Scott Pratt - In good faith

“I guess so.”

“When do you start the new job?”

Robert Godsey’s father owned an insurance agency in Crossville. Sarah was going to work for him as a receptionist.

“I start next week.”

I took a deep breath and braced myself. I didn’t want to get into an argument with her on her last day in town, but there was something I wanted to get off my chest.

“Can I ask you a question without you getting all pissed off at me?” I said.

Her eyebrows arched.

“I’m serious. You know I love you and I only want the best for you.”

“You’re already hedging. What is it?”

“I guess I just want to ask you whether you’re sure about this. Really sure. You’ve only known this guy for a couple of months.”

“His name is Robert, and I’ve known him for close to a year.”

“But you’ve only been dating for a couple of months.”

“Three months, almost four,” she said.

“Exactly. So why do you feel the need to pack up and move almost two hundred miles away? Are you sure you don’t want to try the long-distance-relationship thing for a while and see how it goes? Get to know him a little better?”

“I’m leaving. The decision’s been made.”

“I know, but humor me for a minute. Does he make you thumpy?”

“Thumpy?”

“You know, pitty-pat. Fluttery. Heart pounding inside the chest when he comes into the room, that kind of thing. Caroline still does that to me.”

“I guess so.”

“You see? That’s what I mean. If he really made you thumpy, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not a teenager. It isn’t puppy love.”

“So you love him. You’re sure you love him.”

“He’s made me a better person. He led me to Jesus.”

“I think you were a good person before, and I guess that’s what’s really bothering me. Tell me this: Would you be going to Crossville if you hadn’t been baptized? Would Godsey accept you if you weren’t a born-again Christian? Or was that part of the deal?”

Sarah’s green eyes tightened. She’d always been quick-tempered, and I could see lines begin to stretch towards her temples like tiny pieces of white thread, a sure sign I’d made her angry.

“How dare you say something like that to me,” she said. “I think you’re jealous. I think you hate the fact that I’m growing beyond you, that I’m leaving you behind in more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a sinner, a nonbeliever. You have no faith. You think when you die you’re just going to rot in the ground, that there’s nothing beyond what you can see and touch and smell. I used to think the same thing, but I don’t anymore. I think you envy me for it.”

“You’re wrong. I’m worried about you.”

“Do you know what God did for you, Joe?” she said, the pitch of her voice rising. “Do you know He gave his only son for you? His only son? So you could be forgiven and have salvation? Think about that. Think about what a tremendous sacrifice that was.”

“I don’t want to debate the Christian religion with you, Sarah. I want you to think about what you’re doing. I don’t think this guy is right for you. I don’t think this whole thing is right for you.”

“I don’t care what you think.” She stood up from the table and picked up her purse.

“What are you doing?” I said. “Are you leaving? Can’t we have a civilized discussion about this?”

I got up and followed her back through the house.

“Wait,” I said. “C’mon, Sarah, please don’t leave. I’m sorry. I won’t say another word about it. Stay and eat.”

She kept walking.

“At least say good-bye to Caroline.”

She stormed out the front door and down the sidewalk. About halfway to her car, she stopped and turned around.

“Tell Caroline I said good-bye,” she said. “And tell her I’m sorry she’s married to an atheist. You’re going to hell, Joe. I feel sorry for you.”

“How’d you get roped into this?” Sheriff Leon Bates said. He was sitting in my office in his khaki uniform with brown epaulets.

“I volunteered for it, believe it or not,” I said.

Two months earlier, before I went to work for the DA’s office, Sheriff Bates and Judge Ivan Glass had gotten into a highly publicized pissing match. A public defender had filed a routine motion to suppress evidence in a drunk-driving case. During the hearing, a question arose about one of the sheriff’s department’s policies in giving Breathalyzer tests. Rather than take a recess and send someone to get a policies-and-procedures manual, Judge Glass ordered a bailiff to contact the sheriff and tell him to come to court immediately to clear up the matter. The bailiff called the sheriff, and the sheriff replied that he was busy, that he was an elected official just like the judge and that the judge didn’t have the authority to order him to court. Glass told the bailiff to call the sheriff back and tell him he’d be held in contempt if he didn’t show up in fifteen minutes. Sheriff Bates replied, “With all due respect, tell the court he can kiss my biscuits.”

Enraged, Judge Glass drafted a petition and charged Bates with contempt of court, a misdemeanor offense but still a crime. In order for Glass to convict Bates, the district attorney’s office had to prosecute the case in court. My second day on the job, Lee Mooney called me into his office and outlined the case for me. We both agreed that the judge had acted improperly, that there was no factual basis for the charge, and that the district attorney’s office should recommend immediate dismissal.

“Would you mind handling it in court?” Mooney had said. “I don’t want to get myself into the same situation as Bates.”

“I’d be happy to,” I said. “Judge Glass is one of my least-favorite people on the planet.”

Judge Ivan Glass and I had battled each other for more than a decade when I was practicing criminal defense. I’d successfully sued him when I was a rookie to make him stop jailing people who couldn’t afford to pay their fines and court costs, and he’d returned the favor by making me and my clients miserable at every opportunity. A little over a year earlier, he’d attempted to send my sister to the penitentiary for six years. I managed to keep him from doing so, but the hard feelings still lingered.

The day of the hearing on the Sheriff Bates contempt charge had arrived, and Bates was in my office for some last-minute counseling. I’d talked to him several times over the past forty-eight hours, and had come to genuinely like him. He was a tall, sturdy man in his mid-forties with light brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mischievous grin. He was as country as they came, but he had a keen mind and a no-nonsense attitude when it came to law enforcement. Bates had been in office for less than two years, but his department had already made more drug arrests than his predecessor did during his entire eight-year term. He’d also begun to take on the local underground gambling industry, a move that was unprecedented in northeast Tennessee.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate y’all doing this,” Bates said. “I was afraid I was gonna have to go out and hire me some shark defense lawyer. Just like you used to be.”

“No offense taken,” I said, “and I’m glad to do it. It’ll feel good to put Glass in his place for a change.”

“He’s gonna be one pissed-off hombre, especially with all the folks I’ve got coming.”

I’d asked Sheriff Bates whether he could pack the courtroom. He was a popular sheriff, and since the judge was also a politician, I thought things might go a bit more smoothly if Glass had to face a courtroom full of constituents.