two years old. We now have two boys and two girls, and all of our children are parents. That boggles my mind.

  Three days ago, as my own baby went into the hospital to have a baby of her own, I read Psalm 139 and was reminded how perfectly designed every human on earth is. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:13-16, NIV)

  God doesn’t make mistakes. He knew
us before we were conceived, and he formed us and wired us exactly the way we are. He gave us each a purpose and a lifespan and timed it out precisely. That’s why it plagues me that so many people are living on this earth, believing that they are accidents, that they are worthless, that they are useless. They believe they are trapped in the lives they lead, and that God is unaware of them. They believe that if God ever did notice them, he would be appalled.

  But how can that be when God knew you before you were even conceived? When he wove you together himself in your mother’s womb. When he wired you exactly the way you are. He knew you would try at things and fail. He knew you would struggle and be frustrated. He knew your life wouldn’t be perfect, but that it would enable you to grow and mature. Like the process of birth that seems so dangerous and frightening, our challenges are uniquely crafted to help us fulfill our purposes. Each of us has to build up a different set of muscles for our unique tasks, so your struggle won’t be my struggle, and mine won’t be yours.

  I constantly shake my head and grieve over those who can’t or won’t understand that. Some insist on staying in their daily state of supposed insignificance, only seeing themselves through the eyes of myopic humans around them, rather than through the eyes of their Creator, who sees them as he intended them to be.

  I’ll never forget hearing the song, “Touch of the Master’s Hands,” which tells of an old violin being auctioned off. No one wants it. It’s worthless to the bidders—just a wasted instrument worth no more than two dollars, until an old man walks up from the back of the room, dusts the instrument off, and picks up the bow. He begins playing a beautiful concerto that brings tears to the eyes of everyone at the auction. As soon as he finishes, the auctioneer takes the violin and bow, and asks for bids again. This time the bidding starts in the thousands. The touch of the master’s hand makes all the difference in the sound, use, and value of the instrument he created.

  The fact is, you could be like that violin. You could be covered with dust and out of tune, forgotten and abandoned. But in the Master’s hands, everything could change. You could be a redeemed child of the King, a joint heir with Christ, an overcomer, more than a conqueror. You can be among those who believe that God made provision for our failures and mistakes (and even our deliberate bad choices) and that provision was in the form of a man—God’s only son—who stood in our place and took our punishment, so that we could have our sins wiped clean. You could be like a man condemned to death, waiting on Death Row for his execution, only to have the warden walk in and declare that a substitute has taken that sentence, that you are free to go. You can be among those who believe that Jesus’ death on the cross in our place was enough to save and redeem us. You can be among those destined to spend their eternity with Him in heaven.

  I hope you’ll realize that today and embrace your uniqueness and your precious value to your Creator and join the family of God. But it’s not just knowing that gives you salvation. It’s believing. Believing what, you ask? Believing this: “For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures . . .” (1 Corinthians 15:3–4 NASB)

  And with that belief in your heart, you can know this with all certainty: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 NIV)

  He loved you enough to give his son for you. You are not insignificant. You are not useless. You are not appalling. You are beloved.

  Believe today.

  Terri Blackstock

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. If marriage is an illustration of Christ’s relationship with the church, how is faith impacted when there is betrayal in a marriage?

  2. Discuss the different faith journeys of Juliet, Cathy, and Holly. How does their level of faith cause them to respond differently to tragedy?

  3. Discuss Bob’s faith (or lack thereof) and whether he was redeemed by revelations at the end of the story. Did these revelations help Juliet in her grief?

  4. Talking to kids about death is not easy. How does your faith help you deal with the death of a loved one when kids are involved? What about when the death is a senseless or violent one?

  5. Holly is pregnant and unmarried. When Cathy asks her to come to church with her and her family, Holly feels uncomfortable: “I’m pregnant and I’m not married and I’m walking into a place where people don’t take well to that kind of thing,” she says. How about your church? How comfortable do you think Holly would be made to feel in your congregation?

  6. The villains in Distortion threaten to hurt Juliet’s children. How would you react if someone threatened your kids or your nieces and nephews with violence? What would be your first, gut reaction?

  7. Bob was neither a perfect father nor a totally honest man when he was alive. Juliet can’t help but confront those facts, even while she comforts her kids through the loss. This causes some friction with her son. They say one should not speak ill of the dead, but are we too quick to beatify them? Do the deceased become idealized in our memories? In our words? What are the pros and cons of telling children the truth about the sins of their parents?

  8. Juliet had developed a theology of rewards: “For so long, she’d counted herself among the blessed, among those who had been granted peace for obedience, mercy for service, prosperity for generosity. God had rewarded her for serving him.” Are we rewarded for serving God and punished for disobedience? Does Christianity work like this? How so or why not?

  9. The sisters do not show much faith in the police department. Is vigilante justice justified in the face of ineptitude? What about revenge? What does the Bible have to say about authority? Vengeance?

  10. Were Michael’s actions with Miller appropriate or wrong? What would you have done in his situation?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are lots of people important to the publishing process, people who work diligently to make sure that the book you’re holding in your hands is worthy of your time and attention. Literary agents are chief among these people, and they often work behind the scenes with little recognition. They’re the ones who encourage the writer at the very earliest stages, the ones who catch the spark of a story idea and help fan it into a mighty fire, the ones who take those burning embers to publishers and ignite even bigger fires in the hearts and imaginations of editors. They’re the ones who do the “dirty work” of haggling and hammering out contract details, the ones who look out for an author’s best interests while continuing to nurture a relationship with publishers who get authors’ work into stores.

  My agent, Lee Hough, passed away a few weeks ago after a two year battle with brain cancer. Lee continued to represent me through his chemo and radiation treatments, through remissions and relapses, through hope and disappointment. The day he told me that he had just a few more weeks to live, and that he was retiring from being an agent so he could spend that time with his family, I hung up the phone, stunned with grief. A few minutes later my phone chimed, reminding me that I had an appointment for a conference call with my publisher. I blew my nose and pulled myself together because Lee had asked me not to tell anyone his news until he’d had time to notify them, and I figured out what I would say to explain his absence on the call. Lee couldn’t be here because he’s having a bad day. They would understand. I took a deep breath and made the call. I punched in my conference call code and entered the virtual “room” where we’d all convene. The robotic voice told me who was already there. Lee Hough. He had interrupted his devastating phone calls to his friends and clients to represent me in that call . . . business as usual. With the professionalism he’d always shown, he took care of my miniscule needs. This act symbolizes my entire relationship with Lee over the last several years. He always put others first, even when no one expected him to.

  The last CaringBridge update that he wrot
e himself was days before his death, when he asked us to pray for him as he shared Christ with a friend of his. He felt convicted to let this man know why he had such peace about dying and why he was assured of his passage to heaven. Again, Lee demonstrated his love for others and his selfless efforts to make others’ lives better. After his death, his friends received a letter asking us to send the money we would have spent on flower arrangements to a struggling friend with cerebral palsy. He didn’t worry for himself—he worried about his wife, Paula, and her well-being after his passing and the well-being of his children and grandchildren. Above all, Lee trusted God with their lives, as he trusted Him with his own.

  I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to work with such a godly man who so demonstrated the love of Christ, even after his final breath.

  His work will live on in the hearts of those he touched and in the work of his clients. I am proud to be one of them.

  AN EXCERPT FROM

  TERRI BLACKSTOCK’S

  RESTORATION SERIES, BOOK ONE

  LAST LIGHT

  ONE

  DENI BRANNING STEPPED DOWN ONTO THE TARMAC, PULLED out the handle of her carry-on, and glanced back up at her dad. He was just exiting the commuter plane as he chatted over his shoulder with the man who’d sat next to him on the flight. Doug Branning had never met a stranger, which accounted for his success as a stockbroker. He’d snagged some of his best clients on flights like this.

  The oppressive Birmingham humidity settled over Deni like a heavy coat. It’s temporary, she told herself. She wouldn’t have to spend the summer here. Just this last week of May, and then it was back to D.C., her new job, and the fiancé she’d dreamed of for all of her twenty-two years. Yes, it was hot in the nation’s capital, too, and probably just as humid. But its fast-paced importance made it easier to bear.

  As her father reached the bottom step, his small bag clutched in his hand, the loud hum of the plane’s engine went silent. A sudden, eerie quiet settled over the place, as if someone had muted all the machinery around them. The conveyor belt purging the cargo bin of its luggage stopped. The carts dragging the luggage carriers stalled.