It’s never as bad as it looks, pal,” Sam said to Clint. It was nearing two in the morning, and Clint felt as if this day had lasted a year. He sat alone on the grass, forearms propped on his knees, and Sam came to join him, a folded lawn chair in each hand.
Clint didn’t answer. As close as he was to Sam, he didn’t want to talk. But that had never swayed Sam before.
“The grass is always greener on the other side,” Sam said, slumping into his chair and offering Clint the other. Clint reluctantly got up, dusted off his jeans, and plopped down.
“One in the hand is worth two in the bush.” The line was delivered with great somberness. Clint gave Sam an annoyed glance, but still chose not to speak.
“Yeah,” Sam said on a yawn. “Every cloud has a silver lining. That’s the kind of guy I am.”
Clint issued a barely audible moan. “I guess I should feel lucky that you didn’t put a tune to those little nuggets of wisdom.”
Sam laughed. “I figured you were miserable enough.”
Clint shrugged. “Miserable. Is that what they call it?” He looked into the wind, letting it ruffle his hair. “You know, Sam, life was no bed of roses when I was a kid. But it was okay. You feel better about yourself when you make it, with obstacles behind you that most people never have to face.” He stopped and swallowed, and contemplated the stars. “Adversity always makes us stronger, and I keep telling myself that. But lately it seems that I’ve run out of positive sides. Everything keeps blowing up in my face. The rules of the game seem to keep changing, and I can’t keep up with them.”
Sam cocked his head, listening. That was the thing about Sam. He could listen like no one else.
“I don’t know if I ever told you,” Clint went on, “but my dad was a construction worker. Died when I was five. Fell from a building he was working on. My mother had to support my kid brother and me after that, and it wasn’t easy. And then when my brother got sick …” His voice trailed off at the helpless memory of the little boy dying, and his mother’s grief. Swallowing, he continued, his soft voice doing battle with the rustle of the warm wind. “Well, things were never the same after that. But we did the very best that we could. She always taught that there is one plumb line to discern right and wrong. Everything has to be lined up against it, and if it doesn’t line up, then it’s probably wrong.”
“And what’s that plumb line?”
“The Word of God,” Clint said. “And there have been days when I’ve wanted to bail—just throw up my hands and run away. I fantasized about getting Sherry to meet me in Costa Rica or somewhere, but it was no good. God put me in that house on that night to witness that murder for a reason. And I have to play this out.”
“I’m sold, buddy.”
“Yeah, but Sherry isn’t.” He stopped and sighed. “Ah, Sam. Am I doing the right thing, or am I reading the plumb line wrong?”
“What do you think?” As usual, Sam’s answer was nonjudgmental, noncommittal.
“I think it’s tearing Sherry up. And it’s tearing me up. I never expected it to hurt quite this much.”
“What did you expect? For it to be easy?”
“No.” Clint leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and staring up toward the house. Was Sherry sleeping, or was she lying awake in torment like he was? Was she crying? “I just never expected to have to make such a sacrifice. My whole life is just dangling. I thought going back for Sherry would get it back into focus. I thought …”
“That she’d understand? Give her a break. She’s probably scared to death. She’ll come around.”
“Will she?” Clint held Sam’s eyes for an eternal moment, seeing ghosts instead of a friend’s concern. “What if she’s changed? What if eight months has dulled some of her feeling? What if we can’t get it back? What if that Rivers jerk in there thinks he’s going to win her back on his mission of mercy? Her champion, her …”
“And what if you’re nuts? Anybody can look at that woman and tell she’s still crazy over you. What if all this has made it stronger? That’s the thing about living on the edge. You don’t take things for granted. If anybody knows that, I do.”
Clint heaved a sigh. “All I want is my job, a family, a home where the most exciting thing that ever happens is that the washing machine breaks down. I’m not like you. I don’t thrive on adventure.”
Sam uttered a high, disbelieving laugh. An owl hooted in the distance, joining in the mirthless exchange. “Is that how you see me? As some clown who thrives on adrenaline? Forget it, Jessup. That picture you just painted looks pretty good to me too. Danger is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“It’s the sacrifices, Sam,” Clint sighed. “The awful sacrifices. And the wondering … wondering whether it’s worth it. Whether you’ve sacrificed more than you intended. Whether you should run like crazy while you still can.” He looked at Sam, bracing himself for an argument, hating himself for needing one.
But Sam didn’t argue. “Nobody can tell you what to do, buddy. It’s your life and your choice. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t even know what I’d do in your place. All I know is that you have enough sense and enough courage to do the right thing, whatever that is. Maybe it’s running off and taking Sherry with you, so you can start that family without constantly looking over your shoulder. Maybe it’s seeing this through to the end. I don’t know.”
Clint looked at his hands. “Either way, a lot of people get hurt. If I do what Sherry wants and skip out, I’ve wasted eight months of your life, and the time Eric Grayson and Breard have put in …”
“Hey, pal. Stop right there,” Sam said, pointing at him. “I was doing my job. If I hadn’t been doing it for you, I’d have been doing it for someone else. Don’t hang this on me or Grayson. It’s your ball game. If you want to declare it a forfeit, it’s your choice.”
Clint leaned back in his chair, his neck on the aluminum back. Was it really his choice? If he abandoned that plumb line now, how would he live his life? If God had put him where he was for a reason, who was he to buck God’s sovereignty? God had the power to take care of the Givanti trial and protect them all. And he had the power to use all of this for good. Clint couldn’t let Sherry’s damaged faith damage his own. Maybe, instead, God meant for him to help her rebuild it.
That is, if he could keep her from bolting, herself, after it was all over. If it came to it, could he bear to live without her?
Even if she could live without him. After all, she had done well enough for the past eight months. What do you want, Jessup? he asked himself. Did he want to know that she had shriveled up and nearly died with grief? Or did he simply want to know that there hadn’t been a moment when she’d turned to someone else. Someone like Gary Rivers.
Someone she might turn to again.