This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products 
of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance 
to actual events or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental. WAITING FOR MORNING published by 
Multnomah Publishers, Inc.
©1999 by Karen Kingsbury
Published in association with the literary agency of Arthur Pine Associates, 
Inc. International Standard Book Number: 1-59052-020-3
Cover images by Getty Images Cover design by The DesignWorks Group
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from:
The Holy Bible, New International Version (Niv) ©1973,1984 by International 
Bible Society, used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House Multnomah is a 
trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc., and
is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. The colophon is a 
trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc. Excerpts from the hymn Great is Thy 
Faithfulness by Thomas 0. Chisholm ©1923, Ren. 1951 Hope Publishing Company, 
Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. 
Used by permision.
Printed in the United States of America
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or 
transmitted, in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, 
recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission.
For information:
MULTNOMAH PUBLISHERS, INC.
PO. Box 1720
Sisters, Oregon 97759
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kingsbury, Karen.
Waiting for moming/by Karen Kingsbury.
P.M. ISBN 1-57673-415-3 (alk. paper)
1-59052-020-3 1. Title.
. PS3561.1483L66 1999 813'.54dc21
04 05060708 -- 15 14 13 12 11 10
Dedicated to
my best f riend, Donald, If life's a dance...
then I pray the music keeps playing f orever Being married to you is the 
sweetest song of all.
98-45973
CIP
To Kelsey,
my softhearted little Norm, I can see in you the beautiful young woman you are 
becoming...
especially your eyes,
which so closely resemble your dad's and your Father's.
To Ty,
my precious son... whose flowers have given me
the most beautiful bouquet of memories. I cherish watching you grow
in the image of the daddy you so clearly emulate.
To Austin,
my greatest miracle... watching you throw the ball and make layups
is daily proof of God's unending love and faithfulness,
even in the darkest days.
And to God Almighty,
Who has for now-blessed me with these.
7 Where Yesterday Lives When Joy Came to Stay 
On Every Side A Time to Dance 
A Time to Embrace (sequel to A Time to Dance) One Tuesday Morning 
Oceans Apart 
THE FOREVER FAITHFUL SERIES Waitng for Morning 
A Moment of Weakness Ha fway to Forever 
THE REDEMPTION SERIES (Co-written with Gary Smalley) Redemption 
Remember Return Rejoice Reunion 
THE RED GLOVES CHRISTMAS SERIES Gideon's Gift 
Maggie's Miracle Sarah's Song 
www karenkingsburycom 
Writing a novel about the devastating effects of drunk driving was a difficult, 
emotional journey and one that could not have been taken without borrowing from 
the pain of others. Searching for that dark place of despair and devastation, I 
read countless stories of tragic, senseless loss. I pored over the Mothers 
Against Drunk Drivers Memorial web site and often conducted research through 
eyes blurred with tears. 
For that reason, I wish to thank Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and every person 
who has ever helped change or tighten a drunk driving law. You may never know 
this side of heaven all the lives you have saved in the process. I pray you keep 
on. 
Thanks also to the amazing staff at Multnomah Publishers. From sales to 
marketing to cover design to publicity... please know that God is working 
through you in ways that will con tinue to produce books that change lives, 
especially books like this. Thanks so much for all your help. 
Of course, as with my last book, my writing would be noth ing without the 
God-given talents of my editor, Karen Ball. You are a friend and a mentor, and I 
hope to keep learning from you as long as the Lord allows. Thanks a million 
times over. 
Also thanks to my husband and family for their support and encouragement during 
what is always an emotional process-the writing of a novel. I am nothing without 
your collective smiles, cheers, hugs, and endless love throughout the days. 
As with other projects, my parents and extended family were again an 
encouragement that I value deeply Thanks to you and to the friends in my women's 
Bible study and other close sisters in Christ who hold me in prayer, asking the 
Lord to use my writing for his glory. 
And finally, a special thanks to my dear friend, Julie Kremer. 
9 One day nearly a decade ago, Julie's husband got a phone call from their 
teenage daughter. Her friend's car had broken down on the side of the road. 
Julie's husband did not hesitate but left immediately to help.
While he was out, he was hit and killed by a drunk driver, leaving Julie and two 
teenage children alone.
I never knew Julie's husband, but I will forever be touched by the way Julie 
forgave. She brought a Bible to the man who killed her husband, and after that, 
continued to keep her eyes on the Lord.
Thank you, Julie, for teaching me what it is to forgive... and
for giving me a reason to write Waiting for Morning.
I am in torment within, and in my heart I am disturbed.
LAMENTATIONS 1:20A
Sunday Evening
They were late and that bothered her.
She had been through a list of likely explanations, any one of which was 
possible. They'd stopped for ice cream; they'd forgotten something back at the 
campsite; they'd gotten a later start than usual.
Still Hannah Ryan was uneasy. Horrific images, tragic possibilities threatened 
to take up residence in her mind, and she struggled fiercely to keep them out.
The afternoon was cooling, so she flipped off the air conditioning and opened 
windows at either end of the house. A hint of jasmine wafted inside and mingled 
pleasantly with the pungent scent of Pine-Sol and the warm smell of freshly 
baked chocolate chip cookies.
Minutes passed. Hannah folded two loads of whites, straightened the teal, plaid 
quilts on both girls' beds again, and wiped down the Formica kitchen countertop 
for the third time. Determined to fight the fear welling within her, she wrung 
the worn, pink sponge and angled it against the tiled wall. More air that way, 
less mildew. She rearranged the cookies on a pretty crystal platter, 
straightened a stack of floral napkins nearby, and rehearsed once more the plans 
for dinner.
The house was too quiet.
Praise music. That's what she needed. She sorted through a stack of compact 
discs until she found one by David Jeremiah.
11 Good. David Jeremiah would be nice. Calming. Upbeat. Soothing songs that 
would consume the time, make the waiting more bearable.
She hated it when they were late. Always had. Her family had been gone three 
days and she missed them, even missed the noise and commotion and constant mess 
they made.
That was all this was. . .just a terrible case of missing them. David Jeremiah's 
voice filled the house, singing about when the Lord comes and wanting to be 
there to see it. She drifted back across the living room to the kitchen. Come 
on, guys. Get home.
She stared out the window and willed them back, willed
the navy blue Ford Explorer around the corner, where it would
move slowly into the driveway, leaking laughter and worn-out
teenage girls. Willed her family home where they belonged.
But there was no Explorer, no movement at all save the subtle sway of branches 
in the aging elm trees that lined the cul-desac. 
Hannah Ryan sighed, and for just a moment she considered
the possibilities. Like all mothers, she was no stranger to the
tragedies of others. She had two teenage daughters, after all,
and more than once she had read a newspaper article that hit
close to home. Once it was a teenager who had, in a moment
of silliness, stood in the back of a pickup truck as the driver
took off. That unfortunate teen had been catapulted to the
roadway, his head shattered, death instant. Another time it was
the report of an obsessive boy who stalked some promising
young girl and gunned her down in the doorway of her home.
When Hannah's girls were little, other tragedies had jumped off the newspaper 
pages. The baby in San Diego who found his mother's button and choked to death 
while she chatted on the phone with her sister. The toddler who wandered out the 
back gate and was found hours later at the bottom of a neighbor's murky pool.
It was always the same. Hannah would absorb the story,
10
reading each word intently, and then, for a moment, she would imagine such a 
thing happening to her family. Better, she thought, to think it through. Play it 
out so that if she were ever ,the devastated mother in the sea of heartache that 
spilled from the morning news, she would be ready. There would be an initial 
shock, of course, but Hannah usually skimmed past that detail. How could one 
ever imagine a way to handle such news? But then there would be the reality of a 
funeral, comforting friends, and ultimately, life would go on. To be absent from 
the body is to be present with the Lord; wasn't that what they said? She knew 
this because of her faith.
No, she would not be without hope, no matter the tragedy. Of course, these 
thoughts of Hannah's usually happened in less time than it took her to fold the 
newspaper and toss it in the recycling bin. They were morbid thoughts, she knew. 
But she was a mother, and there was no getting around the fact that somewhere in 
the world other mothers were being forced to deal with tragedy.
Other mothers.
That was the key. Eventually, even as she turned from the worn bin of 
yesterday's news and faced her day, Hannah relished the truth that those 
tragedies always happened to other mothers. They did not happen to people she 
knew-and certainly they would not happen to her.
She prayed then, as she did at the end of every such session, thanking God for a 
devoted, handsome husband with whom she was still very much in love, and for two 
beautiful daughters strong in their beliefs and on the brink of sweetsixteen 
parties and winter dances, graduation and college. She was sorry for those to 
whom tragedy struck, but at the same time, she was thankful that such things had 
never happened to her.
Just to be sure, she usually concluded the entire process with a quick and 
sincere plea, asking God to never let happen to her and hers what had happened 
to them and theirs.
13 
In that way, Hannah Ryan had been able to live a fairly worry-free life. Tragedy 
simply did not happen to her. Would not. She had already prayed about it. 
Scripture taught that the Lord never gave more than one could bear. So Hannah 
believed God had protected her from tragedy or loss of any kind because he knew 
she couldn't possibly bear it. 
Still, despite all this assurance, tragic thoughts haunted her now as they never 
had before. 
David Jeremiah sang on about holding ground, standing, even when everything in 
life was falling apart. Hannah listened to the words, and a sudden wave of 
anxiety caused her heart to skip a beat. She didn't want to stand. She wanted to 
run into the streets and find them. 
She remembered a story her grandmother once told about a day in the early 
seventies when she was strangely worried about her only son, Hannah's uncle. All 
day her grandmother had paced and fretted and prayed.... 
Late that evening she got the call. She knew immediately, of course. Her son had 
been shot that morning, killed by a Viet Cong bullet. A sixth sense, she called 
it later. Something only a mother could understand. 
Hannah felt that way now, and she hated herself for it. As if by letting herself 
he anxious she would, in some way, be responsible if something happened to her 
family. 
She reminded herself to breathe. Motionless, hands braced on the edge of the 
kitchen sink, shoulders tense, she stared out the window Time slipped away, and 
David Jeremiah sang out the last of his ten songs. Lyrics floated around her, 
speaking of the Lord's loving anus and begging him not to let go, not to allow a 
fall. 
Hannah swallowed and noticed her throat was thick and dry. Two minutes passed. 
The song ended and there was silence. Deafening silence. 
The sunlight was changing now, and shadows formed as evening drew near. In all 
ways that would matter to two 
12 
teenage girls coming home from a mountain camping trip with their father, it 
couldn't have been a nicer day in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Bright and warm, a 
sweet, gentle breeze sifted through the still full trees. Puffy clouds hung 
suspended in a clear blue sky, ripe with memories of lazy days and starry 
nights. 
It was the last day of a golden summer break. What could possibly go wrong on a 
day like this? 
15 How deserted lies the city, once so full of people! 
LAMENTATIONS L1A 
Sunday before Dawn 
Long before the sun came up, Dr. Tom Ryan stirred from his rumpled sleeping bag 
and nudged the lumpy forms on either side of him. 
"Pssst. Wake up. One hour 'til sunrise." 
The sleeping figures buried themselves deeper in the down filled bags, and one 
of them groaned. 
"Ahhh, Dad. Let's sleep in." 
Tom was already on his feet, folding his sleeping bag in a tight, Boy-Scout roll 
and wrapping it with a nylon cord. He poked his toe first at one form, then the 
other, tickling them and evoking a giggle from the chief complainer. 
"Daaad. Stop!" 
"Up and at 'em. We have fish to catch." 
Alicia Ryan poked her head out of her bag. "We have enough fish." 
Tom was indignant. "Enough fish? Did I hear a Ryan daugh ter say we have enough 
fish? Never enough fish. That's our creed. Now come on, get up." 
More groans, and finally Jenny Ryan's mass of blond curls appeared near the top 
of her sleeping bag. "Give it up, Alicia. You know how Dad is on the last day" 
"That's right." Tom was already pulling a sweater on. "The last day of the Ryan 
camping trip is famous for being the best day to catch fish." 
17 
Alicia sighed and struggled to sit up. She reached for a rubber band and shook 
her thick brown hair, gathering it into a ponytail. At that hour, Cachuma Lake 
was cold and damp, and
Alicia shivered as she pulled her sleeping bag around her shoulders once more. 
"What time is it anyway?"
"Not important." Tom unzipped the tent and ducked through the opening. "Time is 
for the civilized world. Today, there is only us and the fish."
Alicia and jenny glanced at each other, rolled their eyes,
and snickered. "We're coming," Alicia shouted after him. They
stretched and climbed into their jeans and sweatshirts.
The annual camping trip was held at Cachuma Lake mostly because it was famous 
for its fishing. Nestled in the mountains northeast of Santa Barbara off San 
Marcos pass, the lake was a crystal blue oasis in a canyon that typically 
experienced temperatures twenty degrees higher than those on the nearby coast. 
Swimming was not allowed in Cachuma Lake, which supplied all the drinking water 
to Santa Barbara. For that reason it attracted puritan fishermen, those to whom 
fishing was a serious venture.
Each year Tom Ryan and his girls spent three days at the
lake. Days were devoted to fishing-and occasionally drifting
near enough to a secluded cove to watch deer graze unaware.
Sometimes they fished in comfortable silence, but many hours
were spent with Tom and his teenage girls talking about boys
or the importance of a college education or what it meant to
live a life that pleased the Lord. There were lighter moments on
the water as well, particularly when they recalled embarrassing
escapades or memories of other camping trips. Once in a while
they laughed so hard they rocked the boat and scared away the
fish.
There were afternoon hikes along the narrow shoreline
trails, and sometimes they would drive ten minutes to nearby
Zaca Lake for a swim or a nap on the beach. Back at the campsite
they built a bonfire each evening, cleaned fish, and fried
16
them for dinner. Then in the hours before they turned in, the girls would play 
cards while their father played his worn acoustic guitar and sang favorite hymns 
and church choruses.
Campsites were not far from the shore, hidden among gnarled oak trees and 
without the benefit of running water or modern bathroom facilities. The Ryans 
brought water in tengallon jugs, food in an oversized Coleman cooler, and an old 
canvas tent that had been in the family for fifteen years. Camping at Cachuma 
Lake was roughing it at its best, and Tom Ryan wouldn't have taken his girls 
anywhere else.
Jenny stuffed her sleeping bag into its sack and poked her sister in the ribs. 
"Hey, since it's the last day and all, I just might have to catch more fish than 
you." She was the youngest, and a friendly competition had always existed 
between the two.
"Oh, okay" Alicia pretended to be concerned. "I'll try to be worried about it."
Tom kept their aluminum fishing boat docked lakeside while they camped, so there 
was little to carry as he and the girls waved their flashlights at the trail and 
made their way to the water.
"It's freezing!" Jenny's loud whisper seemed to echo in the early morning 
silence. The path was damp and still, awaiting the crest of new-day sunshine to 
warm it and stir life into the wooded shoreline.
"Remember that feeling this afternoon when we're packing the gear and its a 
hundred degrees." Tom grinned.
"I can't believe it's been three days already" Alicia moved close to Jenny so 
that the girls walked shoulder to shoulder. "Time flies when you're fishing, 
that's what I always say"
Tom inhaled the air, filled with energy, loving the early hour of the day
They climbed into the boat and took their seats, adjusting their flashlights so 
each could see. Tom watched the girls with
20 pride. Like experienced fishermen, they maneuvered about the tackle box and 
baited their hooks.
"We're off." He flipped the switch on the battery-powered motor, and a deep 
puttering sound broke the reverie. The sun was climbing quickly, and the girls 
set aside their flashlights as the boat slipped away from shore.
Four hours later they were back. Jenny was the winner with three catfish, two 
bass, and a beautiful twelve-inch rainbow trout.
"You guys aren't much competition." She held up her string and sized up her 
catch. "You were right, Dad, nothing like an early morning run on the lake."
"Oh, be quiet." Tom laughed and shoved his youngest daughter playfully. He and 
Alicia had caught just five fish between them. "Let's get back to camp. We have 
a lot to do if we're going to be on the road by two."
Alicia stepped out of the boat and led the way up the trail toward camp. 
Suddenly jenny stiffened and pointed at the trail in front of her sister.
"Alicia!" Jenny's scream was shrill and piercing. Tom and Alicia froze, and Tom 
followed jenny's pointing finger.... There, coiled two feet from Alicia's muddy 
hiking boots, was a hissing diamondback rattlesnake.
Tom's heart jumped wildly. "Alicia-" he kept his voice calm, "don't move, 
honey." He pulled jenny away and motioned for her to move farther behind him. He 
had treated snakebites before, but he'd never encountered a snake. This one was 
already angry and easily within striking distance.
"What should I do, Daddy?" Alicia sounded like a scared little girl.
God, please, protect my girl. And give me wisdom...
"Okay, honey-" he spoke quietly and with more confidence than he felt-"don't let 
your feet drag in the dirt. Lift them one at a time. . .very slowly. . .and walk 
backward, away from the snake."
18
Alicia whimpered. "He's staring at me, Daddy. What if he bites me?"
"You'll be all right, sweetheart. That won't happen if you up slowly" Please, 
God, let me be right. "He doesn't want to back
bite you."
Alicia nodded. She was an energetic girl, ambitious and rarely given to moments 
of stillness. But now she moved painstakingly slow, and Tom was as proud of her. 
Right loot h sf t;
sright foot, left. Three feet, the separated
ing snake. Right foot, left. . .right foot, left.
him. pulled her
Tom grabbed her hand and
wheretJennydwaited Together they backed up
for them. Alicia crumpled in her father's arms and started to cry.
"0h, Daddy, I was so scared," she mumbled into his grubby T-shirt.
Tom could feel his pulse could returning to snakebites when hedwas stroked her 
hair silently. H ere, an in an emergency room with
might not have nmade it~` Thank hour from urgent care, „
you, God." Then to Alicia, "You did it just right, honey.
around her father Jenny moved in then, wrapping her arms
and sister. "I thought you were g f you hadn't screamed." goin to step on Alicia 
looked at
Both girls shuddered, and there was a pause while they
clung to their father. Fifteen feet away, the snake stopped hissing,
uncoiled, and slithered off the path into the shrubbery.
Tom broke the silence. u know him, trunning
Alicia sniffled loudly and pulled away from
quickly
her palms over her jeans. "What?" spread "He wanted to see jenny's catch. had to 
see for himself."
along the shoreline in these parts.
Alicia and jenny grinned and wordlessly cued each other so that they ganged up 
on him and rubbed their knuckles against his head.
21 
"Okay, okay, come on, you monkeys." He took their hands and led them once more 
toward the campsite. "Let's get the site cleaned up and the car loaded. Mom's 
waiting for us.," 
20 
9Z,~
Brian Wesley's body lay contorted, twisted underneath the rear axle of a `93 
Honda Civic, while heat from the sweltering Los Angeles pavement radiated 
through his flesh. He drew breaths in quick, raspy gulps. In the cramped, dark 
place where he lay, the stench of grease and gasoline was suffocating. His pulse 
banged loud and fast, the sound of it nearly drowning out the roar of nearby 
traffic. He had to get air, had to calm the wild beating of his heart, the 
violent trembling of his hands, and the anxiety that engulfed him. 
It had been three weeks since he'd had a drink. 
Brian wiped the sweat and grime from his hands onto his worn Levi's and used the 
last of his remaining strength to steady his fingers. With fierce determination 
he gripped the torque wrench and made one final turn. There. He tried to breathe 
more slowly. One Civic rear axle, good as new. Three repairs to go. 
If only he could take a few moments to settle his nerves, sip some cool water, 
maybe chew a piece of mint gum or eat a candy bar. Something, anything, before 
he lost his mind. Every part of him was screaming for a drink. He closed his 
eyes, and he could feel the fiery liquid sliding over his lips, satisfying the 
craving that coursed through his veins. 
From somewhere near the shop's office, he heard footsteps. They were loud and 
threatening, making their way toward him. 
"Wesley!" The voice barked out over the sound of humming machinery and noisy 
afternoon traffic. 
From underneath the Honda, Brian studied his boss's shoes and struggled to 
compose himself. He had seen this coming for 
23 days. He straightened his legs and used the heels of his worn work boots to 
push himself out from underneath the car.
"Yeah?" He blinked twice and felt his lip twitch wildly.
Steve Avery, shop manager and owner of Avery Automotive, sized him up like a 
sack of rotting leftovers. Brian stood and noticed his hands were shaking badly. 
He forced them into his pockets with a nervous jerk. Avery muttered something 
about laziness and then turned abruptly
"Follow me."
I'm finished. Brian swallowed painfully. Too many guys, not
enough work.
They made their way past several cars in various states of
repair and then through a door down a long corridor. Once
inside, the roar of the garage died instantly Avery led the way
and made no effort at small talk as they entered a boxy, airconditioned
office.
"Sit down, Wesley" The boss remained standing, sifting
through heaps of clutter that covered his imitation oak desk.
He did not look at Brian. "I'm laying you off, effective today"
Brian gulped and his heart rate doubled. "Me?"
Avery looked over the rim of his glasses and glowered making Brian feel like a 
fearful failure of a man. "Yes." Avery spat the word. "Know why?"
Brian shook his head. He couldn't breathe, so talking was
out of the question.
"Complaints, Wesley That Honda was supposed to be done
two days ago. These past three weeks you've had more customer
complaints than in all your six months combined."
"Well-" Brian tried to steady his voice-"I know business is slow and, uh, with 
less guys we each have a lot more work and all. So, uh, if you wanna cut my 
hours some maybe we could, you know, work something out."
Avery stared at him, one eyebrow slightly elevated. "This has nothing to do with 
slow business. It's you, Wesley. You're the one who's slow You're lazy and 
you're making stupid mis22 
takes. There's no discussion here. You're finished."
For an instant Brian thought his anger might actually overcome his anxiety "Now 
wait a minute-!" He rose to his feet. "Sit down!"
Brian's knees buckled as he collapsed back onto the metal folding chair.
"You're not pulling your weight, Wesley. Get your things and leave."
Brian hung his head and rose slowly to his feet. Before the door closed behind 
him, he felt the distinct blow of one more verbal dagger.
"Too bad you gave up the bottle....You work better drunk."
Brian stormed around the garage while the others worked quietly, keeping to 
themselves. He snatched his extra work shirt from the office closet, grabbed his 
power drill off a dusty shelf, and painstakingly picked up dozens of bits and 
ratchets, organizing them into his tool chest. Finally, he rolled the ten-drawer 
red steel container toward his pickup and, with the help of a buddy, heaved it 
into the bed of his beat-up, white Chevy pickup. 
He climbed into the truck, grabbed the wheel with both hands, and dropped his 
head in defeat.
Brian knew Avery's dig was a lie. He wasn't a better mechanic when he was 
drinking. Fast maybe, but too sloppy. It was why he'd lost every job he'd ever 
gotten in the past five years. Customers smelled alcohol on his breath and 
reported him to the boss, or he'd drink through lunch hour and forget to report 
back until the next morning.
The drinking had been killing him, destroying him and Carla and everything he'd 
ever dreamed or desired.
He had tried to quit once three years before. He'd lasted two days. Two lousy 
days before he woke up in the front seat of his parked car, outside a shady 
liquor store, at four o'clock in
25 
i
i
11
the morning, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying on the floor next to him.
After that he'd been a binge drinker for two years. There
were five DUIs, two license suspensions, numerous alcohol
education classes, and two separate car accidents-once when
he rear-ended a neighbor's car and wound up in a head-on collision
with a maple tree a block from home, and again when he
pulled onto the freeway headed the wrong way. Someone had
flashed headlights at him, and he'd turned into a guardrail,
narrowly averting a tragedy No one was really hurt in either
accident, and he continued to drink-often waking up with a
raging headache and no idea how he'd gotten home.
Carla cried and begged and threatened to leave, but she wasn't serious. Life 
would always go on as it had-his addiction far more powerful than he.
But all that changed six months earlier when Carla gave
birth to their first child, a son, Brian Jr. The boy was a precious
reminder of everything Brian had forgotten about life, a tiny
living incentive that kindled within him a strong desire to
change.
After Brian Jr.'s birth, Brian got the job at Avery Automotive
and cut back on his drinking. Finally, three weeks ago, he quit
for good. It hadn't been easy He'd been forced to break ties
with Big Al, his drinking partner, and he'd avoided driving by
his favorite bars. His hands trembled nonstop, and he had frequent
anxiety attacks.
But for the first time in his twenty-eight years, he believed
he was a different man. He pictured himself putting in another
two years at Avery Automotive and then taking a job with one
of the dealers. A high-paying job with medical benefits and a
dental plan. He'd buy a new truck and maybe some better
tools. Eventually, he and Carla and Brian Jr. could move out of
the noisy apartment and rent a small house in a safe neighborhood.
These were big dreams for Brian Wesley, and they had kept
24
him sober when he didn't think he could last another moment. Now, though, his 
dreams were good as dead.
He drove out of the shop's parking lot and considered his options. Left turn or 
right? Left and a mile west on Ventura Boulevard was The Office-a dimly lit 
sports bar where Brian had drunk away numerous paychecks in the past decade. 
Right and two miles east was the apartment complex where Carla and Brian Jr. 
would be spending the afternoon blissfully unaware of Brian's job status.
Right. Turn right. His hands trembled more violently and a thin line of 
perspiration formed on his upper lip. Panic simmered in his belly, and he 
gripped the steering wheel harder.
Just one drink, another voice argued. One drink with the guys, enough to find 
the courage to face Carla. He could feel the cool glass, smell the heady scent 
of forbidden liquor. One drink. Just one drink.
He turned his head and stared east. Carla and Brian Jr.
Carla would be so disappointed. Especially after he'd struggled to stay clean 
these past weeks. His arms were shaking now, his knees starting to knock. The 
drink was calling him, insisting. One drink... one small drink.
Three weeks of sobriety had to be worth something, some kind of reward. Besides, 
if he went home now, he and Carla would have it out, and he'd only wind up out 
after dark looking for any bottle he could get his hands on. Do it now, the 
voice said. Just one drink. One drink. Calm your nerves and then go home. She'll 
never know the difference.
"I can't... can't let 'em down," he hissed through clenched teeth. He could go 
home now, tell her the truth, and by tomorrow have a job somewhere else. There 
were dozens of garage jobs out there. "Just go home." He could feel the anxiety 
choking his voice, making each breath a struggle. "Come on. You can do it."
He inhaled. It was hard to get enough air. He set his jaw and forced the wheel 
to the right, toward Carla and Brian Jr.
27 
I Illy'
all
Then, at the last possible moment, he wrenched the wheel in the other direction, 
and his pickup swung to the left.
In three minutes he was at The Office. And as he walked inside he could almost 
feel that first drink sliding smoothly down his throat, washing away his fears 
and anxiety-and all that remained of his dying dreams.
Nick Crabb was tending bar at The Office that afternoon, straightening bottles 
and wiping down the counter when a wide-eyed man walked in and stared at him.
"Where's Rod?" The man's feet seemed planted in the entryway:
Rod Jennings was manager at The Office. He worked five
days a week and from everything Nick knew about him, he
hadn't missed a shift in two years. Rod had a special thing with
the regulars, and the guy standing before him had the unmistakable
look of someone who had done a great deal of drinking.
Nick dried his hands on a damp towel. "Sick. Food poisoning."
The man blinked and then his shoulders slumped and he
sighed. "Figures." He moved toward the bar slowly, hesitating
with every step. His hands were shaking, and he glanced over
his shoulder nervously
"Get you a drink?"
The man continued forward in jerky motions until he
worked himself onto a stool. "Whiskey on the rocks, straight
up." He drummed his fingers anxiously on the bar, his eyes
darting from bottle to bottle.
Nick hesitated for a moment. There was something strange
about the guy... still he was a customer. Nick grabbed a tumbler,
filled it with ice and whiskey, and set it on the bar. "You
know Rod?"
"Yeah... old friends, Rod and me." The man's hands trembled
26
so badly that when he raised his glass he lost a few drops. Then he put the 
glass to his mouth and the drink disappeared. He
set the glass down hard. and with more confidence nodded toward the bottle. 
"Another."
In the other room the opening theme to Rocky II began playing. Nick poured a 
second drink. And a third. And another and another and another.
By the time the sad-looking man at the bar was on his twelfth or thirteenth 
drink in less than two hours, Nick was beginning to get worried. If only Rod 
were there. He would know whether the man had passed his limit. As it was, Nick 
had no idea. He was new at The Office-working to pay tuition at California State 
University Northridge. He watched the man nervously. He'd never had to cut 
anyone off before. Besides, the guy was Rod's friend. The last thing he wanted 
to do was offend the boss's buddy.
Nick wandered into the lounge where Rocky II was down to the final fight scene. 
Over the past two hours, an occasional customer had wandered in for a quick 
drink, but for the most part it was just the lone customer at the bar. From 
across the room Nick heard the man tap his glass impatiently.
"Another. Get in here and give me another."
His speech wasn't slurred. But he was getting loud and overbearing. Nick sighed 
and returned to the bar. "You sure?" The man narrowed his eyes. "Don't get smart 
with me." Nick shrugged and reached for the bottle. "You might want
to give it a rest, that's all." He nodded toward the television. "Catch the last 
part of Rocky or something." He splashed house whiskey into a fresh glass of 
ice, and the man took it roughly He downed it in three gulps and tossed several 
ten-dollar bills in Nick's direction. He stood then, somewhat slowly, and 
reached into his pocket, fumbling for something. Nick was about to offer to help 
when the man stopped and stared at him, his expression suddenly vulnerable.
"You know-" his voice was low and Nick strained to hear
30 
Ilii
4
him-"Rod should have been here."
Nick counted the money and placed it in the cash register. "I told you, he's 
sick."
The man nodded and began fumbling in his pockets again.
This time he found his keys, gripped them tightly in his fingers,
and looked up. "Rod would have called her."
Nick cocked his head back and studied the stranger. It almost looked like there 
were tears in his eyes. "Called who?" "Carla ...and then none of this ever would 
have happened." Nick leaned against the bar and crossed his arms. "Who's Carla?"
The man's expression hardened again. "Ah, forget it. You
know, there ain't nothing wrong with this world can't be fixed
with a drink or two."
Nick studied his customer. "Whatever you say"
The man stared at him through narrow eyes. "What would you know about it? You 
work back there, looking down at guys like me, guys who drink too much."
"Hey, you okay, man?" Maybe, just maybe, this guy shouldn't be driving. Even if 
he didn't seem drunk.
The man clutched his keys tightly and shook his head. "Never mind me...get back 
to work." He turned around and headed for the door.
"Hey, wait a minute. Answer me." Nick came after him.
"You okay? To drive, I mean?"
The man stopped and turned around. "Mind your own business."
Suddenly Nick was sure. The man shouldn't be driving.
"Hey, buddy, why don't you sit down for a minute. I'll call you
a cab. It'll be on me."
"You tryin' to say I can't drive myself home?"
"I'm saying I'll hire you a cab, man., Either that or wait a while before you 
leave."
A string of expletives split the air. "I'll do whatever I want.
And right now I'm going home."
28
Nick wasn't convinced, but the situation seemed out of his hands. His boss had 
laid out the definition of a drunk on the you first day: worried them, ask. fine
Yeah, well, Nick had asked. were still
There was nothing more he could do.
The man reached for the barroom door handle and missed, grabbing a fistful of 
air and nearly falling onto the floor in the process. Then with a jolt he threw 
his body against the door and disappeared into the parking lot.
Nick cringed. Several minutes later he heard the roar of a truck and then the 
sound of squealing tires as someone pulled out of the parking lot onto Ventura 
Boulevard.
Tom glanced at the clock and grimaced. They'd gotten on the road later than he'd 
wanted, but they'd still be home before dinner. He glanced at his daughters and 
grinned.
They had been driving for nearly two hours, and still the girls had not run out 
of things to talk about. School was about to start and with the annual camping 
trip behind them, jenny and Alicia clearly couldn't wait to see their friends, 
get their class schedules, catch up on the latest teenage gossip. Tom glanced at 
them in the rearview mirror of the family's Ford Explorer. Sweet, silly, 
precious girls.
He sighed and tried to memorize their giggling faces. They were fifteen and 
thirteen that year, and Tom knew his summers with them were numbered. His little 
girls were growing up.
Years ago when he and Hannah married, he had assumed they'd have sons. When 
instead they had Alicia and Jenny, Tom made the most of the situation. The girls 
went fishing with him every summer from the time they were able to walk. They 
tossed a football with him and played Little League ball as good as any boys in 
the neighborhood.
But they also climbed onto his lap at night, melting his heart with their silky 
lashes and wide-eyed adoration. He was
31 
U 
ICI 
i 
their hero, and they were each his princess. For now he was still the only man 
in their hearts. He knew that would change soon. Precious little time remained 
before they would be gone with families of their own, so he treasured this trip 
even more than the others. 
He had never known times like this with his father. His par ents divorced when 
he was ten, and though his father promised to stay close, there was never enough 
time, and the roadway of his adolescence had been paved with unfulfilled 
intentions and missed opportunities. One boyhood memory stood clear in his mind. 
He was in Scouts, twelve years old, and it was the morning of the father-son 
Pinewood Derby. His father was dating a new woman that month and barely had time 
for Tom. Still, he promised he would meet him that day 
Tom could still see himself, a skinny, freckle-faced kid watching and waiting 
expectantly for his father that afternoon. One hour, then two. Other fathers 
offered to include him but Tom said no. His father would come, he was sure. He 
waited and waited until finally his friends and their fathers began to leave. As 
he climbed back onto his ten-speed and headed for home, angry tears trickled 
down his hot cheeks, and he made a promise to himself. He would never be an 
absent father. When he had children, he would be there for them. 
Tom Ryan smiled softly at the noisy girls in the backseat. He had kept his 
promise. 
He leaned back against the headrest and tuned them out, studying the heavy flow 
of L.A. traffic on Highway 101 through dark amber Ray Bans. He sighed. He 
already missed the serenity of the lake. 
His mind drifted to Hannah. He'd missed her even more... her smile and her 
laughter, the way she felt in his arms. Amazing, really. After seventeen years 
of marriage they were still very much in love. He and Hannah were a rare breed 
any more, even among their Christian friends. And to think he had almost married 
someone else. The idea seemed comical now 
30 
He imagined Hannah's reaction when he told her about Alicia and the rattlesnake. 
She'd probably go on about how the girl could have been bitten and how they were 
too far into the wilderness to find help and how maybe the camping trip was too 
dangerous after all. 
He grinned. Hannah wasn't one for camping or threading impaling, she called 
it-worms on fishhooks or getting her fin gernails dirty. She was especially 
afraid of snakes. But Alicia hadn't really been in that much danger. Besides, he 
was a doc tor, a pediatrician. The snake had only added to their adven ture. As 
their annual camping trip went, this was one he and the girls would remember 
forever. 
He maneuvered the Explorer into the right lane and took the Fallbrook exit. A 
quick stop at the bottom of the off-ramp, and he turned the vehicle left, under 
the freeway. Typically there would be a wait at the intersection of Fallbrook 
and Ventura Boulevard, but this time the light was green. 
Good. Tom smiled. Home in ten minutes. He pulled into the intersection long 
before the light turned yellow. 
Only Jenny saw it coming. There was no time to scream, no time to warn the 
others like she had earlier along the path at Cachuma Lake. One moment she was 
looking at Alicia, asking her about Mrs. Watson's English class, and the next, 
in a mere fraction of an instant, she saw a white locomotive coming straight at 
them, inches from Alicia's face. 
There was a horrific jolt and the deafening sound of twist ing, sparking metal 
and shattering glass. Jenny screamed, but it was too late. The Explorer took to 
the air like a child's toy spin ning wildly and coming to rest wrapped around a 
telephone pole a hundred feet away. 
Then there was nothing but dark, deadly silence. 
33 How like a widow is she, who once was great among the nations!
LAMENTATIONS 1:1B
IVI~
V
Ili'~lIil~
lo,
III is
ilI
01
Sal's Diner had been in business at the corner of Ventura Boulevard and 
Fallbrook for twenty-five years, and Rae McDermott had worked the counter 
faithfully for the last fifteen. That summer afternoon she was thankful the 
lunch crowd had been light. Another half hour and she could leave early. She 
needed to get some milk at the market before picking up the baby at the sitter's 
house. She made a mental shopping list as she ran a worn, bleach-soaked dishrag 
over the counter.
With a sigh, she stretched, then balled up her fists and pressed them into the 
small of her back. As she did so she glanced outside at the traffic on 
Ventura... and frowned. A white pickup truck, headed for the intersection, was 
speeding. Rae felt a rush of dread. The light was red, but the driver showed no 
signs of stopping.
She moved across the diner, drawn to the scene, desperately hoping the truck 
would stop. Suddenly, from south of the boulevard, an Explorer came into view on 
Fallbrook.
"Dear God..."
The scene seemed to unfold in slow motion, and there was nothing Rae could do to 
stop it. The two vehicles careened toward the intersection, then collided. ,The 
impact was so explosive it was surreal, like something from a violent action 
movie. The Explorer spun off the ground in a cloud of dust and glass and 
shredded metal, and Rae watched it sail across the street and wrap around a 
utility pole a hundred feet away.
35 
"Dear God," she whispered again, and dashed across the diner, grabbed the 
telephone, and dialed 9-1-1.
Sergeant John Miller of the Los Angeles Police Department was a veteran in 
handling traffic accidents. He had worked traffic for twenty-three years and had 
seen hundreds of dead bodies. Most of the victims had never seen the crash 
coming. They were getting off work or heading home from the market with no idea 
they were living their final moments. Too often Sgt. Miller had lifted a dead 
child from the backseat of a car or pulled a dead mother out of a mangled 
vehicle while her baby cued, unaware of its loss. More times than he could 
remember, he had watched paramedics perform CPR while someone's father or 
grandfather or sister or niece bled to death on a grease-covered, trash-strewn 
piece of roadway.
The temptation was to become callous. Survival, his peers called it. Form a 
tough veneer, a carefully maintained wall between his emotions and the reality 
of working traffic in a city like Los Angeles. That's how most of the officers 
he knew coped with their own vulnerability.
But Miller was different. He was a Christian, a born-again believer who had come 
to understand mangled vehicles and mutilated bodies as part of a fallen world. 
Often he reassured himself with Scripture..."I know the number of your days, 
says the Lord...." "What is your life? You are but a mist that appears for a 
little while..."
No, he hadn't grown callous, but neither did he fear the
dangers that lurked on L.A.'s busy streets. Nothing happened
outside God's control, and that was all that mattered.
In fact, he believed his presence at various accidents was often divinely 
appointed. Sometimes, very quietly, he would pray for-or even with-the victim. 
Once he had held the hand of a man who was bleeding to death as rescue workers 
used the jaws-of-life to extricate him from his car.
34
He'd talked to the man through a hole in the shattered
windshield. "Do you believe in Jesus?" He volunteered to keep
the victim alert throughout the rescue. He wanted to be sure the man would spend 
eternity with God.
"I know of him."
Father, give me the words... "He is the Son of God, God in the flesh. He died to 
give you life, and he wants you to have that salvation now It's yours for the 
asking."
The other rescue workers continued their noisy efforts, unaware of the dialogue 
between him and the dying man. The victim had struggled then, choking on his 
blood. But his words had been vividly clear. "I want that. Yes, please pray for 
me."
Sgt. Miller did as the man asked. Rescue efforts had been futile, and the man 
was listed as DOA at the hospital. But the sergeant knew better. The man was 
very much alive, and he looked forward to seeing him again in heaven.
The very idea of sharing the grace of Jesus Christ with people in their dying 
moments made him thankful for his position with the LAPD. He likened it to the 
parable Jesus told of the workers who worked only a short while yet received an 
entire day's wage. The sergeant saw himself as the man who introduced Jesus to 
those who only believed a short while yet shared the same salvation as those who 
had known Christ all their lives. Physical death was a part of life. Because of 
his work, Sgt. Miller understood that better than most. All the more reason to 
cling to Jesus, he figured. Death would not have the final say
Sgt. Miller received the call at 4:25 that afternoon: Accident with multiple 
injuries at Ventura and Fallbrook. Two fire engines, three ambulances, and four 
paramedics were on the way, as were two LAPD squad cars. He grabbed his keys and 
an accident notebook and moved swiftly through the office, out the back door 
toward his unmarked car. It was his job to orchestrate the roles of each 
emergency worker, gather witness information, and make sure protocol was 
followed perfectly in case an arrest was in order.
37 
'I!I
IIII
As always, he asked God to use him mightily in the next few hours and to comfort 
the victims and their family members. 
"It doesn't matter what task you have for me out there,
Lord," he whispered as he flipped on his siren. "Just use me."
Brian Wesley opened his eyes. Was he dreaming?
His head hurt.... He looked around and saw that his windshield was shattered. 
Shards of glass covered his legs and the seat next to him, and he realized he 
must have been in some kind of accident. He ran his fingers tentatively over his 
arms and legs.... Nothing seemed to be broken. He rubbed his eyes and shook his 
head, trying to clear his vision. It was then that he noticed the front end of 
his truck was missing.
He gazed across the intersection and saw another vehicle wrapped around a 
utility pole. People were all around it, working to get inside.
Brian's blood ran cold. This was no dream.
He had gotten drunk and now he'd hit somebody
"Oh, man, please be okay" His arms and legs shook, racked with the beginning of 
a raw fear more potent than any he had known before. He tried to get out, but 
his truck door was jammed. He turned around, kicking it open with his heavy work 
boots. Eyes wide, heart and head pounding, Brian walked across the intersection.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life...
The cliche floated through his mind-and chilled him to the bone.
Two motorists had stopped and were working alongside a
woman in an apron. All were trying to free the people inside
the vehicle. As Brian drew closer, he saw them lean inside, then
together they lifted the limp, bloodied body of a teenage girl
from the backseat and lay her gently on the grassy curbside.
The woman with the apron covered the girl's legs with a blanket.
36
"Oh, no..." It took Brian a second to realize the whining voice was his.
In the distance, sirens grew louder with each passing moment.
Brian tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry it almost choked him. "Hey, 
man, is she... is she all r-r-r-right?" He was consumed with dread, and he felt 
his knees start to shake again. The woman in the apron looked up at him, studied 
him for a moment, and then turned back to the girl. The two men were trying to 
find her pulse, and one of them began giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
The sirens were very close now, and Brian could see several emergency vehicles 
speeding into view. Relief swept him. Hurry! Hurry! She needs you! He couldn't 
take his eyes from the girl lying on the curb. The others continued working on 
her without acknowledging him. Brian saw the woman in the apron begin to cry and 
the men sit back on their heels. They were giving up.
"W-w-w-wait... she n-n-n-needs help, man!" He moved toward the girl, but the 
woman in the apron rose to her feet. "Get back!" She spat the words at him. 
"You've done enough!"
One of the men came to put a hand on her arm. "Come on. Let's check the others." 
They studied Brian for an instant, disgust clear on their faces, then turned to 
what remained of the Explorer.
Brian saw the girl's face then....It was a pretty face, framed by honey-colored 
brown hair. But it was a lifeless face. Even he could see that. He sank to his 
knees ten feet from where the girl lay-ten feet from the body of a girl who 
would never again hold her mother's hand or kiss her daddy good-night or dance 
across a living room floor....
A wail erupted from somewhere deep within him. He willed himself dead in her 
place, willed anything that might
breathe life into her once more. Then his wailing became one
39 
word, so weighted with regret that he felt it would consume him: "Noooo!"
Sgt. Miller arrived at the scene moments after the paramedics and saw both 
vehicles. The first one, a white pickup truck, had heavy front-end damage. The 
second vehicle was almost unrecognizable. Miller could see it was a Ford 
Explorer, one of the safest vehicles on the road, but it might have been made of 
tinfoil the way it wrapped around the pole. The impact must have been 
unbelievable, like getting broadsided by a freight train.
Sgt. Miller made his way to where a small crowd gathered near the twisted 
remains. Immediately an officer filled him in on the situation.
"We have a deceased female, maybe fourteen, fifteen years
old; and two additional victims, a male, late thirties, head
wounds, massive bleeding."
Miller felt his shoulders slump imperceptibly A young girl with her whole life 
ahead of her. He made several notations on the accident report and wondered if 
she had known the Lord. "Third victim?"
"Female, twelve, maybe thirteen years old, head injury and
a broken arm. She has the best chance of making it."
"Identification?"
"We have a home address for the male victim, some pictures.
Guy's a doctor. Tom Ryan. Female victims look to be his
daughters."
"Next of kin?"
"Nothing yet. Figured we'd do a drive-by when the ambulances
leave."
Sgt. Miller nodded. They didn't always do drive-by notification.
Quite often family members were notified by a hospital
representative. But in accidents this serious, with multiple
injuries-perhaps even multiple fatalities-the officers thought
it was best to notify the family in person.
38
"Driver of the pickup?"
"Minor injuries. He's in the squad car, cuffed." "Drunk?"
"Can't you smell him?"
For a moment, Miller felt defeated. Another family destroyed by a drunk driver. 
Somehow with all their efforts, they weren't doing enough to stop the problem. 
He pursed his lips. "You do the test?"
"Preliminary Failed the straight line. I thought I'd wait for you to get the 
blood test."
"Witnesses?" "A lady, Rae McDermott, works in the diner across the street. And a 
couple of motorists. They're still here."
Sgt. Miller strained to see which of the victims was now laying on a stretcher 
and receiving attention from two paramedics. It was the young female. "Where's 
the male victim?"
"They're using the jaws-of-life. He's bleeding pretty bad, trapped in the front 
seat. I don't think he's going to make it." The sergeant sighed and closed his 
notebook. He dismissed
the officer and approached the mangled vehicle. Fire department rescue workers 
were busy on one side of the vehicle, so he walked to the other. Sleeping bags 
and camping gear had spilled onto the road. An ice chest had opened and dead 
fish littered the roadway as well. What a way to end a camping trip.
He saw a small passage where the window had been and gingerly stuck his head and 
upper body inside. The victim's entire left side was pinned beneath layers of 
metal and draped with fireproof tarps. One paramedic was stationed under the 
tarp, just outside the driver's door, waiting for the instant he could remove 
the man and begin treatment. Beyond him, another firefighter used a blowtorch to 
separate the wreckage while the jaws hummed and screeched, working to peel away 
the layers of metal.
Miller focused on the victim. There was a gash across the man's forehead, and 
despite the noise, Miller could hear the
41 
i 'I
ILl~dl
ill
I' II^ II,I~,IIIII
man struggling to breathe. Still, he seemed semiconscious. Reaching out, Miller 
took the man's hand in his own. He raised his voice over the machinery "Sir, can 
you hear me?"
The man jerked his head twice and his eyelids began to tremble.
"We're doing everything we can to get you out of here. Can
you hear me, sir?"
Suddenly the machines stopped as the separated layers
were removed and set aside.
"Let's do it!" It was the paramedic stationed under the tarp.
He moved, pressing fingers to the man's neck, feeling for a
pulse. Then he shouted to the others. "Come on, move it! We're
losing him!"
"Can you hear me, sir?" Sgt. Miller asked again. The vehicle
was quieter inside now, almost tomblike. This time the man
stirred and seemed suddenly frantic, anxious to speak.
Help him, Lord, help him say what he wants to say.
Suddenly the man's lips parted and he worked his mouth silently Miller strained 
to hear him.
"The girls..."
This wasn't the time to tell him about the older girl. The
man would have to remain calm if the rescue was to have a
chance of being successful. He squeezed the man's hand. "Sir,
they're already out. Were working on them right now."
The man seemed slightly reassured. A gurgling sound came from his throat, and he 
sucked in another breath. "Tell Hannah-" the man gulped, clearly fighting 
unconsciousness-"tell Hannah... the girls ...I love them." He opened his eyes, 
and Miller saw an unmistakable peace there.
"I'll tell them. Now you hang on. We're getting you out of here and you can tell 
them yourself."
The man gulped again and his eyes rolled back for a
moment and then closed. His lids twitched violently and once
more his lips moved. Miller squeezed the man's hand another
time. "Stay calm now, you're almost out of here."
40
But the man grew more agitated, his mouth opening and shutting soundlessly. He 
was slipping away, but he seemed desperate to speak.
Sgt. Miller moved closer. "It's okay, sir....I'm here. I'm listenjug„ 
The gurgling grew louder and the man coughed. Miller
held back a grimace. The man was choking on his own blood.
He was gasping for each breath, and his words were slurred,
but finally they were audible.
Miller strained to understand.
"Tell Hannah... tell her... please, forgive... forgive...."
He said something after that but Sgt. Miller couldn't make it out. "You want 
Hannah to forgive someone, is that it?"
The man's entire body relaxed, and Sgt. Miller thought he saw him nod.
"We're losing pressure!" The paramedic's voice was angry "Come on, let's open 
this thing." The machines whirred once more, and finally the man was free. Two 
paramedics lifted him immediately onto a backboard.
"He's not breathing! Prepare to intubate."
In a blur of commotion the paramedics worked on the man, doing everything they 
could to stabilize him.
Passersby had gathered, and now a crowd of stricken onlookers gaped at the 
bloodied man, watching the paramedics work frantically to save him. In less than 
a minute he was loaded into an ambulance while the EMTs used an oxygen pump and 
manually compressed the man's chest.
As the ambulance drove off, Miller looked around and knew his work at the scene 
was finished. He'd talked to the witnesses, each of whom had agreed that the 
driver of the pickup had sped through a red light and hit the Explorer without 
ever slowing.
Miller looked at his notes. The other driver was Brian Wesley, age twenty-eight 
... five prior DUIs. He'd been arrested and taken to the West Valley Division, 
where he would be
43 
booked. He had been given a blood alcohol test-the results of which would not be 
available from the crime lab for several weeks.
If the results were positive, Wesley would be formally
charged with whatever crimes the district attorney's office
thought they could prove-anything from driving under the
influence to vehicular manslaughter. A plea bargain might be
struck, but because of the man's prior record and the severity
of the accident, most likely the case would be ordered to trial.
Then months or maybe even a year later, after delays and continuances, when the 
memory of the accident had faded in the minds of witnesses, a trial date would 
be set. The trial would drag on for a month or more, and finally Brian Wesley 
might be convicted. At that point, barring some sort of judicial miracle, Wesley 
would most likely serve less than a year behind bars for destroying the Ryan 
family.
Sgt. Miller removed his sunglasses and rubbed his temples.
Tow trucks had arrived at the scene and were busy removing
the wreckage of the two vehicles. It was late, nearly 5:30, and
his worst task lay ahead.
He remembered how the injured man had struggled to
speak, how desperately he'd wanted to relay what might be his
final message to his family, What was it the man had said?
Something about getting mad... or about not getting mad. The
sergeant wasn't sure anymore; the past hour had been so chaotic,
so tense. Besides, the accident hadn't been Mr. Ryan's fault.
No one could be angry at him. Miller shrugged. Best to forget
it, whatever it was. For all he knew, the man had mumbled the
words out of shock or delirium.
Either way Miller remembered the most important part of
Ryan's message: Tell Hannah and the girls he loved them.
Sgt. Miller sighed. It was time to tell Hannah.
42
Bitterly she weeps at night, tears are upon her cheeks... . There is none to 
comfort her
LAMENTATIONS 1:2A
They drove in silence, Sgt. Miller at the wheel and Officer Rolando Santiago 
making notations, checking the accident report. Miller noticed that the streets 
were quiet here, lined with mature shade trees and upper-end homes with large, 
fenced yards. People who lived in this part of the San Fernando Valley generally 
safeguarded themselves against the perils of city living by driving sturdy 
vehicles and protecting their homes with custom alarms.
Pity none of those alarms could have protected the Ryan family against this....
Three turns later the squad car pulled up out front of a well-manicured home on 
a pretty cul-de-sac.
Sgt. Miller noticed a wooden sign near the front door that read "The Ryans." 
Under their name was the symbol of a Christian fish.
"Believers." Santiago looked at him. "What's that?"
He nodded toward the symbol. "The Christian fish. The family must be believers."
Officer Santiago shrugged. "You never know after today" Miller didn't reply but 
climbed out of the car and headed somberly up the walkway Santiago walked in 
step beside him and glanced at his watch. "Let's get this thing over with. I've 
got dinner plans."
45 
Sgt. Miller studied his partner a moment, but all he could see was the 
protective wall. He drew a deep breath. "Let me do the talking."
For two hours Hannah Ryan had fought off an exhausting list of possibilities 
while staring out her kitchen window, but still there was no sign of her family 
She wanted to pray, and even tried a time or two, but she held back. It only 
made the fear worse.
Dread had begun to consume her, and as the minutes
became hours, she stopped looking for ways to keep busy
instead she was continually drawn to the kitchen window, as if
she could somehow make them appear by keeping watch.
They should have called by now, and anger joined the emotions
warring within her.
When the squad car pulled up, she was no longer fiddling
with the pink sponge, wiping and rewiping the sink, but rather
she was frozen in place, barely breathing, staring at the dusky
cul-de-sac.
A pit formed in her stomach and in that instant, she knew
She closed her eyes. Lock the door. Close the blinds. Get the car
keys and leave. Anything but greet the officers who were walking
deliberately up the sidewalk. Hannah drew a shaky breath
and forced her feet to carry her toward the front door. Calm,
calm. Be calm. She wiped her trembling palms on her jeans and
turned the knob.
"Yes?" She did not attempt a smile and neither did the officers.
"Hannah Ryan?" "Yes, can I help you?"
The older officer hesitated. "Ma'am, I'm Sgt. John Miller
with the Los Angeles Police Department. May we come in for a minute?"
No. Go away. I hate that you're here. Hannah opened the
44
door and the men stepped into the foyer. She did not invite them to go any 
further.
"Ma'am, maybe if we moved inside and sat down."
"Listen, what's this all about?" Hannah began shivering. She rubbed her arms, 
trying to ward off the sudden chill. She did not want to sit down, and she was 
not in the mood for a slow explanation.
"Is your husband Dr. Tom Ryan?"
0 God... please... "Yes, what is it? Has he been hurt?"
Sgt. Miller cleared his throat. "I'm afraid there was a car accident, ma'am. 
He's suffered serious injuries, and he's been taken to the hcspital."
Hannah steadied herself. "What about the girls?"
"Mrs. Ryan, why don't you come with us? We'll take you to the hospital so you 
can be with them."
"No!" Hannah knew she sounded frantic, but she couldn't stop herself. "I want to 
know about the girls. Are they okay?" Sgt. Miller moved closer and placed a hand 
under Hannah's
elbow. "Your oldest daughter suffered serious head injuries. The younger girl 
has a broken arm and a concussion, but her condition is much less serious."
"No!" She ripped her elbow from Sgt. Miller's hand and leveled menacing eyes at 
him. "That can't be! You're lying to me." "You need to get to the hospital, Mrs. 
Ryan. May I help you get your things together?"
Hannah spun toward the desk in the kitchen and froze in place. Black spots 
danced before her eyes, and she grasped the wall to steady herself.
"Ma'am, you all right?" Sgt. Miller's voice was kind, but Hannah didn't want to 
hear him. She kept her back to the officers and hung her head.
"Listen," she said firmly. "You've made some kind of mistake." 
No, God... no. It wasn't true, it couldn't be. They had the wrong Ryan family, 
or if there was an accident, then Tom and
48 
ili!II,
11
the girls were probably just bruised and a little cut up. After all, they were 
driving the Explorer. The officers must have mixed up the information. It wasn't 
their fault. Anyone could get the facts wrong. Hannah forced herself to relax, 
and the spots went away She moved across the kitchen and grabbed her purse from 
the work desk.
"You can leave now." She turned around to face them, the
picture of control. "There's obviously been some sort of mistake.
My family has a sports utility truck-it's very safe." She
pulled her keys from the purse and glanced at the Lexus outside
in the driveway "I better go, now."
"Ma'am, it's not-"
Hannah cut him off. "What hospital?"
Sgt. Miller sighed. "Humana West Hills. Emergency trauma center. Mrs. Ryan, why 
don't you let us drive you over there?" "No, I'm fine. Besides, they'll need a 
ride home if the Explorer's been damaged."
"Do you have a friend or a pastor, someone we could call
who could meet you there?"
Hannah stared at him. "A pastor? I don't need a pastor. I
told you, they were in a big vehicle. There must be some kind
of mistake."
The sergeant studied her, and Hannah hated the look of
pity in his eyes. "All right, we'll follow you."
"That's not necessary" Hannah felt mechanical and oddly void of emotion. She 
walked past the officers, ushered them outside, then locked the front door 
behind her. "I appreciate your dropping by They were camping, you know Monday's 
the first day of school."
Hannah knew she was not acting rationally, but as she pulled the Lexus onto 
Roscoe Boulevard, she refused to believe what the officer had said.
She glanced in her rearview mirror and pressed her lips
46
together. Why on earth had they insisted on driving behind her? Every time she 
glanced in the mirror, they were there, a constant reminder of their ridiculous 
story. Their presence was unnerving. Certainly they must have more important 
tasks than following her to the hospital.
Then, for just an instant, her mind began running ahead. What if they really had 
been hit? What if they were hurt... or worse? And suddenly she felt a wave of 
dread and fear and loss and devastation so great, it was like a monster lurking 
in the recesses of her mind, threatening to break free. If it did, Hannah knew 
it would destroy her.
She held the darkness at bay and concentrated instead on the simple facts at 
hand and not the unknown. At least she knew where Tom and the girls were and why 
they were late. People were in car accidents all the time. That didn't mean 
anything really bad had happened. She could picture Tom joking with the doctors, 
and Alicia and Jenny teasing each other about the story they'd tell at school 
Monday.
Hannah relaxed a bit. She would get there, make sure the hospital had their 
health insurance information, and take her family home. Eating at The Red Onion 
was out of the question, but they could pick up some pizzas. Hannah looked at 
her watch and saw it was nearly seven o'clock. They were probably starving by 
now.
Sgt. Miller followed Hannah Ryan with care. He had radioed dispatch and asked 
them to notify the emergency room that the Ryans' next of kin was on the way, 
and could they please have the staff minister on hand.
Miller thought again of the symbol of faith on the outside of the Ryans' house. 
How close was this woman with the Lord? She was striking, probably in her 
midthirties with a figure she obviously worked to maintain. She had blond hair, 
clear blue eyes, and her clothing and jewelry were casually elegant.
47
t
49 
I
i
Certainly she seemed strong, self-assured, and in control. Still...
If her relationship with God wasn't built on the deepest
roots, Sgt. Miller doubted she would ever be the same after
today.
At last Hannah arrived at the hospital. She said nothing as she entered the 
trauma center flanked by the two uniformed officers. She introduced herself, and 
immediately a nurse ushered her into the patient area. There she was directed to 
sit in a quiet alcove apart from the hustle of activity
The monster in her mind moved closer, and Hannah smiled in a vain attempt to 
keep it at bay. "This isn't necessary" She looked at the nurse. "Really if you 
could just show me which room my family is in.,.
The nurse motioned toward one of the doctors, and he
immediately picked up his clipboard and approached her.
With him was a man who looked like a minister.
One of the officers-Sgt. Miller, was it?-met him halfway and relayed something 
in hushed tones. The doctor nodded and made a notation on his clipboard. Sgt. 
Miller turned back to Hannah arid pulled something out of his shirt pocket: his 
business card.
"Call me if you need anything, if you have any questions at
all." His tone was filled with compassion. "I'll be praying for
you, Mrs. Ryan."
"Thank you." Hannah took the card, glanced at it, and
slipped it into her purse.
Sgt. Miller disappeared down the corridor with the other
officer at his side. The man with the doctor seemed to take a
cue from that because he pulled up two chairs. He sat beside
Hannah while the doctor sat directly in front of her, their knees
nearly touching. The doctor cleared his throat and looked into
Hannah's eyes.
48
"Mrs. Ryan, I'm Dr. Cleary and this is Scott O'Haver, our hospital chaplain."
Hannah looked from one man to the other and shook her head, her heart pounding. 
"This isn't necessary There's been some kind of mistake. My family was in a big 
vehicle... . It was safe. I just need you to take me to them so I can-"
"Ma'am-" Dr. Cleary interrupted her-"please... let me continue." He looked like 
a kind man. Something about him exuded authority and confidence. Reluctantly 
Hannah settled back in her chair.
"My husband's a doctor, too." Hannah watched Dr. Cleary's reaction carefully.
"Yes, I know. I've checked his medical records. I don't think he and I ever 
worked together." Dr. Cleary seemed to struggle for a moment. Oh, no. He's 
afraid to tell me. No, God... please, no. "How are you doing, Mrs. Ryan?"
"I'm fine. If you could just take me to them...."
Dr. Cleary checked his notes and drew a single breath. He moved closer and set 
his hand on Hannah's knee.
No. Don't touch me... don't comfort me. Hannah remained silent as she squirmed 
and slid her hands underneath her legs. "Mrs. Ryan, I've been working on your 
husband and the
girls for an hour now," he said. "They were in a serious accident, Mrs. Ryan, 
hit by a speeding pickup truck. The impact was most severe." He paused and his 
gaze dropped to the floor for an instant before connecting once again with 
Hannah's. She looked desperately for some sense of reassurance. There was none. 
`Jenny sustained a broken arm and a concussion. We are checking her for internal 
injuries, but her vital signs are strong. She's medicated and very sleepy, but I 
expect her to show significant improvement by tomorrow."
Hannah sat frozen in place, waiting for the doctor to continue. 
"I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but Alicia didn't fare as well."
51 
I
Hannah began to rock. No. No. Not Alicia....NotAlicia.
He hesitated. "I'm afraid Alicia received more of the impact
and suffered massive head injuries." His words were deliberate
and measured. "Paramedics arrived on the scene in minutes,
but she was already gone. I'm sorry, Mrs. Ryan. She died quickly
and without any pain or fear."
"No." Hannah stood up, shaking-and then she screamed.
She tried to push past Dr. Cleary, but he held her gently in
place until she eased back into the chair, rocking fiercely and
wailing. "No! Not Alicia, no!"
The chaplain circled an arm around her shoulders and
leaned toward her. Hannah felt herself losing consciousness,
and she crumpled slightly in his embrace.
"Please..." She implored him with every fiber, begging him
to be wrong. "She can't be dead, Doctor. I want to see her."
Dr. Cleary drew another breath. "I'm sorry, there's more. About your husband, 
Mrs. Ryan..."
No... not Tom. It's too much, God. Her heart was racing, banging
about in her chest.
"Upon impact your husband hit the steering wheel and suffered
blunt trauma to his chest. This caused him to bleed from
the aorta, the main artery out of the heart. He was conscious at
first while rescue workers tried to help him out of the vehicle.
Paramedics were able to intubate him to keep his lungs open,
but he was bleeding too badly He died enroute to the hospital.
I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ryan.... They did everything they could."
The only thing that kept Hannah from falling on the floor was Rev. O'Haver. She 
sagged in his grip, struggling to breathe, to think, to move. But all she could 
do was say the same thing over and over....
"No. No! Not my Tom....Not my baby, Alicia. Please, God,
no!"
The world was spinning out of control, and her heart
pounded hard and erratically She closed her eyes, fighting
against the vortex of emotions that threatened to consume her.
50
knew she was screaming, could hear it, but it was almost
though it were someone else... someone whose very soul
d been ripped from her chest. With a shuddering sigh, she
' raightened, leaning back against her chair. She clenched her Meth to hold back 
the screams still clawing at her throat, and noted numbly that her eyes were dry 
The greatest shock of her
'entire life and she hadn't cried.
"I want to see them."
Dr. Cleary nodded. "That's fine. Perhaps you'd like to see Jenny first? I think 
she'd recognize your voice, and it might help her come around."
Hannah nodded, mute. Rev. O'Haver helped her up, and she followed Dr. Cleary to 
a room sectioned off by curtains.
There lay jenny, oxygen tubes in her nose, an IV dripping into her left arm. Her 
right arm was in a cast from the shoulder to her hand.
Hannah ached inside as she studied her little girl. She
longed to cradle her close and tell her everything was going to be okay
But it won't, will it? It will never be okay again.
She moved closer to jenny and smoothed a wisp of blond bangs off her forehead. 
There were bruises on the right side of her face, and Hannah had to choke back a 
sob as she ran her fingers over them. Jenny stirred, moaned twice, and moved her 
head from side to side.
"Jenny, honey..." Hannah leaned closer to her. "It's me, Mom."
Jenny opened her eyes, and Hannah could see what effort it took for her daughter 
to focus. "Mom? What happened? Where's Dad and Alicia?"
Dr. Cleary stepped forward and Hannah glanced up at him. He shook his head 
quickly and mouthed the word, "Later." Hannah nodded and took jenny's hand. 
"Honey, you need
your rest now. Why don't you try to sleep and I'll be right here."
54 
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in
Jenny had already closed her eyes, and when Hannah was sure she was asleep, she 
turned to Dr. Cleary
"I want to see Tom and Alicia." Her own voice sounded foreign to her, and she 
wondered again why she still hadn't cried. Was this the denial people talked 
about after receiving terrible news? She closed her eyes briefly Maybe... maybe 
something deep within her knew this was all some kind of terrible joke, that Tom 
and Alicia were fine, that there was nothing to cry overWith an impatient shake 
of her head, she opened her eyes to find Dr. Cleary watching her carefully. 
"Please, Tom and Alicia..."
He sighed sadly "This way" He led her down a hallway into
another room. And there she saw them, Tom and Alicia, side
by side on stretchers. Hannah wouldn't learn until later how
Dr. Cleary had directed the nurses to prepare their bodies so
they would appear less traumatized. The nurses had wrapped a
towel around Alicia's bloodied head and tilted her face so that
Hannah would not have to see her battered left side. They had
done the same for Tom, removed his blood-covered T-shirt,
and wiped his face clean. They covered his head wounds and
placed blankets over him so that only his face and arms could
be seen. Later, Hannah would forget everything she'd heard
after receiving news of the accident.
But she would remember forever the way Tom and Alicia
looked as they laid lifeless on those stretchers.
"Dear God..." She clasped her hands, bringing them to her chin. The tears came 
then, torrents of them.
"It happened very quickly, Mrs. Ryan. They didn't suffer." The doctor's words 
rang in her head, but still she couldn't believe what she was seeing. She moved 
into the narrow space between the two gurneys and stood there, facing Tom and 
Alicia. Sobs catching in her throat, she stooped and circled an arm around each 
of them. Loud, wracking sobs seized her, and she was sure this was how it felt 
to die.
52
Hannah felt disconnected from her body, as if she were
playing a role or watching some other woman deal with the fact that her life had 
been destroyed. But this was no stage drama, and she was the only woman in the 
room. There was no mistake.
Her life had been perfect... too perfect. Something had gone terribly wrong, and 
now Tom and Alicia were dead.
She knew she should pray, but for the first time in her life she couldn't. 
Didn't even want to. God had let this happen to Tom and Alicia. Why pray to him 
now? Why ask him to comfort her when he had allowed her very existence to be 
shattered? She looked from her husband to her child, studying them through her 
tears, willing them to move or speak or smile at her. When they didn't, she 
bowed her head and wailed. In one violent instant her family had been 
destroyed-and there was nothing she could do to bring them back.
When she finally regained her composure, she straightened slowly. Drawing a 
fortifying breath, she looked at Dr. Cleary and saw him extend his hand. For a 
moment, standing there in his white coat, he looked just like Tom. Hannah took 
his hand and let him support her as she struggled to keep from passing out. But 
she stayed there between Tom and Alicia, unwilling to move from their sides.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ryan." Dr. Cleary seemed to wait until he had her attention 
before continuing. "There's something I need to tell you. Sgt. Miller was with 
your husband at the accident scene before he died. He wanted me to give you a 
message from Tom."
Hannah felt her shoulders drop, and she reached for Tom's hand as naturally as 
she had for the past twenty years. But now his touch was cool and unresponsive. 
She shuddered.
Dr. Cleary's voice grew softer. "Before he died... Tom said to tell you and the 
girls that he loved you."
A single sob caught in Hannah's throat, and she looked down at her husband 
through a blur of tears. She struggled to
53
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55 
speak, and the silence hung awkwardly in the air. "I want some time with them," 
she said finally "Take as long as you like."
Forever. A lifetime. A chance to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, and our 
thirtieth and fortieth. Time to grow old together and watch our daughters become 
young women. Time to see Tom walk Alicia and jenny down the aisle, time to share 
grandchildren and retirement and vacations on warm, sunny beachesDr. Cleary 
interrupted her thoughts. "I need to get back to work, but Rev. O'Haver will be 
outside in the hallway if you need him."
The men left, and Hannah was finally alone. She studied
Tom and sobbed softly She hadn't had time to say good-bye. If
only she had gone on the camping trip this year. Maybe she
would have seen the truck... she could have warned Tom. It
was all her fault. If she'd been with them, they would have
come home earlier, and this never would have happened.
Tom still looked so alive, as if he were sleeping. She still held his hand, but 
now she turned to Alicia. Beautiful, selfassured Alicia. Her firstborn.
She took the girl's lifeless hand in her free one. "Mommy's here, Alicia." She 
thought of proms and graduation, college, the wedding her daughter would never 
have... and she began to weep once more. Alicia's hair stuck out in matted tufts 
from underneath the bandages. Hannah let go of Tom's still hand and reached over 
to smooth the silky locks, making her daughter more presentable. Alicia looked 
so lost on the stretcher, almost as if she were a small child again. Where had 
the time gone? Hannah remembered being at this very hospital fifteen years 
earlier for Alicia Marie's birth, celebrating life and the promises it held for 
their tiny daughter. She was such a sweet baby, such a happy little girl....
Alicia's hand was cold, and Hannah ran her thumb over it, trying to warm it as 
she'd done when her daughter was a toddler. Alicia always had cold hands. Hannah 
wanted so badly to
54
pick her up and rock her, to take away the hurt as she'd always
been able to do in the past. She sniffled loudly "Alicia, Mommy loves you, 
honey" She sobbed twice. "I'm here, baby. I'll always be here. Wherever I am 
I'll take you with me, sweetheart."
She remembered a week earlier when Alicia had stayed up late talking to her 
about boys and how she'd know when she met the right one. Now there would be no 
boys-no future. Alicia was gone, and it grieved Hannah beyond anything she'd 
ever known.
She turned back to Tom. "Why didn't you come home earlier, you big oaf? You 
never were on time." She tried to laugh, but it became one more sob, and fresh 
tears filled her eyes. "If only you hadn't been so late...."
She let the thought hang in the still air, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When 
she opened them, she struggled to speak. "I guess... if Alicia had to go, it's 
better you go with her." She gulped loudly, and when she spoke her voice was 
barely a
whisper. "Stay with her, Tom. She's so afraid of being alone."
She stooped and kissed him tenderly on the cheek, his final message echoing in 
her mind, breaking her heart. "I love you, too, Tom. I've loved you since we 
were kids. I always have." She sobbed hard. "I always will."
She carefully arranged Tom's hands on his chest, then did the same for Alicia. 
But she couldn't bear to leave. She bent over and wrapped her arms around them, 
holding them close and giving in again to the wrenching sobs....
This couldn't be happening....
Finally, when it seemed as if days had passed, she rose and kissed Alicia on the 
cheek. She smoothed her hair, knowing it was the last time she'd ever do so. 
"Good-bye..." She turned to Tom and traced his lips with her finger. Then she 
kissed him tenderly and studied his face one last time.
Finally she turned and, against every instinct in her body, she left.
57 l
11
I'I
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III"III
Ill
1 I
Iigi
Ifll
~Y+lal~
Rev. O'Haver waited in the hallway outside and cleared his throat as she 
approached. "Mrs. Ryan, may I speak with you a moment?"
Hannah stopped and waited. She was struggling to find the
strength to move, even to breathe, and all she wanted was to be
with Jenny She didn't need some stranger offering pat answers.
"Mrs. Ryan ...I understand you and your family are Christians?"
A single huff escaped Hannah's throat, and she wiped her
eyes with the tips of her fingers. "Yes, we are." She paused, trying
to make sense of her feelings. "A lot of good it did us."
The reverend hesitated. "I can't imagine what you're going through, Mrs. Ryan, 
but please know it's normal to be angry at God." He paused again. "I'd like to 
pray with you, if I can."
Hannah nodded reluctantly and sat down beside the man. He took her hands in his 
and prayed quietly
Hannah thanked him when he finished. She hadn't paid attention to the prayer, 
but it was over and she wanted to be polite. She allowed herself to be hugged, 
and then she stood without saying another word and headed for Jenny's room. 
Hannah didn't want to be angry with God, but she didn't want to talk to him, 
either. There were more pressing things to think about. She had to contact 
family members, make plans for a funeral, and tend to Jenny...
Jenny was all she had left now, a small fragment of a family
that only hours earlier had been perfect... complete.
But though Hannah knew she should be thinking about her surviving daughter and 
the consolation she would need in the days to come, that wasn't what consumed 
her as she walked down the hall. Rather she found herself focusing on the other 
driver... the one who ran the red light and killed her family. And as she 
thought of him, one emotion reigned supreme. Hatred.
56
^
After affliction... she finds no resting place.
All who pursue her have overtaken her in the midst of her distress.
LAMENTATIONS 1:3
There was solace in keeping busy
In her new role as victim, widow, and grieving mother, Hannah learned to keep 
her grief at bay by burying herself in busyness. And there was a mountain of 
details to handle.
First she made dozens of phone calls in which she told key people about the 
accident and asked them to contact others. She notified the girls' schools, 
Tom's partner, and the insurance company And she organized the funeral.
There was precious little time to weep, to even think about her loss. And that 
was fine with Hannah. As long as she was busy, she could avoid thinking about a 
lifetime without Tom and Alicia.
Now Hannah sat in an oversized vinyl chair next to Jenny's hospital bed and 
glanced at the clock. Eleven in the morning. Nearly twenty-four hours after the 
collision. In that time Jenny had only awakened once or twice for a few minutes. 
They'd moved her to the critical care unit, and at the moment she was sleeping 
again.
Dr. Cleary had been right Jenny was no longer in danger. Her blood tests and CAT 
scan were almost normal, but she was sleepy, coming out of the semiconscious 
haze caused by the injury. The doctor expected her to wake up soon, and then 
Hannah would need to tell her the truth.
She studied her notes and tugged absently at a lock of hair.
61 She had notified Tom's parents, his sister in Ohio... her parents in 
Washington state. She had no siblings, so there were few people to contact. She 
had called her pastor, Joel Conner, and he had started a prayer chain at New 
Hope Christian Church in Agoura Hills, where they had been members for as long 
as she could remember. Several of the women from her Bible study had come by 
last night to pray with her and offer assis tance. Two had brought meals for 
Hannah to take home. 
Hannah refused them all. She'd considered those women friends once, but that was 
before the collision... back when she had something in common with them. Now she 
was in a cate gory all by herself, someone to be pitied. The idea of them sit 
ting around talking about her tragedy in quiet voices made her skin crawl. She 
neither wanted-nor needed-their charity 
But they wouldn't go away. So rather than appear ungrate ful, Hannah allowed one 
of the women to make plans for a brief reception after the funeral, which was 
scheduled for Wednesday 
Hannah glanced at Jenny's sleeping form-and was struck suddenly by the thought 
that it was the first day of school. Hannah's church friends would all be at 
breakfast an annual tradition on this day-talking about how quickly children 
grow up, the merits of their various teachers, and how much time they would all 
have now that the fall routine was back in place. 
Hannah's heart grew heavy and tears filled her eyes. She had cried more since 
the collision than all the other times in her life combined. She leaned her head 
back and closed her eyes. . .but images drifted across her mind of her friends' 
chil dren greeting classmates, working out the kinks in their sched ules, and 
making plans for weekend get-togethers. 
She had called the principal of West Hills High and told him about the accident. 
He would have told the others, so by now Alicia's friends and fellow 
cheerleaders would probably be convening in the lunch area, consoling each other 
and crying 
over the loss of their friend. Certainly many of them would be 
at the funeral. 
But in time they would get over her absence-life would get in the way, and they 
would be drawn to the thrill of Friday night football games and weekend dances. 
They would talk about Alicia on occasion, but she would eventually fade into the 
recesses of their memories. 
Hannah sighed and fiddled with her pencil. She felt as if she had aged ten years 
overnight-she knew she looked hag gard. Her clothing was rumpled from sleeping 
in the chair by Jenny's bed, and her hair was pulled back into an unruly pony 
tail. Only her crimson, manicured fingernails gave any indica tion of her former 
appearance. She had checked the bathroom mirror earlier that morning, and the 
person staring back at her with empty red eyes and cheeks ravaged by tears did 
not look even remotely familiar. 
Focus. Concentrate on the matters at hand. That was all that kept her from 
falling into a bottomless pit of despair-some thing she could not do because she 
knew if she ever gave in, there would be no return. 
She studied her notes again and pressed her lips together. It was time to 
contact Sgt. Miller. She wanted to know exactly what happened. The other driver 
had run a red light. She knew that much. But had he been drinking? Was he on 
drugs? Hannah had a horrible suspicion that there was something more to the 
accident story, but until she knew for sure, she tried not to think about it. 
The hatred she already felt toward the other driver was frightening enough 
without dwelling on it. 
Suddenly jenny stirred and rolled slowly from one side to the other. Hannah 
moved next to the bed and took her daugh ter's hand. A torrent of anxiety and 
dread consumed her, and she willed herself to stay calm. How would she tell this 
child, this precious daughter, that her father and sister were dead? She had no 
idea. 
God... she started, but then cut the prayer short. No, she 
62 would not ask. She didn't want to think about God until she had time to 
examine her feelings. Besides, she didn't know what power her prayers would 
have. They hadn't kept her family safe.
Jenny moaned and turned toward Hannah. Her eyes
opened and she squinted against the sunshine streaming
through the hospital window.
"Mom?" Hannah figured her daughter could make out her face, but Jenny didn't 
sound sure of herself.
She leaned over the girl's prone body, hugged her, then
pulled away slightly and caressed Jenny's forehead with a single
finger. There was nothing she could do about the heavy sadness
in her voice. "Hi, sweetheart, how do you feel?"
Jenny glanced around the room. `Where... am I?"
Hannah continued to run her fingers gently over Jenny's hair. "You're at the 
hospital. There was an accident, honey" Jenny moved her left hand over the cast 
on her arm. She
thought a moment and her eyes grew wide. "The white truck-"
Hannah said nothing.
Jenny seemed to struggle with her memory, then she jolted
into a semi-sitting position. Suddenly she looked wide-awake
and frightened. "Mom, he was coming right at us...right where
Dad and Alicia were sitting!"
Tears filled Hannah's eyes and she pulled Jenny close once
more. "I'm so sorry, baby, so sorry you had to see that."
"I wanted to scream, Mom. There wasn't time ...I can't...
can't remember anything else."
Hannah started to cry and the sound broke the silence.
Jenny looked at her, alarm sweeping her young face.
"Mom, what is it? Where are Dad and Alicia?"
Hannah drew back just enough to see her daughter's face. She held her shoulders 
firmly and looked deep into her eyes. "Honey, the accident was very serious. 
Alicia and Daddy... they
idn't make it, honey They're gone."
Jenny's eyes filled with horror, and she searched her moth'er's face. "They're 
dead? Both of them?" She sounded on the verge of hysterics. "Mom? Are you 
serious?"
Hannah nodded and pulled Jenny close one more time.
"No!" Jenny moaned softly, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. "No, not 
both of them."
She did not scream and carry on the way Hannah had done. Rather she sobbed 
convulsively, clinging to her mother the way a drowning swimmer clings to a life 
preserver. Hannah could feel her daughter's pain, and she was heartbroken, 
knowing there was nothing she could do to take it away.
Finally, when Jenny's weeping slowed, she pulled back and studied her mother. 
Hannah wondered if the girl was going to faint. "Mom," she whispered, her voice 
stricken. "It's all my fault."
Hannah frowned. "No, dear, of course not. The driver of the other truck ran a 
red light. Daddy never saw him coming." Jenny shook her head, her cheeks red and 
tear stained. "No,
not that part. Earlier. We were getting out of the fishing boat, heading back 
for camp... Alicia nearly stepped on a rattlesnake. She didn't see it but I did. 
I yelled at her and she stopped.... One more step, Mom, and she would have been 
bitten." 
Hannah hesitated. "Sweetheart, I don't understand. You helped your sister by 
saying something about the snake. That doesn't make the accident your fault."
Jenny drew a deep, shuddering breath. "You don't understand, Mom. If I hadn't 
said something, Alicia would have been bitten. Dad could have helped her; she 
would have been okay eventually. But we would have gotten a later start. Maybe 
an hour later .... And we wouldn't have been going through the intersection when 
that other driver was running the red light. Don't you see, Mom? It's all my 
fault."
Hannah began to cry softly "Oh, honey, it's not your fault.
63 
You have to believe that. The only one at fault is the other driver." Even as 
she said the words, she thought for an instant about the Lord. He could have 
saved them, but he didn't. Wasn't he at fault? Just a little?
Jenny began weeping harder. "What are we going to do, Mom?" She looked so 
vulnerable it .ore at Hannah's heart, and her hatred toward the other driver 
grew until she thought it would choke her. "We're going to go home and get you 
better. Then we're going to make sure the man who did this is punished." 
"They're in heaven, right, Mom?" Fresh tears trickled down
Jenny's cheeks.
"Yes, honey, they're in heaven. Together."
Jenny nodded and swiped slowly at her tears. She was sobbing so hard it was 
difficult to understand her. "I want Daddy..."
Hannah held her for twenty minutes, allowing her to cry
and grieve the way she, herself, had not yet done. Finally Jenny
grew quiet, and after several minutes she leaned her head back
and studied Hannah's eyes.
"I'm...I'm glad Alicia isn't alone." "Oh, Jenny..."
The girl lay back down and buried her head in her pillow. She stayed like that, 
sobbing quietly, while her mother rubbed her back until she finally drifted off 
to sleep.
Leaning back in the chair and pulling the bedside telephone over, Hannah 
clenched her teeth. She glanced at the business card in her hand, then dialed 
Sgt. John Miller and introduced herself.
"There's something I need to know about the accident." She
kept her voice quiet; the last thing she wanted to do was disturb
Jenny.
"I have the report right here," Sgt. Miller said. "Go ahead."
"The man who killed my family, was he drunk?"
There was a pause, then, "We think so. He was arrested on
62
,suspicion of drunk driving. The lab tests aren't back yet, but he did fail a 
field sobriety test."
Hannah felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. With one careless decision 
that man had ruined her life. She steadied herself and sucked in a steadying 
breath.
"Where is he now?" She knew the question was angry, but she didn't care.
"He had only minor injuries. He was booked at the station
that evening and released on a bail bond. When the results of the sobriety test 
are in, he'll be formally charged, and then he'll have to enter a plea-guilty or 
not guilty"
She had one more question. "Was it his first time? Drunk driving I mean?"
"No, ma'am." Sgt. Miller sighed. "His sixth."
The room was suddenly spinning, and Hannah gripped the arm of her chair for 
support. She reached for the only solid. thing she could grab onto-her anger.
"That man had been arrested five other times for drunk driving, and he was still 
on the road? Still drinking and driving? That's insane!"
"I know, Mrs. Ryan. I'm sorry ...I agree. Maybe this time they'll put him away"
"You mean there's a chance they won't? Listen, Sergeant. I know none of this is 
your fault, but I will not sit back and watch the courts let this killer back on 
the streets. I'll fight him and the laws and the entire legal system if it costs 
every cent I have. Even if it kills me."
There was a pause. "The process will be long and drawn out." Sgt. Miller sounded 
frustrated. "But there are a few things you can do. You've heard of Mothers 
Against Drunk Drivers?"
"Yes." Hannah was trembling with rage. How could this be happening to her? She 
didn't want to think about Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. She was supposed to be 
having breakfast with her church friends, making plans for the school year.
She was supposed to have two, beautiful, healthy daughters
65 and a husband who loved her.
Sgt. Miller continued. "There's a woman at the West Valley
office, Carol Cummins; she's a victim advocate. Why don't you give her a call 
and see how you can help? Might make a difference when it comes to a possible 
trial down the road."
"Who is he? "What?" "The killer. What's his name?"
"Brian Wesley. He's twenty-eight, married, has a son." Hannah was furious. "Good 
for him! Before Saturday afternoon I was married with a daughter. But he killed 
them, and I'll do whatever it takes to get him behind bars. When I'm finished 
with him, he'll wish he'd killed me, too."
"Ma'am..." Sgt. Miller hesitated. "I saw the Christian fish on your door the 
other day-"
"What of it?"
Another pause. "I'm a believer, too; that's all. I've been praying
for you."
"Don't bother." It was all she could do not to spit the words
at him. "I have all the prayers I can handle right now"
"Mrs. Ryan, I'm not trying to interfere. It's just that in these situations it's 
so easy to lose perspective and turn away..." When she answered, she didn't even 
try to temper the coldness in her tone. "I'm sure you mean well, Sgt. Miller, 
but you're just like every other Christian right now. `It must be God's will.' 
`They're home in heaven now' `God still loves you.' `The Lord has a plan"'
A wave of emotion choked off her words, and she had to
swallow hard before she could continue. "I don't want to hear
it. Do you understand? Brian Wesley, age twenty-eight, married
with one son, just destroyed my life! He took everything from
me and left me with nothing, not even hope. He murdered my
husband and daughter, and so help me God, I'll never forgive
him as long as I live. Am I being clear? I don't want to hear a
list of platitudes or Bible verses right now I don't want sympa64
y or textbook answers. I want my family back....And since I
It have that, I just want Brian Wesley to pay for what he's
ne.
fenny lay still, her eyes closed. Her head felt heavy and it was
difficult to form thoughts. She knew that the woman she could hear ranting and 
shouting hateful things was her mother, but
when jenny heard her say those things about not wanting
prayers or platitudes, she began to think perhaps the woman was an imposter.
Jenny opened her eyes slowly, waiting for the room to stop
spinning. She squinted at the figure by her bed. "Mom?"
Her mother glanced at her. Jenny saw she was on the
phone. "Hold on-" she covered the receiver and whispered
" impatiently-"What is it, jenny? I'm on a business call.
Jenny stared at her, her mind a blank. Why was Mom angry
with her? Dread swept over her as she realized the truth: the
accident had been her fault and her mother knew it. "Forget
it.
Her mother frowned, her hand still covering the phone.
"Don't be like that, jenny. I'm sorry, okay? This is an important call. I'm 
talking to the police officer." She sighed impatiently.
"Did you need something? A drink? What?"
Jenny felt like a piece of her heart had been sliced off. She
squeezed her eyes so her mother wouldn't see her cry. "I said
forget it." She rolled over, turning her back to her mother.
Please, please, talk to me...help me...I'm so scared...
But her mother didn't notice. Instead, she resumed her
phone conversation. "Okay, I'm back. What I'm trying to say
is..."
Tears streamed down jenny's face as her mother continued
to rant at the police officer. What had happened? Why wasn't her mother worried 
about her, sorry for her? How could a
phone call be more important than what she was feeling?
67 
It's because it was Alicia and not me who died. Mom had always loved Alicia 
more. Jenny wished with all her heart that she could trade places with Alicia. 
That she could take Alicia's spot in heaven with Daddy and give Alicia back to 
Mom. 
Jenny drew her knees into a fetal position. Then, while her mother continued to 
yell at the officer, she wept into her pil low, whispering the only words she 
could think of. "Why, God? Why? ...If she doesn't love me, why did you leave me 
here with her?" 
Hannah hung up, her rage so potent it was almost a physical presence. But there 
was nothing there to vent it on. It seeped through her veins, more powerful than 
any drug, infusing her heart and soul. She clenched her fists. It was 
outrageous! How could the courts allow a convicted drunk driver back on the 
roads to kill Tom and Alicia? She gritted her teeth. She would change the 
laws-the entire system-if that's what it took. 
She ripped a sheet of paper from her pad and began mak ing notations. Her mind 
raced with plans.... She would contact Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.... She 
would attend any court hearing involving Brian Wesley.... If she had to, she'd 
single handedly change the drunk driving laws in the state of California. The 
thought of Brian Wesley fueled her rage, but as her notes began taking form, she 
found herself strangely com forted. 
She had a reason to go on. 
Brian Wesley-and his punishment. 
The next two days flew by. Consumed with her decision to exact revenge on Brian 
Wesley, Hannah scarcely took in all that happened. In a blur of events, Jenny 
was released from the hospital, and she and Hannah attended the double funeral 
ser vice. Family and friends surrounded Hannah, consoling her. 
66 
t every time Hannah looked for Jenny, the girl was alone. 
he sat in the first pew, her head hung low, her casted arm in a 
sling. Hannah felt a quick pang of guilt. She was ignoring Jenny, 
her only surviving daughter. But on the heels of the feeling 
i;came her new resolve. Jenny was young and resilient. Her 
injuries would heal and she would be fine. They would have 
time together later. Alicia and Tom, they were the real victims. 
And, of course, Hannah. This disaster had happened to her, most of all. She 
would never recover... never find another man like Tom. . .never know another 
daughter so sweet and talented and precious as Alicia... 
She had lost the most, and she had no energy for consoling envy. She was too 
desperately in need of consolation herself. 
Besides, it hurt too much to talk about the loss, to face the 
present and the emptiness it held every day. No, it was much safer to spend her 
time living in one of two places: the angry, uncertain future or the bittersweet 
past. Her thoughts of the future were directed to one end only: seeing Brian 
Wesley locked up, knowing he would pay for what he did. 
The rest of the time she spent in the past, where Tom and Alicia still lived. 
70 
11 
ii 
I 
LAMENTATIONS 1:4A 
It had been two weeks since the accident, and jenny lay sprawled out on her 
flannel quilt, her fingers fanned against the cool wall beside her bed... the 
wall that separated her room from Alicia's. Jenny studied her arms and legs and 
saw that the bruises were fading. But there were other scars-ones she knew would 
never disappear. 
She studied the wall and drifted back to what seemed like another lifetime, the 
day they were packing for the camping trip. In her mind she heard three soft 
thuds coming from the other room: the signal she and Alicia had used for years. 
One thud meant Urgent! Come quick! Get in here right away! Two thuds meant good 
night. And three thuds were a simple three word message: I love you. 
Alicia's bed was up against the other side of the wall, and each night whichever 
of them got in bed first would thud twice. Good night. When the other sister 
responded with two thuds of her own, the first would thud three times. I love 
you. And the other would respond similarly. 
The day before the trip, jenny and Alicia had been in their separate rooms, 
packing their bags; Amy Grant's "Hearts in Motion" had been blaring from 
Alicia's tape player. A single thud sounded in Jenny's room. She had dropped her 
thermal underwear and skittered out the door, around the corner into Alicia's 
room, where she flopped onto her sister's bed. 
The roads to Zion mourn, for no'one comes to her... . All her gateways are 
desolate. 
71 
i
Il~
"What?" Jenny nosed around inside Alicia's duffel bag, checking the things her 
sister had packed.
"You bringing your tape player?" Alicia held a fistful of cassette tapes. Amy 
Grant, Steven Curtis Chapman, Michael W Smith, Jars of Clay
"My batteries are dead."
"Mine, too. Can you ask Dad if we can stop and get some
on the way out of town?"
Jenny had bounced up. "Sure. Be right back." She bounded down the stairs and in 
a minute returned and threw herself again on Alicia's bed. "Done."
Amy Grant's voice filled the room, and jenny watched Alicia
dance around, snagging a shirt from her closet and jeans from
her dresser drawer. Jenny had wondered if one day she might
be as pretty and popular as Alicia. Her older sister's cheerleading
uniform lay on the floor near her bed, and jenny bent
down to pick it up.
Alicia was involved in everything. Cheerleading, student
council, drama. She had so many friends, and she was good at
whatever she tried.
"My room's such a mess." Alicia used her foot to move a pile
of clothes against her bed. "I never have enough time."
Jenny considered the floor. "Pretty bad."
"Uuugh. It's a total mess." She stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow 
"Don't tell me you're already packed?"
"Yep. Wasn't much. I mean, what can you take on the old, annual camping trip? 
You know Dad. We'll spend half the time on the lake catching fish."
Alicia froze and glanced back at her duffel bag. "True-"
She turned abruptly and began digging in her drawer again.
"But I have to have the right shorts. . .and then if it gets cold, I
need my woolly sweatshirt... and at night, you know, around
the campfire I like my old jeans..." Her voice drifted as she
rummaged through a series of drawers. "If I could just find
them."
Jenny stood and stretched. She picked up a shirt from
Alicia's floor, turned it right-side out, folded it in half, and set it
on her sister's bed. "I hate it when that happens."
She made no mention of the fact that she was cleaning Alicia's mess as she bent 
down and picked up a rumpled pair of shorts. When the pile of clothes was neatly 
folded on her sister's bed, Jenny headed for the door. "I just remembered 
something. My Christy Miller book. I have to bring it."
Alicia straightened and looked around her room. "Jenny! Hey, thanks. You're so 
nice. You didn't have to clean my room." Jenny shrugged. "No big deal. That way 
you'll be done
faster. Maybe we can play horse out in the driveway with Dad after dinner."
"You're the best sister in the world." Alicia left the tangled web of clothing 
spilling from her bottom drawer and came to hug Jenny. Then she grinned. "But 
I'll still beat you at horse."
Jenny had laughed and returned to her room. A moment passed while she searched 
for the book, and then she'd heard it. Three soft thuds on the bedroom wall.
Was that just a few weeks ago? It seems like years.. .like it had happened to 
someone else.
Jenny's lips trembled and she closed her eyes against the tears. At the sound of 
footsteps on the stairs she wiped her eyes quickly, then turned to watch her 
mother enter the room. Mom looked angry again, disappointed. Is it because I'm 
the one who lived? Anxiety threatened to strangle Jenny, as it did every time 
she asked herself these questions. Would Mom be so angry all the time if Alicia 
were still here instead of me? Alicia had had so much going for her. If one of 
us was going to live, it should have been Alicia. Jenny swallowed and blinked 
twice as her mother crossed. the room and sat on the edge of her bed.
"I've been looking all over for you." Her mother sounded tired, robotic. Jenny 
tried to remember the last time she'd looked or sounded tender.
She couldn't remember one time since the accident.
73 
I~' Vll
She turned away and stared at the wall. "I've been here."
Her mother sighed. "You're always here. Can't you come
downstairs and spend some time with-"
"With whom?" Jenny turned back toward her mother. "The family? We don't have a 
family anymore, Mom, remember? You keep telling everyone how that drunk driver 
killed your family. So who cares if I stay up here? I'm not your family"
Her mother shrank back, a pinched look around her eyes. Jenny sat up and forced 
her face closer to her mother's. "I guess you're right, Mom. Our family is dead. 
Now there's just you and me, and that's not enough, is it? We'll never be a 
family by ourselves."
She threw herself back down on the bed and rolled onto
her side. She couldn't stand looking at her mother for another
second.
`Jenny... She flinched at her mother's tentative touch on her shoulder. There 
was a pause, and when her mom went on, her voice was cold.
"I'm sorry I said what I did about my family being killed. Of
course we're a family. But there's a lot to do now, and I can't
spend my time sitting up here rubbing your back and helping
you get over this. That man, that drunk driver, is about to be
charged for what he did to your dad and Alicia. When he is, I
want to be there. I want to make sure he's locked up for a long,
long time. I'm sorry, honey... but I'll probably be very busy
these next few months."
Jenny remained silent, unmoving, studying her fingers as
they moved slightly, back and forth, across the wall near her
bed.
"Honey, what I'm trying to say is I'd like your help in this.
We owe it to Daddy and Alicia to make sure that man doesn't
ever kill anyone again. It won't help for us to hide away in bed
and miss them. Not now, anyway. There's too much to do."
Jenny felt tears bum her eyes and couldn't keep her shoul72 
tiers from trembling. What was her mother talking about? I'm
just a kid! she wanted to scream. How can I possibly do anything
that would help send that drunk driver to prison?
For that matter, what difference could her mother really
make? None at all. Besides, who cared, anyway? Alicia and Daddy were gone. 
Nothing could bring them back now
"Jenny" Her mother's voice was flat. "Are you listening?" Jenny rolled over and 
faced her mother. "If you're asking me to get up, put a smile on, and help you 
make some kind of plan to lock up drunk drivers, I won't do it."
Her mother's face grew a shade paler. "Why are you lashing out at me?"
Because I hate you. Because you hate me for being alive. "Because. You think you 
have to get back at that guy. Seek revenge or something."
"Well, Jenny, what do you want to do?" Her mother sounded exasperated. "Ask the 
judge to let him go?"
"I don't know!" Jenny's whole body shook, and she couldn't make it stop. "The 
Bible says to forgive, and you always taught us we should live our lives by what 
the Bible says, right?" She watched her mother closely. Please, please, be my 
mom again. You believed in God... in the Bible.... You used to smile and hold me 
and tell me he would always protect us....
But there was no smile on her mother's face. She stiffened, and she wouldn't 
meet Jenny's eyes. "That's different. The man who did this needs to be punished. 
Don't you think so?"
"I think we should forget about him!" Jenny clenched her fists. "Going to court 
and fighting him won't bring back Daddy and Alicia. I think we should stay home 
and remember the happy times."
Her mother stood up abruptly and jenny suddenly felt so cold she thought she'd 
shatter into a million pieces. "That won't bring them back either." Her mother's 
words were like pieces of ice. "Forget I said anything, Jenny Stay up here as 
long as you like. And when you're ready to deal with what
75 happened, I'll be downstairs trying to get on with life."
Her mother walked out of the room, and Jenny turned once more toward the wall. 
Hot tears filled her eyes, and she sobbed softly into her pillow "Alicia, where 
are you? I need you so badly."
Through her tears she remembered how they had dressed
alike as little girls, walking hand-in-hand to their Sunday
school class each week.
"Yes, Jesus loves me," they would sing as they skipped
along. "The Bible tells me so."
Oh, Jesus, please help me. I don't want to live without Alicia and
Daddy. Mom doesn't understand. She dnvrn't rnro -1-,.... 
~IIII1 iUIi A scene from the funeral flashed in Jenny's mind. A great
iIIIII'I i aunt had come up to her and s
III II°i
~Ip!II
'lll~l
queezed her hard, suffocating her in a fog of strong perfume. "Now listen, 
dear," the fleshy woman had said. "Be a good girl and don't make things harder 
for your mother than they have to be."
Jenny remembered looking up at the woman, confused.
The great aunt continued. "You must understand she's suffered
a great loss here. Now it's up to you to be strong for her."
Jenny had nodded uncertainly "I'll try."
"You try hard, now, you hear. Your mother needs you."
The woman's words had haunted Jenny several times since then. She squeezed her 
eyes shut, and another wave of sadness washed over her. It's my loss, too. 
Who'll be strong for me?
"Alicia, come home," she cried softly, "Pleeease, Alicia. I miss you."
Then she raised her hand toward the wall and thudded
softly Three times. And three more.
Over and over and over again.
74
In the days of her affliction and wandering
erusalem remembers all the treasures that were hers in days of old.
LAMENTATIONS 1:7A
In the haze of grief and anger and bitter rage that consumed her, Hannah 
realized she was neglecting Jenny. But she felt helpless to do anything about 
it. She simply did not have the strength to do more than provide for the girl's 
most basic necessities.
It took all her energy to remember her life as it had been... to remember Tom. 
She always started back as far as she could remember. That was how it was with 
Tom. Her catalogue of memories simply did not contain a single day without him.
There had been very few rainy days in Hannah's childhood. An only child, she'd 
been doted on by both parents. Her grade school years were spent at Cornerstone 
Christian School where she generally excelled, and each week there was church 
and Sunday school and dozens of playmates and an entire church family who knew 
and loved her. What Hannah wanted, she got-and usually with little effort.
She'd grown up surrounded by children from similarly privileged families, where 
parents stayed together, went to church together, and seldom faced anything more 
serious than a bad case of tonsillitis or a flat tire on the family van.
Back then it only made sense, though. Hannah was a good girl, and in return, the 
Lord gave her a life free of speed bumps or bends in the road.
Hannah had many playmates, but her best friend in the
77 
11, II IlIiI!
VIII
lil'Ij Illii
lll~'i
'III
whole world was a boy one year older than she, who lived across the street, 
three houses down. His parents attended the same church as Hannah's, and the two 
grew up swinging side by side on the church playground.
His name was Tom Ryan.
On a warm summer day sometime after Hannah's eighth
birthday, she rode her bike past Tom's house and skidded on
loose gravel. She tumbled over the handlebars and came to a
stop on her knees and elbows. Tom, almost ten at the time,
dropped his basketball and came running.
"Hannah, are you hurt?" Tom had stooped down and lifted
her gently to her feet. He dusted the gravel off her arms and
legs and dashed into the house for a wet rag, which he gently
swiped over her road burns. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah... thanks." A strange sensation was making its way
across Hannah's suddenly flushing cheeks.
Tom found a bandage and carefully applied it to the worst
of her cuts. "There, that should do it."
Hannah watched him wide-eyed and knew from that
moment on she would marry Tom Ryan one day. She didn't
talk about it with Tom, or anyone else for that matter. It was
something she took for granted, like the passing of the seasons.
They became even better friends, shooting baskets in his driveway and talking 
about plans for the future. He wanted to be a doctor; she wanted to have a big 
family to make up for the siblings she never had. During the school year they 
did homework together, and in summer they walked to the neighborhood pool and 
lazed away the afternoons holding diving competitions from the pool's high dive 
or racing underwater to see who could hold their breath the longest. Hannah 
hated to lose.
In fact, the only flaw in Hannah's life was her temper. One
summer when Hannah was ten, she and Tom were playing
basketball when they were joined by a boy who lived two
streets down.
After the game, the boy looked at Hannah disdainfully. "You
76
shoot baskets like a wimpy girl."
Furious, she worked on her shot for weeks after that and refused to speak to the 
boy again. In her freshman year, Hannah shared a class with the boy and ignored 
him mercilessly. 
"What's with you?" the boy asked her one day.
Hannah sneered at him. "I shoot baskets like a wimpy girl,
remember?" The boy clearly had no idea what she was talking about,
but even after he'd apologized, she made a point to avoid him. "Sure hope you 
never get mad at me, Hannah," Tom had told her once that year. "When you get 
mad, you don't stop. Ever."
"I think that's why God's so good to me." Hannah had smiled pleasantly. "He 
knows I'm not good at forgiving." Through childhood and many of her early 
teenage years,
Hannah was a flat-chested pixie with delicate, cornflower blue eyes, 
unremarkable features, and gangly arms and skinny legs. The only thing striking 
about her was her thick, wheat-colored blond hair, which got in the way when she 
played sports. Hannah thought it was more of an inconvenience than anything. 
Tom, however, was a strapping boy with a muscular physique long before he hit 
his teen years. He had a ruddy complexion, short dark hair, brilliant teasing 
blue eyes, and a knack for making Hannah laugh out loud. In many ways, Tom was 
the brother Hannah had always wanted.
They never talked about themselves in any romantic sense, even as they grew 
older. But Hannah was in no hurry. They had always been together, and they 
always would be. She wasn't sure how Tom felt, but each night she prayed that 
when the time was right, Tom would ask her to be his wife. She could not 
remember a time when God hadn't answered her prayers exactly as she had prayed 
them, so she had little concern regarding her future with Tom.
79 When Tom turned sixteen and began dating the majorette from the high school 
drill team, fourteen-year-old Hannah was not terribly concerned. She was still 
in middle school, still dressing and acting and looking like one of the boys. 
She figured her relationship with Tom was bound to change when she turned 
sixteen and was granted permission to date. That was when she and Tom would fall 
in love.
Instead, when Hannah turned sixteen, Tom made a decision to attend college at 
Oregon State University in Corvallis. His father had graduated from OSU, and the 
family had relatives nearby. Tom would need to leave immediately after 
graduation because Oregon State had given him a full baseball scholarship, and 
the team trained all summer.
When she heard the news, Hannah felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her 
heart. How did this fit into the plans she'd made? She expected Tom to attend 
college, but she never believed he would leave California and move all the way 
to Oregon.
She prayed with renewed vigor.
Before he left, his family had a going-away party for him. Hannah was in the 
early goings of summer league softball that month, but she missed practice the 
day of Tom's party and went to the mall. There she picked out a sleeveless, 
rayon dress that danced in the breeze and fell softly on the budding curves of 
her developing body. She applied a layer of mascara to her fair eyelashes and 
curled and brushed her hair until it shone and lay in gentle waves around her 
shoulders. Finally she slipped her tanned feet into a pair of white-heeled 
sandals that accented her shapely colt-like legs. Before she left, she checked 
the mirror. Even she was amazed at the transformationovernight she had become a 
young woman.
When she arrived at Tom's house, his mother answered the door.
"Why, Hannah... you look so pretty, all grown up." She smiled warmly at Hannah 
and ushered her inside. "Tom's in the
78
jther room. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. " the den. Tom Ii and wenL
Hannah held hea h ndfulgof boys all seniors at West Hills was surrounded by
High, all members of the varsity baseball team.
-f l---stare at her in a
~ room ea U
As she entered sho
rt of rudehbuttHannah rdelished the way that was just
attention. If Tom were gar hero asamo eethan the buddyadown
would have to remembe
the block in jeans and a baseball cap.
"Hey, Hannah." Tom looked uncomfortable, and Hannah before h e appearance.
knew he was registering the ilence change
eared his throat was a moment of awkward
and said softly, "Nice dress."
Tom stayed by her side the rest of the done all their lives. s~ When his
making her laugh the way he'd teammates tried to have their of time with her 
another
found some e excuse to take her away or involve
conversation.
When she left tha1e~ frher house Tom leanehome.
d casually stopped just out of v
against the bark of an old shade tree and studied her in the moonlight.
"Kinda feels like the end of childhood, doesn't it?"
fiddled with a loose curt Hannah fiddled nodded. "Yeah. I can't
believe you're going to be gone four years."
Tom nodded and angled his head, studying er." You sure over look pretty tonight, 
Hannah. The guy were going crazy you."
She shrugged delicately and giggled. "They're just used to
seeing me in a uniform with my hair pulled up."
Tom caught her gaze. "Yeah. Me too." The silence between them
the toe of herdsathen, and Hannah ndal. There was a made circles in the grass 
with
faint scent of honeysuckle
night long as she lived. she knew she would remember t as
81 II 9111 She smiled. "We had so much fun growing up together...
shooting baskets all day and catching crickets at night.
:11,Remember that time we had a contest to see
most watermelon?" who could eat the
"I won."
"You won and
then you got sick all over the front lawn, remember?"
Tom gripped his stomach and grimaced. "I still have a hard
time eating watermelon."
"But later, after you felt better, we talked about what we
wanted to be when we grew up, remember?'
Tom laughed.
"You always said you wanted to be a doctor."
He nodded. "That much hasn't changed. You always said you wanted to have a big 
family, lots of kids."
Hannah glanced down, thankful he couldn't see her blushing
in the haze of shadows under the shade tree. "I guess I still
have some time for that one."
"Hey, Hannah, do me a favor, huh?" "Sure."
"Pray for me. It's gonna be hard starting over in a place
where I don't know anyone and being so far away from home."
She met his gaze head on and smiled. "I always pray for
you, Tom. I won't stop now"
He drew a deep breath, and Hannah could tell he was
wrestling with his feelings. "Well, I guess I better go. I still have
to finish packing."
She was suddenly anxious to keep the conversation going
as long as possible. "Will you be back? At break I mean?"
"Yeah. Christmas and summers. Whenever the team isn't conditioning."
"I wish I could see you play"
Tom's eyes lit up. "Hey! You can! ...We play at USE and
UCLA. You could ride over with my parents. That'd be great!"
"Yeah!"
80
"And I'll write and tell you all about college life." "Mmmhhm."
"And you can catch me up on life at school and everything that's happening in 
the old neighborhood."
"Sure..."
They both fell silent, and Tom glanced back toward his
house. "Well, Hannah, come here and give me a hug."
She stepped forward, and they embraced like favorite
cousins at a family reunion. When they pulled back, Tom ran
his thumb lightly underneath Hannah's neatly curled bangs.
"Don't change, Hannah."
She could feel tears welling up, and she smiled uncertainly.
"Have a good trip."
"Yeah. See you later."
And with that, life as Hannah had known it changed dramatically. The summer 
passed uneventfully with only one letter
from Tom. She saw him briefly during Christmas break and sat with him and his 
family at, Christmas Eve service. Then she
didn't see him until April, when she and his parents went to
UCLA to watch his baseball game.
They spotted him before the game and waved, and Hannah felt her face flush at 
the sight of him. Tom was an outfielder, recruited for his strong arm and high 
batting average. Though a freshman, he was a starter, and that afternoon he hit 
a gamewinning double. Hannah could barely contain her pride.
But when the game ended, a pretty brunette with a breathtaking figure ran up and 
threw her arms around Tom's neck. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then 
took her hand in his.
Hannah felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She wanted to run back to 
the car and spare herself this awful moment, but Tom and the girl were 
approaching fast, and there was nowhere to hide.
"Hey, thanks for coming." Tom was breathless and sweaty, and Hannah thought he 
looked even more handsome than he had a year ago.
83 Tom glanced at the girl beside him. "This is Amy" He looked at the others. 
"She does stats for the team." He and Amy shared a smile. "These are my parents, 
and this is Hannah, my buddy from the old neighborhood."
"Nice to meet you." Amy wore heavy makeup; Hannah felt utterly plain beside her. 
Amy smiled warmly at Tom's parents and barely paid heed to Hannah.
Hannah gritted her teeth. Plain or not, she would not be outdone. Tom belonged 
to her not this, this...
"Are you an actress?" Sarcasm dripped from Hannah's every word, and Tom cast a 
curious glance her way.
Amy laughed uneasily. "No, do I look like someone famous?"
Hannah volleyed a similar laugh back at Amy. "No, I just thought with all that 
thick, gray, pancake makeup, maybe you were practicing for a play or something."
Amy's face went blank, and there was an awkward silence. Tom looked as if he 
could have strangled Hannah, but instead he cleared his throat and said, "I met 
Amy at the beginning of the season."
"Yes," Amy purred, squeezing Tom's hand. Hannah was forgotten as Amy smiled 
sweetly at Tom's parents. "Your son is quite an athlete."
They all chuckled and agreed how wonderful Tom was. And before five minutes had 
passed, he was pulling Amy by the hand and bidding good-bye to Hannah and his 
parents. For Hannah, the entire scene seemed to take place in slowmotion, as 
though it were a horrible dream.
On the ride back to the Valley, Tom's parents said very little. They seemed to 
understand that Hannah was hurt. When they pulled up in front of Hannah's house, 
Tom's mother squeezed Hannah's shoulder. "She won't be around long. She isn't 
Tom's type."
Hannah prayed that Tom's mother was right, but Amy did
not go away. She and Tom dated through his sophomore and
82
junior year, while Hannah graduated from West Hills High and began attending 
California State University Northridge, three miles from home. Tom and Amy were 
together constantly, even during breaks.
Church was the only place Hannah knew she could see Tom alone. Amy was not a 
Christian and had no intention of ever becoming one, according to Tom's mother.
"She's a nice girl, but she's all wrong for Tom," his mother would say on 
occasion when Hannah visited. "He still has medical school ahead, and she's not 
the waiting type. Besides, Tom needs a nice Christian girl. Someone like you, 
Hannah."
" "Tom doesn't see me like that, Mrs. Ryan.
"One day. Give him time."
But a few weeks before the start of his senior year, Tom and Amy came home with 
an announcement. They were going to be married in June, right after he 
graduated.
Hannah was shocked and angry. She had dated occasionally, but her heart resided 
where it always had-to Tom, even if he didn't know it. She and Tom belonged 
together. Everyone at home felt the same way, her parents and his, and the kids 
they'd grown up with.
Everyone but Tom.
The summer passed, and Tom and Amy returned to Corvallis to make plans for their 
senior year while Hannah was left to ponder her suddenly uncertain future.
That fall Tom wrote Hannah a letter. In it was no admission of love or longing, 
but rather a rambling of memories of their childhood and the happy times they'd 
shared. Hannah read the letter five times before tucking it carefully into her 
top drawer. Why, she wondered, was Tom thinking about her and their past when he 
should be busy making plans for his future with Amy?
Christmas break came, and Hannah learned that Amy had returned to Walnut Creek 
in Northern California, where she and her mother had plans to shop for a wedding 
gown. Tom
85 
came home and spent hours hanging out in front of his house, bouncing his old 
basketball in the mild winter afternoons, his face pensive and troubled. More 
than a few times, Hannah glanced out her window and saw him gazing toward her 
house.
Three days before Christmas there was a social at church.
Hannah arrived late, and while she was talking with the pastor's
wife, she heard a familiar voice.
"Hey Hannah, what you been up to?" Tom was taller than
before, his shoulders broad and full like his father's. Hannah
blushed furiously, and then thought of Amy, shopping the boutiques
of San Francisco for a wedding gown.
"Oh, hi." Her voice lacked any enthusiasm. "I thought you
were back."
Tom studied her, and she knew there was little about her
that resembled the rough-and-tumble girl he once shot baskets
with.
"Can't believe I'm almost finished up at OSU."
Hannah smiled, her defenses firmly in place. "Then there's the big wedding."
Tom's expression changed and his eyes clouded. "Yeah... the
big wedding."
Cheerful chatter filled the hall, and Tom looked around,
slightly bothered. "Let's go outside and talk. It's been a long
time."
She wondered what the point was, but she nodded. "Okay
I'll follow you."
Outside they found a bench nestled against the church wall
facing the parking lot. They sat down, shoulder to shoulder,
much as they'd done hundreds of times before. They were
silent as they took in the Christmas lights and listened to the
hum of conversation in the distance.
"You ever feel like you were about to make a big mistake?"
Tom leaned against the side of the bench and faced Hannah.
She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her as
84
round her legs. Something about the cool night air and the
timacy of the moment caused her defenses to drop. "Sometimes."
Tom gazed heavenward. "Amy's not a Christian.... She's
not..." He looked at Hannah. "She's not a lot of things."
She thought about that for a moment. "You asked her to
marry you." Their eyes met, and for the first time since she'd known Tom, it 
felt as though there was something more between them than just the bond of 
childhood, something Hannah couldn't quite grasp.
"Yes, I did..."
Hannah felt bold in the darkness. "Why'd you do it, Tom?" He shrugged. "I don't 
know. Seemed like the right thing at the time. She sort of orders everything 
around her, and...I guess her parents were expecting me to propose. I mean, she 
was talking about our honeymoon and where we'd live when I'm in med school 
months before I ever asked her."
"Sounds lovely."
Tom stifled a grin. "You don't like her, do you?" Hannah was silent.
"`Are you an actress?"' Tom mimicked. "Come on, Hannah. You were pretty obvious 
that day"
She lifted her chin. "I don't have anything against her." "Oh, okay. If you say 
so."
"I don't."
"Now, Hannah. You weren't just a little jealous?" "Of her? Please, Tom. Give me 
some credit." There was silence again.
Tom sighed. "You know I kinda wish you were jealous." Hannah ignored that. "What 
really matters isn't what I
think of Amy, it's what you think of her." She waited. "You must love her."
Tom exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "I don't know. I did love her, sometimes 
I think I still do. But every time I imagine spending my life with her, I end up 
thinking about..." His
87 
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voice trailed off and he caught Hannah's gaze. "Did you get my letter last 
month?"
"Yeah. I didn't know what to write back. It seemed like you
were remembering how things used to be."
"Kind of."
She studied him. "Want the truth?" "Okay"
"After I got that letter, I wondered if you were really happy"
Tom sighed again. "When did you grow up and get so
smart, Hannah?" She grinned, and his eyes grew softer. "And so
beautiful."
For once, she didn't know what to say
"Mom tells me every time you have a date. She says you haven't found the right 
guy yet."
Hannah blushed and glanced down at her trembling hands.
"I don't know, everything seems all mixed up. I'm engaged
to a girl who isn't even interested in the Lord, when you're
right here, my bestest buddy all grown up and totally devoted
to God. Don't you ever wonder how come you and I didn't get
together?"
Hannah's eyes narrowed and a million memories came to
mind. "Sometimes."
"How did everything get so twisted?"
She shivered, partly from the night air and partly from the direction their 
conversation was taking.
"Cold?" Tom looked concerned. "A little."
He held out his arm. "Come here."
She moved closer and leaned against him. The chill was
gone immediately.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. "You know something?
These last three years at college I've really missed you."
"Maybe you just miss being a kid."
"We had fun, didn't we?"
She could feel him looking at her, and she knew he was
86
going to kiss her. Finally, when she could no longer stand it, she looked up 
into his eyes.
"Hannah," he whispered. Then the moment she'd dreamed of all her life happened. 
As though it had been destined since before they were born, they came together 
in a single kissone that was slow and filled with every good feeling Hannah had 
ever known.
When they pulled away, Tom looked startled. ""I'm sorry." He was breathless, and 
she could feel his heart beating wildly against her chest. "I'm so confused 
right now."
"I'm not a little kid anymore, Tom."
He shook his head, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. "I know. That's 
the problem. Ever since you walked into my house that day in that silky dress... 
you know, at my graduation parry." He studied her for a moment. "Ever since then 
I've wondered about whether we'd..."
"Mhmm." She smiled sadly. "You, too?"
"Yeah. I've wondered."
"But then I met Amy and..." "And what?"
"I guess we'll never know."
"What?" Hannah jerked away. Of course he knew. He'd kissed her, after all!
"Well-" Tom drew back a bit and looked nervous-"1 mean ...1 am getting 
married..."
"I don't see a ring on your finger yet."
"Yeah, but Hannah... everything's all set. I don't know..." "That's a cop-out, 
Tom."
"A copout?"
"Yes! You're not married yet. Break it off." He chuckled softly. "You don't know 
Amy."
She put her hands on Tom's shoulders and shook him. "Listen to you! You don't 
marry someone because you're afraid of what'll happen if you break up."
89 
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He gazed at Hannah thoughtfully and sighed. "I know. There's more to it than 
that."
She waited a beat and dropped her hands. "So, you do love
her." It wasn't a question.
Tom shrugged. "I have a lot to work out, I guess. Come on,
let's get back in."
Tears formed in her eyes. "Don't do it, Tom. Don't marry her."
"Hannah..."
She was unashamed of her tears as they spilled onto her
cheeks. "Don't marry her."
"Hannah, please." He pulled her close and cradled her head
against his chest. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."
He paused, and she knew he could feel her body jerking quietly as she cried.
"Come on, Hannah. What happened to my bestest buddy?"
Hannah pulled away, anger sweeping over her, and met his
gaze straight on. "She grew up." With that she wiped her eyes,
sniffed once, and stormed back into the church. She didn't talk
to Tom again. A month later she heard he was going ahead
with the wedding.
Stricken with pain so severe she could hardly breathe when
she thought about it, Hannah turned to her best protectionanger.
She harbored a grudge against Tom the size of a mountain.
How could he make such a horrible decision? Especially
after that night at church? She had kissed him, bared her heart
to him, and still he had chosen Amy.
As the day of the wedding drew near, Hannah vowed to stay home and avoid Tom 
whatever the cost. The event was scheduled to take place the first week in June 
at Knollwood Country Club in Granada Hills, just five miles from the West Valley 
neighborhood where Tom and Hannah grew up.
In the weeks before the wedding, an invitation arrived at Hannah's house. Her 
mother responded, stating that all but Hannah would attend. At about the same 
time, Hannah graduated from Cal State Northridge, and Tom was one of more than
88
a hundred people who attended her graduation party. Hannah felt him watching her 
from a distance that night, but she ignored him. When he approached to 
congratulate her, she turned abruptly and began a conversation with someone 
else.
She had a right to her anger. He had broken her heart, and she would never 
forgive him.
The day before Tom's wedding, Hannah's parents were at work and she was staging 
a cleaning frenzy, doing her best not to think about Tom and Amy, when the 
doorbell rang. She set down the window cleaner and headed for the door.
"Coming!" She stretched and ran her fingers absently through her hair. It was 
unusually hot and sticky for June, and as she made her way through the house, 
Hannah thought about driving to the beach that evening. Maybe there she could 
sort out her feelings.
She opened the door and caught her breath. It was Tom, dressed in worn jeans and 
a white T-shirt, looking desperately troubled.
Hannah felt her expression go cold, and before he could speak, she slammed the 
door shut.
He stopped the door with his hand and pushed it open again. "Wait!"
Hannah's hand flew to her hip and she glared at him. "Go away, Tom. I have 
nothing to say to you."
He sighed. "Hannah, will you stop trying to hate me for one minute. I came here 
to tell you something."
"Say it. I have things to do."
Tom drew a deep breath and rubbed his palms on his jeans. "May I come in?"
She exhaled dramatically. "I guess." She stepped aside, and he followed her into 
the foyer.
They stood face to face, studying each other. Finally Tom broke the silence.
"It's off." His voice was breathless, and he looked like he hadn't slept in 
days.
91 lip 
11 
Hannah frowned. "What?" 
"The wedding. . .1 called it off this morning." Her eyes grew wide. "The day 
before-?" 
He held up a hand. "I know, it's crazy But it would've been crazier to marry 
her." 
"What did your parents say?" Hannah was so shocked she forgot her anger. 
"They were glad I realized it today and not tomorrow" "What about the..." 
"My parents are contacting the guests. Amy and her folks are flying back to San 
Francisco tonight." 
Hannah softened. "She must be furious." 
"Yeah, you could say that. She thinks I ruined her life." "Ooooh boy. I'd never 
forgive you." 
Tom grinned. "Yeah, I know You haven't talked to me since that night....Of 
course, I should have remembered that from when we were kids." 
Hannah was afraid to break the silence that followed, but she had to know. 
"Why'd you change your mind?" 
Tom moved closer to Hannah-He raised his hands and framed her face with his 
fingertips. "I couldn't marry her, Hannah." He hesitated, and she knew if he 
didn't say some thing soon her heart would beat out of her chest. 
He looked at her intently, "I couldn't. Not when the only girl I've ever really 
loved-" he moved closer still-"is you. I didn't know it until today, when I 
realized what would happen after tomorrow I'd lose you forever .... I couldn't 
marry Amy after that." His eyes searched hers, looking for her reaction. 
"Hannah, I love you." 
In that instant, she knew her prayers had not been uttered in vain. Indeed, God 
had seen to it that everything had turned out exactly as she had planned. In his 
timing, not hers. 
Tom stroked her face. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I should have broken it off months 
ago. Then you wouldn't be so mad at me." He tenderly took her hand in his. 
"Still hate me?" 
90 
Hannah felt tears spring to her eyes. A single laugh escaped, 
and she pushed at him in mock frustration. "I should hate you forever, you big 
brat." 
"Forever?" Tom grinned. 
"Yeah-" Hannah heard the laughter leave her voice-"foi°waiting to the last 
minute to realize what I've known all my life." He caught her around the waist 
and pulled her close. "I know But now...can you forgive me, Hannah?" 
She paused. "It depends..." 
Slowly, he moved his face closer to hers and kissed her as he had so many months 
ago at the church. A minute passed before he spoke again. "On what?" 
She kissed him this time, and when she caught her breath she knew the grudge was 
gone. "On what you have in mind." She grinned. 
He pulled away, and Hannah had never seen him look more serious. "Marriage. 
Children. Forever." He kissed her again. "I want to spend my life with you." 
They were married that summer, and by Christmas, Hannah was pregnant with 
Alicia. Jenny came along two years later, and Hannah nearly bled to death in 
childbirth. There was considerable risk that she would not survive another 
pregnancy so she and Tom agreed that their family was complete. God had blessed 
them mightily. They could get on with raising their girls, and then one day they 
would share a long and happy retirement together. 
At least, that was how it was supposed to be. 
In the days after Tom's death, when weariness wore her defenses down, Hannah 
searched for reasons why God had taken Tom and Alicia. What had she ever done to 
deserve such punishment? Why her? Why, when God had brought her and Tom together 
in the first place, would he take her husband and leave her so desperately 
alone? 
93 
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It was easier to ignore such questions-easier to ignore God, for that matter. 
She had prayed to him, served him, and loved him all her life. She thought she 
knew God, but apparently
not. He had given her a past filled with sunshine and left her with a future 
full of darkness. Because of that, Hannah wasn't sure she wanted to know the 
Lord anymore. She had nothing to say to him. Anything she might ask him for was 
already gone forever.
In her other life, the one she lived before the collision, Hannah often fell 
asleep praying. These days she did not find comfort in prayer. How could she? 
While she passed the time in a blur of tears and rage and vivid memories, Brian 
Wesley remained free on bail. Three weeks passed from the time of the accident 
while detectives gathered evidence and criminalists studied the man's blood 
sample, finally determining that he had been driving with a blood alcohol level 
of .24-three times the legal limit.
Since Hannah was not praying, she filled her mind the only way she knew how She 
remembered. Nights were the worst. She missed Tom so much it threatened to kill 
her.
She physically ached to touch him once more, to hold him and kiss him and tuck 
her feet under his legs as she had always done before falling asleep. She would 
toss and turn in the empty queen-size bed, finding solace only by drifting back 
to the beginning. Tom at nine years old, shooting baskets in his driveway; she 
and Tom racing their bikes down the street, the wind in their hair on some 
endless, golden summer day; Tom alive and young and handsome at his graduation 
party, seeing her in a dress for the first time; Tom making her heart beat funny 
every time he was near....
It was the same every night, one memory after another, as if by remembering, she 
could somehow bring him home to her. Back where he belonged.
Where he had always belonged.
92
Her people f ell into enemy hands, there was no one to help her.
LAMENTATIONS 1:76
Drunk driving laws in the state of California were clear. If a person had a 
blood alcohol level of .08 or higher, he would be charged with drunk driving. 
What wasn't clear was the punishment exacted for the offense. A drunk driver 
could face anything from a one hundred dollar fine to several years in prison, 
depending on a list of variables. That list included whether the person had 
prior convictions, and especially whether the drunk driver was involved in an 
accident that resulted in the death or serious injuries of others.
Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Matthew J. Bronzan was assigned the case 
against Brian Wesley more than four weeks after the accident that killed Tom and 
Alicia Ryan. Drunk driving was his specialty, and he had requested this case. 
Now, on this October morning as he mulled over a stack of documents and crime 
scene photos, he was beset by a range of conflicting emotions. He grieved for 
the family who had been shattered by this man's selfish actions. Brian Wesley 
was a convicted drunk driver, a man with a history of getting behind the wheel 
and driving intoxicated. This angered the prosecutor greatly. Dealing with the 
senselessness of drunk driving deaths always did.
But as he sat at his government-issued desk, in his cramped office at the 
Criminal Courts Building, Matt Bronzan also felt a deep-rooted surge of 
excitement. This was the case he'd been waiting for. The People v Brian Wesley 
would change California drunk driving laws forever.
95 
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There was a knock at the door, and Sgt. John Miller poked his head inside. 
"Busy?"
"Hmmm. Come on in."
Sgt. Miller pulled up a chair and sat opposite the prosecutor, leaning back so 
that the chair's front two legs came up off the ground. "Heard you got the 
Wesley case."
Matt lifted the stack of paperwork on his desk and let it fall down again. 
"Right here. Got it this morning."
"First time you heard about it?"
"No. Read about it in the papers. I asked for it."
Sgt. Miller crossed his arms and drew a deep breath. "Then there won't be a 
plea?"
Matt sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at the
sergeant. "Not a chance."
There was silence a moment, then Sgt. Miller stood and
paced toward the window He stood staring through the dirty
glass.
"I was there, you know Saw the dead girl. Watched her sister
lifted onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. Stayed
with their father until they took him to the hospital." Miller
remained motionless, his back to Matt. "Mr. Ryan knew he
wasn't going to make it, Matt. Made me promise to tell his wife
and girls he loved them."
With a sigh, Miller spun around. "I don't want to see
Wesley walk."
Matt glanced down and sorted through the photos on his
desk. He found one of Alicia taken at the accident scene, her
face bloodied, eyes closed. He thought thin of the mother who
had lost both her husband and oldest daughter in a single
instant. "He's not going to walk. I can promise you that."
Sgt. Miller nodded. "I know you're a believer, Matt. And I know it isn't 
politically correct to talk about such things on the job. But the man's wife, 
Hannah Ryan, she's a Christian. The other girl, Jenny, is home now, and social 
services tells me things aren't good. Hannah's turning away help from her
94
church; she's bitter and angry and barely notices Jenny. It's a
mess."
Matt sighed and set the picture down. "It always is. Sometimes the anger kills 
you."
Sgt. Miller looked uncomfortable. "I know you're busy, Matt, but maybe you could 
give her a call, Hannah Ryan, I mean. Set her up with someone at MADD, give her 
some direction." 
"Sure. I could do that. Her number's here somewhere." "Good. Well, I gotta run. 
Let me know if you get a trial on
this thing. I'll testify whenever you need me."
Matt thanked him and watched him leave. Then he picked
up the photo of the girl and studied her face once more. It was
there all right. Something about the nose or the cheek bones, maybe the shape of 
her face. Victoria Stevens all over again.
Beautiful, intelligent VictoriaMatt stopped the train of thought. He refused to 
dwell on Victoria. Instead he studied Alicia's picture again and sighed. What 
would it be like to have a daughter like this? And to lose her? He was forty-one 
and married to his job, so he'd had no time for relationships. And that sure 
wouldn't change now. He needed to stay focused.
Because Brian Wesley was about to help him make history. In the past, 
prosecutors had taken cases such as the one against Brian Wesley and been 
fortunate to win a vehicular manslaughter verdict. But recently, other states 
had upped the ante. In Louisiana and Tennessee, prosecutors had finally 
convinced juries that this type of drunk driving was not vehicular manslaughter. 
It wasn't even second-degree murder. If a repeat offender deliberately chose to 
drink and drive, and in doing so caused a victim to die, it was nothing less 
than first-degree murder.
Matt nodded. There were only a couple cases he knew of where that charge had 
stuck, but it had been done before. The problem was it had never been done in 
California.
97 a
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Until now
Matt looked at the picture once more and wondered about
Hannah Ryan. Who was she? And how was she dealing with
the death of her family? How did anyone deal with this type of
thing? Matt clenched his jaw. He knew how powerful anger
could be... how it could kill.
He set the pictures down carefully, then he bowed his head
and prayed. Lord, if you are willing, let this be the case. Let the
standard change, and let the people of this state understand that
there will be no more tolerance for drunk driving. And Lord, help
Hannah Ryan, wherever she is. Help her forgive, help her go on.
Don't let anger win again. Like it did with Victoria.
He looked up and sifted through his rolodex until he found the number for 
Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. There was one person who could help Hannah 
survive.
He picked up the telephone and began to dial.
96
Is any suffering like my suffering that was inflicted on me, that the LoRD 
brought on me in the day of his fierce anger?
LAMENTATIONS 1:12B
Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table, reading over a small stack of newspaper 
articles about the accident and events surrounding the arrest of Brian Wesley.
"Drunk Driving Suspected in Crash that Killed Local Father, Daughter," read the 
headline of an article that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times the day after 
the accident. A picture of paramedics working around Tom's mangled Explorer 
accompanied the article.
The story began, "A West Hills man and his daughter were killed Saturday when 
the vehicle they were riding in was broadsided by a pickup truck driven by a man 
suspected of drunk driving. Tom Ryan, 41, and his daughter, Alicia Ryan, 15, 
were killed in the accident. A second daughter, Jenny Ryan, 13, was taken to 
Humana West Hills Hospital where she was in stable condition."
Hannah's eyes drifted to another article, this one from a few weeks later. 
"Tests Show Driver in Deadly Accident was Drunk."
She studied the small black-and-white photograph of Brian Wesley. Her enemy. A 
predator who had taken aim at her family and destroyed it. I hate you. She 
stared hard at the picture. Whatever it takes to get you locked up, I'll do it.
A Bible verse slipped through her mind as if she were reading it off the 
newspaper before her. It was Colossians 3:13:
99 
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"Forgive, as the Lord forgave you." Hannah shuddered. Forgive? Forgive Brian 
Wesley? The idea left a rancid taste in her mouth. Not this time, Lord. No way.
She blinked away the verse and read the newspaper article.
"The driver who rammed his pickup truck into the side of a
sports utility vehicle three weeks ago, killing two people and
injuring another, was legally drunk at the time of the accident,
according to a report released today from the Los Angeles
Police Department. The department's crime lab has determined
that Brian Wesley, 28, of Woodland Hills, had a blood alcohol
level of .24, three times the legal limit, at the time of the crash,
which killed Tom Ryan, 41, his daughter Alicia Ryan, 15, and
injured a second daughter, Jenny Ryan, B."
Jenny. She'd grown so silent, so angry these last few weeks....
Hannah shook her head. She couldn't think about Jenny
now She had to get ready for trial. There would be time for
Jenny later. She kept reading. "There will be no plea bargain in
this case. We're looking to prosecute this case to the fullest
extent of the law,' Deputy District Attorney Matthew J. Bronzan
said. `Maybe even beyond the fullest extent. This might be the
case that changes drunk driving laws in the state of California."'
Hannah considered the prosecutor's words. "This might be the case that changes 
drunk driving laws." She set her jaw. This would be the case. She read the 
prosecutor's name once more: Matthew J. Bronzan. Amidst the horror and shock and 
grief, she had an ally, a friend. Someone on her side.
She glanced at a sheet of notebook paper beneath the stack of newspaper 
articles. She'd written Matthew Bronzan's office number and a list of questions 
she needed to ask him. What did he mean he was looking to prosecute this case 
beyond the fullest extent of the law? What was she within her rights to do? How 
could she help? Was there any chance a plea bargain would be struck? The list 
went on.
She reached for the phone just as it began to ring. Hannah
98
ared at it, confused for a moment. The phone used to ring
nstantly. Now, nearly five weeks after the accident, no one
lied.
Hannah realized she was partly to blame. She had refused
ielp from her church friends, and finally they had stopped
`-ailing. The hospital certainly had no reason to call now with
Tom gone, and Jenny's friends didn't know what to say so they ?didn't call. 
Hannah couldn't remember the last time the phone rang.
"Hello." She no longer recognized her own voice.
"Hannah Ryan?" The woman at the other end sounded
pleasant. "Yes." "This is Carol Cummins. I work with Mothers Against
Drunk Drivers. Matt Bronzan gave me your number."
Matt Bronzan. How did he get my number? "Oh...hello."
"Mr. Bronzan tells me there's a hearing tomorrow. Brian Wesley will be 
officially charged, and they'll have to decide whether the case will be settled 
by plea bargain or whether it will be held over for trial."
Hannah picked up the article she had just been reading. "The paper said there 
wasn't going to be a plea bargain."
"They still have to go through the motions, hear the arguments from Mr. Wesley's 
attorney, and present arguments of their own."
"But who makes the final decision?" She could hear the panic in her voice.
"Matt Bronzan has the last word. It comes down to what he thinks he can prove in 
court." Carol paused. "If he sets the charges high, and Mr. Wesley refuses to 
plead guilty, there will
be a trial."
"Good. I'd like to see it go to trial."
The woman paused again. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends on the jury. If 
they think the charges are unreasonable, there's a chance Mr. Wesley could walk 
with no punishment at all."
101 Hannah's rage bubbled closer to the surface. "That could happen?"
"Yes. That's why these cases end in plea bargains so many
times. At least that way the drunk driver gets some kind of
punishment."
"I can't believe that." Hannah's hands trembled with rage.
Carol Cummins sighed. "Unfortunately, that's the way
things are in the legal arena of drunk driving cases. Three out
of ten jurors identify with the defendant. They listen to the evidence
and hear about the violent accidents and needless
deaths, and they think, `There but for the grace of God go I."'
"Three out of ten?" This was all new to Hannah, and it made her head spin.
"Surveys are done all the time asking people if they've ever
driven drunk. Generally thirty percent of Americans have." She
paused. "They look at the guy on trial and see themselves.
Usually they decide the guilt is punishment enough, and they
convict him on a lesser charge or let him go."
Hannah stood up and paced across her dining room floor, the cordless phone 
cradled against her shoulder as she studied the previous day's article. She 
focused on the tiny photograph. How could anyone identify with Brian Wesley? Who 
in their right mind wouldn't want to see a repeat drunk driver locked up? She 
exhaled loudly. "What do you mean, lesser charge?"
"Sometimes a prosecutor will attempt to prove two or three charges at once. If 
the jury doesn't feel strongly enough to convict on the more serious charge, 
they can find a defendant guilty of a lesser charge."
Hannah stopped pacing. "But if what you said before is
true, that three out of ten will identify with him, the jury's
always going to go for the lesser one."
"Exactly." Hannah closed her eyes, struggling against the wave of rage that 
pushed at her. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What's Mr. Bronzan 
going to do?"
100
"I'm not sure. I only talked to him for a few minutes, but he
feels very strongly about this one." "Meaning?"
"There's a chance he'll charge the driver with something very serious and leave 
it at that."
Hannah considered the possibilities. "But then there's a chance Brian Wesley 
will get off. Go free. Is that right?"
Carol's voice was quiet. "That's right."
Hannah resumed pacing. "Why hasn't something been done about this?"
"Drunk driving, you mean? We're trying, Mrs. Ryan. That's what Mothers Against 
Drunk Drivers is all about."
"I want to help." Hannah's heart was fluttering about in her chest. Whatever it 
takes. "Tell me what to do." Hannah paced toward the dining room table and set 
the articles down.
Carol drew a deep breath. "Well, most of our efforts focus on public awareness. 
If we can make people more aware of the consequences, we can accomplish several 
things."
"I'm listening."
"We can reduce drunk driving, for one thing. You've heard of our campaigns. 
`Friends don't let friends drive drunk.' `Be a Designated Driver.' `Tie one on,' 
which is our red ribbon program." 
"I've seen those. Tied around car antennas, you mean?" "Right. We pass them out 
at our office and at various storefronts. People tie them on to show a united 
force in the war against drunk driving."
"I had no idea... it's so..." "Organized? Yes, it has to be." "And the key is 
public awareness?"
"Right. It stops a percentage of drunk drivers, but it also educates the 
public."
"The public?"
"Yes. Jurors are chosen from the public."
The words sank in, and Hannah nodded. Of course. She
103 scribbled the word juror and underlined it several times. "I get
it. The more people who understand, the less likely a jury is to
II
11
1I II
'IIIIIiIN
l~ilpl~itlllll I, I~hill 4
let a drunk dri ving defendant go free." "Exactly"
Hannah tapped her pen on the notepad. "You say public
awareness, and I picture television ads and billboards. I guess I
III~I~~
don t see how I can help."
"We have something called a victim impact panel, Mrs.
Ryan. Three or four people who've been directly affected by
drunk driving travel to schools and local government meetings
and make presentations."
Hannah felt tears forming in her eyes, and suddenly her
voice was too choked to speak. After a moment of silence,
Carol gently continued. "We encourage panel members to
bring pictures, their loved one's favorite clothing, anything that
will make what has happened more real."
Tears slid down Hannah's cheeks and she sniffed softly. "I could do that, Mrs. 
Cummins." She paused. "I will do that. When can we meet?"
"Call me Carol. And we can meet soon." The woman's voice
was filled with compassion, and Hannah knew she had another
ally. "I think we should attend the hearing tomorrow Are you
free?"
Hannah felt an ache in her gut-and a hole in her heart.
Tom was gone. Alicia, too. Jenny was back in school, and the
two of them barely spoke. Was she free? She shook her head.
Her calendar would be open the rest of her life. The only thing
that mattered was getting Brian Wesley behind bars. Now...
now there was a way to make that happen.
She could tell people what had happened to Tom and Alicia. And maybe, if she 
worked hard enough, she would do more than put Brian Wesley away. Maybe she 
would change drunk driving laws forever.
She exhaled sadly. "Yes. I'm open. And please... call me
Hannah."
102
10 "Okay, Hannah. The hearing is at ten. Judge Rudy Horowitz
is presiding. Let's meet outside the courtroom at quarter'til."
"I'll be there."
"I'll introduce you to Mr. Bronzan. You need to talk to him, see what he wants 
you to do before you get involved in a victim impact panel."
"All right."
"Oh...and if you could, bring a small photograph of Tom and Alicia. I have a pin 
with the Mothers Against Drunk Drivers' logo. We'll put their picture inside, 
and you can wear it anytime there's a hearing."
Hannah was silent, but she couldn't stop the single sob from slipping out.
Carol's voice was compassionate. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I know it's hard. But every 
bit helps. Sometimes in all the legal maneuvering, the victims are forgotten."
Hannah nodded and gulped back what felt like a torrent of tears. "I'll bring the 
pictures."
Carol paused. "No one knows your personal pain, Hannah, but that dark place 
you're in? I've been there."
Hannah's shoulders slumped. She hadn't thought about it before, but it made 
sense. Carol must have lost someone in a drunk driving accident, too. She closed 
her eyes tightly, her heart heavier than before. "Thanks, Carol. I'll see you 
tomorrow." 
The conversation ended, and Hannah replaced the phone on its base.
Pictures of Tom and Alicia.
Hannah drew a steadying breath and remained motionless, bracing herself against 
the kitchen counter as she stared distantly through the living room window into 
the backyard. They had lived in this house for fifteen years, ever since Tom had 
finished his residency. The swing set stood where it had since Tom and she 
assembled it one Christmas back when the girls were four and six.
106 She studied the swings, and she could see Alicia, her long, honey-colored 
hair flowing down her back in a single ponytail. As a child, Alicia had spent 
hours on that swing set. Hannah could remember working in the kitchen, making 
dinner and passing the time watching her little girl swing back and forth, 
smiling and singing. She was such a happy little girl. 
The image faded, and Hannah padded slowly across the liv ing room to the 
bookcase and her collection of photo albums. She examined the dates on the side 
of each until she found the most recent. She took it from the shelf and ran her 
hand over its cover. Just as she was about to open it, her eyes fell on another 
album, one from more than a decade ago. 
Hannah smiled sadly. She had never been one to toss pho tographs in a drawer and 
forget about them. Her album collec tion was complete, intricately organized. 
She removed the older album and opened it, turning the pages reverently. As she 
did, her breath caught in her throat. On the third page was a picture of Alicia, 
two years old, sitting in a wagon. The little girl was wearing only a diaper, a 
lopsided grin, and a white plastic cowboy hat. Alicia's hair had gotten darker 
as she grew older, but back then her wispy blond locks stuck out from beneath 
the hat at all angles. Hannah closed her eyes and remembered the moment. She 
could feel the sun on her shoulders as she snapped the picture... hear Alicia's 
voice chirping happily, "I'm a little cowpope! Happy little cowpope!" 
Hannah laughed out loud, despite her tears. Alicia had been five before she 
could say cowpoke correctly. 
Another image came to mind then, and Hannah felt her smile disappear. Alicia, 
two years old, lying on a hospital bed, deathly white and hooked to IV lines. It 
had happened a month before jenny was born. Alicia was taking a nap and Hannah, 
exhausted from the final days of her pregnancy, decided to slip into her own 
bedroom and lie down. 
She woke to the sound of Alicia choking, gasping for breath. She'd raced to the 
kitchen to find Alicia curled in a ball, 
lying on the floor, an open bottle of kitchen cleaner nearby. Hannah had 
forgotten to put it away. 
Dear God, help me! Prayer had been a natural response then. In the end, as he 
had always done back then, God came through. Doctors observed Alicia through the 
night and then sent her home the next morning, singing a merry song about 
flowers and sunshine as she skipped to the family car. 
Hannah shut the photo album, set it aside, and covered her face with her hands. 
She wept then as she hadn't since the day of the collision. "Why?" she shouted. 
"Why, God?" 
She cried out again and again, releasing the anger and frus tration and 
gut-wrenching grief that grew deep within her. Why would God watch over Alicia 
when she was two, only to walk away from her when she was fifteen? As hard as 
she tried, Hannah couldn't understand why God had stopped listening to her...why 
he had turned his back. 
"What did-I ever do-to deserve this?" Hannah was sob bing too hard to catch her 
breath. 
Eventually, her sobbing grew quieter, and she stared at the picture of Alicia as 
her mind drifted. Her favorite hymn came to mind, and Hannah found herself 
humming along. "Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness, morning by 
morning new mercies I see. All I have needed thy hand-" 
Hannah jerked, realizing what she was doing, what she was saying. Stop! She 
angrily forced the song from her mind. It was a horrible song, full of lies. The 
Lord was not faithful; the morn ings were without mercy, without any hope or 
reason for moving beyond the edge of the bed. And everything she had ever needed 
from God he had taken from her the day Tom and Alicia died. 
Hannah's eyes stung with fresh tears. The words of that hymn used to describe 
the perfect life she and Tom shared. The organist had played it at their 
wedding. The choir had sung it when Alicia-and then jenny-was dedicated. If ever 
there was a hymn Hannah had been able to sing from her heart it was "Great Is 
Thy Faithfulness." Now the song was nothing 
Hff 105 
107 more than a painful reminder of how God had let her down, Great was thy 
faithfulness.
No matter what else might happen, she would never, ever
sing that song again.
She was still sniffling softly, still holding the photo albums,
trying to find the strength to search for a picture of Tom and
Alicia that she could take to tomorrow's hearing, when she
heard the front door open.
"Mom?" It was jenny.
"In here." Hannah wiped at her tears. She heard her daughter traipse through the 
house and set her books on the kitchen counter. Then she watched as the girl 
poked her head into the living room. Poor Jenny. She looked as though she had 
aged a decade since the accident-and Hannah saw something unspeakably sad in her 
eyes.
Before Hannah could say anything, jenny looked intently at
her face.. .then at the photo albums on her lap. Rolling her
eyes, jenny sighed softly. "Never mind." She turned and headed
for the stairs.
"Jenny, wait." Hannah stood, too weak from grief to move.
The only reply was the sound of footsteps making their way
up the stairs, toward the bedrooms.
`Jenny! I want to talk to you!" New tears filled Hannah's eyes,
and she collapsed back onto the floor, her legs curled under her.
You're losing her, too. Hannah closed her eyes against the
small voice. Go. Talk to her before it's too late.
She shook her head. She wouldn't chase Jenny. The girl was being selfish and 
insensitive; if she didn't want to talk, then so be it. She grabbed a tissue 
from the nearby end table and blew her nose. Then she put the older photo album 
away and pulled the newer one onto her lap.
"Sometimes the victims are forgotten." Hannah clenched her
teeth and searched the collection of photos. Tom and Alicia
would not be forgotten. Not as long as she had anything to do
with the court proceedings.
106
She drew a deep breath and scanned the photographs until
she found a shot of Tom and Alicia. They were grinning into
the camera as they worked over the gas grill during a family
';barbecue at the beginning of summer. It was a close-up and
probably the best recent picture of the two of them.
She ran a finger over their faces. Tom had said he didn't know how he'd get 
through either of his daughter's weddings. Especially after Bob Carlisle's song 
"Butterfly Kisses" became popular. Any time he heard the piece, Tom would beat 
his
chest once, just above his heart. "Ughh. Kill me with that song.
When my girls get married, they're gonna have to pour me out of the church in a 
bucket. Better buy stock in Kleenex while there's still time."
There was no need now, no weddings to dread, no oldest daughter to walk down the 
aisle. Poor Jenny, baby. One day you'll have to make that walk alone. Hannah 
worked her fingers under the plastic sleeve and removed the photograph, setting 
it on the table next to the tissues.
She flipped forward a few pages until her eyes fell on another photo, this one 
of her and Tom taken that past June. They were atop a pair of rented horses, 
about to ride through the Santa Monica Mountains. Hannah closed her eyes, and 
she could feel the cool ocean fog against her skin; her senses were filled with 
the salty summer air and the sweet smell of horse sweat as it drifted up from 
beneath the saddle. They had ridden for several hours before returning and 
driving to Malibu Park, where they had sat side by side on a bench overlooking 
the deep green canyon and shared peanut butter sandwiches.
Hannah kept her eyes closed. Everything about that moment seemed so real...
Was she still there, sitting beside Tom, waiting for him to tell her it was time 
to go home? Maybe every devastating thing that had happened since then had only 
been part of a terrible nightmare....
She waited-and heaviness settled over her. No. She was
109 I
u
not at Malibu Park. And Tom would never sit beside her again. In this life...
She shut the reassurance out. There was no comfort in dwelling on thoughts of 
eternity if there was an eternity. Today
was all that mattered.
And today, Tom and Alicia were gone.
She sighed and opened her eyes, allowing her gaze to fall on the picture once 
again. Tom looked so young and alive, so handsome. He had pulled his horse up to 
hers and casually draped an arm around her shoulders. Then she'd handed her 
camera to a stable boy.
"Memories for another day," she'd said and Tom had groaned. He had always teased 
her about her excessive photo taking.
"Here we go. Dan Rather, capturing the moment for posterity"
He raised an eyebrow and met the grinning gaze of the stable
boy. "Don't laugh. Your turn will come, boy" Then he
grinned at Hannah. "One day I'll have to build us a separate
wing just to hold our photo albums. That's how many memories
we have for another day"
She looked at the photo, and she could still see the laughter in his eyes. Tears 
slid down her face again.... Would they ever stop? She shook her head, feeling 
as though she were falling down a deep, dark well. Would she ever snap another 
photograph? She couldn't fathom it. Not when the only memories that mattered 
were those that were already made. She lifted the photo album, clutching it 
against her chest.
"Oh, Tom. . .where are you? How can you be gone?" She sniffed and rocked back 
and forth, cradling the album close. "I'm so alone, Tom."
She squeezed her eyes shut, staying that way a long while,
hugging the cold, plastic-covered page against her heart-and
with it, all that remained of the man she'd loved since she was
a child.
108
He has handed me over to those I cannot withstand.
LAMENTATIONS 1:148
The meeting took place in a windowless room located on the first floor of the 
Los Angeles Superior Court Criminal Courts Building. Only two parties were 
present: Harold Finch, defense attorney for Brian Wesley, and deputy district 
attorney Matthew Bronzan.
Matt knew his opponent well. Finch was a hard-nosed defender whose primary 
source of income came from defending drunk drivers. The man's business card 
sported the image of a martini glass and announced, "Caught having too much fun? 
Drunk driving arrest got you down? We can help." Matt kept the card tucked into 
the frame around his desk calendar. A reminder to keep fighting the war, keep 
battling the cases until the words fun and drunk driving would never appear in 
the same paragraph.
Finch referred to himself as "the drunk driver's best, friend," and one day Matt 
did some research to see what made his opponent tick. He was surprised at what 
he found.
Rumor was that fifteen years earlier, Edward FinchHarold's older brother-had 
developed a promising future in law. Common knowledge had it that the two 
brothers had attended law school together and planned to go into practice one 
day. Back then, they were hardworking, clean-cut young men; lawyers who dreamed 
big and planned to change the world by righting wrongs, one case at a time.
Edward never got the chance.
112 The summer after he graduated law school, he attended a wedding where the 
air-conditioning broke down during the reception. Hundred-degree temperatures 
had people sweltering in the ballroom, and.Edward spent much of his time camped 
out at the punch bowl. From everything Matt had heard, Edward Finch had never 
been a drinker, and he didn't know until the third glass that the punch was 
spiked. Of course, after that it didn't matter. With all the dancing and 
mingling, there was only one way to cool down... so Edward drank crystal goblets 
of punch until he lost count.
Apparently Edward's young wife tried to talk him into calling
a cab or getting a room at the hotel, but Edward wouldn't
hear of it. So they got in the car. Halfway home there was a
police officer pulled off the road, writing someone up for
speeding. Drawn by the flashing lights, Edward let his car drift
off the road-until he rear-ended the police car, narrowly missing
the officer. No one was injured, but the officer took the
accident personally. According to court records, the officer later
testified that Edward had acted in a "belligerent manner," that
he'd been clearly intoxicated and said, "Next time I drive
drunk, I'll take better aim."
Edward swore up and down he'd never said anything of the
sort, but his trial took place three weeks after a well-publicized
incident in which a young mother had been killed by a drunk
driver while walking her daughter to school. The jury made an
example of Edward Finch, and he received a one-year sentence
in county jail.
Midway through the term, his wife left him. When he got
out of prison, he was a broken man, a convict with no apartment,
no money, no license to practice law, and no chance at
his much dreamed-about career. From everything Matt heard;
Harold did what he could to help his brother, suggesting odd
jobs and encouraging Edward to appeal for reinstatement with
the California Bar Association. But depression set in, and
Edward began drinking in earnest.
110
Last anyone had heard, the man roamed the streets in urine-drenched rags, slept 
under park benches, and was hopelessly addicted to alcohol. A victim of unjust 
circumstances-at least, that's how Harold saw it.
Matt understood Harold Finch better after finding out all of this, and in some 
very small way he pitied the man. The knowledge of Finch's past made him human.
Wrong, but human.
In the wake of what had happened to his brother, Harold Finch changed gears and 
apparently decided that the best wrong he could possibly right was the wrong 
done to his brother. He would help drunk drivers if it took a lifetime to 
establish their rights. Early on, so it was said, Finch had been utterly 
sincere.
"You know the old saying-" Finch was famous for telling jurors as he cocked his 
head and linked his fingers over his extended belly-"`There but for the grace of 
God go I."'
But somewhere along the road of defending DUI offendersmany of whom were 
responsible for tragic deaths and mayhem-Finch had changed. Gone was the 
lawyerly attitude and appearance. In their place was the look and demeanor of a 
pimp, complete with pinstriped suits and vests with shiny gold buttons that 
strained against the man's sizable gut. Finch also began calling himself Deuce 
Dog, a play on the slang for DUIs: deuces.
High profile drunk driving cases always seemed to wind up in Finch's hands, and 
between appointments he strutted through the courthouse, chest puffed out, 
brimming with confidence and pride.
Matt figured Finch was a case of someone who'd grown callused, hardened to the 
devastation he defended so well. Bad company had finally corrupted what were., 
at the beginning, good intentions. The way Matt saw it, Harold's brash and cocky 
attitude was probably a cover-up for the pain he felt for his brother. 
Nevertheless, Matt did not want to lose to him.
Not this time.
lil.
113 
Matt had gone toe-to-toe with Finch on many cases, and most resulted in plea 
bargains. Matt hated plea bargains. He'd agreed to dozens of them over the 
years, but only because he knew the system as well as his opponent did. 
Sometimes it was better to plea-bargain and send a defendant away with community 
service obligations, a fine, and a mark on his record. Especially when the 
alternative was to waste valuable court time prosecuting a case that could very 
well result in a notguilty verdict.
Only twice had Matt and Finch battled it out before a jury.
Both times Matt had won convictions. The first involved an
elderly woman who suffered major head injuries after a drunk
driver had run her down while she was carrying a gallon of
milk home from the market. Finch's client was convicted of
reckless driving and received two hundred hours of community
service along with a fifteen hundred dollar fine. Hardly satisfying,
considering that the last time Matt had checked, the elderly
woman remained in a vegetative state, strapped to a hospital
bed at a sour-smelling nursing home.
The second case involved a nineteen-year-old boy who drove his fifteen-year-old 
cousin home from a party. The nineteen-yearold misjudged the lane boundaries and 
hit a hundred-year-old maple tree at fifty miles per hour. His cousin had died 
on impact. Both boys had been legally drunk.
Finch's client was convicted of reckless endangerment, and
because it was the boy's first offense, prison time was waived. He, too, 
received community service and a fine.
Although Matt had won convictions in both cases, clearly Finch had been the 
victor. His clients were not confined to a nursing home or a graveyard. Their 
lives went on as they had before, without even a single night in prison to 
remind them of the consequences of their choice to drink and drive.
Matt gritted his teeth. He'd spent years prosecuting drunk drivers, but still 
jurors had never connected driving under the influence with intent to kill.
112
Until now
Matt's jaw tensed. God willing, he-and the case against Brian Wesley-were about 
to change that fact.
A blast of cheap cologne filled the room, and he glanced up to find Finch 
standing there, the ever-present cocky smile on his face.
"Well, well-" Finch tossed his martini business card across the table-"guess we 
got ourselves another plea to work out, eh, Bronzan?"
Matt met the man's gaze steadily. "Not this time."
Finch's expression changed. "A bit jumpy today, aren't we?" He let loose a tinny 
chuckle and pulled a document from the stack before him, eyebrows raising a 
fraction as he studied Matt. "Read it, counselor."
Matt leaned back against the hard wood chair and crossed his arms. "Your client 
is a repeat drunk driver who caused two previous collisions despite alcohol 
education. And now he's killed two people. His blood alcohol level was three 
times the legal limit." He fixed Finch with a hard stare. "There will be no 
plea... counselor."
Finch paused, and a knowing look danced in his eyes. "Perhaps, Mr. Bronzan, you 
should read the plea before summarily dismissing it."
Matt glanced at his watch and pulled the document closer. "Unless Mr. Wesley 
plans to admit to murder, we don't have much to talk about."
Finch was silent while Matt scanned the document. He sucked in a deep breath. 
The plea was brilliant, of course. Matt had expected nothing less from Finch. 
Dime-store cologne and gold vest buttons aside, the man knew his stuff. Had the 
plea been for reckless driving or any such minor charge, Matt could have 
rejected it easily. But Finch had upped the ante. His client was willing to 
plead guilty to vehicular manslaughter. Even more, he was willing to serve 
thirty days in jail for the offense.
In all Matt's years of prosecuting, he'd never seen such a
115 serious crime admitted by way of plea bargain.
There was only one reason his opponent would present such an offer. Matt studied 
Finch's beady eyes, and what he saw there confirmed his suspicions.
Harold Finch was scared.
Glancing at the document once more, Matt thought of the heartache a trial would 
cause Hannah Ryan and her surviving daughter. He thought of the many times a 
jury had refused to convict a drunk driver of even second-degree murder, let 
alone first-degree. The Ryans would suffer indescribable pain if the jury let 
Brian Wesley leave the courtroom a free man....
Then he thought of Tom and Alicia... of the family broken apart, destroyed by 
Brian Wesley's choices. He remembered others like the Ryans who had been dragged 
through the criminal justice system only to be let down when penalties were 
inadequate. No, there would be no plea bargain this time. This was the case he'd 
been waiting for.
Finch looked pleased with himself as he cleared his throat and motioned toward 
the plea bargain. "Well, Bronzan, do we have a plea?"
Matt slid the document across the table and watched it settle
in front of Finch.
"No. We want a trial."
Finch chuckled and looked down the bridge of his fleshy nose at Matt. "Now, I've 
worked with you for many years, Bronzan. And even though we've been on opposite 
sides of the courtroom, I've always taken you for a smart lawyer. Clear on the 
ways of justice. But if I'm not mistaken, I do believe you're losing your edge."
Matt ignored the comment. "Tomorrow this office will officially
charge your client with first-degree murder. At that time
he can choose to plead guilty or not guilty"
Finch's laughter died abruptly and his gaze hardened. "I don't need a lesson on 
law, counselor. Look, we're offering prison time here."
114
"When I'm finished with your client, we won't be talking thirty days jail time, 
we'll be talking five years in the penitentiary. Maybe more." Matt considered 
his opponent and how he'd changed over the years. "There won't be a plea, Finch. 
You can't change my mind."
Finch waited, but when Matt remained silent his eyes narrowed angrily. "Most 
generous plea I've ever made." He sighed dramatically as he collected the 
document and stuffed it into his briefcase. "Next time we offer less. Much 
less."
"There won't be a next time. Not on this case."
Finch arched an eyebrow. "That right? You'll see, counselor. You'll get in court 
and start talking first-degree murder, start making the vehicle out to be a 
weapon and Mr. Wesley out to be a killer. Then you'll see the faces on those 
jurors and you'll panic. A third of the folks in this great nation drink and 
drive, my friend. And that includes jurors." He studied Matt. "They won't give 
you first-degree murder. It's drunk driving, after all. Guy goes out, drinks a 
few beers, has a little fun with the boys, and drives home. The accident was 
just that. Any jail time is out of line as far as I'm concerned." Finch slammed 
his briefcase shut. "But in this case my client and I have tried to show 
compassion for the victims. We offered thirty days in good faith."
Matt remained seated, his arms casually crossed. "Thirty days? In exchange for a 
husband and father, a daughter on the brink of adulthood? Thirty days for two 
lives?"
"Thirty days is better than nothing, Bronzan. The victims' family would have 
been happy with that." Finch shrugged. "Now you're going to drag them through a 
messy court battle. A battle you're going to lose, counselor. And they're going 
to lose, too."
Matt stood and stretched, and suddenly a mountain of anxiety rose within him. 
How can I turn down voluntary jail time? What if Brian Wesley walks? He released 
his breath slowly and waited as Finch continued relentlessly
117 "Turn down a manslaughter plea and you have nothing left." He shook his 
head. "First-degree murder? Huh! My client will walk, Bronzan, mark my words."
"The only walking he'll be doing is from his cell to the yard and back."
"You could take the plea and still come out the winner,
here, Bronzan. It's not too late."
Matt straightened. "Are you finished?"
Finch shook his head sadly. "You really have lost it, counselor. No way a jury's 
going to make drunk driving a murderone issue. Not in the great state of 
California."
Matt waited, silent, as Finch headed for the door. "I'll be asking for a delay"
Matt cocked his head. `Just one?"
Finch's eyes grew cold. "One per month until we run out of reasons. By the time 
this thing takes the floor, the world will have forgotten all about Tom and 
Alicia Ryan."
Matt thought of the pictures, photos taken at the accident scene. Broken glass 
and blood and camping gear spilled onto the road. He thought of the young girl 
laid out on a stretcher, her body stilled forever... so reminiscent of another 
whose life had been wasted...
He leveled a look at Finch. "Not me. I'll never forget."
The defense attorney studied him as if he were a curious oddity. "You've 
forgotten the first rule of law, counselor, don't get emotionally involved. 
First-degree murder?" He scratched his head, his face contorted in disbelief. 
"You're out of your mind."
Finch left the room and shut the door behind him. Matt
stood there, staring after him, his hands in his pockets. Finch is
worried. He's afraid I'm right. He closed his eyes and sighed
deeply. Please, Lord, let me be right.
After tomorrow there would be no turning back.
116
This is why I weep and my eyes overflow with tears. No one is near to comfort 
me.
LAMENTATIONS 1:16A
Hannah smoothed a hand over her black rayon slacks and straightened her 
short-sleeved blouse. The hearing was in two hours, and she planned to be early 
She walked briskly down the hallway toward the bedroom.
"Jenny? Are you up?" Silence.
Hannah sighed. Since their disagreement the day before, Jenny had hidden away in 
her room, even refusing dinner. Hannah strode up to her daughter's bedroom door 
and
knocked twice. No response.
"Jenny, open the door right now!" Hannah shifted her weight and began tapping a 
steady rhythm with the toe of her shoe. She could hear jenny moving on the other 
side of the door and finally it swung open.
"What?" Jenny's eyes were tear stained; her voice sounded thick, as though she 
were fighting a cold. She was dressed in rumpled pajamas and fuzzy, Dalmatian 
slippers.
At the sight of her disheveled, clearly miserable little girl, Hannah was 
pierced with guilt and heartache. She stopped tapping and sighed, her voice 
sadder than before. "Honey, you haven't said two words to me since yesterday. I 
need to know your plans. I'm getting ready to leave for the hearing this 
morning."
Jenny crossed her arms. "What do you want to know?"
119 "Well, for starters-" Hannah forced herself to sound understanding, even 
patient-"are you going to school or coming with me?"
Jenny was silent, her eyes glazed with unresolved anger and
grief.
Hannah sighed. `Jenny, I think you should come with me
today. Carol Cummins called yesterday. She's the woman from
Mothers Against Drunk Drivers." Hannah hesitated. "She said
sometimes the victims get forgotten in these court proceedings."
Jenny huffed. "No kidding."
Hannah frowned. What on earth did that mean? "I'll ignore that comment. What I'm 
trying to say is, we need to be there to represent your dad and Alicia. We're 
the only ones who can do that."
"Dad and Alicia are dead." Jenny turned, plodded across the
room, and fell onto her unmade bed. "I'm staying home today"
Hannah's heartbeat quickened and she felt her face grow
hot. "That isn't an option. You need to get dressed and make your bed. Then you 
need to either get yourself to the bus stop or come with me to the hearing."
"I don't feel good."
Hannah's heart sank. Jenny had always been the picture of
health. Before the accident, she was routinely recognized for
perfect attendance in school. Now she'd missed twelve days
since returning to school, and she rarely woke up enthusiastic
about anything. "Honey, you've missed too much school
already."
Jenny began crying again. "I thought you wanted me to miss
school! So you can haul me off to court and show me off, so
everyone can stare at me like... like I'm some kind of freak or
something!"
Hannah clenched her fists. Why can't you understand? Jenny,
what's happening to us? "Never mind. Don't come to the hearing.
I just thought you might feel better if you did something constructive."
118
Jenny sat up, her shoulders hunched wearily. "What's constructive about sitting 
in a courtroom while people walk around feeling sorry for you?"
"Someone has to represent your dad and Alicia." Hannah heard her voice getting 
louder, and she struggled to regain control. 
"This isn't about Daddy and Alicia. It's about that guy who hit us. You want him 
locked up and... and you want to use me as some kind of...1 don't know, some 
kind of puppet to make everyone feel sorry for us."
Hannah felt as if she'd been slapped. She reeled, taking a step backward. 
"That's not fair, Jenny! That man destroyed our family. Yes, I want him locked 
up. So he won't do this to anyone else. If our being there could possibly help 
get him off the streets, then your dad and Alicia's deaths will not be in vain."
"That's a lousy reason to die, Mom. I need them here. I want them here. Besides, 
I don't care what happens to that guy. I'm not going to court. . .not today or 
any other day! It won't bring Dad and Alicia back, and that's the only thing 
that matters." 
Hannah felt the sting of tears. She wanted to go to Jenny, comfort her, and hold 
her. Take away the hurt. But Hannah's own pain seemed to create an invisible 
wall between them too high to scale. "Fine. Don't go. But I'll expect you to get 
dressed and be at the bus on time." Hannah glanced at her watch. "You have 
forty-five minutes."
"I said I don't feel good."
Hannah's sympathy evaporated. "Listen, Jenny, unless you want to repeat this 
year, you need to go to school. I don't feel good, either. It's part of life 
these days."
Jenny was silent again, and Hannah turned to leave. How had this happened? How 
had she and Jenny grown so distant? If only Tom were here. He would know what to 
say, how to reach her....
She collected the photograph of Tom and Alicia and placed
121 it carefully in her day-planner. She had lost so much, and somehow it seemed 
like the losing had only begun. In the end, when the court proceedings were 
behind her... would she have lost Jenny, too? Hannah wiped at a single tear, 
grabbed her car keys, and forced herself to think of the events that lay ahead.
For an instant she considered praying, considered asking God to help Jenny 
understand. Maybe if she begged him to repair their damaged relationship, he 
would help them, restore them, so that at least they would have each other. But 
the thought of praying made Hannah's skin crawl. It was the same creepy feeling 
she used to get when she and Tom would see a television commercial for the 
Psychic Hotline.
That was when the idea came to her. She ignored it for a moment, but it wouldn't 
go away. And for the first time in her life, Hannah considered an unthinkable 
possibility: Perhaps everything she'd ever learned and believed about God was 
just fable and fairy tale. Perhaps God didn't really exist at all. At least you 
could see the Psychic Hotline people, but God. . .what proof was there?
No God. It was a plausible explanation, and as Hannah
tested it in her heart and mind, she felt herself becoming convinced.
Yes, that had to be it. There was no God. No father in heaven
who had deserted her, no Lord who had allowed her family to
be destroyed. Perhaps all of life was only a random crapshoot.
The idea was strangely comforting, and by the time Hannah climbed into her car 
and headed for the Criminal Courts Building, she had accepted it as truth.
Brian Wesley sat on a cold wooden chair in a holding room adjacent to Courtroom 
201, home of the formidable judge Rudy Horowitz. He fidgeted with a paper clip, 
twisting it back and forth until it broke into tiny metal strips. Across the 
table from him sat his lawyer, Harold Finch.
120
"You understand the order of events today?" Finch's chest
V, heaved as he tried to catch his breath. The hearing was in fifteen
minutes, and Finch had just arrived to court. Late, as usual. Brian turned in 
his chair and studied his trembling fingers.
"They charge me with murder. I tell'em I'm not guilty."
"Right." Finch studied him. "Try to sound sure of yourself." Brian nodded, his 
eyes downcast.
"You remember what I've told you about Judge Horowitz?" "No nonsense. Doesn't 
like drunk drivers."
"Good." Finch breathed easier. "You been off the bottle?" "Sometimes. I drink a 
little now and then, but no driving,
man. Don't worry."
Finch's face grew red and he frowned. "It's going to take more than that, Mr. 
Wesley! You need to stop drinking. This case will go to trial, and if the 
prosecutor can prove you're still drinking, there's a chance you'll be convicted 
of first-degree murder."
Brian gulped and his palms began to sweat. When he could speak again, his voice 
was pinched. "You said that wouldn't happen."
"It's never happened in the history of California." Finch set his elbows on the 
table and leaned closer to Brian. "But jurors are changing. They're only 
sympathetic to a point. If they think you're going to drink and drive again, 
maybe hurt their families or friends, they just might put you away"
Brian picked up a broken piece of the paper clip and ran his finger over its 
smooth length. "I'm trying to stop, man." "How about AA? You connected with a 
group yet?"
"I went once. Some guy led the thing. . .kept talking about higher power this, 
and God that. I couldn't relate, you know?" Finch waved a hand in dismissal. 
"The God stuff is part of
the deal. No one says you have to believe it, but if you're not in with an AA 
group, you'll lose the jury's sympathy for sure." Brian looked down again, and 
his eyes fell on another paper
clip. He reached out and pulled it closer. "So...what? Pretend I'm some kind of 
Jesus freak?"
123 
"God, Jesus, Buddah, higher power... whatever. Just go along with it. This has 
nothing to do with your personal belief system. It has to do with keeping your 
pickled behind out of prison. Understand?" 
Brian nodded and bent the paper clip until it was unrecog nizable. 
Finch summed up Brian, and his face became a mask of doubt. "I plan to win this 
case, Mr. Wesley. But I am going to need your cooperation." 
"Got it." 
"All right, that's better. Listen, I have to talk to someone down the hall. I'll 
be back in ten minutes, and we'll get set up in the courtroom." 
Brian did not look up as his attorney left the room. A ripple of terror ran 
through him like a current of electricity. How did I get here? His heart skipped 
a beat in response. Wasn't I doing my best work ever, sober for three weeks? How 
did everything get so messed up? He closed his eyes and he could see Carla, the 
dev astated look on her face when she picked him up at the county jail the night 
of the accident. 
She had said nothing until they were in her car. Then her voice had been barely 
more than a whisper. "How could you, Brian?" 
He hadn't answered her. He had still been drunk, after all, and there was no 
point defending himself to Carla. But she'd been relentless, horrified at what 
had happened. "Brian, do you understand? You killed two people!" 
He tried to explain that it was an accident... of course he hadn't meant to hurt 
anyone. But Carla was furious and unfor giving. For days after the accident she 
stayed away from him, almost as if she were afraid of him. When they spoke, she 
talked of nothing but the accident, the impending court pro ceedings-and the 
biggest issue of all-when Brian was finally going to quit drinking. 
A week after the accident Brian could take no more. He moved out and took up 
residence on the sofa bed at a friend's 
122 
nearby apartment. Jackson Lamer was a party buddy from Brian's high school days, 
faithful and true, always ready with a cold one when the chips were down. 
"Dude, whatever you need," Jackson had told him after hearing about the 
accident. He popped the top of an alu minum beer can and handed it to Brian. 
"Rides to court, AA meetings. Whatever, dude. You're in righteous, big-time 
trouble, and that's what buds are for, man. Just let me know." 
Jackson was a keeper, the kind of friend Brian wished he had more of. 
Police had impounded Brian's car, and the few times he had needed a ride in the 
weeks since, Jackson had come through. Days were difficult, wondering if he 
should look for a job or wait until the courts were through with him. But 
evenings were better, he and Jackson would pass the hours sharing a twelve pack, 
talking about old times. 
Since the accident, only Jackson had been faithful. Everyone else had forsaken 
him: Avery Automotive, Carla, even the beer. Back in the old days, the drink 
always made things okay, but ever since the accident, there was no peace not in 
drinking or sleeping... and definitely not in thinking. Day or night, whenever 
he closed his eyes, he was haunted by them. The girl lying lifeless on the side 
of the road; her father trapped in their family car, his life slowly draining 
away A mother and sister left alone, brokenhearted. 
He hated himself for what he'd done to them. 
He tried to block out their faces, but they pushed their way into his mind 
anyway And with them came images of demons, laughing, taunting him, offering him 
another drink. Brian swal lowed hard around the lump in his throat. 
The legal proceedings were pointless. Whatever happened in court, he was already 
trapped in the worst kind of prison. 
He looked around, searching for another paper clip, but found none. 
The AA meeting had offered no relief. Finch had called with 
125 the information, explaining that there was a meeting one mile from Jackson's 
apartment. Brian remembered the evening well. He had stayed clean for the 
occasion, and that evening Jackson had dropped him off.
"Give it a try, man." He'd shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I'll
join you one day"
Brian walked through the double glass doors nervously,
signed in, and found a seat. The room was filled with twenty or
so men and women ranging in age from early twenties to late
fifties. Most of them looked comfortable, like they'd been meeting
together for years.
"We have someone new in our group tonight." The leader
looked right at him as he spoke. "Mr. Wesley, will you stand
and tell us a little about yourself and why you're here?"
Brian wished he could disappear, but he stood, his knees knocking within his 
worn jeans. "Brian Wesley. I, uh...I was in an accident last week. Uh.. . my 
attorney told me about this."
A knowing look came over the leader's face. "Brian-may I call you Brian?"
Brian nodded.
"Brian, was that the accident at Ventura and Fallbrook?"
He looked around the room, suddenly embarrassed. "Yeah." The leader seemed to 
wait for him to elaborate. When he stood silent, the man went on. "You were 
driving under the influence, is that right?"
Brian nodded again and shoved his hands deep inside his pockets.
"Can you tell us about it?" "Uh...well ...no."
The leader nodded. "Okay" He paused. "I'm sure a few of us read about that 
accident." He looked at the others and his voice filled with compassion. "A 
father and daughter were killed when Brian, here, drove his truck through a red 
light at Ventura and Fallbrook. Is that right, Brian?"
Brian's temper flared. "I said I didn't want to talk about it!"
124
"I understand, but we don't keep secrets in this group. We're here to help you."
Brian wanted to run from the room. "I don't need help. I'm here because of my 
attorney"
"You're not alone, Brian. A few of those sitting around the room here have been 
involved in serious accidents. Accidents they caused by driving drunk. But 
they've found forgiveness in Christ and have accepted his gift of new life."
Brian shook his head. The guy sounded like some kind of religious freak. Who was 
Christ anyway, and what did new life have to do with drunk driving? What sort of 
God would want anything to do with him after what he'd done to that family?
His response had been quick. "I don't believe in God, man." The leader smiled 
kindly. "That's all right. He believes in you. He wants to meet you right where 
you are, Brian."
Brian had listened to the man's religious drivel for ten minutes before leaving 
the meeting early If there was a God-and he seriously doubted the idea-Brian 
knew he would have died in that accident. The pretty blond girl and her father 
would have lived. It was simple as that.
He hadn't gone back to the AA meetings.
Brian looked at the clock. The hearing would take place soon. He pushed the 
pieces of broken paper clips with his forefinger until they formed a small 
letter s. He hadn't talked to Carla in three weeks, and he suddenly wondered 
about Brian Jr. What would the boy think when he realized what his father had 
done?
He thought of his own father. Red Wesley was a boozer from way back. He floated 
from job to job, and when Brian was four, he deserted the family and took up 
with a barmaid across town. Brian's mother got married again, this time to a 
wealthy, tea-drinking investor. He didn't exactly love Brian, but he bought him 
whatever he needed, and in his father's absence, material goods weren't all that 
bad. After a year or so they lost track of Red Wesley. Ten years later his 
mother was notified
127 that Red had died. Alcohol poisoning.
All his life Brian had been determined to be a better father than Red.
I'm just like him. Brian dug his elbows into his thighs and
dropped his head into his hands. I don't care what they do to me.
Lock me up for twenty years. Thirty, even. Then Carla can meet
someone, and little Brian can have a different daddy He deserves
better.
He squeezed his eyes shut and the images returned again.
The girl, her blond hair matted with blood... her father moaning
from inside the car. The demons, black faces dripping with
blood, sneered at him, taunting him.
"Okay, God," his hands shook and his pulse quickened. The dryness in his throat 
seemed to reach down into his gut. "If you're real then I give up. Take me now I 
don't want to live another minute."
Brian waited. Nothing. "I thought so."
He pushed the paper clip pieces around until they formed the shape of a glass. 
He glanced at the clock once more and wrung his hands together, trying to still 
their incessant trembling. Let's get this thing over with so I can go home and 
have a drink.
Jenny lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. She still wore the same rumpled 
pajamas and had barely moved in the two hours since her mother left. It was 
nearly ten, and the school bus had long since come and gone. Jenny clutched her 
stomach and rolled onto her side. She hadn't lied to her mother, she really did 
feel terrible. Her heart pounded and her chest ached ...getting air was hard 
because she couldn't relax long enough to draw a deep breath. Her sinuses 
throbbed from hours of crying. She had felt this way since the previous 
afternoon and had passed the night restlessly, desperately trying to sleep.
"Oh, I don't care, Lord!" She rolled onto her side. "Take me. I don't wanna live 
anyway"
126
She grabbed her pillow and shoved it over her face so she couldn't breathe. 
Seconds passed, and she willed herself to hold firm, keep the pillow in place. 
Just a few minutes and she would be with Daddy and Alicia. Take me, Lord. 
Please.
Suddenly, when it seemed her lungs would burst, she threw the pillow onto the 
floor, gasping in great gulps of air.
I can't even do that right. Please take me, Lord.
If only she weren't so weak. She should have held the pillow longer. There had 
to be another way. Carbon monoxide. Sleeping pills. A razor blade. Something.
Mom doesn't want me. My friends won't talk to me. Please Lord, I want to be with 
you and Daddy and Alicia.
She. tossed and turned, rolling from side to side, gulping in quick, jerky 
breaths. What was wrong with the air in this room? It was stale, warm. No matter 
how many times she sucked in, her body screamed for more oxygen. She wove her 
fingers into her hair, grabbed two fistfuls and pulled as hard as she could. I 
hate this, Lord. I want to die. Carbon monoxide. Sleeping pills. A razor She ran 
through the options again and again and again. Until finally she couldn't keep 
her eyes open a moment longer, and she drifted off to sleep.
129 19,49 
I;I 
The Lord has rejected all the warriors in my midst; he has summoned an army 
against me. 
LAMENTATIONS 1:15A 
Hannah was pacing a short, nervous pattern in front of judge Horowitz's 
courtroom when a woman appeared with two large photo buttons pinned to the lapel 
of her cream-colored jacket. The first held the insignia of Mothers Against 
Drunk Drivers; the second bore the picture of a kind-looking man in his thir 
ties. The woman was forty-five, maybe forty-eight. Her hair was pulled back, and 
her eyes held a gentle glow, as though she had found a peace that was rare in a 
world of suffering. 
The woman approached and held out her hand. "Hello. I'm Carol Cummins." 
Hannah wondered if Carol could see her heart pounding in her throat. "Hannah 
Ryan." 
"I thought it was you. We're usually the first to arrive and the last to leave." 
She smiled and motioned toward the court room. "Matt Bronzan is probably already 
setting up inside. Let's go in. I'll introduce you." 
Hannah felt her pulse quicken. What would Matt Bronzan think of her? Did she 
look like a victim? Would she evoke enough sympathy from the people who had the 
power to put Brian Wesley behind bars? She thought a moment and tried to take on 
the look of a victim. As she did, she glanced at the photograph in her hand and 
remembered the truth. 
Tom and Alicia were gone. There was no need to pretend. "I brought the photo." 
131 
Carol took it and studied it a moment. "They look very happy" She raised her 
eyes, and Hannah saw distant pain there.
Hannah looked at the picture once more. "Yes. We all
were."
"Well..." Carol drew a deep breath. She took the photo and
snapped it carefully into a photo pin, then handed it back to
Hannah. "I'd like to hear more about your family some day,
Hannah. But right now we had better get inside. The hearing's
in just a few minutes."
Hannah pinned the photo of Tom and Alicia to her rayon
blouse and nodded. She was ready to meet Matt Bronzan.
Inside the courtroom, Matt straightened a pile of notes and set them down in 
front of his chair. Adjusting his tie, he glanced at the clock on the back wall. 
The others would be here any moment. He swallowed hard and rubbed his damp palms 
together. His decision was made. He was about to go through with it.
He prayed for wisdom and success. It was time. The system
had gone along for too many years without recognizing how
serious drunk driving and its consequences were. He prayed
that this case would change that.
The back door opened, and he turned to see two women
walk in. He recognized Carol Cummins from MADD, and he
studied the other woman with her. She was striking, despite
her swollen eyes and loose clothing. Hannah Ryan. He was
sure of it.
"Matt." Carol stopped at the railing separating the spectator
section from the rest of the courtroom.
"Good morning, Carol."
She slipped an arm around the other woman's shoulders.
"This is Hannah Ryan. The defendant killed her husband
and"
130
"I know who she is," Matt cut in kindly. His gaze held Hannah's for a moment, 
then he reached out and took her hand in his. He hesitated. There was so much he 
wanted to say, but nothing that could help. "I'm...I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ryan."
Hannah nodded, and Matt saw her eyes fill with tears. She
seemed unable to speak so Matt continued. "I'm glad you're here today. It does 
make a difference." He paused. "If you don't mind, I'd like to explain a little 
bit about what I'm going to do today, what's going to take place."
Carol turned to Matt. "I told Hannah about the first-degree murder possibility"
"Right." Matt still held the woman's hand, and he looked intently at her. 
"Yesterday I met with the defendant's attorney. They offered a plea bargain."
Anger flare in Hannah's eyes. "A plea bargain?"
"The defendant was willing to plead guilty to incidental vehicular manslaughter. 
According to their agreement, he would have served thirty days in jail and paid 
a fine, a thousand dollars I think it was."
Hannah dropped his hand. "You settled?" "No. I told them we weren't interested."
The woman's face flooded with relief. "So what's the charge?"
Matt paused. "We'll charge him with driving under the influence and causing 
bodily injury while under the influence for the injuries your daughter jenny 
sustained. Those charges don't carry prison time, though."
"What about the rest?"
Matt hesitated. "First-degree murder. All or nothing." He studied Hannah and 
looked to Carol. "Have you explained any of this to her?"
"Yes. She understands." Carol tightened her grip on Hannah's shoulders. "If the 
jury doesn't agree with the charges, Mr. Wesley walks away a free man."
Matt drew a deep breath and returned his attention to
133 Hannah. "My office has been waiting for a case like this, and we believe 
it's time. The defendant, Brian Wesley, has prior convictions and prior drunk 
driving accidents. He's had his driver's license suspended, and last year it was 
revoked. He has participated in alcohol education courses and signed agreements 
as part of his parole conditions promising never to drink and drive again. At 
the time of the accident, he had no valid license, and tests showed he had 
consumed a significant amount of alcohol before driving home." Matt softened his 
voice. "All of which makes this a very serious situation."
Hannah swallowed hard and stood a bit taller. She hesitated a moment. "Do you 
think we have a chance?"
Matt smiled. "I think so. First-degree means Mr. Wesley used his vehicle as a 
weapon and set out deliberately to murder. Premeditated murder, really. It's a 
tough charge, but there are a few landmark precedents in other states. The 
question is culpability. To what degree was Mr. Wesley culpable in the deaths of 
Tom and Alicia."
Hannah's brow wrinkled in a frown of concentration. Matt figured she was trying 
to makes sense of all he'd told her. "No one's ever been convicted of 
first-degree murder for driving drunk and killing someone?"
"Not in California, no."
Carol crossed her arms. "We've tried a time or two-" she nodded to Matt-"at 
least Matt here has. But in the end the jurors simply haven't been ready"
Matt shifted his weight. "We're hoping this case, and the timing, will change 
that. Thanks to the education from MADD and other organizations, people want 
drunk drivers off the road. I think they may be ready to do something more 
drastic than ever before." He met Hannah's watchful look. "I really believe we 
can get a conviction in this case."
"If you do-" Hannah hesitated. "When you do, how many years will'Brian Wesley 
get?"
"The penalty for this charge is twenty-five years to life. It'll
132
depend on the jury's recommendation and the judge."
Carol met Hannah's eyes. "That's one thing we have going for us this time. Judge 
Horowitz is fairly conservative. He doesn't have much sympathy for people who 
choose to drink and drive and then kill someone in the process."
"Of course Wesley would never serve twenty-five years."
Hannah's eyes narrowed at this, and Matt went on. She needed to know the facts. 
"He could be out in five, even three years with parole."
"Three years! If he gets sentenced to-"
She broke off when a door opened and judge Horowitz
appeared, his black robe flowing behind him. He climbed effortlessly into his 
elevated chair and began sifting through documents on his desk.
Another door opened, and Matt watched Harold Finch enter the room. Behind him 
came the man Matt presumed was Finch's defendant. Trailing the procession was a 
bailiff. The trio walked past Matt and the two women and found seats at the 
defense table. Finch whispered something to his client.
Matt turned and found Hannah staring at the men. "That's Harold Finch there on 
the right," he whispered. "He represents the defendant and typically-"
"Which one is Brian Wesley?"
Matt caught his breath at the anger in Hannah's voice. "I'm not positive, but I 
assume he's the younger guy on Finch's left." Hannah was still staring at the 
man when Matt excused himself.
The hearing was about to begin.
Hannah barely noticed Matt leave or the judge bang his gavel and ask the court 
to come to order. Her attention was fixed on the man sitting next to Harold 
Finch.
Somehow she had expected him to be dark and sinister, with the cold eyes of a 
killer. Instead he was clean-cut with a
135 trim build. He looked like the youth minister at their church. Hannah 
studied him and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She clenched her teeth. It 
didn't matter how he looked. She hated him. How could you? She glared at him, 
boring her eyes in the back of his skull. How could you kill my family?
The judge's voice interrupted her thoughts. "In the matter of The People v Brian 
Wesley, I believe the state has a formal charge to file. Is Mr. Wesley present?"
The young man next to Finch nodded. "Yes, sir."
Hannah's gaze remained locked on Wesley as she absently fingered the photo 
button on her blouse. The nausea intensified. Suddenly the room was spinning, 
and she had to fight off a wave of lightheadedness. Don't faint, don't faint, 
don't faint. She drew a steadying gulp of hot, courtroom air.
You can do it. She nodded. Yes, she could. This wasn't about how she felt. This 
was about what she'd lost. And it was about making Brian Wesley pay for his 
sins. She closed her eyes for a moment and willed herself to be strong. I'm 
doing my best, Tom, really I am.
The judge continued. "Is counsel present for the defendant?"
The man Matt Bronzan had identified as Harold Finch
stood. "Yes, your honor."
Judge Horowitz peered down and acknowledged Finch
over his oval reading glasses. "Mr. Finch. I assume you will be
counsel for the defendant throughout this matter?"
"I will, your honor."
The judge peered at Matt. "Mr. Bronzan." "Your honor." Matt rose briefly
"You'll be representing the state in this matter, is that right?"
"Yes, your honor."
"All right then." He glanced at the docket on his desk. "Mr.
Bronzan, please would you inform this court as to the official
charge against the defendant, Brian Wesley"
"Yes, your honor." Matt stood and stepped back from his
134
chair. Hannah liked the way he held judge Horowitz's gaze.
"The people of the state of California do hereby officially charge Mr. Brian 
Wesley with first-degree murder in the drunk driving deaths of Tom Ryan and 
Alicia Ryan. In addition, we charge
Mr. Wesley with driving under the influence and causing bodily harm while 
driving under the influence for the injuries suffered by jenny Ryan."
The judge nodded and wrote something on the form in front of him. He looked up. 
"Are there other charges?"
"No, your honor."
The judge allowed his glasses to slide further down the bridge of his nose so 
that his squinty eyes could be seen clearly over them. "This is a drunk driving 
case, is that right?"
"It is, your honor." Matt caught his hands behind his back, and his sleek, dark 
Italian suit opened enough to expose a crisp, white, button-down, tailored dress 
shirt and a conservative silk tie. Hannah studied him. He moved with an athletic 
grace, confident and self-assured. Though she'd only just met him, she trusted 
him completely. If anyone could put Brian Wesley away for a decade it was Matt 
Bronzan.
The judge continued. "And you understand, Mr. Bronzan, that by charging the 
defendant with first-degree murder, you can not later charge him with a lesser 
crime?"
"Yes, your honor." Matt didn't falter.
"All right then, the charge has been entered." Judge Horowitz turned toward 
Brian Wesley and his attorney "Mr. Wesley, the state has charged you with 
first-degree murder in the deaths of Tom Ryan and Alicia Ryan. The state has 
also charged you with driving under the influence and causing bodily harm while 
driving under the influence. Do you understand the charges?"
Hannah's attention flew to Brian. She could only see his back and the side of 
his face, but his trembling was visible across the courtroom. Good. Hannah 
didn't feel sorry for him. He was a monster.
137 Brian rose slowly to his feet and cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I 
understand the charges."
"How do you plead?"
Brian glanced down at Finch, and Hannah saw uncertainty
on the young man's face. He deserves this. I hope he's terrified.
The attorney nodded slightly. "Uh..." Brian faced the judge
once more. "I, uh...not guilty, sir. On all counts."
"Very well, then." The judge scribbled something again. "This matter will be 
handed over to trial. We'll have a preliminary hearing next month and then, 
presuming there's enough evidence, I imagine it will take several months to get 
the case scheduled on the docket."
Matt cleared his throat. "Your honor, I'd like to make a
request."
The judge nodded. "Go ahead."
"The defendant has been convicted of drunk driving several times. He has caused 
two other accidents while driving drunk, and he was driving with a suspended 
license at the time of the accident. We are seriously concerned that he will 
drink and drive again, and that other innocent people will be put in danger as a 
result." Matt paced casually back toward his spot at the table. He picked up a 
piece of paper. "The state would like to file a motion to have Mr. Wesley 
detained until such time as a trial can be arranged."
Finch immediately leaned over and whispered something to
Brian, then rose quickly, tugging his tight vest firmly over his
stomach. "Your honor, we strongly disagree with the state's
request in this matter. Mr. Wesley is in the process of finding a
job. He has a wife and young son who need his income and support.
In addition, he is attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.
His vehicle has been impounded by the state; therefore, we
do not feel he represents even the remotest risk to society"
The judge was silent for a moment, and Hannah willed him to side with Matt. Loch 
him up! I can't see Tom or Alicia. Why should he get to see his family?
136
Finally the judge looked at Matt. "As you know, Mr.
Bronzan, it would be highly unusual to jail a drunk driving defendant until the 
time of trial. As Mr. Finch pointed out, the state has apprehended the 
defendant's vehicle. I don't believe he will be a danger so long as he stays off 
the road. I'm afraid I'll have to dismiss your motion."
"Very well, your honor." Matt nodded and returned to his seat. Hannah leaned 
forward, ready to shout out if she had to. Why had Matt given up so easily?
Harold Finch took the cue and snatched a document from the table. "One more 
thing, your honor. Mr. Wesley has some medical problems relating to the 
accident. He's in physical therapy at the present time and will be for several 
months to come. Should this court find enough evidence at the preliminary to 
hold Mr. Wesley over for trial, I will be filing a motion for continuance until 
such time as Mr. Wesley is physically able to aid in his defense."
Hannah was on her feet, about to protest, but Carol gently pulled her back down. 
"Not now, Hannah. This is part of the game. It doesn't mean anything."
Doesn't mean anything? Hannah glared at Finch. How dare
he ask for a delay so Brian Wesley could receive physical therapy? Tom and 
Alicia were dead, and now the animal that killed them needed time for healing 
before he could face his punishment? Hannah could hardly believe it. She 
narrowed her eyes, fighting the rage that welled up within her and threatened to 
strangle her.
Judge Horowitz raised a wary eyebrow "Mr. Finch, I am aware of your reputation 
and your knack for delaying the inevitable. It is my intent to see that this 
trial makes it into my courtroom as soon as possible."
"Yes, your honor, but-"
"I am not finished, Mr. Finch." Hannah almost jumped up and applauded at Judge 
Horowitz's firm tone. She clasped her hands together, listening intently as the 
judge went on. "I
139 understand that in this case the defendant was involved in a serious car 
accident and because of that, I will grant your motion. This time. You will need 
to present this court with documentation within one week stating exactly how 
much `physical therapy' Mr. Wesley will need. We will go ahead with a 
preliminary next month. Then, if the case is handed over for trial, I will 
review Mr. Wesley's medical records before scheduling a trial date."
"Thank you, your honor." Hannah wanted to slap the smug
look off of Finch's face as he sat down.
"Nevertheless-" Hannah's attention jerked back to judge
Horowitz. "You will not use the judicial system to file motion
upon motion in an effort to delay this trial. I understand how
delays might benefit your client, but I simply will not have that
game played out in my courtroom. Is that understood?"
Finch smiled agreeably. "Absolutely, your honor."
The judge turned to Matt. "I'll notify you about the preliminary. 
" Matt nodded, and Hannah marveled at how he maintained his composure. He looked 
unaffected by Finch's victory. The judge dismissed them, and in a matter of 
seconds Finch and Brian Wesley disappeared.
Matt met Hannah and Carol at the railing. "No surprises here."
Hannah crossed her arms. No surprises? "Then why'd you
ask the judge to hold Brian in jail until trial?"
The corners of Matt's mouth raised slightly. "It didn't hurt to ask." He thought 
a moment. "And maybe it set a tone for the seriousness of this case."
Carol stretched. "I liked it. Definitely took the defense by
surprise."
Hannah's head was swimming. She had no idea there were
so many innuendoes and subtle nuances involved in prosecuting
someone who was so obviously guilty. "What about the
delay?" She studied Matt's face and found strength from the
confidence she saw there.
138
"It won't be the last."
Her mouth dropped open. "But the judge said he wasn't playing that game." t-k,t 
Truth is if "The judge wants
come up with a good reason foha delay, Judge Horowitz w t
really have a choice."
Hannah wanted to scream. "Why?"
touch Carol put a hand on er rearm, fuses and Hannah
the comforting. "If the judge
defense grounds for appeal." 11 Matt ,,in other words if
"Finch can come back later and say his client didn't haveda fader
trial. He was too rushed to defend his client fairly."
Suddenly Hannah understood and her temper flared again. "That isn't fair."
"We're trying to change that, but we have to play by the rules."
Hannah nodded. "Listen-" Carol turned
lun h toward
She looked at Mattb`Join drained. Let's go grab sme
us?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid I have a full afternoon. But
please-" he directed his attention to Hannah once more"call
me anytime if you have questions or concerns."
Hannah would have done anything to help this man win the case against Brian 
Wesley. "I want him locked up, Mr. Bronzan."
Matt nodded. "We all do." He looked from Hannah to Carol, then back again. "I'll 
contact you when I have a preliminary date. And certainly if I have any 
information about the trial."
"Thank you." Hannah fiddled with the photo button once more, and Matt leaned 
closer.
"Your husband and daughter?"
Carol stood by respectfully as Hannah nodded. "Tom and
141 Alicia... at a family barbecue last summer."
Matt's expression filled with a mixture of compassion and frustration, and 
Hannah warmed to him even more. He seemed to understand all she'd lost...
He looked up at her and sighed. "A man like Brian Wesley should never have had 
the chance to get behind the wheel." Hannah suddenly had to fight the urge to 
break down and
give way to the tears she'd held off all day. Matt Bronzan was indeed her ally, 
her friend. He would see this case through and win a conviction. She was sure 
about it. "I know you'll do everything you can."
He moved to gather his documents. "You have my word."
Hannah watched him leave through the same door she'd
seen Finch and Brian exit earlier. Then she turned her attention
toward Carol. "Lunch sounds great. I want to get involved as
soon as possible." She hesitated, and when she spoke again it
was with fierce determination. "I need to get involved."
She and Carol left the courtroom, and Hannah felt herself finding purpose as 
they talked about the basic structure of the MADD organization, how victim 
impact panels worked, and what would be the best uses of Hannah's time.
Much later that afternoon Hannah finally drove home and pulled into the 
driveway.
She turned off the ignition, leaned back in the seat, and gazed at the house. 
Would she ever be able to do this, come home and walk through the door without 
being haunted by all she'd lost.
All Jenny had lost.
She felt the heat of shame filling her face. Jenny. Hannah
blinked back sudden tears as she realized this was the first time
since early that morning she'd even remembered her youngest
daughter.
140
This is why I weep and my eyes overflow with tears.
LAMENTATIONS 1:16A
Carol Cummins had been a member of MADD for nearly ten years. Like others in the 
organization, her involvement wasn't something she had planned. Rather, she 
wound up an activist after her husband, Ken, was killed at the hands of a drunk 
driver.
The man who hit her husband had faced no trial. Instead there was a plea 
bargain, a backstreet handshake of a deal that resulted in the defendant serving 
three days in jail and paying a nominal fine. Ken had carried no life insurance, 
except what was provided by his work, so Carol was left with two fatherless 
babies and piles of unpaid bills.
Carol and Ken were believers, and the church they attended came through on the 
bills. Still, there remained a sense of injustice and an anger that no brother 
or sister in Christ could ease. Frustrated and stricken with grief, Carol turned 
to Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.
At first, she'd had a vague understanding of the group's purpose. Started by a 
mother whose daughter had been killed by a drunk driver, MADD's goal was 
threefold: Educate the public about the dangers of drunk driving, reduce the 
number of drunk driving accidents that occurred each year, and increase the 
penalties for those convicted of the crime.
Carol immersed herself in the workings of the organization, passing out 
literature at schools, organizing press conferences, attending trials of 
numerous drunk drivers, and gathering signatures to help get tougher laws in 
California. Her mother
143 
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lived nearby, so she watched Carol's young children, allowing her to devote her 
efforts to MADD. She worked tirelessly for more than a year.
Then the breakdown occurred.
She had been speaking at a high school, relating the details
of Ken's death and informing the students how just one drink
could impair a person's ability to drive.
"Whatever you do," she concluded that morning, "never,
ever get into a car with someone who's been drinking."
From the back of the auditorium, a boy stood up and pointed proudly at himself. 
"That counts me out!" He grinned and looked around for approval. A handful of 
teens sitting near him giggled, and there was a moment of uncomfortable 
whispering among the crowd.
"You-" Carol spoke clearly into the microphone, looking
at the boy through eyes filled with fury-"You are no better...
than the animal who killed my husband."
The giggling stopped abruptly, and the boy slithered lower
among his group of friends. Then, aware she had somehow
crossed a line, Carol excused herself, gathered her notes and
posters and photographs, and left the auditorium.
She drove aimlessly, crying and pounding her fist on the steering wheel. She had 
made peace with Ken's absence. She had found comfort in her relationship with 
the Lord. So why was she falling apart? Slowly the truth had dawned...
She had never forgiven the man who killed Ken.
On the heels of that first realization came a second, equally devastating 
awareness: She did not intend to forgive. Not now, not ever.
She had steered her car toward Malibu Canyon that afternoon
and found a quiet spot on the beach where she wrestled
with God until sundown. Scripture after Scripture came to
mind... Forgive as you have been forgiven.... Unless you forgive,
you will not be forgiven. For every verse that the Lord presented, Carol fought 
and argued: Too much time had passed since the
142
ccident....There was no way to find the man.... He didn't
deserve to be forgiven.
But in that quiet space of beach, between the pounding of waves on the shore, 
Carol heard God speak. Forgiveness was
not a feeling, it was a choice. And before she returned to her mother's house to 
collect her children that evening, she surrendered to the One who loved her, and 
she made that choice. She forgave the man completely.
It was as though she was set free in every area, especially in her efforts for 
MADD. Everything she did from that point on paid off tremendously. Three years 
after Ken's death, California tightened its drunk driving laws so that a person 
with a blood alcohol level of .08 or higher-instead of the former .10was 
considered legally intoxicated. Still, as rewarding as that was, it was nothing 
compared with how it had felt to imagine the face of a drunk driver and forgive 
him.
It was in this that Carol found meaning in life without her beloved husband.
So when she and Hannah Ryan had gone for lunch a week ago, right after the 
hearing, Carol had admitted to her new friend that she'd gotten involved with 
MADD because her husband had been killed by a drunk driver. But because she knew 
the angry place Hannah was in, she refrained from sharing the rest of her story.
Especially the part about forgiveness.
Now she set a scrapbook of news clippings on her desk and checked her watch. 
Hannah would be there soon, anxious to exact vengeance on Brian Wesley and 
anyone else who dared drink and drive.
Carol sighed and looked about her office. Most of the volunteers with MADD 
shared a workstation or made phone calls from small cubicles. Not Carol. She was 
full-time and had her own office-small, but private. She glanced at a bumper 
sticker on the back of her office door: "God is bigger than any problem I have."
145 She knew it was true, but this time she wondered at the position in which 
God had placed her. Throughout the court proceedings Carol would stick by 
Hannah's side, representing MADD and providing a very real reminder of the 
victims. She would accompany Hannah to trial and comfort her when she fell 
apart.
And yet... there would be more than that. Carol felt it deep
inside. You brought us together for a reason, Lord.
She wasn't sure about Hannah. It seemed the woman was blaming the Lord for what 
had happened to her family, and Carol ached for the loneliness Hannah must be 
feeling. It was one thing to lose your husband and daughter-Carol could relate 
to that type of pain. But to lose your sweet fellowship with the Lord, too...
Carol closed her eyes and squeezed back tears. Help me,
Lord. Show me what to say to bring her peace and comfort, maybe
even forgiveness.
She reached into her top drawer and retrieved her worn Bible. Many victims who 
came to seek or offer help at MADD had no faith. There had been dozens of times 
when the most Carol could offer was to pray for them. But something about Hannah 
Ryan was different. Carol had a feeling there were deep roots of faith buried 
beneath the woman's pain and misery. 
There was a knock at her door.
Carol set her Bible back in the drawer. "Come in."
Hannah stepped inside and quickly took the only available chair. She looked 
painfully thin and frazzled. "I spoke with Mr. Bronzan." Hannah folded her hands 
over the top of her purse and crossed her legs nervously. "The preliminary 
hearing is scheduled for next month."
Carol studied Hannah: "How does that set with you?"
"Mr. Bronzan doesn't seem bothered by it. He says it'll give him more time to 
prepare."
There was a pause, and Carol turned the scrapbook so it
144
ced Hannah. "Well, I'm glad you could come. These are news
clippings we've collected over the years. If you look through them, you'll get 
an idea of what keeps us busy"
Hannah turned a few pages and looked disinterestedly at
the articles. After a few seconds, she stopped abruptly "Look,
Carol ...I didn't come here to read clippings. I want to get involved." She 
hesitated. "Could you tell me about the victim
impact panels?"
"We generally wait until after the one-year anniversary of an accident before 
assigning victims to an impact panel."
"Why?„ "Well, usually victims want to wait." Carol hoped Hannah could see 
compassion in her eyes. "It's very difficult to get up in front of a crowd and 
talk about the death of someone you loved."
Hannah shifted impatiently. "It's been almost two months. I'm ready to talk 
about it now"
The room was silent except for the hum of fluorescent lighting above. Finally 
Carol drew a deep breath. "Hannah, sometimes it seems we're ready when really we 
need more time. A lot more time."
"I'm not worried about what I need."
Carol waited. Hannah obviously needed to talk.
"What I'm saying is, if I can talk to high school kids or PTA mothers or the 
rotary club, if I can talk to anyone and tell them what happened to Tom and 
Alicia, maybe I'll actually reach someone. And maybe that one person will decide 
not to dunk and drive and then-" Hannah's voice caught. "Maybe I can spare 
someone else the heartache of...of what happened to
me."
Carol nodded. "Hannah, I want to talk to you about something off the subject." 
She fidgeted with a pencil. "At lunch after the hearing you told me you'd known 
Tom all your life, grew up with him and went to church with him. I began 
wondering about your faith."
147 Hannah's expression was suddenly guarded. "My faith is a personal matter."
0 Lord, help me...help me reach her. "I know, I'm sorry. It's
just... well, I'm a believer, too. I wondered if there was any certain
way you'd like me to pray for you?"
"No." Hannah sighed. "I don't see any point, really"
Carol was silent, encouraging Hannah to continue.
"After the accident-" Hannah seemed to steady herself-" I was very mad at God 
for letting Tom and Alicia die. Now..." She paused. "Now I think I've changed my 
mind."
"You're not mad at God?" Carol was confused.
"No." Hannah shook her head decidedly. "I don't believe in God."
Carol felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Help me,
Lord. What can I say now? The answer seemed almost audible:
Lamentations. Give her Lamentations. Carol considered the grieffilled
message of that book of the Bible. No, Lord. Not Lamentations.
She needs something more hopeful.
She cleared her throat. "I think that's normal-to doubt
God-after what you've gone through." Carol folded her hands
neatly on her organized desk. Not Lamentations, Lord. "Maybe if
you read the Bible-"
She broke off at the flash of anger on Hannah's face.
Hannah's next words chilled the small room.
"I don't need God anymore. And I certainly don't need the
Bible. If God does exist, he let me down when I needed him
most." Her voice was like industrial steel. "It's easier now just to
let go of the whole idea."
Give me something for her, Lord. Please. Again the answer
came: Lamentations. Give her Lamentations.
"I was thinking maybe Philippians," Carol said. Certainly not
Lamentations. "Philippians 4, the whole chapter. Maybe that
would help you find the Lord's peace and...1 don't know,
maybe help you remember what's true and good."
Hannah's eyes became even icier. "I appreciate your efforts,
146
rol. But I'm not interested. My belief in God died the same
y Tom and Alicia did. If I can't have them, I don't want him
ther."
Carol nodded. She'd said enough. Probably too much. annah had clearly reached 
her limit.
Give her Lamentations.
Carol ignored the urging. "I tell you what, let's go to the
",video room." She stood and Hannah did the same. "You can
watch a tape of one of our recent victim impact panels and get
a feel for how it works. Then if you still think you're ready, maybe we could 
get you started."
Hannah seemed relieved, and Carol wondered if it was because she'd been given 
the green light for appearing on a victim impact panel or because Carol had 
stopped talking about the Lord.
The video was powerful-one moving testimony after another poured out of people 
who had lost loved ones to drunk drivers. Hannah took a tissue from a box at the 
center of the room. Carol could hear her sniffling softly and saw her dabbing at 
her eyes every few minutes.
When the film ended, Hannah blew her nose and leveled
her gaze at Carol. She hesitated for only a moment. "I'm ready. When can I 
begin?"
Carol located a folder filled with informational material regarding the impact 
panels and a questionnaire designed to help victims organize their thoughts 
before presenting them in a public setting.
"Read through these and give me a call if you're still interested. If you really 
think you're ready, we could get you on a panel sometime in the next four 
weeks." Carol paused. "Your goal will be very specific, Hannah. With Matt 
Bronzan going for a first-degree murder conviction, we need to saturate the 
public with the idea. Maybe if the notion isn't so foreign, a jury will be more 
likely to convict."
"I understand." Hannah thanked Carol, gathered her things,
149 
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and headed for the front door with Carol close behind. Suddenly Hannah stopped 
and turned back to her. For the first time that morning, Carol saw vulnerability 
in the other woman's eyes.
"The preliminary hearing?" Hannah spoke softly.
Carol nodded. "I'll be there." Impulsively she closed the distance between them, 
hugging Hannah close.
Carol was ten years older than Hannah and decades wiser,
but in that instant she felt closer to this broken woman than to
anyone she knew. "I'm here for you, Hannah. Call me...if you
need anything."
Hannah left and Carol sat down at her desk again. She had
lost interest in the day's work, too burdened by Hannah's
choice to abandon God. Once more she reached into her top
drawer and pulled out her Bible. Lamentations? What hope was
there in that? She flipped through the pages of the Old
Testament until she found the book, then scanned the pages.
Her eyes fell on a verse in the second chapter: "My eyes fail from
weeping, I am in torment within, my heart is poured out on the
ground because my people are destroyed."
A chill passed over her. The verse described Hannah perfectly.
But it doesn't offer any hope, Lord. None at all. She read on.
"He has besieged me and surrounded me with bitterness and
hardship. He has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead. He has walled 
me in so I cannot escape; he has weighed me down with chains."
Carol shook her head helplessly. I don't understand, Lord.
Such a dark word from you. And for what? Why? She looked
down and saw there was more.
"Even when I call out or cry for help, he shuts out my
prayer... Like a bear lying in wait, like a lion hiding, he dragged me
from the path and mangled me and left me without help.... He
pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver"
Terrible stuff. How could anyone say such things about God? Carol wanted to flip 
a few hundred pages to the right and
148
d something comforting in Psalms, but she felt compelled to
ntinue. "I have been deprived of peace; I have forgotten what prosperity So I 
say, `My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the
;;ORD.... ,,,
This was going nowhere. Carol blew out a breath of frustraion and tried to 
remember what she had learned about
Lamentations. Maybe there was some kind of introduction at ,the beginning of the 
book. She flipped back a few pages. Yes, there it was.
"The prophet Jeremiah wept over the awful devastation of erusalem and the 
terrible slaughter of human life that he saw
around him." Carol pondered this for a moment. But how can such a story help 
Hannah regain her belief in you, Father?
She read on: "No book is more intense in expressing grief than this one."
The introduction continued, outlining the practical significance of Jeremiah's 
laments-and then what Carol saw made her breath catch in her throat: "Even 
though we may begin with lamenting, we must always end with repentance-as 
Jeremiah does in the book of Lamentations."
Tears filled her eyes. It was her very own life... word for word.
Carol felt her throat constrict, and gradually she gave way to a torrent of 
sobs. Suddenly the memory of Ken was so real she could almost touch him. No 
wonder God had given her Lamentations. She ran the words over again in her mind. 
"No book is more intense in expressing grief than this one."
She had suffered greatly when Ken died; she had lamented in much the same way 
Jeremiah had over the city of Jerusalem. At first her grieving caused her to 
have a bitter, hard heart. Anger consumed her, and there had been no peace until 
she, like Jeremiah, reached a place of repentance, a heart of forgiveness. 
Now it made sense! That was why the Lord had wanted her
151 I
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J
to share this particular book with Hannah. Carol had passed the way of 
Jerusalem.
Now it was Hannah's turn.
150
The Lord is like an enemy...
LAMENTATIONS 2:5A
The MADD questionnaire was harder than Hannah expected. "Describe loved ones who 
were killed by a drunk driver."
Hannah pictured her husband and daughter, let memories run through her mind, and 
then began to write. Tom Ryan, husband, father, memory-maker. Alicia Ryan, 
daughter, sister, friend to all.
Hannah squirmed in her seat and reached for a tissue. Her sinuses were clear for 
a change, and she didn't feel like crying. But tears came anyway, trickling down 
the side of her face like some kind of permanent leak. She read the next 
question. "Where were your loved ones going when the accident occurred." Hannah 
moved the pen across the page. Home.
The next section was more difficult. "Describe what you would like people to 
remember about your loved ones." Hannah sighed and wiped her eyes. Maybe Carol 
was right. Maybe she wasn't ready for this.
She looked up and saw that the morning had grown cloudy. A gloomy shadow filled 
the house, bringing a chill over the place where she sat at the dining room 
table. She picked up the steaming mug beside her and breathed in the smell of 
applecinnamon tea. Carefully she lifted it to her lips and sipped slowly, 
allowing the hot liquid to soothe her raspy throat.
In the past she might have been listening to David Jeremiah or some other 
Christian artist as she worked. But she had packed those CDs away a week ago. No 
point in singing about God if she didn't believe in him.
153 She reached behind her and flicked on the chandelier lights above the table. 
Soon the days would grow shorter, and then the holidays would be upon them. The 
first Thanksgiving without Tom and Alicia. The first Christmas. Hannah tried not 
to think about it as she studied the questionnaire once more.
When the phone rang, Hannah sighed and set down her pen. Reaching across the 
table she picked up the cordless phone and pushed the blinking button. "Hello?" 
Again she was struck by how foreign her voice sounded-dead, toneless, 
emotionless... like someone who had lost the ability to feel.
"Mrs. Ryan? This is Mary Stelpstra, principal at West Hills Junior High."
Hannah felt her heart sink. Something was wrong with
Jenny "Yes?"
The woman hesitated. "Mrs. Ryan, I think we need to set up
a meeting to discuss jenny"
Not now. "What about her?"
"Well, it isn't something I wish to discuss over the phone.
Are you available this morning? Say around eleven?"
Hannah stared at the unfinished questionnaire. Eleven gave her an hour to 
complete it. "Yes. I can be there."
"Fine. I'll meet you in my office."
Hannah hung up and sighed. When would the nightmare ever end? She returned to 
the form and saw that it gave her just five lines to write everything she hoped 
people would remember about Tom and Alicia. Five lines?
She moved on to the next question. "What do you think about people who drink and 
drive." This one was easy. Hannah picked up her pen and scribbled furiously. 
Drunk drivers are
selfish animals, killers with no regard for human life. They are the worst sort 
of people on earth.
She reread her answer and thought of Brian Wesley, sitting
nervously beside Harold Finch and hoping for a delay so his
injuries could heal before he might have to face a jury.
She clenched her teeth and threw the pen across the room.
152
The questionnaire wasn't making things better! Even if she
could reach someone, save someone from drinking and driving, it would never 
bring back Tom and Alicia. She began to moan
and it became a cry that filled the empty rooms of their home. "Tom! I can't do 
it. I can't do this without you!"
She laid her head down on her folded arms, and the tears came hard. She missed 
Tom and Alicia so badly she thought she might suffocate.
Wiping at her eyes, she glanced at the clock. 10:45. With a start she stood up, 
blew her nose, and grabbed her car keys. It was time to meet with Mary 
Stelpstra.
West Hills Junior High sat adjacent to the high school, and neither building was 
like other stark, stucco-covered Los Angeles schools. Instead these two 
structures were bright, cream-colored with blue trim, and anchored in a sea of 
grass. Behind the school were rolling hills and trees and a picturesque football 
stadium. It looked more like a private university than a public junior high 
school.
This was where Alicia had earned the right to be head cheerleader and captain of 
the drama team. Here at West Hills Junior High, Jenny had run track, showing 
signs of being a promising sprinter. Of course, that was before the accident. As 
were the times when, after school hours, the Ryans had used the school's 
expansive green fields for informal Frisbee contests and softball games. It was 
a beautiful school-and it was filled with too many memories to count.
Hannah ignored all of it.
She strode stiffly toward the principal's office and signed in. In less than a 
minute, Mary Stelpstra swept into the waiting area and ushered her into her 
office. She shut the door behind them. "Please, Mrs. Ryan, sit down."
Hannah sat. Ever since the accident it seemed people were forever telling her to 
sit down. As if whatever news was about
155 to be shared was simply too difficult to hear while standing. Hannah knew 
she must look terrible, her eyes tear-stained, her makeup smeared... but she was 
tired, and she didn't care what people thought of her. Right now she cared only 
for her youngest daughter. "You said there was something you wanted to discuss 
about Jenny?"
"First let me say on behalf of West Hills Junior High, we are
so sorry about your loss, Mrs. Ryan." The principal had the
polished sound of a school administrator. She continued. "Our
staff, our students, we all loved Alicia very much. We feel her
absence sorely"
Tears again. Hannah reached for a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. 
She waited for the principal to continue. "Lately, though, we've spent more time 
worrying about
Jenny. She's missed a lot of school, Mrs. Ryan."
Hannah relaxed slightly. Was that all? Jenny's attendance? "She hasn't felt 
good. I don't think it's anything physical, really..." Mrs. Stelpstra nodded. "I 
understand. Actually, her teachers
are working with her, helping her with missed assignments. Her absences are to 
be expected after what she's gone through." Hannah was relieved, but curious. If 
they were willing to
work with Jenny on her absences, then why the meeting? "I guess I'm not quite 
following you, Mrs. Stelpstra."
The principal sighed and pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her desk 
drawer. "I didn't ask you in because of Jenny's absences." She paused and 
unfolded the paper, glancing at it and then handing it to Hannah. "I asked you 
in because of this."
"What is it?"
"Something Jenny wrote in English class yesterday. It's quite
alarming, really, Mrs. Ryan. And I wanted to be sure you knew
about it."
Hannah felt her stomach turn and noticed her heart had
skidded into an unrecognizable beat. She was suddenly terrified
as she reached for the paper, her hands trembling. She rec154
gnized Jenny's handwriting and read the title scrawled across
`tithe top of the page: "The Best Place to Live."
Hannah looked at Mrs. Stelpstra curiously. "Was this an assignment?"
"Yes. Jenny's composition teacher asked the class to write an
essay on any place in the world where they'd like to live." Hannah returned her 
gaze to Jenny's paper and began to read.
"I can really only think of one place where I want to live, and it's not here. 
Last summer my dad and sister died in a car accident. A bunch of people tried to 
save them, but they died anyway. Now it's
just me and my mom.
"Mom's busy most of the time with court stuff. She wants to make sure the man 
who hit our car will go to jail for what he did to my dad and sister. I don't 
know. I don't really care about him. My mom does, though. She doesn't care about 
anything else. Not even
Hannah closed her eyes. Of course I care about you, Jenny. She forced herself to 
keep reading.
"I spend a lot of time in my room now, and I think maybe I'm having anxiety 
attacks. I read about them once in a book. I get sweaty, and it feels like I 
can't breathe, like maybe I'm going to die. Sometimes this makes me scared but 
most of the time it doesn't. I sort of wish it would happen.
"I feel like I'm in some kind of holding place. Kinda like life ended when the 
accident happened, and now there's just this waiting time. I still believe in 
God, but my mom doesn't. I heard her telling someone from church the other day 
that she stopped believing in God when Dad and Alicia died. I don't blame her. I 
even thought about it. About letting go of my faith. But I can't. I believe Dad 
and Alicia are in heaven, and I want more than anything in the world to be with 
them."
Hannah stopped and clutched the paper tightly, closing her eyes against the 
tears that were coming faster now. I'm right about there being no God, I know I 
am. But she was shocked to
157 
learn that Jenny had found out. It was something she should have shared with the 
girl herself. This can't be happening. It keeps getting worse, Tom. I can't do 
this by myself.
Mrs. Stelpstra handed her another tissue and waited patiently Hannah wiped her 
eyes, steadied herself, and continued reading.
"Sometimes that's all I think about. Dying and stuff. How I can get from here to 
there so we can be together again. Mom wouldn't care. It would be easier for her 
if I was gone. Then she'd have more time for all her stuff with MADD, and she 
wouldn't have to wonder why I don't feel good and how come I'm not going to 
school. I don't know. I've thought about it a lot. The different ways and stuff. 
But nothing seems easy, and I just roll around in bed at night wondering about 
it. I can't sleep, that's for sure. I miss Dad and Alicia so much. If f there 
was an easy way to do it, I would. I would in a heartbeat.
"Because of all the places I would like to live, the only one I can think of 
right now is heaven."
Hannah set the paper down on the principal's desk as if it
were contaminated. "I...I don't know what to say It's like a
nightmare that never ends."
The principal nodded. "I understand." "It keeps getting worse, you know?"
Mrs. Stelpstra's voice was filled with kindness. "We see this kind of thing when 
one of our students has suffered a severe trauma." She paused. "Have you noticed 
anything unusual about Jenny's behavior? Anything that would lead you to believe 
she might... actually consider acting on this?"
Hannah blinked. Surely Mrs. Stelpstra didn't mean..."You mean killing herself?" 
Hannah couldn't believe she was having this conversation.
"That is what Jenny seems to be alluding to, Mrs. Ryan,
don't you think?"
Hannah glanced back at the paper lying on the desk before
her. "Yes. I guess so. But Jenny would never really do such a
thing, Mrs. Stelpstra. I know my daughter."
156
"You must remember, Mrs. Ryan, things are completely different now than they 
were before the accident. Obviously Jenny never would have considered suicide 
before. She was a very happy, very carefree girl, secure in herself and her 
place in your family Now... well, it seems she feels somewhat forgotten."
Hannah's defenses reared. "Wait a minute! I haven't done anything to make Jenny 
feel this way We're both suffering... and doing the best we can to get through 
this... this....
"I'm not trying to accuse-"
"Then don't!" Hannah drew a slow breath and tried to regain control. "Jenny's 
right. I've been busy with MADD. I don't want Tom's and Alicia's deaths to be 
for nothing."
"And Jenny?"
"I spend as much time with her as possible. When she wants to be alone, I let 
her."
Mrs. Stelpstra paused and retrieved Jenny's paper once more. She glanced over it 
again in silence. "Some of the letters are smeared. . .1 think maybe she was 
crying when she wrote it."
Hannah sighed. "We've both been doing a lot of crying. That doesn't mean she's 
suicidal."
The principal hesitated. "I'm worried about her, Mrs. Ryan." "I'm worried about 
her, too, about both of us." Hannah leaned forward. Why didn't this woman 
understand what she was going through? "I'm worried about us finding a way 
through this pain so we can have a relationship again. I'm worried about whether 
the drunk driver who did this to us will be locked up or whether he'll walk 
free." She paused and leveled her gaze at the woman across from her. "But I am 
not worried about Jenny killing herself."
"This paper-"
"That paper is Jenny's way of trying to get attention." Hannah was angry and no 
longer trying to hide it. "She would never, ever, not in a million years think 
of killing herself. She knows better than that."
Mrs. Stelpstra set the paper down and leaned back in her
160 I
chair. She considered Hannah thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose you know her better 
than we do."
"Of course I do." Hannah stood, and almost as an afterthought she grabbed 
jenny's paper from the desk and folded it, placing it roughly inside her purse. 
She turned her attention again toward the principal. "Thank you for looking out 
for my daughter, Mrs. Stelpstra. I even thank you for taking the time to call me 
in today and share your concerns. But please, don't contact social services or 
start worrying about needing a suicide counselor." Hannah searched for the right 
words. "We've suffered the worst ordeal of our lives, and it's nowhere near 
over. I think we can expect Jenny to be a little upset."
Mrs. Stelpstra nodded and seemed resigned to let the issue go. "I didn't mean to 
make things worse, Mrs. Ryan. I just thought you should know"
Hannah reached out and shook the woman's hand. "Thank
you. Let me know if you have any other reason for concern.
But for now I think this needs to be between me and Jenny. I'll
talk with her, but again, don't worry about her paper. She
doesn't mean anything by it."
Hannah walked from the office, keeping an iron control on
the trembling that wanted to overtake her. As she made her
way back to the car she faltered. Jenny? Suicidal? Could there
possibly be merit to Mary Stelpstra's warning? What if Jenny
really didn't want to live? What if she had actually thought
about taking her own life?
Impossible. She shook her head firmly and forced herself to
keep walking. Ridiculous. She knew Jenny too well. They had
been through a lot these past months, but Jenny was too stable
to consider suicide.
She would talk to Jenny about the paper. But she would not
worry about it.
By the time she got home, she had nearly erased the meeting
with the principal from her mind. She was focusing again
on the questionnaire Carol Cummins had given her. She would
158
this afternoon and get it over to the MADD office. That ush it
through the
she would still have time to read e other infor difficult ation before dinner. 
It did available day to educate the
was. She would need every
ibout the truth... ,Dru hedwa cn ertaiw Matt Bron an would win
e message out now,
conviction. aded for She climbed out of the car and
about the letter. But not now. day she'd have to talk Jenny
when there were so many more pressing issues at hand. Not enny's whproblems 
would simply have to
CA L.
161 
The LORD determined to tear down the wall around the Daughter of Zion. 
LAMENTATIONS 2:8A 
On a sunny November morning, an hour before the prelimi nary hearing in the case 
of The People v Brian Wesley, Jenny arrived at school and headed for the 
library. She walked inside and peered over a bookshelf. Good. The library was 
empty except for the librarian, and she was immersed in a magazine. Jenny had 
only ten minutes before her first class, so she would have to work quickly. She 
padded quietly toward the computer section. 
She had tried to work things out on her own. She had prayed, and in the last few 
weeks she had even tried talking to her mother. It wasn't her mom's fault. She 
was just too busy to notice how Jenny was feeling, and Jenny didn't blame her. 
She sat down at a row of computer screens and logged on. At least her mother had 
made some sort of effort recently, ask ing her questions about how she was doing 
and whether she was coping. Jenny waited for the welcome screen to appear. Her 
mother's questions had made her wonder if maybe she had seen the essay, but it 
didn't really matter. Mom was too busy working for MADD to be worried. Between 
Carol Cummins, Matt Bronzan, and Brian Wesley, Jenny knew she was the last 
person on her mother's mind. 
The Internet screen popped up, and Jenny clicked the search button. Next she 
typed three words, "Suicide AND methods AND quick." Glancing nervously over her 
shoulder, 
163 
she saw that no one was watching. Then she clicked OK.
A list of web pages appeared, and Jenny's eyes grew wide. More than sixteen 
hundred sites! She scanned the first few and saw that many of them offered 
advice to troubled people and listed the ways a person could determine if their 
loved one truly was suicidal. Jenny scrolled past those sites. Her eyes fell on 
one. "Suicide and Assisted Suicide-It's Nobody's Business if You Do." She 
clicked it, and a colorful page appeared bearing the same headline. The opening 
paragraph doubled jenny's confidence.
"There can be nothing more fundamental concerning individual freedom than this: 
Our bodies and our lives belong to nobody but ourselves. Our bodies do not 
belong to our friends, our families, and especially not to the state."
Jenny read on as the web page detailed the ineffectiveness
of laws against suicide and then commented on a book that
detailed the most successful methods of suicide.
The library was still quiet, but jenny knew the bell would ring soon, and 
students would file in. She read quickly.
"With every suicide attempt, there is a chance the effort will fail and the 
person will wind up a vegetable. For that reason it is better to use fail-safe 
methods. The problem then, however, is that these methods either hurt-as in 
hanging or slitting wrists-or they're messy bullets, jumping off buildings. 
Sleeping pills are very uncertain because they often cause vomiting before 
enough of the drug is absorbed into the blood. Therefore, the best technique 
involves taking the perfect combination of certain pills or inhaling carbon 
monoxide. When done right, this will lead to a quiet, painless death."
Jenny felt a pit form in her stomach. She hadn't expected the web page to be so 
graphic. She glanced around quickly and swallowed twice. Her eyes returned to 
the computer screen and fell on a quotation set apart from the rest of the text. 
It was a Bible verse. Proverbs 31:6: "Give strong drink unto him that is ready 
to perish."
Jenny sat back in her chair and considered the verse.
According to the web page, this proved that God found value
162
in suicide. The idea didn't really match up with what jenny had been raised to 
believe... but if God didn't have a problem
r with suicide, then maybe it really was the best idea.
She felt her confidence grow as she closed the page and
scanned the list once more. She found the title of the suicide book from the 
site and clicked it, but to gain access she had to register for a death service. 
With a shiver, jenny closed it and looked for another. Two minutes before the 
bell rang.
She scrolled past several generic sites until she found one marked, "Untitled." 
She opened it, and a page appeared with
an index of suicide-related topics that people had posted over
the past week. She opened one marked, "The Correct Methods." It was written by a 
paramedic. Jenny began reading:
"I have been a paramedic for seven years, so I have personally responded to many 
suicides. If you are going to commit suicide, you need to take some things into 
consideration. First, if you care about your family or whoever you live with, 
you will do it outside or somewhere easy to clean. Second, if you really want to 
die, DO NOT call 911. Third, leave a note so they have some idea what made you 
want to die (it will help the survivors with the grieving process)."
The paramedic went on to discuss specific drug overdoses and other methods and 
why they would not work. He detailed drugs and drug combinations that would 
counteract each other, nullifying the intended fatal effect. He also described 
ways a paramedic could help an unconscious person after a drug overdose so that 
they would not die. Jenny was spellbound.
"Hanging is a mistake. Every hanging I have been to, the person dropped less 
than two feet; therefore instead of breaking your neck at the Cl-C2 level 
(cervical vertebrae referred to as a "hangman's fracture'), you strangulate 
instead. Effective but lots of misery. . .1 know many effective ways, but I am 
in the job of saving lives so I can't help ya there."
Jenny sighed. She'd thought for sure the article would tell her how she could do 
it right. Well, at least she knew what not to do. The bell rang, and jenny 
clicked the print button. Three
165 
pages rolled out of the printer, and Jenny grabbed them, closed down the web 
page, and signed off the Internet. Some of the information had been good. Jenny 
ran over it again as she headed for class. Don't leave a mess, don't call 911, 
and don't forget to leave a note.
She felt a rush of relief and for the first time since the accident
was filled with something that felt like hope. The Internet
was wonderful. Sixteen hundred web pages on suicide. She
could get more information tomorrow and the day after that.
Pretty soon she would know enough to make a plan, and then
maybe next month or the month after that, she would carry it
out... finish what should have taken place in the accident.
Before entering her geometry class, Jenny stuffed the printed pages into her 
notebook. For an instant she remembered how it had felt to be Jenny Ryan before 
the accident. That Jenny would never have considered killing herself and she 
shuddered. In some ways the whole notion of suicide scared her. It was crazy. 
She would have to consider her options carefully.
If only things had gone like they should have... if only she'd died in the 
accident. Her mother probably wished she had. With all the appointments and 
lawyers and court dates to deal with, Jenny was only in the way. She replayed 
the moments before the accident and frowned. How had she survived? Oh, sure, 
everyone said it was a miracle. Jenny thought it was a curse. She had seen the 
pictures. She should be dead.
Well, soon she would be, thanks to all that information on the Internet.
And then she and Daddy and Alicia could be together forever. She closed her eyes 
and pictured it. A never-ending camping trip in the sky.
Brian Wesley rubbed his sweaty palms together and glanced nervously at the 
courtroom clock. He was early. The preliminary hearing didn't start for thirty 
minutes.
164
A bailiff walked up. "You here for State v Martinez?"
Brian shook his head and swatted at a stray lock of hair as it
hell over his eyes. "No. State v Wesley." The bailiff nodded and
walked away.
Life had become a sea of legal maneuverings, and Brian wondered if he'd ever 
find a way out. If the judge thought they
had enough evidence-and Brian's attorney, Harold Finch, thought they did-Brian 
knew he might serve most of his life in prison. Sweat broke out across his brow. 
He'd heard about prison once. One of the older guys at the shop did time when he 
was in his twenties. He'd entertain the technicians with war stories and nuggets 
of wisdom. Brian remembered some of them. You don't want to go there, man, but 
if you do, look out for the soap. If three or more guys come at you, man, just 
take off running. Oh, and lift something for the belt. Fork, rock, something. 
Don't go unarmed. Guys die that way all the time. Especially in the shower.
Brian felt sick to his stomach. How had everything gone so wrong?
The back door opened and Brian turned. A woman entered. She was in her forties, 
maybe, with a file under one arm and a book in the other. Too many lawyers in 
the world. Brian watched as she scanned the courtroom, locked eyes with his, and 
then walked toward him.
"I'm not with the Martinez case." Brian fidgeted with his ear lobe. What was she 
staring at?
"Me neither." She sat down, looking like she had no intention of going anywhere.
"Look, lady, I already have an attorney"
"I'm not an attorney" She turned her body slightly so that she faced him.
Brian sank lower in his seat and fixed his gaze straight ahead. "I gave at the 
office."
The woman seemed unaffected by his sarcasm. She cleared her throat. "I'm not 
looking for donations, Mr. Wesley."
He turned to her. "How do you know my name?"
167 
I
"I know all about you. I know about the accident, about the man and his daughter 
who were killed. I know about the surviving daughter, and how even though her 
wounds are healed, a part of her will always be broken because of what you did. 
I know about the dead man's wife, too."
Brian stared ahead and said nothing.
"You've caused a lot of pain, Mr. Wesley And whatever is
decided here will certainly be what you deserve."
"I don't need to listen to this-" Brian started to stand. "Wait, Mr. Wesley" The 
woman reached out and gently took his wrist. He caught her look and paused in 
surprise. There was nothing condemning in the gaze fixed on him.
Slowly he sat down. "What do you want?"
The woman sighed. "I know your type. You are an alcoholic,
so you have driven drunk all of your life. You should
have been more responsible, and you deserve punishment."
Brian waited impatiently. "I don't get-"
"Let me finish, Mr. Wesley" She paused a moment. "You
have done an awful, devastating thing, but in your heart of
hearts I know you did not set out that afternoon to murder two
people. You did not intend to destroy that woman's family."
Brian blinked. No. No, he'd never intended that.
"You see, Mr. Wesley, whatever they decide to do with you in this courtroom, you 
will never truly be free the way you are." "What's that supposed to mean?"
The woman looked back at the door as though she were
waiting for someone to appear. She seemed to be in a hurry
when she continued. "Do you know Jesus?"
"Jesus Christ? You mean, like, am I religious or something?" The woman nodded.
Here we go. "I don't do the church thing, lady"
She smiled again, and he was struck by what he saw in her eyes... calm... peace. 
More peace than Brian had ever seen. Something inside him ached at the sight of 
it. Why couldn't he feel that? What did it take to look that way... feel that 
way?
166
She went on. "I'm not talking about a church thing. I'm as a simple fact. "You 
nailed him to a cross with your sins. He
Trig about a relationship with Jesus Christ. Whether you're prison or out, you 
need a savior, Mr. Wesley. And even
ough you don't do the church thing, Jesus loves you. He
,yes you, and he's waiting to forgive you."
"I didn't do anything to him." Brian heard the hard edge in voice.
"Yes, you did." Again, no condemnation. She spoke it like it
ent there to pay the price for what you did that afternoon by
choosing to drink and drive, destroy that family" Brian couldn't think of a 
comeback.
"Here-" the woman handed Brian a hardcover book-"It's
a Bible. Read the gospel of John, and see what you can learn
about Jesus."
Brian stared at it. New International Version Study Bible was written across the 
front cover. "Uh...no thanks, lady." He glanced at the courtroom clock. "I need 
my attorney. Not a Bible."
"Take it. It's yours." She checked the back door once more. "God's given me this 
job, Mr. Wesley. Jesus loves you. The Bible says so. Read it and see for 
yourself."
Brian reached for the Bible and felt its heaviness in his hands. "I'm not going 
to read it."
She smiled sadly. "I'll be praying that you change your mind. Believe me, it 
won't matter what your punishment is, you'll never be free until you learn the 
secret of that book."
Brian watched her stand, but before she turned to leave she stopped. "Oh, I'll 
be checking in on you now and then, Mr. Wesley. Take care."
She moved down the row and disappeared out the back door of the courtroom. Brian 
glanced down at the Bible in his hand and considered tossing it in the trash can 
at the back of the courtroom. Instead he opened the front cover and saw writing 
and a phone number.
169 "Mr, Wesley... remember, the keys to your prison cell lay between the covers 
of this book. Call me if you have any questions." Hannah found a seat in the 
courtroom ten minutes before the preliminary hearing and noticed Carol Cummins 
heading toward her.
"Did I miss anything?" Carol gave Hannah's hand a quick
squeeze.
"No. Mr. Bronzan is not even here yet." Hannah kept her
voice to a whisper.
"Is Jenny coming?"
Hannah scowled. "She had to be at school early for a project
or something."
Carol hesitated. "How's she doing?"
"It's hard to tell. She spends a lot of time in her room.
Whenever I try to talk to her she gets hard, almost angry at
me."
"Have you thought about sending her to a counselor?"
Hannah blinked at the question. A counselor? Of course
not. Jenny wasn't sick, for heaven's sake. "No. We never
thought much of counselors."
There was a pause. "That's because you had the Wonderful
Counselor."
Hannah felt something like a rock in her stomach. "Yeah,
well, on that note maybe we should look someone up."
Carol's voice softened. "You still have the Wonderful Counselor, Hannah. You 
just need to go to him."
Hannah sighed. Why couldn't Carol leave this alone?
Hadn't she made her feelings clear? "I told you I'm finished
with that. Clearly God, if he even exists, did not want to spend
a lifetime walking by my side. He left me, remember? From
here on out I'm on my own. And so is Jenny"
Carol reached into her notebook and took out a slip of
paper. It was covered with scribbled notes. "I wrote these down
168
you." Carol handed the paper over. "Just some Bible referes. I know it sounds 
crazy, but they're all from Lamenons. I really related to them. Maybe sometime 
when you
we a moment to yourself..."
Hannah took the paper because to refuse would have been
de. She folded it and tucked it into a pocket in her purse,
en cocked her head to one side and looked at Carol. Sadness
led her at the sincerity on her friend's face. "I appreciate what
ou're trying to do, Carol. Really. But it isn't going to work.
When I'm alone and nothing makes the hurt go away, I don't ~o to the Bible. How 
could I believe anything it says after what
happened?" Carol didn't have an answer for that. But then,
Hannah hadn't expected one. "I go to my photo albums. Pictures of me and Tom 
when we were kids, wedding photos, and... and pictures of my little girl-" 
Hannah's voice broke and she bit her lip. When would the pain stop?
Carol placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make 
things worse."
Hannah swallowed, but it took her a moment to speak. "I know. You mean well. But 
please, no more talking about God and the Bible and how much my old church 
friends could help. I have you, after all-" she smiled through teary eyes"and 
Mr. Bronzan. That's enough for now"
The preliminary hearing was underway.
Matt had given a thorough rundown of the state's evidence, and in response, 
Harold Finch had tried to convince the judge that his client may not have been 
legally drunk at the time of the collision. He delivered a long-winded 
dissertation explaining how it takes so many minutes per drink for alcohol to 
permeate the bloodstream and how it was possible Brian Wesley's senses had not 
yet been impaired when the crash occurred.
At first Hannah had been alarmed but from where she and Carol were sitting, she 
could see the calm in Matt's face, and
172 her concern eased. When Finch finished, the judge ordered a five-minute 
break, and Hannah watched Matt rise and turn his
attention toward her. He smiled and made his way through a small gate in the 
railing to where she and Carol sat. There was something tender in his eyes, and 
Hannah had the oddest feeling that somehow this man could relate to her pain.
Carol motioned toward the lobby, "I have to make a few phone calls. I'll be 
back." She stood up and left as Matt approached and leaned against the back of 
one of the seats. He nodded a greeting to Hannah. "Glad you could make it."
"I told you, Mr. Bronzan, I'll be here every time there's a hearing." Hannah 
stared at the back of Brian Wesley's head for a moment and felt her anger 
rising. "I want him locked up as much as you do."
"Call me Matt."
She met his gaze and smiled a smile that never reached her
eyes. "Okay, Matt. Call me Hannah. By the way, you did great
up there."
"This is only the beginning. It'll get a lot more heated once
we get to trial."
Hannah hesitated. "Then... you're not worried about the...
the..."
Matt shook his head. "The argument about Wesley's blood
alcohol level? No. I had a feeling we'd get that from Harold
Finch. It's a new defense in these cases."
Hannah nodded uncertainly. There was so much involved.
She didn't know what she'd do if it weren't for Matt.
The judge returned to his chair, and Matt put a hand on her shoulder. "Carol 
tells me you're ready to do victim impact panels." 
Hannah nodded and closed her eyes. For an instant she saw
Tom and Alicia, lifeless, as they'd looked lying on stretchers
that day in the hospital. She opened her eyes and the image
disappeared. "Yes, we're planning to do one next month.
Sometime before Thanksgiving."
"Let's get together before then so we can compare notes.
nu know, come at this thing from the same angle. It's crucial hat everyone who 
hears you or reads what you say underds about the first-degree murder charge. If 
we're going to
!break ground here, we'll need the public's support." He
checked his watch. "I've got an appointment right after this hearing, but maybe 
next week?"
"Absolutely Whenever you're ready."
"Okay, we'll talk soon." He turned and made his way back
to the table.
The judge rapped his gavel once more. "I see that all parties are again 
present." He gazed about the courtroom. "I've had time to review the preliminary 
evidence on both sides, and I have determined there is ample evidence to hold 
the defendant, Brian Wesley, over for trial in each of the charges he faces."
Hannah felt a surge of relief. Matt had been right.
The judge continued. "I've checked the docket and-" Harold Finch was on his 
feet. "Your honor, I would like the court to remember that Mr. Wesley is 
currently undergoing therapy for injuries he received in the accident. We would 
like-"
"Sit down, Mr. Finch," the judge interrupted. Finch looked surprised as he 
obeyed the judge's order. The judge glared at him. "You have already informed 
the court of Mr. Wesley's injuries and his need for therapy Now, if you'll let 
me continue-" he faced Matt-"The holidays are fast approaching, and since we 
must allow time for... Mr. Wesley's healing process, I have set a trial date of 
May 14."
Six months. Hannah hung her head and looked to Matt for his reaction, but as 
always, he appeared calm and confident. He kept one hand in his pocket, and 
Hannah was struck by how professional he looked. The jurors were going to love 
him. "That works fine for the state, your honor."
She glanced at Harold Finch. He was trying to contain a
173 
iiii
smile and failing badly. "That should work for my client, as well, your honor. 
We'll certainly file a motion if Mr. Wesley is still in therapy at that time and 
needs a continuance."
The judge raised a single eyebrow "Mr. Finch, let me say something again, in 
case you have forgotten. This court is well aware of your reputation to delay 
trials, presumably for the benefit of your clients and to the detriment of the 
memories of many witnesses. You will not be permitted to play that game in this 
courtroom. See to it that your client is either healed or transferable by wheel 
chair. The trial date is May14."
Finch looked as if he might object but changed his mind. "Yes, your honor."
"If that's all, then I'd like to call attention to the next matter
on the docket..."
Matt gathered his things, and Hannah watched as Finch
and Brian Wesley stood and left the courtroom.
She stared, frowning. What was that tucked into the crook of Brian's arm? Her 
eyes widened, and fury washed over her as she nudged Carol. "Look at that." She 
nodded toward the defendant. "It looks like he's carrying a Bible."
Carol looked in the same direction as she stood and swung her purse over her 
shoulder. "Hard to tell from here. Could be."
Hannah kept her gaze locked on the book in Brian's hands.
"I can't believe it! I think it really is." Hannah clenched her
teeth, fighting off the powerful urge to throw something at the
man. "He probably got it from one of those prison ministry
people. Bunch of do-gooders. I wish they'd just leave well
enough alone. There's no point witnessing to a man like that.
There's no way God-if there is a God-would let a worm like
Brian Wesley hang around heaven."
172
Together they wasted away.
LAMENTATIONS 2:8B
Brian got back to Jackson's apartment that afternoon and hid the Bible under his 
pillow. Wouldn't want Jackson to see it and think he'd freaked out and gone 
religious or something. The afternoon passed, and that night Jackson brought 
home a case of Miller, which they shared while talking about the trial.
"Dude, I don't know. I smell trouble this time." Jackson's forehead creased with 
genuine concern as he crushed an empty aluminum can in his hand and popped open 
another cold one.
"Tell me about it." Brian turned his can bottom-side-up and guzzled the last bit 
of beer before grabbing another. "Man, I'm looking at a lot of years behind 
bars."
Jackson belched loudly. "You've got that expensive dude, what's his name?
Brian laughed, but it sounded hollow even to him. "Finch. Harold Finch."
"That's right. Hey, man, who's paying for that dude?"
"My old man. Called him up in Virginia, and he wired me the bucks. He's loaded."
"Cool." Jackson took several long swigs and set his can down hard. "I thought 
your old man died."
"Yeah...." Images of Red Wesley, sprawled out drunk on the sofa flashed in his 
mind. Brian swished a mouthful of the cool, amber liquid around in his mouth and 
swallowed hard. "Died a long time ago. The money comes from my stepdad, man. He
175 'lll~
figures I'll stay away if he sends me money Especially when I'm in trouble."
Jackson thought about that a moment. "That's cool. How
loaded is he?"
"Not that loaded. I definitely have to hold a job, man, if
that's what you're thinking."
Jackson nodded. "Well, hey dude, at least you got old Finchman. You might get 
off yet." He motioned toward the half empty Miller carton. "Hey, man, toss me 
another, will you? The night's young!"
When Brian opened his eyes the next morning, he had no memory of how or when he 
finally went to bed. He knew he and Jackson had drunk into the night, but 
exactly how long, he couldn't say
He shifted, groaning, and felt something hard beneath him.
He tossed and turned and tried to get back to sleep, but there
seemed to be a pile of bricks directly under his head.
When he could no longer tolerate the discomfort, he finally reached around near 
his pillow His hand found something hard and heavy, and he pulled it out. His 
eyes widened.
"Oh, man..." The Bible. He'd put it there the day before.
He stared at it and sat up in bed, wincing at the wave of nausea that washed 
over him. He leaned against the headboard and drew a deep breath. What did he 
want with a Bible, anyway? He opened the front cover again.
The lady's words were haunting. "The keys to your prison cell lay between the 
covers of this book."
Man. No one talked like that in the bars. Even Carla didn't
talk like that. She griped and complained about his drinking.
She ragged on him as often as she could. But she never talked
about the keys to his prison cell.
Now, through the haze of an incredible hangover, Brian
understood the lady's words. She wasn't talking about a cage
174
made of bars and brick. She was talking about drinking. The prison of 
alcoholism.
As he studied what she'd written, he noticed something else. A few letters and 
some numbers written underneath her message. It looked strange, like a foreign 
code of some kind: Phil. 4:13. Brian studied it for a moment and then a 
realization hit. Maybe it was a Bible story or something. Words from the Bible. 
Yeah, that must be it.
He'd never held a Bible in his hands, let alone read one. But as he lay tangled 
between the sweat-soaked sheets that morning, his head pounding, he turned the 
pages gently until he reached the index. He scanned the list of chapters and 
found
dozens of names he'd never heard of.
Then he saw it: Philippians. Hey, it was the closest thing to what she'd 
written. He checked the reference beside it and turned to the corresponding 
page. Now, what the heck was 4:13? He scanned the text and realized that 
occasionally there were large numbers that seemed to divide the writing into 
sections.
He found section 4, and noticed that every sentence or two there were other, 
smaller numbers. His eyes darted past 11 and 12, and finally settled on 13. He 
read the words slowly: "I can do everything through him who gives me strength."
Brian read the words over and over again until his head began to clear and tears 
filled his eyes. "I can do everything through him who gives me strength."
The keys.
Tears spilled onto the delicate pages, and he carefully closed the Bible.
Now if only he could learn how to use them.
177 
The young women of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground. 
LAMENTATIONS 2:10B 
The call came three weeks later, early one morning, while she was studying the 
book of Romans. By that time, although she still prayed for Brian Wesley every 
day, she had decided he was not going to call. He had probably tossed the Bible 
first chance he had and never gave it another thought. That did not dis courage 
her; she had seen the same rejection from a number of drunk drivers, and she 
knew she could not change their behavior. God did not ask her to be successful, 
just faithful. She would continue to pray for change in drunk drivers' hearts as 
long as she had life. 
Her phone rang and she answered on the second ring. "Hello?" 
Silence. "Hello? Is someone there?" 
Dimly, she heard the shaky sound of someone either crying or breathing heavy in 
the background. "Uh...it's ...it's me. Brian Wesley. You know from, uh, court 
the other day." 
She closed her eyes. Thank you, Lord. "Yes, Brian, I remember. Have you been 
reading the Bible?" She hoped her voice sounded compassionate. She could tell 
this was difficult for him. 
"No. Well, I mean, I looked at it or whatever, but... no. I haven't read it. 
No." 
She waited, but he didn't go on. "Is there something I can do for you, Brian. 
Would you like to pray?" 
179 in
"No! Nothing like that. Just, well... maybe if you had time... could you, like, 
you know, meet me somewhere? Just to talk."
The woman considered her schedule. She had planned to
meet her daughter for lunch, but she could postpone it. For a
moment she considered suggesting a nearby park, but then she
caught herself. She didn't know the man, and although she
cared deeply for his soul, she did not want to put herself in any
danger. "Tell you what, I'm pretty booked today, but why don't
you meet me at Church on the Way tomorrow morning?"
"Church where?"
"Church on the Way" She gave him directions. "I'll be sitting
in the front row We can talk in my office."
She listened while Brian drew a deep, shaky breath, then released it slowly. "I 
guess."
He hung up abruptly, and she replayed the conversation in
her mind. There had been so many who had not called after
her initial contact....
Then she hung her head and prayed.
The days were growing colder and jenny sorted through her sweaters. They were 
too small. This happened every year, and when it did, she and Alicia would 
rummage through Alicia's closet. Whatever was too small would be passed on to 
Jenny.
A chill passed over jenny, and she rubbed her bare arms. She knew exactly which 
one of Alicia's sweaters she wanted, and she padded softly into her sister's 
room.
It had been a week since jenny had stepped into Alicia's room. It was still 
exactly as her older sister had left it before the camping trip. Her bed was 
made and because of jenny's efforts that day when they'd been packing, the floor 
was neat. An invitation to a birthday party still stood erect on Alicia's 
nightstand. A list of scribbled dates and phone numbers lay on a scrap piece of 
paper beside her phone. Her walls still held poster pic178
tures, one of Amy Grant and another with two cuddly puppies peering over the top 
of a fallen log. "God help me over the troubles of today," the poster read. 
Jenny allowed her eyes to linger on the message before turning to Alicia's 
closet.
A hint of White Shoulders perfume lingered on her sister's clothes, and jenny 
closed her eyes. She ached inside for the sound of her sister's voice, for the 
touch of her hands as they wove her hair into a French braid. All Jenny's life 
she'd been part of a pair of sisters... without Alicia she felt lost beyond 
anything she could have imagined. She remembered a time two years ago when 
Alicia had gone to summer camp with their church. She'd been gone five days, and 
the afternoon she returned jenny had waited outside for her to pull up in the 
church van.
"Jenny!" Alicia had squealed as she jumped from the van, her sleeping bag flying 
behind her.
Jenny remembered how they'd hugged in the front yard until they were laughing so 
hard they had fallen in a heap on the grass. "I missed you," Alicia had said 
when she caught her breath. "Next time you come, too."
Jenny opened her eyes. The sweaters looked much better on Alicia than they did 
on the hangers. She sorted through the rack twice, but the sweater she wanted 
was missing. It was a navy pullover with two white horizontal stripes that 
circled it just above the waist. It had been Alicia's favorite. Mom would know 
where it was.
"Mom!" Her mother had an appointment at MADD that morning, or maybe with the 
prosecutor or someone else at the court building. Something. She was always busy 
these days.
She heard her mother approaching and watched as she peeked into the room.
"What are you doing?" Hannah's hands flew to her hips. Jenny felt tears sting at 
her eyes at her mother's mean tone. "I'm looking for a sweater, if that's all 
right with you."
"In Alicia's closet?" Her mother came a few steps closer and
181 i
i
seemed to survey Alicia's clothes, to make sure nothing was missing.
Jenny rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother. In case you forgot,
Alicia and I always shared clothes. When she outgrew her stuff,
she gave it to me."
Her mother sighed. "I know I'm sorry. I just thought we
should leave things the way they are in here." She tried to pull
Jenny into a hug.
Tears spilled onto Jenny's cheeks as she jerked away. "Don't
touch me."
`Jenny-" "No! You don't love me at all, do you?"
"Now, Jenny, that isn't fair. I just don't want-"
"Stop! I know what you want. You want this room to be a shrine. You and I can 
tiptoe around the house pretending to be alive, but really we're just existing 
in some kind of...I don't know, some kind of tomb or something."
"It's not like that, Jenny, I-"
"Forget it!" Jenny cut her off, but a whisper of fear ran over
her. Was that shrill and trembling voice really hers? "All I wanted
was to wear one of Alicia's sweaters. The blue one with the
white stripes. I'm cold, okay? Alicia would have wanted me to
wear it. But it's... it's missing!" Jenny's tears gave way to sobs,
and she felt rooted in place, unable to move as the sobs washed
over her.
Hannah slumped back against the poster of the two puppies,
stared at the ceiling, and began to cry. "I'm so sorry, Jenny.
I do love you. I don't ...want you to think just because Alicia's
gone..."
"Spare me, Mother, please!" Jenny shook her head. "I don't want to hear it."
Her mother's shoulders shook as she hunched against the
wall, her eyes tightly closed. When she opened them, her
words were barely a whisper. "The sweater's at Kerry's. Next
door."
180
Jenny hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should
thank her mother, or hug her, or say something to mend the
distance that continued to grow between them. In the end, she just walked away, 
wiping her tears as she pushed past her mother.
Kerry and Kim Basil had been friends with Alicia and Jenny most of their lives. 
Kerry and Alicia were the same age, as were Kim and Jenny. Until the accident, 
Kim had been one of Jenny's best friends, but now, like so many girls Jenny 
knew, Kim seemed to be avoiding her.
Jenny knocked on the Basils' front door and waited until the girls' mother 
answered. She was a heavyset woman who always seemed to have something 
home-baked in the oven. "Jenny!" The woman wiped her hands on her apron and 
pulled her into a warm hug. "We've missed seeing you around here."
Jenny savored the feel of a mother's arms around her, but she didn't feel like 
making small talk, so she pulled away,
thankful the woman hadn't noticed her tear-stained face. "Mrs. Basil, Kerry 
borrowed one of Alicia's sweaters last spring, the blue one with the white 
stripes. Would you care if I go up and get it?"
"No, dear, go right ahead. The girls are already gone. They take the bus, you 
know."
Jenny nodded. She used to take the bus, too. Before the accident. Now her mother 
drove her to school, usually in an uncomfortable silence. Jenny started for the 
stairs. "Thanks, Mrs. Basil."
"Try the closet shelf," the woman called after her. "Okay"
Kerry and Kim shared a room, and Jenny had almost never seen it clean. Today was 
no exception. Jenny glanced around, then headed toward the closet. When they 
were younger, the four girls had played dress-up and Barbies and a dozen board 
games in this room. Jenny narrowed her eyes and studied the stacks of sweaters 
on the closet top shelf. She spotted Alicia's
184 sweater almost immediately and took it gently from where it lay near the 
bottom of a stack.
She held it up, and she could see Alicia, grinning and challenging
her to a foot race at Winter Camp last year. Jenny
looked back to see if Mrs. Basil had followed her up. Then she
took the arms of the sweater and pulled them around her neck.
She held the sweater that way, desperately wishing that Alicia
still lived inside it. Her fingers brushed over the soft blue cotton,
and she felt the tears again. She folded the sweater gently
and tucked it under her arm.
As she turned to leave, Jenny's eyes fell on a folded piece of
paper atop Kim's dresser. Kim's name was scrawled across the
front, and Jenny recognized the writing. Stacy Carson. Before
the accident, the three of them had been inseparable. Jenny,
Kim, and Stacy-they'd been a threesome that rarely quarreled,
unlike so many other girls who hung out in trios.
Jenny moved closer to the dresser, checking the doorway once more for Mrs. 
Basil. She studied the paper and saw it was lined. A note. From Stacy to Kim. 
Curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted it gently from the dresser. She 
knew what she was doing was wrong, but she couldn't stop herself. The paper 
unfolded in her hands and she began to read:
"Hey Kimmie, it's me. Can you believe it? I finished the math test early!!! You 
should be so lucky. It's not as hard as I thought. Anyway, I talked to Leezer 
yesterday, and she says she wants me and you over for the sleepover this 
weekend. Yowwsa! I can't wait. Oh, yeah. She said something about Jenny, but I 
told her what we talked about. You know, that we feel bad for her and 
everything-everyone misses Alicia. But Jenny's different now. She's not the 
same, and the rest of us have to accept it. I told her what we decided. You 
know, that Jenny really wasn't our friend anymore. She was fine about it. She 
said she thought Jenny was acting weird, too. She said that happens sometimes. 
Anyway, Mr. Glintz is staring at me so I better stop. Can't wait for Leezer's 
party. Love ya! Stace."
Jenny felt her blood run cold. These were her best friends.
Writing about a party at Lisa Hanson's house, and she wasn't invited. Was she 
really that different? She folded the note and set it back on the dresser, then 
made her way downstairs, outside, and back up to her own bedroom.
She threw herself on the bed and gave way to the flood of tears drowning her 
heart. Staring at the wall that separated her room from Alicia's, she sobbed 
loudly, unconcerned about her mother's reaction or the need to be strong for the 
sake of appearance. Alicia's blue-and-white sweater remained clutched tightly in 
her arms while the minutes passed. Eventually her weeping stopped.
"Jenny?" It was her mother. Jenny heard the door open. "What?" She rolled over 
to face her mother and reached for a tissue.
"It's time to go. I can't be late, honey. I have an appointment at the-"
"I don't care where your appointment is." Jenny thought about staying home, 
about telling her mother she simply wasn't up to another day at school... 
another six hours of watching people who once laughed and talked with her now 
whisper and stare at her in pity... six hours around Kim and Stacy, who were 
only pretending to be her friends.
No one cared about her anymore. Not her mother, not her friends. No one from 
youth group had called in weeks. Even God didn't care, at least it didn't seem 
like it. She sighed and stared at the ceiling.
"Jenny, I won't have one of your temper tantrums today. You need to get out of 
bed and get ready. We have to leave in five minutes."
Jenny closed her eyes and remembered the Internet. Hope stirred within her at 
the thought. She needed Daddy and Alicia so badly, and today she had a break 
after lunch. Maybe she could find out more online information. She stood up 
slowly, blew her nose and stretched. "You don't need to watch me, Mother. I'll 
be down in a few minutes."
185 
q 
She moved quickly, suddenly motivated, her mind tracing the electronic paths she 
would take later that day when she resumed the most important task of her life. 
Finding a way to join Daddy and Alicia. 
184 
City bus No. 2315 rattled and rumbled east on Vanowen Street, part of a steady 
flow of morning traffic past Shoup and Topanga Canyon and on into Van Nuys. The 
bus would take Brian part of the way, and he planned to walk the rest. The 
brakes screeched as the bus pulled over and Brian got out. 
He still couldn't believe he was doing this. 
He walked three blocks until he saw it: Church on the Way. Strange name. He 
stood there staring at the building, doubting himself. What was the point in 
making the journey in the first place? 
Brian thought about the man at the AA meeting who'd talked about Christ this and 
Jesus that. Man! What was he doing here, anyway? He wasn't some religious freak. 
He didn't need anyone's help. This was his problem, his mess to figure out. He 
glanced about and saw a graffiti-covered bench nearby What am I doing here? 
He turned away from the church, sat down on the bench, and dropped his head into 
his hands, massaging his temples. Why had she given him the stupid Bible anyway? 

The words he'd read came back to him: "I can do everything through him who gives 
me strength." There was something so appealing about the thought. Brian blinked 
and stared blankly at the traffic whizzing past. He had never been very strong. 
Not even in high school. His friends could always benchpress more than he. 
Somehow he knew the Bible words weren't talking about physical strength, anyway. 
The more he said the words over in his mind, the more he knew what they meant. 
Inner strength. The strength to say no when Jackson brought home a sixer of 
187 !'I~P
brews. Brian sighed. He'd never had that kind of strength.
The traffic continued, and Brian thought the flow of cars was a lot like his 
life. The drunken nights and hungover mornings would continue in a never-ending 
series unless he found the guts to stand up, walk into that church, and stop it. 
The keys to his prison cell. He gazed over his shoulder, then slowly stood.
With a steadying breath he made his way to the front door
and stepped inside. For the first time in his life, in a way that
he could not explain and did not feel responsible for, he felt an
overwhelming surge of hope.
Hannah climbed out of her car and wandered past a hot dog vendor, down a winding 
sidewalk shaded by elm trees, and into the back entrance of the Superior Court 
Building. By now, she moved with confidence. She knew where to go, and she 
quickly made her way to Matt Bronzan's office. He was expecting her.
His door was open and she peered inside. A subtle hint of
men's cologne hung in the air, and Hannah felt herself relax.
There was something reassuring about the man, something
that went beyond his role as prosecutor.
Matt saw her and returned his sleek, black pen to its upright holder. "Come in." 
He rose and motioned for her to sit down. "I was just doing busywork."
Hannah settled into the chair and gazed out his window
There was silence for a moment. "It's a beautiful day"
Santa Ana winds had kicked up, and a warm breeze had lifted the veil of smog 
from the valley. The Santa Monica Mountains were crystal clear, as if all Hannah 
had to do was reach out the window and she could run her finger over their sharp 
edges.
Matt followed her gaze. "A last burst of summer."
Hannah nodded and turned her attention back to him.
186
Seems funny, with Thanksgiving a week away"
They studied each other and Matt spoke first. "Do you have
plans?"
Images of the fight she'd had with jenny earlier that morning flashed in her 
mind. "No. Not really." "It's early, still."
"Yes." Hannah's eyes narrowed and she studied her golden wedding band.
"But you think you're ready for victim impact panels?" Matt spoke slowly and he 
seemed at ease in her presence.
Hannah nodded. "It'll matter more now than later. Yes...I'm ready"
"Carol's told you about them, how they work?"
"She'll put me with two other victims and assign us to public speaking events. 
High schools, civic meetings, that sort of thing."
"Right... and you'll have to tell the story, the details about what happened."
Hannah gazed down at her hands again. "I can do that." "People want to hear 
about the accident, the loss you've suffered. But then it's up to you to close 
the discussion with a sates pitch."
Hannah cocked her head. "Sales pitch?"
"Yes. People are drawn by tragedy. They want to know how it happened and why, 
how they can avoid that sort of thing in their own lives."
Hannah remembered a time when she'd been drawn to such tragedies, too. Back when 
they only happened to other people.
Matt inhaled deeply. "That's when you talk about firstdegree murder."
"Should I say that's what you're seeking in this case?"
Matt nodded. "People will want to know what's happening to the defendant, what 
penalty he's facing. Tell them he's going to be tried for first-degree murder. 
Then tell them a little bit
189 II`',I
about first-degree murder and how it relates to drunk driving." Matt slid a 
sheet of paper across the desk to Hannah. "I
wrote out some notes for you. Just a description of the charge-murder with the 
intent to kill-and the reasons some drunk drivers fit the bill."
Hannah glanced over the sheet, noting key phrases: several
priors, previous accidents, alcohol training, driving without a
license. "These are the same things you said at the preliminary
hearing last month."
"Right. It's important that we keep the message short and
consistent."
"Because of the audience?"
"Partly. See, the media covers these victim impact panels.
Same theory. People are drawn by tragedy, so the papers and
news stations send reporters and take your story to the public."
"So we're really reaching more than just the people in the audience?" Hannah 
thought she was beginning to understand. "We're reaching the people at home, 
too. Right?"
"We're reaching jurors, Hannah. It's that simple." Matt leaned back and crossed 
his legs. "You sell the audience on murder-one, you sell the jurors. At least 
that's the plan."
Hannah sighed and stared out the window again. "Sometimes I can't believe I'm 
here." She turned to Matt again. "You know, making plans for victim impact 
panels and discussing murder-one with a prosecutor."
Matt smiled sadly. "Hey, come on, now. We prosecutors aren't all that bad."
Their eyes connected. "I'll never think of you as bad, Matt.
You're the good guy... my only hope right now."
Matt shifted in his chair uneasily. "Hannah, don't t&ke this wrong, but aren't 
you a Christian?"
Oh no, not again. She was growing so weary of this conversation. She folded her 
arms tightly in front of her. "I was once. A long time ago."
"I thought so." He turned his attention to a small photo188
ph tucked into the frame of his desk calendar. She couldn't
to make out the faces, but she felt her heart constrict when
ran a finger over the image. It must be someone he loved. A
rlfriend?
"I'm a believer. Did you know that?"
She shrugged. "I think Carol mentioned something about
" She was no longer enjoying their conversation, and she
glanced at her watch. It was time to go.
Matt watched the emotions washing over Hannah's face. This wasn't easy for her. 
"You don't want to talk about it, do you?"
"No." Hannah fidgeted with her wedding ring. "Ever since the accident... I've 
had a hard time believing God really exists." She paused. "We went to church, we 
tithed, gave to the poor, obeyed his word."
"And look where it got you." Matt understood perfectly. Far better than he'd 
ever wanted to.
"Right." Hannah looked away. "I wouldn't want to serve that kind of God, even if 
he were real."
Matt nodded. "I remember feeling that way" Hannah looked up, surprised.
"It was a long time ago."
It was time. Time to tell Hannah why this all meant so much to him. He glanced 
down at the photo, at the laughing couple smiling up at him...
He removed the photo from the frame on his desk calendar and held it out to her. 
"This was my best friend Shawn. And his girlfriend Victoria."
Hannah leaned closer and studied the photo. Matt swallowed hard. It hurt to 
remember his friends when they were young and full of life. Hannah lifted her 
gaze curiously and waited for him to explain.
Help me, Lord. Help me tell this so she'll understand. He wasn't quite sure why 
it mattered so much.
193 
i
~I~If VIII
He only knew it did.
"Shawn was my best friend growing up. We played ball
together and went off to college together. Victoria came into the
picture a couple years after that."
Matt gazed at the picture, and then, as though a floodgate
had been removed, Victoria was there before him. And Shawn.
He could see the three of them making their way across the
campus at Loyola Marymount University, carefree and brimming
with enthusiasm, planning study sessions and beach
trips, Saturday pizza parties and whatever basketball game was
coming up.
Shawn Bottmeiller had been Matt's best friend since high
school. They'd both been forwards on the Westlake basketball
team. Off the court, Shawn was a slow-moving, handsome
dreamer with little drive or ambition, who imagined himself
with a career in the NBA. He was lanky with a pretty shot and
as much natural basketball talent as anyone who'd ever graced
the court at Westlake High.
Matt had been everything Shawn was not. He was a blur of
motion, filling out college applications and scholarship forms
two years before high school graduation. Matt did not have
Shawn's striking looks, but he was fiercely athletic, and hours
in the weight room had given him a chiseled body. What he
lacked in talent and natural skills, he made up for with hard
work and dedication. Matt was a realist, and from the time he
could spell his name he'd known he would be a lawyer one
day.
"A crummy old lawyer?" Shawn would ask sometimes
when they were breathless and sweaty after a game. "Why
would ya wanna go and do some fool thing like that. This is
the life, man. Hoops, hoops, and more hoops. And girls, of
course."
"Someone has to take care of the bad guys," Matt would tell
him.
"Oh, I see. You'll be one of those poor, struggling lawyers
190
wVho wastes his life getting criminals locked up just to watch ` em get out on 
some early release program. That oughta be real satisfying, man."
"Okay, how 'bout you, Shawn? Gonna live at home all your
life?"
"I-" Shawn paused for effect-"will be playing hoop in the NBA, stopping by your 
dreary little law office when I'm feeling charitable and giving you free tickets 
to watch me play."
"Oh, okay. Is there a plan B?"
Shawn looked insulted. "Plan B? Matt, you've lost faith in me, man. I'm still 
growing, you know. Gonna be six-foot-eight, and then they'll be banging down my 
door asking me to play for them."
"Do the words `hard work' mean anything to you? 'Cause that's what it's going to 
take to get that kind of attention. I for one plan to work my tail off to make 
state."
"Hoop and work." Shawn looked as if he'd gotten a sudden taste of lemon. "The 
words don't go together in my book. Hoops are too much fun, man."
Before their junior year, Matt drew up a workout schedule he believed would give 
them the edge when basketball season came. "Three hundred jump shots a day, two 
hundred free throws-" Matt was excited as he explained the routine to 
Shawn-"lifting for an hour, then sprints. And dribbling. We take the ball with 
us wherever we go. By the time school starts, we'll be better than any forwards 
in the league. State championship, man. All the way!"
Shawn looked at him, arched one eyebrow, and dropped himself into a beanbag 
chair. "During summer vacation? You must be missing a screw, my man. Summer is 
for catching rays and watching babes."
Matt shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't whine when I make all-state. Then the 
recruiters will be knocking down my door, and you'll find yourself scrambling 
for a junior college team who'll let you walk on."
194 
"Moi, me, the great one." Shawn laughed. "They'll beg me to play for them, man."
"We'll see."
Matt made time for the beach that summer, but only after
he had completed his daily basketball regime. When state playoffs
came, Matt led the way averaging thirty-two points per
game and eight rebounds. Shawn skated by averaging nine
points and three boards, but Matt's prediction had been accurate.
He was selected first team all-state, while Shawn received
only an honorable mention.
The next year Matt, who had sprouted to six-foot-four,
accepted a scholarship to play basketball at Loyola Marymount
University. Shawn was forced to attend a junior college. Two
years later he transferred to Loyola Marymount, where the
closest he got to a basketball court was his seat in the student
section. Still, he rarely missed one of Matt's games.
Midway through their junior year, Matt and Shawn took an advanced English comp 
class and there, sitting in the first row of the large auditorium, was Victoria 
Stevens.
Being friends for so much of their lives, Matt and Shawn had reached an 
agreement regarding girls: No girl came between them. Period. They might both 
find a girl attractive, but if one of them had the opportunity to date her, the 
other celebrated the victory. There was no room for jealousy in their 
friendship.
Victoria Stevens was the first girl who threatened that.
Everyone on campus knew about her. She was more beautiful
than any girl they'd ever seen and utterly unattainable. For the
first month, they filed into class early to get a better look at her,
but neither of them could figure out a way to meet her.
Then one day they were leaving class after the bell when providence placed 
Victoria right in front of them. Drawing on his once considerable defensive 
basketball skills, Shawn slipped his finger under her elbow and dislodged her 
books. Matt watched the whole thing and saw Victoria's befuddled
192
~Yression as her books mysteriously tumbled to the ground. ;pawn was there at 
her side as she stopped to pick them up.
"Oh, hey, let me get those for you." He flashed her his
famous grin and she met his gaze. Then just as quickly she
looked beyond him to Matt, and her eyes lit up.
"Hey, aren't you on the basketball team?"
"Yeah." Matt smiled uncomfortably Shawn had made the first move. He needed to 
back off.
Shawn cleared his throat. "Yes, and I taught him everything he knows." He 
dribbled an imaginary ball, pulled up near Victoria, and shot an invisible 
three-pointer. He remained motionless for a moment, then raised both hands 
signifying that the basket was good. "Nothing but net."
Victoria cast a questioning glance at him, but she couldn't hold back her laugh. 
Shawn and Victoria began dating, and soon they were seeing each other 
exclusively. On occasion Matt would catch her looking at him longer than she 
needed, but there was never any reason for him to doubt her affection for Shawn.
One afternoon the three of them were studying when Shawn had to leave for an 
appointment with his counselor. "You don't say much, Matt," Victoria said when 
they were alone.
He shrugged. "We're supposed to be studying."
She tilted her head pensively. "But you work so hard. School, basketball. Don't 
you ever just want to have fun?"
Matt considered her thoughtfully. "I have fun being the best."
"You and Shawn are so different. He's so, oh, I don't know ... goofy, I guess. I 
wonder what he'll do in life, you know?"
"I think he's going to law school with me." Matt grinned. Victoria looked 
surprised. "Really. I didn't know he wanted to be a lawyer."
"I don't know that, either, but he seems to follow me
195 
~
around." Matt stifled a laugh. He didn't want to get too friendly with Victoria 
while Shawn was gone.
"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you'd knocked my books down and 
not him." She was no longer smiling.
"So you knew about that, huh? He used to do that on the
court all the time. Come up behind some poor guy, nudge the
ball, and take off without ever looking back." Matt looked
down at the textbook and doodled with a single finger.
Victoria lowered her head and caught his eyes again. "Don't you wonder, Matt?"
He drew a breath and released it slowly. "Look, Victoria,
you're a beautiful girl, and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't
attracted to you. But you're dating Shawn, and that's about as
far as my wondering usually goes."
Victoria nodded once. "Okay. Shawn's a lot of fun and I enjoy dating him. But 
still..."
Matt looked up once more.
She met his look. "One day... who knows?"
Matt held her gaze a moment longer, then exhaled dramatically, leaned over, and 
tapped the textbook opened up in front of her.
"So, what is it you're studying anyway?"
Shawn and Victoria continued dating, and her presence in his life seemed to 
change him. He became more responsible, more aware of the future and its looming 
reality. While Matt dated occasionally, for the most part he was too busy 
studying and playing basketball. He spent his free time with Shawn and Victoria, 
and the threesome became as integral a part of his college life as the school's 
hardwood gymnasium floor and stuffy locker room.
Before graduation Shawn followed Matt's lead and applied
for admission to Pepperdine Law School. His father worked in
the movie industry, and money would not be a problem. Funds
weren't as easily abundant for Matt's family, but his grades, stu194
dent involvement, and application essays were such that he
received a full scholarship.
Shawn burst into Matt's dormitory when he received the
news. "I'm in, man! You and me. Law school. Conquering the bad guys."
Matt stood up and slapped his friend on the back and the two embraced. "Don't 
worry. It'll be even better than the NBA." Shawn grinned. "Now, I doubt that, 
man. Seriously. But hey, this calls for some kind of celebration."
"Yeah, let's plan something. The three of us."
Shawn pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "I'm seeing Victoria tonight."
Matt glanced from the box to his friend. "What's this?" Shawn opened it, and 
there inside lay a glimmering diamond solitaire engagement ring. "Tonight's the 
night, man."
Matt's momentary disappointment turned quickly to elation for his best friend. 
"Hey, that's great. She have any idea?"
"Oh, you know the female gender." Shawn flashed his famous grin. "Probably been 
expecting it for months."
"You sure you're ready?"
Shawn grew suddenly serious. "I've never loved anyone like I love her, man. 
She's my life."
That night, Shawn and Victoria went to dinner at Gladstones on the beach. They 
ate steak and lobster and later walked on the sandy strip beneath the restaurant 
where Shawn got down on one knee and proposed. Matt got the whole story later, 
all the details-including how Victoria grew teary-eyed and accepted.
The two were walking hand-in-hand along Pacific Coast Highway looking for a less 
crowded stretch of beach when a Volkswagon careened out of control and struck 
them from behind. Shawn was knocked onto the shoulder of the roadway, scraped 
but not seriously hurt; Victoria took the full force of the hit. She flew twenty 
feet in the air before landing on the pavement, motionless. Shawn scrambled to 
her side and cradled her
197 
broken body, begging her to hang on. He was still holding her that way, sobbing, 
when paramedics arrived and told him what he already knew She was dead.
The driver of the Volkswagon had been drunk.
Matt did his best to help Shawn get over her death. They started law school and 
tried to keep busy. But they were both devastated.
The drunk driver was given ten days in prison and a five hundred dollar fine. 
He'd been convicted once before, but he was young, and the judge thought he'd be 
better off taking alcohol education courses than wasting away in a prison. Shawn 
hated the man, could have gladly killed him given the chance. But none of it 
would bring back Victoria, and as the one-year anniversary of her death grew 
near, Shawn dropped two of his classes and spent hours sitting on the grassy 
Pepperdine hillside overlooking Malibu Beach.
Matt had tried talking to him, tried to help him work through it. But all to no 
avail. On the one-year anniversary of Victoria's death, Shawn Bottmeiller took a 
gun from his parents' closet and wrote two letters-one to his parents expressing 
his love and sorrow for what he was about to do; the other to the man who killed 
Victoria. In it he expressed his anger and hatred, his inability to forgive the 
man for what he'd done.
"When you killed her, you killed my dreams. You killed me. Today I'll finish 
what you tried to do a year ago."
Then he drove to the beach, walked down to the sandy strip where he had proposed 
to Victoria a year earlier, and shot himself in the head.
Matt, always the realist, always the achiever, doubled his
efforts at law school and determined that Victoria's and Shawn's
deaths would not be in vain. He finished law school top of his
class and took a job at the district attorney's office in Los
Angeles. In the process, he met Sgt. John Miller and saw something
different about him. When he learned about the man's
faith, Matt began attending a Bible-believing Christian church,
196
and a decade after the deaths of Shawn and Victoria, he gave
his life to the Lord.
Then, when he had enough experience, he began specializing in one type of case, 
the only type that really mattered to him.
Cases against drunk drivers.
That had been eighteen years earlier, but now as he watched Hannah Ryan studying 
the photo of his two friends, it felt as if it had happened yesterday.
Hannah looked from the photo to Matt, and was surprised at the grief she saw on 
his face.
"Do your friends live here?"
Matt blinked, as though the question startled him, then shook his head slowly. 
"No." His gaze drifted to the photo, then back to Hannah. "The day Shawn asked 
Victoria to marry him, she was killed by a drunk driver."
Shock swept over Hannah, and she had to resist the strong urge to go to Matt, to 
put her arm around him and comfort him. No wonder she'd always felt such 
understanding from him.
But he wasn't finished.
"One year later, on the anniversary of Victoria's death-" Matt's voice was 
ragged with sorrow-"Shawn killed himself." Hannah sat slowly back in her seat. 
Like her, Matt had lost
so much. Because of men like Brian Wesley... the kind of men Matt had worked so 
long and so hard to prosecute....
"And so you spend your life prosecuting drunk drivers...." "As many as I can."
She could think of nothing to say. This was the compassion she felt from Matt, 
the understanding. He knew her pain, knew it personally.
Matt drew a deep breath. "After that, I doubted God for a while, too." He lifted 
his eyes from the picture, and Hannah
198 was struck at the peace she saw in his gaze. "But then I found out the 
truth. God's ways are not our ways. This world is a fallen place, and bad things 
do happen to good people. They even happen to Christians. Truth is, I couldn't 
have made it through without his strength."
Tears stung at Hannah's eyes, but she refused to give in to
them. What Matt was saying had the strong ring of truth to it,
but she couldn't accept it. Couldn't believe God was real... that
he'd done nothing but watch as her family was ripped
apart... as Matt's dearest friends were destroyed....
Matt tucked the photograph back into the frame. "I know you don't believe it, 
Hannah. But God loves you. Even now" She didn't reply to that. Instead, she 
nodded. "It must help.. . prosecuting them."
But he slowly shook his head. "Not really. The law is still
pretty loose where drunk drivers are concerned. That's why this
is such a big deal. We'll be making history if we win this one."
Hannah glanced at Matt's left hand and couldn't hold back the question. "You're 
not married, are you?"
Matt shook his head. "Never had time. I've spent ten years
right here, increasing public awareness, waiting for the day
when we could get it into the murder-one category."
Good. This was safe ground. This was the kind of conversation she wanted to 
focus on. "Now here we are."
Matt smiled, and again she saw understanding in his expression. "Not yet. We 
still have a lot of work to do."
"And that's where the victim impact panels come in." "Exactly. If we can fill 
this room with a dozen jurors who are familiar with the idea that killing 
someone in a drunk driving accident can be murder one... well, that'll make my 
job that much easier."
Hannah nodded. Her role was clearly defined and she was
thankful. She would do this, working for the memories of Tom
and Alicia, alongside Matt Bronzan, who had his own memories
to fight for. They would win their murder-one conviction
and then, in their own ways, they could get on with life. "Hannah..." Matt's 
voice interrupted her thoughts. "Do you mind if I pray for you?"
Her heart constricted. "Now?" She desperately wanted to avoid this, but she 
didn't want to hurt him.
Matt smiled again. "No, not now But throughout the trial. I don't know..." He 
paused. "You've lost so much already. I guess I can't imagine losing all that 
and God, too."
Hannah glanced out the window and waited. After a long while she finally spoke. 
"You can pray, Matt." She looked at him and felt tears well up in her eyes. "But 
everything I want, I've already lost."
"I know. I'm not trying to change your feelings. But Hannah, my door's open. 
Anytime you want to talk, if you need anything, I'm here. And I will be 
praying."
She believed him, and it gave her a sense of comfort. And hope. She stood up 
then. "I'd better get going. I have to meet Carol."
Matt rose and reached for her hand. "Thanks for coming." He looked suddenly 
self-conscious. "I probably told you more than I should have. But I thought you 
should know where I'm coming from. What I believe, what drives me."
She nodded. She was grateful he had done so...and she felt a closeness to him 
that warmed her. With a start she realized she was holding his hand a bit too 
long, so she let go and crossed her arms. "Thank you, Matt. Maybe after the 
trial we can put this thing behind us-both of us. Unless there's another delay, 
of course."
"I'm not worried about it." Matt slipped his hands in his pockets. "More time 
means more days to convince jurors that Brian Wesley is guilty of murder-one."
Hannah tilted her head. "Some people would think that doesn't sound very 
Christian."
"My obligation to forgive doesn't erase my obligation to provide punishment. 
Without rules and penalties, this country
203 
11 walked the United States.
would have fallen apart decades ago. I like to think that my job is actually 
quite Christian. Further questions?" He grinned.
Hannah studied him. "You certainly can argue."
"Only when I believe in the cause." He moved around his desk and opened his 
office door a bit wider. "Let's stay in touch. I want to know how the first 
victim-impact panel goes, okay?"
Hannah nodded and thanked him again.
As she walked slowly back to her car, she considered Matt and Carol, their 
strong beliefs, and the role they played in this, her season of grief. She 
sighed. The world was filled with nonChristians, atheists even. All her life she 
had shared classrooms and committees and airplanes with them. She drove behind 
them on freeways, shocked at the boldness of their Darwinian fish and the 
mockery they made of the Christian world view They seemed to rule Hollywood, the 
media, and the voting polls. They had elected Clinton, after all. Millions of 
them
Yet in this, her darkest hour, when she herself had finally
come to join the ranks of nonbelievers, she found herself relying
completely on the strengths and abilities of two very
devout Christians.
200
My eyes f all f rom weeping, I am in torment within, my heart is poured out on 
the ground
because my people are destroyed.
LAMENTATIONS 2:11A
The sun was sinking slowly behind the mountains, and Hannah wondered if theirs 
was the only house in America that didn't smell of turkey and gravy and 
home-baked pumpkin pies. She had asked jenny about celebrating Thanksgiving and 
got little response. Now it was four o'clock in the afternoon, and Hannah had 
just about finished making a small platter of tacos.
"Jenny, time to eat," she called from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a 
paper towel and set the tacos on the table.
"I'm not hungry!" Jenny shouted from upstairs.
Hannah sighed. She should have skipped cooking altogether. It wasn't as if 
making tacos instead of turkey could eliminate fifteen years of Thanksgiving 
memories. The smell of greasy hamburger made her nauseous. She walked to the 
foot of the stairs and yelled again. "Jenny, we agreed on tacos for today! I've 
cooked them and they're ready. Please come down here and eat."
Hannah could hear her daughter padding out of her bedroom toward the stairs. 
"Mother, I told you I'm not hungry." "Why didn't you tell me that before? I 
wouldn't have bothered." 
Jenny drifted down a few stairs so that Hannah could see
204 "you wouldn't have to cook at all. That's what you want, isn't it?" 
Hannah stared at her for a moment, then her anger started to build. "I want two 
things, young lady, and maybe you'd bet ter take notes so you don't forget." 
Jenny rolled her eyes, something she never would have done before the accident. 
Now, she did it constantly Hannah continued. "First, I want us to stop fighting. 
It's getting old. We're supposed to be helping each other through this, and 
instead we're like enemies. It's ridiculous." 
Hannah waited, but jenny remained silent, her arms folded defiantly. "Second, I 
want you to get down here and eat your tacos." 
There was silence again. Finally Jenny released a frustrated burst of air. 
"Fine. Whatever. You wouldn't. know anything about losing your appetite because 
you don't even miss Daddy and Alicia." 
"What?" Hannah's temper rose another notch. "How can you even say that?" 
"It's true! All you care about is that guy who hit us-Brian whatever his name 
is. You want him in prison so badly you've forgotten about Daddy and Alicia." 
"That's a lie and you know it, Jennifer Ryan! Everything I'm doing is because I 
miss Daddy and Alicia, I miss-" 
"Then how can you even think about eating tacos?" Jenny's eyes blazed. "On 
Thanksgiving Day? I just don't understand you, Mother." 
Hannah fumed silently. "Forget it. Go back upstairs and sit alone in your room. 
I thought we could start something new, enjoy a dinner together, just the two of 
us. But forget it." 
"Fine." Jenny turned and stomped back upstairs, down the hall, and into her 
room. 
Hannah wandered back to the kitchen table and sat down. She took a single taco 
from the platter and set it on her stark plate. It was cold, and tiny white 
flecks of hardened lard had 
202 
Appeared on the fried tortillas. Hannah pushed her chair back 
from the table, dropped her head into her hands, and closed her eyes. 
How had so much changed since last Thanksgiving? Suddenly she was there again. 
She could smell the turkey, hear the televised football match between the 
Cowboys and the Redskins .... She 
could almost e house while nTomnand la handgun ogf 
and darting about the 
church friends chuckled in the background. 
Each year they had filled the house with a ragtag group of family in the area. 
She stragglers, friends who °cook, had 
strThanksgivingtyas proofd. never been the greatest 
In the seconds before dinner was served, the sweet potato casserole caught fire, 
setting off smoke alarms throughout the house. 
"Just like Dad always says," Alicia had teased. "You know it's dinner at the 
Ryan house when the smoke alarms go off." Hannah had been frustrated, but Tom 
had come up behind 
her and circled her waist with his arms, whispering in her ear. "Don't worry 
about it, honey. You can't be good at everything." Hannah remembered turning 
around and collapsing against 
his chest. "Yes, but it's Thanksgiving. I should be able to pull off a meal like 
this after more than a decade of experience. At least once a year." 
"But you're good at so many other things." Hannah pouted. "Like what?" 
Tom put a finger under her chin and lifted it gently as he gazed into her eyes. 
"Like loving me. Loving our children. God gave me the best woman 
ouBu ever meal, al1dI and burn the sweet potatoes. 
care. I could never love another woman like I love you, Hannah Ryan." 
She blinked, and the memory faded. The wilting tacos looked even less appetizing 
now. She could still feel Tom's breath on her neck as he'd whispered those 
lovely things to 
205 
her. Tears slid from beneath her closed eyelids, and they fell hot on her 
cheeks. Tom, I need you. I can't do this alone.
With the holidays there would be so many yesterdays to wade through. First 
Thanksgiving. Then, starting tomorrow, the whole world would be making frenzied 
preparations for Christmas. The entire holiday season seemed overwhelming.
How could Tom and Alicia be gone? Forever? And when would jenny stop acting so 
selfish and try to move ahead, as Hannah was doing?
She stood up, took the plate of tacos, and tossed them in
the trash. Tuesday would be her first victim impact panel
appearance. She had gone over her notes a dozen times, and
she was ready. It was time to start making a difference, time to
start reaching the jurors.
204
What can I say for you?
With what can I compare you, 0 Daughter of Jerusalem? To what can I liken you, 
that I may comfort you?... Your wound is as deep as the sea.
Who can heal you?
LAMENTATIONS 2:13
It was days later, and as victim impact panels went, it was an obvious place to 
start, even if jenny wasn't excited about the idea.
West Hills High School-where Alicia had been so involved, so popular. If any 
students would be receptive to a lesson on the evils of drinking and driving, it 
would be the kids at West Hills. And not just the older students. Hannah would 
be speaking to the junior high as well, since they, too, had been invited to the 
assembly.
Hannah slipped into a silk blouse and slim, navy, dress slacks. She had thirty 
minutes, so makeup would have to be done in a hurry. Leaning forward, she 
checked herself in the mirror and saw that the dark circles were going away. 
Sleep was a remarkable cure. Her body had learned to compensate for the 
nightmare of her waking hours by requiring long stretches. of blissful sleep, 
replete with vivid dreams of happy yesterdays.
Studying her image more closely, Hannah saw it again. There was something 
different about her eyes, something hard. Before the accident people used to say 
she had the eyes of a child-eyes that shone with Christ's light. She snorted 
softly
207 'VIII
Christ's light was nothing of the sort. What people had seen back then was 
simply a pure, unadulterated joy that came from having her family alive and 
healthy.
The eyes that stared back at her now looked eighty years
old, flat and lifeless. The brightness had been clouded by
something Hannah couldn't quite identify, and no matter how
she tried, she couldn't will the light back.
Well, not to worry She knew what it would take-Brian
Wesley's conviction. Only then would the cloud lift and the
sparkle return.
Jenny entered Hannah's bedroom and stared at her mother
with listless eyes. "What time are we leaving?"
Hannah started, studying her daughter for a moment. Why hadn't she seen it 
before? The light was gone from jenny's eyes, too. It was all so unfair. She 
smiled sadly at Jenny. "Let's say in about half an hour."
Jenny exhaled slowly. "Do I have to go, Mom? Couldn't I
just hang out in the library and work on my homework?"
Hannah turned to face her daughter. `Jenny I don't understand
you. Do you realize the importance of what's happening
today? I get a chance to tell those kids what happens when you
drink and drive. I have one hour to explain how wrong that
man was who killed your dad and Alicia. Film crews will be
there, journalists, reporters. They'll take notes and pictures,
and then everyone in Los Angeles will know that Matt Bronzan
is seeking a murder-one conviction against Brian Wesley"
Jenny huffed. "I know, Mom; you've told me four times since yesterday. But 
what's that got to do with me?"
Come on, Jenny, you've got to care about this. What's happened
to you? "You should be up there beside me, that's what. You're a
victim, too, you know Or am I the only one who's suffering
here?"
Jenny looked at her, and Hannah was deeply troubled at
how hard the girl's gaze was. Like stone. Or ice. "No, Mom,
you're the only one who's flaunting it."
206
At the cold, curt words Hannah opened her mouth, but
Jenny cut her off, angry words spewing like molten lava. "You
want to take our private misery and lay it out for everyone to see. You cry for 
the cameras and tell the world how Daddy and Alicia were killed. That way if 
enough people know, then maybe, if we're really lucky, that prosecutor will put 
Brian Wesley in prison for life."
Jenny paused long enough to take a step toward Hannah. "But, Mom, have you ever 
asked me what I want? No! Because you don't care about me. The only time you 
want me around is if it works into your agenda."
Hannah swallowed hard. When had her little girl grown so contemptuous of her? 
"Jenny, please, we've been through this before...."
"I know it and I hate it as much as you do. Why won't you just leave me alone? I 
don't want to be up there on the panel beside you. I'm not ready to have a 
question-answer session. I...I don't want to tell someone what it feels like to 
have your sister killed in the seat beside you." Jenny began weeping then, and 
Hannah thought the girl looked like she might collapse. "I don't want to do it, 
Mom. I just don't."
Hannah drew a deep breath and tried to control her temper. She knew she should 
go to jenny, hug her and tell her everything was going to be all right one day 
But her daughter's temper tantrums had become tiresome, and Hannah sat on the 
edge of her bed instead. A dozen questions darted through Hannah's mind. Why 
don't you care? Why won't you help me? Don't you think I'm hurting, too?
Hannah released the breath she'd been holding. "Jenny, I can't believe some of 
the things you say to me anymore. You think I'm only interested in using you, 
using your pain for publicity? Is that it? Is that what you really think?"
Jenny nodded and sniffed.
Hannah wasn't sure how she kept her voice controlled, but she did. "Well, that's 
a lie, young lady. Nothing could be farther
209 
from the truth. I care about you and your future and the way this has changed 
our lives forever. I love you, Jennifer Ryan, but yes, I am putting my entire 
life into helping Matt Bronzan convict that killer of first-degree murder. And 
once he's locked up, once he's punished for what he did to us, we can start 
fresh, learn to live again. Because this is all we have left. Me and you."
Jenny stared at her mother as if nothing she'd said made
any sense. "You think everything's going to be okay just
because some guy goes to prison? It doesn't work that way,
Mom."
Hannah was tired of fighting. "Finish getting dressed. I'll
take you to school. After that it's up to you. Come to the assembly
with your class or stay away Don't sit on the panel with me
unless you want to."
Jenny walked away without another word.
The silence continued the entire trip to school. When they pulled up, Hannah 
reached out and tried to take Jenny's hand, but jenny opened the car door and 
quickly stepped out.
Hannah leaned over in the seat, craning her neck to see her daughter. `Jenny, I 
hope I'll-"
The car door slammed shut.
Hannah entered the auditorium and saw that the media had already arrived and set 
up. Oh, good. Thank you-"
Hannah froze. Thank who?
The question stumped her for a moment, but she shook it
off. Thank good fortune, thank the media, thank no one in
particular.
She made her way across the wood floor, over a maze of
heavy black electrical cords lining the back of the auditorium,
where two of the three major networks had cameras stationed.
Reporters milled about with notepads, interviewing students
who wandered past. Hannah notched the minor victory208
Carol had said there was always a chance the media wouldn't
show.
She studied the stage. Five desks for the five panel members , each sporting a 
microphone. Hannah felt her hands growing cold, and she thought about Carol's 
warning: "Sometimes
just before you take the stage, you're nearly overcome with
nerves." Carol had several suggestions on now to combat this, but only one that 
Hannah thought applied to her.
Remember Tom and Alicia.
She reached up and felt the photo pin and knew she would be all right. She wore 
the pin anytime she went out, anymore. Jurors were everywhere.
Hannah approached the stage, greeted the others, and took her seat between one 
of the MADD representatives and a highway patrol officer. She glanced over her 
notes and then at her wristwatch. They were scheduled to begin in five minutes.
The room was filling with giggling teenagers, and Hannah found herself staring 
anxiously at the entryways. Would jenny come? Training her eyes on the double 
doors, Hannah studied the stream of kids still pouring in and spotted her 
daughter's class. Her heart raced when she spotted jenny at last. She was the 
last one in the group to enter the building, and she sat a ways off from the 
others, alone.
Hannah stared at her, willing her to look up. Watch me, Jenny. But the girl kept 
her eyes downward. Come on, jenny, I need you up here. Look at me! A chill 
passed over Hannah's arms and she shuddered. Her daughter had become little more 
than a stranger,
The others had already spoken, and finally it was Hannah's turn. She introduced 
herself, and a wave of whispers washed over the teenage crowd. Hannah caught 
some of what they were saying..."That lady up there is Alicia's mom." "Oh, my 
gosh, this is actually Alicia's mom!" Hannah waited until the
211 
whispers died down, taking the opportunity to glance again at Jenny Her eyes 
were still on the floor. 
Hannah cleared her throat and began. Sparing no details, she explained how Brian 
Wesley had plowed his car into her family's Explorer, killing both Alicia and 
her father, Dr. Ryan. The students sat spellbound as Hannah described Alicia's 
head injuries and Tom's internal bleeding. 
"Alicia's sister Jenny was spared, thankfully." Hannah hesi tated and for a 
moment she caught Jenny's gaze across the auditorium. She smiled, hoping Jenny 
would know it was just for her, but the girl seemed suddenly busy with her 
shoelaces. Hannah scanned the faces before her. "Even though Jenny lived, she 
will never, ever be the same again. All because some one made a choice to drink 
and drive. A choice to kill." 
Hannah segued into a list of increasing penalties and tougher prosecution where 
drunk driving was concerned. Jenny's expression was indifferent as Hannah talked 
about Matt Bronzan and his quest to reduce the number of drunk driving accidents 
each year. Hannah explained that if a person chose to drink and drive despite 
prior convictions and alcohol aware ness classes, the stakes were higher than 
ever before. 
"The man who killed my husband and oldest daughter is being charged with 
first-degree murder." She let that sink in a moment. "First-degree murder. 
That's usually reserved for people with guns and knives, but now it's been used 
a few times across the country to convict drunk drivers. The prosecutor believes 
he can win a murder-one conviction. He believes the time has come to let people 
know just how serious this is." 
Hannah paused then, drawing a breath. This was the hard part. "You know, Alicia 
should be out there today, sitting with you, joking with you." She looked at 
Alicia's cheerleader friends. "Cheering with you. She should be here. But she's 
not, and it's all because someone chose to drink and drive." 
She waited, studying the faces in the crowd, some crying, many who had been over 
to the house to visit Alicia and Jenny 
210 
in years past. Her eyes narrowed, and she forgot about the tele vision cameras 
for the moment. "Alicia is gone. Her father is gone. Nothing we say or do here 
today will bring them back." 
She shot a glance at Jenny-the girl's head was bent down nearly to her knees. If 
only she would listen. "We can't bring them back, but we can make a difference. 
We can make it so that their deaths were not in vain." 
There was silence while the students waited. Hannah had the feeling that at this 
point they would do whatever they could in Alicia's memory. 
"If you cared about Alicia, then please, take a stand against drunk driving. Go 
out from here and say enough, already. No more!" She met the somber gazes 
directed at her. "Spread the news about what's going to happen to Brian Wesley. 
Get the truth out: you choose to drink and drive, knowing the risks involved, 
then you're going down for first-degree murder. Murder one! Please. If you loved 
Alicia, do this one last thing for her. Thank you." 
The students remained motionless, and the muted sound of crying and sniffling 
filled the room. Hannah glanced at the cameras and saw one directed at Alicia's 
three cheerleader friends who were crying, clinging to each other. 
"Thank you, Mrs. Ryan." Betty Broderick from MADD nod ded in Hannah's direction, 
then turned to the students. "Now, if you have any questions..." 
Hannah knew she had reached these kids, and she felt a sense of accomplishment, 
elation even. She had notched a vic tory for MADD that day, a victory for Tom 
and Alicia. The news would broadcast what she'd said, or at least parts of it, 
and by tomorrow people across Los Angeles would be aware that drunk driving 
might lead to a first-degree murder conviction. 
Hannah felt a ray of hope for the first time in weeks. She couldn't help it. 
Four months of this and Brian Wesley wouldn't stand a chance. 
She could hardly wait to speak to'other groups. 
212 
I;I~I
q 
She looked out at the students and saw a handful of arms raised. As Betty 
Broderick started responding to their ques tions, Hannah sighed. She had gotten 
through it. Jenny must be so proud of her! She glanced to the spot where her 
daughter had been sitting-and sudden tears welled up in her eyes. 
Jenny was gone. 
The visions of your prophets were f alse and worthless; they did not... ward off 
your captivity. 
LAMENTATIONS 2:14A 
Christmas was fourteen days away, but Brian Wesley wasn't waiting for December 
25. The celebration was now He'd been forming the plan for days, and he was 
finally ready to carry it out. 
Brian smiled at himself in the mirror. He had a reason to be excited as he got 
ready that morning. He had been sober again for three weeks. 
At first he had credited his sobriety to the strange Bible words, as if somehow 
that code, that Phil. 4:13 or whatever, had made a difference. As if maybe 
Christ, if there was such a person, really had given him strength. Or in case 
that lady had prayed for him like she promised, and his staying clean was some 
kind of answer. 
He knew better now. Staying sober had nothing to do with God or prayer or Bible 
words. It was merely a matter of decid ing not to drink. 
He wasn't even sure why he'd called the lady in the first place. Probably 
because he was fairly freaked out about the trial, worried about spending 
life-or any time, for that mat ter-behind bars. Maybe it had something to do 
with that bit about the keys to his prison cell. The trial would be here before 
long, and prison was looking more and more likely. Freedom was bound to interest 
him. 
Still, when he thought back to that day at Church on the 
214 Way, how he'd poured his heart out to some strange woman, he decided he must 
have been losing it. Imagine, going to church and talking with some middle-aged 
religious freak about the Bible. Crazy. He was embarrassed about it now, to 
think he had actually considered turning religious or seeking some kind of 
revelation or conversion.
There was an explanation, of course. The drinking had
made him crazy enough to visit her. Finch had told him he
didn't stand a chance in court if he couldn't lay off the bottle.
The woman and her "prison keys" had merely been in the right
place at the right time, when he was feeling particularly vulnerable.
Brian straightened the covers on the bed in the spare room
of Jackson's apartment and considered his heritage. He came
from a long line of religious scoffers. He chuckled out loud.
Imagine him-Red Wesley's son-falling into some Jesus cult
or something. Brian shuddered at how close he'd come.
Christianity was for losers. Being sober helped him see that. Brian made 
breakfast and tossed an empty egg carton in the trash. The can was full of 
Jackson's empty beer cans. He and Jackson had finally made a rule: no beer in 
the common areas. All drinking was to be done in private. That way if Brian 
wanted to stay clean, he didn't have to watch Jackson get oiled every night. 
Jackson had stuck with the rule. Good old Jackson.
Brian dressed in a clean pair of Levi's and a knit pullover. Today was the day. 
He paced about the apartment wondering how best to go about it. He stared at the 
telephone. His money was almost gone, and he considered calling his old man and 
asking for more. As stepfathers went, Hank Robbins was good that way. Brian 
stopped pacing and sat down. He hadn't thought about his stepfather-or his 
mother, for that matterfor years. I wonder how they're doing... ? Brian knew 
now, of course, how his stepfather felt about him. He held none of the illusions 
he'd had as a young boy, back when a new bicycle or an ATV or a Ford Mustang on 
his sixteenth birthday felt like
love. The man had only put up with him because of his mother. He remembered when 
he first learned the truth.
He'd been seventeen and out with friends... and he'd come home early. Unlocking 
the front door he heard Hank talking. The old man never raised his voice. If he 
had a difference of opinion with someone, he would walk outside, wait a while, 
and then work things out when he came back inside. He was a cool one, old Hank.
But that night as Brian entered the house Hank was shouting.... 
"I don't care what you want! It's completely unreasonable. I will not have that 
boy live here a moment longer than necessary!" 
"You wish it were tomorrow, don't you?" His mother sounded like she was crying, 
and Brian strained to hear. "He's my son, Hank. Doesn't that mean anything to 
you?"
Hank's voice grew softer. "Yes ...but he's also the son of a no-good, alcoholic 
loser. You know I've done everything in my power to provide for that boy. I 
promised you that when I married you, and I've kept that promise. At least give 
me that."
His mother sniffed. "I know. Brian's never wanted for anything. I just wish ...I 
wish you loved him."
"Caring for Brian has nothing to do with love." Brian remained frozen as the 
words ripped at his heart. Hank's voice became softer, kinder. "It doesn't 
matter, really, does it, honey? I love you.... I've always loved you. But when 
that boy turns eighteen, he's on his own."
His mother was quiet, as though considering Hank's words. Then she sighed 
loudly. "I guess you're right. I just hate to think of him out there by himself. 
He's still so young."
"Sooner he learns the ways of the world, the sooner he'll become a man." Hank 
hesitated. "Don't worry, dear. I'll help him out a little."
The money. Brian felt a pit form in his stomach.
His mother spoke again. "You always do, Hank. Brian is
218 
lucky he has you." There was silence for a moment. "I just thought maybe he 
could stay a few more years..."
Hank's voice grew loud again. "No! The subject is closed. Now let's not have 
anymore nonsense about this. The boy is trouble, darling. Pure trouble. He'll be 
lucky if he graduates from high school. He's a drinker and a partier. He's just 
like his father."
"Don't say that!"
"It's true! The writing's on the wall."
"Oh, Hank, I don't want him to grow up like Red. I want the best for him." His 
mother sounded sad again.
"I can afford to help him. And then we can get on with life and all the..."
Brian couldn't listen to any more. He sneaked out the front
door and jogged out to his Mustang. Tears blinded his eyes as
he drove off, and eventually he wound up at the beach, sitting
on the hood of his car, gazing at the cold, stormy-gray surf long
after sunset.
"The boy is trouble, pure trouble.... He'll be lucky if he graduates from high 
school.... The writing's on the wall.... He's just like his father... just like 
his father... just like his father."
After that Brian stayed away from home as much as possible. Then, right after he 
graduated, he told Hank he needed his space, wanted freedom. The old man 
willingly shelled out a thousand dollars so Brian could set up an apartment. 
Brian was doing mechanic work at a shop a few miles away, and the payments 
weren't a problem.
But late at night, when his party buddies had gone home
and the silence was deafening, Brian wondered what his life
was worth. His father had left him; his mother had chosen
Hank; and Hank... well, the old man had been nothing but a
phony from the get-go.
It was during those long nights, when daylight seemed forever
away, that Brian began drinking in earnest. He had always
been able to party, but those awful, lonely nights had nothing
216
o do with celebrating. He needed an escape, and Budweiser became his best 
friend. Constant, reliable, and always able to
put him at ease.
By the time Brian thought twice about his nighttime beer consumption, he was an 
alcoholic, a willing slave to the demons of drink. That year, with so many 
hungover mornings, Brian's work ethic began to slip until he was on the verge of 
losing his job. He knew what he needed to do, but nothing worked. He and the 
Buds were, well, buds. There was no separating them. Not until one night a year 
later.
The night he met Carla Kimball.
Carla was a pretty girl with the most beautiful hair Brian had ever seen. Thick 
and wavy, it shimmered down her back and caught the attention of every man in 
the place.
She was oblivious. She sat alone at the end of the bar gazing into a glass of 
straight orange juice. She was barely five feet tall, no more than a hundred 
pounds including her hair. She looked like a little girl playing grownup-one 
without a care in the world.
The moment Brian saw her he set his beer down and leaned toward his buddy. "Now 
there's a catch."
Brian wasn't exactly a lady's man, but he held his own. When he saw a girl he 
wanted to know better, he generally
approached her and introduced himself. But as he watched Carla from across the 
bar that night, he couldn't get up enough courage even to stand.
Finally, just before closing time, the girl stood up and sauntered toward the 
juke box. She considered the selections and then seemed to changed her mind.
"Looks like she's getting ready to leave," Brian's buddy said. Brian swallowed 
and decided he needed to make his move or lose the chance forever. He walked up 
to her, and, standing nearly a foot taller, he smiled down at her and told her 
his name. If he lived a hundred years, he would never forget the way she grinned 
at him that night.
219 
"Took you long enough." Her eyes danced playfully. "What?"
"I've been watching you. You've been trying to get the guts
up to talk to me all night."
Brian glanced at the stool where she'd been sitting. "Is that
right? What? You got eyes in the back of your head?"
She had giggled again, her laughter ringing like wind chimes on a pleasant 
summer morning. "Maybe."
They sat down, and Brian learned her name and why she was drinking straight 
orange juice.
"My mother was an alcoholic. She died last year before I could get her help."
Brian digested that information. "Same with my dad." It had
sounded strange to hear himself call Red Dad. "He left when I
was a little kid. Died of alcohol poisoning."
"I guess we're kind of like... kindred orphans, then." The smile disappeared and 
sadness filled Carla's face. "Nothing good comes from alcohol."
Brian checked their surroundings. "Might be a stupid question,
but if you hate the drink, what're you doing in a bar?"
Carla's laughter rang out again. "I like people. And people
hang out in bars. Besides, I'm the designated driver. My friend's counting on 
me."
Brian had been ready to order another Budweiser, but in
light of Carla's comments he refrained. Besides, the bar was
closing and it was time to make his move.
"Your friend..." He hesitated. "Is it,uh...you know... is he..."
"You mean is it a guy?" She laughed. "No. My friend,
Shelly" Carla glanced across the bar at a girl and guy kissing in
the comer. "But the way things look, she won't be needing me
after all."
"Meaning?" "Meaning I think she found someone else to go home with." "I see."
218
"There's just one problem."
"What's that?" Brian drew closer to her, flirting for all he was
worth. "It's her car. If she goes with him, I'm stuck."
From across the bar, Carla's roommate approached them. "Hey, Carla, give me the 
keys."
Carla looked at her drunken friend suspiciously "Who's driving?" "He is. Now 
come on, give 'em to me."
"What about me?" Despite her question, Carla did not look terribly bothered. Was 
this a common routine with these two? Carla's friend glanced at Brian. "You'll 
find some way home. You always do."
Well, that answered that.
As her friend walked away, Carla shook her head. "She'll be sorry in the morning 
and I'll forgive her. Happens all the time." Brian stretched. "It's getting 
late..."
"We have time." She shrugged, and again Brian thought she looked like a little 
girl.
"Hey how old are you, anyway?" "You first."
"Okay" He sat up proudly. "Nineteen. Of course you'd never know it by looking at 
my driver's license." He winked. Carla's face fell. "So you're a big-time 
drinker? Fake ID. Nights at the bar, the works."
"Now wait a minute, I like meeting people, that's all. Just like you." Brian 
hoped his breath didn't smell too badly of beer. "Besides, you must have a fake 
ID. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
Carla huffed. "I'll have you know I'm twenty-one, a very sophisticated and 
mature woman by your standards."
The bartender had finished cleaning. "Let's go you two, last ones out."
They stood and strolled toward the door, and Brian grinned down at her. "You may 
be sophisticated and mature, and I may
221 
be little more than a school boy, but you, my dear, are without a ride. And this 
immature guy with the fake ID would like to give you a lift home."
Carla studied him closely, her face inches from his. "All
right." She paused. "But let's get one thing straight before we
start something here."
Brian waited anxiously. He was already making plans for
Carla to spend the night. If not now, then next week or the
week after that. It would happen, he was sure.
Carla's eyes grew serious, the laughter gone. "I don't date drinkers, Brian. You 
drink, I'm outta here."
He raised a solemn hand and struggled to appear as serious as she did. Whatever 
it took. This was one girl he didn't want to lose. "You have my word on it, Miss 
Carla Kimball."
Brian couldn't remember how long he kept his promise. He and Carla went home 
together that night and never looked back. She had shared an apartment with an 
aunt and had been looking to get out. A week later, Brian helped her move in 
with him, and they grew deeply attached, more so than anything Brian had ever 
experienced. For a while he didn't even miss the beer.
"I love you, Brian," Carla would tell him.
He'd respond with a nuzzle or a kiss, anything to avoid saying the words. Brian 
didn't want to love anyone, not after what his mother and Hank had done to him. 
Need was something he could relate to. Love... well, that was something 
altogether different. Carla had told him if he ever became a drinker, she'd 
leave him. Brian wasn't sure, but he thought there was a chance that at some 
point he might drink again. Just one or two beers, nothing serious. But if Carla 
left because of that, there was no point loving her now
Two years later Brian did start drinking again. One or two
beers quickly became a sixer, and then half a case. He'd come
home late and lie about where he'd been. It took Carla a month
to learn the truth, and when she did, she stared at him sadly.
"I loved you, Brian." The expression in her little-girl eyes
220
re at Brian's heart. "But I can't stay with you if you keep than life itself.
king."
He apologized and made a handful of lofty promises.
enty-four hours later he was drinking again, and a month
ter that, Carla packed her things and said good-bye. She
droved in with a friend and refused his phone calls.
That's when Brian knew the truth. He loved Carla more
He found her at her friend's apartment a week after she
moved out, and he confessed his feelings. "I should have told you sooner." There 
were tears in his eyes as he spoke. "I love you. I've never loved anyone like 
you, and I'll never love anyone this way again. Please. . .work with me. Help me 
get past this thing."
Despite her strong convictions, Carla had loved Brian too much to stay away. She 
moved back in and agreed to help him. They got married in a simple civil 
ceremony, and he stayed sober for nearly a year.
The next time Brian began drinking, Carla didn't threaten to leave. There was no 
point. She was in for the long haul, and the certainty of her commitment gave 
him no reason to let up. Not long after, he had his first drunk driving arrest, 
and then another, and three more after that. There were the accidents and 
alcohol-training courses. When little Brian Jr. came along, Brian renewed his 
determination to stop drinking. But that, too, had been short-lived.
Carla stayed, but her laughter stopped sounding like wind chimes on a summer 
morning. Instead it sounded hollow, as though she were only pretending to be 
happy. Worst of all, she didn't look like a little girl anymore.
She looked like a woman who'd been through a war.
Brian glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that an hour had passed. He 
didn't like remembering Carla that way. It was
230 nicer to think of her as she'd been the night they first met, when she sat 
alone drinking orange juice at the end of the bar. Before she cared whether he 
drank or not.
He sighed and stood up, tugging his stiff jeans into place. He was through 
drinking now, through for good. And it was time Carla knew about it.
He sorted through a pile of rumpled one-dollar bills and two folded tens. 
Thirty-two dollars. All the money he had left at this point. He thought about 
the gift. Thirty-two dollars should be enough for what he had in mind.
He went downstairs and waited at the bus stop. He was getting used to buses now 
They were cheap. On the ride to the mall he wondered how Carla was doing, 
whether she missed him or not. They hadn't talked since the preliminary hearing. 
Brian had started drinking pretty much nonstop after thatright up until the day 
he'd met that lady at church.
He shook his head. He didn't want to think about the lady or the booze. Drinking 
was in the past now He got off the bus and strode into the side entrance of the 
mall. Frenzied shoppers crowded the aisles, searching for the perfect Christmas 
present.
Brian moved quickly in and out of the crowd until he saw
the store he was looking for. Spencer's Gifts. They had the best
jewelry, and they didn't charge a month's wages for something
simple.
Brian had bought Carla's wedding band here.
He walked in and found the jewelry case. There they were: gold-plated hoop 
earrings. Brian could picture the look on Carla's face when she opened them. He 
pointed at the pair, nestled in a cardboard box.
"Can you giftwrap 'em, man?"
The clerk-a teenage boy with blue hair and a tiny hoop that pierced his lower 
lip-stared at him blankly "You mean, like, with Christmas paper?"
"Yeah. Giftwrap."
222
The kid laughed. "Dude, that's for, like, the big-time jewelry stores. But hey, 
I'll give you the box."
Brian.. you came all the way here to tell me that?"
"Right. Okay. How much is it?"
The blue-haired boy rang up the sale. "Eighteen twentyfive." 
Brian gulped. He counted out the ten-dollar bill and eight for a quarter and 
took the
ones. Then he fished in pocket
found a giftbag for two package. He darted across
dollars, then took a piece of scrap paper from the cashier and began writing.
"Carla, I know I've said it before. But this time I'm serious. I'm done drinking 
f orgood. I bought you two hoops because I'm twice as sorry, twice as serious. I 
need promise,
babe. Help me through this trial. and on. True as gold. you, Stay by me. Merry 
Christmas. I love you. Brian."
He left the mall, boarded the bus, and half an hour later he
stood outside the apartment
nas he'd been thatrfirst without him. He was almost as nervous e
night in the bar, but finally, the front door and knocked. in his left
hand, he made his way
Seconds passed,lae and day, and Brian Jr. showhere she uld have been be.
was the middle of ty, an
ping. Carla was always home for Brian Jr.'s nap. the click of He knocked again 
andtadewr~nches. eCarlantepped out, the lock and the door opened
closing the door behind her.
"Brian..." She looked nervous and he felt a wave of fear. Carla never looked 
nervous. Angry, sad, frustrated. But not nervous. 
"Carla, honey, I have good news..." He stood straighter and smiled "I stopped
door handleg hedsithis time." still on thedrinking.
ghed. Really, With one han
He felt another wave of fear. "I need you, baby I brought
you something for"
231 "No, Brian. I don't want anything from you. We're finished." She glanced 
back at the door, clearly anxious.
Brian sucked in a deep breath. "Carla, I know I've let you down before. The kid, 
too. But-"
"Brian, stop! This is crazy. You're... you're on trial for murder. First-degree 
murder. You're going to spend the rest of your life in prison. We're finished, 
Brian. Now go home."
He tried to move past her but she held her ground. "Come on, Carla, let me in. I 
have a present I want to give you. Then you can see for yourself that I'm 
serious this time."
"Brian," Carla hissed. "Go home! I don't want your-"
At that instant, the door behind her opened and a man appeared. He was wearing 
boxer shorts and a T-shirt. His hair was wet... he looked as though he'd just 
taken a shower.
"What the-" Brian took a step toward the man, but Carla put her hand on his 
chest and stopped him.
"Brian... don't. I'm...I'm seeing someone else now"
The stranger put his arm protectively around Carla and glared at Brian. "I 
believe the lady asked you to leave."
He stared at Carla, and then at the strange man beside her. He felt lightheaded, 
sick to his stomach. For one horrible moment he thought he would faint there on 
the doorstep-or possibly die of a heart attack.
Once more he looked at Carla, and he could see the pain in her eyes. She spoke 
in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "I'm sorry..."
Without saying another word, Brian turned and walked away At the end of the row 
of apartments, he passed a smelly dumpster. He stopped and stared at the package 
in his hand, then tossed it angrily over the side of the bin and kept walking.
He wandered out onto Ventura Boulevard and headed east, away from the 
intersection where everything in life had changed four months earlier. A block 
away he saw a liquor store. Before he knew it, he was inside. He found their 
least expensive bottle of whiskey and handed over what was left of his money.
He gave a sick chuckle. "You gift wrap?"
The old man behind the counter twisted his face. "What's I t, boy?" and "Aww, 
never mind. Private joke." Brian took the bag awisted it tightly around the neck 
of the bottle. Then he boarded the bus and went back to Jakhe rules Brian 
rinkinhisg
ibe done in private, those were
:to his room, tore off the cap, and began swallowing fast.
"It's finished, Brian. n t ~ see Brian Jr. dating 'd been goneeonly a He hadn't 
even gotte
few months and already he'd been replaced. Brian was too shocked to be angry. 
Anger would come later.
He raised the bottle, and the liquid burned his throat as he took three long 
gulps. The walls were flexing, in and out, back and forth. He looked around and 
the entire room was in motion. He sank slowly to the floor. Suddenly they were 
all staring at him, crowding the room that id it was outhflatd on aesofa while 
his There was Red Wesley,
mother sobbed at the kitchen table. Hank announced in a loud 11 t like his 
lather.. . can't you see it? He's just like his
fi voice, HesJus
father" Carla was there, too, and the stranger with his arm around her shoulder. 
"It's over, Brian. I'm dating someone new... someone new... someone new."
He took another long swig from the bottle and closed his `
eyes. He didn't care anymore. He only wanted to be alone. Forget about Carla and 
promises and gold hoop earrings.
The bottle was more than half gone, and Brian felt himself losing consciousness. 
The room was spinning faster, and he I closed his eyes. Suddenly a loud noise 
pulled him from his stupor. This time when he opened his eyes, he saw something 
that sent a surge of bile into his throat. an ,
d her father their
Right in front of him was the blond girl a
car wrapped around the utility pole. Only now the girl was crying, and Carla was 
standing over her, trying to help her breathe. Suddenly they all turned on him, 
glaring at him, hating him.
224 '
i
232 
"Go away!" Carla shouted and she ripped the gold hoops from her ears. "You're a 
murderer and a liar and a loser! I hope you rot in prison." 
As quickly as they'd come, they faded away, and he could see more clearly. There 
was still something left in the bottle. He raised it to his mouth, missing 
wildly at first and then finally finding the mark. Nausea welled up, but still 
he drank, swig ging down what was left until the bottle was empty. There was a 
strange noise, like air leaking from a rubber tire. He tossed the bottle aside 
and looked up. 
Demons filled the room before him. 
Dripping blood and spewing venomous taunts and accusa tions, they crowded in 
around his face. He swung at them, shouted at them to stay away, but they drew 
nearer still, hissing and smelling of death and sulfur. They were carrying some 
thing, and Brian saw that it was a rusted, black chain. Before he could get up 
or run away or close his eyes, the demons bound his wrists and wrapped his arms 
tightly against his body. 
He was utterly trapped, and the demons began hissing one word, over and over. 
Brian's heart beat wildly and he struggled to break free. What was the word? 
What were they saying? The noise grew louder, each word a hate-filled hiss. 
Finally Brian understood. Forever. Forever, forever, forever. 
He was trapped. The demons had him and they would hold him forever. 
He wanted to break free, to scream for help and chase the demons away before 
they killed him. But instead he felt his insides heave. Once, twice, and then a 
third time, until it seemed his stomach was in a state of permanent convulsion. 
And then all he wanted was to die. 
Brian woke up, face down in a puddle of pasty vomit, his entire body shaking 
violently from fear and alcohol poisoning. 
226 
the room smelled like rotten, undigested food and urine. He 
jioticed his pants were wet, and he realized he must have 'soiled them. His head 
throbbed, and he recoiled as he touched 
his hand to his hair. It was matted with crusted vomit. 
Suddenly he remembered the hissing creatures. Using only his eyes, he glanced 
from side to side. 
The demons were gone. 
But this brought no relief. They would be back. He knew with every fiber in his 
being that it was so. He struggled to his feet, wiped the vomit from his eyes 
and nose so he could breathe better, and staggered toward the phone. 
It was time to call the Bible lady 
233 The hearts of the people cry out to the Lord. 
0 wall of the Daughter of Zion, let your tears flow like a river day and night; 
give yourself no relief, your eyes no rest. 
LAMENTATIONS 2:18 
In the end, they skipped the tree and presents and agreed to go out to dinner on 
Christmas Eve. Hannah thought that even that was a stretch since neither she nor 
jenny wanted to be reminded that the rest of the world was celebrating 
Christmas. The "Silent Night"s and "0 Come, All Ye Faithful"s were not a 
reminder to fall and worship at baby Jesus' manger-they were a reminder of his 
broken promises. 
Jenny might still believe, but Hannah knew better. December 25 would be merely 
another day to prepare for the trial, another chance to work on victim impact 
panel infor mation and clip newspaper articles dealing with drunk driving. 
The restaurant was packed, and their Christmas Eve dinner was filled with long 
periods of silence and uncomfortable con versation. When their plates were 
cleared, Hannah set her nap kin down and leaned her forearms on the table. 
"Jenny, what do I have to do?" 
Jenny stared at her, her eyes listless and empty. "What?" "To make things right 
again. Between us." 
Jenny doodled a circular design in the Alfredo sauce on her dinner plate and 
said nothing. 
Hannah hung her head for a moment. What would it take to reach the girl? She 
looked up again. "See? You don't talk to me...you won't even look at me." 
234 "There's nothing to say, Mother."
Jenny sounded so tired that it pierced Hannah's heart. But she pushed the 
feeling away. If Jenny was tired, it was her own fault. Hannah had tried 
everything she knew to help her daughter! "That's great, Jenny. We've lost 
everything that matters to us; our lives have changed forever, and you tell me 
there's nothing to say? Well, here are some suggestions. Tell me how you're 
doing, how you're feeling... ask me how we're going to make it. How about that, 
huh?" Hannah knew she didn't sound sympathetic, but she didn't care. She'd had 
it with Jenny's self-pity "Maybe then we'd find something to talk about."
Jenny leveled her gaze at Hannah. "I think it's a little late to be asking."
Late for what? Jenny wasn't making sense. "Meaning...?"
Jenny stared at her plate and resumed doodling. "Meaning
maybe you should have asked me those questions when...
when... oh, never mind."
A cord of concern rang on the keyboard of Hannah's mind. Jenny was no longer 
angry, and that was a relief. But now she wasn't speaking or making eye contact, 
either. She wasn't anything-except completely detached.
Hannah closed her eyes briefly. All I want is my family back... the way it used 
to be! Is that so terrible? When she spoke once more, it was with the weight of 
more burdens than she thought she could carry. "I love you, Jenny. I'm sorry if 
I've been busy."
Jenny shrugged. "It's okay"
The conversation stalled again as the waitress cleared their plates. The silence 
as Hannah paid the check and they walked to the car was oppressive.
Back at home, Jenny immediately excused herself and disappeared to her room. 
Hannah watched her go and felt like an utter failure. Jenny was free-falling 
away from her, and Hannah was helpless to do anything about it. Don't look too 
deeply at this. It'll all be okay after the trial. She wandered through the 
quiet house and sighed, studying the framed photographs.
230
They had smiled so easily back then. She couldn't remember
fenny smiling even once since they'd lost Tom and Alicia. Maybe this was how it 
was going to be from now on. No holidays. No smiles. No communication.
Tomorrow there would be a garden of golden memories to be walked through, but 
Hannah didn't want to go there now, not yet. She didn't want to stroll through 
yesterday and savor the fragrance of all they had once been. She would rather 
work on her drunk driving speeches. She didn't want to think about
any of it, and she certainly didn't want to think about Jenny, alone in her 
room, besieged with her own thoughts of Christmases past, probably crying 
herself to sleep.
The truth was suddenly unbearable.
Hannah turned off the downstairs lights and padded slowly up to bed. The world 
was a heavy place, especially when it rested squarely on your own shoulders.
That night, somewhere between lying awake and falling asleep, Hannah moved her 
leg and in the process slid her foot under a section of the covers that was 
weighted down with a heavy book she'd tossed there earlier. Still, for an 
instant the
weight wasn't a book at all. It was Tom, his leg, comfortably stretched across 
the sheets just inches from her own. Hannah stirred, and the weight remained. 
She enjoyed the feeling of Tom's leg on hers, heavy and warm. Suddenly a 
realization pulled at her. If his leg was here, that meant"Tom?" She sat 
straight up in bed and breathlessly peered through the darkness. Then slowly, as 
she had at least ten times before, she realized who she was and where she was 
and what her life had become.
She was a woman alone who had lost everything. And tomorrow was Christmas.
Since his father died four years earlier, Matt Bronzan usually spent holidays 
with his mother. She lived two hours north and
235 he enjoyed the drive. But that year his sister had flown their mother to 
Phoenix so she could be with her grandchildren for Christmas.
Matt didn't mind being alone. He lived in a four-bedroom ranch home in an elite 
subdivision in Woodland Hills and had come to appreciate the house's solitude 
when he needed a break from court. In the week leading up to Christmas, his 
housekeeper had set up a twenty-four-inch decorated tree on an end table and 
purchased a four-pack of cinnamon buns at the mall.
When Christmas morning dawned, Matt heated the buns and brewed a pot of 
Starbucks Holiday-blend coffee. He sat down at his glass-topped dining room 
table, savoring the rich aroma as he ate. When he was finished he did something 
he did every morning. He opened his burgundy leather Bible and began reading.
He was in Romans 12 that morning and he savored the
words, searching for every morsel of truth therein: "Love must
be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one
another in brotherly love.... Practice hospitality...." The words
jumped off the page and landed squarely on Matt's conscience.
"Be devoted to one another... brotherly love... practice hospitality." Images of 
Hannah Ryan came to mind, and suddenly he saw her not as a woman to be pitied 
for losing her husband and daughter but a woman to be pitied for turning her 
back on the Lord. He'd done everything he could to help her with the trial, but 
what had he done to help her in her faith struggle? According to Carol Cummins, 
Hannah had refused all contact with her church friends, and she had few, if any, 
relatives in the area. He pictured Hannah and her daughter sitting at home 
alone.... He remembered how difficult Christmas had been for him after 
Victoria's and Shawn's deaths. He bowed his head then, overcome with gratitude 
that God had drawn him out of his own doubt and depression so many years ago. 
Give me wisdom, Father. Use me...
232
Drawing a deep breath, he reached for the telephone. Hannah answered on the 
third ring. "Hello?" "Hannah ... it's Matt Bronzan."
She hesitated, and Matt wondered if he was making a mistake. "Hi, Matt. Don't 
tell me you're working on Christmas day?"
Matt chuckled. "No. I'm hard on myself, but even workaholics take off December 
25."
"Yeah, I guess."
He thought a moment. "You don't sound too good."
She waited too long to answer. She'd been crying. He'd be willing to bet on it. 
He drew a steadying breath and jumped in with both feet. "Listen, why don't I 
swing by and get you and Jenny? The three of us can drive out to Santa Monica 
and walk along the pier."
"You mean... right now?"
"Right now It's a beautiful day. We can talk about whatever you want. And we'll 
buy jenny some cotton candy or some„
thing. Hannah hesitated again. "Why, Matt?"
"Because ... I've been there, remember? And I wish someone had kidnapped me for 
the first three or four holidays after my friends died. Believe me, anything 
will be better than staying alone in an empty house filled with memories."
He wanted to tell her that God had used Scripture to impress the idea on him, 
but he knew better. Hannah Ryan didn't need a list of Bible verses. She needed 
brotherly love and hospitality....
"Okay" Hannah didn't sound sure. "I guess. Be here in an hour."
She gave him directions and the conversation ended. Matt slipped a sweatshirt 
over his head and felt a sudden prompting to pray for Jenny. The whole time he 
was getting ready, constant prayers were in his mind, prayers for the sweet girl 
who had refused to attend any hearings, the girl who Hannah said
236 had become more withdrawn with each passing week. Something was about to 
happen to Jenny, Matt could feel it, and he prayed for her as if his life 
depended on it.
Hannah was sitting in a living room chair studying a tree in the front yard when 
Jenny walked by,
"Honey, we're going to the beach with Mr. Bronzan." Hannah realized she didn't 
sound very enthusiastic.
Jenny stopped in her tracks and stared at her mother. "Mr. Bronzan?"
Hannah met her gaze. "Yes. The prosecutor, remember?"
"I know who he is. Why are we going to the beach with him? Today? On Christmas?"
Hannah shrugged. "He asked."
"Oh, I get it. That way we can spend the day plotting how to ruin Brian Wesley's 
life. Is that it?"
For the first time in days Jenny sounded angry, and Hannah almost enjoyed it. 
Anything was better than the indifference that had come over her lately.
"He said we can walk along the pier and talk." "About what?" Jenny put a hand on 
her hip.
"I don't know Maybe about how lousy it is that drunk drivers get to celebrate 
Christmas and the ones they kill never will again." Jenny rolled her eyes. "Like 
he would know."
Hannah turned to face Jenny. "I will not have you talking that way about Mr. 
Bronzan. He's the one who can take away the pain we're in. He's on our side. And 
yes-" she swallowed-"he would know He had a close friend killed by a drunk 
driver many years ago. Its not something you forget."
Jenny considered that for a moment, and hope sparked in Hannah's heart. Then her 
daughter shrugged. "I'm not going." Hannah wanted to cry, but she felt as though 
there were no
tears left. She sighed and reached her arms out to Jenny. "Come here, Jenny. 
Please."
234
: Jenny took one step backward. "No. I don't want a hug, )
,;Mom. Just leave me alone. I'll be fine."
Hannah struggled to her feet as if every movement was an effort. She closed the 
gap that separated her from Jenny and reached for her shoulders. "Come with me, 
Jenny. It'll do us both good."
Jenny pulled away. "No! I won't. I'll be fine..." She turned and headed for the 
stairs.
"Jenny, please... you're making this so much worse." Jenny stopped on the
do that would make this rworsde "Mom, there's nothing I could than it already 
is."
"You are not an adult, and if I tell you to come, you'll
come." Hannah followed her daughter toward the stairs.
"I'm not going, Mother. I don't want to be with Mr. Bronzan. I want to be with 
Daddy and Alicia. If I can't do that, I want to stay home. I wish I never had to 
leave this house again!" She turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.
Hannah realized she would have to call Matt. She had no right spending Christmas 
Day with him while her daughter lay alone on her bed. She reached for the Maybe 
telephone
hat would give stopped. Maybe Jenny needed to be alone.
time to sort out her feelings. Besides, she and Matt needed to talk about the 
trial.
She leaned into the stairwell and spoke loud enough for Jenny to hear. "Since 
you're not willing to go, you can stay home. Don't leave the house, though, is 
that understood?" Silence.
"Jenny?" "Yes, I understand." The cool indifference was back.
"Jenny, try and use this time to think about your attitude. You've changed so 
much since the accident."
"Yes, Mother."
"We both lost when that man killed Daddy and Alicia. Maybe you could think about 
that and stop taking it out on me."
237 
"Yes, Mother."
Hannah sighed. She was rambling, and jenny wasn't listening
to a word. She heard a car pull up, and Hannah glanced
out the living room window to see Matt climb out and make
his way up the front walk. "Jenny, Mr. Bronzan is here. I'll be
home in a couple hours."
"Enjoy your date, Mother."
The word was like a sharp slap, and Hannah froze. How could jenny say such a 
horrible thing? Hannah felt tears sting at her eyes. She pushes and pushes... 
She shook her head. Maybe we'll never get beyond this...
"Enjoy your date." Jenny's words echoed in Hannah's mind, accusing her, pulling 
her down. Oh, why had she ever agreed to go with Matt in the first place?
He was a business acquaintance, a friend. Nothing more. There couldn't be more 
because she was still in love with Tom. She would always be in love with Tom.
As her mother slammed the door shut, Jenny skittered across her bedroom floor 
and gazed out the window How dare that man take her mother to the beach on 
Christmas Day. Her dad had only been dead four months. Jenny watched the way he 
opened the door for her mother and slid into the seat beside her. The high and 
mighty Matt Bronzan could tell her mother whatever he wanted. Jenny could see 
the writing on the wall.
She slumped back across the room and locked her bedroom door. Maybe Mr. Bronzan 
was a blessing in disguise. Maybe he would move into her mother's life and make 
it whole again. But where did that leave her? Jenny thought about the answer and 
realized it was a simple one. If her mother was preoccupied with Mr. Bronzan, 
then maybe the time had come.
She reached under her bed, pulled out a small plastic bag of pills, and dumped 
them on her bedspread. Her mother would be home in two hours, maybe three. She 
stared at the heap of
236
ills and ran a finger through them. If she took them now, she
ould be unconscious in fifteen minutes, but death would take
while longer. Maybe an hour, maybe more.
Jenny knew how long it took her to die depended on the
number of pills and how quickly her metabolism worked.
Factors she couldn't control. If she did it now, she might even
d be dead before her mother came home. But if not, she needed
to have the door locked so she could buy a little more time. That way, though 
her mother might find a way to break into the room, she wouldn't have enough 
time to save jenny's life.
The pills were multicolored, coated with a gelatin for easy swallowing and 
digestion. Sleeping pills and some outdated pain medication she'd found in her 
father's medical bag. The Internet had taught her that there was little mess 
with pills. That meant her mother wouldn't have a lot of trauma.
Jenny hesitated. She was so close, so desperate to be with Alicia and Daddy. 
Suddenly she heard the voice. It spoke to her often these days and it always 
said the same thing: Take the pills. Take the pills. Do it, jenny. Take the 
pills.
If she did it now they could be together in one hour. She drew a deep breath. 
God, give me the strength.
The pills looked ominous, dozens of them heaped up in the center of her 
bedspread. Jenny picked up a small handful and rolled them around in her palm. 
Don't be mad at me, Lord.... You know I love you.
Suddenly there was a soft thudding sound. Then another and another. Three thuds, 
coming from Alicia's room. Jenny dropped the pills and stared at the wall. Three 
thuds. The signal she and Alicia had used all their lives.
I love you.
Jenny's hands began to tremble and then her arms, until finally her scalp was 
tingling. There was no one in the next room. The sounds echoed in her mind, and 
she wondered if she had heard them or only imagined them.
Jenny willed herself back to last Christmas when she and
241 Alicia were in their rooms, racing to clean them before dinner. But it 
wasn't Christmas past. It was Christmas present.
"Alicia..." Tears spilled from her eyes and she squeezed them shut. "I love you 
too."
Jenny wasn't sure how long she sat that way. Eventually she
fell asleep, huddled against a mound of pillows, her hand resting
on the wall that separated her room and Alicia's.
The beach was empty that afternoon, and Hannah figured it was because most 
people had better things to do. She and Matt walked along the pier slowly, 
gazing out to sea. The day was cool and overcast, not quite seventy degrees, and 
a breeze blew off the Pacific Ocean. Hannah was glad for her bulky sweatshirt. 
Matt was so easy to be around. During the drive he'd talked
about a few other cases he was working on, and the time had
passed quickly. Now, as they studied the succession of waves
hitting the shore, a comfortable silence fell between them.
"Your case is coming along." They stopped walking and Matt leaned against the 
white wood railing. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it."
Hannah nodded. "Is it looking strong?" She folded her arms and studied him, 
making sure that several feet separated them. He gazed back out to sea. "I keep 
looking for a loophole, a
weakness, some way the defense will be able to convince the jury this wasn't 
murder one."
"And?" "I don't see one." He turned toward her, and his eyes held a wealth of 
sincerity. "It's a strong case, Hannah. I really think we can do it."
She gazed through the slats of wood that made up the pier,
looking down to the water below When she was a little girl
she'd always been afraid of the slats, afraid she'd fall into the
ocean and drown. The slats didn't bother her now She was in
238
too far over her head to
four °am°Umpact paneisslined up t eyes to Matt's. "I've got "
January and February.
"They're making a difference. I've seen you on TV a couple
es now."
Hannah glanced up, eyes wide. She'd been on TV? "You
we?"
"Yes. You look determined-and beautiful, in a tragic way.
And very angry"
He thinks I'm beautiful. Hannah's gaze fell, and she chided herself for enjoying 
the thought.
"People watch that kind of thing, they read it in the paper, and pretty soon 
they start to see drunk driving a little differently. After hearing your story, 
some of them will be fed up. Once the public takes on that sentiment, murder one 
is only a matter of time."
An ocean breeze blew ied hnnas er teeth. `Gaooda She pictured down her neck. She 
g
Brian Wesley locked in a solitary, rat-infested cell. "I wish they still did 
hangings in the public square."
Matt raised his eyebrows and his voice grew soft. "Is that what this is all 
about?"
"What?" Hannah snapped. "I hate Brian Wesley. Surely you of all people 
understand that."
"I understand." Matt'sglzdon~t 1 like whatmoment l hearnd ythen
our found her eyes again. "But
voice."
"Oh, please." Hannah didn't have patience for this. "Brian
Wesley is the reason we're doing this. You know that."
Matt thought for a mtheeriuni"I want to see ian shment he de erves~ Heds nup,
of but only because that's p
the reason we're pushing for murder one." "He's my reason."
Matt shook his head."a e's just °lone drunk driver, ok at drunk do ang on
We want to change the y people
242 the whole. Then maybe we can prevent the kind of thing that happened to your 
family"
Hannah paused. Matt was right, of course. That should be the reason. Still, that 
wasn't what motivated her to get up before a crowd and bare her heart about the 
collision.
Picturing Brian Wesley in prison was what motivated her. Nothing more, nothing 
less.
"Hannah-" Matt interrupted her thoughts. He rubbed his hands together to keep 
them warm. "Is everything okay with Jenny?"
She shrugged and began walking again. She could feel the
hard, angry lines creasing the skin around her eyes, and she
pressed her lips together. I bet I don't look beautiful now. She
shook the thought away. There was no point worrying about
how she looked. Smiles came from the heart. Her face was a
direct reflection of her feelings.
She thought about Jenny "At first... after the accident, Jenny was mad at me. 
Not Brian Wesley. She doesn't hate him like I do. She never has. She hated me, 
and we fought all the time." Hannah's heart ached as she remembered how quickly 
her relationship with Jenny deteriorated after Tom and Alicia's deaths. Hannah 
searched for the words. "But now, I don't know... it's like she's given up. 
She's thirteen years old and she acts like she's finished living."
Matt's expression changed. "You don't think-"
Hannah caught the look in his eyes and shook her head. "No, nothing like that." 
Hannah didn't mention the school principal and her concerns that Jenny might be 
thinking about suicide. `Jenny's a very stable girl. But she and Alicia were so 
close and now... it doesn't seem like she knows how to go on."
Matt nodded as he walked alongside her. They were approaching the end of the 
pier. "I had this strange feeling earlier that I was supposed to pray for her."
"Really?" Hannah felt a twinge of anger. She didn't want to talk about prayer 
this Christmas day. That life was behind her.
240
ml went on. I rayed w I was heady and the d wdheod time I felt that pome hinglb 
d wa gabo u
But Matt no
to happen to her."
Hannah rolled her eyes. "Great. Figures that'd be the kind of thought you'd get 
about Jenny. When God is against you, he doesn't pull any punches does he?" 1 f.
to the
Matt was quiet and hed neardthe pilings below, a and they end of the pier. A 
seal splas
watched him
et, "God 's 'srvoa few ice moments.
the distinct an nnahah. . Matt
Hannah."
impression he was trying not to start an argument.
She braced herself against the white railing and stared up at the cold, gray 
sky. "it doesn't matter. I don't believe there is a
God anymore. Not after what happened." " Matt "It's a fallen world. People
railing uand faced Hannah. rested his back against
because of mankind, not God." She wanted to scream
fault?-He could stop it. if he's really a he tell her it wasn't God
great and mighty God, then he could have caused Tom to be ten seconds slower 
that afternoon. Or made Brian drive ten seconds faster. Something. But he didn't 
keep it from happening and that's-that's why I stopped believing."
"Sometimes he has a different plan."
Hannah sighed and moved forward, leaning her body on the railing and gazing down 
at the churning sea below. "I never wanted a different plan. Only sank Tom and 
on a~ nearby bench. Tears voice caught, and she
spilled from her eyes and she wiped them dry.
Matt knelt on one knee next to her and ran a hand soothingly over her shoulder. 
"It's okay. You can cry. The Lord understands..." 
She tried to shut out the words. She had heard enough about the Lord. "Please, 
Matt...
"I know, I know. You're not ready."
243 Matt's voice was like an anchor in what seemed to be the greatest storm 
she'd ever faced. Still she disagreed with what he was saying. "I'll never be 
ready. God abandoned me, and that's not the kind of God I used to believe in."
"Hannah, the Lord never-" "No!"
"Give me a chance. The Lord does understand. John 11:35 says-"I don't want to 
hear it!" She buried her face in her hands, shutting out both the sound and 
sight of Matt Bronzan. "Please, Matt."
There was silence, and when Hannah opened her eyes, Matt was standing again, 
leaning against the railing, studying her. "Okay. No talk about God. But don't 
let yourself drift too far away. You might not be able to find your way back."
As though I'd want to...
She wiped the tears off her cheeks. She'd been gone long enough. She wanted to 
get home, back to jenny and the miserable existence that was their life these 
days.
Matt seemed to sense her thoughts. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and 
straightened. Hannah pictured Tom and remembered how he had moved so similarly, 
with the same athletic grace.
He reached out his hand. "Come on, let's get you back home and see how jenny's 
doing."
The sound of the front door opening brought jenny instantly awake. She glanced 
around the room and felt her arms. She was alive, but she couldn't remember why. 
Then she saw the pills scattered on her bedspread and her heart sank.
She had fallen asleep.
Now her mother was home and it was too late.
She gathered the capsules and quickly dropped them in the plastic bag. She could 
hear her mother's footsteps making their
242
I-room. Leaning over her bed she tossed the
ay closer to er
h know of pills far undth. Se din't now wabout it. hat had There
re er fall asleep, but she wasn't going to worry
ould be other opportunities.
And when they presented themselves, she would be ready.
247 
He has besieged me and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship. He has made 
me dwell in darkness 
like those long dead. 
LAMENTATIONS 3:5-6 
January blended into February and then into March while Hannah kept herself too 
busy to worry about jenny or the impending trial or anything but the 
victim-impact panels. The media ate it up, reveling in the story for all its 
human interest elements and ground-breaking possibilities. Before the end of 
March, Hannah appeared on two local television talk shows and Good Morning 
America. They showed pictures of Tom and Alicia and talked in reverent tones 
about Hannah's strength, her determination to see that justice prevailed. 
"A day is coming," Hannah would tell them, "when I will finally be at peace. 
That will be the day Brian Wesley is convicted of first-degree murder." 
Sometimes Hannah wondered about Brian, where he was, what he was doing. Once she 
asked Carol about it over lunch, but the woman didn't seem the least bit 
worried. 
She shook her head. "It isn't healthy for you to worry about this." Carol 
hesitated. "Remember back a few months ago...I asked you to read Lamentations? 
Have you done it?" 
Hannah sighed and set down her club sandwich. "No. And I don't plan to. If I 
remember, Lamentations is in the Bible, and I'm not interested in reading the 
Bible anymore." 
"Hannah-" "Please, Carol. Between you and Matt, I'm beginning to 
248 think there's a conspiracy. `Poor Hannah, throwing away her faith when she 
needs it most.' I don't want to be your project, Carol. If there is a God, then 
he might as well take the stand right next to Brian Wesley. Because when it 
comes right down to it, God allowed this. He could have stopped it. So why in 
the world would I want to read Lamentations, or anything else God has to say?"
Carol seemed flustered. She sipped her apple juice, as
though giving herself time to gather her thoughts. "I...well, I've
been praying about it. I feel there's a message for you there,
Hannah. Every time I ask the Lord. . .when I don't know what
to say to help you... Lamentations comes to mind."
Hannah picked up her sandwich and brought it to her mouth. "Let it stay there, 
Carol. I'm through with Scripture." She took an angry bite, chomped it, and 
swallowed. "Now what I really want to know is what's happening with Brian 
Wesley?"
Carol glanced down at her plate and poked at the remainder
of her sandwich. "I don't know"
Hannah continued. "I keep thinking of that day in court when he had a Bible 
under his arm. If it was a Bible. I mean, it's possible he's going around 
thinking he's some kind of Christian or something."
Carol looked up and spoke in a quiet voice. "Would that
bother you?"
Hannah's face grew hot and her heartbeat quickened. "Yes,
it would bother me!"
"I think you spend too much time worrying about Brian
Wesley. It isn't healthy, Really You have enough going on. Leave
Brian to our friend Matt."
They changed the subject, but in the weeks that followed, when Hannah was 
preparing a speech or talking before TV cameras or clipping newspaper articles, 
she couldn't stop wondering about Brian. The thought of him carrying a Bible 
repulsed her, and she wasn't sure why Especially in light of her
246
conviction that God wasn't real anyway.
But if he was, it would be just like God to save the man woruhy of God's Alicia. 
But
who killed her uld be Forget
and ttenWesley. He wo
tion. That great, merciful God.
Hannah's sarcasm ran deep, and she fed it regularly with bitter thoughts. Just 
let God try and save Brian Wesley. She hadn't been pouring herself into the 
victim impact panels for nothing. God couldn't save Brian Wesley from prison. 
Wesley-and God-were about to go down in flames.
The trial was only weeks away.
But troubling thoughts of Brian Wesley weren't all that diswith tracted Hannah 
from her
Hannah two more t meson e draw. The principal contacted in January and again in 
February-worried that jenny was
slipping through their fingers. Both times Hannah had a conference
with the woman.
"I think she needs to see a counselor, someone with experience in grief." The 
pleftp withoutddiscussing Hannah, who the politely
further. the woman and
ther. The second time, the principal's warnings got to her. When she left the 
school office that afternoon, nlshe went straight to the local bookstore. Moving 
quickly through the aisles she located the self-help section, picked out a book 
on teenage depression, and thumbed to the section labeled, "Recognizing the 
Symptoms."
Hannah read them carefully. "Change in behavior... change in conversational 
patterns... change in eating habits... sense of with-... talk of drawal ... 
change in pearadeep depression or even suicidal
the book said, could signal tendencies.
A chill ran through Hannah, and then she chided herself.
You're overreacting. This is ridiculous. People from families like ours
don't suffer from depression.
They public opinion they get
driving; become fighters; they change P
249 they fight for a murder-one conviction.
What they didn't do was kill themselves.
She shut the book and returned it to the shelf. When she walked out of the 
bookstore that day, she promised herself never to consider such an absurd thing 
again.
Jenny was going through a hard time, that was all. But she would be fine. She 
was only putting on an act because she was angry at Hannah for being so involved 
in MADD. When the trial was over, Hannah would lessen her involvement, take some 
time so she and Jenny could rebuild what they'd lost.
Yes, when the trial was over, life would fall back into place.
April arrived and with it a motion from the defense. Matt called and explained 
it to her over the telephone. Brian Wesley was still suffering back pain, still 
needed medical attention and wouldn't be able to assist in his defense until 
July 14 at the earliest. The motion would go before the judge in a few days.
Hannah had expected the delay, but still she cried for two hours when she heard 
the news. The idea of Brian running free for another three months nearly 
suffocated her. Carol attended the hearing with her, and they sat together, 
watching as Matt went to work, handling himself with his usual poise and 
professionalism. The judge listened to both sides and called a recess. They had 
their answer before the lunch break.
"I've decided to grant the delay" Judge Horowitz's voice did nothing to hide his 
ill feelings toward the defense. "But I'm through playing games with you, Mr. 
Finch." He scrutinized Finch from his high place in the courtroom. "It is not my 
idea of `fair and speedy' when reasons are concocted to delay the inevitable. 
Your client will face trial, and he will do so July 14. Not a day after." The 
judge waved his hand in dismissal. "Be gone from my courtroom."
Hannah left court that day convinced that the delay would
help the prosecution, that it would buy time for her to continue
248
With the victim impact panels and give Brian Wesley one less
reason to appeal the case.
Still, when she arrived home she felt drained and defeated.
She sank into the old leather recliner. She would be speaking later that week to 
a hundred local attorneys, and yet the very idea of it left her cold. It was 
hard to get excited about changing laws when the process moved so interminably 
slowly
She was pondering this when Jenny walked past carrying a glass of milk, heading 
back upstairs. The girl was still missing a lot of school, and even when she did 
go, she came home and spent her afternoons upstairs. Hannah was tired of it.
"Hello, Jenny."
She continued toward the stairs.
"Aren't you going to say hi?" Hannah heard the lack of enthusiasm in her own 
voice. There was no warmth, no love... nothing but emptiness.
Jenny paused and turned, and Hannah fully expected her daughter to ignore her 
question.
Instead, she gave one simple response. "Hi." The word was monotone, spoken in 
obligation.
Hannah sighed. "You missed a hearing today" Jenny stared at her.
Hannah was sick of her daughter's silence. "`Oh, really, Mom, what hearing did I 
miss?"' Hannah mimicked the response she had hoped to hear from Jenny, and this 
time she did not give the girl time to respond. "I'll tell you. They delayed the 
trial. Not April anymore, but July. July 14.
Jenny shrugged. "So?"
"So? Jenny, what's wrong with you?" Hannah surged to her feet, her voice loud 
and shrill.
"Nothing." She turned toward the stairs.
"Wait!" Hannah stomped her foot. "Why don't you care about this? Don't you see? 
The man who killed your father and Alicia is having his way with us!"
Jenny took two angry steps toward Hannah. "I could ask
250 you the same thing, Mother." The girl was shouting now, and Hannah realized 
again that she preferred an angry jenny over an indifferent one. 
Her daughter's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Why don't you care about me? 
Daddy and Alicia are gone, but I'm here, right here in front of you. And all you 
care about is that man who killed them." 
"That's not true and you know it!" Tears slid down Hannah's face as her voice 
rang through the house. "I do care! It's you who doesn't care, Jennifer Ryan. 
We're both victims here. I want you beside me at these hearings." 
"Well, I want a mother who spends her time with me instead of trying to convince 
a bunch of strangers all over the city why Brian Wesley is such a bad guy" 
"You don't understand, do you?" Hannah tried to lower her voice. "The victim 
impact panels are making a difference. They're changing the way people view 
drunk driving. And one day they'll be responsible for saving lives." 
Jenny screamed at her then. "What about my life, Mother? What about saving me?" 
The words were no sooner out than Jenny stopped, a horrified look on her face. 
She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, drew back several steps, then 
turned and ran toward the stairs. 
"That's another thing!" Hannah followed her retreating daughter. "I'm tired of 
all your threats and little ploys for atten tion. Everyone's tired of it. I love 
you, and I want things to be right between us. The sooner you realize that, the 
better." 
Jenny stopped and turned back toward Hannah once more, her mouth open. "Ploy? Is 
that what you think?" Hannah caught her breath at the hatred in her daughter's 
eyes. "You'll see, Mother." Jenny turned and ran up the stairs, shouting once 
more as she disappeared up the stairwell. "You'll see!" 
Hannah shouted louder than before. "Stop threatening me, Jenny! I do love you, 
but you'll never know it acting like that." "Shut up, Mother!" Hannah heard a 
door slam shut. 
"Shut up, Mother... " The words hit Hannah like a slap in the face, and she 
reeled backwards, sinking once more into the recliner. A picture filled her mind 
of their family walking into church one sunny, Sunday morning. She and Tom had 
held hands while Alicia and jenny, maybe twelve and nine years old, skipped 
along in front of them. 
She closed her eyes and savored the memory. As she did, she could almost hear 
their voices. 
"Love you, Daddy. Love you, Mommy" The girls waved as they reached the door of 
their Sunday school classroom. 
Tom crouched down and met them at their level. "Okay, one last time. What's your 
memory verse?" 
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be 
filled. Matthew 5:6."' The girls rattled off in sweet, singsong voices. 
Hannah held the image, studying them a while longer, remembering them....she was 
surprised how quickly the girls' memory verse came to mind after all these 
years. 
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe teaching the girls those Bible verses had been 
a bad thing. Now that God had proven himself to be a fraud-or at least not the 
good God everyone thought him to be-maybe the Scripture verses were actually 
harmful. 
Hannah thought about the fight she and jenny had just had. "Shut up, Mother. 
Shut up, Mother" She couldn't get jenny's words out of her mind. Finally she 
stood up and grabbed her car keys. She needed to make a visit, needed to be 
close to someone who loved her. 
Jenny heard her mother drive away and sighed in frustration. She glanced about 
her room. She was angrier than she'd let on about the trial being delayed. She'd 
had it all worked out and now this meant waiting. 
Unnecessary waiting. 
256 Her mother thought getting a first-degree murder verdict was the most 
important thing in life. Well, Jenny would show her. She had the pills ready, 
the note written.
The day of the verdict, that was the day she had chosen. While her mother was 
waiting for the big decision, she would finally join Daddy and Alicia. Later 
that day, when the trial was over and the last cameraman had gone home, her 
mother would truly be free. She would be finished with everything that held her 
back-the trial, the victim impact panels... and Jenny. After the verdict, her 
mother would never need to worry about how to make things right between them.
She'd been so close. Now she would have to wait until after July 14. Verdict day 
would probably come a few weeks after that.
She flopped on her bed and lay on her stomach, her arms wrapped around the 
pillow. Maybe she should just do it now and get it over with. She could still 
hear the voice, whispering to her, telling her to go ahead and be done with it.
She rolled onto her side, restless, agitated. She didn't want to attend the 
trial. She'd told her mother at least a hundred times, but still she pushed. She 
never listens to me. No wonder we fight so much. What does she expect?
In the fog of confusion that filled her mind, Jenny wished she and her mother 
could be at peace with one another before the big day. Suicide was forever. 
There would be no turning back, no time for regrets.
For a moment she was assailed with doubts. Maybe there was another way. If only 
things were like they used to be between her and her mother. Jenny felt tears 
sting at her eyes again.
Alicia had always been their parents' favorite, but before the
accident Jenny had at least felt loved, appreciated. She would
give anything to have that feeling again. If she felt her mother
truly loved her-instead of just saying she did-then Jenny
would attend the trial and maybe even throw away the pills.
252
if she could be sure of her mother's love, she might be able
live her life out and then join Daddy and Alicia whenever
e time came.
" "I have come that they may have life and have it to the full....
The Scripture filled Jenny's mind and she sat up, hugging
trier knees to her chest. That had been happening a lot lately he strange voice 
would whisper to her, telling her to take the
ills. ..and then she'd hear another voice, one that was clearer,
pilled with love, speaking Scripture she'd memorized years ago.
But the Bible verses made her nervous.... They were always about life and 
living... and that made her wonder. Maybe God didn't believe in suicide, maybe 
he didn't want her to take her
life, after all.
The problem was her mother didn't love her like she used to. And Daddy was busy 
loving Alicia in heaven.
She leaned over her bed and reached for the shoebox.
Setting it on her bedspread, she lifted the lid and examined the contents: a bag 
with dozens of colorful pills, a water bottle, and an envelope containing a 
good-bye letter.
Jenny pulled the letter out, opened it gently, and began to read.
"Dear Mom..." She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine what her 
mother would be feeling when she read the letter for the first time. She opened 
her eyes and continued. "First let me say I'm sorry. I never planned to hurt you 
with this; it was just something I had to do. Ever since the accident, you've 
been too busy with your speaking things to spend time with me. Too angry to 
notice me, even when you're home. It's okay. I understand, really. You lost 
everything that matters to you. Daddy and you have been together a long time, 
and I know you miss him a lot. Alicia, too. She was your first child, and I know 
she's always been a little more speci al.
"Then there's me. Ever since the accident, you and I haven't been the same. We 
fight all the time and finally I decided it was time to go. I'm just in the way 
here anyway. Still there's a few things I want
257 ~I,Ili
you to know I enjoyed being part of this family, at least before the accident. 
You were always a good mom, so don't think this is because of you. It's not.
`Also, you can do whatever you want with my scrapbooks and things. Give the 
clothes to someone who needs them. Maybe since it'll be just you now, you can 
sell this house and get on with your life. If I'd stayed, I would have wanted to 
sell it. You can only walk around a museum of memories for so long, Mom.
"Anyway, that's all. I just wanted you to know this isn't your fault and that 
I'm sorry. I wanted to be with Daddy and Alicia and Jesus. You don't want me 
talking about Jesus anymore, and sometimes I think I miss him as much as I miss 
Daddy and Alicia. This is the only way I know to make things right. Love 
forever, Jenny."
Two tears fell from Jenny's eyes and splattered on the sheet of paper. She 
brushed them off, folded the note once more, and returned it to the shoebox.
She was ready.
Now it was only a matter of waiting.
The cemetery looked like something from a postcard as Hannah pulled up and 
parked in the visitor lot. The setting sun cast a glow over the rolling green 
hills and elm trees, causing the leaves to shimmer in the gentle breeze. 
Rosebushes lined the roadway throughout the grounds, lending a sweet smell to 
the springtime air.
Hannah drew a deep breath and leveled her gaze eastward,
toward the plot where Tom and Alicia lay buried. Then she
checked her appearance in the rearview mirror.
She was still beautiful, she supposed, but not in the way Tom had always liked. 
He had always loved her eyes most of all, and since the accident her eyes had 
changed. They looked almost as if they belonged to someone else. Each morning 
she saw them-hollow, hard, hateful eyes with none of the beauty Tom had loved.
254
It's all Brian Wesley's fault.
The eyes looking back at her grew harder, angrier. Brian
Pad stolen everything from her, even the way her eyes had
price made the man she'd loved weak in the knees.
She tried to will the bright-eyed innocence back into her
eyes-after all, she was going to visit Tom, and if in some inexplicable way he 
was able to see her, she didn't want him seeing her eyes like this.
She tried thinking about happier times, about Tom, their
childhood, the way he'd shown up on her doorstep the day
before marrying someone else. She thought about their wedding and Alicia's birth 
and Jenny's.
But her eyes remained empty.
Brian isn't the only one; it's God's f ault, too.
You don't believe in God anymore, remember? So it can hardly
be his fault.
She ignored the thought. Maybe there was a God, and he didn't like her. Maybe 
this was his way of showing that.
There was nothing she could do about her eyes. Not until she heard a guilty 
verdict. Then they would light up again.
She climbed out and stretched, gazing at the blue sky. Tom? Are you there? Are 
you looking down on me?
The temperature was cooling, and Hannah didn't want her visit cut short, so she 
strode across the grassy knoll, weaving her way around various plots and 
tombstones until she found them-two simple, granite grave markers and a section 
of earth covered with new grass.
She sat gingerly on the edge of Tom's stone and ran her fingers over his name. 
Dr. Thomas J. Ryan. The insanity of it all struck her. Tom Ryan, the man she'd 
loved all her life, dead... buried beneath mounds of dirt while she spent her 
days trying to change public opinion, trying to figure out how to make a life 
for herself and Jenny.
It wasn't possible.
She traced the T in Tom's name and felt the tears. She'd only
258 
come to the cemetery three times since the accident. She would have come more 
often, but she was simply too busy fighting the war against drunk drivers.
Or rather, the war against Brian Wesley.
"They got a delay" Her whispered words sounded strange in the silence. She 
traced the H, and a single tear fell onto the grass. Maybe that was why cemetery 
grass was so green-it was watered by the tears of the living. She tried to 
swallow a sob, but it remained lodged in her throat. "No trial until July 14."
Her finger moved slowly around the 0. "But... Matt says it'll
be okay. He's the prosecutor, you know. The one I told you
about before." She placed her finger in the groove at the base of
the M and began tracing.
"I'm still getting the word out, talking to whoever will listen. Matt says it 
looks good. First-degree murder for a drunk driver, Tom. It'll be the first time 
in California."
Her finger moved along the upward slant of the A. "Things aren't... they aren't 
too good with jenny."
A sob escaped then and several tears fell. She wiped her eyes, and for a moment 
a torrent of sobs convulsed her chest in an attempt to break free. She sighed, 
struggling to control herself. Slowly, her finger wound lazily down the S. "I 
don't know what to do about her, Tom. She...she hates me."
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, and more tears ran down her face. Could Tom see 
her, hear her? She thought for a moment and then opened her eyes. Slowly she 
traced the J. The only way Tom could see her now was if he was in heaven. And if 
he was in heaven, then God was real after all.
But if God was real, what were Tom and Alicia doing six feet "under? What was 
she doing talking to a gravestone in the middle of a lonely cemetery on a 
beautiful spring evening? Hannah sighed and her finger found the R. "Tom ...I 
miss you, honey I miss you so much."
People said the ache she felt from not having him to hold256 
,from not having his hand in hers and his body in bed with her
night-would fade. But it hadn't. It was stronger than ever. at
She traced the Y and moved on to the A. "Tom, I can't do this without you. Where 
are you? Can you hear me?"
She finished tracing the N and buried her head in her hands, giving in to her 
sobs and allowing the grief. There had been so much involved in planning for the 
trial that she had rarely taken time to cry in the last few months. Now, with 
the trial moved to July and jenny refusing to talk to her, there was finally 
time. Hannah cried until the cool breeze against her arm reminded her of the 
late hour. It would be dark soon.
Slowly she lifted her head and let her eyes fall on Alicia's stone. Sliding 
herself over, she perched on the edge of the granite square and gazed at the 
name written there. Alicia Marie Ryan.
She began tracing the A. "Oh, Alicia... Alicia, baby, Mommy's here."
A mother's instinct, strong and palpable, swept over Hannah. Alicia was in 
trouble. Hannah was consumed by a suffocating fear. The girl was trapped down 
there, underground where it was cold and dark and frightening.
"Alicia! Mommy loves you."
She nuzzled her face against the cool gravestone, her tears mixing with the 
loose dirt. "Alicia! I'm here, baby!"
For a single moment, Hannah considered clawing away the dirt, tunneling her way 
to the casket and prying it open so she could hold Alicia close. Just one more 
time.
Even if all that was left of her were bones.
259 He has walled me in so I cannot escape; he has weighed me down with chains. 
LAMENTATIONS 3:7 
Three months passed and finally the day of the trial arrived. In the warm early 
morning of July 14, four hours before jury 
selection, Carol Cummins read the final chapter in the book of 
Lamentations. "Restore us to yourself, 0 LORD, that we may return; renew our 
days as of old..." She finished the chapter, 
closed the leather cover of her Bible, and stared out her dining 
room window 
She had read Lamentations twice through since suggesting 
it to Hannah. She'd read about Jeremiah and how he and his 
people had felt deserted by the Lord. "The Lord is like an 
enemy... " Hannah might as well have written the words her 
self. 
Carol had read Jeremiah's feelings of abandonment and 
intentional persecution. It had struck her how, like a single 
light in a dark place, Jeremiah had declared amidst death and 
destruction that indeed, God's mercies are new every morning, 
that his faithfulness truly is great. 
She remembered the day she'd come to that realization her 
self, on the first anniversary of her husband's death. 
In the end, Jeremiah's lament had turned from dark despair to a powerful desire 
for restoration with the Lord. If only 
Hannah could grasp that truth. 
261 ~'I I
Hannah was poring over a scrapbook she'd made of newspaper clippings and of 
photographs of Tom and Alicia. When it came her turn to speak, she would be 
ready, complete with visual aids to show the jury the extent of her loss.
It was hard to believe it had all come to this. All the victim impact panels, 
all the interviews, all the effort at changing public opinion. In the end it 
came down to what happened over these next few weeks.
Jury selection would take two or three days. Hannah
flipped a page and gazed at a photo of Alicia at her kindergarten
graduation.
Matt wanted to stay away from singles. They would have
the mentality a prosecutor feared most of all: "There but for the
grace of God, go L. "
She turned another page and caught the image of Tom, grinning widely as he held 
a string of rainbow trout on one of his summer camping trips with the girls.
Retired people could be trouble, too. Most of them would be old enough to be 
Brian's parents. They would sympathize with his youth and be hard-pressed to 
convict him of firstdegree murder when he had so much of life ahead.
Hannah sighed and shut the scrapbook, staring absently at the wedding band that 
still adorned her finger.
Women jurors would be good, much better than men. Matt had explained the law of 
averages: a man was more likely to drink and drive. Therefore, men would 
empathize more with Wesley. They would look at him and see themselves, and that 
was something Matt wanted to avoid.
Hannah knew Matt intended to play the averages. She ran her hand over the 
leather binding of the scrapbook. "Wish me luck, Tom."
She felt the sting of tears but willed them away. There was
no time for grieving now.
260
It was eight o'clock and jury selection would begin in two
ours.
µ, the end, it took Matt and Finch two days to choose a jury of seven women and 
five men. One of the women was single, a
redhead in her early twenties. One of them was retired, a volunteer librarian 
quickly approaching seventy The men included three who were married, two of whom 
were parents. One man was single and in his thirties; another in his fifties was 
divorced after two failed marriages. The alternates were a man and woman, both 
in their forties, both married.
Twelve ordinary people... representatives of society, the combined voice of 
justice. Hannah watched them carefully. Did they know the power they held now 
that they'd been chosen?
It was Friday morning. Opening statements were minutes away, and Hannah was the 
first to arrive in the courtroom. She found a seat in the front row, directly 
behind the prosecutor's table. At this point, she had worked so hard she almost 
felt like part of the team, one of Matt's assistants, battling for justice in a 
system that rarely seemed just.
Matt entered the courtroom through one of the side doors and found her 
immediately. "Hannah, how're you doing?" He spoke in hushed tones.
"I'm ready. I have a good feeling about this."
"Have you prayed about it?" Matt stared deep into her eyes, and she felt a 
connection there, something she couldn't define. Reluctantly she looked away. If 
only she could say what he wanted to hear. But she couldn't. "You know I 
haven't."
"Pray, will you, Hannah? For me. I need all the help I can get." Hannah nodded, 
but she could tell by his expression that he didn't believe she would do it. She 
pushed away the guilt tugging at her.
263 
Carol moved in beside her, took her hand, and squeezed it once. "Here we go."
Hannah leaned over and hugged her. She wouldn't have
survived the past year if it hadn't been for Carol. The two had
spent nearly every day together at MADD's office, and many
times Carol had taken Hannah to lunch to talk about her feelings.
Sometimes just knowing Carol had made it through this
dark valley was enough to keep Hannah going. She searched
Carol's face now. "I feel good about it. How'bout you?"
Carol nodded and whispered. "The way Matt works, I think we're about to make 
history."
Matt was up first. He stood, and his dark, tailored suit hung
gracefully on his lanky frame. He looked youthful as he
approached the jury and nodded a greeting, thanking them for
serving as jurors. For fifteen minutes he talked about the
details of the case. Then he turned his attention to Hannah.
She knew what he was about to do, and she watched him amble slowly toward where 
she sat. When he was inches away, he greeted her. Then in a voice loud enough 
for the jury to hear, he asked if he could borrow the photo button she was 
wearing. Hannah took it off and handed it to him.
Matt studied the photograph as he made his way back to the jury box. Holding it 
up for them to see. "This is Dr. Tom Ryan and his little girl, Alicia." He moved 
slowly in front of the panel so that each member could see the photo. Hannah 
watched them strain to get a closer look, and she knew Matt had been right. They 
needed to be familiar with Tom and Alicia, not just with the cold facts of the 
case.
"Tom Ryan was a family man, active in his church, involved in the lives of his 
daughters. Each summer he and the girls took a camping trip, sort of a summer's 
end hurrah. They would fish and hike and boat, but those trips weren't about the 
number of trout they caught. They were about building love and relationships. 
Something at which Tom Ryan was brilliant." 
262
Matt looked at the photo once more. "Alicia was just fifteen when she died at 
Brian Wesley's hands. She was on the verge of everything wonderful in life. She 
was active in student government, a cheerleader whose smile made an impact on 
everyone around her."
Hannah shifted her gaze to the defense attorney. He was busy making notations on 
a pad of legal paper. Probably trying to appear disinterested in Matt's 
statement.
Matt continued. "Dr. Ryan left behind his other daughter, Jenny, a 
twelve-year-old who has had trouble smiling since the accident. A young girl who 
will never know the security of having Daddy waiting at home when she goes on a 
date. A girl whose dad will not be there to walk her down the aisle when she 
gets married. A very sad, very troubled girl who once was the picture of 
carefree innocence."
Hannah could see tears sparkling in the eyes of two female jurors. Matt turned 
his attention back to Hannah as he crossed the courtroom and passed the photo 
button back to her. He kept his focus on her as he continued. "And of course 
there is Hannah Ryan. Tom and Hannah were childhood sweethearts." He smiled 
sadly. "In all her life, there has never been-" Matt looked deeper into Hannah's 
eyes, and again she felt a connection she couldn't explain-"probably never will 
be anyone for her but Tom Ryan."
"Hannah lost her husband and her best friend, her confidante, the father of her 
children. The man around whom she had built her life." Hannah felt a strange 
tugging at her heart, and she directed her gaze at her wedding ring. Matt was 
right. There could never be anyone else.
Matt looked at the jurors and strolled toward them again. "I am here to prove to 
each of you that what happened to the Ryan family was not-absolutely not-an 
accident."
Matt put one hand on the railing in front of the jury, the other in his pants 
pocket. He leaned forward, facing the jurors squarely. Then his gaze traveled to 
Brian Wesley, who sat,
265 white-faced, his hands on the table before him. When Matt finally spoke, his 
voice rang with sincerity. "Don't let Mr. Wesley, or anyone else who chooses to 
drink and drive, get away with murder." Matt straightened, nodding to the jury. 
"Set a standard that other prosecutors can follow A penalty that will save 
lives." 
He nodded toward them politely. "Thank you." 
Hannah caught only fragments of Harold Finch's opening statement. Something 
about being deeply troubled at the thought of drunk driving being a murder-one 
offense and how anyone might make such a mistake. She wasn't really listening. 
Her thoughts were still swimming from all that Matt had said. 
She realized Finch was winding up and sat up straighter in her seat, determined 
to pay attention. "Mr. Wesley had suffered through a bad morning. He'd been laid 
off from his job and didn't know how to tell his wife." Finch hesitated. "What 
hap pened? What happens to a lot of people when they get bad news? He wound up 
at the bar. He had a few drinks, thought about his troubles, and set out for 
home." 
Finch stood up straighter and hiked his suit pants back into place. "What 
happened between the bar and his front door was not something Mr. Wesley 
intended. So what was it?" He paused. "It was an accident. An accident." Finch's 
expression was one of great regret. He shook his head sadly "Yes, Mr. Wesley 
made poor decisions. And yes, as a result, there was an accident." 
Finch scratched his forehead absently, as though momen tarily lost in thought. 
His hand fell back to his side and he stared at the jurors. "If you decide that 
drunk driving is akin to first-degree murder, you must understand that the next 
person involved in such an accident might be you, or the guy next to you. It 
might be the PTA mother out with the girls, or maybe the hardworking father 
sharing a few drinks with his buddies over an afternoon football game." 
Carol shook her head angrily and leaned toward Hannah. "Like that would make it 
okay?" 
264 
Before Hannah could agree, anger filled Finch's voice. "You and I know the 
truth, don't we? We don't need three weeks of evidence. Lumping someone who 
makes a mistake, someone who drinks and then drives, into the same category as 
gun wielding bank robbers and vicious gang members is ludicrous. Utterly 
ludicrous." 
Tears filled Hannah's eyes and she hung her head. She could see Tom and Alicia 
and jenny as they'd loaded the Explorer with sleeping bags and coolers and 
fishing poles. They'd been so happy, laughing and teasing each other about who 
was the best fisherman. She remembered hugging them, feeling them in her arms 
before they pulled away, one at a time, and began the journey that would destroy 
their family forever. 
Brian Wesley was an intentional killer, and Hannah wanted to tell that to the 
jurors before they forgot everything Matt had already said. 
Unable to bear it, she wept softly, covering her face with her hands. As Harold 
Finch took his seat, Carol placed an arm around Hannah and rubbed her back 
gently Distantly Hannah heard the judge dismiss the court until later that 
afternoon. Then before she could collect herself, Hannah heard Matt's voice... 
felt his tender hand on her shoulder. 
"Hannah..." She looked up and accepted a tissue from Carol. "I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean to break down." 
"You have nothing to apologize for." Matt removed his hand and stooped down to 
her level. "Don't worry, Hannah. Finch didn't say anything I didn't expect." 
Hannah sighed and adjusted the photo button on her lapel. "Did they get a good 
look at Tom and Alicia?" 
Matt nodded and Hannah saw the sadness in his eyes. "They did" He hesitated. 
"Come on. Let's get a bite to eat. I need to get back in an hour to meet with 
the first few witnesses." 
As she rose to follow Matt and Carol from the courtroom, Hannah thought about 
calling Jenny. . .but there wasn't time. 
266 
Her closest friends in this, her new world, were waiting for her;
and so, anchored by their support, she walked
phone without a backward glance. Past the pay
Even when I call out or cry for help he shuts out my prayer.
He has barred my way with blocks of stone; he has made my paths crooked. Like a 
bear lying in wait, like a lion in hiding, he dragged me from the path and 
mangled me and left me without help.
Court resumed at 2 P.M. and Matt called his first witness.
Rae McDermott, the waitress from Sal's Diner, took the stand. She related the 
events that led up to the accident. She told the court how she was getting ready 
to leave for the day when she spotted a white truck speeding east along Ventura 
Boulevard, approaching Fallbrook.
"From where you stood, were you able to see the traffic signal, Ms. McDermott?" 
Matt spoke from a place midway between the jury box and the witness stand. He 
looked down, apparently checking his notes.
"Yes, I could see the traffic signal clearly" He nodded. "What color was it?"
"Red. It was a red light." Rae glanced disdainfully at Wesley. Hannah could have 
hugged her.
"So...you watched the defendant, Mr. Wesley, drive his white truck through a red 
light, is that right?"
Finch was on his feet. "Objection, your honor. Prosecutor is leading the 
witness. She said the light was red when she looked out, not when the defendant 
passed through the intersection."
Judge Horowitz looked bored by the interruption. Hannah could have hugged him, 
too. "Overruled. Continue Mr. Bronzan."
277 
"Thank you, your honor." Matt glanced back at the witness. "What color was the 
light when the defendant drove his truck through the intersection, Ms. 
McDermott?"
She jutted her chin out and spoke in a clear, condemning tone. "The light was 
red. It was red as he approached, red when he drove through, and red when he 
barreled into the Explorer. It was red the whole time."
She shot Harold Finch a glare, and Hannah almost burst into applause.
"And after the impact?" Matt asked.
"I hurried toward the Explorer and began working with two other motorists to 
help the victims." She shook her head, clucking sadly. "That poor little girl-"
"Objection, your honor!" Finch bellowed. "Please ask the witness to confine her 
answers to the questions asked!"
The judge nodded and looked at Rae kindly. "The witness will please answer the 
questions and refrain from elaborating." Rae smiled up at the judge. "Whatever 
you say, your honor, sir." Then she shot another glare at Finch.
Matt stared down at his notes again, and Hannah thought she caught a glimpse of 
a smile. But when he looked up, he was all business. "At some point did the 
defendant exit his white truck and make his way toward you and the two 
motorists?"
"Yes." "Did anything about the defendant suggest to you that he'd been 
drinking?"
Finch jumped up. "Objection! The defendant had just been involved in a severe 
traffic accident. It would be impossible for a bystander to know whether the 
defendant had been drinking or whether he was merely injured in the accident."
Judge Horowitz considered that. "Sustained. Rephrase the question, Mr. Bronzan."
Matt moved closer to the woman on the stand. "What do you remember about the 
defendant when he approached you after the collision that afternoon?"
268
. "He stunk "
Rae's answer brought a few muffled giggles from the jurors.
Hannah glanced at the panel. Good. They liked Rae McDermott. Matt waited for the 
court to be silent again. I ease?
"He...stunk? Can you elaborate for the court, p"
"Sure." She flipped her hair back. "I work at a diner, serve drinks to half the 
people all day long. Heck, done so all my life. The defendant-" she cast another 
contemptuous glance at Brian-"smelled like booze."
"Booze as in alcoholic beverages? Wine...? Beer...? That kind of thing?"
She nodded firmly.
oft beer before d sa had himself a case fact,
bettin' woman, y he'd getting in that truck."
"Objection! Your honor, there's no way this witness can possibly know how much 
alcohol, if any, the defendant consumed before getting in his truck."
Judge Horowitz looked slightly amused. "Sustained. The jury will disregard the 
last part of the witness's answer" Hannah drew a deep breath and felt a wave of 
exhilaration.
The judge's warning was too late. The jury already had the image in their 
minds-Brian Wesley stumbling out of his car, reeking of alcohol. There was 
nothing a judge could say to undo the mental picture. can Matt continued.th "Ms. 
a cD who drove thyourouidghentify
the edehghn you saw that day, e crashed into the Explorer, wo truck, and then
man who smelled way toward you and the
like beer."
"Sure thing." Rae pointed toward Brian Wesley. "He's sitting right over there."
"Thank you, no further questions."
When Finch was through cross-examining, it was four o'clock, and judge Horowitz 
dismissed court until Monday. Hannah stood-and suddenly she was surrounded by 
members
278 d ed Jenny home alone, despondent. A
of the media, many whom she recognized from her work with victim impact panels. 
A chorus of voices vied for her attention.
"Hannah, was there anything that surprised you about the opening statements?"
"Do you have any comments on Harold Finch's suggestion that a guilty verdict 
would set a dangerous precedent?"
"Are you happy with the prosecutor's approach?" "Do you have any predictions 
about a verdict?"
She had become a media darling, and she handled their questions like a 
professional, understanding why they were drawn to her. The media saw her as the 
beautiful, angry widow with a cause. They liked her, and they played her point 
of view
perfectly in the press. She took time with them gladly and left only when Matt 
appeared in the distance and motioned for her. He smiled at her. "Do you have a 
few minutes?"
She was breathless from speaking before the television cameras, rocked with 
feelings that ranged from anxious anticipation over the trial, bitter hatred 
toward Finch and Brian Wesley, and a cavernous sense of loss.
What she should do was go home. Spend time resting... time with Jenny. Still...
Spending time with Matt was extremely appealing. He was safe and kind and on her 
side. He didn't fault her for her involvement with victim impact panels, and he 
didn't badger her to read Scripture. He was her friend, and now-in the wake of a 
flood of emotion-she wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and talk 
with him.
She glanced at her watch. "I've got time, why?"
"I thought we could talk, brainstorm about how the trial might go and how things 
went today" He began walking down the corridor, and she fell into step beside 
him.
"Okay. Let's go outside though. It's stuffy in here."
Matt nodded. "You're right. We'll spend enough time inside over the next few 
weeks."
They headed for the stairs, and as she had earlier, for a
270
moment Hannah consi er
Wigging voice reminded her that she should go home and try
to make amends in their~a~a~ired of rptrybut she had no ing and too 
bupsytfighting jenny's the war for justice. The trial
mending the b rid between There would be time then for
them. 7„Matt gazed down at her as they "Thinking about jenny. moved out into the 
courtyard.
How could a man who barely knew her be so perceptive. He's a Christian. The 
thought came bah rShe should be hp ,He's an attorney, she silently retorted.
"You're angry with her, aren't you?" Matt lowered him of p onto 
agraffiti-smattered cement bench, leaving plenty face him.
for Hannah. She sat at the I other ad end and ederturned ybody.'o She studied
"Sometimes I think
him. "Everyone but you and Carol. I wouldn't have made it 11
this far without you two.
"Jenny's pulling for you, too."
Hannah huffed softly. "She has a fine way of showing it." "May I say something?"
Hannah sighed. "What?"
"Be careful. Don't let her think this trial... anything... is more important 
than she is to you.11
'Us not that. She has to understand-"
gentle. "Lon after this "Hannah." Matt's interruption was g g
trial is over, whether we win a conviction or not, there will be you and jenny. 
Don't lose sight of
"We will win a conviction." Hannah crossed her arms. "If it isn't God's will, it 
won't happen."
Hannah sighed and 1 lfkt was hisrwllPoeallowDTomsand
talking about God's will.
Alicia to die, then certainly it would be his will to allow Brian Wesley to go 
to prison for the rest of his life."
"Not necessarily."
279 A pang of doubt hit Hannah. "Matt... is there something you're not telling 
me?"
He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I feel confident about winning a 
conviction." His gentle eyes scanned her face. "I just don't want us to put all 
our hope in that. The true hope comes from knowing that you and jenny will be 
all right, that God has a plan for your life long after this trial is over and 
forgotten." 
She bit her tongue to hold back the bitter retorts she could
have said. Matt was her friend and he didn't deserve her anger.
Instead, she directed the conversation back to the trial, asking
Matt how he thought the day had gone and what they could
expect in the weeks to come.
He answered her questions, but she could see in his eyes that he knew what she 
was doing. And she was grateful to him for letting her get away with it.
The day had gone too well. She simply couldn't bear to have it-or her time with 
Matt-ruined by talk of a God Hannah could no longer trust.
By the time Hannah got home it was dark, and the lights in the house were out. 
She tiptoed up to Jenny's room and opened the door. The girl was asleep in bed.
Jenny doesn't need me.
Hannah was hit by a sudden, powerful urge to kiss her little girl, to brush her 
blond bangs off her forehead and pray over her as she had done all her life 
before the collision. But everything had changed now jenny didn't want to be 
kissed, didn't like her mother touching her forehead. And Hannah knew better 
than to pray.
She sighed, shut the door, and made her way to her bedroom.
Jenny didn't need anyone. She had survived one of the
worst traffic collisions in the history of the San Fernando Valley.
Certainly she would survive another few weeks without
272
Hannah's undivided attention.
Before turning off the light, Hannah spotted Tom's old, leather Bible, still 
sitting atop his dresser. Nearly a year had gone by, and Hannah had packed away 
most of Tom's and Alicia's belongings. But Tom's Bible had been so dear to him, 
his faithful companion each morning in the early hours, long before Hannah or 
the girls were awake. Other, than photographs, Tom's Bible was the only
room and a life with Hannah. lived there, once had shared a rThe worn Bible 
called to her at times like this, times when the echoes of another endless, 
lonely ght ricocheted off her bedroom wall making it nearly iznp ni
Back in the days when she could sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness" and mean every 
word, back when she and Tom shared and lived their beliefs, she would 
occasionally pick up his Bible and scan the pages, enjoying the notations he'd 
written in the margins.
But Scripture held no hope for Hannah now. She turned her back so that the Bible 
was out of view, and fell asleep dreaming of the way things used to be.
280 He drew his bow and made me the target for his arrows. 
After her mother left for court Monday morning, Jenny 
dressed, pulled her mountain bike from the garage, and set out for the cemetery. 
It was four miles away, but Jenny knew a 
shortcut. With school out and the verdict still two weeks away, she knew exactly 
what she wanted to do. She hopped on her bike and set out. 
Twenty minutes later she pulled up to the spot where Dad's 
and Alicia's tombstones lay on a grassy knoll. Jenny climbed off her bike and 
dropped down crosslegged next to the stones. 
"Hi, Dad. Hi, Lecia." She wrapped her arms around her 
knees. A warm, summer breeze drifted through the nearby 
trees, and Jenny wondered if she should have worn sunscreen. She planned to be 
here all day. 
"I can't believe it's been almost a year. Gosh... if you guys 
only knew how much I miss you." 
A pair of swallows sang out from opposite trees, but other 
wise there was silence. 
"Mom is so freaked out. All she cares about is the guy who 
hit us and getting him into prison. She spends all her time on 
Jenny examined the tombstones closely. "I'll be with you 
guys pretty soon ...I'm waiting for the verdict. That way Mom 
will be finished with everything all at once. The trial, the guy 
who hit us, and me. I'm only in the way." 
With no other visitors around to bother her, Jenny began to 
281 cry. Her chest convulsed, and she sobbed like she hadn't done in weeks. Not 
for her father and sister because she would see them again soon. She cried for 
her family, for the way they had been before. . .the way they would never be 
again. When her sobs slowed, she stretched out along the ground, closed her 
eyes, and placed one hand on her father's stone, the other on Alicia's. She fell 
asleep that way, tears still drying on her cheeks, reaching out to the only 
people she knew loved her.
Across town at the Criminal Courts Building, Hannah watched Matt speak with a 
bailiff and then head toward her. He appeared upbeat and full of energy.
"I've reviewed the list of witnesses." He smiled. "Depending on 
cross-examination, I should be finished by the end of the week. Finch doesn't 
have much. If everything goes right, he'll be done Wednesday. That could mean a 
verdict as early as Friday or the following Monday"
A swarm of butterflies invaded Hannah's stomach. "That soon?"
Matt nodded and gently squeezed her hand. "In a case like this, the sooner we 
make our argument the better. Juries get bored with statistics and redundant 
testimony. Two weeks is perfect."
She nodded and spoke in a choked whisper. "Go get 'em, Matt."
The first witness of the day was Sgt. John Miller. He testified about the 
accident scene, how everything had appeared when he arrived, how badly the 
Explorer was damaged, and how Brian Wesley had failed two field sobriety tests.
The next witness was Dr. Larry Keeting, head of the crime lab and the person 
responsible for the results of the blood alcohol test.
Matt immediately took the offensive on the issue of timing and how quickly 
alcohol absorbs into the bloodstream.
276
Hannah kept her eyes trained on him, trying to see the scene through the eyes of 
the jurors.
Dr. Keeling was very clear. Although a person's blood alcohol after the 
beverlevel can continue ton Bse for an hour or
rian Wesley's casenthis would not have ages are consumed,
changed the facts.
"So you're telling ~ lower than .24 ablthehame oMr. f Wesley's collialcohol 
level wa
sion?" is pos "Perhaps. Based on av progressive
asbo was 18tat thestbmehof blood alcohol might h
impact." Dr. Keeting was adthoritdY . Hannah added himjt t ache
spoke with a great deal of
list of people she would later thank.
Matt turned slightly toward the jury. "So what you're saying is that even if Mr. 
Wesley's blood alcohol level was lower than what it was while taken at the 
station, the lowest it could have been was .18, or more than twice the legal 
limit, is that right?"
"Yes." Dr. Keeting paused. "Of course, there is great possibility that the 
defendant's blood alcohol was actually higher at the time of impact. Absorption 
reaches a certain peak sometime within an hour after consumption. After that, 
the level begins to decline."
Matt looked surprised~aond~ Hannah
highest possible stifled a that were the case, what
blood alcohol level have been, Dr. Keeting?"
The doctor checked a stack of notes in front of him on the witness stand. 
"According to our projections, the defendant might have had a blood alcohol 
level as high as .28."
Finch spent nearly an hour cross-examining Dr. Keeting, but it was like trying 
t°poke d, holes
Matt assured Hannah the testimony when court adjourned,
had been better than he'd hoped. "The best is yet to comatsmiled
toward theselevat and Hannah strolled alongside Carol Cummins
282 Hannah looked at him. "The bartender?"
He nodded. "Found something out yesterday that will help a great deal."
"Good. He's the last witness, isn't he?" Hannah pushed the
elevator button as they waited with a handful of people.
"Right. Wait 'til you hear him. He's great." Matt leaned closer to Hannah and 
Carol, speaking in a whisper. "Answered prayer."
Carol nodded.
Oh, brother. Hannah looked away. "Come on, Matt. Give
credit where credit's due."
She waited for a retort but it didn't come.
Matt gained more points the next day. Brian Wesley's coworkers and former bosses 
testified about Brian's alcohol problem and how well he hid it. Next came three 
people who ran statesponsored alcohol awareness classes. Each provided the jury 
with proof that Brian Wesley was indeed aware of his problem and that he'd been 
counseled about the dangers of drunk driving. 
A representative from the state's parole board brought in
documentation signed by Brian stating that he understood that
if he drank and drove again someone could very well die. The
department of motor vehicles showed proof that Brian was driving
without a license at the time of the collision.
The week wore on, and Hannah sometimes found herself tuning the testimony out 
while she focused on Brian Wesley. What kind of animal was he, anyway? What had 
he seen in those final moments before driving his truck into her family? She 
seethed as she stared at him. He was loathsome and worthless, and he deserved 
life in prison. Now that he was days away from getting it, her hatred toward him 
was so intense it left her drained, empty, incapable of any other emotion.
Harold Finch, meanwhile, remained relatively quiet. He
278
objected occasionally, but not nearly as often as he had at first. Hannah 
figured he probably didn't want to alienate the jury.
Matt's final witness was Nick Crabb, the bartender from The Office. In brief and 
succinct testimony, the bartender told the jury that he'd been bothered by the 
defendant's drinking. He had asked him if he'd needed a ride home, but despite 
the fact that he'd seen Brian drink large quantities of beer and whiskey, it was 
difficult to determine if the man was dangerously drunk or not.
"Think back, Mr. Crabb." Matt settled his hands in his pants pocket and gazed 
thoughtfully at the witness. "Do you remember how many drinks the defendant 
consumed that afternoon?"
Nick squirmed in his seat nervously. "Well, uh, it's been almost a year now, and 
we have a lot of people sit at the bar." Matt nodded. "I realize that, Mr. 
Crabb. I'm asking-to the
best of your knowledge-if you can tell this court how many drinks the defendant 
had?"
Nick nodded. "Okay. Well, after the accident I wrote some notes."
Finch leaped up. "Objection, your honor. We have no way of knowing when the 
witness actually wrote those notes." Hannah's pulse raced when Judge Horowitz 
looked
intrigued. He turned to the witness. "Did you date your notes, Mr. Crabb?"
"Yes, your honor. I'm a business student at Cal State Northridge... and, well, I 
guess I write the date on just about everything."
Judge Horowitz smiled. "And you are willing to testify under oath that you wrote 
those notes immediately after the accident?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Very well. Objection overruled."
Hannah turned briefly toward Carol, and the two shared a quick grin. This was 
why Matt had been looking forward to the bartender's testimony. The man kept 
notes!
283 hl
Matt cleared his throat and continued. "Let me see if I understand this. After 
the accident, you wrote down the date and some details about the defendant, is 
that right?"
"Yes, I have it right here." Nick held up a piece of notebook
paper.
"I see." Matt moved closer to the witness stand and peered
at it. "And what prompted you to write these notes?"
Nick swallowed and glanced nervously at Brian Wesley. "I,
uh...I read about the accident in the newspaper, and I knew
the guy'd been drinking at The Office. I served him. I figured I
might have to talk about it one day in court, so I jotted down
some details."
Matt smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Crabb. That was very conscientious of you."
Hannah saw Harold Finch whisper something to Brian
Wesley.
Matt continued. "Now, did you note anywhere on that sheet
how many drinks Mr. Wesley consumed on the afternoon in
question?" "Yes... it's, uh, right here." Nick studied the piece of paper. "I
served Mr. Wesley about six shots of whiskey and eight beers."
A murmur ran through the courtroom, and Hannah shut her eyes. Fourteen drinks. 
No wonder Tom and Alicia hadn't lived long enough to say goodbye.
Matt waited for the crowd to still. "So fourteen drinks altogether,
is that right?"
"I'm estimating, but I think so. It could have been more."
Matt raised an eyebrow, and Hannah saw him glance briefly
at the jury. She followed his gaze and saw that they looked
stunned. They might drink, they might know someone who
drank... but fourteen drinks? "Now, Mr. Crabb, did you make
any notations about how long Mr. Wesley-had been drinking?"
Nick glanced down at his notes again and gulped. "Yes. He came in after lunch 
sometime, maybe one, one-thirty. And he left after three."
280
Harold Finch looked restless but he remained in his seat. Matt nodded. "Is there 
any way you can be certain about
those times, Mr. Crabb?"
Hannah willed the bartender to say the right thing. Please... Please...
"Well, there was a movie running on the bar TV, Rocky II. Mr. Wesley arrived 
just as I was putting it in, and it was over by the time he left." Nick glanced 
at his notes once more. "I figured that had to be at least two hours."
"Fine. So he drank for two hours-fourteen drinks, maybe more-is that right?"
"Yes, sir." Hannah watched the young bartender expectantly. She knew what was 
coming.
Matt stood squarely in front of the witness stand. "At some point Mr. Wesley 
decided to leave, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Were you concerned that he might be too drunk to drive
home?" Matt kept his tone matter-of-fact. This wasn't the time
to point fingers at the bartender.
Nick Crabb sighed, and Hannah saw the burden he carried. He'd been the final 
line of defense, the only one who could have stopped Wesley from getting into 
the truck and barreling down Ventura Boulevard. He'd had the chance and he'd 
missed it.
Nick drew a deep breath. "Yes. Just before he left I decided he was too drunk to 
drive."
Murmurs rose across the courtroom, and Matt waited a moment. He raised his voice 
slightly, and the jurors strained to hear. "Did you act on that decision?"
Nick nodded. "Yes. I asked him if he was okay to drive." Hannah felt her heart 
sink. She followed Matt as he paced slowly toward the jury. "Do you remember 
what Mr. Wesley told you?"
Nick sighed again. "Yes. He told me to mind my own business." 
Across the courtroom Finch leaned over and whispered
284 something else to Brian. Hannah glared at them and turned her attention back 
to Matt. 
"Then what happened?" 
"I...I told him to sit down a minute... told him I'd call a cab so...so he 
wouldn't have to drive home." Nick hung his head. "What next, Mr. Crabb?" 
"He got mad." 
Matt raised an eyebrow "Could you explain your answer, Mr. Crabb." 
The bartender straightened, and for a moment his eyes con nected with Hannah's. 
He was sorry. Hannah could see that, and she wasn't sure how she felt. This 
man's testimony would help put Brian Wesley away for a very long time. Then 
again, if only he'd said something different, done something... physi cally 
contained Brian, anything... perhaps they wouldn't be here today. Perhaps they 
would all be home living life the way they were supposed to. Happily ever after. 

Nick was silent, and Matt tried again. "Mr. Crabb, please explain to the jury 
what you meant when you said that the defendant got mad when you offered to call 
a cab." 
"Well, he told me he could drive home if he wanted to. Then he cussed at me a 
few times. He told me he was leaving, and he turned around and left." 
"Do you have some sort of test, some way of determining whether a person who has 
been drinking should or shouldn't drive?" Matt slipped his hands in his pockets 
and leaned slightly against the railing. 
"Yes. My boss had told me to watch how customers talk, how they walk. Mr. Wesley 
seemed okay that way, but he'd had a lot of drinks in a short time, and I was 
worried. So I did what the boss said to do in that situation. I offered him a 
cab. When he refused, I thought I was out of options. There was nothing more I 
could do." 
"Okay now let's see if I have this straight. The defendant, Brian Wesley spent 
two hours drinking at least fourteen alco 
282 
holic beverages, then refused your offer of a cab and left the bar despite your 
warnings. Is that right, Mr. Crabb?" 
The bartender swallowed, struggling to find his voice. "Yes." "No more quest-" 
"There's something else." 
Matt looked at Nick in surprise, and the young man met Hannah's eyes once more. 
"If I had to do it over again, I'd tackle him to the floor, tie 
his hands, anything. The only way out would be over my dead 
body." His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes were still on Hannah's. "I'm 
sorry" 
Tears spilled onto Hannah's cheeks. She nodded and hung her head. It was easy to 
hate Brian Wesley, easy to hate any attorney who would defend him. But this man, 
this college stu dent, was not her enemy They had both lost that day and clearly 
he, like Hannah, still suffered. 
Finch bounded to his feet, his face red. "Objection! The witness's statement 
went beyond the scope of the question, your Honor." Hannah looked at the judge 
and saw him nod sternly. 
"Sustained. The jury will disregard the last statement." 
Matt paused a moment, and Hannah knew he was allowing the jurors time to soak in 
what had just happened. Nick Crabb had apologized to her. Finally Matt looked up 
from his notes and thanked the witness, turning him over to the defense. 
Harold Finch whispered something else to Brian and then stood up. Hannah thought 
he looked like a snake. A boa con strictor. She wondered if the jury saw him the 
same way. 
"Mr. Crabb, has the defendant ever done anything to per sonally wrong you?" 
Finch's voice was sharp, full of accusation. Nick blinked twice. "No. I don't 
know what you mean." Finch shook his head and cast a knowing look at the jury. 
"Listen, here, Mr. Crabb. Isn't it true that you were hired by the prosecution, 
instructed to write those notes, and paid to appear here today in order to ruin 
the defendant's chances at an acquittal?" 
285 
ills
11
Matt was not typically quick to object, but this time he was on his feet and 
doing so forcefully. "I object, your honor. Mr. Finch is badgering the witness 
about something that was not brought up in the direct. If it isn't brought up in 
the direct-"
"Yes." Judge Horowitz peered over the rim of his glasses at Harold Finch. "If it 
isn't brought up in the direct, it cannot be brought up in the cross. You should 
know that Mr. Finch. Objection sustained."
Finch continued to question the bartender for more than an hour, always stopping 
just short of harassment. Finally he tried to cast doubt on whether Nick Crabb 
had even tended bar the afternoon of the accident. In response, Nick produced 
another sheet of paper.
"What's that?" Finch's tone was filled with mockery. "More notes?"
"No, sir." Nick held the single sheet of paper higher so that Finch could see 
it. "It's a copy of my time card from that day. I asked the owner for a copy of 
it after the accident, when I figured I might need to testify in court at some 
point."
Hannah wanted to laugh out loud. Finch had been caught at his own game. Had he 
avoided this line of questioning, the jury would never have seen the meticulous 
care Nick Crabb took to present accurate details. Now the idea of the defendant 
consuming fourteen drinks looked like the gospel truth.
Hannah caught Matt's expression, and he winked. This one was theirs.
She could have kissed him!
Matt had another chance with Nick on redirect, and he used the opportunity to 
establish the specifics of the photocopied time card. Nick had indeed worked 
that afternoon. He had started at 11:00 A.M. and clocked out at 3:30 P.M. The 
details were perfectly in keeping with Nick's testimony. When Matt was finished 
with the bartender, he turned to the judge and nodded. "The state rests, your 
honor."
"Very well." Judge Horowitz scanned the courtroom. "It's
284
nearly three o'clock, so we'll adjourn until tomorrow at which time we will hear 
from the witnesses for the defense. Court dismissed." 
Hannah closed her eyes and said a silent thanks to Matt Bronzan. They were 
halfway there, and because of Matt, Brian Wesley's days of freedom were 
disappearing fast.
Carol leaned toward her. "I need to get going. See you tomorrow"
As Carol left, Hannah was engulfed by a sea of reporters. When she had answered 
each of their questions, her eyes searched the front of the courtroom for Matt. 
Twenty minutes had passed, and Hannah figured he would be gone, but she found 
him leaning against the prosecution's table, his arms and ankles crossed, 
staring at her. Their eyes met, and the air seemed charged... alive... between 
them.
She waited while he gathered his files.
The trial was half over. Hannah could barely contain the sense of joy and 
victory she felt. When Matt stood and their eyes met again, she didn't hesitate. 
She went toward him, into his open arms, laying her head against his broad 
chest, letting her tears of gratitude fall on his shirt.
His arms wrapped around her back and held her close. And for the first time in 
decades, Hannah found herself being held by a man other than Tom Ryan.
288 He pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver. 
LAMENTATIONS 3:13 
Brian Wesley showered earlier than usual the next morning and paid particular 
attention to his appearance. He would be the first witness to take the stand in 
his defense, and he wanted 
to be clean and neat. If he really was a changed man-and he 
believed he was-then he needed to look the part. 
Hot water pounded his shoulders, and steam filled the 
bathroom of Jackson's boxy apartment. Lord, I'm gonna need 
your help today. I can't do it alone. 
Brian closed his eyes. The next few days would be the hard 
est in his life. First he would testify, talk about his past failures 
and how he'd become a changed man in the process. Then, at some point, Harold 
Finch would call Carla as a witness. She 
would testify that Brian never actually intended to kill another 
person. 
Finch had been square with him. He would serve time in 
prison regardless of the verdict. Worst-case scenario, driving 
under the influence held a penalty of several years. And if the 
jury didn't convict him of first-degree murder, they would cer 
tainly give him the maximum for driving drunk. Ten years, 
maybe more. 
Brian's heart began beating fast, and he recognized the 
beginnings of an anxiety attack. Times like this he could still 
taste the alcohol, still feel his body reaching for the drink that 
would destroy him. 
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer 
289 
and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of 
God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds 
in Christ Jesus. Do not be anxious about anything, but in... "
Over and over he repeated the verse from Philippians 4. It
was a weapon, a demon slayer, and he used it every time they
came back. Funny thing, too. Because as long as he could
remember, relief from anxiety had always been something that
came in whiskey bottles and beer cans. But this... this Scripture
thing-having God's word memorized, ready to wield like a
weapon anytime the beast of anxiety appeared-this was really
something.
Better than the bottle ever was.
That Bible lady had explained it best: Scripture words were alive and active. 
They worked every time. They never lost their power like some dime-store 
battery. Brian stepped out of the shower. `Do not be anxious about anything, but 
in everything..." One thing was sure. This Bible thing was truth.
And it was his last hope.
He toweled off and dressed in his best new jeans and a buttondown flannel shirt. 
A bit hot for July, but they were the nicest clothes he had.
He thought about Finch's advice: "Make the jury love you or
it's all over. Don't let 'em smell your fear Let 'em see a sad man,
someone ruined by the bottle, but don't let 'em see a hiller. Make
promises, even if you don't plan to keep them."
He planned to make promises. What Finch didn't understand was that he planned to 
keep them, too.
Brian sighed and pulled a clean, white sock onto his bare foot. He wasn't sure 
about Finch anymore. The man was a good enough attorney, worth the money But he 
didn't play fair, and that bothered Brian. Ever since meeting that woman down at 
Church on the Way, a lot of things about his old life bothered him.
For a moment he could see the young girl, lying dead on
288
I' the shoulder of the road, hear her father several feet away
moaning for help, dying, trapped in his car.
Brian swallowed hard. "Do not be anxious about anything, but
in everything, by prayer and petition..."
The image faded. He finished dressing and then checked
,his appearance in the Budweiser mirror that hung on Jackson's
apartment wall.
He stared at his reflection. "Gonna need your help today, Lord."
For a moment he studied the man in the glass. He didn't look the same. Something 
different... something in the eyes maybe. He grabbed a fistful of change for the 
bus and studied himself once more. Yes, that was it. Something gentler in the 
eyes.
He wondered if Carla would notice.
An air of expectation hung over Judge Horowitz's courtroom that next Tuesday 
morning. Harold Finch was there early, and Hannah thought he was wearing a new 
suit for the occasion. It fit a bit more loosely, but its loud pinstripes, satin 
cuffs, and gold-plated buttons still gave him the look of a mob boss rather than 
a lawyer.
Matt looked relaxed as he read a stack of documents and jotted down notes.
Hannah's eyes fell on Brian Wesley. He looked freshly bathed, neatly dressed. 
His hair was shorter than before... and there was something different about his 
face.
Hannah wanted to shake him. How could he put on a front, act like someone 
society could live with when he was a cold-blooded killer? He'd deliberately 
chosen to kill Tom and Alicia. He would do it again if this jury gave him a 
chance. He might pretend for a while, but nothing, no one-not God himself-could 
ever change Brian Wesley.
Is anything too hard f or God?
292 Hannah blinked back the Scripture and huffed out loud. Some things 
apparently were. Like keeping Tom and Alicia alive.
The proceedings began, and Finch was on his feet calling
his first witness. Brian Wesley Parading about the front of the
courtroom, Finch established Brian's background as a faithful
worker and husband, as a man troubled by a continual drinking
problem. He worked his way up to the point of the collision,
highlighting the fact that Brian had been sober for three
weeks prior to August 28.
"Now, on the afternoon of the accident, what transpired
prior to your visit to the bar?"
Brian frowned slightly. "You mean, why did I decide to
drink again?"
Finch waved his hand, shaking his head. "Okay, fine, why
did you decide to drink again?"
"Well, I got laid off."
"And were you depressed?" "Yes."
Hannah held her breath, her blood all but boiling. She'd
like to give both of them something to be depressed about.
Finch strutted farther from the witness stand so that he was
adjacent to the jurors. His stance, his expression, it all gave the jurors the 
impression, he was one of them... the thirteenth juror.
"So you went to the bar and had a few drinks, something to
lighten your spirits, is that right?" Finch's tone was hostile and
Hannah struggled to understand. Weren't they supposed to be
on the same team?
Brian stared at his attorney with a strange expression,
almost as if he were angry with the man. "It was a stupid thing
to do. I'd been clean for three weeks, and if only I'd just gone
home to Carla-"
`Just answer the question, please, Mr. Wesley" Finch didn't
look pleased.... Sighing and exchanging a long-suffering look
with several jurors, Finch continued. "Why did you go to the bar, Mr. Wesley? 
Did you go there planning to kill someone?"
Brian's face twitched slightly. "No, of course not."
"Did you go intending to hurt someone, perhaps destroy
someone's vehicle in a traffic accident?" Brian shook his head.
"Answer out loud for the court, please," Judge Horowitz said. He looked 
interested in the testimony for the first time that day.
"No, I didn't intend to hurt anyone."
"Fine, then let's go a little further. You sat at the bar for a certain amount 
of time. Do you know how long you sat there, Mr. Wesley?"
Brian shrugged. "I didn't take notes or nothing." "Answer the question to the 
best of your knowledge."
"I don't know My memory's a little hazy on it, you know?" Finch's jaw dropped 
half an inch, and Hannah caught Matt's suddenly alert look. Certainly this 
wasn't the line of testimony Finch and Brian Wesley had practiced.
Finch cleared his throat. "I am not asking for a vivid account. I am asking you 
to tell this court, as best you can remember, how long you sat at the bar on the 
afternoon of August 28."
"Okay." Brian looked determined to come-up with an answer. "I think that guy was 
probably right, that bartender guy Two hours maybe."
Finch looked about to swallow his tongue. "Fine. At the end of that time, when 
you left the bar, did you think you were drunk?"
Hannah expected Finch to ask Brian how many drinks he'd consumed in that time. 
When he didn't, she figured he was starting to fear Brian's answers. She 
couldn't blame him. Brian's testimony was strangely unsettling.... Of course, it 
was favorable for the prosecution, but why on earth was he making statements 
that might harm his case?
293 Finch was waiting for an answer. "Do you understand the question, Mr. 
Wesley?"
Brian nodded and then caught himself. "Yes. I understand. I
don't know that I really thought about it, to be honest. I drank
a lot, and I wanted to get home."
"So you didn't think you were drunk, correct?"
Matt leaned forward slightly, as though he were about to object, but he waited, 
poised on the edge of his seat.
Brian's face grew red. "Listen, man, don't put words in my mouth."
A hush fell over the courtroom, and Finch stared at Brian, clearly stunned. In a 
strained voice he requested a moment alone with his client.
The jury was ushered out, and for ten minutes Brian and his attorney talked in 
hushed but heated tones. Hannah sat stone-still as she watched them reach some 
kind of apparent agreement.
"Your honor, we're ready for the jury again." Finch wiped a layer of 
perspiration off his forehead and shot a glare at Brian. Hannah's head was 
spinning. What was happening? Why
was Brian suddenly fighting with his own attorney? Then it struck her, and she 
leaned toward Carol. "It's an act!"
Carol considered her. "Maybe."
"Carol, come on! Don't you see it? They make it look like Finch is the bad guy, 
the slimy defense attorney. Brian's the guy who's trying to come clean, trying 
to be straight with the jury. The jury sympathizes with him, and we lose the 
conviction. It's all an act!"
Carol looked from Brian to Finch and back to Hannah.
"Let's watch and see what happens."
The jury was back in place, and Finch's friendliness seemed forced as he phrased 
his next question. "Were you drunk when you left the bar that afternoon, Mr. 
Wesley?"
Brian leaned back in the witness stand. "I might have been. I didn't think about 
it."
292
"Okay." Finch stayed near the stand. His hands twitched at sides, and Hannah 
thought he looked like he might stranle Brian if he gave anymore unexpected 
answers. "Did you
Ilan to leave the bar that afternoon-maybe drunk-and drive your car through a 
red light on Ventura Boulevard?"
"No." The sadness on Brian's face pierced Hannah. It was an image that didn't 
fit into the category of behaviors she had
assigned him. He was an animal. Animals didn't look sad.
"Did you plan to kill Tom and Alicia Ryan on the afternoon of August 28?"
"No..." Brian's voice dropped off, and when he spoke again Hannah watched 
everyone in the courtroom strain to hear him. "It was an accident."
Finch shot a satisfied look at the jury, dabbed at another layer of 
perspiration, and then turned to Judge Horowitz. "No further questions, your 
honor."
Matt rose slowly to his feet and studied Brian for a moment. "Did you know that 
drinking shots of whiskey and glasses of
beer would affect your blood alcohol level, Mr. Wesley?" "Yes."
Matt nodded and moved slowly toward the jury. He turned back to Brian. "Did you 
know it was against the law to drive a vehicle with an elevated blood alcohol 
level?"
"Yes." Brian seemed defeated and Hannah felt smugly glad. This is just the 
beginning, buddy.
"Did you sign a statement promising to never drink and' drive and agreeing with 
the fact that to do so was to risk the lives of innocent motorists?" Matt's 
voice was calm, matter-offact. 
"Yeah, I knew it."
Matt nodded again. "And you chose to do it anyway, is that right?"
"Yes. It was a stupid mistake."
"Just stick to the question, Mr. Wesley. Did you choose to do those things 
regardless of the consequences, yes or no?"
295 "Yes." "Mr. Wesley, Webster's Dictionary defines accident as a tragic
event that does not involve fault. Do you understand that definition?" 
"I think so ... yes.
What in the world was going on? Brian was clearly not
fighting his own cause on the stand. Hannah shifted uneasily
in her seat.
"Based on that definition-a tragic event that does not
involve fault-can you honestly tell us that what happened on
the afternoon of August 28 was an accident?"
Brian paused for a moment, and Hannah could see that he was wrestling with his 
answer. "No."
At the quiet admission, Hannahs mouth went dry, and her
heart beat so hard she thought it might explode. Had Brian
Wesley just said what she thought he'd said?
He met Matt's gaze without flinching. "Based on that definition, I can't ...I 
can't call it an accident."
Reporters stationed along the back of the courtroom began
scribbling furiously as a hum of discussion broke out among
those in attendance.
"Order!" Judge Horowitz glared at the gallery. "I will not
have you disrupt this court." He looked at Matt. "Continue."
"No further questions, your honor." Matt shot an amazed
look at Hannah, and then returned to his spot at the table. Finch worked the 
rest of the day trying to undo the damage done by Brian's admission that the 
crash hadn't been an accident, but it was useless. Hannah didn't know what kind 
of act they were playing, but whatever it was it had backfired.
If the trial ended now, Hannah felt certain they'd win their conviction.
The week dragged on with a physicist testifying that Brian's
blood alcohol may have been lower than the police test
showed because of the rate of alcohol absorption into the
bloodstream. On cross-examination, the witness admitted that
294
in's blood alcohol may have been higher, as well.
"A waste," Matt told Hannah when court was adjourned for
e day. "Nothing that'll hurt the case."
"So things still look good?" Hannah felt stronger in Matt's
presence, as if being near him brought her closer to a point of
ealing. "Yes." Matt patted her hand and then hesitated. "Hannah...
how's Jenny?"
She started and stared at him. Jenny? She hadn't thought of Jenny in days. 
Weeks...
She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. Still moping, still riding her bike 
aimlessly around town, pretending she's a loner."
Matt sighed. "Be careful, Hannah. She's still a little girl. She needs you."
I need her, too. She blocked out the thought. "You don't understand. She's 
different than.. .than before the...than before. I can't reach her anymore."
"Okay." Matt looked troubled. "I don't mean to meddle. I'm worried, that's all." 
He was silent a moment. "I'm still praying for her."
Hannah resisted any overt show of doubt. She looked deep into Matt's eyes trying 
to understand how he could maintain his faith in light of the pain all around 
him. "Whatever makes you feel better, Matt."
On Thursday morning, Finch called his last witness, Carla Wesley. Hannah studied 
the young woman through critical eyes. Brian Wesley's wife had a good figure, 
but was otherwise hard and unattractive, with dark circles under her eyes.
White trash. Hannah glared at Carla as she took the stand and hated her for 
choosing to love a man like Brian Wesley. Judge not, lest you be judged.... 
Hannah pushed the Scripture from her mind. How long would it take before Bible 
verses no longer flashed at her?
299 Finch established who the woman was and that she and Brian were no longer 
living together. Carla testified that she had been aware of Brian's drinking 
problem. Then Finch moved to the heart of the issue.
"Was Brian a violent man, Mrs. Wesley?" Finch leaned
against the jury box.
"No." "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you. Could you repeat the answer?"
Carla fidgeted in her seat and glanced at Brian, who kept
his gaze downward. "No. He was not a violent man."
"Was he an angry man?" Finch appeared confused, as if he were trying to solve a 
difficult riddle.
"No. He wasn't angry"
Finch nodded, still puzzled. "Then he must have had tendencies
toward murder, is that it, Mrs. Wesley?"
Carla shook her head quickly. "No, of course not. Brian was always..." She 
glanced at her husband, and for an instant Hannah saw their eyes meet. "He was 
always a gentleman."
Hannah huffed softly Gentleman. Brian and his wife were equally worthless as far 
as she was concerned.
Finch scratched his head. "The prosecution is trying to convict your husband of 
intentionally killing two people, Mrs. Wesley. You've known him many, many 
years. Certainly you would know if he had ever planned to kill someone. Would 
you say you know Mr. Wesley very well?"
Carla's eyes filled with tears, and a smudge of mascara appeared under her right 
eye. Her voice was choked when she answered. "Yes. I know Brian very well."
"So you would know if he had homicidal tendencies, the desire or intention to 
kill someone?"
Matt had been observing the proceedings passively, but now
he rose to his feet. "Your honor, I object to the last question.
Mrs. Wesley cannot testify as to the intentions of her husband.
Mr. Finch knows that. The witness needs to stick with what
296
e personally observed or heard him say."
Judge Horowitz nodded. "Objection sustained. Disregard
,he last question."
Finch paced for a moment and wound up a bit closer to Carla than before. "Mrs. 
Wesley, did you ever hear your husband say he intended to kill those people?"
Carla batted at an errant tear making its way down her cheek. She sniffed and 
shot another look at Brian. "No. Brian had a drinking problem, but he never 
wanted to kill anyone."
For an instant, Hannah felt a pang of empathy for Carla Wesley. Both women had 
lost, and neither of their lives had turned out the way they'd planned. Hannah 
swallowed hard and her compassion dissolved. Still, that woman had chosen to 
marry a creep like Brian. It was difficult to feel sorry for her.
Finch made his way back to the table. "No further questions, your honor."
Matt rose once more and nodded politely at Carla Wesley. His tone was kind. 
"Mrs. Wesley, did you ever warn your husband about his drinking problem?"
Carla gulped and stared at her hands for a moment. "Yes. Lots of times." She 
looked up at Matt again. "But he was an alcoholic. He couldn't stop drinking-" 
she glanced at Brian"not even for me."
Matt nodded. "Very well. And did you ever warn your husband that if he didn't 
stop drinking and driving, he was going to kill someone?"
Hannah held her breath.
Carla paused, clearly unwilling to answer.
"Answer the question, please, Mrs. Wesley" Judge Horowitz sounded impatient, 
ready to see the testimony finished.
Carla sighed and her shoulders slumped. "Yes. I warned him." "You warned your 
husband many times that he had a drinking problem, and you warned him that if he 
didn't stop drinking and driving he was going to kill someone. Is that right, 
Mrs. Wesley?"
300 I
V
Carla refused to look at Brian as she nodded. "Yes." Another tear fell onto her 
cheek. "I warned him."
Hannah shot a look at the jury and saw they were caught
up in the implications of Carla's testimony. Matt cleared his
throat and continued. "You warned him, but he did it anyway,
is that right?"
"Yes, obviously" Carla pursed her lips and sat up straighter
in the witness stand. Hannah wondered about Carla Wesleys
mother. Where had she gone wrong in raising Carla to marry a
man like Brian Wesley. What about your own daughter? Hannah
was startled by the sudden question that rattled through her
mind. Jenny is fine. We'll have time together after the trial. The
voice vanished as quickly as it had come.
Matt nodded again. "Thank you, Mrs. Wesley. No further
questions, your honor."
"Call your next witness." Judge Horowitz waved a hand
toward Finch.
Finch rose, pausing momentarily, then, "The defense rests,
your honor."
Hannah exhaled slowly. It was over. No more surprises, no
more questioning. It was finally over.
"Very well then." Judge Horowitz adjusted his glasses, drew
a deep breath, and directed his gaze first at Finch and then at Matt. "We will 
take a brief break until 2 PM. At that time we will hear closing arguments." He 
banged his gavel and left through a door behind his chair.
Hannah watched as Matt sorted through a stack of documents,
and Finch and Brian whispered in some sort of consultation.
"Well, this is it." Carol turned to Hannah.
Hannah massaged her temples. "I can't believe it's finally
over."
Carol nodded, her eyes distant. "I remember this part." She
looked sadly at Hannah. "Be careful."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
298
you've convinced yourself that a conviction will bring you
it'll release the anger that's tearing you up. It's the answer ice
l the problems left behind when Tom and Alicia died."
It's all I want." Hannah felt the beginning of tears.
"I know. That's all I wanted, too. But it took me a long time
;fore I found the secret to having peace in my life again."
What was she talking about? Didn't she know now much annah's head was pounding? 
How confused she was already?
ni
t 
annah didn't need this. "It's no secret, Carol. When hat a
' i " I is locked up, Tom's and Alicia's deaths wont be in van. "But there won't 
be peace."
Hannah was silent.
Carol reached out and took Hannah's hand in hers. "And
even a conviction won't bring Tom and Alicia back."
"Don't you think I know that?" She had fought the front line of this battle, and 
now they had almost reached a victory. There would always be sadness, but a 
guilty verdict would bring Hannah peace no matter what Carol said. Immediate, 
perfect peace.
Carol's eyes were so sad Hannah wanted to weep. "Okay. But if you still feel 
empty when it's all over, I'll be here."
"The only way I'll feel empty is if Brian Wesley walks out of this courtroom a 
free man. And personally, I don't think that's going to happen. Now let's change 
the subject before you ruin my day."
301 
I
Closing arguments were about to begin, and for the first time all week the jury 
looked wide-eyed and attentive. An air of excitement buzzed through the 
courtroom as reporters speculated and spectators recounted evidence in the case. 
If history were going to be made in Judge Horowitz's courtroom, they wanted to 
remember every detail. Especially the lawyers in attendance. Someday it would 
make for great storytelling: the case that changed California drunk driving laws 
forever.
Matt spoke first, reminding the jurors of Brian's history of drinking and 
driving. He moved quickly to the day of the accident. "No one wants to get news 
from the boss that he's been laid off." He walked slowly back and forth in front 
of the jurors, meeting their intent gazes. "Mr. Wesley packed up his things, 
loaded his truck, and headed for the road. That's when he made his first choice. 
He could have gone home. Instead he went to the bar."
Matt stopped and leaned against the railing. He walked the jurors through 
Brian's every movement that afternoon, emphasizing the choices Brian had made: 
the choice to go to the bar, the choice to drink, the choice to get drunk, the 
choice to drive home, the choice to ignore warnings from Carla, the state, and 
finally the bartender.
"Brian Wesley made deadly choice after deadly choice. Regardless of his 
history." Matt stared at Brian for a moment, and Hannah watched the jurors do 
the same. Matt faced them
303 
again. "Brian Wesley signed a document agreeing that to make those very choices 
was to risk life. He knew his choices were deadly." Matt paused. "He told you so 
himself."
He told you so himself. Hannah closed her eyes, and suddenly she was sucked back 
to a moment, decades earlier... it was Tom's mother saying those words, days 
after he proposed to her.
Hannah had been fretful that afternoon. "I don't know, Mrs.
Ryan, he spent so long loving that other girl..."
Tom's mother had set a plate of warm cookies on the table and motioned for 
Hannah to sit. "Oh, no, dear. He never loved her like he loves you, not for a 
moment."
"But how can I know he really loves me?"
"Hannah, dear, you know he loves you. He told you so himself."
Told you so himself... told you so... told you so...
If there had been a way back-a river to swim, a bridge to cross, an ocean to 
sail-she would have taken it. She would go back to that warm, Southern 
California afternoon when she and Tom's mother were speculating about the 
future, and she would start over again. Relive every day, every minute with Tom. 
And Alicia. And Jenny. The way everything was before. And when it came to that 
terrible day last August, she would stop time.
If there was a way
Hannah felt the sting of tears, and she opened her eyes
reluctantly. Matt was still speaking, and she chastised herself.
She had to pay attention. It was Brian Wesley's final hour. After
this she would have peace. Finally.
Matt's voice was deliberate and intense. "I want you to close your eyes for a 
moment. Go ahead, close them." He waited until the jurors did as he asked. "Okay 
now. I want you to imagine three people you love dearly are in a vehicle... 
coming home from a summer camping trip." Matt waited. "Can you see them? See 
their smiles? Hear their laughter, hear the fish tales
302
and the retelling of campfire stories? Can you see them?"
Matt walked silently across the courtroom and stopped in front of Hannah. He 
held out his hand wordlessly. She nodded, reaching into a bag she'd brought for 
this moment. Inside were two photos. One of the Ryan family, taken the Christmas 
before the collision. The other of Tom and Alicia. She handed them over to Matt 
and watched him carry them carefully back to the jury.
"Keep your eyes closed, please." He began pacing again, this time staring at the 
photos of Hannah's family. "Coming the other direction is Brian Wesley A man 
with so many drunk driving arrests the system's nearly lost count. A man who by 
drinking and driving has already caused two traffic collisions. A man who has 
signed a statement-signed a legal documentagreeing that for him to drink and 
drive again could very likely result in death. His or someone else's. A man who 
has been warned, over and over again. A man who knows that the gun he's wielding 
is loaded."
The courtroom was so quiet Hannah wondered if everyone could hear her beating 
heart.
Matt continued, his voice softer still. "Can you see him? Guzzling fourteen 
drinks over a two-hour span, stumbling out of the bar and heading toward his 
pickup truck? Can you hear Nick Crabb asking him to wait for a cab? Listen, now. 
Hear him swear at this young, inexperienced bartender. Can you see him storm out 
of the bar? Hear his tires squealing as he peels out onto Ventura Boulevard?"
Matt stopped and stared at the jurors, who sat with their eyes still closed. 
"This is a man who has chosen to drink and drive despite the risks, despite the 
potential for death. Can you see him behind the wheel, eyes barely open?"
Matt's words came faster now, louder, his tone more urgent. "Now picture your 
loved ones again, getting off the freeway, their car loaded with camping gear, 
almost home. They head for the intersection-the same intersection Brian Wesley 
is
304 about to plow through. Your loved ones move through that intersection at the 
exact same instant-" Matt stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy 
with sorrow. "And in that moment, those three people you love so much are 
obliterated by an impact as severe as a freight train. One of your loved ones is 
dead before she ever knew what happened. Another is
You have not met Hannah Ryan. She has nothing to add to
dead minutes later. The third, alive.. .but forever devastated." Hannah was 
barely aware of the tears sliding down her
cheeks. She watched as Matt drew close and leaned against the railing so that he 
was only inches from her. "You can open your eyes."
The jurors did so but instead of looking at Matt, they stared
at Hannah.
the testimony in this case. But if those had been your loved
ones killed by Brian Wesley's speeding truck, if that were you
sitting there-" he gestured toward her-"where Hannah's sitting,
would you think it was an accident? No. You'd think it
was intentional murder. First-degree murder."
Finch squirmed in his seat.
Matt held up the pictures and stared at the faces of
Hannah's family once more. Then he looked back at the jury.
"It's up to you."
The jury strained to see the photos, and Matt moved closer,
positioning them so each of the twelve could study the smiling
faces, frozen in a moment that was gone forever.
"It's up to you to open the door. Pave the road to a new California, a place 
where people will think twice before drinking and driving. A place where people 
like Brian Wesley won't have a chance to load up and shoot because they'll be 
behind bars.
"You hold the keys, and I ask you-" Matt turned the photos
so he could see them once more-"I beseech you on behalf
of Tom and Alicia Ryan, on behalf of young Jenny Ryan and
her mother, Hannah. I beg you on behalf of your own loved
ones who deserve safer streets. Please... return a guilty verdict. What Brian 
Wesley did to Hannah Ryan's family was not an accident. Let's stop calling it 
one. Thank you."
Finch wasted no time. He struggled to his feet, coughed, adjusted the buttons on 
his vest, cleared his throat. Papers rustled in his hands. Hannah realized he 
was doing everything he could to break the mood Matt had masterfully created.
He smiled at the jurors and gestured toward them as if they were family gathered 
for a summer reunion.
"Now you folks are a lot smarter than the district attorney might think." He 
smiled broadly, dabbing quickly at the perspiration on his forehead. "The good 
D.A. asks you to close your eyes and imagine. I never heard of anything so 
ridiculous in all my life." Finch shook his head disdainfully and leaned his 
belly over the railing, propping himself up on both elbows and looking hard at 
the jurors. "How dare the district attorney ask you to close your eyes in this 
case? I will ask you to open your eyes. Open them wide. Look at the defendant."
Twelve pairs of eyes shifted toward Brian Wesley. Hannah scowled at him through 
narrow eyes, hating the way he hung his head. Only a worthless human being would 
try to look humble now. She gritted her teeth. He was detestable. Certainly the 
jury could see that much.
Finch smiled at Brian, and when it was obvious there would be no eye contact 
between attorney and client, Finch turned back to the jury. "He's not a killer." 
The attorney searched the faces of the jurors. "You needn't fear him in dark 
alleys like some hardened criminal. Mr. Wesley is an alcoholic. He needs help. 
Your help."
Finch paused and raised an eyebrow. "You know, what happened to Brian Wesley 
could have happened to you. Drink a few too many, wind up in a tragic accident." 
He straightened his arms, rising several feet above the jurors. "But that 
doesn't make you a killer, anymore than it makes Mr. Wesley one. He made a 
series of poor choices. But Brian Wesley did not set out
308 on the afternoon of August 28 to kill two people. The prosecution has not 
proven that in this courtroom. They have not proven that Brian Wesley chose to 
kill that day. No. He didn't set out to kill. He just wanted to get home."
Finch moved away from the railing and adjusted his vest buttons. "He was a guy 
down on his luck who drank a few too many, a guy who wanted to get home. It was 
an accident, folks. We feel for the family the victims. But that doesn't change 
the facts. Brian Wesley never intended for anyone to die. And murder one means a 
person must intend to kill. Please, folks-" Finch gripped the railing with both 
hands and once more leaned toward the jury, his voice filled with passion-"Vote 
with your heads and not your hearts this time. You convict Brian Wesley of 
murder one in this case, and the next person serving a life sentence for drunk 
driving might be someone you love. It might even be you."
Finch was finished, and it was time for Matt's final rebuttal. "What we are 
talking about here is the repeat drunk driver." He stopped and faced the jury, 
clearly concerned. "You don't have to worry about serving life for drunk driving 
unless you're a repeat drunk driver, careening headlong toward a fatal 
collision." 
He waited and Hannah held her breath. "But there is something
you and your loved ones do need to worry about. And I
ask you today, as you begin wading through the details of this
case, please, worry about it. Worry about leaving here and getting
on the streets in a state that allows a man with a string of
drunk driving arrests and revoked licenses and alcohol-related
traffic collisions-a state that allows a man like Brian Wesleyto
be on the road when he should be behind bars."
Matt moved closer to the jury box. "And something else. Mr. Finch told you Brian 
Wesley was not a man to fear." Matt glanced at Hannah, and the jury followed the 
direction of his gaze. "To tell you the truth, men like Brian Wesley scare me 
more than convicted felons. I can avoid the places a convict
306
tight hang out. But Brian Wesley? I might be coming home
torn a fishing tri p, chatting with my family, and boom! The F people I love 
most are dead." Matt raised an eyebrow and
shook his head. "Laws being what they are today, I can't avoid a
man like Brian Wesley. And that scares me."
Matt leaned against the railing and folded his arms. "Mr. Finch wants you to 
think of Brian Wesley as someone down on his luck, just trying to get home. 
Well, that's all the Ryan family was trying to do. Three days in the mountains, 
end of summer, school's about to begin. They were coming home."
He faced the jury squarely and slid his hands into his pockets. His voice was 
strong, but Hannah thought his eyes looked damp as he continued. "What happened 
to Hannah Ryan could happen to me-" he met their eyes-"or you. Any day. Anytime. 
Anywhere. Remember, there are two reasons why Brian Wesley should be convicted 
of first-degree murder. The first is to punish him. He took a weapon, in this 
case a pickup truck, and made a choice to use it under the influence of alcohol. 
That's intentional murder, and it must be punished as such.
"But the second reason is just as valid. The second reason is to protect people 
like Hannah Ryan. People like you. It's time, friends, please. Find Brian Wesley 
guilty of first-degree murder, and let's put an end to this madness now. Before 
it's too late."
The judge finished giving instructions, and the case was handed over to the 
jury. After just two hours the foreman notified the clerk.
They had reached a decision.
309 
He has broken my teeth with gravel; he has trampled me in the dust. 
LAMENTATIONS 3:16 
Because of the late afternoon hour, Judge Horowitz determined that the verdict 
would be read at 10 A.M. the next day. The moment Matt heard the news, he was on 
the phone to Hannah. A quick verdict wasn't good. 
"So fast? What does it mean?" Hannah sounded frantic, and Matt's heart went out 
to her. 
"It could go either way." He wanted to be honest. "But usu ally... quick 
verdicts wind up in favor of the defense." 
Hannah was silent for several seconds. "What? That's impos sible!" Matt could 
see the fury that would be in Hannah's eyes as clearly as if he were standing in 
front of her. It made him wish he'd told her the news in person so he could take 
her in his arms and comfort her. 
"Remember, Hannah, we had the burden of proof. Brian is innocent until proven 
guilty, and usually it takes longer to study the evidence and determine guilt. 
Usually.". 
"Then we'll have to appeal, find a loophole. Something. He has to pay for this, 
Matt. He can't just-" 
"Hannah, I didn't say he was acquitted. I just wanted to warn you. There's a 
chance. A good chance. We took a gamble in this case and didn't leave the jury 
much choice. All or nothing." 
Hannah made no response, and Matt could hear her quietly sobbing. 
"Hannah? Are you all right? I can be there in five minutes if you need me." Matt 
almost hoped she'd say yes. 
313 "No." She gave two quick, jerky breaths and steadied her voice. "I'm okay. I 
have to talk to Jenny. She's... she's been in her room all evening."
Matt felt Hannah's heartache as though it were his own. He had to resist the 
urge to ask once more if she needed him. He wanted to be there. Wanted to help 
her. But he didn't ask it. He didn't want her to mistake his intentions. Not now 
He changed topics instead. "I'm still worried about her."
"Jenny?" Hannah drew a weary breath. "I think she'll be okay She's just hiding 
out until the trial's over. When I have peace, she will, too."
Matt sighed. "Hannah. . .what if the verdict..." He couldn't bring himself to 
finish the sentence.
"Don't, Matt. Please. I simply can't imagine the what-ifs. It's late and it's 
been the longest week of my life. My daughter hates me, and after tomorrow I 
have to put this behind me and get on with making a life for the two of us. 
Right now I have no choice but to believe that tomorrow you will win your 
conviction, and finally-" her voice broke once more, and she sounded beyond 
tired. "Finally, I can have peace."
Matt tapped a pencil on his dining room table and searched frantically for the 
right words. She wouldn't have peace. He knew she wouldn't. But there was no 
point trying to convince her. Not right now "Get some sleep, Hannah."
She laughed, but there was no hint of humor in her voice. "Are you kidding? With 
Jenny upstairs pouting and the verdict sitting in some sealed envelope down at 
the courthouse? You sleep, Matt..I'll see you tomorrow"
"Okay, but if you're going to be awake anyway, at least pray, Hannah. Please. 
Jenny needs your prayers."
"She doesn't need prayers, Matt; she needs her daddy and her big sister." Hannah 
sighed and the emotion drained from her voice. "And not even your God can give 
her that."
Matt cringed. Lord, give me the words. Hannah's your child. Jenny, too. Help 
them, Lord.
310
When he remained silent, Hannah drew another deep breath. "I'm sorry, Matt. I 
don't mean to take it out on you. You've been wonderful through this whole 
thing. I could never have climbed into that legal ring and duked it out with 
Finch like you've done. You were my only weapon in the biggest fight would u
turned in early and pulled
of my life."
"That's why God brought me into the case."
Hannah paused. "God has nothing to do with it. He
checked out months ago. August 28, 1 think it was."
Matt could almost see the bitter root strangling everything
beautiful in Hannah Ryan. But there was nothing he could say.
"Enough. Good night, Hannah."
"Night, Matt." She hesitated. "See you tomorrow."
He clicked the off button on his cordless telephone and set
it on the kitchen counter. Hannah Ryan. He wandered to the
cupboard, pulled out a glass and filled it with ice water. What
ld become of her after tomorrow, when she learned that peace wasn't something 
one could buy with revenge? Win or
lose, tomorrow night Hannah would be as unsettled as today.
Maybe more so.
The glass was cool against his hands. He wandered into the
living room and settled into a leather recliner. He pressed the
drink to his face. Hot, hazy, summer days. Why had the Lord put Hannah in his 
life, anyway? And what would happen if
they lost this case?
He surveyed his empty house. Normally after a day in court
t the so one
idn't Tel
, so feel lonely and
made a oudt his newest cdopy of the B ble at
clothbound, men's edition. Matt did not keep a well-worn copy
of the Bible in his house. He liked reading the Bible through, marking it up as 
much as possible, and then starting fresh with
another copy
fell slee reading Philippians 4, somewhere between He a p
the peace that passes understanding and doing all things
314 through Christ who gives strength. But he didn't dream of Paul and his 
profound letter. 
He dreamed of Hannah Ryan. 
Hannah studied her bedroom as she hung up the telephone. It had been nearly a 
year, and Tom's Bible was now packed away with his other things. Only a picture 
of them taken on their tenth anniversary remained on the dresser. The clutter 
Tom had always tossed there had long since been cleared. There were none of the 
keys and coins and receipts that had collected there each week while they were 
married. 
Tom was gone. The room was proof. 
She stood and stretched. Her bones were tired, but she wasn't particularly 
interested in sleep. Besides, the last few nights she'd woken at all hours with 
the most frightening nightmares. Hannah shuddered. There was no point dwelling 
on the dreams now She had business to take care of. 
Tiptoeing upstairs, Hannah tried to work up her courage. Anymore it was an 
amazing feat to get two words out of Jenny, and nights like this Hannah was 
almost too worn out to try. She knocked at the door. 
"What?" The girl didn't sound angry She didn't sound anything. After tomorrow 
they could start working on their tattered rela tionship, but how long would it 
take? Months? Years? "Can I come in?" 
Silence. `Jenny? I want to talk to you." Hannah allowed the wall to hold her up 
as she closed her eyes. "Open the door, jenny" 
Footsteps, then Hannah heard a click. Jenny opened the door a crack, but by the 
time Hannah looked inside, she was already back on her bed, staring at the 
ceiling, eyes hollow 
Hannah pulled up a chair and sat down, facing the girl. For a single moment she 
remembered their old life, when she 
would climb into the girls' beds with them, snuggling and gig gling and making 
girl-talk long after bedtime prayers. Now there was only awkwardness between 
them, forcing Hannah to keep her distance. She settled into the chair and tried 
not to think about it. 
"The trial ended today." Hannah waited and for an instant there was a flicker of 
something in Jenny's eyes. Concern? Interest? Whatever it was, Hannah knew she 
had caught the girl's attention. 
When Jenny said nothing, Hannah felt her frustration begin to grow "Did you hear 
me?" 
Jenny didn't roll her eyes or sigh as she had done so often lately. Instead she 
leveled her gaze at Hannah. "Yes, Mother. I heard you." 
There was no point waiting for jenny to ask questions. She wouldn't. Hannah set 
her chin. "It went well, I think. Matt did a great job presenting the case. But 
there's still a chance Brian Wesley will be acquitted. We'll know tomorrow." 
Jenny stared at her mother blankly. 
"I thought you'd like to come. Tomorrow, I mean. I know you haven't wanted to be 
there before. But it is the verdict, after all. If we win, I want you to be 
there." 
Jenny's face twisted. "If we win? Mother, listen to yourself! No one's going to 
win tomorrow" 
"If Brian Wesley goes to prison, we will win. It's that simple." Jenny sat up in 
bed. "No, it's not that simple...." She looked like she was about to say 
something else, but apparently changed her mind. Shoulders slumped, she began 
picking at her bedspread. "Never mind." 
Hannah leaned forward, trying to get up the courage to touch her daughter, to 
pull her into a hug. Anything to bridge the distance between them. "Things will 
be different after tomorrow." Silence. "You have to understand, Jenny. After 
Daddy and Alicia were killed, I didn't know what else to do. I had to fight. 
Tomorrow Brian Wesley will be taken into custody. 
313 
315 Where he's belonged since he did this awful thing to us." Jenny looked up, 
and Hannah was shocked to see that her
little girl had the eyes of an old woman. "You honestly think a
guilty verdict will make things different? Between us?"
"I know they will, honey. The battle's almost over." She hesitated. `Just this 
once, could you come to the trial with me? Please, Jenny."
Jenny shook her head quickly. "No. I won't go. I told you
that." Her voice was panicky, and Hannah drew back.
"Okay, forget it. I just thought... after all this time... oh, never mind." 
Hannah stood up and headed for the door. Her heart felt like a dead weight 
within her.
"Mom..." Hannah spun around. In that instant, in that one single word she heard 
the Jenny she'd lost, the one she hadn't heard since they'd said good-bye in the 
driveway the day they left for the camping trip. The one that never made it 
home. Hannah searched her daughter's eyes, but she wasn't there. When Jenny 
spoke again whatever Hannah had heard was gone. The indifference was back.
"Nothing." "Tell me, honey" "It's nothing, Mom."
`Jenny... it's been so long since we've talked. Really talked."
Hannah hated the awkwardness between them. She paused,
desperately trying to think of the right words. "I'm here. Let me
know when you're ready"
Jenny's eyes were blank and she didn't nod. Instead she lay down, turned her 
back to her mother, and faced the wall.
The rejection was more than Hannah could bear. "Fine. Turn away"
"Get out, Mother. I'm done talking."
If that's the way you want it, Jenny... Hannah stared at her, and in a voice so 
frigid it was foreign even to her, she spat one final sentence at her daughter: 
"Thanks a lot, Jenny, and oh,
314
yeah, I love you, too." Hannah stormed out of the room, her heart pounding, her 
eyes dry.
That night as Hannah fell asleep, she realized she had no one to love, no one 
who loved her. Somehow she had died without anyone noticing. Her corpse was 
still breathing, but she was dead. As she tossed and turned, battling 
relentless, unseen, torturous demons, she wondered how it was, someone could 
love God most of her life and still wind up in hell.
Sgt. Jon Miller was having trouble falling asleep, but not because of unseen 
demons. Lately he'd been bothered by the
accident... the one from a year ago. He had convinced himself it was the 
testimony. Acting as a witness for the prosecution had brought up memories he'd 
almost forgotten. The young teenage girls, one dead when he arrived on the 
scene... and the man, Dr. Tom Ryan. And especially that scene in the car when 
the man was trying to speak his final words.
He couldn't for the life of him understand why that particular memory kept 
making its way into his mind. He had done as the man asked, passed on his final 
message for his surviving family. Sgt. Miller turned in bed and saw that his 
wife was sleeping soundly. He sighed. His eyes were open, but all he could see 
was Dr. Tom Ryan, trying to speak, struggling to form those final words.
Tell Hannah and the girls he loved them. That was it, wasn't
it?
Miller rolled over onto his other side and shut his eyes. Maybe he should get up 
and read his Bible. God's promises always helped him fall asleep. He flipped so 
that he was flat on his back. He was about to pray when he heard the voice.
Remember the rest.
Miller's eyes flew open and he sat up straight in bed. Had he imagined that or 
had someone actually spoken? He glanced about the room, but nothing had changed. 
He released the air
317 from his lungs slowly. Sinking back into the pillows he felt his heart race. 
Must have been a dream. Maybe he was falling asleep after all. He closed his 
eyes. Lord, thank you for lettingRemember the rest.
His eyes flew open and he shot up once more. His eyes
sought his wife, but she was snoring. He propped his pillows
and leaned back, heart racing, searching the room for the
source of the message. Remember the rest? The image appeared
again, Dr. Tom Ryan, bleeding to death, trying to gurgle out the
last part of a farewell.
Could that be it? Was there something more to his message?
Suddenly the image cleared, and a realization came over
Sgt. Miller so strong that he could feel his nerves calming, his
heart rate returning to normal.
Dr. Ryan had said two things, not one. Tell Hannah and the girls he loved them 
and... and something else. Something that hadn't seemed very important at the 
time.
Now if only he could remember what.
316
I have been deprived of peace; I have f orgotten what prosperity is.
LAMENTATIONS 3:17
They met in a thicket of trees just outside the courthouse some two hours before 
the verdict. Neither of them wanted to be seen together. Especially praying 
together.
Heads bowed, voices soft, they lifted their direst concerns to the Lord. 
Finally, they thanked him for whatever he was about to do. It was getting late, 
and there were people moving in and out of the courthouse. They sat on opposite 
sides of the bench, silent.
"Are you nervous?" She studied him. This might be their last conversation 
outside prison walls.
He shrugged. "It was a quick verdict. Could mean an acquittal." His eyes stayed 
down and he picked nervously at the rough skin around his fingernails.
"You don't look happy"
He shot her a quick glance. "I'm not."
She nodded. That was understandable. A person could be spirit-filled and still 
be unhappy.
"In some ways I wanna, serve time." He drew a shaky breath. "If they let me walk 
...I'll never be able to face her." "You're not in control here, Brian."
"I know, I know We've been talking about it, me and the Lord."
"Just do what's right. God will take care of the rest." He looked at his watch. 
"I have to meet my lawyer." She stood and gathered her purse. "I'll be praying."
319 
Jenny's hands trembled as she sat at the breakfast table. It was verdict day-for 
Brian Wesley and for her. She stared at the soggy cornflakes in front of her, 
but she could see her mother, darting about the kitchen, grabbing gulps of black 
coffee. She was reading something, probably newspaper articles about the 
accident and the victim impact panels. Her life's passion.
"What are you doing today?" Her mother set her coffee cup in the sink and 
glanced at Jenny.
Mom was obviously still mad about last night, and suddenly Jenny was sorry she'd 
been rude. It would have been nice to be at peace on their last morning 
together.
She took another bite of cornflakes. "Nothing."
Her mother waited, impatient to leave. "Fine. I'll tell you how it went when I 
get home. Not that you care."
Jenny watched her grab the car keys from the counter and head for the garage. No 
kiss. No good-bye. She listened as her mother drove off, and then she trudged 
upstairs, shoulders heavy, heart empty
It was time.
After all the planning, it was finally time. She pulled the
box from beneath her bed and examined the contents once
more. Pills. Water. Good-bye note.
Not that you care.... Not that you care.... Her mother's words
haunted her, but she shook them off. She did care. Not about
the trial, but about Daddy and Alicia. It would only be a few
hours now until they were together. If only she'd hugged her
mother or said good-bye. Two lonely tears slipped from her
eyes and landed on her bedspread.
Sniffing loudly, she dried her eyes and sat up straighter.
There was no time for regrets now.
She had to get busy
318
was almost time. Hannah felt as if she'd waited her entire life
i,itor this moment. The courtroom was filled with people spilling
into the hallways, straining to get a view of what was about to happen. Hannah 
took in the scene as it unfolded. Brian and
Finch huddled at one end of the table; Matt and his assistants at the other.
Matt had met her downstairs earlier and assured her that if Brian was acquitted 
on first-degree murder charges, the state would see that he served the maximum 
time for drunk driving. It was the least they could do.
"Don't talk like that," Hannah said. They stood against a wall, facing each 
other in a quiet corridor near his office. Their voices had been hushed and 
inches separated them.
"Hannah, you have to be realistic. What if they come back with not guilty?"
She didn't hesitate. "I'll kill him myself." "Hannah..."
"I'm serious."
He had sighed and pulled her into a quick hug. "Let's go. It's time."
That was an hour ago.
Carol Cummins leaned over and whispered to her. "If anyone can pull this off, 
it's Matt Bronzan."
Hannah nodded. "He's worried."
Carol studied Matt for a moment. "You'd never know it."
A hush fell over the courtroom as Judge Horowitz entered and took his seat. The 
moment of the verdict had arrived.
The judge glanced around. "I see that there are a great number of people 
interested in the outcome of this trial. I warn you, matters will be conducted 
in a quiet manner. I will not allow my courtroom to become a media circus." He 
banged his gavel. "Court is in session. Will the bailiff please bring in the 
jury„
326 The bailiff moved toward a door on the side of the courtroom, disappeared 
for a moment, then returned with the jurors in single file procession behind 
him. The jurors took their seats.
The pills were calling her, beckoning her to a better place where she and Alicia 
and Daddy could spend eternity together. She opened the water and picked up 
three orange capsules. Please, God, let this work. She slipped the pills into 
her mouth and took a swig of water. For a moment jenny thought she was going to 
gag, but then she took another swig and felt the pills go down.
There were dozens of pills on her bedspread. She picked up
three more capsules, and this time they went down easier. She
reached down and found three more. Swallow. Three red.
Swallow. It was easier than she'd thought. Before she knew it,
the pile was gone. She had done it.
Now all she had to do was wait.
Matt watched the jury file in and take their places.
The judge looked at them. "Has the jury reached a decision?" Matt glanced at 
Hannah and saw that her eyes were closed, her hands clenched tightly. His heart 
constricted. Father, I'd do anything to give Hannah the peace she so desperately 
seeks. Help her, please.
The jury foreman stood up. "Yes, your honor." "Very well. Please hand the 
verdict to the bailiff."
The foreman did as he was told, and the bailiff carried it to Judge Horowitz. He 
read it silently, his expression unchanging. He leaned over and handed it back 
to the court clerk. The judge looked about the courtroom. "The clerk will now 
read the verdict."
A petite brunette in her late fifties stood, her mouth near
320
the microphone. She unfolded the verdict and cleared her throat.
A strange feeling was working its way through jenny's body. She felt her heart 
beat erratically. Her hands shook... then her arms... finally every part of her 
was trembling violently.
Was this it? Was this death?
The room started spinning and all the edges blurred together. "I have come that 
they may have life...I have come that they may have life...I have come..."
Scripture filled her mind-bringing doubt with it.
Suicide was murder. Wasn't that one of the Ten Commandments? "Thou shalt not 
kill....I have come that they may have life..."
Jesus didn't want her to take her life. Daddy, either.
She needed to get to the bathroom. Someone online had told her if she took the 
pills then changed her mind, her only hope was to vomit. Get up! But her legs 
would not obey She stuck her finger down her throat and gagged, but nothing came 
up.
Jenny beat her stomach with her fists, willing her body to reject the pills, but 
they sat like a ball of poison in her belly. It was getting harder to breathe. 
She had tricked herself into thinking this was the answer when it was really no 
answer at all.
It was a lie straight from the devil. And now it was too late.
The court clerk was reading and Hannah hung on every word. "We, the jury, find 
the defendant, Brian Wesley, guilty of the
crime of drunk driving." She paused and prepared to read the second verdict. 
"We, the jury, find the defendant, Brian Wesley, guilty of the crime of first 
degree-murder against Tom Ryan and Alicia Ryan."
327 He banged his gavel one final time, and Brian Wesley stood to face the 
bailiff. Cameras captured the moment as handcuffs were snapped onto Brian's 
wrists, and he was led away.
It was the first time Matt had been able to look into Brian's eyes since his 
testimony days earlier, and what he saw there was surprisingly familiar. Peace. 
Brian looked content, ready to take his punishment. Matt stared, stunned, and 
suddenly he knew Hannah's concerns had been warranted.
Brian Wesley had the eyes of a believer.
Matt turned toward Hannah and saw that she was still sobbing. He watched her 
hands drop, saw her eyes follow Brian as he was led away. He didn't want her to 
stay around the courtroom. She needed to be home with Jenny. Get her home. Now! 
The urging impelled him from his seat.
"Matt..." She stood up and hugged him, gripping his neck and burying her head in 
his shoulder.
"Shhh...it's all right. It's over now." He knew the cameras were on them and he 
pulled away, studying her face. The hatred was still there. And the bitterness 
and a dozen other emotions with the exception of one: peace.
A reporter made his way over and stood between them. "What's your reaction to 
the verdict, Mrs. Ryan?"
She straightened and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. "I think it's 
wonderful. The streets will be safer when we can be confident about convicting 
repeat drunk drivers of first-degree murder."
"And what about Mr. Wesley? Do you think he deserves the
full sentence, life in prison?"
Matt watched Hannah's eyes narrow, and he cringed at what
was coming.
"Yes. He deserves a life sentence. And then he deserves to
rot in hell."
324
Hannah was barely aware of her surroundings as she drove
Rome. She had expected to feel something. .. elation, excitement, the thrill of 
victory. Something. But as she turned into her driveway she felt strangely numb. 
Exactly the way she'd felt before the verdict. She glanced in her rearview 
mirror and saw Matt pull in behind her. He had talked her into going for lunch, 
but he thought they should tell Jenny the news first.
Together they walked up to the house.
Matt waited while Hannah turned the key. "She can come with us if she wants."
Hannah huffed as she opened the door. "Good luck. Jenny doesn't do anything that 
involves me these days." She headed for the stairs. "Jenny?"
No answer.
"She must be sleeping. Wait here, I'll wake her and tell her the news." Hannah 
trudged up the stairs. She had a throbbing headache and couldn't wait for the 
day to end. She entered the hallway and headed for her daughter's room.
"Jenny, I'm home." Again, no response. She was wasting her time. Jenny wouldn't 
care, anyway. She turned the doorknob to the room, but it was locked.
Hannah sighed impatiently. "Jenny, it's me. Wake up." Nothing. Hannah banged on 
the door.
"Jenny, come on." She was shouting now, angry because she knew her daughter was 
ignoring her.
"Jenny... open the door this instant! Do you understand me?"
Silence. Suddenly Hannah heard voices from the corner of her memory ...The 
principal... "I don't know, Mrs. Ryan, under normal circumstances a girl like 
Jenny would never consider suicide... but now..." Then Matt... "I'm worried 
about her... you don't think she'd try anything crazy, do you?"
328 Terror seized her and she grabbed the door, rattling it frantically. "Jenny, 
open up!"
Twisting the knob roughly, she pushed her shoulder into
the door, but it held. God, no. Please... "Matt!"
He was at her side in seconds. "What-"
`Jenny's locked in there! She won't answer. Open it, Matt.
Whatever it takes, just get it open!"
Jenny, this is Matt Bronzan! Open the door, okay?"
When there was no response, he gently pushed Hannah aside. Then in a single, 
quick motion he jammed his shoulder
against the door, and it flew open. Hannah followed him into
the room, and they saw her. Sprawled out on her bed, her skin
gray, pills scattered on the floor beside her. At the foot of the bed lay a box 
with a note on top of it. Matt picked it up, read
two lines and dropped it. Instantly he grabbed jenny's wrist.
"What's wrong with her?" Hannah screamed. She bent over
Jenny, shaking her.
"I can't find a pulse!" Matt grabbed Hannah's shoulders.
"My God, Hannah, call an ambulance!"
So I say, "My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the LORD." I 
remember my affliction... the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and 
my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call'to mind and therefore I have 
hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed.
LAMENTATIONS 3:18-22
Sometime between watching Matt perform fifteen agonizing
minutes of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on jenny, and hearing
paramedics radio the hospital to inform them a suicide-attempt was coming in; 
sometime between reading jenny's suicide note
in V. ambulance, and authorizing doctors at the emergency room to pump her 
daughter's stomach, Hannah began doing
something she hadn't done in nearly a year.
A Cl..... praye .
326
Mrs. .y
Hannah lifted her head, stared at the doctor, and gasped.
pan? We need to talk about your daughter."
footste s
let her lve. o
Thirty minutes passed before Hannah heard purposeful
1 n n't let her die God, please.
Str uttering
room on a cold, vinyl sofa, Matt at her side. Please, Lord, please
ll the same silent prayer as she sat in the waiting
,-Iii y
An hour after arriving at the emergency room, Hannah was
H ra ers were pure desperate instinct.
the end of herself, of everything she knew about coping.
Not t at s
or that his promises were true. Rather she had simply reached
h he'd had some deep realization that God was real
329 Dr. Cleary. The same doctor who had told her the news about Tom and Alicia.
She screamed then. "No! Not again! Get away!" She bolted
up from the sofa and pushed the doctor out of her way. "Not
Jenny! No! No more!"
She was screaming, struggling to make it to the doorway,
when she felt two firm hands on her shoulders.
"Let me go!" "Hannah-" "Nooooo!" People were watching, getting up and moving
their small children away, but Hannah didn't care. She would not hear the same 
news about Jenny that she'd already heard about Tom and Alicia. She needed 
space, needed air, needed out. Anywhere else. She struggled to break free, but 
now the arms eased firmly around her waist, holding her fast.
"Go away, Doctor! Let me g-" She spun around, and suddenly the fight was gone.
It was Matt. "Matt..."
"Shhh. It's okay. Calm down."
She sagged against him, gasping for air. No matter how
many breaths she drew in, she couldn't get enough oxygen.
Her words came in short, choppy spurts. "Tell... the doctor... to
go... away!"
"Hannah, blow the air out." Matt pulled a few inches back
and spoke to her gently, slowly. "Come on... do it."
Something deep within Hannah knew she needed to obey him. She pursed her lips 
and blew out a puff of air that wouldn't have flickered a birthday candle.
"Again... several times... come on, Hannah, sweetheart."
She sank into him, exhaling three times without taking a
breath. Please God...
Matt met her gaze. "There... better?"
She nodded, but tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. "Stay with me?"
He nodded and gently led her back to where Dr. Cleary was
328
waiting. Matt's arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, supporting her.
"Let's go in another room." Dr. Cleary started to turn. "Wait!" Hannah was 
frozen in place. For an instant her eyes
connected with Dr. Cleary's. She had to know. "She's dead, isn't she?"
Dr. Cleary reached out and touched the side of her arm. "No, Mrs. Ryan, she's 
not dead." He looked about the waiting room and saw that they were alone. "Tell 
you what, let's sit down right here."
Matt and Hannah sat back on the sofa, and Dr. Cleary sat across from them. His 
eyes narrowed with concern. "Mrs. Ryan, Jenny's in a coma. She was very nearly 
successful in her attempt to take her life, and we know she was without oxygen 
for some period of time." He hesitated and looked at Matt. "Are you the one who 
performed CPR on her?"
He nodded.
"It saved her life." His gaze came back to Hannah. "But she's still in critical 
condition. Things could go either way."
Hannah gulped two quick breaths. "What ...what does that mean?"
"Breathe out," Matt whispered, and she obeyed.
"Comas are unpredictable." Dr. Cleary shook his head slightly. "She could come 
out of it today, or not for twenty years. Also there's a chance she may have 
suffered some brain damage."
Hannah couldn't breathe. She gulped huge breaths of air, but it didn't matter. 
Matt was telling her something, but she couldn't hear him. She was growing 
faint..."No...can't be...NotJenny ...it's all my...all my...all my fault..."
Matt caught her as she fell, then she passed out.
Hannah slowly opened her eyes. She was lying on a narrow cot with bright lights 
glaring at her. She felt woozy, her eyelids
331 heavy... and she wanted to close them. She glanced around. Where was she?
Sterile bandages were stacked on a nearby counter, and
there was a chart on the wall detailing various views of the
human ankle before and after injury.
Then it came back in a rush. She was in the emergency
room, and jenny was somewhere lying in a drug-induced
coma. Fear gripped her.
God... please, no! She sat up too quickly and rubbed the
back of her neck. This can't be happening. Tom and Alicia,
dead. Jenny lying in a coma from a drug overdose. She needed
to find jenny and wake her up. She thought of the girl's suicide
note. You've been too busy.... You lost everything that matters....I'm
just in the way.... You can only walk around a museum of memories
for so long.... You don't want me talking about Jesus.... Sometimes I
think I miss him as much as I miss Daddy and Alicia.... This is the
only way...
A powerful desire swept Hannah then. She wanted to be on
her knees, in a chapel. She didn't understand it, didn't question
it. Just felt the sense as it filled her to overflowing. She looked
around. She needed a chapel.
Before she could get her feet on the ground, Dr. Cleary
appeared. "Hannah, how're you feeling?" He came alongside
her and took her pulse.
"I need to go-"
"That's fine. Your vitals are good."
"How's Jenny?" Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her
cheeks.
"The same."
"Matt? Mr. Bronzan...did he go home?"
"No. He's upstairs with Jenny Sitting by her bed. He told
me about the verdict. I've been following it in the papers. I
know it must have been very hard for you." Dr. Cleary paused.
"We're doing our best to make sure the media doesn't find out
about this."
330
Hannah nodded, tears blurring her vision as she stared
down at her leather heels. She was still dressed in the same
skirt and blouse she'd worn for court. Had the verdict been only that morning?
Dr. Cleary interrupted her thoughts. "It was the right verdict." 
She nodded again, silent.
"Listen, Mrs. Ryan, I've asked the hospital social worker to stop in if you'd 
like to talk. You've got a lot to deal with..." Hannah shook her head, but she 
made sure her tone was
kind. "I already have a counselor, Doctor, if you'll give me permission to go 
talk to him."
"Here, at the hospital?" He looked confused.
"Yes." Hannah's head was clearing quickly. She sat up straighter, determined. 
"May I go?"
"Is he expecting you?"
Hannah nodded. "Yes. Can you tell me how to get to the chapel?"
With every step she took, Hannah knew with increasing certainty that God was, 
indeed, expecting her. She knew it because he was speaking to her.
He'd done so before; she knew it. But she'd closed her mind, her heart. 
Now...now her heart was shattered, decimated on the rocks of her rebellion and 
anger. Now her defenses were gone, and all that was left was brokenness... 
contrition...
"I have loved you with an everlasting love... " Yes. Oh, yes... I know...
Still, a hundred thoughts battled for position in her mind, both accusing the 
Lord and assaulting him with questions. Why? Why if you loved me? Why if you 
loved them? Why us? Why when so much of life lay ahead? Why, Lord?
The questions came as steadily as the click of her heels on the hard linoleum 
floor. She was still angry with God, but by
333 the time she reached the chapel, she was absolutely certain that he knew 
that. God was listening. He had never stopped. He was as real as the nightmare 
that had become her life.
"Come, let us reason together... " I'm coming, Father, I'm coming...
She pushed opened the chapel door and crept inside.
Twelve empty, cushioned pews filled the room, and gentle
lights shone on a single object at the front. Hannah moved
slowly down the center aisle, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
It was not an ordinary cross, but a life-size one of two rough-hewn wooden beams 
roped together in the center. It stood there, a challenge to anyone who doubted 
the depth and height and breadth of Christ's love.
A challenge to Hannah.
Tears flooded her eyes, and she took two steps closer.
She had forgotten about the cross. Oh, it was there on the gold chains people 
wore at the grocery store, emblazoned across an occasional bumper sticker or 
novelty T-shirt. But this cross-this symbol of pain and suffering, this weapon 
of splintered wood and iron stakes slicing into the Lord's back, nipping through 
the flesh in his wrists and feet, this reminder of how the Savior gasped for air 
and asked the Father to forgive his killers-this cross would forever show the 
world what Hannah had forgotten until now
Jesus loved her.
She stopped in front of the cross.
"He was... a man of sorrows.:. familiar with suffering....He...
carried our sorrows... the punishment that brought us peace was
upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."
She closed her eyes, not even trying to stop the tears. Peace.
She'd sought it for so long and so hard, and it had been here all
along.
"We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his
own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all..."
Reaching out, Hannah ran her fingertips over the splintery
332
surface of the cross. Anyone who would
for her, had to love her. That truth st
Hannah's knees went weak wit
washed over her. She had suffer
had been worse because she G d for a lie. She had rejecte,
that e Lord would have
battles a e. By
die that kind of death
ck her to the core.
he force of the sorrow that
much this past year, but it
d exchanged the truth about
any comfort or solace or hope
Bred, choosing instead to fight her
so, she had built an icy fortress of selfpity around her heart, shutting out God 
and jenny and anything but her desire for revenge.
The cross towered above her, the beams as thick around as her waist.
She stared up and imagined the Lord looking down at her, forgiving her for 
walking away. And finally, in that moment, the sorrow was more than she could 
take. She wrapped her arms around the cross and wept, loud, inconsolable cries 
for forgiveness. Slowly, humbled by the weight of her sin against God, her arms 
slid down the rough, wooden beam until she lay in a heap at the foot of the 
cross.
Jesus had not stopped loving her when Tom and Alicia were killed. Life took 
place on the enemy's ground. And the enemy would always allow drunk driving and 
senseless murder and evildoers like Brian Wesley.
But there was more to the battle, and for a season Hannah had forgotten. Yes, 
this world was Satan's domain, but God had already won the war. The enemy was no 
longer a threat to Tom and Alicia, for they were celebrating in the very 
presence of the
living God. Tom and Alicia had only been on loan in a place that was never meant 
to last forever.
Our citizenship is in heaven.... The words were a physical comfort to Hannah as 
one after another Scriptures filled her mind. She was only passing through, a 
foreigner in a strange land. Like all who followed Christ, whether she walked 
this planet eight years or eighty it was only a journey. She wouldn't ever 
really be home until she reached heaven's doorsteps.
335 She wept then, remembering the times she had rejected Jenny this past year 
and how she had allowed the girl to stumble through the most difficult time in 
her life with neither her support nor God's.
"I'm sorry, so sorry, Father. Please, don't punish her for my
sin..."
When her weeping finally eased, she prayed-and it was as
if she'd never stopped, as though there'd never been a distance
between her and God.
She was restored. By God's grace and mercy, she'd been
restored.
Lord, I'm sorry. I don't deserve her. But please, if it be your will,
please... please let her live. She sniffed loudly and ran her fingers
underneath her eyes. Come, Holy Spirit. Please come to me. And
whatever happens, Father... Thy will be done....
Suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to read Scripture. She let go of the 
cross and rose to her feet, then made her way into one of the pews and opened a 
Bible. She fanned past the Old Testament, through Matthew and the gospels and on 
into Revelation.
What did one read after being away from Scripture for an
entire year? Lamentations. It was as though Carol Cummins was
sitting beside her, whispering in her ear. Read Lamentations.
Nodding, she flipped back into the Old Testament until she found the book 
written by the prophet Jeremiah. All year Hannah had resisted Carol's advice to 
read this book. Now she devoured the words.
Her eyes filled with tears once more when she reached the
second chapter. "The Lord is like an enemy... my eyes fail from
weeping, I am in torment within, my heart poured out on the ground
because my people are destroyed... you summoned against me terrors
on every side... he has turned his hand against me again and
again... he has made my skin and my flesh grow old...
Hannah thought of how her eyes had changed, how her features had grown hard and 
sour, how even the guilty verdict
334
had not brought her peace/She bowed her head.
"I can't take anymore,~,od...Please ...let her live."
"Hannah."
The voice came rom behind her, and Hannah spun around, wiping at r tears.
att... is it?" She grabbed the Bible and moved to
meet him in the aisle.
He took her hands in his. "It's okay its fenny. nrs eyes
shone with joy, and Hannah's heart leapt. "She's awake, Hannah. She's calling 
for you."
"Oh, dear God, thank you!" Hannah hung her head and cried. How was it possible 
for one person to produce so many tears?
Matt pulled her close and stroked her hair. "It's okay, Hannah. Come 
on...jenny's waiting."
She nodded, her face against his shirt. Then, the Bible still clutched to her 
heart, she walked with Matt back to her daughter.
Jenny looked tired but alert, and Hannah rushed to her side, gently setting the 
Bible down near the girl's feet. "Jenny, honey, are you all right?"
Matt stood on the other side of the bed, his voice kind and concerned. "She 
hasn't said much. Just `Mom.' Dr. Cleary said that was normal."
Hannah lowered her face so it was closer to jenny's. "Oh, Jenny, I'm so sorry, 
honey. I've been awful... it's all my fault." Jenny swallowed and cleared her 
throat. "No."
"Honey, don't try to talk. You need your rest." Hannah stared into her 
daughter's eyes and smoothed a wisp of bangs back off her forehead. "I love you, 
Jenny. Things are going to be different. I'm so sorry. I want us-"
"Mom..." Jenny's voice was hoarse. "Not your fault..." Hannah wanted to tell 
Jenny to rest, to sleep, but she could see the girl had more to say.
337 
"I wanted... to be with Daddy. . .and Alicia."
"I know, sweetheart, I know" She rested her head on Jenny's chest, holding the 
girl close. "I'm so sorry, honey..."
They stayed that way a long time, until finally Hannah straightened and once 
again stroked Jenny's blond bangs. "I understand, sweetheart, really We'll get 
help. For both of us. Things are going to be different."
Jenny nodded and her eyelids lowered. "At the end...I
prayed. I wanted to live, Mom. Really. I love you."
Hannah wrapped her arms around the girl and held her close, whispering into her 
hair. "Thank God... thank God you're alive."
Jenny's eyes opened again, and her gaze was questioning.
"God?"
Across the room Matt grinned at Hannah. "God?"
Hannah's eyes glistened with old and new tears. "Thank God Almighty. I told you 
things were going to be different." Jenny's eyes filled with light, as if God, 
himself, had
breathed new life in them. "Mr. Bronzan says you won." Hannah looked deep into 
her daughter's eyes. "Not really. Not 'til about an hour ago."
Jenny nodded. "I'm glad he's guilty" She glanced at Matt
and then back to Hannah. "I'd like to go to the sentencing... if
that's okay with you."
Hannah felt her heart soar. Not because jenny wanted to
attend the sentencing, but because the girl was alive. And
because after all that had happened, her daughter still loved
her.
Two hours later, Matt had gone home and jenny was sleeping. Dr. Cleary had 
evaluated jenny and determined that her recovery had been utterly miraculous. 
Judging by her vocabulary and clarity of thought, the girl was in the process of 
making a complete recovery.
336
It was late, nearly ten o'clock, and the nurses had prepared a reclining chair 
where Hannah could spend the night. Now, with the lights dim and the hum of 
machinery confirming the fact that jenny was alive and well, Hannah returned to 
Lamentations.
Chapter 3 showed the prophet's change of heart. He was no longer lashing out at 
God, accusing him. She read, curious-and suddenly her eyes stumbled onto 
something that made her catch her breath.
"I remember my affliction... and my soul is downcast within me.... Yet this I 
call to mind and therefore I have hope:... Because of the Lord's great love we 
are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.... They are new every morning; 
great is your faithfulness."
It was her hymn. She'd known it came from the Bible, but until now she hadn't 
realized where. No wonder God had placed this book on Carol's heart, knowing 
that therein lay the words to Hannah's favorite song.
The melody ran through Hannah's mind, and she wept anew. Jenny was here, alive 
and well. They had their entire future ahead of them, and Brian Wesley was about 
to spend the rest of his life in prison. Indeed, God's compassion would never 
fail her, his mercies were new every morning. Especially today.
Hannah found even more hope at the end of the third chapter: "You have seen, 0 
LORD, the wrong done to me. Uphold my cause!... Pay them back what they deserve, 
0 LORD, for what their hands have done.... "
Hannah closed her eyes. God loved her and forgave her. He was going to help her. 
Brian Wesley was the enemy, the one who had wronged her. Now God would uphold 
her cause and see that Brian Wesley paid.
She closed the Bible and stared at the ceiling. She could hardly wait for the 
sentencing.
339 You have seen, 0 LORD, the wrong done to me. Uphold my cause!... Pay them 
back what they deserve, 
0 LORD .... And may your curse be on them! 
LAMENTATIONS 3:59,64-65 
It happened on the twenty-second straight night of dreaming about the accident. 
At four-thirty in the morning, hours before the sentencing of Brian Wesley, Sgt. 
Miller finally remembered. 
The moment he did, the sergeant's mind was released from what had seemed to be a 
holy vice grip. Like a modern-day Jonah, he had a message to relay to Hannah 
Ryan-and the sooner he did so, the sooner he could get on with his life. 
He climbed out of bed, showered, and found his place at the dining room table. 
He wrote the note quickly, making sure to capture every detail. 
Then, for the first time in three weeks, he drank his morn ing coffee in peace. 
The cameras were back in full force for the sentencing. 
History had been made in the state of California, as evi 
denced by the articles and editorials that had filled the news 
papers every day since the verdict. The facts were in place. Now it was time to 
capture the feelings. 
Hannah and jenny sat in the first row beside Carol 
Cummins. Hannah surveyed the front of the courtroom, 
watching for Brian Wesley. Fourteen months had passed since 
340 he had mowed down her family, taken Tom and Alicia from her-finally she 
would look in his face and tell him how she felt about his actions that day. Her 
scrapbook sat in a bag at her feet.
From what she'd read in Lamentations, Hannah was sure God would fight this 
battle for her. She had a right to her anger. If the prophet Jeremiah could rail 
against a wrongdoer without showing forgiveness, then so could she.
Jenny slipped her hand into Hannah's and squeezed. "Love you, Mom."
Hannah's eyes locked onto Jenny's, and she pulled her
daughter close, gently kissing the side of her head. "Love you,
too, sweetheart. Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."
Jenny nodded and shifted uncomfortably "I know I wanted
to.
Hannah hugged her again and remembered earlier that morning. They had awakened 
at six o'clock, dressed in shorts and T shirts, and headed for the middle school 
track where they walked three miles. It was a routine they'd started when Jenny 
got home from the hospital, and Hannah treasured every step they took together. 
That morning, jenny talked about the collision and finally admitted to Hannah 
that she felt guilty
"Alicia had so much going for her, Mom," Jenny said as they powered around the 
track. "It should have been me who died." "The truth is...you both should have 
died." Hannah was
breathless, but she wanted to make a point. 'Jenny ...the only reason you 
lived... is because God has great plans for you. You're a miracle, honey"
They walked in silence for a length, and then jenny surprised
her. "It's good to hear you talking about God again."
Back at home, they shared breakfast and spoke little about
the hearing. Hannah could sense Jenny's uneasiness, and several times she 
assured her daughter that she didn't have to go. Hannah could hardly believe she 
had berated jenny so badly for not attending the earlier hearings. It was one of 
many areas the Lord had shed light on since jenny's suicide attempt.
Hannah would be grateful as long as she drew breath for this second chance with 
her daughter.
Judge Horowitz entered the courtroom, drawing Hannah's attention back. She sat 
up straighter and wondered again why she still didn't feel complete peace. She 
frowned. She could understand why the verdict hadn't brought her peace. . .but 
neither had her restored relationship with the Lord.
She felt a gentle prodding. Hannah, listen to me...
She recognized his voice, the same sweet calling she'd relied on all her life 
before the accident. What is it, Lord? What else can Ido?
Maybe God wanted her to listen closely to the hearing. Maybe after Brian was 
sentenced she would finally realize that perfect peace-the peace that passes 
understanding.
After all, this was her chance to face Brian Wesley before the court. She would 
tell him about Tom and Alicia. Then, when he was hauled off to prison fully 
aware of how much he'd taken from her... then she would have peace. Wasn't that 
the message of Lamentations?
Jenny glanced over and smiled weakly. "It's almost time." Hannah's eyes locked 
onto the back of Brian Wesley's head. "It's something I have to do." She turned 
to Jenny. "You understand, right?"
Jenny hesitated, and Hannah saw how much she'd aged in the past year. She was 
not the carefree girl she had been when they pulled out of the driveway that 
summer day so long ago. Brian Wesley had taken that, too.
"Yes, Mom. I understand. I'll be praying for you."
The judge banged his gavel twice. "Come to order." He hesitated a moment, 
glancing at the docket before him. "We will proceed with the sentencing of Brian 
Wesley, who has been found guilty of the crime of first-degree murder in the 
deaths of Tom and Alicia Ryan.
"First, I want to state for the record that I have received a pre-sentence 
probation report on the defendant. Because of his
342 history of alcoholism and driving under the influence, the probation 
department is recommending the maximum sentence, to be served concurrently with 
alcohol rehabilitation. The department advises that at such a time as Mr. Wesley 
should be deemed cured of his alcoholism-"the judge raised his eyebrows 
skeptically then cleared his throat and continued-"At that time the department 
suggests Mr. Wesley should be released at the soonest, most reasonable 
opportunity."
Hannah tried to make sense of that and glanced at Matt. His eyes told her it was 
okay, and that was enough.
"Also, I have a letter from-" the judge sorted through a stack of papers until 
he found what he was looking for-"the defendant's ex-wife. She asked that I read 
it for the record and I will do so now."
He held the sheet and read:
"`Dear Judge, My name is Carla, and I was married to Brian Wesley for many 
years. I am raising his son. I saw Brian drink a lot in our marriage, but he 
never raised a hand to me or our boy. He was not a bad man, even though he 
drank. I know what he done is wrong and he should be punished. But I would 
appreciate it if you would be kind and give him the least many years in prison 
as you can. Things are over between us. Little Brian won't never know his Daddy. 
"'
Hannah watched Brian hang his head. She huffed lightly
and angry thoughts fought for position. Good. Grieve. I hope the
boy forgets you ever existed. You deserve every moment of
heartache.
She couldn't wait to tell him so. Hannah, listen to me....
What? I don't understand, Lord. I'm listening as hard as I can. The judge 
finished reading and paused. "Under the California Victim's Rights Act, I will 
now allow any victims who are present to speak."
Matt rose to his feet. "Mrs. Hannah Ryan would like an opportunity, your honor."
"Very well, let the record reflect that Mrs. Ryan, a victim, will be speaking 
next."
Hannah wanted to ask the Lord for strength, but it felt strange. She frowned at 
the odd feeling and instead squeezed Jenny's hand and met Carol's eyes. Then she 
reached for the scrapbook, headed for the witness stand, and took her seat.
She stared at Brian and realized it was the first time she'd seen his face 
during the proceedings. Her eyes narrowed, and she saw Brian struggle beneath 
her gaze. A movement caught her eye, and she saw Matt cross his arms and study 
something on the floor.
Hannah adjusted the microphone and stared at three pages of typed notes. Her 
anger was so intense it might well have been a visible shield about her.
Careful, Hannah. The warning seemed strangely out of place, and she ignored it.
She drew a thin breath. Her hands trembled, and she steadied the letter before 
her. "More than a year ago my husband, Tom, and my two daughters, Alicia and 
Jenny... left home for their annual camping trip. It was something they did 
every year at the end of summer. They were coming home on that August day when-"
Suddenly a sob lodged in Hannah's throat, and she lifted her eyes to meet 
Brian's. For a moment all she wanted to do was spit at him or slap him or knock 
him down. She wanted to hurt him physically the way he'd hurt her. She caught a 
tear on her fingertip and continued. "They were coming home when you killed 
them. You didn't care about who they were or where they were going when you 
killed them. So now I'll tell you who they were. Because I think you need to 
know.
"Tom was..." This was harder than she'd thought. She gulped and swiped at more 
tears. "He was the love of my life. We grew up side by side and thought we'd be 
... together forever."
343
347 Hannah glanced up; Brian was staring at his hands.
"Look at me!" She leaned forward, clutching the stand. She wanted to cross the 
distance between them and-andHer heart pounded as she recognized the truth. Her 
anger was about to explode into a fit of rage. She had to gain control, to say 
these things with dignity. She released a single breath and relaxed back into 
her seat, regaining composure as quickly as she had lost it. When she spoke 
again the anger was there, but it was contained once more. "I asked you to look 
at me, Mr. Wesley. You owe me at least that."
When he met her eyes, she paused, then flipped through her scrapbook and held up 
a photo of Tom. She spoke, not in a voice of sorrow, but of seething, carefully 
managed fury The tears came in streams now, and she gave up fighting them. "Tom 
was all I ever wanted in a man. He was... he was my best friend."
She turned to another page and held up a portrait of Alicia.
"You killed my little girl, too. My precious firstborn." She
looked up and met Brian's gaze. "You wouldn't know anything
about someone like Alicia-" Hannah glanced toward jenny"Or
my other daughter... Jenny. Because people like you, selfish
alcoholics who think nothing of taking a life... people like you
don't have anything in common with people like my girls." She
looked down at her notes and then back at Brian. "Alicia was
beautiful, inside and out. She would have done anything for
anyone and usually she did. You killed her and..."
That was as far as she got. She began sobbing. Unable to hold back the sorrow, 
she put head down in her hands.
She didn't know how long she sat there, weeping, but when she felt someone at 
her elbow, she lifted her head and saw Matt with a box of tissues. He placed a 
supportive hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Hannah met his eyes and 
nodded.
Sitting straighter, she sniffed and blew her nose. There were things she needed 
to say, and she had to say them now, to Brian Wesley's face, or she would spend 
the rest of her life
344
ti
angry at missing the opportunity
Peace. After this I'll have peace. She glanced at the judge. "I'm sorry.
" Judge Horowitz nodded, his eyes compassionate. "That's all right, Mrs. Ryan. 
Please continue."
Hannah nodded and swallowed. Then she caught Brian Wesley's eyes once more and 
finished. "You killed Alicia, and any children she may have borne. You killed 
her family... because of-of your selfish choice. You killed her future." She 
shuffled pages until she was staring at the third page. "I no longer have a 
husband. I no longer have my oldest daughter. And my youngest daughter, Jenny-" 
tears coursed down her face but she continued-`Jenny has suffered severely 
because of this. She will not have her sister to share the future with....She 
will not have a father to walk her down the aisle when she gets married."
Hannah looked up and found she still had Brian's attention. "For a long time I 
hated God because of what you did. Now I know I was wrong about that. This 
wasn't God's fault, it was yours." She was nearing the end, and she leaned 
forward again, spewing hatred with every word. "You... you are a despicable 
human being. Worthless... hopeless... heartless... without any concern for the 
lives of those around you."
Hannah, Hannah, Hannah...
What was the Lord trying to tell her? Why now? Hannah pushed the thoughts away. 
Whatever it was, she would have to worry about it later.
When she continued, her voice was slightly more controlled. "Today, before this 
courtroom, I am asking judge Horowitz to hand down the stiffest, most severe 
punishment he can legally assign. You are an animal, a ruthless, cold-blooded 
killer who will kill again and again until someone locks you
11
11
V,
She drew a trembling breath, and when she spoke again her voice was a snakelike 
hiss, each word pronounced with
348 increasing rage. "I hope you rot in hell, Mr. Wesley Because I will 
never..." 
Hannah! "-ever ... forgive you for what you took from me." 
Brian hung his head. Hannah collected her scrapbook and excused herself from the 
witness stand. There. She had done it. But instead of the peace she had hoped to 
feel, she felt choked by the same emotion that had strangled her since the 
accident: merciless, bitter hatred. 
Moreover, our eyes failed, looking in vain f or help; 
from our towers we watched f or a nation that could not save us. 
LAMENTATIONS 4:17 
When Hannah said she wanted Brian Wesley to rot in hell, Matt linked his hands 
and lowered his head until it was resting on his fingertips. Lord, this can't be 
what you want from Hannah. Help her, please. The anger is going to kill her. 
He let go a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, know ing there was more to 
come. 
"Are there any other victims who wish to speak?" Judge Horowitz looked to Matt, 
and then Hannah. 
`No, your Honor." Matt rose briefly and then sat back down. Brian Wesley was 
next, and Matt had a sudden urge to join Hannah, to put an arm around her and 
steady her. He couldn't explain it, but he was sure she wasn't going to like 
what Brian Wesley was about to say. 
"Very well." The judge turned to Finch. "Would the defen dant like to speak on 
his behalf?" 
"Yes, your Honor." Brian Wesley made his way slowly to the witness stand. He 
hung his head and didn't look up until he'd been sitting for several seconds. He 
had no notes. 
Dressed in jailhouse orange, his hair poorly cut, his body bent and rail thin, 
Matt thought the man looked the part Hannah had assigned him. A cold-blooded 
killer. A criminal who didn't care who he hurt. But there was something in Brian 
Wesley's eyes.... 
Brian lifted his head and searched the courtroom until he 
349 found Hannah, and Matt held his breath as Brian began to speak.
"Mrs. Ryan, I agree with everything you just said. You're
right. It was all my fault, and I deserve my punishment."
Matt glanced once more at Hannah; she looked like a human fortress, arms 
crossed, body back against her chair, eyebrows lowered suspiciously.
Please, Lord...
Brian continued. "I am worthless, despicable, and untrustworthy on the streets 
of this city. But there is one thing I'm not. And that's hopeless." His gaze 
didn't waver. "What I did was terrible and wrong, and before these witnesses 
today I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm sorry Mrs. Ryan, really-" his voice 
broke-"if I could change it, I would. If I could go back..."
As Matt watched and listened, he had the surest sense that Brian Wesley's 
remorse was genuine. He looked at Hannah... did she see it, too? No, one side of 
her upper lip lifted, and she laughed without the slightest trace of humor.
Brian went on, undaunted. "I can't go back, Mrs. Ryan. But I am sorry. I'll be 
sorry every day, the rest of my life. But I do have hope because of someone I 
met after my arrest... someone who's here today. She told me about Jesus and how 
his blood had already paid the price for my horrible sins. I gave my life to 
him, Mrs. Ryan."
Hannah's face lost all its color, and she looked frozen in icy
shock.
"That woman told me Jesus loved me even though I killed
your husband and daughter. But she told me something else.
She told me it was right for me to serve time here, now. In this
life. I done the crime, and now I need to do the time. She's
been the best friend I could ever have hoped for. You know
her. Carol Cummins."
Matt watched helplessly as Hannah was cut by the truth.
After today Carol would be on Hannah's hate list as well-and
it would take all Hannah's time, all her energy, and what was
348
left of her beauty to tend to the bitter root that was even now spreading 
through her heart. His eyes shifted and fell on Jenny She, too, looked stunned 
as she hung on to her mother's arm.
Brian rattled on about the virtues of Carol and how she had brought him a Bible 
and led him to the Lord, but Hannah was barely listening. Carol Cummins? The 
woman she had confided in nearly every day since the collision? Carol was... the 
enemy? Hannah turned in her seat and glared at Carol.
Carol sighed and spoke in a whisper. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I wanted to tell you-"
"Don't talk to me!"
The same sense of shock she'd felt when she first learned of the collision hit 
her again. Her entire world was suddenly upside down, and she wanted to grab 
Jenny's hand and run from the courtroom.
Brian Wesley was talking to her again.
"I may be in prison for the rest of my days, Mrs. Ryan, and it serves me right. 
But believe me, I am a new man because God used Mrs. Cummins to change my life 
forever." He paused and kept his eyes on Hannah's. "I am sorry, Mrs. Ryan. I'll 
be sorry for the rest of my life. And I don't blame you if you never forgive 
me."
Brian finished, and Hannah had a hard time making her mouth work as she 
whispered to Jenny, "I'll be in the hall." The judge dismissed them for a 
fifteen-minute break, but Hannah was out of the courtroom before he finished 
speaking.
Matt watched Hannah go. The moment he was free, he left the courtroom and found 
her staring out a dusty window, her arms crossed.
"Hannah-" She spun around. "Were you in on this, too? This.. .this
351 betrayal with Brian Wesley?" 
Matt wanted to pull her close and soothe away the shock, but not with reporters 
lurking nearby He held her gaze and shook his head. "I knew nothing about it." 
She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back toward the window. Her voice 
was a strangled whisper. "How could she?" 
He had an answer, but not one Hannah was ready to hear. "Come on, let's get 
back. It's been almost fifteen minutes." When they returned, Matt saw that Carol 
was gone. He 
wondered if the two women would ever speak again. They took their seats and 
waited. 
Less than a minute later, Judge Horowitz returned and shuf fled through a slight 
stack of papers. "I have reached a deci sion-" he looked up and met Brian 
Wesley's gaze-"young man, you have made some very poor choices in your life, and 
they resulted in a first-degree murder conviction. It is up to me to decide 
whether you should serve twenty-five years or longer for your crimes. 
"I considered the letters for and against you, listened to arguments in which 
people asked for the minimum sentence and the maximum. Before I read the 
sentence, I want you to know that I based my decision primarily on your history 
of drinking and driving. I believe you cannot be trusted with standard alcohol 
treatment programs or promises to stay away from the wheel of a car. I believe 
you are a dangerous and very real risk to this community. Because of that, I 
hereby sentence you to serve fifty years in the state penitentiary." 
There was a rustling throughout the courtroom as the news sank in. Judge 
Horowitz had made legal history; he'd sen tenced Brian Wesley to the longest 
prison term ever handed down for deaths by driving under the influence. 
Matt glanced at Hannah and saw she and jenny hugging. He could tell by the way 
Hannah's shoulders shook that she was crying. It was everything she had hoped 
for. A murder-one 
350 
verdict and a record-breaking prison sentence. And yet... Hannah looked more 
heartbroken than ever. Please, God, help her... 
"Order..." The judge frowned at the crowd. "Order! Immediately!" He returned his 
gaze to Brian. "With time off for good behavior, it is possible you will be up 
for parole in fifteen years, but not sooner. That is all. Court dismissed." 
Hannah knew the reporters were waiting. This was her big moment, the chance to 
tell the world thank you. She had won in every possible way except the one that 
really mattered. 
Tom and Alicia were still gone. 
And now there was something new that grieved her nearly as much as the loss of 
her family. If Brian Wesley was telling the truth, if Carol had indeed betrayed 
her and led him to the Lord, then no prison could contain him now. If he was a 
Christian, then he was saved by the blood of Christ, heaven bound and free 
indeed. He might live a season behind bars, but he would spend eternity in a 
mansion. Worst of all, one day when Hannah was reunited with Tom and Alicia... 
Brian Wesley, the man she'd come to hate with a driving passion, would be there, 
too. 
It was the greatest injustice of all, and more than she could stomach. Carol's 
betrayal felt like a javelin piercing her midsec tion. Jenny had to be feeling 
the same, but she hadn't spoken a word. Maybe she didn't understand the 
implications of what Brian had said. 
The courtroom buzzed with activity, and jenny leaned against Hannah. "You did 
good, Mom. He won't hurt anyone else." 
Hannah squeezed her daughter's hand and dabbed at her tears. She kept her eyes 
forward and watched while the bailiff came for Brian and led him away This was 
it. The moment of peace. 
353 But it didn't come.
Instead Hannah felt strangled and angry and tired and betrayed.
Brian wasn't in prison. She was.
She led jenny into the hallway and answered a handful of questions from the 
media. Then she caught a glimpse of Carol leaving the courtroom. She must have 
sneaked back in before the sentencing, and now she was trying to get away 
without speaking to Hannah.
She thanked the reporters and turned to Jenny. "Honey, I
need to talk to someone. Why don't you go wait over there
with Mr. Bronzan." She pointed to where Matt stood in the
doorway of the courtroom, talking with several spectators.
Jenny nodded and moved toward Matt. Ever since learning how he had saved her 
life, jenny had opened herself to him.
Now, just two weeks later, the two were fast friends.
Once Jenny was safely in a conversation with Matt, Hannah raced down the hallway 
Carol was about to board an elevator. "Wait!"
Hannah expected Carol to be embarrassed, ashamed of
what she'd done. Instead when Carol turned, her expression
held no apologies. She waited while Hannah quickly closed the
distance between them.
They stood face to face, and Hannah felt her eyes fill with
tears. "Is it true?"
Carol did not blink. She nodded solemnly. "I had to, Hannah."
Hannah had fought so long and so hard she had little energy
left for this battle, but somehow she summoned anger from the
shards of her broken heart. She did not scream or rant, but there
was venom in her voice. "You were supposed to be my friend."
"This isn't the time..." Carol started to turn back toward the elevator.
"Wait a minute! Don't tell me this isn't the time. You're the
one who broke my trust."
352
Carol sighed. "I don't expect you to understand, Hannah. Not now, anyway"
Hannah's hands flew to her hips. "I'll never understand. I poured my heart out 
to you. I thought you were on my side." Carol stared at Hannah, clearly puzzled. 
"Are you so far
gone, Hannah, that you don't remember the very basic truths
of the faith?"
She stared at Carol. What on earth was she talking about? "Don't give me a 
sermon-" she waved her hand toward the window-"there are a million people out 
there looking for a savior, Carol. And you had to give the good news to Brian 
Wesley? Brian Wesley?"
"I gave it to the person God asked me to give it to." Carol hesitated. "After my 
husband died, I gave a Bible to the man who killed him. It was the only way I 
could finally let go and forgive. I've been giving Bibles to drunk drivers ever 
since."
Hannah was stunned. "From your office at MADD?"
"No. From my office at Church on the Way. I head up the prison ministry there."
Carol might as well have punched her in the stomach. "Well, maybe you should 
have told me sooner so I could be prepared. Hearing Brian Wesley give you credit 
for his conversion-" Hannah spat the word-"was like getting news that Tom and 
Alicia had been killed all over again."
Carol sighed. "I'm sorry you feel that way. All I can tell you is my concern for 
you was, and is,'genuine. Usually I don't get involved with victims, but Sgt. 
Miller thought.. .oh, never mind. I never meant to do anything that would hurt 
you."
Hannah was speechless. "How did you think I'd react? Surely you didn't expect me 
to fall facedown in the courtroom and praise God over one sinner repenting of 
his way. That man killed Tom and Alicia. He is a worthless human being."
Carol's reply was so soft Hannah barely heard it. "Not to Jesus."
She clenched her teeth. "I have nothing else to say to you.
355 You...You betrayed me. You're on his side, not mine." She leveled bitter 
eyes at Carol. "I hope heaven is a big place because I want to live eternity 
without ever seeing you or Brian Wesley"
Hannah didn't wait for a reply as she left Carol standing there. She found jenny 
and bid Matt goodbye.
Matt looked concerned. "You okay? Want me to come with you?" Hannah smiled 
through her tears. At least he was genuine. He was the only friend she had, he 
and jenny
"That's all right." The reporters were gone, and she leaned toward him, wrapping 
her arms around his neck and resting her head on his chest. They had been 
through so much over the past year, she almost felt like she'd known him a 
decade or more. "Thank you, Matt. I'll never be able to repay you for what 
you've done."
He pulled away and searched her eyes. "Would it be okay if I took you and jenny 
out for dinner? It'd be a shame to stop spending time together now. Besides. . 
.1 want to talk to you about Carol."
Hannah laughed bitterly. "After the past month I'd say we better make it dinner 
once a week." She thought of jenny and her voice grew serious. "I don't know 
what I would have done without you."
Jenny moved closer and hugged Matt's waist. "Me, too, Mr. Bronzan. After I took 
the pills I prayed God would save me and he did. He sent you."
When she and her daughter left the courthouse minutes later, Hannah had a strong 
feeling something was missing. She checked her purse and found her car keys and 
her sunglasses. Then it hit her. She had expected to feel a sense of relief, to 
walk out of the courthouse that day a different woman. And in that light 
something was indeed missing. Hannah felt fresh tears as she realized what it 
was.
It was peace.
354
Restore us to yourself, 0 LORD, that we may return; renew our days as of old 
unless you have utterly rejected us
and are angry with us beyond measure.
LAMENTATIONS 5:21-22
The plain white envelope lay on her front doorstep, tucked neatly under the 
welcome mat. Jenny had already gone upstairs to change clothes when Hannah 
spotted it and sighed. She didn't know if she had the energy to pick it up. The 
day had been long, and she felt strangely defeated. The sense of victory and 
accomplishment had never come, and the peace she had so desperately sought had 
turned out to be as elusive as justice was.
She stared at the envelope. Advertising.
Yet as she moved into the house, something made her stop and pick it up. She 
slit it open and gently removed the letter. It was simple, less than a page. 
Hannah began to read.
"Dear Mrs. Ryan, My name is Sgt. John Miller. I worked the accident scene the 
day your husband and daughter were killed. I came to your house with the news 
that day, and later I talked with you at the hospital. You may not remember me, 
but I remember you. For the past several months I've been thinking about the 
accident almost as if God wanted me to remember something."
Hannah's heart beat faster. What was this? Why now?
"This morning, I remembered what it was. I was with your husband in the minutes 
before he died, and he wanted me to give you a message. He wanted you to know he 
loved you and the girls-"
Hannah closed her eyes and remembered Dr. Cleary telling
357 her Tom's final words. Tears stung her eyes and she read on. "-but there was 
something else. And that's what I finally
remembered this morning. At the time it didn't make sense, and I figured he must 
have been hallucinating or suffering the effects of blood loss. But now I am 
convinced that I need to deliver his message to you in its entirety.
"Tom told me to tell you to forgive, Mrs. Ryan. He wanted you to forgive."
Hannah's eyes locked on the word, hearing it as Tom had
spoken it years ago when Hannah was mad at the boy who
beat her at basketball... and again years later when Tom
reminded her there was no victory in holding a grudge against
the girl he nearly married, no gain in hating her....
"Forgive her, Hannah... let it go." She heard it as clearly as if Tom was saying 
it to her.
Then, like a parade in her mind, Hannah recalled a dozen times Tom had told her 
that over the years. She closed her eyes, choking back a sob. And now... even 
after he'd been gone for so many months... he was telling her again.
Her eyes ran over the sentence until it was seared in her heart. "Tom told me to 
tell you to forgive, Mrs. Ryan."
Forgive. Forgive. He wanted you to forgive.
She moved outside and sank into the porch swing along the side of the house. It 
was a private spot bordered by jasmine. Hannah knew jenny wouldn't come looking 
for her yet, and she was grateful. Her entire body was numb from the shock. Tom 
had known.
He had laid there in the middle of the twisted wreckage of the Explorer, aware 
his minutes were numbered, and he had
thought of her. The collision hadn't been his fault, and he knew that someday, 
somehow, Hannah was going to hold his death against someone. He better than 
anyone knew what would happen then. And so his final words had been for her: 
Forgive, Hannah. Please forgive.
"I can't, Tom, it's not fair. I have a right to this..." Her voice
356
was a tortured whisper as trails of tears made their way down her face. "He did 
it on purpose."
But Tom's words, his final message, remained. Forgive, Hannah... forgive.
She wept, imagining her dying husband worrying about the condition of her heart. 
Did he know her that well? Did he know she would turn her back on God? That her 
unforgiving heart would force her to forfeit a relationship with the savior?
Hannah's answer came from deep within. Yes. Tom had known.
And God had placed it on Sgt. Miller's heart until finally he remembered Tom's 
words and brought them to her now.
She wept and prayed and fought the message. She did not want to forgive Brian 
Wesley. Indeed she would rather die than do such a vile thing. Eventually she 
crept back into the house and found jenny napping on the sofa. Hannah found her 
Bible on the end table and carried it back outside.
Maybe there was something else in Lamentations, something she'd missed. After 
all, if Jeremiah had felt it was all right to be angry with his enemies, didn't 
she have the same right? She had been in Scripture many times since the night in 
jenny's hospital room... but she had never finished Lamentations. She opened it 
now and began chapter 4 again, reaffirming her reasons for asking God to pay 
back Brian Wesley and curse him.
Then she read chapter 5. At first the lament sounded familiar, similar to the 
rest of the book. Then her eyes fell on something that caused her heart to skip 
a beat.
`Joy is gone from our hearts; our dancing has turned to mourning. The crown has 
fallen from our head. Woe to us, for we have sinned!... Restore us to yourself, 
0 LoRD, that we may return; renew our days as of old unless you have utterly 
rejected us and are angry with us beyond measure."
Hannah stared at the words as the reality hit. We have sinned... restore us... 
angry with us. Jeremiah and his people had suffered great loss. They had been 
victims in every possible
359 way, yet at the end of the book of Lamentations Jeremiah was
confessing sin. Repenting. Apologizing. Asking God to restore him and his people 
and hoping God would not be too angry with them.
Hannah searched her heart and tried to imagine what she
had done wrong, what sin she had committed that could possibly
require repentance. She had made things right with jenny
What else was there?
Again, as though Tom were standing before her, she heard
the words: Forgive, Hannah... forgive.
Tom's words pierced her heart. She was guilty after all.
With a heart so troubled she thought she might die from the pain, she began to 
pray, wondering, like Jeremiah, if it was too late, if she had made God too 
angry.
Scripture memorized years ago came rushing back.
"Forgive and you will be forgiven...If you forgive men when they sin against 
you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men 
their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins... forgive as the Lord 
forgave you."
Hannah closed her eyes and let the truth wash over her. As
it did, she read Sgt. Miller's letter once more, hearing Tom's
voice as he spoke his words of love to her. She sighed heavily,
folded the letter, and stood on wobbly legs.
She knew what she had to do...and she was fairly certain it
would kill her. But it was what Tom wanted. What God wanted.
It was just a matter of doing it.
Making her way to the kitchen telephone, Hannah lifted the
receiver and took the first step.
A woman answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
Hannah paused. "Carol, it's Hannah. I have something to tell you...."
358
GU"
Because of the LORD'S great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never 
fail.
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
LAMENTATIONS 3:22-23
A warm breeze picked up speed across a dirty, vacant field and brushed over 
jenny and the tall man sitting beside her. Bits of trash and dirty cigarette 
butts mixed within the weeds that grew from cracks in the asphalt, and jenny 
wondered what it was like inside. She was quiet, hands folded in her lap as she 
turned once more to watch the visitor entrance.
"How long do you think it'll take?" She looked at Matt Bronzan. He'd had so many 
of the answers they'd needed over the last year... she was sure he had this one, 
too.
He turned toward her and leaned over, resting his forearms on his thighs. "Takes 
a while to get through security."
Jenny nodded. There were dozens of strange characters scattered throughout the 
outdoor waiting area. Occasionally someone would come from inside with a small 
bag of belongings and wander off toward a dirty, graffiti-covered bus stop. The 
freeway was only a hundred yards away, and the grime and pollution of inner-city 
life filled the air.
None of it mattered, though, with Matt beside her. She moved closer to him and 
sighed. "Sometimes I miss Daddy and Alicia so much...."
Matt nodded. "There'll always be times." There was an easy silence between them.
"Matt..." Jenny studied his eyes intently. She'd wanted to
361 ask this question for the last three months, ever since she saw him hug her 
mother... well, in that way. "Can I ask you a question?" 
"Sure." Matt smiled at her.
"Do you love my Mom?"
His expression changed and he sat straighter. His eyes
looked suddenly bright, and she saw the hint of a smile on his
lips. "Well, young lady, where did that come from?"
Jenny shrugged. "I don't know. You're here, aren't you?" Matt nodded and stroked 
his chin with his thumb. "You have a point there."
Jenny giggled. "It's okay. I like you being here."
Matt leaned closer, and a pang went through her. His eyes were so full of 
wisdom. Just like her dad's eyes had been.... "Let's make it our secret for now, 
okay?"
She grinned. "So I'm right? You do love her?"
Matt shook a playful finger at her. "Oh, no you don't. I'm the lawyer, 
remember?"
Jenny laughed again. It felt so good to laugh. "Okay, you
win. I won't say anything."
"You're a good girl, Jenny Ryan."
She met his eyes again. "But you do love her-" `Jenny..."
She felt her grin widen at the teasing threat in his tone. This
was going to be fun. She hugged herself, then her smile faded.
Biting her lip, she glanced up at him. "I know it's too soon to
tell the future... but Matt, please don't ever go away"
He stared at her, and she felt the warmth of his love-of Christ's love-surround 
her.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jenny. You can count on that."
"Promise?" She felt like a little girl, clinging to all she had
left in the world.
Matt put an arm around her and pulled her close. She snuggled
against him, smiling as his answer washed over her.
"Promise."
360
Hannah had moved through several levels of security and now she was in a holding 
chamber, waiting for the signal. She thumbed through her Bible and found the 
letter from Sgt. Miller. She had made the appointment six weeks ago, now she had 
to follow through. And yet she still felt like she wore shackles on her feet, 
chains around her wrists....
She wanted to forgive, really. But she was having trouble seeing Brian Wesley as 
worthy. Even now. Forgiveness was Tom's gift, not hers.
A heavy steel door opened and a uniformed officer stepped into the waiting room. 
"Mrs. Ryan?"
Hannah stood. "Yes?"
"We're ready for you." He looked at her Bible. "You'll have to leave all your 
belongings with me."
Hannah nodded and did as she was told. "Right this way."
She followed, feeling as if she were being led to the executioner's block.
The deputy stopped at a door with barred windows and opened it with a key. He 
stared at the prisoner shackled to a chair inside then turned to Hannah. "Ten 
minutes."
Hannah stepped inside, refusing to look at him. Not yet. She stared at the floor 
and found a seat at the simple, pressed wood table. She could see his feet, just 
across from her. Help me, God. I still want to choke him, hit him, make him 
suffer for what he did.
Forgive... forgive, Hannah.
She squeezed her eyes shut and felt two tears slither down her cheeks. She 
swallowed. Please, God. Give me strength. It was now or never. She had just ten 
minutes.
He interrupted her thoughts. "You... you wanted to see me?" Hannah lifted her 
head and met his eyes-and gasped softly. In that moment she didn't see the eyes 
of an alcoholic, of a
363 killer. She saw Tom Ryan's eyes... gentle, spirit-filled eyes. The 
unmistakable eyes of a godly man.
In the face of those eyes, Hannah did the only thing she could do: she broke 
down and wept.
Brian shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure what to say
The minutes were getting by, and Hannah knew it was time. She fought for control 
over her tears and wiped her eyes. "You told me...at the sentencing that you 
were sorry."
He hung his head, and an errant tear slipped onto the table. "I am sorry, Mrs. 
Ryan. Every day... every minute."
Hannah nodded. Her stomach was in knots and she swallowed hard. And now she knew 
why she'd felt shackled. She had been locked in a prison of bitterness and hate, 
and only Tom's dying words had reminded her of God's truth: "You shall know the 
truth, and the truth shall set you free..."
Free. She longed to be free. At peace.
She had lived in the dark prison of hate for too long. The way out was right in 
front of her. She took a deep breath.
"I forgive you, Brian." Fresh tears filled her eyes. "It is what my husband 
wanted. . .what God wants. And now, it's what I want, too."
The words were no sooner past her lips than she felt it...a
rush of peace so real, so sweet and comforting, that it took her
breath away It coursed through her entire body, and she felt
like a wind-up toy whose workings had been fully released....
She settled back into her chair, the tension she'd felt earlier completely gone.
This was what she'd waited months to feel, and she chuckled softly. How ironic 
that it was here, locked in a boxy room face to face with Brian Wesley, that she 
felt more peace than at any time since her life had been ravaged by the 
accident. Her smile broadened. How pleased Tom would be if he could see this. A 
second wave of peace washed over her.
He could.
Brian's mouth hung open, and he looked from side to side,
362
as though this might all be some kind of joke. Fumbling with his fingers, he 
began speaking in quick jerky sentences. "You don't... you don't have to forgive 
me, Mrs. Ryan. Really... It was my fault. All my fault....You don't need to 
forgive me. I don't deserve it. I don't-"
Hannah held up a hand, and he fell silent. "None of us deserves it, Brian. This 
wasn't a decision I made lightly. I understand now that no matter what you did, 
Carol was right. Jesus loves you, and...he wants me to forgive you. For your 
sake. And for mine."
Hannah felt God urging her to go one step further, and she did so without 
hesitation. "I believe you mean what you say, that you're sorry and you never 
want to hurt anyone else the way you hurt me." She paused, amazed at how easily 
the next words were coming. "I want to pray with you, Brian."
His eyes grew wide. "Carol told me crazy things would happen if I gave my life 
to the Lord, but I never... not this crazy-" Hannah smiled, wanting to weep all 
over again. How much
time she'd wasted.... "We serve an amazing God. I've had to learn that the hard 
way." She reached toward him and held out her hands, palms up. Slowly, almost 
reverently, he placed his shackled hands in hers. She closed her fingers around 
them, the hands that had slapped money down on a bar fourteen months ago, hands 
that had raised one drink after another to his lips until he was too drunk even 
to walk a straight line, hands that turned a key in the ignition and steered a 
truck through a red light into the side of her family's Explorer.
They were the hands of a killer, but Hannah held them warmly. As she did, she 
felt only freedom, and her heart soared with hope. She bowed her head.
"Lord, thank you for this meeting, for bringing me to this point in my life." 
There were tears in her eyes and she swallowed hard. "You know what I've been 
through ... what has led me to this decision. And you know that I am sincere 
when I say I forgive Brian.
365 "Please be with him now, Lord. He has a long time to spend in prison and... 
and I pray you use him to touch the lives of others around him." She paused as a 
sob caught in her throat. "Help him forgive himself, Lord. In Jesus' name, 
amen."
There was a knock on the door, and the deputy walked in. "Time's up."
Hannah squeezed Brian's hands, and he looked deep into
her eyes. "Thank you, Mrs. Ryan."
She pointed heavenward and nodded as she stood to leave. Without looking back 
she followed the deputy down the hallway Her battle against drunk driving was 
not over. She had her priorities straight now, but she knew, as long as she drew 
breath, she would stay involved in the fight for tougher laws and greater 
awareness.
Ahead sunlight flooded the jail, and Hannah was overcome with the need to be 
back outside, where her future waited. She peered through the double glass 
doors, and among the sea of people waiting in the lobby, she saw them looking 
for her. Matt had a protective arm around Jenny She ached knowing that Tom would 
never again be there to protect their daughter. But the fact remained that there 
would be times when the girl needed protecting. This was one of those 
times....Matt was here and he was real. As she made her way to them, she thanked 
God for his presence in their lives.
They both saw her at the same instant, and another sob caught in Hannah's throat 
once they were all together. There were tears in both Matt's and Jenny's eyes as 
they looked at her expectantly
"Well?" Jenny took a step closer and hugged her gently, laying
her head on Hannah's chest.
Hannah nodded. "I did it-" Her voice broke, and she hung her head as Matt put 
his arms around both her and Jenny in an embrace that needed no words.
It felt as though a horrible chapter in her life was finally over. As freeing as 
it had been to go to Brian, to forgive him,
364
the reality of what had just transpired left her drained.
They held each other for a while, connected in every way that mattered, until 
finally Hannah stopped crying and caught her breath. "I have a crazy thing I 
want us to do." She looked from Jenny to Matt.
"What?" Jenny wiped her cheeks with her sweater sleeves and looked confused. "I 
thought you'd wanna talk about Brian and whatever happened in there."
Matt raised a curious eyebrow, and Hannah caught his gaze and held it. "Later. I 
promise. But right now I want you to sing with me. Please. Both of you."
"Sing?" Matt still had one arm around Hannah, one around Jenny.
Hannah nodded. "My song. `Great Is Thy Faithfulness."'
A look of understanding filled Matt's eyes, and he bowed his head. Then in a 
voice that was both quiet and strong, he began to sing.
And there, in the midst of bedraggled prisoners struggling with their first 
moments of freedom and hollow-eyed parents waiting and wondering where they went 
wrong, the song began to build.
Three voices rang as one, reaching the end of the first verse and launching into 
the chorus: "Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness..."
The defeated and desperate around them lifted their eyes and listened until a 
worn-out woman in the comer stood on shaky legs and joined in. Hannah smiled at 
her and watched as a white-haired man farther down the bench rose to his feet 
and added his voice.
Another and another stood until there were ten people standing amidst fifty. Ten 
hapless, harried souls who, in that moment, found hope in the message. Finally 
even the hardest eyes around them grew noticeably softer.
"Morning by morning new mercies I see..." Hannah continued to sing, studying the 
strangers whose voices joined hers.
367 She saw pain there, suffering... and something deep within her told her they 
knew what it was to walk away from a loving God when life didn't turn out like 
it was supposed to. They knew what it was to struggle with pain and anger, 
waiting for morning.
If she could, she would take each one and tell them they
didn't have to give up, that in Christ there really was hope. It
might take months or even years but one day, as sure as every
one of God's promises was true, morning would come.
She held tighter to Matt and jenny, warmth filling her heart. She was going to 
survive. God's love had filled her future with bright possibilities.
Her voice grew stronger.
This was her song. It would always be her song. And some
far-off day she would sing it in the presence of her mighty and
loving Lord, with Tom and Alicia at her side.
She closed her eyes and with a full heart lifted her hands toward heaven, 
singing to an audience of One.
"All I have needed, thy hand hath provided. Great is thy faithfulness, great is 
thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me."
366
Author's Note
I hope you have gained much by traveling with Hannah Ryan through the truths of 
Lamentations. There were times-in the early stages of writing this book-when I 
thought about scrapping the idea, writing something simpler and easier to 
produce than a story about a family devastated by a-drunk driver. Especially a 
faith-filled family like the Ryans. But I believe God has allowed me this time 
and place to produce fiction for a reason. People of faith have struggles, too. 
They hurt and die and are tempted. The characters in my books will likely always 
be dealing with more than a jilted love. They will be real people, dealing with 
real issues. And I hope, because of that, they will help you, the reader, grow 
in your faith.
I pray that the underlying message in Waiting for Morning was clear: bad things 
do happen to good people. And not all Christians respond to tragedy by falling 
on their knees and reaching for their Bibles. Sometimes we travel a long, dark 
night waiting for morning.
It's like Jesus said when he assured his disciples, "I have told you these 
things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble, 
but take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33).
What assurance! What perfect peace! What a glorious morning awaits those who, 
like Hannah, learn to take their burdens to the foot of the cross.
If you have ever faced such a journey, it is my prayer that after reading 
Waiting for Morning you know you are not alone. Whatever you are facing today, 
God sees you, he loves you, and he has already won the battle for those whose 
faith is in him.
I've heard it said that all of us are either coming out of a trial, heading into 
a trial, or living through a trial. Drunk driving, car accidents, illness, 
financial struggles, relational breaks,
369 marital unfaithfulness ... these are things that happen to everyone. The 
difference is how we choose to respond, where we find our strength.
Many of you reading this book already have that sweet fellowship
with our Lord. For you I offer encouragement and ask
you to pass this book on to someone who feels alone in his or
her trial.
But for you who have not made a commitment to Jesus Christ, there is no better 
time than now. Accept his free gift of grace, buy a Bible, find a 
Bible-believing church. Otherwise when the trials come, you will have no morning 
to wait for.
May God bless you and keep you in his care and may his face shine like the dawn 
even in the darkest of days. Until next time...
The publisher and author would love to hear your comments about this book. 
Please contact no at:
wwwletstalkfiction.com
368
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Was there a time in your life when you felt you were
"waiting for morning"? Describe that time?
2. What did you do to survive? What would you do differently based on what you 
know today?
3. In what ways did you see God's hand at work during that time? What good has 
come from it?
4. Which character in Waiting for morning could you most identify with? Which 
character could you least identify with? Why or why not?
5. List as many ways as you can remember where God showed His mercy to Hannah in 
her darkest days. How has God shown His mercy to you in yours?
370 6. Read Lamentations 3:22-23. What are the promises these verses deliver? 
Which one is most precious to you at this point in your life? Describe a time in 
your life when these promises could have helped or did help you. 
7. Jenny thought the answer to her problems was to end her life. What led her to 
believe that? When has the enemy of your soul whispered wrong solutions to you? 
What were the consequences? 
Which character(s) represented for Hannah God's promise that He will never leave 
nor forsake us? How did those character(s) deal with Hannah's anger toward God? 
How do you deal with the anger of hurting people? 
9. Ultimately the lesson in Waiting for Morning is one of for giveness. Describe 
a time when you had trouble forgiving someone. How did you act toward that 
person, inwardly and outwardly? How did that make you feel? At what point did 
you, like Hannah, find peace in this situation? 
10. Oftentimes God uses outward situations or other people to help us get 
unstuck from a bad place, whether we need to forgive or obey or draw closer to 
Him. For Hannah, God used the police officer's delayed message from Tom. What 
has it been for you? What was/is God trying to tell you about your life? Are you 
listening? 
370 
AREN KINGSBURY 
WAITING FOR MORNING-Book One 
A drunk driver ...a deadly accident.. .a dream destroyed. When Hannah Ryan loses 
her hus band and oldest daughter to a drunk driver, she is consumed with hate 
and revenge. Ultimately, it is a kind prosecutor, a wise widow, and her hus 
band's dying words that bring her the peace that will set her free and let her 
live again. 
ISBN 1-59052-020-3 
A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS-Book Two 
When childhood friends Jade and Tanner reunite as adults, they share their 
hearts, souls, and dreams of forever-until a fateful decision tears them apart. 
Now, nearly a decade later, Jade's unfaithful husband wants to destroy her in a 
cus tody battle that is about to send shock waves across the United States. Only 
one man can help Jade in her darkest hour. And only one old woman knows the 
truth that can set them all free. ISBN 1-57673-616-4 
HALFWAY TO FOREVER-Book Three 
Matt and Hannah... Jade and Tanner-after already surviving much, these couples 
now face the greatest struggles of their lives: Parental losses and 
life-threatening illness threaten to derail their faith and sideline their 
futures. Can Hannah sur vive the loss of an adopted daughter? Will Tanner come 
through decades of loneliness only to face losing Jade one final time? 
ISBN 1-57673-899-X 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR... 
Karen Kingsbury is an award-winning author and former reporter for the Los 
Angeles Times and Los Angeles Daily News. She is also a recognized author with 
the Women of Faith Fiction Club. Kingsbury lives with her husband and six 
children in Washington. 
371 Excerpt from A Moment of Weakness
May 1977
The children rode their bicycles into Tanner's driveway, laid
them on the pavement and flopped down on a grassy spot in
the center of his neatly manicured front lawn. The discussion
had been going on for several minutes.
"I still don't get it. Where'd she go?" Tanner plucked a blade
of grass and meticulously tore it into tiny sections.
Jade shrugged and gazed across the street toward the twostory
house where she had lived for the past three years. "Daddy
says she's gonna meet us in Washington. That's all I know"
Tanner chewed on that for a moment. The whole thing sounded fishy to him. Mamas 
didn't leave for no reason. And people didn't move without making plans first. 
"Do you think she's mad at you?"
"Of course she's not mad. She loves me. I know it." Jade
tossed her dark head, and her eyes flashed light green. Tanner
had never seen eyes like Jade's. Green like the water of
Chesapeake Bay
"Why doesn't she just come back? Then you wouldn't have
to move."
"I told you, they already decided. We're moving to
Washington. Mama went on ahead of us, and Daddy says she'll
meet us there."
"In Washington?"
"Yes, Tanner. I told you she didn't leave me. She just needed
some time alone."
Tanner plucked another piece of grass and twisted it
between his thumb and forefinger. "But she didn't say goodbye,
right?"
Jade sighed, and Tanner saw tears form in her eyes. "I told you, Tanner. She 
left early in the morning. Daddy said she probably knew I would be sad so she 
left before I woke up. 'Cause she loves me."
"Did she leave a note or anything?"
"Daddy said he didn't need a note." Jade swiped at a tear, and her voice was 
angrier than before. "He knows where she's going, and that's why we have to 
move. We need to get there so we can be with Mama again. She would never wanna 
be alone that long."
Tanner still didn't understand, but he saw that his questions were bothering 
Jade. He sat up and crossed his legs, studying her curiously. The only time he'd 
ever seen her cry was two years ago when she jumped a curb on her bike and flew 
over
the handlebars. But that was different. Now Tanner wasn't sure what to do. He 
decided to change the subject. "How far away is Washington?"
"Daddy says"-she leaned back on her elbows and stared at the cloudless sky-"it's 
about as far away as heaven is from hell." Tanner thought about that for a 
moment. "But you're coming back, right?"
Jade nodded. "Of course. We'll meet up with Mama, and then Daddy's gotta do a 
job there. He said it could take all summer. After that we'll come home."
Tanner relaxed. That sounded all right. Even if the whole thing still seemed 
kind of weird.
"I gotta go." Jade rose and climbed back on her bike. "Daddy needs help 
packing."
Tanner stood and pushed his hands deep into the worn pockets of his jeans. "You 
leavin' tomorrow?"
She nodded and worked her toe in tiny circles on the pavement. For a moment 
Tanner thought she was going to hug
372 him, then at the last second she pushed him in the arm like she always did 
when she didn't know what to say.
Tanner pushed her back, but not hard enough to move her.
"Hey, I'm still going to marry you."
Jade huffed. "Shut up, Tanner. You're a smelly old boy and
I'm not going to marry anyone."
"One day you'll think I'm Prince Charming," Tanner teased.
Jade couldn't keep a straight face, and she began giggling.
"Oh, okay. Right. Sure... whatever you say" She shook her head
dramatically. "I would never marry you, Tanner. Sometimes I
think you're crazy"
"Got you smiling, though, didn't I?"
They grinned at each other for a beat and then jade's smile
faded. "I'll see ya later."
Tanner kicked at a patch of grass and sighed. "You better
come back when summer's over."
Jade's eyes got watery again. "I said I'll be back." She began
pedaling down his driveway. Halfway home she turned once
and waved.
Tanner raised one of his palms toward her. He'd heard his
parents whispering about jade and her daddy the other day.
Tanner didn't catch all the details, but it was obvious his mother
didn't think the Conner family was ever coming back.
It was good to know she was wrong.
As Jade disappeared into her house, Tanner felt a subtle
reassurance that somehow, someday soon, the two of them
would be together again.
OTHER NOVELS BY KAREN KINGSBURY
WHERE YESTERDAY LIVES 1-57673-285-1 In the wake of her father's sudden death, 
Ellen Barrett must journey back to the small town where she grew up and spend a 
week with antagonistic siblings. In the process, she must reckon with a man who 
once meant everything to her.
WHEN JOY CAME TO STAY 1-57673-746-2 Maggie Stovall is trapped inside a person 
she's spent years carefully crafting. Now the truth about who she is-and what 
she's done-is revealed, sending Maggie into a spiral of despair. Will Maggie 
walk away from her marriage and her foster child in her desperation to escape 
the mantle of depression cloaking her? Or will she allow God to take her to a 
place of ultimate honesty before it's too late?
ON EVERY SIDE 1-57673-850-7 Jordan Riley, an embittered lawyer, sues his
hometown to have a public statue of Jesus removed. The conflict causes him to 
cross paths with a spirited young newscaster named Faith, who opposes Jordan's 
suit in surprising ways. Perhaps most amazing of all is how Faith begins to 
disassemble the walls around Jordan's heart. Will love be enough when the battle 
rages on every side?
373 KAREN KINGSBURY 
AND PRISM COFOUNDER TONI VOGT 
THE PRISM WEIGHT LOSS PROGRAM 
The PRISM' Weight Loss Program, founded in 1990, has helped more than 60,000 
people transform their eating behaviors with a sensible, lifestyle-change 
approach. Now available in The Prism Weight Loss Program by bestselling author 
Karen Kingsbury and PRISM cofounder Toni Vogt, the book shows readers how to not 
just "tame the monster" of food addiction, but destroy it through simple eating 
strategies and biblical principles. It includes testimonials, descriptions of 
the authors' personal struggles with food addiction, details of the program, and 
a fabulous recipe section that will help readers become the fit people God 
created them to be. 
What People Are Saying about KAREN KINGSBURY Fiction... 
"Karen Kingsbury has been such a godsend. Her books have brought me to God and 
have motivated my husband and me to remarry after a bad divorce. After not being 
able to have kids, we now have an adopted boy and are trying to adopt another. 
Your books show faith, love, and tenderness, and I love them." 
-KATHY, Rancho Santa Margarita, CA 
"Karen Kingsbury's fiction has changed my life by reminding me that there is 
hope amid seemingly hopeless circumstances and that faith in God's redemptive 
plan is the anchor I can hold on to when life's compasses fail"-AMY, 
Lawrenceville, GA 
"Karen Kingsbury is our book club's favorite author. We often discuss how each 
of her books not only entertains us, but inspires us to live out our faith in a 
real, everyday, every-moment way Thanks for your stories, which challenge us to 
be better disciples of our precious Lord Jesus."-LYNDA, Covington, WA 
"Karen Kingsbury's books have touched my life in many different ways, but Where 
Yesterday Lives really helped me in the death of my father-in-law... Thank you 
for the great stories."-CHRIS, Zeeland, MI 
"I have read every book Karen Kingsbury has written. Each book has brought me to 
a place of repentance and helped me to forgive myself for things I've confessed 
to no one but God. Her books have given me hope for the future, the assurance of 
forgiveness, and the strength to look forward to what the Lord would have me do 
and that I can accomplish it in His strength! Thank you."-KAREN, Campbell, CA 
"The Lord prompted me to find a Christian author I enjoyed, and I found Karen 
Kingsbury. I have struggled with depression to a certain degree all my life, but 
when I read her book, I was at the bottom. This was the beginning of a wonderful 
journey to recovery for me."-DANNELL, Brawley CA 
"A dear friend handed me A Time to Dance, and it was the beginning of some much 
needed deep healing in my marriage. Just knowing that others could walk through 
muddy waters and make it through to the other side gave me hope and a sense of 
relief that maybe, just maybe, I too could be okay again. Thank you, Karen 
Kingsbury!"-Jo ANN, Dickinson, ND 
ISBN 1-57673-578-8 HD 
374 "Karen Kingsbury's work always reminds me of God's grace in my own life, 
espe cially the times I really didn't deserve it! After each book, my faith is 
stronger, and I can't wait for the next book to come out!"-NANCY, Salem, IL 
"I just love all of Karen Kingsbury's books. Every one has touched me in a very 
deep way, relating to one or another `storm' I have gone through and yet giving 
me hope that God is always there, carrying us when we don't care anymore whether 
we live or die. I have been to that place, and God did lift me up from the 
depths of sorrow and pain! Thank you so much!"-HENRIETTA, British Columbia, 
Canada 
"Karen Kingsbury's books never cease to amaze me. When I finish reading one, I 
not only feel connected to the characters and the events; I feel that I have 
walked in the presence of Christ and that He has spoken mightily to me. I always 
cry when I finish one of her books... tears to say good-bye to the friends I've 
come to know and love and tears of thankfulness to my heavenly Father. I can't 
wait to read the next one!"-LINDA, Batavia, IL 
'My grandmother has been diagnosed with dementia... Right after her diagnosis, 
she asked me to bring her some books. I took her everything I own by Karen 
Kingsbury, which is about ten books. She devoured them! They encouraged her and 
gave her hope."-DONNA I. 
"A friend recommended A Moment of Weakness. I gave it to my teenage daughter at 
the time and she read it as well. It opened up a chance to discuss remaining 
pure until marriage. She is now twenty-two and married a few months ago as a 
virgin. We had many other discussions, but your book hit home where my lectur 
ing may not have. God has given you a very special talent, and I am sure He is 
smiling at your use of it. Thank you!"-KATHY, Livonia, NY 
"Karen Kingsbury's novels have not just touched my heart but also my soul. When 
things go topsy-turvy in my daily life (as with four children they sometimes 
do), I often think of the Scriptures I've read in your books. Your books have 
not only kept me up at night anxiously waiting for what is going to happen next, 
but more important, they have helped me in my walk with the Lord."-STEPHANIE H. 
"As a biblical counselor, I have used several of Karen Kingsbury's books to 
reach the hearts of many of my clients. They have been most helpful in this 
respect, but I also admire Karen's courage in speaking out on tough issues 
within our Christian culture."-SANDY K. 
"The greatest impact Karen Kingsbury's works have had on my life was to help me 
with forgiveness. Not just to say the words, for that's what's expected of me, 
but to actually feel it in my heart... I marvel at how God has used you to work 
in my life and the lives of countless others."-HARRIETTE, Durham, NC 
"I've read several of Karen Kingsbury's books, and after finishing them, I was 
chal lenged about the depth of my surrender to whatever the Lord allows in my 
life. Thank you for taking me to another deep place with my Father"-PAULA M. 
"From Karen Kingsbury's very first book to her most recent, she has inspired me 
to be a better person, have a stronger faith in God, and to question how I am 
rais ing my family in a world filled with hate and evil."-PAUIE, Oceanside, CA 
"When I went off to college, I fell into a dark depression but convinced myself 
that Christians not only don't suffer depression, but that it is inherently 
un-Christian to be depressed... I bought When Joy Came to Stay and read it in 
one sitting... I was able to receive treatment for my illness and work on 
dealing with events and behaviors that led to this depression. The book made it 
easier for me to see that God can use even dark times to bless us and help us 
grow."-DEIDRE E. 
"Karen Kingsbury's fiction has helped me with my family problems. Karen's books 
have taught me how to stick together with my family through thick and thin. They 
have taught me that even when your family may be having a tough time, never give 
up "-ASHLEIGH, Fairfield, CA 
"I can't tell you how much Karen Kingsbury's books have blessed my life. The nov 
els make me think seriously about what commitment means, sticking it out even 
when all seems gloomy, and understanding the covenant of marriage." 
-NATA, Nigeria 
"Karen Kingsbury's fiction is so easy to identify with. These books have been a 
source of refuge in my emotional struggles after going through marital 
difficulty and divorce. It helps to know that someone understands what people 
like me go through!"-MELISSA, Bethel Springs, TN 
375 Visit
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"Karen Ball has penned a modern classic and given us two unforgettable 
characters to root for. This is an author to watch!"
-ROBIN LEE HATCHER, bestselling author of
Firstborn and Promised to Me
0
Gabe and Renee Roman are on the edge-relationally and spiritually. But after 
years of struggling in their marriage, their greatest test comes in the most 
unexpected of forms: a blizzard in the Oregon wilderness. Their truck hurtles 
down the side of a mountain, and suddenly they are forced to fight for survival 
by relying on each other. But both must surrender their last defenses if they 
are to come home at last-to God and to each other. Only then will they learn the 
most important truths of all: God is sufficient, and only through obedience to 
His call can we find true joy. Can the Romans overcome their greatest 
obstacle-themselves-in time?
R
www.letstalkfiction.com
376 Coming October 2004 from bestselling author KAREN BALL 
Her daughter Faith is the answer to Ann's lifelong prayer to be a mother. But 
her dream is shattered when the teenager rejects Ann's love and the love of God. 
After years pass, and God heals their relationship, Ann falls seriously ill. 
Faith watches her mother weaken, struggling with role reversals and leaning on 
God as never before. Through all the intricacies of their relationship, all the 
joys and trials, they are reminded that God is with them. He brings them peace 
in the darkness, joy in the midst of sorrow, and hope in the face of death. 
ISBN 1-59052-265-6