by Loree Lough
“And there’s absolutely no proof,” Bud said, “that turkey was on the table that day.”
Flora leaned forward. “Or pumpkin pie. Wasn’t enough flour to make the crust!”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m thankful for.” Griff used his fork like a conductor’s baton. “That today’s Thanksgivings don’t last
three days.” He patted his slightly rounded belly. “One meal like this is more than enough for me.”
As the facts and falsehoods continued—from the long lapse between that first gathering to the one in 1623 that followed another severe drought—to Lincoln’s proclamation that the fourth Thursday in November should be observed by the entire country, Mercy smiled. It did her heart good to watch and listen as they celebrated long-established friendship.
For a moment there, as she stacked the dinner plates and delivered dessert, she felt a bit like a fifth wheel—but only for a moment.
Because if it hadn’t been for Austin, she wouldn’t be a part of this celebration at all.
24
Flora hung in there longer than he or Bud would have guessed, and as they drove from Fells Point to the marina, she fell asleep in the back seat, cuddled in Bud’s arms.
“She’s a real trooper, that wife of yours.”
“Yeah,” Bud croaked out, “she’s that, all right.”
He heard the unspoken words in the man’s pained voice: It wouldn’t be easy, saying goodbye to a woman like this.
“Mercy’s ‘good people,’ too.”
“Yeah, she’s just about perfect.”
“‘Just about?’”
Bud had enough on his mind without worrying about the roller coaster love life of two crazy ex-New Yorkers. “Griff looks good, don’t you think?”
“For a beat-up alcoholic.”
A light rain had begun to fall, and Austin turned the windshield wipers on Low. Their steady flick-flick-flick kept perfect rhythm with his watch and the song ebbing from the car radio.He glanced into the rearview mirror to point out the curious coincidence, and saw that Bud had fallen asleep, his head bobbing in time to the music.
Grinning, Austin eased up on the accelerator and suppressed a yawn of his own. He should have taken Mercy up on her offer to send him home with a travel mug of strong coffee, because if he had to, he’d circle the marina for an hour to give Bud and Flora a little more much-needed shut-eye.
She’d done an impressive job today, and he felt like a heel for not telling her that before packing the wheelchair and the Callahans into the car. Maybe he’d call her once he helped Bud get Flora settled in for the night.
And maybe he wouldn’t.
Austin needed time to think about what was best for both of them, and he couldn’t very well do that if he had to look into her sweet chocolate-brown eyes, or hear the notes of her beautiful voice. How a person with a heart that big wasn’t a follower had boggled his brain. Other unbelievers he’d met had been wickedly selfish, petty and cruel. Not Mercy! Why, she could start a new organization called “Generous Anonymous.”
“What’re you grinning about?”
Another glance in the mirror confirmed that Flora had awakened. “How do you know I’m grinning?”
“I didn’t, but you just confirmed it, you big goof.”
Chuckling, he said, “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Wasn’t sleeping. Just pretended to so this big goof I’m married to would relax enough to doze off.”
“How do you know he’s not pretending right now?”
“I’ve spent hundreds of nights lying beside him and listening to him breathe.”
He didn’t know why, but her simple, straightforward reply choked him up. Austin swallowed, hoping to loose the sob in his throat and stanch the tears burning behind his eyelids. It made him lonely for her, even though she sat not three feet behind him, because already he knew that her passing would leave a huge and unfillable hole in his heart.
“This game you and Mercy are playing,” she whispered, “it’s stupid and silly and a waste of time. And you know how I feel about wasting time.”
“What game?”
“Please. I know my brain’s foggy from painkillers, but give an old woman some credit, will you? It’s plain as the cancerfilled nose on my face that you’re crazy about each other, so why not admit it?”
He winced at her cancer reference.
“Sorry, but you’ve known me long enough that my bluntness shouldn’t surprise you.”
Winced again at her on-target assessment of his reaction.
“Do you love her?”
“Yeah, I think maybe I do.”
“You think she loves you, too?”
He remembered how Mercy had put her heart and soul into their last kiss. “Yeah, I think maybe she does.”
“Then I repeat: What’s with all this pussy-footing around? I’m living—scratch that—I’m dying proof that you’ve gotta take love where you can find it in this cruel world and hold on tight for as long as you can, because you never know what will steal it from you.”
He was mulling that over when she added “Stop. Wasting.Time.”
The marina’s entrance sign came into view. “Bud,” she said, “wake up. We’re home.”
Thirty minutes later, she was sound asleep on her side of their double bed. “Thanks for driving,” Bud said, shaking Austin’s hand. “It was a real good day, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Thanks to Mercy, I’ll have one more good memory to file away.” He tapped his temple, then tapped Austin’s. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, son. Use it.”
He didn’t wait for acknowledgment or agreement. Instead, Bud said, “Flora was right. You’ve gotta take love when and where you find it and hold on tight.”
“You were awake that whole time?”
Grinning slightly, he pocketed both hands. “Well, maybe not the whole time. Just long enough to know she gave you some good advice.”
“I know, and I appreciate it.”
“Got time for a cuppa coffee?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Bud nuked what was left in the pot from breakfast, and handed Austin a mug. “Will you think I’m acting like a nosy old woman if I ask what’s holdin’ things up?”
“With Mercy and me, y’mean.”
“No. With that flock of Canada geese that has decided to winter here. Again.” He chuckled. “Of course I mean this thing between you and Mercy.”
His reflection, staring back at him from the surface of the coffee, rippled and wavered, just like his emotions these past weeks. “We both have enough baggage to fill a carousel at BWI,” he began carefully. “I’d hate to be the reason she fills another suitcase.”
“Y’mean, ‘cause of those scars on her arms?”
Bud must have seen them when she rolled up her sleeves to collect the dinner plates.
“Can’t help but wonder what would drive a gal like her to do something that drastic,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“It’s like I said—lots of baggage.”
Bud lifted one brow. “You ever try to kill yourself?”
“Not in the traditional ways, but I suppose it could be said all that boozing I did, years back, was slow suicide.”
“I suppose.”
“Everybody who tries it has their reasons. Or tell themselves they do.”
He nodded again. “Takes a lot of faith to survive in this ol’ world.”
“And Mercy doesn’t have any.”
“What?” Bud frowned. “That’s crazy talk. The girl’s got a heart of gold. No way you can convince me she’s not a—”
“And that, m’friend, is my Catch-22.” He described in as little detail as possible the things Mercy had told him in her kitchen that night to defend the reasons she didn’t believe.
“I gotta say, that’s a surprise. I mean, wasn’t she right there in the middle of the whole 9/11 mess, same as you and Griff?”
“In some ways,
she was even more involved, being forced to listen as cops and firefighters and search and rescue personnel bared their souls during sessions in her office. That’s a lot of misery for one person to carry around.”
“Yep. It is, indeed.” Bud drained his mug. “You tried talkin’ to her about it?”
“Did you sense any tension between us today?”
“If I’d-a had a knife, I reckon I could-a cut through it.”
“Well, there y’go.”
“Have you prayed with her?”
“Would you if you were in my shoes?”
“No. I don’t suppose I would. Take her to a church function, then. Let her see with her own eyes that—”
“Her father was a devout Christian, right up until the end.If that wasn’t example enough for her, I don’t know how I can change her mind.”
“Prayer and time,” Bud said. “At least the two of you have that.”
Which was more than Bud could say, Austin finished in his mind. The thought roused a wave of guilt, because what kind of selfcentered fool would dump all of this on a grieving man’s shoulders?
“Did I hear at dinner that Flora has a doctor’s appointment this week?”
“Yeah, though it seems a colossal waste of time to me. Takes half the day to get her ready, weak as she is. Then they draw so much blood, I’m tempted to go at ‘em with a wooden stake.Honestly? I’m about ready to put my foot down. Because why make her go through all that if—” He plunked his mug onto the coffee table and held his head in his hands.
Austin reached across the space between them, squeezed Bud’s shoulder, hoping the gesture would express his grief, underscore the support he’d provide, any time the Callahans needed it, because he didn’t think he could get any words past the choking lump in his throat.
“You want me to come with you to her next appointment, maybe keep her busy while you give that quack a piece of your mind?”
“I’ll be OK. But thanks for the offer.”
On his feet, Austin started for the door. “Early shift tomorrow,” he explained. “But you’ve got my cell number. Use it any time, for any reason. I mean it.”
Hunched into a blast of icy November air, Austin hurried over the walkway and into his tugboat. He sat for nearly an hour, flicking a thumbnail against his incisors and staring at the cupboard where he’d stored a brand new bottle of Jim Beam. How easy it would be to yank open the door, unscrew the cap, and let it burn away the harsh reality of dying and death and uncertainty about his feelings for Mercy!
But the fiery liquid would burn more than that. He’d been face-down on the mat as an imaginary referee counted down from ten when Griff showed up and forced him to his feet. If he’d lost that bout, there wouldn’t have been an ounce of fight left in him.
Austin stared at the phone, considering his options. He had four choices, as he saw it:
Grab the Good Book and lose himself in its pages …
… break the seal on that bottle …
… get Griff on the line …
… or call Mercy.
Hands trembling, he grabbed the phone, praying even as he dialed her number that she’d be home. Because more than anything right now, he needed to hear the sweet reassurance of her voice.
25
Mercy looked in all of Woodrow’s usual hiding places and couldn’t find him. When not even shaking the can of his favorite treats brought him running, she started to worry.
Any time an opportunity provided itself, he took full advantage and sneaked out the door. And with all the confusion and fuss of getting Flora out the door with her wheelchair, he’d probably done exactly that.
It wouldn’t have caused such concern if she hadn’t seen that big black tomcat prowling around on the terrace for the past few days. Woodrow had seen it, too, and the two had stood nose to nose with nothing but the glass of the French doors between them, fur standing on end and tails whipping as they growled and snarled and spit.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the weather had turned raw and rainy. The tabby had spent ninety percent of his life indoors. After a night in this mess, he could come down with pneumonia. Or worse.
She donned her raincoat and grabbed a flashlight and stepped into the downpour. “Woodrow,” she called, peeking behind trash cans and shrubs as she moved farther and farther from the townhouse. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
“Only an idiot would be out in this deluge,” she muttered, bending to shine the beam of the flashlight under a parked car.An idiot with a cat who considered her home a well-decorated prison. What else explained his chronic need to escape!
“Hey, lady—you lost?”
The gravelly voice startled her, and she loosed a tiny squeal.“No,” she said, “just looking for my cat.”
Three boys—any one of whom could be one of her students—stood shoulder to shoulder, smirking at one another and snickering as they moved closer.
This didn’t look good. Not good at all. Just yesterday she’d heard a news report about kids attacking tourists at the Inner Harbor, on Federal Hill, and in Fells Point. Maybe if she showed no fear, they’d pass right on by.
“I have a good excuse to be out in this mess,” she joked, “because I have a brainless cat out here somewhere. What’re you guys doing out here? On Thanksgiving night of all things!”
“You got a wallet?” said the one in the middle.
“No.” She dug around in her coat pocket, came up with a five and two ones. “This is it. Like I said, I’m trying to find my—”
“Get those earrings,” said the shortest one. “They look like real diamonds.”
Before she knew what was happening, they were on her, around her, punching and slapping and cursing. They tore the studs right out of her earlobes, then ripped open her raincoat and pawed around, looking for a matching necklace. It riled them when they didn’t find one, and they jerked her to her feet.
“You live in this neighborhood and all you got is seven bucks and these itty bitty earrings? What are you, some rich man’s maid?”
She could barely speak past the sausages they’d made of her lips, couldn’t hear much either, above the odd ringing in her ears. Mercy sensed they’d resumed the beating, but she couldn’t be sure. She was beyond pain by now, and the only thing holding her up was the big one, who stood behind her, gripping her upper arms.
“Hey,” came a voice from one of the houses across the way, “what’s going on over there?”
The boys grabbed the flashlight that had rolled under the parked car and used it as a club. After half a dozen blows, the light went out and the plastic shattered to the sidewalk.
“Call 9-1-1, Robert,” a woman yelled. “Someone’s being assaulted over there!”
“Let’s get outta here!” one of the boys shouted. And before they ran off, the big one shoved Mercy into the car. She heard the passenger window crack, and knew it had been her forehead that caused it. Their eerie cheerful cackling was the last thing she heard as she slid into the narrow space between the tires and the curb. Cold rainwater rushed past her head, and a discarded fast food cup bobbed in the rivulet before it came to rest against her face.
Her last hope before the world went black was that Austin wouldn’t be on the ambulance that came to take her to the morgue, because with all he’d seen and survived, he didn’t need to add this to his memory.
26
She’d never ignored his call before, and he hoped she wasn’t ignoring him now.
Not that he’d blame her if she did. He’d behaved like a complete idiot today. In truth, not just today, but ever since that night in her kitchen, when she’d made it impossible for him to convince himself that maybe, under her bluster and blow, beat the heart of a true believer.
He’d never been one to jump to conclusions, so why do it now? She’d probably stepped out for milk or eggs, or treats for Woodrow. He’d shower and shave and change into his uniform, and try her again. Surely she’d have returned from running errands by then.
The possibility of that hit him hard, because she’d already been beaten up by life. He sure didn’t want to be the cause of still more pain, just because she didn’t see eye to eye with him about …
… about the most important element in his life.
Still, what kind of example had he been, behaving like a sanctimonious jerk who, over the years, had convinced himself that his way is the way.
In truth, though, that’s exactly what it was. Still … .He picked up the phone and punched in her number. When she answered, he’d suggest dinner and a movie, so he soften her up before laying his cards on the table. During the second ring, he ran down a mental inventory of possible restaurants.By the fourth, he remembered two movies he’d read about in the Style section of The Baltimore Sun. On the sixth, her voice was preceded by a series of clicks: “Hi! Sorry I can’t take your call, but if you’ll leave your name and number after the beep, I’ll get back with you just s soon as I can. Unless you’re selling something.”
Grinning at her final words, he waited for the beep. “Hey, Merc, it’s me, Austin. Call me when you get a minute, will you? Oh, and thanks for dinner. And for letting Griff join us. The whole day was … was just great.”
Nothing more to do now but wait, because unfortunately, the ball was in her court.
Austin grabbed his keys and cell phone, and as he locked up a deafening blast of thunder rolled overhead. Lightning zigzagged through the sky, each blinding flash lighting the marina with white light that put the sunshine to shame. The wind sent crisp leaves skittering across the walkways and started the boats bobbing like gigantic corks in the water. Rain came down in sheets, and he ran full-out to his truck, praying with every step that when he got home in the morning, there’d be a red light blinking on his answering machine.
