66

Adamsville

Thomas sat next to Grace’s bed, helping her eat as they watched the evening news. Governor Allard feigned anger and waxed eloquent as he stood on the steps of the state capitol building and railed against Washington.

“We take care of our own state business,” he said. “We caught Brady Wayne Darby, we sentenced him to death, and by heaven, we’re going to carry it out. Delaying his fate even one more day would put an unnecessary financial burden on our taxpayers. The federal appellate court can stew over this as long as they want, but we have an execution date, and all the other mandatory appeals have failed. The condemned man himself, I remind my respected colleagues, pleaded guilty and has insisted all along that he will in no way cooperate with any attempt to overturn his sentence.”

“That’s the part Ravinia made him put in there,” Thomas said. “She had counsel from her learned father on that.”

Grace smiled. “She told me. Said you were afraid the governor would try to make it look like Brady was pushing the appeal.”

“This will put an end to it,” Thomas said. “The protesters will always be there, and I admire their devotion and tenacity, I really do. But any delay in this would be the most unpopular political move anyone could make.”

“Brady will get what he wants,” Grace said quietly. “It saddens me, but I know it’s the right thing.”

“Interesting,” Thomas said. “Brady said your illness made him sad.”

“Bless his heart. I wish I could record more music for him, but I just can’t.”

“He asks for the first one every time we meet. He’s got some of the songs down. You should hear him sing.”

Grace seemed to study Thomas. “You light up when you talk about him. You love that young man, don’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I care for him a great deal. He’s such a sad case.”

“But he’s also your spiritual stepchild. You’ve invested yourself in him.”

“It’s not just him. I’ve wanted to do this with any of the men all through the years. He’s just the first who’s seemed genuine. Did I tell you he’d like a picture of you and wondered if you’d mind if he taped it on his wall?”

“Sure, but not a recent picture. I don’t suppose they’d let you shoot a picture of him for me.”

“No, but there have been plenty in the papers.”

“He looked so forlorn in those.”

The phone rang. It was Ravinia. “Anything wrong?” Thomas said. “Summer okay?”

“We’re fine, Dad. I’ve asked Dirk if I can drop her off. I need to talk with you.”

“Urgent?”

“Sort of, but nothing personal, so nothing to worry about. I’ll be there within the hour.”

Death Row

Brady sat trying to memorize some verses from Matthew while letting one of Mrs. Carey’s songs echo in his mind. But he found it hard to sit still. He had spent much of the previous night penning a letter to his aunt Lois that began, “You’re going to find this hard to believe, but some of what you tried to teach me about God must have stuck, enough to make me worry what was going to happen to me when I die. . . .”

She would be disappointed to hear that he had not become a true believer until recently, but she would also be overjoyed to be sure about him now. Aunt Lois would insist on coming to see him. And finally, he would be more than ready.

That morning Brady was struck by an idea so bizarre that he began to believe it could have come only from God. He paced. He sat. He stood. He turned it over in his mind. Impossible. Could it work? He couldn’t wait to bounce it off someone. But he didn’t dare even suggest it to Chaplain Carey yet, not until he found out if it could even be done.

At his end-of-the-day meeting with his lawyer in the isolation unit, Brady gushed his idea.

Mrs. Carey-Blanc just sat there shaking her head and telling him all the reasons why it would never fly. Rules, regulations, protocol, procedure, no exceptions, and the list went on and on.

He just smiled at her.

“I’m not going to pursue this for you, Brady.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell.”

“You can’t tell it by me. Have you been listening? It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible. ‘I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.’ That’s from Philippians.”

“Yeah, I know. Chapter 4, verse 13. Don’t forget, I grew up with your spiritual adviser. I don’t mean to be flippant, Brady, but not even Christ can help you with this one. Simply not going to happen.”

“But you’ll try.”

Ravinia rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Sure you would. You know everything, and you’ve been working inside the system a long time.”

“I’d be laughed out of here,” she said.

“Just tell me you’ll try.”

“Brady, really, be serious. Think this through. Can you imagine the warden going for this? Uh-uh. No way.”

“I like your idea of starting with the warden,” he said.

“I said no such thing.”

“Start at the top; go right to the man.”

“You know what his nickname is?”

Brady shook his head.

“It’s Yanno.” She told him why.

“That’s funny.”

“Neither of us will find it funny when he throws in a few expletives.”

“But you’ll try?”

“Brady, don’t ask me to do this.”

“I’m asking.”

She sighed. “And you’ll take no for an answer?”

“Not from you.”

“From the warden?”

“Yeah, no.”

“Very funny. But seriously, Brady, if he says no, it’s over, right?”

“Okay, listen, ma’am, I know I’m new at this, and I’m not saying God spoke to me like He did to your dad, but I feel like He gave me this idea. If He did, no one can stand in the way of it, right?”

“Well, first of all, if you ever call me ma’am again, I’ll drop you as a client.”

“No you won’t. You like me.”

“I’m not even ten years older than you, so don’t be using matronly names for me. And the sad answer is, yes, even if God gave you the idea, someone can stand in the way of it. Not everybody here acknowledges God, you know.”

“And how about you?”

“Sorry?”

“You, Mrs. Carey-Blanc?”

“That’s personal, and I’d appreciate it if we kept our relationship on a professional—”

“Sorry. I mean, I just, you know, wondered if you still believe in Jesus or—”

“If you must know, I have not entirely thrown the baby out with the bathwater, as the saying goes. But God and I have not been on speaking terms for a long time.”

“The baby with the bathwater. I like that.”

“Never heard that before?”

“Oh, sure. But I figure you mean the baby Jesus.”

That stopped her somehow, left her silent. Finally she spoke, trying, he thought, to lighten the mood. “I’ll tell you what: if we get anywhere with the warden on this, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Then maybe you and God will be on speaking terms again.”

“That just might do it, but don’t press your luck. And I’m serious—I do not want to discuss my personal life with you.”

Adamsville

Thomas sat in his living room staring at his daughter. “That is so wrong on so many levels. You sure he was serious?”

She nodded. “He’s earnest, I’ll give him that.”

“Earnest is one thing,” Thomas said. “Insane is another. What an ugly idea. Well, I just hope his faith isn’t shattered when it gets shot down.”

“I’m already having second thoughts about even agreeing to pursue this,” Ravinia said. “If Brady just went through normal channels, it would never see the light of day. But now Yanno will have to take this seriously because a lawyer is involved.”

“That won’t worry him,” Thomas said. “He has every policy and procedure in the book backing him, and security overrides everything.”

“Still, I’m obligated to represent my client. I suppose I could be less than enthusiastic or even confide in the warden that I know it’s not going to fly but that I’m going through the motions.”

“That doesn’t sound ethical, Rav.”

“That’s why I’m here. Would you go with me when I talk with LeRoy?”

“Not if you want me as an ally. The whole thing hits me as grotesque. What was Brady thinking?”

“I figured you would like to see this happen, if there was any chance.”

“You know as well as I do that there is no chance. But even if there were, why would I like it?”

“Because his motives are pure, and think of the impact. Even I can see that. But I have to get the warden on board. And having another interested party along can only help.”

“So I’d be there to help intimidate Frank? Not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“You’d be there for me, Dad. If I’m to act in the best interest of my client, I need accountability. I hate to admit it, but alone I might cave and feel obligated to tell the warden I know it’s a long shot and blah, blah, blah. I mean, I agree with you that this has zero chance, but I told Brady I’d try.”

“I’m willing to go, but I prefer not to say anything unless asked.”

“He may ask about how Brady is doing. You know that better than anyone.”

“Sure, I can speak to that. But otherwise, I’m just there as moral support. Now you’d better check in on your mother, and feel free to wake her. She’ll be disappointed if she misses you.”

When Ravinia tiptoed into the bedroom, Thomas stood looking out the living room window, praying silently. What a cockamamy idea Brady had. It would make for an interesting meeting with the warden. Thomas could hardly wait to see the look on Yanno’s face.

When Rav emerged, she whispered, “She’s getting worse, isn’t she?”

Thomas nodded. “The doctor says she’ll slip a little further back after each remission, but that she has a few more remissions to enjoy too, if his guess is correct.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Dad. I would love to see it, but I just don’t know.”

“Me either. Listen, I’ve got an idea about our meeting with the warden, but it may seem duplicitous.”

“How delicious. I’m not above duplicity.”

“Well, call it more manipulation.”

“Even better, Dad. What?”

“I was just thinking that if you preceded laying out the idea to the warden with the fact that you expect a huge fight from the feds over this and so you wanted to come to him first, he’d have his back up right away. Nothing motivates him more than people who try to tell him what to do.”

“Sort of like me, eh?”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”