The Judge Who Stole Christmas Page 11

  Jasmine leaned toward her sister. “Look, I know you’re having a tough game, a tough season. But this is your chance, Ajori. Coach isn’t here. That excuse is gone. Show these fans what you can do if you’re freed up to play.”

  Jasmine moved her legs back as Tamarika came skidding toward the bench, face-first, diving after a loose ball. She hopped up and looked at Jasmine. “Get my wingman back in here,” she demanded, nodding toward Ajori. “We’re comin’ back, Coach.” The lead had been whittled down to twenty-two.

  Jasmine met Ajori’s eyes. “How many threes you want?” Ajori asked.

  “One per minute.”

  “Okay, Coach.”

  As Ajori jogged to the scorer’s table, Jasmine thought about how weird it felt to be called coach by her little sister. Coach was a title reserved for some pretty special people. Her dad. Her college coach. Who in her life had been more important than them?

  Ajori’s first three was an air ball, but Jasmine didn’t care. By the fourth quarter her kid sister had found her range. And Tamarika was making some of the wildest, funkiest passes the Possum gym had seen in a long time. Too bad nobody could catch them.

  When Ginger fouled out on a clean block swatting some girl’s shot back toward half-court, the few hardy fans remaining actually stood and cheered. And Jasmine nearly fainted when Ginger stared the ref down before heading to the bench.

  “Attagirl,” Jasmine said.

  They lost by only twelve. And when Jasmine went into the locker room after the game, not a single head was hanging.

  SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 16

  To Theresa it felt like ninety-eight degrees on the set of the Morning Show. She smiled nervously as a blonde-haired lady named Deborah introduced Theresa and her kids to the nation. Theresa felt like an idiot. They had insisted that she wear bright red lipstick and gobs of makeup. At least Thomas wouldn’t be watching.

  Tiger and Hannah were both sitting quietly with their hands in their laps. She noticed with embarrassment how fast they were growing. Tiger’s pants were halfway up his shins, nearly showing off the tops of his cowboy boots. His skinny arms were keeping pace with his legs, and his suit-coat sleeves were also halfway up to his elbows. He and Hannah gawked openmouthed back and forth between the cameras and their host.

  The only person who looked at ease, other than the host, was the Reverend Freddie Hester. The man had more makeup caked on than Theresa, though he passed on the lipstick. His hair stood up about four inches, then swept back over his head like the mane of a stallion. He was smiling as he looked straight into the camera as if he might kiss it at any moment.

  “This was the scene at the Possum town square last night,” Deborah said. In the monitors in front of them, Theresa could see her husband setting up his manger scene to the wild applause of half the town of Possum and a few hundred other onlookers. Tiger nudged Hannah, pointing at the camera. “Shh,” Hannah said, though Tiger hadn’t actually spoken.

  “This morning, Thomas Hammond has been ordered to appear in court again to face further contempt charges.”

  Suddenly Deborah turned to face Theresa, concern etched deeply on the host’s pretty face. “Are you worried about your husband having to spend more time in jail, perhaps even Christmas?”

  Theresa’s mouth was dry and her tongue unwieldy. “Um . . . yes, we’re very worried.”

  “There are a lot of people who say your husband is well-intentioned but that he’s going about this the wrong way. Even some respected church leaders believe that he shouldn’t be defying a federal judge and the law. What would you say to them?”

  Wow. Theresa didn’t have the foggiest idea. In part, she agreed with these critics—but how could she say that? Before the show, Deborah had mentioned that she would ask a few easy questions about how this controversy made Theresa feel. Deborah said she wanted to put a personal face on the matter. But Deborah had never mentioned these accusations by respected church leaders.

  “I guess that’s their opinion,” Theresa managed. She was immediately struck by how dumb that sounded. Of course it was their opinion; hadn’t the host already established that?

  “But do you agree with it?”

  Reverend Hester chuckled, and the cameras swung toward him. “Obviously she doesn’t agree with it,” he said boldly. “That’s why this family—” he made a sweeping gesture toward Theresa and the kids—“is taking this courageous stand. The worship of God trumps the laws of men. That’s a principle as old as the ancient Jewish prophet Daniel.”

  For the next minute or so, the reverend lectured the host on the story of Daniel and the lions’ den while Deborah desperately tried to interrupt. Only the kids seemed the least bit interested. When Hester finished, Deborah turned a little more in her chair so she was looking right at Theresa, literally giving the reverend the cold shoulder.

  “What would you say to a Muslim who wanted to erect a memorial to Muhammad on the Possum town square during the holiday season?”

  Theresa didn’t know. Suddenly she felt like she was the one on trial, not her husband. “I guess I’d tell him that in America he should be free to do it. But I don’t know why he’d want to—since Christmas is a Christian holiday.”

  Deborah shifted forward a little in her seat. “But wouldn’t you agree that a manger scene in the town square can be potentially divisive? Some would say that at Christmas, of all times, we ought to put aside our differences and strive for peace. Why is your husband so insistent on pushing this now?”

  Theresa looked down for a moment and thought about this. “For Thomas it’s a matter of principle.”

  “And an important one at that,” the reverend said. But Deborah cut him off before he could get rolling.

  “We’re almost out of time. Let’s quickly hear from the Hammond children,” she said. “Hannah, what do you think about what your daddy is doing?”

  “He’s very brave,” Hannah said, staring wide-eyed into the camera.

  This brought a big smile from Hester.

  “Have you seen the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza yet?” Deborah asked.

  Hannah scrunched her face in confusion.

  “Not yet,” Hester said. “But we’re going to see it this afternoon, just before our Christmas Crusade in Madison Square Garden.”

  Deborah turned toward Tiger. “Now, for Tiger—” she glanced at the televangelist—“and only for Tiger—what do you think of your daddy?”

  “He’s brave,” Tiger said quickly, parroting Hannah. “And strong.”

  Theresa smiled to herself. Tiger always liked to one-up his sister.

  Deborah smiled too. “And what have you asked Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

  Tiger froze. Theresa could almost see the wheels turning in her son’s mind. She wondered if she should interrupt and tell the host they didn’t believe in Santa. But as usual, she was a few seconds too slow.

  “A puppy,” Tiger said.

  At this, Hannah’s mouth opened into a perfect little circle and she put her hand over it as if Tiger had just cussed on national television.

  “And what about your daddy—did you ask Santa for anything about your daddy?”

  “That he won’t be in jail.”

  “Awww,” said one of the women operating a camera.

  “And there you have it,” Deborah said, looking into the camera. “A judge determined to follow the law and a father determined to follow his conscience. This morning, we’ve talked with the family members stuck in the middle.”

  On Saturday morning Jasmine’s mom, as usual, was the first one up. By the time Jasmine made it to the kitchen, the coffee was brewed, the pancakes were piled high on a plate, and the bacon was frying.

  “Your client made the front page.” Bernice handed the paper to Jasmine.

  “Manger Madness Escalates” proclaimed the headline of the Virginian-Pilot. Jasmine skimmed the article quickly—all the predictable stuff about the separation of church and state and the rule of law. Halfway t
hrough the first column was a quote from David A. Arginot III, identified as the new attorney for Thomas Hammond, predicting all manner of victory in the courts.

  “He’s not my client, Mom. I withdrew.” Jasmine set the paper down and poured a cup of coffee.

  “Thought you had twenty-four hours to change your mind,” her mom said.

  “I did. But Thomas wouldn’t return my calls last night. And now the paper says he’s got a new lawyer.” Jasmine wasn’t quite sure how she felt about all this. Relieved? Yes. Now her New York job was intact. But also disappointed. “Besides, he wouldn’t follow my advice.”

  “His loss,” her mom said.

  They turned on the television while Jasmine sipped her coffee and helped herself to a couple of pancakes. Three times during breakfast, Bernice went upstairs to rouse Ajori. Finally, at just a few minutes before nine, Ajori stumbled into the kitchen, earphones and iPod already in place. She was dressed in her workout clothes and sandals.

  “You might want to heat up those pancakes,” Bernice said.

  “I’ll eat later.”

  “You want to call him again this morning?” Jasmine asked.

  “Huh?” Ajori took out an earbud.

  “You want to call him again this morning?”

  Ajori snorted. “Are you kidding?”

  A few minutes later, Ajori and Jasmine put on their fleeces, grabbed their gym bags, and headed out the door.

  They waited at the gym, along with the rest of the Possum Lady Bulldogs, for nearly forty-five minutes. The whole thing had been Jasmine’s idea. After last night’s game, she spent nearly an hour talking to the team about Coach Barker. “He got thrown out tonight sticking up for you,” Jasmine explained. “I don’t like his style either, but he’s just trying to make you the best ballplayers possible.”

  The girls were a tough sell—in part because Jasmine didn’t believe it herself. But she knew it was the right thing to tell them.

  She also knew that after every Friday night loss, Barker would call for a brutal Saturday morning practice. Though it took every one of her legally trained arguing muscles, Jasmine talked the girls into calling Barker and letting him know that they would be at the gym Saturday morning. Ajori had left the message on behalf of the team.

  But now, forty-five minutes after the scheduled starting time, Barker still hadn’t shown. “You want to call him again?” Jasmine asked her little sister.

  “Uh . . . no?” her sister declared as sarcastically as possible.

  As the team disbanded and the vehicles left the parking lot, Jasmine thought about Barker and grew furious. What kind of coach quit on his team? left his players hanging? What could he possibly be thinking?

  On the drive home, with Ajori riding in the passenger seat in her iPod-induced haze, Jasmine thought about the terrible chemistry between Barker and his team. This, in turn, made her miss her dad so much that she had to fight back the tears. Barker liked a style straight from the fifties. Her dad understood players. Her dad knew the game. He loved his teams. Her dad would never quit on his kids, even if they didn’t run the offense very well.

  Quitting. A sudden pang of guilt tingled through Jasmine’s spine. Wasn’t that her dad’s number one principle? Never ever quit. Quitters never win; winners never quit. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Can’t never could. The clichés that Jasmine hated so much now stormed through her brain. Whatever it takes . . . and a little bit more. The quote her dad gave the paper after the state championship loss: “This team’s never lost a game, though the clock ran out on us a few times.” The sign over the locker room door as they entered the gym: “Sacrifice Self for Team.”

  What would he think of her now? Bailing on Thomas. Running from a legal fight just because her client wouldn’t follow her advice . . . just because a future employer didn’t want the publicity.

  She knew the answer as soon as she allowed herself to ask the question. But there was nothing she could do about it now except to pray for one more chance.

  With each talk show on Saturday morning, Theresa’s doubts increased. Every host had questions that she couldn’t answer. What about the Muslims? Couldn’t Thomas set up the manger scene on church property? And the toughest one: Did she agree that the manger scene was just part of the history of a secular national holiday that was no longer regarded as a religious event?

  Of course she didn’t agree, but she didn’t want to disrespect the town’s justification for displaying the manger scene, either. Instead, she stumbled around and looked like a fool. Eventually, she settled for her old standby: “That was their opinion.”

  After the shows, a young assistant for Reverend Hester named Johnny whisked them around New York City. It was overwhelming—all the people and the monstrous buildings—and Theresa couldn’t help but stare at the tops of the huge skyscrapers like the tourist she was. The wind whipped through the streets and cut right through her wool winter coat. She hoped to see snow, but Johnny told her it was too cold to snow. Instead, their little crew stepped around the slush left from an earlier snowfall, with little piles of black snow and ice lining parts of the curb.

  They spent a few minutes gawking at the giant tree at Rockefeller Center and watching the ice skaters. “They’re not very good,” Tiger commented. Then Johnny hailed a cab, and they took a breathtaking ride to Herald Square and pushed their way through the revolving doors into Macy’s department store. It was the biggest store Theresa had ever seen—you could probably fit Possum inside it twice—and it was absolutely jammed with people from pretty much every country on earth. Before long they were swept up the escalators with the mobs headed for the toy department. When they got there, Tiger and Hannah wandered around for a half hour with their mouths agape, expanding their Christmas lists while exploring endless rows of gadgets and toys. Their trips to the Dollar Store would never be the same again.

  Just before they left, Theresa noticed Hannah linger near a shelf filled with dolls and become rather quiet. The dolls were chubby little replicas of babies that reminded Theresa of Bebo.

  She ran her hand down Hannah’s hair. “You okay?”

  “I wish Daddy could be here.”

  “Me too. But Daddy’s got a good lawyer. He’ll be fine.” Theresa had explained to the kids that Thomas had to be in court this morning. Even in the midst of touring New York City, she thought of little else.

  “When will we know what the judge said?” Hannah asked.

  “Daddy’s lawyer is going to call Mr. Johnny as soon as court’s over.” She knelt down and gave Hannah a reassuring hug. The little girl worried enough for both of them.

  “Will he go to jail?” It was the third time she had asked that question.

  Theresa leaned back, still kneeling, and looked into Hannah’s troubled eyes. She gently brushed the hair out of her daughter’s face. “Hannah, you know I can’t say for sure. But God won’t let anything bad happen.”

  “Look out!” Tiger yelled. Nearly thirty feet away, he had discovered a small battery-powered replica of a motorcycle and climbed on board. The thing was low to the ground, and now he was cruising down the aisle, dodging legs, and heading straight for Theresa. Johnny watched and smiled broadly.

  “Mom! Look at this!” Tiger yelled . . . just before the crash.

  They were heading back to the hotel when the call came on Johnny’s cell phone. He answered and listened for a moment. “She’s right here,” he said before handing the phone to Theresa.

  “Mrs. Hammond, this is David Arginot. Are you enjoying your time in New York?”

  “It’s been great.” Theresa waited, not interested in small talk.

  “Well,” Arginot said, “there’s no easy way to say this. Thomas is back in jail. We had a tough morning . . . but we’ll get this reversed on appeal, I can promise you that. . . .”

  Theresa felt like she’d been body slammed. Jail again! Despite her fervent prayers! Arginot rattled on about the details of the hearing—words that didn’t penetra
te Theresa’s stupor. She tried to act strong in front of the kids, gritting her teeth and forcing back the tears. She didn’t want to speak for fear the dam would break, but there was something she had to know—right now.

  “How long?” she asked, interrupting an explanation of the appeals process.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How long is he in for?” She glanced at the kids. Tiger stared at her. Hannah had her eyes closed in prayer.

  “Until he agrees not to set up the manger scene again on the Possum town square, or at midnight following Christmas Day, whichever comes first.”

  “Lord, help us.”

  A phone call with Thomas that afternoon eased Theresa’s mind somewhat. Still, it was hard to enjoy the plush New York hotel room knowing that Thomas would be spending another night in the cold confines of a Norfolk federal holding cell.

  “Can’t you just promise that you won’t do it again?” Theresa asked. “You’ve already made your point.”

  Thomas breathed into the phone, and Theresa immediately felt guilty for pressuring him. “You know I can’t do that, Theresa. You’ve just got to be strong.”

  Theresa was tired of being strong, though she didn’t say that to Thomas.

  A few hours later, as she stepped into the greenroom backstage at Madison Square Garden, Theresa had to summon every ounce of courage and strength that she had left. For nearly an hour the folks working for the Christmas Crusade told Theresa to relax and then did everything possible to make her nervous. First, they whisked her kids off to some “Bible Land” program that would take place in a side auditorium while the adults met on the main floor of the Garden. Then came the heavy makeup and the instructions about where she would be sitting onstage and how she should not worry about the large crowd but just consider them all part of her family. “It’s like having a nice little chat with a few thousand of your closest friends,” they joked. Then they practiced the questions that the Reverend Hester might ask her, listened to her answers, and gave her some gentle pointers about how to phrase things a little differently.