Chapter Thirty-Three

She smelled like fear and prison. Denise sat in her car, Stevie Nicks in her ear to settle her as she closed her eyes. She felt the aftermath of sitting in a small room with someone she never thought she’d see again. It was a ripple effect, hitting the top of her head and sending waves of panic down to her toes. Seeing Whitney felt almost unwanted even though she had been the one who had wanted it.

Denise had done what she had intended to do—plead forgiveness. But it felt trite, and Whitney had called her out on it. How could she even relate? As terrible as life had been with her parents, Denise had been well-fed and dressed and received her degree. She could work at any firm she wanted with her father’s connections and would never know what it was like to sit in a room, not being able to leave. 

It was disturbing how old Whitney had looked.

“Rhiannon” was over. Denise went to replay it, but let the CD continue, “Landslide” swerving through her ear canals. The thing Whitney had said about control, that was disturbing too. Denise had hardly ever felt in control herself, so how different would it have been for her to flip a switch and find herself on the other side of that metal table?

Sitting there, she had felt a fluttering behind her breastbone. It happened sometimes, when she was lost for words and just prayed to the Holy Spirit that whatever she said or did was exactly what God needed from her. She had made the mistake of recounting this process with her father once. He just shot her an incredulous look and looped his finger around the side of his head, his other hand slightly sloshing his martini. And I’m the crazy one, she had thought, thinking through all the decisions her father had made on his own accord and the way they had felt like nothing but death.

But in that room with Whitney, she hadn’t felt crazy. The human side of her dripped through her pores, but the spirit side moved her tongue. She told this woman, her old nemesis, how she could help her son stay of out of prison. 

“Why? What’s in it for you? Help some black kid and become community servant of the year?” Whitney said. The accusation stung because Denise hadn’t even considered that angle. All she could think about was Jamal, how she had failed him, and if she had been a different sort of person, that maybe he’d still be alive.

“No. I just want to help my friend’s son.”

“I’m not your friend.” 

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Whitney stopped and chewed on that for a moment.

“Well, there she is. Good ol’ Denise McGovern.” Denise went to defend herself but saw the softness in Whitney’s face. “I just needed to know your motive. Everyone’s got one. And one thing I’ve learned in here is that not everyone can be trusted.” 

With that, Denise mapped out her plan. She wanted to take on Travis’s case.

“But technically, we already have a lawyer. He’s some guy my mom and her—Walt—know. George. George Jennings. He’s my lawyer too.”

“I know. I work for him.”

Whitney laughed, her eyes rolling skyward. “Of course, you do. Anyway, I’m not sure how they’ll feel switching players at this point in the game. And I doubt they’ll trust any decision I make for my son, considering I apparently can’t make a solid decision for myself. At least according to my mother.” The heaviness of years past and unwanted conversations sat heavy in the air between them. Denise played it off, getting back to Travis. There was a reason George had Branson put that file on her desk. And if she could help Whitney’s son, maybe there would be trust there. Maybe she could even help heal Whitney’s heart.

“I’ll start making calls and getting things in order. I’m sure I can win this one, but I need you to do something for me for this to go according to plan.”

“Look who put on her bossy pants this morning,” Whitney said, arms locked across her tiny frame. “Shoot.”

“I need you to pray.” Whitney looked as if Denise had asked her to swallow the moon. And for Whitney, maybe the heaviness of Denise’s request wasn’t much different. She was in prison. She had probably prayed a million times in spite of herself. And where had it gotten her? Still in prison.

But Denise had seen the power of prayer. It had landed her a faithful furry companion, a job that sometimes felt like it was sucking her soul but always left her feeling fulfilled. It had led her to Sarah and Pastor Luke and broke her heart for her mother who often reminded Denise of the one lost lamb God was continuously seeking while the ninety-nine stood in wait.

And then there was her father. Well, God was still working on her there too.

Maybe if Whitney saw the grace in the valley, her heart would change. But to do this, Denise knew she would have to contend with the one person who kept Whitney locked up tighter than any prison cell: her mother.