The room was dark. Gently closing the door behind her, Meg felt her way across the
floor until she touched the edge of the bed.
“Nancy,” she whispered.
There was no response.
“Nancy.” This time the whisper was a bit louder. “Hey, sleeping beauty, it’s Meg.
C’mon, wake up. I’ve got some great news. At least, I think it is.”
Still there was no response. Reaching out to where she knew Nancy’s shoulder should
be, Meg found only an empty bed. In shock, she reached up and yanked the string on
the
reading lamp. The room was empty. No patient, no books, no iPod, and no flowers.
They must have moved her. She has gotten worse and they probably put her in ICU. Walking
out the door and back to the nurse’s station, Meg noted Marsha Kolinek now seated
behind the counter.
“Hi, Marsha.” Meg’s voice was friendlier than it had been in months.
Looking up, the nurse responded. “Hey, I understand congratulations are in order.
I hope that he gets what he really deserves.”
Nodding, Meg asked, “Nancy, the patient in 211, she’s not there any more. Where are
you all hiding her?”
A genuinely puzzled look came across Marsha’s face. “Gosh, you’re right. She’s not
in 211. I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t know what happened to her. She wasn’t there
when I came on. Let me check.”
Meg glanced down the hall and saw Jan. “Never mind. I’m sure that Jan knows.”
“Jan, I need some information.”
“You’re asking the right person,” Jan shot back. “Who runs this place?”
“You do,” Meg laughed.
“And you’d better not forget it!” the nurse said. “Now, who needs an executive decision?”
Smiling, Meg went on, “Well, we just thought you might know where a patient has been
moved to.”
“It’s so good to see you smile,” Jan answered sincerely. “Now, what patient?”
“The terminal cancer patient in room 211,” Meg explained.
Jan glanced down at her feet for a moment and without looking back up asked, “Why
do you want her?”
“She’s kind of become a friend,” Meg replied. “I wanted to tell her what happened
at court today.”
Jan stared deeply into Meg’s brown eyes. Then, in a quiet voice, she announced, “Nancy’s
not here.”
“I know that,” Meg replied. “But where is she?”
Jan shook her head, “She’s gone. She died Monday night.”
“No,” Meg moaned. “Not yet. Not this soon.”
Before anyone could say anything, Meg rushed back into room 211. It had been cleaned
and was ready for another patient. It was as if Nancy had never been there. Her eyes
searched for something of the woman she’d come to know and maybe even love. There
was nothing to say she was ever here—not even in the wastebasket.
Tears once again flooded her eyes as she sat down in the chair beside the bed. Just
hours after she had experienced what she had thought was such a wonderful victory,
she had to face another tragic loss. Standing up, she clenched her jaw, shook her
fist, and whispered, “Why?”
Opening the door, she turned the light off, and swallowing hard, straightened herself
and strolled back down to the station. As she walked around the corner, she choked
out, “Well, I broke the cardinal rule. I got too wrapped up in a case.”
Marsha just nodded. Getting up from her seat, Jan went to the head nurse’s desk, opened
a side door, and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. Looking up, she took
a deep breath before she spoke. “On Monday night, late, Nancy called the desk and
asked if I would come down and pick something up. A few minutes later, when I got
there, she handed me this. She said it contained something for someone very special.”
Jan paused until Meg’s eyes met her own. “That special person was you. She explained
it was a road map. That’s all. I don’t know what that means.”
Setting the package on the nurse’s station counter, Jan continued, “I took it and
put it in the desk over here. A few minutes later when I went down to check on her,
she was dead. It was kind of weird. Her iPod was playing some kind of gospel song
and the girl who was singing sounded so happy and here Nancy was dead.”
Meg walked the four feet to where Jan stood, gently reached out, and took the package
from the counter. Not bothering to look at it, she stuck it in her purse.
Meg choked out, “Was the song entitled, ‘He Set My Life To Music’?”
“Yeah,” Jan replied, “I think so.”
“She played that a lot,” Meg softly explained. “I guess that’s better than going out
with the ‘dark music’?”
“What’s that?” Marsha asked.
“Nothing,” Meg quietly replied. “It’s just a tune I have known far too well.”
“I wonder what she gave you,” Marsha asked. When no one replied, she glanced up at
Meg and inquired, “Do you know?”
Meg shook her head, turned, and sadly strolled down the hall and out the door. The
breeze had gotten a little colder and a little stronger in the few minutes that had
passed since she had gone inside. Clouds had begun to gather and it looked like the
storm that had been brewing since morning now might hit within a few hours. But all
of this went unnoticed, overpowered by a sense of loss too deep to fathom. Meg was
alone, really alone. There was no one left on earth who really knew her heart.
As she drove, numbness joined fatigue, and by the time she got home, they had double
teamed her to the point she could barely climb the steps to her apartment. When she
got inside, she simply fell into bed, fully dressed. She didn’t even bother to take
off her shoes or turn out the lights. Within seconds, she
was deep in sleep. Not the kind of sleep that brought rest and relief, just the kind
that promised escape.
A few hours later, she awoke enough to set her alarm and turn out the lights. But
her eyes closed again before she remembered Steve or Nancy or even the courtroom victory.
M
EG AWOKE WELL BEFORE THE ALARM SOUNDED
. T
HE FIRST THING SHE
noticed was her bedroom appeared as if it had been hit by a tornado. Her purse was
pitched on one corner of the bed and her clothes were scattered around the room. There
was simply no system, no organization. Walking to the bathroom, she drew a sink full
of cold water, splashed it over her face, and then, slipping on an old terry cloth
robe, stumbled to the kitchen. Once there, she tossed a couple of pieces of bread
into the toaster, and while she waited for them to brown, poured herself a glass of
Coke.
An hour later, at nine o’clock, she’d already eaten, showered, fixed her hair and
makeup, and dressed. It was too early to leave for the courthouse, so she picked up
the morning paper, found a soft spot on the couch, and in an effort to stay warm against
the morning chill, pulled her legs against her body. She glanced over the front page.
A bold headline on the bottom right side jumped out at her.
T
HOMAS
C
ONVICTED OF
V
EHICULAR
H
OMICIDE
That headline was followed by four words in even smaller letters—
Judge to Announce Sentence Today
.
Meg quickly read the report of the trial, and then, taking her scissors from an end
table, clipped the entire story out of the paper and slipped it into her purse. Checking
her watch, she grabbed a sweater, rushed out the door, and down the steps to her car.
After the short drive, she found a parking place and walked about a block to the courthouse.
“Some kind of storm last night, wasn’t it?” Cheryl noted as the two women met in the
hallway outside the courtroom.
“Rain?” Meg exclaimed. “I didn’t notice. I guess I slept right through it.”
“Well, you must have slept real well then because it almost washed the town away.
Reminded me of some of the thunder boomers we have back home.” All of Cheryl’s Texas
accent came out when she said the word
home
.
“Do you ever go back there?” Meg inquired.
“Back where?”
“Texas . . . you know, home?”
“Oh,” Cheryl glanced past Meg out a window at the courthouse lawn. “No. Dad’s dead
and I don’t have anyone left there. No real reason to go back. Though I do still miss
the country and the way people talk. Still, I guess that this is home now. That is
until Judge Thomas puts the pressure on my boss. Webb is sure to cave, he wants to
be governor someday, so my tenure is about up at the courthouse. And Thomas will make
sure I don’t work anywhere in this state. So I may just have to go back to Texas to
find a job. Or at least go somewhere where the judge has no connections.”
“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “Kind of my fault.”
“I played the game by my rules,” Cheryl assured her, “the right ones, and besides,
you gave me something I’ve been wanting and needing for a long time. I’ll gladly take
my lumps and like it. Not only did I win, but I proved to myself I’m good at this.”
Glancing at her watch, Meg asked the now-beaming attorney, “Do you still feel like
the judge might give Thomas the maximum?”
“I hope so. But in cases like this, you never know. Judges are simply unpredictable.
We’ll find out in a few minutes.” Smiling, Cheryl made a big waving motion with her
right hand and added, “You ready to go in?”
As Meg took her seat directly behind Cheryl, the assistant district attorney leaned
back and asked, “What if he doesn’t?”
“Doesn’t what?” Meg replied.
“What if the judge doesn’t give Thomas a stiff sentence? What are you going to do
then?”
Without thinking, Meg answered, “I’ll put him through another kind of hell.”
Cheryl had to know how Meg felt. After all, she had admitted to making a vow of revenge
once and it was a vow that didn’t rest until yesterday. Now, so long after the fact,
what the courts hadn’t done to her father’s killer had likely taken the edge off the
attorney’s emotions through the verdict she won in a courtroom yesterday. She could
probably move on. Meg was craving that same kind of feeling. That is really what she’d
wanted to talk about with Nancy. Nancy was supposed to give her a roadmap back to
acceptance, maybe even happiness, and most of all peace. But that talk with Nancy
would never happen and Meg trusted no one else. So, could she put the world right
and bring the old Meg back?
Meg crossed one leg over the other and glanced to the other side of the room. Jim
Thomas appeared exceptionally ragged. The cockiness that had been so much a part of
his personality was now gone. It had been replaced with a look of genuine fear. He
appeared scared to death that the next door that closed behind him might have locks
and bars on it. Meg considered the kid’s position. This might well be the first time
in his life he
was at the mercy of someone that his father could not buy. She smiled. Thomas was
where she wanted him to be—an animal, caught in a trap, just waiting to see if he
would be turned loose or slaughtered. The not knowing must have eaten at him for the
whole night.
Satisfied Thomas was a defeated soul, she scanned the rest of courtroom. The boy’s
family looked as if they were going to a funeral, and old Jasper Tidwell was no longer
glancing her way today. He was too busy studying his notes.
Checking her watch, she smiled. Each minute now brought her closer to finding out
if her nightmares were finally over or if they were just beginning. If he got a stiff
sentence, then her fight was done. It would be time to get back to living. If he didn’t,
she didn’t really know what she would do. It was a quandary that had been eating at
her fiber for weeks. Was this the way it was for every person left behind after having
a loved one killed by an alcohol-fueled driver? Did the pain and sense of loss ever
go away? Would those emotions revisit her every time she saw someone throw a beer
can out of a car or see an alcoholic beverage ad on TV? Could her heart be completely
healed when she heard the judge toss out a harsh sentence?
“All rise!”
The bailiff’s voice brought the proceedings to a beginning and dragged Meg back to
the present. She listened intently as Judge Truett presented his opening remarks and
then asked Cheryl to deliver her arguments concerning sentencing.
The young woman stood up slowly, took a few moments to sum up the case by not only
speaking of the loss of Steve’s life but the loss for the community, church, and his
family. Then she pushed into words that were incredibly personal.
“Your Honor, the cornerstone of this building promises justice. Today this justice
must be the kind that sends a statement to every driver in this area. That statement
must be that drunks
can no longer travel the streets of Springfield maiming and killing without paying
a considerable price for their actions.”
After glancing over at Thomas and Tidwell, she continued, “In the past, this type
of crime was treated much more casually. That lax attitude led to countless deaths,
including, not just Steve Richards but my own father. Consider that the maximum judgment
you can give today in this case, when compared to the death sentence given by the
defendant to the victim, is still very lax. Steven Richards cannot be brought back
from his grave. His child will never know his loving touch. He died with more than
two-thirds of his life in front of him. So, it is my argument that anything less than
the maximum would have the same effect as voiding the verdict of the court.
“Your Honor, in your hand is a key toward helping begin a change in the way all of
society looks at drinking and driving. In your hand is a key for changing the perceptions
that parents and kids have about partying with booze. In your hand is a chance for
a safer life for all of us.
“Yes, I am asking for you to make Jim Thomas an example. I am asking that we deprive
him of some of the best years of his life. Yes, I know that this may sound harsh and
it will not bring Steve Richards back to his family, but it might stop a thousand
more families from losing their Steve Richards.