Read Online Joe Dillard - 02 - In Good Faith by Scott Pratt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scott Pratt
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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.”
Thursday, September 18
“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
“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.”
Thursday, September 18
“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
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