From Ashes to Honor (20 page)

He groaned, as he saw that a steady snow had begun to fall.Big fat flakes floated gently to the ground, melting on impact.Austin remembered what Campbell had said about the weather report. If it kept coming down at this rate, he wouldn't be at all surprised if a couple of feet fell by morning.

The chickadees and sparrows jockeyed for position at the feeder. A blue jay splashed in the heated birdbath, and a squirrel scampered on the ground, scrounging for seeds dropped

during the frenzy. He'd read someplace that when birds and animals sensed foul weather, they started eating like there was no tomorrow. Maybe that's what he'd talk about when he got back to the living room.

Or maybe he wouldn't talk at all. Just deliver lunch and announce his intention to move the feeder and birdbath around front, so she could get some enjoyment out of the birds' frolicking.And when he finished that, he'd take down the Christmas decorations.

The chore reminded him that they'd spent the holiday doing pretty much the same thing they'd done every day prior to and after the twenty-fifth. Nobody could accuse him of being a Christmas nut, but they couldn't call him Scrooge, either.

After looking in every nook and cranny without finding so much as an ornament hook, he'd thrown in the towel and gone to the nearest discount store, and filled a cart to the brim with things to brighten up her house. Curiosity made him ask, once he'd made her comfortable that first day, where she'd stored her decorations. And when she said she didn't have any, he'd asked, "You've lived here
how
long?" he'd asked.

"It'll be five years, this summer."

"And you've never owned
any
Christmas decorations?"

"Nope."

"With all the decorating Baltimoreans do?"

She'd frowned so deeply Austin thought maybe she'd popped a stitch. It surprised him when she followed it up with "It's messy and gaudy and time consuming. So what's the point?"

The
point,
he'd wanted to say, is that tinsel and ornaments and blinking lights—the gaudier, the better—helped put folks in the mood. And what was wrong with that, as long as it didn't detract from the real reason for the day? Pleasant diversions were important, especially in this age when everything

happened in an eye blink, and people had forgotten how to make time to stop and smell the flowers. Why, he had Jewish friends who got more excited about the date than Mercy, who shared that her own mom had called herself a "Santa-holic!"

He added it to his mental "Differences and Similarities" list.The fact that the left side was way longer than the right left him with an uneasy feeling, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on
why.

Austin had known couples who'd spent a long and happy lifetime together, though it might appear to the casual observer that they had nothing in common. Take Eddy and Cora, for example—a self-professed Bible-thumper linked for life to a guy who'd spent weeks after graduating from the academy trying to make his uniform hat fit over his yarmulke.

And what about Bud, who'd traded his diehard anti-church mindset for an usher's pin when he married Flora.

And Griff, who'd converted from Jehovah's Witness to Catholicism to gain the approval of Mary and her parents.

In every case, the relationships had succeeded because the husbands and wives had been willing to compromise. If he and Mercy took things to the next level, they'd both have to give a little. He was willing to meet her halfway, but would she go the same distance?

Flapping wings and angry tweets pulled his attention back to the window. He counted eight perches on the tubular feeder, yet only two were in use by black-capped chickadees. A stark reminder that in nature concessions and negotiations were unheard of policies. Instead, an inflexible "my way or the highway" stance dictated the pecking order in nature, literally.

It explained a lot, from his point of view, about what was wrong with mankind. Wars, divorce, family feuds—all because of humans' need to have their own way, and few things proved that better than the events of 9/11.

As the birds wrangled, gruesome images flashed in his mind's eye. Austin clenched his jaw. He'd better stay plenty busy today if he hoped to keep the grisly pictures from popping back into his head.

He palmed a fork and napkin, and used the same hand to grab the sandwich plate, then wrapped his other hand around the glass. "Start with the bird stuff," he muttered as he aimed for the hall. Because now the birds would be a constant reminder of 9/11.

Maybe he'd oversimplified the cause of the aggressive attack, and maybe he'd hit the old nail square on the head.A scary concept. Equally daunting, the parallels between that situation and the one between him and Mercy.

One thing was certain: The minute Mercy could take care of herself, and he returned to work and
One Regret,
he had a lot of thinking and praying to do.

Until then, he'd better stay busy. The busier, the better, because then his mind wouldn't fixate on the date that changed the entire course of his life . . .

. . . or the woman who'd turned his life upside-down.

M
ercy's goal, right from the start, had been to get back on her feet as quickly as possible. By the end of the second week, her hours of grueling exercise paid off and her doctor agreed that she no longer needed the in-home nurse or physical therapist.

Cabin fever had set in, and despite Austin's his attempts to keep her entertained with movies and board games, she missed her students and coworkers at Dundalk High. And though he served grilled meats, BLTs, and salads with flair and enthusiasm, the repetition made her miss the cafeteria food, too.

He'd just settled in with the morning paper when she said "I haven't talked to Bud or Flora in days. Do you think we could drive over there this afternoon for a short visit?"

He peered over one corner of the sports section. "How about if we ask Eversly about that when you see him, day after tomorrow? I have a feeling he'll give you a clean bill of health and permission to return to light duty, so let's not push it, OK?"

Two more days stuck inside, with nothing to do but watch TV and fill in crossword puzzles? And two more days of his constant care? Much as she loved spending time with him, and appreciated every hour he'd dedicated to her care and well- being, Mercy needed to get back to the business of taking care of herself.

She needed to get out of the house, too, before the stresses of being inactive, in pain, and cooped up made her say something thoughtless and ungrateful.

"If I'm strong enough to ride back and forth for checkups, then I'm strong enough to drive to the marina." After all these hours alone with him, Mercy recognized
that
expression, and nipped his objection in the bud. "Who knows how much longer she'll have? We need to spend as much time with her as we can, every chance we have."

She watched as his "I'm only doing what's in your best interests" frown softened. Logic, she'd learned these past weeks, went a long, long way with this generous, thoughtful man.

"Good point. And I suppose by now the road crews have cleaned up most of the snow."

"I'll call and give them a heads up that we're on our way, because in Flora's shoes, I'd want to freshen up before people stopped by."

He put the paper down and picked up the phone. "Good point," he said again. "How 'bout if we stop on the way over, pick up lunch. That'll save Bud the bother." He dialed their number. "I'd better find out, first, what she's allowed to eat these days."

"Yeah. How mean would that be, showing up with one of her favorites if all she can do is inhale the aromas!"

"My thoughts, exactly."

Two hours later, they balanced on the edge of the sofa cushions, knees tucked under wobbly TV trays. All but Flora, that is.

Bud had warned them to be ready for a big change in his wife's appearance, but no amount of preparation would have lessened the shock of seeing her for the first time in more than a month. Skeletal and gray-faced, something as insignificant as blinking seemed to require more strength than she had in reserve. Her once-thick, salt-and-pepper hair had turned white as new-fallen snow. Dull and sparse, it made the shadows beneath her sunken blue eyes look darker still.

While caring for her dad during his long, harrowing months in the hospital. Her system for washing and rinsing a bedridden patient's hair caught on. Soon, all the nurses in ICU had copied it. After lunch, Mercy thought, choosing a thigh from the bucket of fried chicken, she'd treat Flora to a gentle scalp-massaging shampoo.

If the poor thing could stay awake, that is.

Austin must have noticed her drooping eyelids, too. "We can drag chairs and the TV trays into your room," he suggested, "so you can lie down while we talk."

But Flora was adamant. "I've been cooped up in that dim little room all day, every day, for nearly a week. I've counted every knot hole in the paneling, every flower on the curtains, and every feather on that hideous flamingo print hanging across from the bed
a hundred times,
and I declare, if I have to spend one more minute under the quilt my near-sighted mother-in-law ruined in the clothes dryer a decade or so ago, I might just have to eat it. If that doesn't put me out of my misery, I don't know what will!"

She laughed, which started a coughing fit that lasted nearly five terrifying minutes.

Mercy had spent part of her internship assisting an oncologist, and remembered the symptoms only too well. Flora's cancer had metastasized, attacking her major organs, one by one. At this rate, the poor woman would be gone by Valentine's Day.

When she recovered, Flora tried—but failed—to hide her bloody hanky from Mercy. "I want to hear all about this awful thrashing you took, girl. Bet you were terrified. I know I would've been!"

Mercy would have done just about anything for Flora— except talk about the attack. She hadn't had much cause to put her "put it to the back of your mind" talent to use since 9/11, but the gift came in handy in the weeks since her release from the hospital. The fierce, menacing glares had been scary enough at on the night of the attack. Last thing she needed was to see them in her nightmares. "I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

The familiar gleam that once sparkled in Flora's eyes flashed for an instant as one corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "Never figured you for the type who'd hide from the hard things in life."

Hide? Why, of all the—

"You don't want to hear the details, Flora."

Both women turned their attention to Austin, but it was Bud who asked "Why not?"

"Because she gave every bit as good as she got."

Mercy considered asking him if he'd lost his mind, because she had no memory of fighting back. In fact, all she remembered was agonizing, pounding pain, then thinking she'd drown in the river of rainwater rushing down the gutter. That, and the irony of the filthy little cup that kept the mud and grit from getting into her nose and mouth.

Austin winked and reached over to squeeze her knee, exactly as her dad used to—a private signal between them that meant "Don't take everything so seriously!"

If asked to count how many times she'd compared Austin to her father these past weeks, Mercy believed the number might reach double digits. Though the two men had nothing in common physically, they shared a fierce determination to protect those they cared about.

While pretending to nap on her first day home from the hospital, Austin had tiptoed closer to tuck the blankets up under her chin, just as her father had done when a virus or a cold kept her home in bed. And on Sunday mornings, her dad loved taunting her with a quiet "Hmm . . ." or whispered "Well, I'll be" as he read the headlines, prompting Mercy's inquisitive "What, Dad. What's so fascinating!" And when Austin did the same thing, she'd nearly burst into tears at the sweet memory.

Bud laughed. "Well, good! I'll bet those tough guys won't soon forget
this
li'l gal."

"Yes, good for you, Mercy!" Flora said. "I hope you scratched and clawed and kicked so hard that . . ." She had to stop to catch her breath. ". . . so hard that . . . that the next time they decide to . . . to hammer on an innocent citizen they'll think twice!"

"Aw, will you look at her pretty little face, Flor-dee-lee? Why, she looks terrified, just thinking about what happened.Can't you see that Mercy wasn't kidding when she said she didn't want to talk about it?" He winked at her. "Talk less, listen more. It's better for your health."

Brows high on her forehead, Flora pinched off a piece of her biscuit. "I wasn't talking about it, exactly," she defended."More like commenting is all." She looked to Austin, hoping for an ally.

Unfortunately, she didn't find one in her next door neighbor, either.

"Well, if this doesn't just beat all," she grumbled, feigning a pout. "Guess I'll just have to hide my curiosity
and
hurt feelings behind my love for buttery biscuits." And she popped the bread into her mouth.

Mercy suddenly felt horribly guilty. "I'm sorry, Flora. Maybe in a week or two, when the bruises have healed and Woodrow has found his way, I can—"

"Woodrow? Your cat is
missing?"

"Yes. He's the reason I went outside in the first place. I'd opened the front door to tuck a bill into the mailbox, so the letter carrier would pick it up on his way by, and when I did, Woodrow must have made a run for it."

"Why, that ornery, sneaky little ingrate!"

"Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute, here," Bud said. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that you went out in the driving rain, on that bitter-cold night, all by yourself to hunt for that—"

From the corner of her eye, Mercy saw Austin signal Bud to hush. Later, she'd thank him for that. "I never understood why he always tried so hard to escape, when he has a loving home, and food, and vet care and—"

"Didn't you say he sort of found you on the day you moved into the house?"

She didn't remember telling Flora that story, which meant Austin had done it. If he'd relayed something that trivial, what else had he said?

"Maybe he was like that dog from that kids' movie—I forget the title—going going from pillar to post, staying sometimes and leaving whenever he felt like it."

"You could be right, Flor-dee-lee. Makes sense to me." Bud stroked his chin. "Guess he's like so many bachelors these days; hangs around until he's bored, then off he goes."

"Yes," Flora said, "like my sister's fiancé. Here today, gone tomorrow. That man can no more make a commitment than a giraffe can fly." She aimed a maternal glare Austin's way to say it. Aimed a crooked forefinger, too.

She'd dropped a similar hint the evening Mercy met her, and another on Thanksgiving. It had been a relief to hear he hadn't taken any relationships seriously, because that left the door open to possibilities. They'd survived a couple of heated debates, and enjoyed warm conversation, hearty laughter, and sweet kisses, yet he hadn't given any sign that he wanted more.And to be fair, neither had she.

"You know, I never gave a thought to the possibility that Woodrow had another family—maybe more than one—beyond the boundaries of my minuscule slice of the world. Is my face red thinking I had a singular claim to the little bigamist!"

The comment invited a chorus of laughter that drowned out Mercy's aching disappointment. She may never see her precious Woodrow again . . . yet another beloved thing Austin's so-called loving God had taken from her.

"You're awfully quiet," he said during the drive back to her place. "You feeling OK?"

"I'm fine." She didn't have the energy to get into a whole "religion thing" with him again. Besides, last time when their debate ended, he'd gone home. This time, she'd be stuck with his pouting self. "Just tired, I guess, and a little down in the dumps about Flora's condition. And remembering what Bud said about more snow on the way. What if she takes a turn for the worse and Bud can't get her to the hospital?"

"Yeah, she looks pretty bad, doesn't she?"

She didn't comment on the fact that he'd ignored her weatherrelated observation. Instead, Mercy said "I've only known her a short while, but what I miss most is her vim and vigor. It's so sad, not hearing that 'loving life' music in her voice."

He stared straight ahead, working his jaw muscles and gripping the steering wheel so tightly, it was a wonder it didn't bend. "Did her doctor tell him how long she has?"

Austin shook his head. "Last I heard, they expect her to hang on until summer. Only God knows for sure."

God
again. She wanted to shake some sense into him.Because if
God
gave a fig about what was happening to Flora, then why was it happening?

The hiss of tires spinning over the wet pavement seeped into the front seat as they rode the next few miles in silence."Awful as it was seeing her like that, I'm really glad we went.Thanks for taking me."

Austin grunted in reply.

"I'm feeling lots better," Mercy said. "You wouldn't have to stay. If you want to get back to work. Or anything."

He looked over at her and smirked. "What was that, my 'Here's your hat, what's your hurry' hint?"

"Of course not!" she said, though in her head, that's exactly how she felt. Mostly because she really did feel better, thanks to his nonstop nurturing. "It's just—you've wasted your whole vacation babysitting for me, and—"

"Wasted? What makes you think I see it as a waste of time?"

She'd never heard that edgy note in his voice before. Anger, Mercy wondered? Or had she hurt his feelings? Shame threatened to turn her cheeks red, because she didn't want to provoke either emotion. He deserved better than that. So much better!

"Of
course
not," she repeated, this time with more emphasis."It's just that I feel so guilty, taking and taking and taking from you. I'll never live long enough to repay you for all you've done."

He swallowed. "I hope you don't think the only reason I stayed with you was to put together a scenario where you'd end up owing me."

How many times did she have to say it? "Of course not. But think about it, Austin. How would
you
feel if I'd given up every moment of my vacation to hover over you?"

"Interesting word choice, 'hover.' "

She'd never known him to be overly sensitive. Or pouty, either. And Mercy didn't much like it now that she'd been on

the receiving end of both. "You're right. That was a very poor word choice. Blame it on the pain meds. That isn't how I meant it, and you know—"

"You haven't taken any Percocet in days."

Ack, that's right. How're you gonna wiggle out of
this
one, Merc?
Fortunately, before she had a chance to respond, he said "Who would have taken care of you if I hadn't had all that vacation time to use or lose?"

"A nurse, I suppose. But I'm the first to admit that no nurse could have pampered me the way you did."

He chuckled. "Pampered. I like that a
lot
better than hovered."

An idea dawned, and it made her smile. "Would it be too big an imposition to ask you to do me one more favor?"

"Of course not," he said, mimicking her intonation."Anything. Name it, it's yours."