From Ashes to Honor (22 page)

He tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and smiled."Yeah. I'll be fi—"

Mrs. Winston said "I've seen this documentary before.
This
time, I'm going to ask for a copy, and I don't care
what
it costs.

Because my brother was in the South Tower. He made it out, but went back in to help a woman who'd fallen on the stairs."

It wasn't necessary for her to say more.

Mrs. Healye nodded. "My niece was a passenger on Flight 93. I haven't seen this one, but if it's everything you say it is, I want a copy, too."

A man behind her said, "I had a cousin in the Pentagon that day."

"And our dad was there, too," Ray added.

"All of the money goes to a college fund," Mrs. Winston added, "for kids whose parents died that day. Cops, firefighters, paramedics, people on the planes and in the buildings. All of their children will benefit."

"Count me in," Flora said.

And Griff said, "Me, too." He gave Austin another look, then shrugged. "At least this one's for a good cause."

Yeah, he supposed that was good enough reason to stay.

No doubt the movie would stir up some ugly memories, but at least this time he'd have Mercy at his side.

Cora stepped up and hugged him, then rested her head on his shoulder and began to cry.

Correction, he thought as the boys joined their hug. He'd have Mercy. And Cora. And Eddy's sons.

Chances he'd get a good night's sleep tonight with Eddy and Avery and the rest of this mess running through his mind?

Nil.

Unless he spent the first few hours with his buddy Jim Beam.

M
ercy had never been a fan of the game, and her distaste for football doubled in the days following Super Bowl Sunday.Everywhere she went, people seemed obsessed about weighing in on the plays, time outs, side judges' rulings, and the final score.

To make a bad situation worse, the Saints' win created a stir on Baltimore's radio airwaves, with half the city's football enthusiasts calling the team's loss "Punishment for Irsay's desertion in '84!" The other half—too young to remember team buses slip-sliding on new-fallen snow during the wee hours—termed the Colts' defeat "The universe making right what happened to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina."

How easy it would be, she thought, to hide from all of the bickering out here on the terrace, watching the birds as she enjoyed the crisp March breeze!

A quiet meow broke into her consciousness, and she turned toward the distinctly feline sound. "Woodrow?"

Sure enough, he peeked out at her from under a deck chair, looking dirty and rumpled and exhausted. Ignoring his matted, reeking fur, she scooped him up and hugged him. "Where have you been, you crazy escape artist, you?"

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and chirruped.

"Well, you sure don't sound like your usual peppy self, but I suppose there's a price to pay for living a nomad's life, isn't there?"

Mercy could count his ribs if she had a mind to, heard his rattling breaths, too. She had her suspicions about what had caused his symptoms, "Let's get you inside, out of this cold wind. And while you're lapping up some water, I'll make an appointment with the vet."

Three hours later, after x-rays of his chest and stomach, the ELISA test confirmed her worst fears: Woodrow had feline leukemia.

"How in the world did he get
that?" whiny baby!
Woodrow
is sick, not you. So what're
you
blubbering about?

"Picked it up while gallivanting around the neighborhood, I imagine," the vet tech said, "eating out of other cats' bowls, getting into fights, letting an infected cat groom him. Even with inoculations—and I know you've been religious about them—sometimes—"

"Will he need surgery?"

"No, that would only traumatize him unnecessarily.The cancer has invaded his vital organs, so an operation is pointless."

Oh, poor, poor Woodrow! she thought, ruffling his sparse fur. "How long before . . . before he—"

"I've seen cats live two, even three years with this disease.He
might
last that long, but his cancer has invaded vital organs.Plus he's severely anemic."

"So it's hopeless, then."

"Nothing is hopeless." He tousled Woodrow's mangy head."You're a tough ol' boy, so I'll just bet you're gonna fight this like a tiger."

"That's what I used to call him. My little—" A lump formed in her throat, choking off the rest of her sentence.
You're such a whiny baby!
Woodrow
is sick, not you. So what're
you
blubbering about?

"I'll keep him here for a few days, get him cleaned up and stabilize him. I'll send him home with an antibiotic. An antiviral, and alpha interferon, too. That stuff won't cure him, but it'll go a long, long way in making him more comfortable until—"

Until it's time to euthanize him, she finished silently.
Chalk another one up for the Big Guy,
she fumed, and added another item to her "God is never fair" list. She thanked the tech and paid the bill, and all the way home, ranted about God's utter lack of compassion.

The part of her that craved comfort yearned to call Austin, who'd turned the doling out of reassurance into an art.

But the rest of her held back.

He'd been standoffish and secretive lately, and Mercy feared that another battle between "The Great Believer" and "O Ye of Little Faith" would only put more distance between them— and less between him and his partner's widow. How many times had she pictured the two of them at the Super Bowl party—Cora, with her cheek pressed to his chest, and Austin gently stroking her hair.

What a horrible, selfish person she must be to behave like a jealous wife at a time like this!
Pull it together, Merc, or you'll lose him to Cora.

She forced herself to remember that he'd taken
her,
not Cora, to the party. To dinner and a movie for Valentine's Day, too.
She'd
been the one he invited to New York to see the concert.And what about those weeks following the attack when he'd cooked and ran errands and did his best to feign interest in those decorating shows on the home and garden channel?

It wouldn't surprise her in the least to find out that he'd done the same for Cora, after Eddy's death. Why, for all she

knew, he'd played the hero role to the hilt, dozens of times.And why not, when he was so good at it!

As a little girl, Mercy had wished for a kind-hearted and handsome prince to ride in on a white steed and whisk her away from everything sad or scary in her life. In place of the horse, he'd arrived in a red and white ambulance, and though he hadn't said it in so many words—yet—Mercy believed Austin
was
the hero she'd been dreaming of.

He had it all, from rugged good looks to a brave and caring spirit. So why did his "saved" status matter so much? It wasn't as though he went around spouting Bible verses, or judging those who couldn't—or wouldn't—recite them from memory.He wasn't anything like most Christians she'd known who behaved as if they had all the answers to the world's questions.But if they really had Jesus in their hearts, as they claimed, would they jump at every chance to make unbelievers feel small and stupid?

If his faith didn't mean so much to him, or if she could find a way to believe, even a little, in his God, maybe, just maybe they'd have a chance at a happy life together.

But he'd never turn his back on God, and she couldn't trust the being who'd taken everyone and everything she'd ever cared about, from her parents to America's ability to keep its citizens safe from terror attacks to Flora's near-death experience and the disease that would consume Woodrow one frail cell at a time.

Even without her degree, Mercy would have recognized the feelings for what they were: raw, unbridled rage. Didn't need special initials after her name to know that her fury had festered far too long to expect that they'd fade simply because she'd met the man of her dreams.

Living alone and on her own for so many years had made her self-reliant. And maybe self-centered, too. She needed to put Austin—and what was best for him—first, and she knew of no way to accomplish that except to fade out of his life a little at a time.

He deserved a woman who'd appreciate his finer qualities, who'd share his hopes and dreams, and, yes, even his faith.One who knew every detail of the life he'd lived, and who'd love him because of—and in spite of it.

A woman like Cora, who wore her feelings for Austin like a gossamer cloak. Her boys loved him, too, and he thought the world of them. A ready-made family and a wife young enough and clearly more than willing to give him a child of his own? What man wouldn't want that?

It wasn't easy admitting that as much as Mercy loved him— more than she'd ever loved a man—she didn't love him
enough.
Austin didn't do anything halfway, and if he ever got around to admitting that he loved her, he'd love her with everything in him.

He'd survived aching losses, too, yet each time, he'd risen from the ashes, more determined than before to fight for his peace and happiness, and retain his honor while doing it. That, alone, earned him the right to expect full-blown, unreserved love, and since she couldn't give it to him, it was only right to walk away, so he could find it elsewhere.

At the tender age of ten, Mercy had begged God to change her mother's mind about sailing from New York to Annapolis.When He didn't grant that, she asked Him to keep her safe, yet the nightmares of her childhood were filled with terrifying images of her mommy, gasping for breath as the angry Atlantic gobbled her up.

She'd pleaded with the Almighty to watch over her father, and, after the dreadful robbery that left him bloody and weak, she implored Him to heal the wounds so that he could come home.

Then 9/11 happened, and like millions of Americans, she'd sat mesmerized as the reports rolled in, detailing the fire and smoke and ash that killed thousands of innocent victims.

Afterward, her patients—men and women who would willingly have given their own lives to save any one of them— struggled to grasp even a thread of their former lives. Some succeeded, and others—

Like the firefighter, who, consumed by grief and guilt because he'd survived, tried to kill himself . . . and the cop who had succeeded.

And then Austin walked into her office, all six-feet and two hundred stubborn pounds of him, looking to her to help him find the missing pieces to the puzzle his life had become.

She'd failed him then, despite heartfelt prayers that God, in His loving wisdom, would make things right—and if she didn't leave him soon so he could find the love he so richly deserved, she'd fail him again.

If she could believe for a moment that God
would
answer just one of her prayers, Mercy hoped He'd answer this one:

"Let me be far, far away when he finds it."

T
he stray mutt had been hanging around the marina since the last of the snow melted into the bay, and despite a chorus of advice against it, Austin sneaked food to her every chance he got.

He'd been up on the deck of the pilot house, putting the finishing touches on another birdhouse when he heard her, whimpering on the walkway between his boat and the Callahans'. If he said "Scat!" or "Quiet down!" his hollering would only alert the marina manager, who seemed bound and determined to capture the scruffy half-breed and deliver her to the pound.

She sat on her haunches, head tilted as she watched him wave and mouth "Get lost!" and "Go on, get out of here!" Her big doggy grin gave her away: The pup understood exactly what he wanted from her, and she had no intention of going anywhere until he gave her a pat on the head and a slice of bologna.

The lunchmeat disappeared in one swallow, and Austin laughed. "What's your hurry?" he asked, ruffling her thick saltand-pepper fur. "You need to learn to enjoy the little things in life, every chance you get."

She rolled onto her back, feet clawing at the air as she waited for a good belly scratching. "Well, as I live and breathe," he said. "You're gonna be a mommy soon, aren't you, girl!"

On her side now, she aimed that brown-eyed stare at him, and grinned a little wider.

The poor thing could barely feed herself; how would she care for a litter of hungry puppies?

Austin couldn't ignore the situation for a moment longer.The birdhouse would just have to wait. "C'mere, girl," he said, patting his thigh. "Let's go for a ride."

The instant his passenger door opened, she leaped onto the seat as if she'd done it a hundred times. If he didn't have such a wacky schedule, he'd give her a name and buy her a collar, and bowls and a bed. They way she'd unquestioningly followed him and watched his every move reminded Austin of Rick and Ray.
They
looked at him with big, soulful "You can do no wrong" eyes, too.

Chuckling, he patted the dog's head again. "You're sure good for a guy's ego."

She responded with a breathy bark, as if to say, "I know.Now
earn
it."

"Don't worry, girl. I'll see that you and your babies will be taken care of. From here on out, you'll have it all."

A home, a couple of kids to run and play with, healthy food instead of the table scraps she'd been eating.

He spent as much time as he could at the vet's office. "Gotta get to work," he told her, "but I'll check on you tomorrow."

She never took her eyes off him as he made his way to the waiting room. And when he got into the truck, he saw that she'd poked her nose through the window blinds to watch him drive away.

"Aw, you're breakin' my heart, girl."

She blinked, and barked. Another silent one, or did this have some
oomph
behind it?

What would Cora say, he wondered, if he offered to get the boys a dog? Not just any dog, but
this
dog. Grinning, he waved and shifted into Reverse. "Say your prayers, li'l mama, 'cause I might just have the perfect home for you."

Thankfully, he hadn't asked the vet to try and find her a good home. Instead, he'd instructed the guy to give her the royal treatment. That meant shots and a teeth cleaning, toenail trimming and a bath. If Cora agreed to this, he'd deliver the dog—and everything she'd need—just as soon as her pups were weaned.

That gave him a couple of months, anyway, to work on Cora. And he'd start at the fundraiser, day after tomorrow. His biggest challenge? Pecking away at her when the Ray and Rick weren't around. Because it wouldn't be fair—to Cora
or
the boys—to open the door to a lovable mutt, only to hear their mom veto the idea.

She'd promised to whip up one of her famous cakes for the bake sale, and if he knew Cora, she'd slide a pie and a plate of cookies onto the table—and bag up a few for him to take home, too.

As predicted, she'd delivered far more than just the promised cake. She'd stuffed a plastic container to the brim with goodies for him, too.

"I declare, woman, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to make me fat."

"Really now," she said, blushing prettily. "Why would I do that?"

"Because then no other woman will want him."

Austin opened his mouth to tell her how adorable she looked in her long, gauzy skirt and dangly earrings. But Cora beat him to it.

"Mercy! I had no idea that you'd be here today."

She hunched her shoulders. "I'm one of the guidance counselors at Dundalk High. I sort of have to be here."

"Oh? As a chaperone?"

"Sure. But also to relieve the principal at the silent auction table."

"Another painting, I hope?" Austin asked. He didn't know how to explain what was going on between these two, but if asked to describe the sensation, he'd have said "Palpable."That, or "Territorial."

A flattering concept, if he did say so himself, because although he'd had his share of girlfriends, none had found it necessary to hang a "Taken" sign around his neck.

"Another painting," Mercy answered, "but a sunrise this time."

Cora's eyes widened. "Y-you've . . . you've been on Austin's boat
in the morning?"
A nervous giggle escaped her lips. "Why, I've known him forever, and not even
I've
been there
in the morning!"

He'd seen that pained expression and heard the wavering voice enough times to recognize them for what they were: Cora's feelings were hurt. Admittedly, it was fairly easy to accomplish that, but he didn't know for the life of him what had inspired it this time. Unless . . .

Understanding dawned at the same moment as Mercy said, "No, of course not. I was only in the pilot house once, and luckily, in time for a sunset." She pointed across the room, where her painting leaned against a mint green-painted cinderblock wall. "Used my memory of the landscape to—"

"And you?" Cora interrupted. "Did you build another birdhouse?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." He didn't know what was going on here, but it made him uneasy in half a dozen ways. "It's over there, across from the water fountains. Where are the boys?"

"In the gym, I expect, playing h.o.r.s.e."

Several Christmases ago, Austin bought the kids a basketball hoop, installed it above the garage door and taught them how to play one-on-one. It had been one of Eddy's favorite pastimes, and every time they'd played, the boys had asked to hear another "How I Never, Not Once, Ever Beat Your Dad" story.

Times like these, he missed his partner. Missed him a lot."I see some parents in the hall who look a little lost," Mercy said. "I'd better get over there before they end up in the boiler room." She snickered. "Catch up with you two later?"

You two?
He must have missed something while his mind had locked on memories of Eddy. Either that, or he'd read something in her voice that wasn't there, and read the same error in her body language. Because after all they'd been through together . . . .

He licked his lips, thinking of their last kiss. She hadn't initiated it, but she sure hadn't ended it, either. What had happened to make her think he could ever be interested in anyone but her?

"You're well rid of her, if you ask me."

Austin followed Cora's heated gaze.

"She's not only self-centered, but the jealous type." Laying a hand on his forearm, she smiled up at him. "You've had enough grief in your life without linking yourself to a woman like that who's sure to bring you more."

"You're a true-blue friend, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm a big boy." He grinned to soften the sting of what he was about to admit. "You're dead wrong about Mercy. I've spent a lot of time with her since the attack, and I'd stake my life on the fact that she doesn't have a self-centered bone in her body."

His gaze followed Mercy into the hall, and stayed on her as she smiled and joked with the parents of a student. "I could do worse," he said, hoping Cora couldn't hear his heart, knocking against his ribcage, "a whole lot worse."

"I wonder what Eddy would think of her."

Good question, Austin thought. "Never crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, I think he'd like her."

She waved the comment away. "You can't go by that. Eddy liked
everybody."

"Y'got that right. He liked me, and you know better than most how hard that is."

She responded with a sigh, and a
look
that Austin couldn't define. Maybe lack of sleep had him imagining things. Since viewing that documentary on Super Bowl Sunday, his dreams had been fragmented and disturbing, because instead of the smoking buildings and fiery airplanes he'd grown accustomed to seeing, this film had connected quiet conversations with the men and women who'd arrived first at Ground Zero. In one-minute segments, the interviewer posed pointed questions, then zeroed in on the subjects' faces, allowing viewers a penetrating look into their hearts. The anguish in their eyes had fused to Austin's soul, and echoed in his dreams.

Each time he woke, Austin thought about the bottle of golden liquid that stood in the dark cupboard, waiting for someone to break the seal and release its heat. If Griff knew how close he'd come to doing just that, Austin would probably need hearing aids now.

Or crutches.

"You aren't hard to like," Cora said. "In fact, it's scary how easy you are to be around."

Working hard not to offend her, to make her feel protected and safe, to be her rock and her shoulder to cry on was
scary?
At times like these he admired Eddy all the more, because he'd lived with the woman's uncertainty and self-doubt for years before—

"The boys have missed you."

"Same here. But with work and those back-to-back blizzards, and Mercy's, ah, situation—" Austin shrugged. "I'll make it up to them once things settle down."

"You expect that to happen with a woman like her?"

"What does that
mean,
exactly . . . 'a woman like her'?"

"High maintenance. Jealous. Possessive. And an unbeliever."

Until that last word, she could have been describing herself."I didn't realize you and Mercy had discussed religion."

"Didn't have to." She lifted her chin. "You can see it all over her face."

"See
what?"

"Lack of faith. It's . . . it's—"

"Time to change the subject," he said, and none too gently.He remembered that sweet pregnant dog, sitting in a kennel cage at the vet's office. He'd promised to get her out of there as soon as possible. Get her into a good home. And he'd meant it.

"I think the boys need a dog."

"I can't afford a dog."

"It's my treat. Everything. Food, toys, even the vet bills."

"I don't have time for a dog. I barely have time for the boys!"

"It'll be
the kids'
dog. I'll have a talk with them. Make them understand it's their responsibility, even when they don't feel like it. And if they give you any trouble about it, you can call me. I'll come right over and straighten them out."

"Austin—"

"They've been asking for a dog for three years, and you keep putting them off. It's time to give them a chance to prove what good kids they are. It'll be good for them."

Cora sighed.

"I know the perfect dog. She's about to have puppies, so we'll have plenty of time to prep the boys. Once the pups are weaned, and in homes of their own, I'll deliver the mother."

"I don't know. It's a huge commitment."

"So is marriage. And parenthood. You did OK with both of those."

A slow grin spread across her face.

"And just think of this: In a couple years, when the twins are away at college, you'll have something warm and fuzzy to cuddle up with at night."

She threw back her head and laughed. "What? You aren't planning to shave or cut your hair until the boys are college students!"

He wrinkled his brow. "Huh?"

"Oh, never mind, you thick-headed Irishman, you." She threw her arms around his neck. "Fine. Give the boys a dog."And kissed his cheek. "If you think I won't call when things get . . . hairy . . . you're mistaken. Because I will." Then kissed his other cheek.

By now, he'd figured out what her earlier comment had meant, so the hug and kisses were unsettling. Maybe he could pretend that he'd seen somebody on the other side of the room, then politely untangle himself from her embrace. That should buy his freedom without hurting her feelings.

Austin put his hands on her shoulders, fully prepared to hold her at arm's length, when he spotted Mercy, smiling and waving and pointing as she said something about his birdhouse.And that's when Cora decided to plant one, square on his lips. In all the years he'd known her, she'd never done anything like it before. So why
now,
he wondered, watching helplessly as Mercy's smile faded and her hand slid slowly to her side.

"Cora," he mumbled against her mouth, "what in the—" And when he looked up, Mercy was nowhere in sight.