by Loree Lough
“Have you ever looked up the word ‘mercy’ in the dictionary?”
“I guess it must have been on a list of vocabulary words or a spelling assignment back in grade school.” Woodrow’s hearty purring reached his ears, broadening his smile.
“Most folks think it means forgiveness,” she said, “and it does. But it also means compassion. My mother’s parents didn’t approve of her relationship with my dad. They even went so far as to threaten to disown her because of his heritage.”
So her folks were prejudicial bigots. “Good thing they’re not around to meet me, then,” he said. But his laughter died a quick death when he realized what a silly comment might sound like to Mercy. “It’s just … with my, uh, with my past issues, and the reasons I left the department and all, they might get the idea I’m—”
“No, you would have passed their litmus test. With flying colors.”
Austin didn’t get it, and said so.
“You could be a Brit with those blue eyes and blond hair.But even Irish or Scottish would have been more tolerable than—”
“They didn’t like—” He paused, not knowing how to refer to her father’s nationality without sounding like a bigot himself.
“Don’t be afraid to say it. I’ll grant you it’s a four-letter word, but not one of the unacceptable ones. At least, not in all circles.“She slid closer, her tiny hands manipulating his lower jaw. “Arab,” she said, exaggerating the pronunciation. “Aahrub.Go ahead, now you try it.”
“Arab,” he echoed, feeling every bit like the ventriloquist’s dummy. “But you’re not getting off the hook that easily. No way. Nuh-uh. All this skirting the question has me more curious than ever.”
“Curious? About?”
He saw the teasing glint in her eye, and it made him want to kiss her for the second time since he’d arrived. Oh, who was he kidding? He’d wanted to kiss her that day in her office, when she took hold of his wrists and swore that she hadn’t been testing him. The truth of it? He really did want to know why her folks had named her Mercy. “About the reason your parents chose such an unusual name for their only daughter.”
“Who says I’m an only child?”
Another bit of proof that he knew diddly about her, but Austin decided to call her bluff. “You did.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Actually, I have a half-brother. We’ve not kept in touch, I’m afraid.”
From her expression, Austin couldn’t tell if she’d written the rules that kept her and her brother apart, if it had been the brother’s doing, or if it had only been a matter of miles that separated them. But something in her voice made him think Mercy would have liked more time with her only sibling.
“Mom was quite the free spirit in high school. Afterward, too. Ran around with hippy types, spent a few summers in communes, a few more following some rock band through Ireland. How she knew who fathered her ‘love child’ is anybody’s guess, but Leo lived most of his life with his dad in London. A week at Christmas or in the summertime didn’t give us much opportunity to bond.”
“Spared you the whole sibling rivalry nonsense, at least.”
“I suppose.” She sighed. “Leo became a plastic surgeon, just like his father. You wouldn’t believe his patient list—rock stars, movie moguls, politicians and their spouses. He’s in great demand at the London Bridge Hospital, and—”
“London Bridge Hospital? You’re kidding,” he said, grinning.“Right?”
She held her hand up as if swearing an oath. “I’m as serious as serious can be. It’s a lovely old building on Toohey Street, and yes, it’s near that London Bridge.”
“But I thought they moved it to Arizona or something.”
“The original, ornate version, yes. But the city rebuilt it, naturally. How else would people get from one side of the Thames to the other?”
He chose to ignore the bored tone that told him she’d covered this ground before, many times. “When was the last time you saw him? Your brother, I mean.”
A deep furrow formed between her eyebrows. “March 2003,” she said dully; “not long after you turned in your badge and gun.”
How could she have known when he resigned … unless she’d checked up on him? The notion touched him. Confused him, too. Now he regretted even more that he hadn’t called to apologize for walking out without so much as a phone call, if only to see how she was faring. He’d never been able to figure out what, exactly, happened between them as they’d stood, hands and gazes united by the common bond of tragedy, but Austin knew he’d never forget that moment. Had Mercy remembered it too?
“Things never quite returned to normal after 9/11 for anybody,” she said, slowly, softly. “For a few years, I tried peptalking myself into the notion that as a psychiatrist I should be able to handle things better than most. I stayed with Leo for nearly two months, then decided it was time to come home and face the music.”
When he stormed out of her office that day, Austin pretty much left the worst of the tragedy behind him. Not so for Mercy, whose job required her, hour after hour, to read anguish on the faces of her patients.
Her shoulders lifted with a dainty sigh. Then she forced a smile and said, “Turns out I developed a real aversion for that music. By year-end, I’d put in my resignation, too.”
She’d been so happy, so animated before he opened his big mouth. Austin felt like a heel for making her relive even a sliver of that part of her life. “But we digress,” he said, grinning. “You were about to tell me how you came by that remarkable name of yours.”
“Oh, I don’t know how remarkable it is. In fact, it’s a simple story, really.” She leaned against the back cushion. “Hard feelings were rampant on both sides of my DNA fence.” She held out her right hand, palm up. “Here’s Mom, with her illegitimate son.” She held up the left. “And Dad, whose ethnicity wasn’t at all to her parents’ liking.” Mercy clasped her hands, then snapped them quickly apart. “None of the parents attended the wedding, and according to legend and lore, my birth provided the merciful balm that allowed them to at least tolerate the marriage.”
“Like Romeo and Juliet, only without the gloomy ending.”
“If you say so.” She waved the notion away. “And what about you?”
“The reason my name is Austin, y’mean?”
Weird, he thought, that all it took was a smile from Mercy to send his heart into overdrive. Just answer her question, idiot! “This cat of yours purrs louder than my boat’s rusty motor.” At least now he could pretend that if she could hear his heartbeat, she’d blame it on Woodrow.
“I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous. He’s never taken to a stranger this way before.”
“You know what they say about kids and animals … .”
“That they’re naïve and innocent and easily fooled?”
The sound of her laughter set his nerves to jangling. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here, and fast.
Instead, he said “When my dad was stationed at Fort Hood, he and his buddies drove to Austin on a three-day pass. Mom was a waitress in the diner where they ate all their meals. Love at first sight, or so the story goes. They were married a few months later—and honeymooned in Austin.”
“And Avery?”
It shouldn’t have surprised him that she remembered his twin’s name. She was smart. And she’d taken notes. But when had she read them last? “Because when my grandmother got her first look at him, she said he resembled an elf. And Avery means ‘ruler of the elves’ or some such thing.”
Mercy giggled. “I love it!”
The modern teak-and-stainless clock on the stone wall above her fireplace chimed nine times. “Wow,” he said, setting Woodrow aside, “how can it be nine o’clock already?”
She stood, too, and lifted a flat-eyed Woodrow into her arms. “He isn’t very happy with you for disrupting his nap.”
“Sorry, Woodie ol’ boy, but me ‘n’ my lap have to work the first shift tomorrow.”
The cat responded with a bored yawn, and, turning his back on Austin, snuggled deeper into Mercy’s arms.
“Guess I’d better hit the road.”
“It’s been—pleasant.”
Why the hesitation? he wondered.
“… the pizza, conversation, learning how you got your unusual name,” she added, joining him on the porch.
Austin felt like the bobble-head Cocker Spaniel that once perched beneath the rear window of his grandpa’s Oldsmobile.“Yeah, yeah it was nice. Real nice.” Disappointment drummed in his heart when she didn’t invite him back. But what was stopping him from suggesting that they get together again?
He knew the answer even before the question fully formed in his head. Austin needed time to process the unsettling upand-down emotions she’d stirred in him. Time to figure out if being around her felt so good—well, mostly good, anyway— because he’d been alone too long, or if Mercy could be “the one”?
That’s just plain crazy, he thought, jogging down the steps.Last thing he needed was some woman—one who knew almost every detail of his life, no less—messing with his head.Worse yet, with his heart.
From the sidewalk, he looked up into her angelic face, and before he knew it, Austin heard himself ask if maybe she’d like to share another pizza with him, soon, at his place next time.
Mercy tilted her head as the hint of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a fully functioning houseboat.”
Not exactly a “yes,” but then, she hadn’t said “no,” either.
“Good, good,” he said, hoping as he backpedaled toward his truck that he wouldn’t trip on a crack and end up flat on his back. Again. “OK, then. I’ll give you a call, and we’ll set something up.”
For the past year or so, the driver’s door of his pickup squealed something fierce every time he pulled it open. Until tonight, it had never bothered him enough to drag out the oil can. But when its racket drowned out the last words Mercy uttered before she closed her front door, he decided to take care of the problem. Tomorrow. The minute he got home from work.
And when he finished with that, he’d scrub the tug from stem to stern, so that every square inch would sparkle when she visited. Then he’d ask Flora to suggest a recipe that would wow Mercy without exposing his complete lack of culinary skills. And make a quick trip to the discount store for placemats and matching napkins for the deck table, so that if nature cooperated on the night of her visit, he could serve the meal topside, and share his incredible 360° view of Chesapeake Bay.
So much for worrying about whether or not it was a good idea to move the relationship forward, he thought, pulling into his parking space in the marina lot. He had a feeling it would take days to get the picture out of his mind: Mercy, mimicking Princess Di’s parade wave as she mouthed, “See you soon!”
10
Sometimes, all it took to bring on ugly, unsettling dreams was a short clip on the evening news, describing the respiratory illnesses that were ravaging so many of the 9/11 first responders, or maybe an item about a new monument being erected in memory of the innocents slaughtered at Ground Zero, the Pentagon, or the grassy field at Shanksville. This time, Austin blamed the hours he’d spent with Mercy—the one person who had witnessed his weakness, seen him at his lowest after the tragedy—for uprooting the painful thoughts.
More than likely, though, it had been Cora’s number in the caller i.d. block of his phone, and the blinking light that told him she’d left another long and rambling message. Dismissing Avery’s message that day taught him a lesson—and left him paranoid about ignoring calls, especially from people he cared about.
And he cared a whole lot about Cora and her boys.
Kneeling in the hot ashes after the cave-in, he’d bloodied all ten fingertips trying to pry Eddy free of his steel and concrete prison. Somehow, he found the strength to beg Austin to check on his wife and sons from time to time. “Don’t be an idiot,” he’d teased. “Just hang on, and you can look after them yourself, just like you always have.”
But they’d both passed the department’s mandatory CPR classes, and knew full well that Eddy wouldn’t last until help arrived. Austin cracked a molar that day, gritting his teeth to keep from bawling like a baby as he made that promise.“Couldn’t have asked for a better partner,” Eddy whispered, and then his eyes went blank and cold. Austin had been seeing that in his dreams ever since, and didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d keep right on seeing it until he joined Eddy in heaven.
Hard experience had taught him that tossing and turning wouldn’t get him anywhere. So he had put his sleepless hours to good use, sanding the decks, polishing brass, painting and staining the cupboards and cabinets. If not for nights like this, it would have taken twice as long to turn the neglected old tug into a home he could treasure.
Austin padded into the galley to start a pot of coffee, and while waiting for it to brew, showered and dressed. After making up his bunk, he filled his favorite mug and carried it to the pilot house.
Yawning, he stood at the rail, watching as shimmering ripples danced across the surface of the night-black water. The familiar quark-quark of a night heron slid from the shadows, making him wonder what had disturbed its nest.
“Yo, Finley.”
Austin instantly recognized the raspy whisper. “Yo, yourself, Bud.” He glanced at his wristwatch: Three fifty-two a.m.“What’re you doing up at this hour?”
“I could ask the same question,” the older man said, and quickly added, “I’m trying to escape Flora’s snoring.” He stood at attention. “Say, is that fresh coffee I smell?”
The wind was blowing due north, not south toward the Callahans’ schooner, so it wasn’t likely the scent had snagged a breeze and drifted across the water. Smiling, Austin said, “Sure is.”
“Hot dog! I’ll be right over.”
“Meet me up here. I’ll have a mug poured and waiting for you when you get here.”
For the past month or so, he’d seen the old gent prowling around on the deck of his schooner at all sorts of odd hours.While emptying the coffee maker’s carafe into a Thermos, he recalled the frantic night when Bud suffered a near-fatal heart attack. Fortunately, Austin had been on hand to administer emergency CPR and monitor the situation until the ambulance crew arrived. And he’d been available to take Flora to Johns Hopkins, because the way she’d blubbered all the way there, only the good Lord knew what might have happened if she’d driven the distance alone.
The quadruple bypass saved Bud and greatly improved his quality of life, but that had been nearly three years ago. What if his restlessness had nothing to do with Flora’s snoring? What if, instead, it was a sign that his ticker had developed a new problem?
Austin carried the Thermos and an extra mug to the pilot house, praying as he went that the Almighty would continue watching over his friend and neighbor. Because if Bud’s hospitalization and recuperation had turned the normally resilient Flora into a woman who trembled and wept every time Bud got out of earshot, what would losing him do to her?
He’d barely settled into his favorite sling-backed chair when the older man’s white-haired head poked through the doorway.
“Did you add a couple of rungs to that ladder?”
“You ask the same question every time you come up here,” Austin said, laughing.
“Well, it sure seems like a longer walk between visits.” He grabbed the Thermos. “Say … did you hear that night heron earlier?”
Austin watched the steam rise as Bud filled his mug. “Yeah, weird, isn’t it, hearing one way over here?”
Bud grunted slightly as he lowered his bulk into a chair that matched Austin’s. “Well, the mouth of the bay ain’t all that far away, I s’pose.” He pursed his lips. “And it is about time for the fledglings to leave Fisherman’s Island.”
During the years their boats had been docked side by side, Austin and Bud must have shared hundreds of mugs of coffee while discussing the
Orioles’ lousy coaching staff and the Ravens’ latest draft pick. Taxes, the threat of a rent hike at the marina, and of course, the weather dominated their conversations, but they’d never talked in the middle of the night before.
Bud blew across the surface of his coffee, then took a loud slurp. On the heels of a long, satisfied sigh, he said, “Now, that’s what I call good java.” Then he frowned. “Hard day, son?”
At first, the term of endearment had rattled Austin. Lately, he’d come to like being part of Bud and Flora’s family, even if only in a surrogate way. “No harder than most.”
“Bad dreams keepin’ you up again, huh?”
He saw no point in saddling the old guy with the gory details. He’d done that once, years ago, after coming home from a bachelor party with a few too many beers in his belly. Even half-toasted, he’d seen how upset he’d made the Callahans, and it bugged him just enough to vow never again to utter a syllable about the terror attacks.
“Well,” Bud said in the ensuing silence, “no surprise, there.We’re comin’ up on another anniversary here soon. All that stuff on the TV news and in the papers? Shooeee. No wonder it’s front and center in your brain.”
Austin only nodded. Hard to believe it had been nearly nine years since—
“Talked to Eddy’s widow lately?”
“She left a message while I was out tonight.” Later, he’d listen to it. It always took a day or two to screw up the courage to call her back.
The non-answer hung between them like a new-spun spider web. “So,” he said, “has Flora developed allergies or something? It’s too early for her hay fever to kick in. And from what you’ve said, it does seem that her snoring has gotten a whole lot worse these past few months.”
“Dragged the old girl to the doctor day before yesterday. He said more than likely, it isn’t pollen or any of the usual suspects.That quack. Fat lot he knows.” Bud waved a hand in the air. “At least the fool helped me make an appointment with a specialist for day after tomorrow. Not a minute too soon, if you ask me, ‘cause I can’t imagine she’s getting much more sleep than I am.”
