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 something 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?”
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—“for 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?
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.
Nine
Her people fell into enemy hands, there was no one to help her.
LAMENTATIONS 1:7B
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.
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 then 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 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 Victoria—
Matt 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.
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.
Ten
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: “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, 13.”
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 stared at it, confused for a moment. The phone used to ring constantly. Now, nearly five weeks after the accident, no one called.
Hannah realized she was partly to blame. She had refused help from her church friends, and finally they had stopped calling. 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.”
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?”
“I’m not sure. I only talked to him for a few minutes, but he feels very strongly about this one.”