Читать книгу Loving Thy Neighbor - Ruth Scofield - Страница 8

She was in deep muck. Just her luck, lately. Getting another citation for a moving violation, which put more points on her driver’s license, came as an impossible complication to her overstretched life just at this time. She hated traffic court. And of all people, now she had to face Judge Hamilton Paxton!

Again.

Those deep eyes of his, his steely gaze had stayed in her memory for days after the last time.

Breathing deeply while she waited, Quincee Davis mentally chanted her motto. I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. I can do all things through Christ….

Traffic court was a three-day headache no matter which way you cut it. She fervently wished she could simply snap her fingers and make this all go away, but there had been nothing she could do to postpone it.

The court clerk called her name, Quincee J. Davis.

Quincee rose to take her place in front of the bench, keeping her hands still by folding them firmly at her waist, and waited, trying to look alert and interested. After what seemed a very long moment, Judge Paxton turned from his court clerk as he silently accepted her folder. Then he turned his cool gaze toward her.

Recognition flashed in those gray depths with all the warmth of an ice shard in January.

“Miss Davis,” he intoned, his voice deeper than the Grand Canyon.

“Yes sir? Er, your honor.”

“You were driving sixty-eight miles in a fifty-five mile zone.”

“Yes, sir, I was, but—”

“And this is your second speeding violation in less than two months.”

“Yes, sir, I know, but you see,” she said, imploring for mercy. “I had an emergency.”

“An emergency? It seems that I recall you had an emergency the last time you faced me, Miss Davis. Something about taking care of children, wasn’t it? Most people arrange their child care without mixing it with constant speeding. You really need to arrange your time better.”

“Sir, it really was an emergency. I couldn’t leave school on time, and I had to pick up my—”

“Yes, I’ve heard it before, Miss Davis,” the judge interrupted with a bored nod. “Would you offer that same excuse for these parking tickets you have stacked up?”

“Um, well, the parking tickets, while not exactly an emergency, were necessary. You see, one time I had to unload a heavy box, and then my sister—”

“You were halfway into a fire zone, Miss Davis. And did you consider the inconvenience you caused the restaurant by leaving your car in their drive for nearly forty minutes, thereby blocking their vehicles from leaving? Or the neighbors in the apartments whose parking space you repeatedly used without prior authorization?”

Quincee shifted from one foot to the other. She hadn’t realized those complaints had caught up with her. Staring at the judge, she noted his well brushed dark hair, flat against his temples. Heavy brows almost met across his brow as he concentrated; his solidly squared chin could hammer with the best of nutcrackers, she thought.

Was it possible to reach a sympathetic soul past those gray depths that were his eyes?

“Your honor, there was a reason for that.” Quincee put a lot of feeling into her explanation, honest feeling. Heaven knew she had enough of it left over from the last three months. “My sister—”

“That’s enough, Miss Davis.” Judge Paxton’s firm tone put an end to her hopes of reaching him on a human level. “I’m sure,” he continued, “you have enough excuses to fill a stadium. But I’ve heard one too many. Your irresponsible actions have become a hazard, and you don’t appear to have improved your attitude toward getting along with your neighbors in regards to considering their rights and needs as important as your own. Perhaps thirty days without your driving privileges will improve your approach.”

Thirty days!

“That’s all, Miss Davis.”

Impossible! Quincee opened her mouth to protest, her heart beating high in her throat. She couldn’t do without her car for thirty days. She had to have the freedom to drive. There was too much to do within the next week, even. She had too many directions to run. Why, she and the kids were moving, for Pete’s sake!

“Judge Paxton, I have children to care for. I can’t do without my car.”

“Then you should think of your children the next time you’re speeding, Miss Davis.”

“But I must—”

Judge Paxton’s glinting expression dared her to make one more protest. He was heartless. She closed her mouth, fighting the flashing anger that wanted to erupt. It was all just too much.

I can do all things through Christ… she began. It had been her hope and promise for the last year. But she didn’t feel very capable at the moment. How could she have allowed herself to get those speeding tickets? What was she to do without her driving license?

The court clerk called the next name on his list. Quincee had no option but to turn and give the clerk all the information he asked for and leave. That or face a contempt of court charge, she supposed.

Judge Paxton had already moved to his next case.