by Randy Singer
“It’s okay to cry,” one of the ladies told her.
“Yeah, I’d be surprised if you didn’t cry,” another said, “considering what your husband’s going through.”
Theresa got the message, though she had no plans to deliver on manufactured tears.
Ten minutes before showtime, the three handlers who had been tending to Theresa pronounced her ready, because they had bigger fish to fry. The Reverend Freddie Hester had arrived in an uproar, shouting out instructions while they slapped on his makeup.
“Where’s the video for the Gateway Christmas Children’s Project?” he barked. Assistants scurried, and a few seconds later it was playing on a television in the greenroom. It was, Theresa thought, a touching story about the need to support some orphanages in Kenya.
“Will that work?” Johnny asked anxiously as soon as the tape had finished.
“Two minutes!” someone called out.
“Guess it will have to,” the reverend said.
Everyone huddled and held hands. The reverend prayed while some handlers adjusted his mike and earpiece.
“Glory!” he shouted and headed onstage.
Theresa watched the first part of the service on the monitor in the greenroom. She was nearly sick with fright, wringing her hands and praying fervently for the strength to get through. She practiced her lines over and over in her head, determined not to mess up a single word. The singing was awesome, though she could hardly enjoy it in her frenzied state, and the Reverend Hester sure knew how to fire up the troops. As the Christmas Children’s Project video played, cameras panned the audience, catching more than a few glistening eyes.
A few minutes before Theresa’s scheduled appearance, the Reverend Hester called people forward for prayer. As was his custom, he wandered down among those gathering at the altar, sticking a mike in front of them and asking them to describe their various ailments. He had an uncanny ability to call many of them by name and miraculously list their disabilities even before they described them. Then he would pray over them with great furor, and they would be slain in the Spirit and drop on the ground, many times rising without a trace of their former problems.
“Mrs. Hammond, it’s just about time. After this prayer time, there will be one song and then your interview.”
Theresa wanted to know if she had time to throw up or at least hit the bathroom one last time, but they were already ushering her backstage. There was another area with a few chairs where they left Theresa, promising to return momentarily. She sat there patiently for a moment, but then noticed a bank of backstage monitors a little closer to the stage. Several men and women were stationed in front of them and wore earphones. They watched the monitors intently.
Curious, Theresa moved close enough so she could watch the monitors but also glance around occasionally at where her handlers had left her.
“That’s Jamie,” one of the men was saying, reading off a card. “She’s got breast cancer.”
On the monitors, Theresa saw the reverend approach a young woman and put his arm around her. “Jamie,” he said, “do you believe the Lord can heal your cancer?”
The woman looked astonished, nodding and blurting, “Yes, yes, yes.” The reverend prayed and Jamie hit the floor. This went on for a few more minutes, a minor uproar occurring backstage when the reverend got a name wrong.
“I said ‘Misty,’ not ‘Missy,’” one of the men said to another backstage.
“You’ve got to enunciate more clearly,” the other man shot back. “The reverend will not be happy.”
“Just to your right,” another person said, apparently speaking into the reverend’s earpiece. Theresa felt guilty for listening to all this. “A young mother named Kelly has a two-year-old baby with a blood disorder.”
Lord! The mother of a two-year-old! Theresa felt the air leave her lungs. A year and a half ago, her own Joshie had died from appendicitis just months short of his second birthday. Thomas and Theresa prayed for three days, believing in a miracle, before they sought medical help. Theresa would never forgive herself.
She wanted to rush into the sanctuary and tell this woman to get help! Pray hard but trust the doctors that God gives us as well! Instead, the woman was affirming her faith that God was healing her son while the reverend prayed for a miracle that would be a sign for the watching world.
Theresa felt a gentle hand on her arm and turned. “It’s time, Mrs. Hammond,” one of the backstage assistants said.
Theresa shuffled nervously onstage and performed her lines nearly flawlessly, though her eyes stayed bone dry throughout. The reverend gushed about how proud he was to be able to assist the courageous Hammond family. He bragged on the legal prowess of attorney David Arginot III and displayed a toll-free number on the big screen for donations to the cause. In addition, the reverend said, they would be taking up a special Christmas offering in just a few minutes, with every dime going to the Thomas Hammond Legal Defense Fund to protect Christmas in America.
When the reverend finished, Theresa walked offstage to the thunderous applause of a grateful audience. She located Johnny and insisted that he help her find her kids. Though Johnny tried to talk her out of it, Theresa also insisted that she and the kids take a cab back to the hotel. She kept saying that she just needed some time alone, but in truth she didn’t want to be around the ministry staff for even one more hour.
That night, after the kids were asleep, Theresa spent a long time staring at the ceiling and thinking about Kelly and her two-year-old child. She prayed for this woman she hardly knew, bonded by the shared heartache of seeing their children suffer. She also made up her mind that when she visited Thomas on Sunday, she would tell him everything that had happened at Madison Square Garden. She knew Thomas, and she knew he wouldn’t want the help of a group that used earpieces and cue cards to perform pretend miracles of healing. She wondered where they got that information on the cards, but she also realized it didn’t really matter. If Thomas agreed, they would call Jasmine and beg her to come back on the case. After all, Jasmine couldn’t do any worse than Mr. Arginot had done. And Jasmine understood the people of Possum—people like Thomas and Theresa.
Theresa didn’t want to be a national celebrity, helping raise money for the Reverend Hester’s television ministry. She just wanted Thomas out of jail. She just wanted things to be normal again.
And more than anything else, she wanted the one thing she knew she could never have: Joshie. She just wanted to hold him one more time.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 18
Jasmine hated it when she did this. Her first morning to sleep in—no exams, no school pressures, no Hammond case hanging over her head—and she woke up at 7:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. She planned on staying in Possum with her mom and Ajori through Christmas; then she would return to her apartment in Virginia Beach.
She listened to Ajori stumble around a little as she got ready for school, her hair dryer and CD player from the bedroom next door erasing any hope of Jasmine’s going back to sleep. She grabbed the covers and rolled over angrily, burying her ears in the pillow. Little sisters were such a pain!
After Ajori left, Jasmine headed downstairs.
“Good morning, baby,” Jasmine’s mom said, kissing her on the forehead.
“Coffee,” Jasmine groaned. A few minutes later they were discussing shopping plans for the day. Jasmine’s Christmas shopping so far had been limited to law school friends—she had zero gifts for family members. But shopping was her mom’s specialty, and they eagerly made plans to attack the Tidewater malls until they had blisters on their feet.
“Hang on a second,” Jasmine said, catching a mention of the manger case on the Today show. “I want to hear this.”
David Arginot looked dapper in a three-button suit and light blue power tie, live from the studios in New York. He crossed his legs and gazed directly into the camera, explaining that he would be filing an appeal later in the day that would undoubtedly be successful. He leveled some thinly veiled
criticisms of Judge Cynthia Baker-Kline and bemoaned the fact that a good man like Thomas Hammond was in jail. His host had some skeptical questions, but David handled them all with a bright smile and genuine charm. The man was a pro.
“Looks like Thomas is in good hands,” Jasmine said. She had tried to call the Hammond house the prior day but got only their answering machine. She still found it hard to believe that Theresa and Thomas didn’t have a cell phone. How did they live like that?
“Then why’s he sitting in jail while his lawyer gets famous on TV?” Bernice asked.
“He’s just doing his job,” Jasmine responded, though she didn’t believe it either. “Part of representing a client these days is winning the PR battle.”
Her mom grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Another talk show was promising its own interview with Arginot later that morning. Suddenly her mom had an urge to check ESPN. “Did ODU play last night?” she asked, though Jasmine was pretty sure that her mom already knew the answer.
Theresa couldn’t watch television without running into an interview with David A. Arginot III. He apparently did nothing but float from one television studio to another, repeating his mantra about what a great American family the Hammonds were and how they were certain to win on appeal. Other commentators painted a bleaker picture of Mr. Arginot’s chances with the Fourth Circuit. Meanwhile, Thomas sat in jail, and the Reverend Hester collected checks. The whole thing upset Theresa so much that she turned off the television and vowed not to watch it again until the case was over.
She wondered if Jasmine was up yet—it was only 8:30. Last night Thomas had agreed to fire Arginot if Jasmine would take the case. And if she wouldn’t? “Then God’s telling us to stay with Arginot,” Thomas said. Theresa wasn’t so sure.
She started to dial and then decided to give it a few more minutes. She would call Jasmine at nine. Jasmine was a law student and most law students liked to sleep in. Though Theresa knew she was making excuses, she allowed herself to get away with it. She hated asking people for favors. Thomas, why do you put me through this?
Ten minutes before her self-imposed deadline, she heard a knock on the door. She walked slowly to the miniblinds and peeked out, expecting someone from the press. Instead, there was nobody on the stoop, though she did see a car pulling away from the trailer. Was it some kind of prank? People didn’t knock and run unless they’re doing something ugly. Before going outside to check around, she made sure Elizabeth and her buddies were in the living room and secured the child gates to keep them there.
Then she cracked open the door and looked down. She stared at a gray plastic crate with a door on one end that had miniature bars over it. It had a Christmas card on top with the names Hannah, John Paul, and Elizabeth on it, and Theresa knew it could mean only one thing.
She stooped and looked through the bars. “Awww,” she said before she could catch herself. It was an itty-bitty cocker spaniel—white with light brown markings—all curled up and shivering in one corner of the crate. “You’re so cute,” Theresa said, thinking about Tiger’s request on national television. But how can I deal with a puppy right now? Behind the crate, someone had also left a small bag of puppy food, a box of bone-shaped puppy treats, a water bowl and food bowl, a leash, a miniature orange squeaky basketball, and a rope with frayed ends.
She dragged the crate and accessories inside, putting them on the tile kitchen floor. When she opened the crate, the puppy looked out at Theresa with big, sad eyes under a furrowed brow, eyes made even more pitiful by its long, floppy ears. She felt her heart melt and gently picked up the puppy, noticed it was a he, and held him against her body. She felt the little guy quiver. Then she saw a manila envelope taped to the side of the crate.
She placed the puppy on the floor and opened the envelope. There were a number of papers, including a certificate of pedigree. A purebred! Theresa looked down at the little furball, who was already exploring, nose to the ground, floppy ears dragging along. Elizabeth had pulled herself up at the gate and was squealing with excitement.
The puppy’s mom was named Brown Eyed Daisy; the dad, Oliver Wendell Holmes. There were four generations of cocker spaniels listed, all with fancy names and colors noted. There was also the name of a breeder on the certificate. Theresa decided to give him a call.
But first—the puppy was chewing on one of Tiger’s old sneakers that her son had left by the front door! Theresa picked the puppy up again, resisting the urge to give him a name because she knew she wouldn’t be able to give him up if she did. How could she possibly deal with a dog in the midst of all the other turmoil going on in her life? He would need shots, food, and house-training. And she had no idea how he might do with the toddlers she cared for all day long.
She carried the puppy over to Elizabeth. “Puppy,” Theresa said. Elizabeth tried to repeat the word, but it sounded more like “puh-puh-puh.” “Puppy,” Theresa said again. She guided her daughter’s hand to help her pet the puppy without grabbing its hair. Elizabeth’s eyes lit up and she bounced up and down.
Theresa knew that if Tiger and Hannah saw the puppy, it would be over. This called for quick thinking and decisive action—neither of which she considered her strong points. She hugged him tight to her chest because he couldn’t stop shaking, the puppy was so nervous. And then—yuck! A warm wetness drizzled down her arm. She rushed toward the trailer door with her newest problem child.
He had gone all over her! The story of my life, she thought. You’re not the first one with that idea, little fella.
She set him down outside, and he scurried around the yard, sniffing and wagging his tail as if he had finally found his perfect family. And every time Theresa made a move toward him to pick him up again, he darted away. The game was on. It took her ten minutes and two puppy treats to get him back inside.
Jasmine tried to act nonchalant as Theresa detailed her problems over the phone. Theresa said she would understand if Jasmine couldn’t do it. She knew how hard it could be to represent Thomas. After all, she was married to him. But Theresa and Thomas had talked it over—they really wanted Jasmine to handle their case instead of this fancy lawyer from Reverend Hester’s organization.
Jasmine fully intended to say yes. She had thought long and hard about the way Coach Barker had deserted her sister’s team. Her own dad’s anti-quitting rhetoric had been ringing in her ears since last Saturday. Now she was being given a second chance. But she also knew how to take advantage of leverage. And she would never have more than she did right now.
“Will Thomas follow my advice?”
This brought silence. “Yes, I certainly hope so. But he’s not willing to tell the judge that he won’t go back out there.”
“So we’re back where we started.”
More silence. “I guess so, Jasmine. I don’t know what else to say.”
The next request surprised Jasmine. “Can you hang on for a second?”
“Sure.” Jasmine heard Theresa set down the phone, and she immediately started second-guessing herself. Did I push too hard? say something that offended her? It was a long couple of minutes before Theresa got back on the line.
“Sorry,” Theresa said, “I had a little emergency.” Much to Jasmine’s relief, Theresa explained about her still-nameless puppy, the one who had just eaten half a sock and thrown up all over the kitchen floor.
This time Jasmine didn’t try to play it coy. “I’m ready to represent Thomas,” she said. “I think we can win this case on appeal, and I think we can get a decision before Christmas. But I’ll need a supervising lawyer, and nobody knows the case as well as Arginot. Maybe we could ask him to stay on but let me be the lead lawyer.”
This suggestion was met with silence.
“Or maybe not,” Jasmine said. “But I thought it was at least worth suggesting.”
“I’m sorry,” Theresa responded. “I’ve got nothing against Mr. Arginot. It’s just that Thomas and I don’t want to be used as a fund-raising tool by Reverend Hester. W
e’ve got problems with some of his theology.”
“I can understand that.” Then Jasmine had a thought. “Would you be willing to let Arginot stay on if Hester couldn’t use your case to raise money?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Then I’ll immediately file a motion to get back in the case and note our appeal.” Jasmine swallowed hard—she didn’t like demoting people, even people as deserving of a demotion as Arginot. “I’ll call Arginot so you don’t have to.”
There was a long pause, and it sounded like Theresa was sniffling. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are,” she said at last. “This whole thing has just been overwhelming.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Jasmine replied. “But things will calm down in the next few days. They’ve got to.”
“I sure hope you’re right,” Theresa said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
Jasmine was a charter member of the Internet and IM generation, so she hated making phone calls. The rules of her generation were simple: Do everything online. IM is preferred; e-mail is old school. Cell phones are best used for text messaging and for talking to friends. Cell phone calls to a stranger are to be avoided at all costs and are almost as outdated as snail mail. Never, ever write a letter!
But this afternoon Jasmine was out of choices. She had two phone calls to make and neither would be any fun. She dialed the cell phone of David Arginot, hoping for voice mail. Instead, he answered.
After they exchanged pleasantries and Jasmine told him what a good job he was doing on television (a small lie that wouldn’t really do much harm), she jumped right into the real reason for her call. “Thomas and Theresa have retained me again to serve as lead counsel for the rest of the case. I filed the paperwork with the court about an hour ago. Since I’m only a third-year law student and I need a supervising lawyer, they’re asking you to stay on as well, though I’m the one who will take the lead in court.” She paused and braced herself.