Whispered Southern Secrets (Magnolia Grove #11)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

J.D.

I dart across the street and take the court house steps two at a time. When Sheriff Parker called me in, he said it was an emergency. My shoes echo as I hurry down the hall. I find him sitting alone in the courtroom with a young man.

“This here is James. Good luck.” He hands me a folder that weighs at least two pounds. I open it and it’s his case history.

I chuckle and sit down next to James. “Seems you’ve been busy?”

“Yup,” he pops the p.

“Fifteen,” I say reading his file. “I remember those days. I used to get into a lot of trouble when I was your age.”

He snorts. “What happened, Preacher, did you leave the toilet seat up? Forget to say bless you, after someone sneezed?”

“I stole I cop car.” James eyes turn wide and he gives me a look that says he’s not buying it. “Wanna see my file? My buddy dared me to hop in it and take it for a spin. So, I did.” I shrug. “Couldn’t sit down for a week. My mama used a spare piece of baseboard from where they were remodeling the church to whip the fire out of me.”

“What’d your dad say?”

“He gave me extra work to do. I guess, like community service. Prayed hard. Kept calming Mama down. But I learned a lesson.”

His tone is bored as though he’s heard the same line over and over. “Don’t steal?”

“Don’t make Mama mad.” The ghost of a smile plays on his lips. I continue. “No. I mean—yes, definitely don’t make Mama mad. But what I really learned was that a quick thrill isn’t worth long-term consequences.”

“Gonna preach to me about spending eternity in hell.”

“Nope. Sounds like you’ve already figured it out.”

“So what’s your purpose here, preacher man.”

“I’m your juvenile officer. Call me J.D. Or Brother J.D. Or Brother Johnny David. Or… Preacher Man.” I open his folder back up and read down his latest case. It’s a similar story to some of the ones I’ve dealt with before. Troubled teen. Poor choices. However, no person and their journey are the same. I had the most amazing Christian parents, but still rebelled. There’s kids with horrible excuses for parents who have incredible survival skills. I want to get to know him as a person and not a name on a file. I’ve yet to send a kid to court. I know it’s still early in this career, but I want to be there and try to get these kids their second-chance. I try to push for counseling and community service for three months rather than have these kids go through the whole ordeal of being placed in front of a judge. I’ll come up with community service projects that will help him grow, and hopefully, he’ll enjoy.

“All right. Let’s get this over. When and where do I need to be?”

“Let me give you my number. I’ll let you know something by tonight. I need to see about where we’re needed.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We’re going to do this. And if you fall, I’ll be there to help you get back up again. I’ll be there to help you every step of the way until you’ve completed all your community service hours.”

“Why?”

I try to think of a good way to respond. The honest answer is I enjoying helping people find their footing. But that answer sounds too much like what he’s probably heard before. Generic despite being true.

“I don’t judge people by their past. I know what it feels like, and I hate it. People can change, but if we keep holding their past against them, and bringing it up, dragging them back, they can’t move forward. I want us both to move forward.”

The harsh line between his brows since I sat down next to him slowly fades. His eyes finally soften the slightest bit. I allow him to sit in silence with his thought. He finally turns and whispers, “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

We’ll see.

I might’ve abused my power a bit. I give James community service for Sunday morning and it’s helping the elderly get to their seats, and I need him to clean around the sanctuary after service. My heart swells when I see Honey wave for James to sit with her and her grandparents.

“Welcome everyone,” I say into the microphone attached to the podium. It no longer feels like a room full of people but a room of family. My father and I go through the prayer list, hymns, and when it comes time for my sermon, I’m eager to speak to them.

“David. Jonah. Paul. Peter. Jacob. Noah. Gideon. Samson. You probably recognize most of the names. At least a few of them, right? What do they have in common? Anybody? Don’t be shy.”

“They were important figures in the Bible,” a voice calls out.

“They sure were,” I agree. “God used them. They were broken. They were sinners. They were and are relatable. These people weren’t born perfect, they didn’t live perfect lives, but they were chosen by God. Now if He chose them, why wouldn’t He choose you? I believe He is choosing you. There’s hope for all of us. Listen—Paul persecuted Christians before becoming one. Jonah ran from God. Samson was a womanizer. Whatever it is that you feel that makes you unworthy, there is someone in the Bible that already did it and did worse.”

I take a moment to allow my words to marinate, and to brace myself. Time to practice what I preach. I’m going to own my sins, humble myself before everyone, and hopefully, not lose the faith of my congregation. “I denied God. Growing up as a preacher’s kid isn’t for the weak of heart. The stigma that comes attached with that. Now, I’m not putting the blame on anyone but myself. I had the best parents. But it felt like the bar was high. Too high. Not by them, but by my own insecurities. Then I gave into temptation. It felt good…for a minute. I abused alcohol. Cursed. Resorted to violence. Gave into lust. Indulged in shallow relationships based on desire. Pride. But, I don’t regret it. I have shame but not regret. Those moments proved what I was missing and that I need the love of Christ.”

I force myself to brave the crowd. I make eye contact with each individual. Warmth spreads through me when I’m not greeted with judgment or disappointment. “We’re all broken. We’re all sinners. We’re weak. But we’re also capable of healing. We’re all capable and deserving of love. We’re inspirational. Your story is just as inspiring as those in The Holy Bible. Never question your worth. Because God is choosing you. He needs you to choose you too. Let’s go to the Lord in prayer.”

After church, James and I walk around the church cleaning up and restocking the pamphlets and offering cards. “I enjoyed your little sermon,” he tells me.

“Well I appreciate that, James.”

“Can’t believe you told everyone you were a man whore.”

I cross my arms and lean against a pew. “I didn’t say that.”

“I read between the lines. Player recognizes player.”

“Then I hope you recognize the potential you have. Come on. I’ll take you out for lunch and then home.”

We walk into Mimi’s Gasoline Grove and go straight for a booth. There’s the usual group of elderly men sitting in their corner. Minnie hurries over and takes our order. I enjoy having a conversation with James and learn quickly he’s just gotten involved with a group of idiots, parents have marriage issues and that’s trickling down, and a case of classic peer pressure. He’s finally letting his guard down.

And apparently so am I. James’s question takes me by surprise when he asks, “How long have you had it bad for Honey Beaumont?”

“I don’t—what?”

“It’d take a complete moron to not notice.”

“Am I that obvious?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah.”

“She’s nice.”

“Nice? Minnie, her grandmother, is nice. Honey is a freaking wet?—”

“Whoa! Time out. No.” I point a finger at him. “No,” I whisper.

“Sorry, Preacher Man.” He takes a bite of his catfish and after he chews he says, “You gave an awesome speech about inspiration, being worthy, and all that but you’re being a total wuss about a girl.”

He makes a valid point. I am a wuss when it comes to Honey. I’m more focused on impacting his life than getting a date though. “That was about using our gifts for God.”

James chuckles. “There’s some hotties who think I’m a gift from God.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re fifteen.”

“Are you saying I’m not a gift, Preacher Man?”

“We’re all gifts. We all have gifts. Stop twisting my words. And stop worrying about girls for you and me.”

“But you’re allowed to…ya know. I mean you’re a preacher but you’re not like a priest or monk, right? Are you sworn to a life of celibacy? That would suck.”

“Again. You’re fifteen.”

“Clearly you had poor game at fifteen.”

“I can date. I’ll choose to wait until marriage before I share myself.” This is painfully awkward. Worse, I hear the guys behind us snort. Whatever. I’m being an example and I’m going to live a better life than what I was.

James nods and looks over his shoulder at Honey and then back to me. “Then why are you sleeping on that, bro?”

“It’s complicated.”

He rolls his eyes and I can’t help but agree. Such a lame answer. The truth is I don’t know if Honey wants to get involved with me. I don’t know if it’s because she’s felt our eyes on her, but Honey comes over to our table.

“Hey, you two.”

“Hello,” I say while James gives her a nod and smile that I’m sure he thinks is smooth and charming. Maybe it works on twelve-year-olds.

I clear my throat and ask, “How’s your puppy? Did you end up keeping him? Little Stinker?”

James eyebrows pinch together but he remains quiet. Honey pulls out her phone and shows us a photo of the puppy freshly bathed and wrapped in a blanket on a couch.

“I appreciate you remember the name Little Stinker, but Pepaw was not a fan of that name and convinced me to give him a solid name. And yes, I checked. He is all boy. We came up with the name, Cash.”

“Like Johnny Cash?” I guess. Makes sense since I know she loves music, especially classic country.

“Right!” Her smile is so bright that it takes my breath away. “Plus Johnny Cash had been through some shit, and so had my puppy.” She turns to James. “I waded through a ditch for him. That’s where I found him. Or rescued him. I saved his life.”

“You’re a hero,” James tells her, and she nods enthusiastically.

“I know, right.” The bell above the door rings and she waves bye to us to hurry off and help the new comer.

James stares at me. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an idiot if you’re not going to lock that down.”

Lock that down? I don’t even know what that means. However I feel like I get the meaning behind it. He might be right.