From Ashes to Honor (8 page)

He didn't seem the type to give his word and then break it, but she'd been wrong about people's motives before—men in particular—on both personal and professional levels. Mercy learned the hard way that dwelling on thoughts like that would inadvertently led directly to the dark and heartbreaking memories of her father's murder. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to think of something—anything—that would take her mind off the grisly images of the moment he died in her arms.

The steady
whap-whap-whap
of the chopper's blades churned the air above them, kicking up a cloud of dust and road grit.Mesmerized spectators instinctively shielded their eyes with hands and crooked elbows and tight-squinted eyes. Next, a mini-parade of fire engines and ambulances raced by on the shoulder, kicking up more dirt and tiny stones that splattered across all four lanes of traffic. It had been years since Mercy believed in the power of prayer, so it surprised her when she asked God to comfort the families of those killed or injured, and deliver those who'd died to a better place than this brutal world.

"You all right, miss?"

She recognized that voice. What cruel thing would he say this time? That he'd said a prayer, too, asking God to let the man on the motorcycle die a slow agonizing death? "I'm fine," she snapped.
Go away,
she wanted to shout.
Find another callous cad like yourself, and the pair of you can curse the poor biker to your heart's content.
Funny, but when she met his sparsely lashed pale eyes, he didn't look nearly as much like an ogre as she'd first thought. He looked weary, like everybody else caught up in the tragedy. The oppressing heat that rippled from the blacktop dampened his graying hair. A sheen of perspiration coated his face, and beads of sweat peppered the bridge of his nose. Evidently, Mercy and the Tin Man shared some critical DNA, because if
she
had a heart, would she consistently jump to the conclusion that every human being had devious and ulterior motives?

Well, not everyone. Austin had not inspired a single negative thought.

What could it hurt to give this guy the benefit of doubt? "You look a little flushed," she said, reaching into her back seat, and handing him a bottle of vitamin water, Mercy added "It isn't cold, but it'll replace your electrolytes and hydrate you."

A thin smile slanted his thinly mustachioed mouth. "Gee," he said, unscrewing the cap, "thanks."

He leaned close to look over her shoulder, and those old suspicions rose right up again. She flattened against the car and opened her mouth to ask what in the world he thought he was doing when he said, "Just lookin' for angel wings. These days, it's rare to meet a good and decent person, especially in the middle of a mess like this." He toasted her with the bottle."Thanks."

You must have me confused with someone nice,
she wanted to say. But "You're welcome," is what she said, instead.

A pair of uniformed officers approached, alternately shouting over the clatter of TV news helicopters. "Get back into your vehicles," said the youngest one, "we're about to move y'all into the left lane and get you on your merry way."

"That's right, folks," said his partner. His right hand mirrored the left as he pointed toward the median. "C'mon, now.That's the way. Let's go."

"We'd like nothin' better than to go," muttered the grayhaired man. Fortunately, neither officer seemed to hear it when half a dozen of his fellow motorists agreed.

"I wonder where they've taken the people who were hurt," Mercy wondered aloud.

Someone said, "Hopkins, I reckon."

"Nah," a second voice said. "A mess like that? I'd bet my next paycheck they're at Shock Trauma."

"Why?" the man with the water asked her. "You planning to check up on 'em?"

His question made her face burn with a blush. "N-no, of course not. I was just hoping the emergency rooms were equipped to handle so many—"

"You've restored my faith in humanity, young lady," he said."I'll bet most of these yokels haven't even given the accident victims a thought, except to carp about being held up by the accident. I'm guilty of that, myself. If I could get my foot up that high, I'd kick myself in the bee-hind."

She smiled, even as guilt intensified the flush in her cheeks, because she hadn't asked the question out of concern for the accident victims. She'd asked because of her concern for Austin.

Mercy knew she'd better get busy—and stay that way—if she hoped to find the strength of will to keep from calling his cell phone the minute she got home.

H
e almost wished he hadn't called Cora.
Who are you kidding?
he thought, because there was no "almost" about it.

On the heels of a day like this, he wanted nothing more than to head straight for the tug, stand under a hot and steady spray of water, and hope all the
bad
would spiral down the drain with the dirt and grit and blood. Instead, he'd showered at the station and changed into clean jeans and an Orioles T-shirt, and asked for permission to endure another two hours of misery.

Construction on I-70 slowed the drive to Cora's. And a brand-spanking new cashier at McDonald's fumbled so many orders, the manager had to take over and start everybody's order from scratch, so the trip that should have taken thirty minutes took nearly an hour. He could hope Eddy's widow would be in an upbeat mood for a change. He had a better chance of growing wings and flying the rest of the way to Ellicott City. On days like this, he wished she hadn't taken his advice about moving, so she and the boys would be closer to her parents—and their Uncle Austin.

Then the twins met him on the walk, and he knew nothing could be further from the truth. They greeted him with riotous enthusiasm, squealing and giggling and wrapping their arms around him as if they were still a couple of diapered toddlers instead of eleven-going-on-twelve.

They babbled nonstop, all the way to the covered front porch, where Cora met him with her usual dour expression.

"Hey," she droned, bussing Austin's cheek. "So good of you to stop by. The boys have missed you. They've been looking forward to this all day."

"Good to see you, too," he said, forcing a smile that he didn't feel.

Cora relieved him of the food sacks, and he braced for a lecture about healthy meals versus junk food. She surprised him by saying, "Hard day?"

"Nah. Just your routine—"

"Don't give me that," she interrupted. "I know that
look."
That part of the scolding, he could handle. In fact, he might consider it a caring gesture from a good friend—if he didn't know better. It didn't surprise him when she added "That's the look I see every time I look in the mirror."

Austin could count a thousand reasons why he missed his old partner, and the care and nurturing of his widow had always kept Cora and the boys at the top—or close to it—of his priorities list. The ebb and flow of Cora's mercurial mood swings had never seemed like a challenge for Eddy, and often Austin found himself wishing the man had left detailed directives, so he'd know how to sidetrack her when self-pity got hold of her head and heart. Unfortunately, Cora didn't come with a "Care and Maintenance of a Grieving Widow" instruction manual.

Of course he felt sorry for her, and sure, he knew that losing Eddy had been rough on her. And packing up the house they'd shared to move from New York to Maryland couldn't have been easy, either, especially with two rambunctious little boys.

But hundreds of people had lost their spouses on 9/11.Surely they weren't
all
still wallowing in self-pity, especially if they had kids. Eddy had been gone nearly ten years. When would Cora learn to cope with the grief and get on with her life, if not for her own sake, then for her boys'?

You're a fine one to talk.
Because if it hadn't been for his pal Griff—

"We saw a really bad crash on the news," Raymond said, changing the subject. "Did you take some of those people to the hospital?"

His brain zapped back to the here and now as he admitted that, on any given day, a dozen accidents might foul up the Baltimore roadways, particularly during rush hour. Before he had a chance to ask the location of the one Ray had mentioned, Ricky gave his brother a playful shove. "Shut up, Raymo. Austin doesn't want to talk about blood and guts while he's eating."

Ray screwed up his face and doubled up a fist. "If you don't quit callin' me that, I'm gonna—"

Rick snickered. "My mistake. I meant to call you—"

"Raymond, Richard,
please!"
And Cora, God save her whiny soul, ran both hands through her hair. "Can't I have just one hour without your incessant bickering?"

If her voice seemed shrill to Austin, what must it sound like to the twins, who had to listen to it all day, every day? Their young shoulders sagged as sour expressions replaced their grins. "Sorry, Mom," came their droning monotone.

His heart ached for them. They were only behaving like normal kids, right? Or did it only seem that way to him because he didn't have kids of his own?

Something told him his mindset would be the same, even if he had to deal with them 24-7-365, because he wanted kids, and he'd have a houseful, if he could find a woman who didn't consistently put her own needs ahead of her children's. A woman like Mercy.

Far better to focus on the promise he'd made to Eddy. Like it or not, he'd watch over this woman and these boys, no matter how hard she made it.

Austin clapped his hands once. "I'm starved, so what say we eat!"

Two chairs squealed across the linoleum and the kids dug into the fast food bags, distributing burgers and fries and sodas with the smooth efficiency of a Vegas dealer, chattering the whole time. When Ray got up for extra ketchup, Rick said, "How 'bout grabbin' the mustard, long as you've got your big head in the fridge?"

"We're identical twins," Ray shot back. "If my head's big, so's yours."

"Yeah, but you're four minutes older, so your head's four minutes bigger."

Even Ray had to chuckle at that one, and Austin joined them. He didn't think he could love them more if they'd been his own flesh and blood. To add to his pleasure, the older they got, the more they reminded him of his partner and best friend—a miracle in itself, since they'd only been one when their dad died. Their mannerisms, wry sense of humor, genuine desire to please the people they loved, just like Eddy.

He got a kick out of listening to their exchanges, and marveled at the way their minds worked. Much as he wanted to zero in on them now, he knew he'd better keep a wary eye on their mother. Earlier, she'd claimed to have recognized the worn-out look on his face. Well, he'd seen the one she wore right now, too. At times like these, Cora reminded him of a Mylar balloon, filled too full of helium. Any minute, she'd pop, and the twins would react to the explosion by trading their happy banter for sullen silence.

An idea dawned, and he decided to go for broke. "So Cora, what would you say to joining me for a walk?"

And Cora, true to form, pursed her lips. Oh, how he wanted to say "Keep that up and your face will freeze that way!"

"I have to do the dishes and there's laundry in the dryer, and—"

"Schweetheart," he said in his best Bogart imitation, "yer breakin' my heart." He pushed back from the table, and, standing, held out one hand.

Cora sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. I might as well go. I know you, Austin Finley, and
you'll
pester me even longer and harder than these two."

Austin winked at them and adopted a bratty, sing-song voice: "She doesn't know everything."

Now really, he thought as Cora led the way, how sad is it that her kids were out-and-out relieved to be rid of her, even for half an hour or so? Somehow, he had to try again to convince her to see a counselor, harder this time. "So what have you been up to lately, m'dear?"

"Oh, mostly just more of the same."

He refused to join in her self-pity game. "Same what?"

"You know, cleaning and cooking, doing laundry, garden—"

"But last time I was here, you were actually excited about getting a job. Down at the bookstore, right?"

"I can't commit to a work schedule. The boys need me."

Austin groaned. "Aw, now, that's just plain nuts. They're great kids, thanks to you. And you know as well as I do that they can be trusted for a couple hours a week. And who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky, find a boss who'll let you work while they're in school."

She continued walking. "Are you kidding?" she blurted."You saw the way they went at each other before supper. If I wasn't there to referee, it'd be that times a thousand."

"Will you sock me on the arm if I say that's ridiculous?"

He didn't have to look at her to know she'd frowned. Again."Cora," he continued, "seriously. You're a
girl.
What you don't know about boys could fill a book. No, not a book. A whole library."

She stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

"My brother and I fought
all
the time. Hurled stuff at each other—including insults—even drew blood on more than a couple occasions." He chuckled. "And we loved every toothand-nail minute of it." The memory inspired a crooked smile.It felt good, thinking about Avery without feeling like a lowdown heel.

"I'm sure your mother didn't approve."

Oh, go ahead, Cora. Rain on my parade, why don't you.
"If she did, it sure didn't show."

She looked genuinely surprised. "But . . . but how did she stand all the
noise?"

He laughed. "She didn't. She was at work. Spent every hour she could at the local flower shop."

Cora picked up her pace. "It might be nice, putting my teaching degree to use after all this time."

"And if you can convince the boys' principal to hire you, it'd be the best of both worlds."

"Both?"

Eddy often complained, as they rode from one call to another, that sometimes, it seemed Cora worked hard at being
thick.
The longer he knew this woman, the more inclined Austin was to agree.

"So are you dating anyone these days?"

The question brought Mercy to mind, and broadened his grin. "No." Should he tell her about the former Dr. Samara? Nah. Then he'd have to go into the whole story, and Cora would work herself into a snit, saying stuff like "The woman isn't good enough for you" and "Of all the nerve! Who did she think she was, judging you?"

"I might not know everything there is to know about boys, but I know a fib when I hear one." She smiled up at him. "Spit it out, mister. Who is she, and why haven't I met her yet?"

It did his heart good to see that light in her eyes again. Cora had always been a fine-looking woman when she wore something other than a scowl. "It's a long story."

"We can walk around the block again. As you so astutely pointed out, my boys can take care of themselves for an hour or so."

He pocketed his hands. "Well, I knew her in New York.Sorta. And now I know her here."

Cora giggled. "Will you sock me on the arm, the way you did your brother, if I say that's ridiculous? What kind of information is that?"

Shrugging, he said, "It's all I have." For now, he added mentally.

"I remember that paramedic you were dating a year or so ago. Good grief. What a mess
that
was."

Though he agreed, Austin didn't say so out loud.

"Every woman you've dated has wanted you to give up your work. Part of me gets that, because, well, you know, it's dangerous.But part of me is like, well, they knew what you did for a living when they agreed to go out with you. What is it with women, thinking they can change a man?"

"Y'got me by the feet." In truth, Austin didn't understand that, either. "Never entered my head to ask a gal to give up working at the animal shelter or teaching kindergarten."

"I can see how working around animals could be hazardous."She shivered. "All those sharp teeth and claws. But kindergarten? What's dangerous about that job!"

"Are
you
kidding? All those germs? And they don't call 'em ankle biters for nothin', y'know."

"Austin Finley, you're a nut, but honestly? I don't know how I'd have survived all these years. If it hadn't been for you—"

"C'mon, now. Knock it off. You know how easily I blush."

"Yes, yes I do."

He liked the way she said that, with the firm confidence of a friend.

Maybe next time he visited, he
would
share his news about the amazing Dr. Samara.

But he hadn't talked with Mercy lately. Every time he'd picked up the phone, something—work, boat chores, errands, the wreck on I-95, then Cora and the kids—prevented him from dialing her number. He felt fairly certain he'd been the one who'd promised to call, set up dinner on the boat. For all he knew, that parting comment that had been drowned out by his squealing pickup's door had been the dating version of "Don't call us, we'll call you." Besides, the phone lines went both ways, didn't they? If she'd really wanted to get together, she could have called
him.

Right?

She was a mystery; that much he knew. Happy one minute, quiet and withdrawn the next. Clearly, he had a ton to learn about what made her tick, starting with how her parents had died, ending with how she felt about faith, and God, and everything that came between. If this thing between them continued, he needed to understand the events and experiences that shaped her into the woman she'd become. How else could he provide emotional support?

On the other hand, if it took solving a passel of riddles to bring their relationship to the next level, at least Mercy—unlike the women who'd come before her—was worth the effort.

So he fine-tuned his plan:

Next time he visited Cora, he'd tell her about Mercy— provided he had anything to tell.