Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  “I want you to know, I was up all night reading the letters that came in on behalf of the two of you.” He yawned.

  “O-oh?” I looked at him, stunned. “From who—er, whom?”

  “Let’s see.” He squinted through his bifocals. “I see a woman who refers to herself as Sister Twila here. Must be a nun. Would you like to hear what she has to say?”

  Brock shook his head. “Maybe not, sir.”

  The judge shifted through the stack of papers. “And then there’s one from a Sophia Rossi. Maybe you’d be interested in her pleas on your behalf.”

  I groaned. “That’s my sister.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He reached for another. “This is an interesting one. It’s from Bartholomew Burton, one of our island’s most prominent attorneys.”

  That certainly got my attention. Dakota’s dad had written a letter? Hmm. Likely Phoebe had put him up to it. But what could he possibly have to say that would help me now?

  “Says here he’s happy to represent you should we choose not to drop the charges.” The judge peered over his glasses. “Interesting. Burton usually doesn’t take clients unless he thinks they’re innocent. Wonder what that says about you.” He cleared his throat. “But the rest of his letter is what got to me. Burton has written quite a soliloquy about your efforts on his son’s behalf. Says you’ve turned his boy’s life around. Made him a better citizen. He says you’re quite a role model.”

  I pondered that for a minute. Had I really turned Dakota’s life around?

  In that moment, I knew … Bart Burton hadn’t written that letter. Dakota had. But why? Why did the kid want to see us released? So he would have another photo op, perhaps? I was on to him, no doubt about it.

  The judge grinned as he pulled out another letter. “This was a nice one. A gentleman named Lazarro Rossi.”

  “My uncle.” I sighed, wondering what Laz had said on my behalf.

  “I see.” The judge lifted the letters one by one. “This one’s from a florist.”

  “My sister-in-law.”

  “This one”—he held up a lengthy one—“is co-authored by seventeen people who all claim they work for the Food Network.”

  “They do, sir,” Brock said with a sigh. “That’s the truth.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” The judge continued to thumb through the letters. “Here’s one from a set design company in Houston. Three guys named Larry, Bob, and George. Sound familiar?”

  “Oh yes. They’re great guys. Hard workers,” I said.

  “They say the same about you.” The judge kept shuffling the letters. “But the notes on your behalf don’t end there. Here’s one from a woman who drove all the way down from Splendora. Her name’s Earline Neeley.”

  My heart twisted at that revelation. Earline had written a letter on my behalf?

  “This is a very kindhearted woman, and she apparently loves you a lot,” the judge said, looking over Earline’s letter. He peered at me over his glasses. “Bella Rossi, you have a lot to be thankful for.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it, sir.”

  “Yes, you have what most people don’t—a huge family and a great support system. Every one of these letters speaks of love, family, and safety. I think it’s best if I send you back to the safety of that family this morning.”

  “Y-you’re going to let me go?” I asked, not quite believing it. “Really?”

  “Yes.” He turned to Brock. “And about you …” Looking through the stack once more, he came up with a letter in familiar handwriting. “There was one in particular that swayed me on your behalf. Do you know a Dwayne Neeley Jr., young man?”

  “D.J.,” I whispered.

  Brock nodded. “I do, sir. Great guy. He works here on the island.”

  The judge nodded. “Well, he’s greater than you know. This is the most impassioned note I’ve ever read. He sings Bella’s praises for quite some time, but when it comes to you …”

  “What?” Brock asked. “What did he say?”

  “He explained that you could do more good out of jail than in. That you’re a very good man with a high profile who has the opportunity to change lives for the better, if given a chance. That you likely got carried away protecting Bella—”

  “That part is true, Your Honor,” Brock said. “I did think she was under attack. And, again, I thought I was punching a reporter, not a police officer.”

  “Yes. And about that …” The judge sighed and put the letters down on his desk. “The next time someone tells you he’s a police office, don’t question him.”

  “Right,” we said simultaneously.

  “And when you’re asked to give a police officer information, give it. Even if it seems unreasonable at the time.”

  We echoed each other with a “Yes, sir.”

  “And whatever you do, don’t ever lay a hand on a police officer.”

  “Well, in my case, sir, it wasn’t exactly a hand. Just a finger.”

  “Regardless.” The judge nodded, then banged his gavel. “Case dismissed. Next!”

  As I turned to leave the room, the judge called my name once more. Turning, I gave him a curious look. “Yes, sir?”

  “Interesting coincidence.” His brow wrinkled. “My daughter’s boyfriend proposed to her last night. You won’t believe where she wants to get married.”

  I couldn’t stop the smile from erupting. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Something about a Southern plantation wedding.”

  “Oooh!” I practically squealed. “I’ve been hoping someone would choose that package. You’d think, living in the South, that lots of people would want a Southern wedding. Oh, tell her to call me, sir.” I reached down to give him a card, then realized I still didn’t have my purse. “Hmm. I’ll have to get back with you on that.”

  “Oh, we know where to find you. Trust me.”

  As the next poor fellow made his way to the bench, I celebrated. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized I still had the whole day ahead of me. Praise the Lord, I’d been set free! Now, if I could just get the bride to forgive me, we’d have a wedding!

  28

  My Way

  Funny how the sun looked so much brighter when you saw it for the first time on the outside of a jail cell. It almost overpowered me with its goodness. Its radiance. Its warmth. Made me want to sing, to dance, to clap my hands for joy. Instead, I knelt down and kissed the sidewalk.

  Which, I’m sure, made an awesome photo for the reporter with the camera in his hand. And he wasn’t alone. Looked like the newshounds were out in force. Not to catch a glimpse of me, of course, but to see what Brock Benson had to say after his night in the slammer. They rushed him, almost knocking him down. I marveled at the fact that he didn’t retaliate in any way. Instead, he paused and flashed a winning smile.

  Yep. He was a consummate actor.

  “Brock, can you tell us why you were arrested?” a reporter asked, shoving a microphone in his face.

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” Brock said, using beautiful diction and a pronounced stage voice. “And I am happy to report, all charges have been dropped. But to answer your question, I was rescuing a fair maiden in distress.” He pointed to me, and I curtsied.

  “Just like the scene in The Pirate’s Lady!” another reporter said, extending a boom microphone. “Right?”

  “Only without the pirate ship,” Brock said with a Hollywood wink. “And this lady”—he turned my way and took my hand in his—“is fairer than the fairest.”

  Suddenly I felt a little nauseous. He’d gone a bit over the top. And I wasn’t sure how D.J. would perceive any of this if he read about it in the paper.

  “So, a love interest, then?” the first reporter asked, sticking the microphone in my face.

  I heard the clicking of cameras as the reporters turned my way. Yikes! Did they really think I was involved with Brock Benson?

  Before I could say “No,” I caught a glimpse of D.J. through the crowd. Waving my arms, I shouted, “D.J.! Oh, D.J.!
I’m so sorry! I love you!”

  He came sprinting my way, parting the crowd as he aimed himself in my direction. I lunged into his arms, planting a thousand kisses on him. Apparently the paparazzi found this somewhat entertaining. I could hear the continual clicking of cameras as they went off all around me. Finally I came up for air.

  “Thank you for springing me!” I said. “It was your letter— and the letters of all my friends and family—that did the trick.”

  “We love you, Bella,” he whispered. “And we’d fly to the moon for you.”

  Brock turned to D.J. and extended a hand. The cameras starting clicking once again.

  “I’m really grateful,” Brock said with a sheepish look on his face. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.”

  “It was an easy letter to write.” D.J.’s voice grew more serious. “You’re a great guy, Brock. And I really meant it when I said you could use your notoriety for good. So I’m glad the Lord saw fit to release you.”

  Brock flinched at the word Lord but didn’t say anything.

  At that moment, the most bizarre thing happened. I heard three very familiar voices ring out.

  “Yoo-hoo! Bella, girl!”

  Twila. Marvelous.

  “Move on over and let me through!”

  Bonnie Sue. Terrific.

  “Hey, handsome! Scoot over and let me pass.”

  Jolene. Could things possibly get any better?

  They arrived at my side, all giggles and smiles. As Bonnie Sue laid eyes on Brock, she let out a squeal. “Brock Benson! I can’t believe it’s really been you all along. Vinny DiMarco, my eye! Shame on you for pulling the wool over our eyes!”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with a shrug. “Just role-playing. It’s what I do. Besides,” he leaned in to whisper, “my legal name really is Vinny DiMarco. Though I hope you’ll forgive me for deceiving you.”

  “Oh, nothing to forgive.” She gave him a hug. “We’re old friends now, and friends always forgive.”

  Before anyone could respond, Twila interrupted. “Ready to fly this coop?” she asked. “We brought the Pinto.”

  “Th-the Pinto?”

  “Yeah.” D.J. shrugged. “Here’s what happened. Sophia brought them to my place in her car last night. Then they picked up the Pinto, and we all drove back to your parents’ place, where we spent the night writing letters.”

  “And eating garlic twists,” Jolene threw in.

  “Yes. But now we’re rabbit trailing.” D.J. grinned. “Anyway, I told your folks I’d come and fetch you in my truck, but when I went out to the driveway, the Pinto was blocking my truck. When I asked Twila to move it, she suggested they bring it here.” He leaned down and whispered, “The ladies wanted to take you home in their chariot. So, here we are.”

  I looked at D.J. with one of those “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” looks, and he just shrugged. “Well, after your time in the back of an undercover patrol car, I figured it’d be a refreshing change. And when are you ever going to have the opportunity to ride in a pink Pinto again?”

  I whispered, “Hopefully never!” then followed behind him through the throng of people.

  We made our way through the crowd, cameras still flashing, and arrived at the bright pink Pinto on the side of the road. Unfortunately, it was double-parked. We’d better make a clean exit before a traffic cop showed up.

  “Hmm. Not quite sure how we’re going to do this.” Twila looked at all of us and then at the little car. She seemed to be sizing up the situation. “I guess I could drive and Jolene and Bonnie Sue could go in back. Brock, you could squeeze in between them.”

  The look on his face was priceless.

  “Bella, you and D.J. can ride up front.”

  “Both of us? In one seat?”

  “No problem.” D.J. looked at me with a lopsided grin. “I carried you through the night with my prayers. What will it hurt to carry you home on my lap?”

  “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me!” My eyes filled with unexpected tears.

  Man. I really needed to get some sleep.

  We somehow managed to get everyone into the car. The camera guys had a field day with the photos of Brock in the backseat between Jolene and Bonnie Sue. The ladies made a big production out of it, and in the end, so did Brock. They even did a couple of fun poses.

  I, on the other hand, was horrified. For one thing, I stunk. I’d spent the night in a jail cell. How could I sit on D.J.’s lap? He scooted into the seat, and I inched my way next to him, finally realizing we could both fit side-by-side if we squished a little. “There. That’s not too bad.”

  Twila gave the crowd a wave as she revved the engine. “Let’s get the heck out of Dodge!” she cried out, then took off toward home. A few minutes later, when we were out of the sight of the cameras, Twila sighed. “Bella, I’m sorry you spent the night in jail. It’s wholly unfair, and I told the officer that myself.”

  “You talked to the police?”

  “Of course!” She laughed. “And the sheriff too. I called him this morning.”

  “No way.”

  “Yep. Told him what a tragic mistake that policeman had made. He had a good laugh at it, of course. It’s just plain silly.”

  “He laughed?” I could hardly believe it.

  “Oh yes, he did,” Bonnie Sue said. “The man can laugh.”

  “And then that judge sprang you like a broken lock.” Twila giggled.

  “Thank goodness! I still have to coordinate a wedding!” Glancing at my watch, I took note of the time: 9:40. The day was still young. I ran my fingers through my matted hair and tried to scrape the dried drool from my chin. “I must look like something from a horror movie.”

  D.J. looked at me with a smile. “Well, not any horror movie I’ve ever seen, though I think we’ve already established that I don’t get out to the movies much.”

  “That’s fine with me. In fact, after this week, I don’t care if I ever see another movie.”

  As we made the drive through town, I noticed everyone was chattering except Brock. I turned around to face him. “A-are you ever going to forgive me for ruining your career?”

  “Ruining my career?” He laughed. “Bella, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. And I’m sorry if I seem like I’m down. I just have a lot on my mind. Spending the night in a jail cell gives you a lot of time to think.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He exhaled loudly and then looked at me, his eyes a little misty. “I have something to confess.”

  “O-oh?” Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me in front of my boyfriend. That would be really awkward. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “All of that stuff you said about me falling for your family. Or, rather, falling for the idea of having a family of my own.”

  “Ah.”

  “Don’t you see? When I look at your family, I want that. I want parents who love their kids … and brothers and sisters who fight. I want people gathered around a dinner table, talking about the weather and arguing about politics. I … I want what you have.”

  “And God wants you to have that too, Brock.” I gave him a sympathetic look. “I honestly believe he’s going to give you a great wife and a houseful of kids … if that’s your desire. But as much as you want those things, he wants something even more.”

  “What’s that?” Brock said with a curious expression on his face.

  “Your heart.” I whispered the words, hoping he understood my full meaning. “Brock, he wants your heart.”

  “She’s right,” Bonnie Sue said. “And it doesn’t do any good to run from God. Ask me how I know.”

  “He’s gonna catch you anyway,” Jolene said. “So you might as well stop where you are and turn his way. Makes things so much easier.”

  Though I didn’t know their individual testimonies, I somehow knew the ladies were speaking from exper
ience. Turning back to Brock, I said, “Think about the wedding. That whole Renaissance theme.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you know what renaissance means?”

  He shrugged. “Shakespeare and art?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Renaissance means ‘rebirth.’ Starting over. That’s what happened in the Renaissance era. Art, music, architecture … they all experienced a rebirth. They came alive again. And that’s what God wants to do with you. In fact, I’m convinced that’s why he brought you all the way from sunny California to soggy Galveston Island. You’re at a fork in the road, Brock. And I’m hoping you turn the right way.” When he looked at me with tears in his eyes, I whispered, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time for a little renaissance of your own. Maybe God has orchestrated all of this—you being here, the medieval wedding theme, and so on—to get your attention.”

  “If that’s the case, then he went to a lot of trouble just for me.” Brock laughed, and I could tell he was trying to make light of things.

  “Oh, trust me. He’s gone to a lot of trouble for you, all right,” I said. “When he went to the cross, he had you in mind.”

  Brock grew silent at this statement, but I could hear the wheels turning in his head. It was D.J. who finally spoke up, his words gentle but firm.

  “You think that jail cell was tough … it doesn’t even compare to spending a life without him.”

  More silence from Brock.

  I turned back to D.J. and started humming. “Amazing Grace,” of course. Just couldn’t help myself.

  29

  From This Moment On

  I arrived at the house, ready to face the music. No telling how my parents would greet me. Still, as that Pinto pulled into our drive and I laid eyes on our beautiful Victorian home, gratitude swept over me. The words “A ogni uccello il suo nido è bello” tripped their way across my lips. I knew the literal translation, of course—“To every bird, his own nest is beautiful”—but for me, today, it only meant one thing: “There’s no place like home.”