Of course she was. His little tryst with Hollander had been – through Anne Deveraux’s alchemy and his limo driver’s loyalty – transformed into a weapon of almost unbelievable potency. Levering knew how much Millie Hollander wanted to be chief justice, how much her reputation meant to her. Sam Levering knew how to use the ambition of others to his own ends. That was politics.
“Yes,” Levering said as he and the president headed for the green. “I know she’s the right choice.”
“Fine,” Francis said, getting out of the cart and grabbing his putter from the bag. “Then I want to talk with her as soon as possible. A nice chat before I make the announcement. And I want to run it by Graebner.”
“That’s a good idea,” Levering said.
“Those are the only kind of ideas I have,” Francis said. “Now take a look at this putt. You think it breaks left?”
Levering laughed. “Everything you do breaks left, Mr. President.”
5
Millie quivered. She was not used to raw emotion unfiltered through careful analysis. But her mind seemed paralyzed; it rang with the words she hadn’t had a chance to say to her mother.
Jack Holden had arrived just behind the ambulance. The paramedics said they’d be going to Kern Medical Hospital in Bakersfield. Holden offered to drive Millie. She gratefully accepted, and appreciated that he wasn’t feeling chatty. After about twenty minutes on the highway he gently asked, “How you feeling?”
Millie looked at him, wondering for a moment if she might be able to open up a little. What she said was, “I’m a little upset right now.” It was a cold, antiseptic description.
“You’re very close to your mother,” Holden said.
“I haven’t had a chance lately to be close,” Millie said. Something cracked inside her. A small fissure, and out of it came a warm stream of tears. She swiped her index finger under both eyes, embarrassed.
Holden, if he noticed, did not react. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Almost there,” he said.
The gray concrete hospital was just off Mt. Vernon Avenue. At emergency receiving Millie gave them as much information as she could. Then she was told to wait. A doctor would be out soon.
Soon stretched into sometime. The TV in the waiting room was tuned to a soap opera vacantly eyed by a scattered few. A boy of about five played with some plastic toys on the floor under the TV.
Holden said, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”
“Water,” Millie said. “Thanks.” She watched as he got up and noticed how solid he looked. He must be a real comfort to people at moments like this. That was the important thing, perhaps. Not all the theology or the preaching or the arguments for God. Maybe all that mattered was what you did when people needed you.
Holden returned with a Styrofoam cup of cold water. It tasted metallic.
“I appreciate that you’re here,” Millie said.
“Glad to be,” Holden said. “I love your mom. She’s a great lady.”
And then, needing a change of pace of any kind, Millie said, “You write a pretty good brief. Thoughtful.”
“Thank you.” His gratitude seemed genuine. “Coming from Justice Hollander, that’s high praise indeed.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I’m always game. But what about you?”
“Please. Anything’s better than just sitting here, waiting.”
Holden seemed pleased. “Funny word, better.”
Millie looked at him questioningly.
“Do you know the term tertium quid?” he asked.
“That’s Latin for ‘third thing.’ ”
“Exactly. Any moral argument needs a tertium quid that stands outside two competing positions. It’s like an umpire in baseball or the rule book. Without that third thing, you and I might never agree on what is good, better, best. Or even a moral standard. We always fall victim to the Grand Sez Who.”
“Come again?”
“If I say racism is a good thing, and you tell me it is not, I can answer, Sez Who? You? I can be a racist if I want to. There is no tertium quid.”
The intellectual give-and-take was indeed a pleasant diversion. She dove in. “But I can gather the community to denounce you as an ignorant outcast.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to agree. If I have guns or bombs, I can make an even greater statement.”
“And I can lock you up.”
“And so we get to the conclusion. Morality on this stage equals power. Might makes right.”
Feeling a bit testy now, Millie said, “Where is the doctor?” She started to stand up, then sat down again.
“He’ll be here soon,” Holden said. “More water?”
“No, no.” Millie pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Let’s keep talking. It helps.” She settled back to talk. “Okay, tell me how the ‘Sez Who’ theory proves the truth of Christianity.”
“Our moral sense is just one bit of evidence to consider,” Holden said. “That’s the mistake people make. They assume that because one line of argument can’t prove the case alone, it is of no value. Not so. What do we do in court? We let the jury look at all the relevant evidence and then decide which way the scales of justice should fall.”
“I’ll grant you that, Counsel, but…” She stopped. “I just called you Counsel.”
“I haven’t been called that in quite some time. Been called a few other things.” His smile was warm.
“Nevertheless, there is still much of the case that’s missing,” Millie said.
“That’s because you haven’t reached the killer argument yet.”
“Okay” – she let her voice become spooky – “what’s the killer argument?”
“C. S. Lewis wrote about it in a book called Surprised by Joy,” Holden continued. “One day he felt that an open door was presented to him. Nothing like light or fire from the sky. Just a door. Beyond that door was joy, not the transient kind, but the answer to the deepest longings of his heart. That’s the killer argument.”
“It doesn’t really sound like an argument,” Millie said. “What is the logic?”
“The longing of the heart for something beyond,” Holden said, “is proof that our world cannot satisfy us. The fact that we experience thirst shows that we are creatures for whom drinking water is natural. In the same way, our longing for something beyond us is proof there is something beyond. ‘Our hearts are restless until they rest in God,’ Augustine said.”
“But desires come and go,” Millie said.
“Not this one. This one stays. Lewis recognized that, and one day he found the door was open. He knew then he could walk through or turn away.”
“And he walked through?”
“Yes, though he described himself as the most reluctant convert in all of England.”
“Why?”
“He said he would have been happy to remain an intellectual atheist. But his heart was set free when he heard the call. He had to respond. I heard the same thing one night in the lobby of the Nazareth Hotel. It was like beautiful music, not something we rationalize, just something we hear.”
Holden paused a moment, his eyes looking at a secret place. “I’ve heard it described this way. Once your heart hears the music, it is never really happy unless it is dancing.”
At that declaration Millie felt something open inside her. Since she’d known him, Jack Holden had laid bare his whole life, all of his feelings, openly. She had held back. No more.
“Jack,” she said. “I will admit there have been some moments recently when I’ve thought about these things. But I’m just not there. I don’t know if I ever can be.”
“Deadlock,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re deadlocked, like a 4-4 split on the Court. What you need, it appears, is a swing vote.”
“Oh? And where might I find one of those?”
The minister smiled. “Just listen for the music. Then you can decide what to do about it.”