Angel of Mercy

by Andrew Neiderman

“Don’t start your lying, Frankie. I can’t take it. Not along with everything else.”

  He started to raise his hand to swear, but her smirk aborted the gesture.

  “Your lunch is ready, Frankie. You’ll eat, go out on the patio and lie on the lounge. I’ll bring you the papers. After that, you’ll do what the doctor said and take it easy for the first day home. The children are coming down to have dinner with us tomorrow night. We’re ordering in Chinese.”

  “Beth, too?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Now who’s lying.”

  “I don’t know. She said she might go to Tucson to that demonstration, but …”

  “That’s where she is, Jen. I’m second when it comes to the cause.”

  “Please, Frankie, I can’t take any more tension.”

  “All right,” he said rising. “Let’s eat.”

  Hours later, after he did fall asleep on the lounge on the patio, he came in and flopped into the leather La-Z-Boy chair in the den to flick on the television set and get some local news. The teacher-parent love triangle murder was the headline story.

  “I guess this ain’t the paradise it used to be,” Frankie commented when Jennie joined him. They talked quietly about the old days for a while until they were interrupted when Phil and Brenda Morton, their closest neighbors, arrived with a freshly baked coffee cake.

  Phil had owned a hardware store in Akron, Ohio, and Brenda had been a school nurse. They were a pleasant, upbeat couple who had an almost monomaniacal drive to enjoy their autumn years. Their lives appeared to be built around their schedule of activities, from golf to bingo to senior-citizen day trips and show trips. The bulletin board on the right wall of their kitchen was inundated with messages and announcements concerning restaurants and department stores that awarded senior-citizen discounts and early-bird specials. Frankie used to joke about them, but for the first time, Frankie saw his and Jennie’s future in the same terms.

  Later, when he and Jennie finally had a quiet moment, sitting on their settee on the patio, he confessed he was tired.

  “This retirement business can wear you down,” he said.

  “According to Phil and Brenda, there’s never a lack of something to do.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. Let’s not run ourselves down filling our lives with things to fill our lives, Jen,” he warned.

  “Don’t worry about me, Frankie Samuels. You just make sure you watch your medications and diet and tell me immediately if you’re too tired to do something.”

  “Don’t start nagging. I can still go back to being a traffic cop giving out parking tickets,” he threatened.

  She laughed. He embraced her and they sat there while the night continued to fall and the stars continued to pop to the surface of the vast desert sky. Unencumbered by the bright lights of the city, they were far more visible.

  They remained there until they were both tired enough to go in to sleep. Just after he closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow, the memory of that funeral procession returned. It was just natural for cops to be superstitious, as superstitious as soldiers going into battle. Omens, talismans, charms, and curses made them take second looks, made them extra careful. Was it just fate that put him at that intersection exactly when a funeral procession was going by? If only he had checked out of the hospital a little earlier, or even a little later, they might have missed it and this dark, cold feeling that surrounded his heart would not be there the first night he spent at home.

  He turned to look at Jennie. She was already in a deep sleep, only now, when he gazed at her before closing his eyes, he wondered if his would be a sleep from which he would never awaken. At least this way the last thing he would remember seeing would be Jennie’s sweet face, he thought. He kept his eyes open a little longer, staring up at the dark ceiling and wondering how it would come. Would it come in his sleep or would it come when he was just sitting down to eat dinner?

  He swallowed hard and pressed his eyes tightly closed for a moment. It was so quiet here. Usually, he was so exhausted by the time his head hit the pillow, he had no time to think about it. Well, now he would think about a lot of things he had somehow ignored.

  Let this not be the beginning of the end, he prayed. He lay there listening to Jennie’s breathing, concentrating on her rhythm. He would never forget the hollow sound of his own breathing when he was in the CCU unit at the hospital, that beat on the monitor, that breathy echo that seemed to embrace his very brain and bathe him in the realization that he was on the precipice looking down into the darkness of his own grave.

  He got himself off these depressing thoughts by recalling his conversation with Rosina Flores. The man used Dilantin but it wasn’t his wife’s prescription and there was no empty pill bottle. Where did he get it, then? Was it his prescription? If so, where was the pill bottle? How did he know enough to use it along with the insulin? These questions should be answered before the investigation is closed, he thought.

  Of course, on the surface Nolan was a hundred percent correct. There was no apparent motive for anything else and good reason to accept suicide.

  But a man who just had a brush with the Grim Reaper and knew how dark and cold the face of Death was had a hard time accepting and understanding why someone would willingly embrace the grave.

  I’m sure it’s the only reason I’m harping on this, he thought, and he turned over to fall asleep to the sound of his own troubled heartbeat.

  4

  “He’s surprised to see you here,” Susie said.

  Faye nodded. She, too, had seen the surprise in Tommy Livingston’s face here at the cemetery when he had set eyes on her. He hadn’t seen her in the crowd of mourners who had attended church, although she thought Todd, one of his sons, might have seen her.

  “The poor man looks like he’s had half his soul lopped off,” Susie whispered. Faye glared at her so she would keep quiet. She didn’t want to bring her to the funeral; Susie was always bad at funerals. The church was crowded, so she told Susie to remain in the car. She wasn’t good attending church services anyway, especially funeral services. She would hobble down the aisle and stop where the immediate family was sitting and say the most outrageous things, especially to the children. In Susie’s eyes, the children didn’t suffer as much grief as did the surviving spouse.

  That was all well and true if the surviving spouse had really been devoted to his or her lost loved one, but despite what Susie wanted to believe, Faye knew it hadn’t been the case when it came to their father. Susie just didn’t know it all; she just didn’t know. There were things Faye didn’t want her to know. Susie was too fragile. If she had endured one-tenth of what Faye had endured … but she was always asleep or in another room when Daddy paid his visits.

  “Look at him,” Susie continued, whispering into Faye’s ear, “He looks like a man who’s had half of everything he’s lived for removed. He’s like a one-legged, one-armed man tilting, ready to fall. Doesn’t your heart go out to him? I feel like rushing forward to be there as his crutch.”

  “Don’t you move,” Faye warned. Susie was capable of simply doing what she said: stepping forward between the members of the family and taking Tommy Livingston’s arm. “Get back in the car.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Faye muttered under her breath. “Back in the car this instant.”

  “But …”

  She turned and gave her one of her furious looks: her eyes wide, her lips drawn back so firmly there were patches of white in the corners of her mouth. As usual Susie cowered back and obeyed. Faye breathed with relief.

  She thought Tommy Livingston smiled when he looked her way again. Most of the time, he had had his eyes down. He didn’t really look around until the minister had completed the prayers and the mourners who had followed the hearse to the burial plot turned to go, some passing by him and shaking his hand, the women kissing him. She stood waiting as these people filed by. Finally, he said some things
to his sons and started toward her.

  “It’s very nice of you to attend the funeral,” he said. Instead of replying, she reached out and squeezed his hand. He appeared to appreciate that gesture more than any words anyway. “We have some refreshments at the house for close friends, relatives. Why don’t you come?”

  “I will,” she said. He nodded and joined his family at the limousine. She saw from the expression on his son Perry’s face that he didn’t recall who she was, probably because she was out of uniform. The uniform did turn her into another person with an entirely different personality, as she thought it did for most people who wore uniforms. Everyone was a bit schizophrenic: cops, firemen, even doormen, because their voices changed, their posture, even the way they looked at people changed once they put on their uniforms. She was no different.

  Faye hurried back to her car.

  “Where are we going?” Susie asked.

  “I’m going to the Livingston residence. You’re going home.”

  “Why?”

  “I just know that’s best.”

  “But …”

  “Don’t argue with me today, Susie. I’m not in the mood.”

  “But you promised …”

  “I know and I will tell him about you.”

  “I should have introduced myself to him in the hospital instead of rushing off before he saw me,” Susie complained.

  “I said I would tell him and I will. Have I ever lied to you? Well, have I?”

  “You know you have,” Susie said. She looked away quickly so she wouldn’t feel Faye’s ire. In silence they drove back to their apartment. Susie got out without a word and hurried toward the front door, and Faye drove on to Tommy Livingston’s house.

  He had a beautiful Sante Fe–style home on a small bluff in southeast Rancho Mirage. From his rear patio, you could look down on the Ritz Carlton Hotel and its grounds, and, according to Tommy, if you came out in the early morning, you could often see bighorn sheep grazing on the side of the bluff.

  The furniture was all Southwestern, with a lot of pinks and blues in the carpets, wall hangings, and linens. Indian art and replicas of Remingtons were exhibited in almost every one of the seven rooms. There were skylights and large windows that provided natural light during the long desert days and great views of the valley and sky during the nights. Many of the features, such as the remote-controlled ground lights and the pool lights, filter, and jacuzzi blower, were state-of-the-art and were features Tommy Livingston had put into all the homes he had designed.

  A crowd of about two dozen friends and relatives had returned to the house. The daughters-in-law were busy commanding the temporary servants and setting up the food and drink. The sons held court in the den, talking softly to their own friends. The children were relegated to the rear and told to stay out of everyone’s way.

  Faye wandered through, gazing at everything with interest, for the lives of her patients, more often than not, fascinated her, especially the patients who seemed to have had good marriages, people who really appeared to be in love. Despite what Susie thought, Faye believed love was a fairy tale.

  Anyway, she often tried to imagine what their homes and their lives outside of the hospital were like, and Susie was always grilling her with questions when she returned from the hospital. Some patients did tell her things, even rather personal things about their families. More mothers than she cared to mention complained about their children or the women and men their children had married. Some wives complained about their husbands. On the whole, she found her female patients more open about their lives and families than the male patients.

  Faye wandered into Tommy Livingston’s office and gazed at the pictures of his family on his desk. Sylvia Livingston had been a very pretty woman, just like her own mother, Faye thought. She had the same sort of half smile, tantalizing, and didn’t she have the same color hair about the same length? Hadn’t her parents taken a similar picture on a stairway? Why was everything so foggy now, all her memories intermingling with the things she now saw? It made her dizzy for a moment and she leaned against the wall.

  She was so far to the right, in fact, that Tommy Livingston didn’t see her when he first came in and went to his desk. He took the wedding picture in his hands and stared down at it. Then his shoulders began to shake.

  She wanted to slip away so she wouldn’t embarrass him, but he turned around and saw her before she could leave.

  “Oh,” he said sucking in his breath. “I …”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Livingston. It’s okay to have a good cry. Keeping it pent up only makes it worse,” she said. He nodded.

  “Yes.” He looked toward the doorway.

  “You don’t want to cry in front of your boys or your grandchildren, I know,” Faye said dryly.

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted.

  As if she were back in the hospital and in control of things, she went to the den door and closed it. “I know you want to get away from people for a while,” she said. “Come, sit down.” She nodded toward the leather settee and he followed obediently. He sat with his hands in his lap and stared at the floor.

  “Do you want something to drink … a glass of water?” He shook his head.

  “It’s nice of you to still be interested in us,” Tommy said.

  “My sister is always bawling me out for treating people like numbers. Most nurses I know do.”

  He started to smile skeptically.

  “No, it’s true. Why, I know some nurses who’ve walked past their former patients in department stores, not recognizing them anymore. I’m not that bad, but I do try to remain detached, especially when I know I have a critical case.”

  “I can understand that. I can’t imagine going through this more than once,” he said, nodding.

  “We do what we must do,” she replied. Then she looked toward the desk and the photographs. “But I’m glad I came here and saw what Mrs. Livingston looked like when she was younger.”

  “She was a very beautiful woman. I was very lucky.”

  “Yes, you were.” She sat back and smiled as though she were reminiscing with him. Susie says husbands and wives grow closer in their senior years. Especially after their children are married and gone,” she added.

  “Sylvia never let go of her sons, marriages or no marriages,” he said.

  “A son must cleave to his wife and a daughter to her husband. It’s only natural. It’s harder for a mother to accept that than it is for a father, I suppose.”

  “You sound a lot older than you are,” he replied, impressed.

  “I am older in many ways than other people my age. I’m glad you see me that way, Mr. Livingston.”

  “Call me Tommy. You’re not my employee any more.”

  She smiled. He was a very vulnerable, sad man. He needed Susie.

  “So you have a sister?”

  “Yes. I have a twin sister who lives with me here in Palm Springs.”

  “You don’t say, a twin sister?”

  “Yes, Susie.”

  “And what does she do?”

  “Susie likes caring for people and keeping their homes clean and in order. She didn’t go to college. She’s had a number of different jobs, tried being a secretary and hated it. It took her a while, but she’s really found herself now that she’s gone into domestic service.”

  “Really? Is that what she’s doing here?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t work regularly. She likes to meet different people.”

  “She’s not married then?”

  “No. Susie is … rather shy. She was born with a leg problem, so she wears a brace. But it doesn’t hold her back when it comes to work. She could be of great service to you, especially now. I don’t expect you’ll keep this house the way it used to be kept by your wife.”

  “Hardly,” he said smiling.

  “Susie could be of some help, at least until you adjust.”

  “Sure. Bring her around,” Tommy said.

  “I’ll send her
over tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Tommy said.

  They sat there talking softly for a while and then she accompanied him when he returned to the den. All of the mourners gazed with curiosity.

  “This is Faye Sullivan,” Tommy announced. “She was Sylvia’s private-duty nurse.”

  Perry and Todd nodded with recognition now. They watched with interest as their father brought her to the food in the dining room. Faye was still sitting in the living room, perusing some family albums when Perry and Todd, their wives and children, were getting ready to leave.

  “You can come to our house, Tom,” Perry’s wife said. Todd’s wife immediately made a similar suggestion.

  “No, I’ve got to get used to being alone. No sense in postponing it. You guys go on, get on with your lives, and don’t worry about me,” he said, pulling his shoulders up to resume his normal firm demeanor.

  “I’ll call, Dad,” Todd said. “And if you need anything …”

  “I’ll stay with him awhile longer,” Faye suddenly volunteered. Everyone gazed at her, the sons looking surprised at first and then a bit grateful; the daughters-in-law simply looked a bit amused.

  “There, see. I’m still in the hands of an expert,” Tommy said.

  His daughters-in-law kissed him and his sons hugged him. Then they all moved out. Tommy followed them to the door. Shortly afterward the caterers left, too, even though there was cleaning left to do. Tommy voiced his annoyance.

  “It’s all right,” Faye said, gathering the dirty paper plates. “I told them to go.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “At a time like this, you don’t need a bunch of strangers lingering around the house, banging pots and pans and vacuuming. You need peace and quiet, meditation time.”

  “But why should you …”

  “I don’t mind. I used to work as a maid, you know,” she said. “While I was attending nursing school, I hired myself out and made what I needed for living expenses.”

  He stood there watching her sweep through the living room, adjusting furniture, fixing pillows, brushing crumbs off the coffee tables.

  “Most of my father’s extra money went toward medical bills in those days.”