From Ashes to Honor (13 page)

L
eo tossed his bag into the trunk. "I thought your boyfriend wanted to drive us to the airport."

"He did, but there's a weird strain of the flu going around, and the station is short-staffed."

"Another peculiarity about America," he said, smirking as he slid into the passenger seat, "everybody seems to catch everything that's going around, all at the same time."

Grinning, Mercy rolled her eyes and revved the motor."Right. Like the same thing doesn't happen in London."

"Touché. I suppose."

She merged with the early-afternoon traffic and sighed. "I wish your visit was just beginning, instead of ending. That way, you'd be here for Thanksgiving."

"Never have been much of a turkey-and-the-trimmings fan."

"I'd be happy to make something special, just for you."

He reached across the console and squeezed her shoulder.

"You could always come to London for the holiday, you know.If not for Thanksgiving, then maybe Christmas?"

There was no mistaking the sad, pensive tone in his voice."So what do you think of Austin?" If that didn't get his mind off the reasons she'd last gone to London, nothing would.

"Seems a right likable chap. Smart. Good sense of humor.And it's quite obvious that he positively
adores
you."

"You think so?"

"I can't believe you even have to ask! Surely you've seen the way he looks at you. Why, he reminds me of an adoring puppy, following his mistress hither and yon."

Mercy giggled. "Hither and yon, indeed. You've got a lot of nerve, making fun of the way we Americans talk."

Leo laughed, and after a moment of silence, said, "Ah, I'm going to miss you, Mercy m'love."

"Not as much as I'll miss you."

"Such a silly girl. Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because you have relatives in London. And all over England, for that matter. Lots of them. And a few in France, and Italy, and Canada, too. But you're it for me."

Leo nodded. "Yes. I suppose that's true enough, at least where blood-kin are involved. Makes me all the more pleased to know that you'll have this Austin fellow looking out for you."

"I don't need 'this Austin fellow,' " she snapped, "or anyone else, for that matter, looking out for me."

"Now, now . . . I'm only pointing out that I'll rest a lot easier, knowing how much he cares for you. Why, I'm sure it's safe to say that he wouldn't think twice about putting his life on the line for you."

"Austin was a New York City cop, don't forget, and now he's an EMT. Putting his life on the line is second nature to him."

"Oh, the lies we tell ourselves!"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him frown, and tensed in anticipation of whatever tell-it-like-it-is bit of advice he intended to deliver.

"Funny," Leo said, "but that lost-in-love puppy look that's all over the man's face? I didn't see anything even remotely like it on yours."

"I'm a psychiatrist," she defended. "How would it look to my patients if I let my feelings show?"

"To begin with, you're a guidance counselor now, and those drug-addicted brats who come to you for help in choosing the most mind-numbing, time-wasting courses on the docket wouldn't notice if you wore a pirate hat and an eye patch."

"They aren't brats."
Not all of them, anyway.

"And besides, not even your Hollywood mega-stars can act that well. I don't mind admitting that I watched you like a hawk, and not once did I see so much as a glimmer of affection beaming from your eyes when you looked at him."

"Because I've mastered the fine art of keeping my emotions to myself!"

He started to protest when she pointed at the big green sign just ahead. "Oh, dear. So soon? 'Airport,'' she read aloud, "'next right.'"

"Here's your hat, what's your hurry, eh?" Leo chuckled. "All right, darling, I can take a hint. But just let me say one last thing and then you have my word, the subject is closed: Austin the constable-turned-paramedic is crazy in love with you, so if you don't feel the same way about him, well, it might be kinder to stop seeing him."

She'd never believed Leo meant any meanspiritedness or malice on the occasions he'd put her in an awkward position.Deliberate or not, Mercy had taught herself to ignore his bigbrother teasing, because as a rule, the subject matter itself,

had been trivial.
This
topic, however, was neither ordinary nor petty. "Who says I don't feel the same way?"

"Omission, sweet sister of mine, speaks louder than words."Mercy had always taken pride in the fact that she'd never been the "heart on her sleeve" type. Keeping her emotions in check hadn't just been part of doing her job well—it had become a permanent character trait. She might have pointed that out, if his airline's colorful sign hadn't come into view, glowing into the early-evening darkness.

Mercy had barely rolled to a stop before Leo leaped from the car and rapped on the trunk. "Pop the lid, darling girl," he said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Here's your hat, what's your hurry," she echoed, standing on the curb as he retrieved his bag.

"You of all people know how much I hate goodbyes." He kissed her cheek. "Wouldn't want me getting on the plane with all those pretty—and hopefully available stewardesses— all puffy-eyed and weepy, now would you?"

"You're showing your age," she teased, tidying his collar."They haven't been called stewardesses for years and years."He rolled his eyes. "Someday, I'm going to learn of a distant island where the natives haven't yet heard of political correctness.And when I do, I'll pack up and move there."

"What? And leave all your celebrity patients behind? Don't make me laugh!"

Leo pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. "Good.I can check in and make it to the gate without any fuss and bother. I sat beside a red-faced, sweaty man on the way over here, and I have
no
desire to be that man on the way home!"

"Have a safe flight," she said, hugging him. "Call me when you land. Or, if you're bored, call from the air!"

"Are you daft, girl? Do you know what those air-to-ground calls
cost?"

With that, he grabbed his bag and rolled it toward the terminal.Mercy ran after him, gave him one last hug. "I'm really gonna miss you, you big nut!"

"Goodness, girl, are you trying to see if a hundred pound, five-foot weakling can knock a former rugby star off his feet!" Then he held her at arm's length and added "If you change your mind about spending Christmas in London, you'll let me know?"

She wouldn't change her mind, but why rehash an already sore subject? "Of course. And if you feel like making the trip back here for the holiday, well, I'd just love that!"

Leo pressed a noisy kiss to her forehead. "I'm proud of you, Mercy, and happy to see you happy."

"Speaking of happy," she said, looking for a way to stall, at least another moment more, "how soon will Debbie be visiting you in jolly old England?"

"Never, if I have any say about it."

"I'm shocked!" she admitted. "You two seemed so . . . so
cozy
at dinner the other night."

"Apparently, a talent for not allowing one's feelings to show on one's face is an inherited trait. Suffice it to say Debbie is a tad too effervescent for my liking."

Mercy recalled the way the redhead put double-emphasis on just about everything, for no apparent reason. "I love you, Leo, and I'm really,
really
going to miss you. That big old house just won't be the same without you."

"Love you, too," he said, and, after a final hug, walked into the terminal. Inside, he turned to wave one last time before blending into the crowd of travelers who'd congregated at the ticket counters.

The drive home seemed three times longer than the trip to BWI, and on the way Mercy thought about Leo's assessment of her feelings for Austin. Had she really become so proficient at hiding her emotions that her only brother couldn't read her, at least once in a while? And if he couldn't, surely Austin felt just as confused.

She didn't like the idea of ending things with Austin. For one thing, how would she end something that hadn't officially started? For another, their time together had always been enjoyable. Well, except for his maddening tendency to put
Jesus
into nearly every blessed thing. God had never been there for her. Not when her mother left, or when she drowned. Not when 9/11 tore the nation apart, or as she tried to help those who'd witnessed more death and dying in one day than fifty Americans see in a lifetime. Not when her patient committed suicide, or when her father tried to stop an armed killer, and certainly not when her father died in her arms.

She had no use for a being who, in her opinion, had repeatedly turned His back on her. Mercy didn't even care enough about Him to summon those old, bitter thoughts any more.

Yet something akin to anger smoldered deep in her soul . . . .Let Austin put his faith in heavenly powers if that helped him when ugly memories rose up and threatened to choke every moment's peace from his life. Mercy had made out just fine without divine intervention—including that bloody little episode with the kitchen knife—and saw no reason to alter her beliefs or her behavior.

The traffic light at Pratt Street turned yellow, and only then did Mercy realize how many miles out of her way she'd driven.She braked, nodding because suddenly, she understood the confusion that sometimes clouded Austin's clear, honest eyes, why he sometimes seemed afraid of getting too close, or saying too much. How much farther might their relationship have progressed if she hadn't held back so much of herself?

"Oh, give yourself a break," she blurted, slapping the steering wheel, "it's only been two and a half months since you reconnected with him! You can't expect to—"

The passenger in the car beside hers met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. Pointing at his chest, he mouthed, "You talkin' to
me?"

Thankfully, the light turned green, and she wasted no time moving forward. As she turned right on President Street, Mercy grinned.
You must have looked like a first class weirdo to the poor guy!
By the time she maneuvered the circle around Baltimore Civil War Memorial, the quiet giggle had turned into fullblown laughter. She was pulling into her garage on Aliceanna when it dawned on her that Austin was the only person who'd understand why she saw found the whole thing so funny.

Warmth flooded her being and pulsed in her heart. Was as she thought
Maybe you do love him . . .

. . . just a little bit . . .

I
f you don't have other plans," Mercy said into the phone, "I'd love for you and Bud to come to Thanksgiving dinner."

Flora's laughter trickled through the wires. "Gracious, girl, that's three weeks off. You do believe in planning ahead, don't you?"

Was it her imagination, or had the poor dear caught a head cold? "Well, I'm not overly fond of last-minute invitations, so I figure no one else is, either. Besides, I didn't want to risk that someone else would snap you up before I got the chance!"

She half expected Flora to say that she and Bud would spend the holiday with their children and grandchildren. "Hold on a sec," she said instead, "while I see what this old buzzard I'm married to says about it."

Yes, definitely something different about Flora's voice. But maybe it only seemed that way because Mercy hadn't spoken with her on the phone before. As she listened to the Callahans' muffled back-and-forth exchange, she recalled her tour of their schooner. In a place that small, why hadn't she seen any photographic evidence of extended family, like pictures of gaptoothed youngsters or photos of newlyweds?

Bud's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I, for one, would be delighted to eat a Thanksgiving turkey that isn't dry as toast, and stuffing that's ain't soggy as a deck mop."

And Flora hollered from the background "Tell her we usually eat out on Thanksgiving, or she'll think I'm the one who serves up slop like that!"

Mercy heard the smile in his voice when he said "I'm sure there's no need for me to repeat that since my lovely wife can bellow like a foghorn." He lowered his voice to add, "One of us will call you in a week or so to let you know for sure. Whether we can come or not will depend entirely on what the docs say after they've read her test results."

As she hung up, Mercy realized this was another bit of information Austin hadn't shared with her. Not that it had been entirely his fault. Between chaperoning before- and afterschool activities and delivering Tommy's homework every afternoon, Mercy hadn't been home much in the weeks since Leo returned to England.

Tommy . . . .

The poor kid,
she thought, remembering the brittle voice mail message from his mother: "Much as we appreciate all the trouble you've gone to, gathering his books and visiting all his teachers to make sure Tommy doesn't fall behind, his dad or I will do it from now on."

If she'd known that her little speech would inspire such drastic action, Mercy would have made it, anyway. Mrs.Winston needed to hear that her pampering—though rooted in an attempt to keep her boy safe and off the football field— had put him behind at school
and
slowed his recovery. In the days since, his mother stuck to her guns, and, unfair as that was for Tommy, Mercy was powerless to help him.

Frustration mounted when that same week two juniors decided to quit school, and nothing she said could convince them otherwise. Drug-sniffing dogs found pot in one of the seniors' lockers. Mercy pointed out that it was the girl's first offense, but the school board chose to make an example of her.She might have coped with two hundred hours of community service, but the month-long suspension meant she couldn't graduate with her class, and she became the third student to drop out.

Learning that Flora might have a serious condition did nothing to improve Mercy's mood, so she tackled the guest room in the hope the work would get her mind off things.When vacuuming and dusting and putting fresh sheets on the bed did nothing to raise her spirits, she moved to the hall bath. Maybe those chores would leave her exhausted enough to sleep without worrying about the welfare of her students.Mercy was elbow-deep in a bucket of pine cleaner when the front doorbell rang.

Drying her hands on her jeans, she muttered, "Who could that be at this hour?"

If she had glanced through the peep hole, Mercy would never have opened the door, because the last person she wanted to see while covered with suds and sweat was Austin.

Grinning, he held up a big brown paper bag and headed straight for the kitchen. "I wasn't sure if you'd want sweet and sour or barbecue sauce," he said, putting tiny white containers onto the counter, "so I got both."

Mercy slapped a palm to her forehead and groaned.

"Whoa. Don't tell me you forgot our date."

"All right, I won't tell you."

"Is it OK if I pout after we eat? I'm starved."

She didn't even want to think about how she must look, with her hair tied back in a bandanna and her jeans rolled up to her knees. "Just let me get cleaned up a litt—"

"Please. Don't." He flipped on the radio and fiddled with the dial until he found a soft rock station. "The charwoman look is great on you."

The delicious scents wafting from the containers reminded her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. At the sink, she washed her hands, then hopped onto a counter stool and flapped a paper napkin across her lap. "Pass the wasabi, will you please?"

His did, eyes widening when she scooped a generous portion onto her plate. "You're not seriously gonna eat that."

"Of course I am." And to prove it, Mercy dabbed some onto her sushi and popped it into her mouth.

Laughing, he said "Remind me not to kiss
you
on the lips.At least not until you've had plenty of water to wash that stuff down!"

She stopped chewing long enough to try and make sense of what he'd said. Once she figured it out, Mercy grinned. "You don't like spicy foods?"

He was emulating a rock star, bobbing his head and drumming on the granite with his chopsticks when he said, "Well, sure. Just not in megadoses." Then he speared a dumpling. "So how was your day?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Don't get me started."

"That bad, huh?"

She told him about the dropouts and Tommy's mom, and the girl who'd been suspended for hiding pot in her locker."Days like this, I'd like to round them all up and put them each into suspended animation, until I can figure out what to
do
with them."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Good thing Leo isn't here. He's already convinced they're doomed to a life of crime."

"Don't remind me."

"Heard from him since he left?"

Mercy nodded. "Once when he called to tell me he'd made it home safely, once to say he missed Debbie."

"You're kidding."

She shook her head. "Took me by surprise, too. Especially since he told me on the way to the airport that she isn't his type."

"Guess there's no accounting for some people's taste."

"That isn't very nice." She lifted one brow to add. "Isn't very
Christian,
either."

"How do you figure that? 'Honesty is the best policy.'"

"Yeah, well," she said, emptying the contents of a thimblesized container of sweet and sour sauce over her egg roll, "it's possible to be nice
and
honest, y'know."

"What can I say? I just wouldn't have guessed that redhead is Leo's type." He paused long enough to capture her gaze with his own. "I know she sure as shootin' ain't
mine."

Mercy pretended that not spilling the sauce required deep concentration because she had no intention of asking what his type was. An open-ended question like that could only lead to . . .

"So how was
your
day?"

"Listen to us," he said, "sitting here over supper, talking about our days like an old married couple."

Now really, she asked herself, why would a little joke like that start her heart beating like a parade drum? "I talked to Flora and Bud earlier."

"Yeah? 'Bout what?"

"Invited them to Thanksgiving dinner."

"And . . . ?"

"And if the doctors say it's OK, they'll come."

Austin shook his head. "Bud's about going nuts waiting for the reports."

"I never did understand why it takes so long. The waiting is probably at least as damaging for patients as hearing the results of whatever the doctors and lab techs are looking for."

"I'm dying to ask what they're looking for," he said as the furrow deepened between his brows.

"Weird."

"What is?"

"I don't know why, but I figured you already knew."

"Just because we're neighbors doesn't mean I'm all up in their business, y'know."

She chose to ignore his biting tone. He'd probably had a far worse day than she had—given what he did for a living—and that was saying something. "How many kids do they have?"

"None. They had a son," Austin said, "a firefighter. He died about five years ago when the roof of a burning building caved in, and took him with it."

The image of it raced through her head, and Mercy grimaced."That's—that's. Just.
Awful."
And she meant it, with every fiber of her being. It made her angry, hearing that Flora and Bud had lost their only son—while he was performing a life-saving task, no less. And now Flora might have god-knowswhat."What is it with that
God
of yours?" she demanded.

His eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. "He's
your
God, too."

"Oh, no He isn't, either! What kind of
God
sits up there on His throne, watching, doing
absolutely nothing
while all over the world decent people die in accidents and fires and floods and wars and terror attacks." She was on a tear and knew it, but couldn't stop the breathless flow of furious words. "I can't put my faith in a being that would allow such terrible things to happen to good people like the Callahans and their son.And my students. And your mom and brother. And
my
dad, and—hard as it is for me to get past my lips—my mom, and you and me and—"

"Mercy," he interrupted gently, "God didn't
allow
any of that to happen."

"Oh, please! Save your self-righteous sermonizing for one of your airheaded bimbos. I wasn't born yesterday. I've heard all about how He's 'all powerful' and 'all merciful.' How He works miracles every single day." Both hands flat on the counter, she leaned closer. "Well, if that's true, how do you explain all the suffering and evil in the world?"

Calmly, quietly, he helped himself to another piece of sushi."Jeez. You weren't kiddin' when you said you had a bad day, were you?"

How many times had her dad warned her not to discuss politics or religion with anyone unless she was one hundred percent certain they held the same beliefs. Too many to count, yet there she sat, spewing ire like a human Vesuvius. She'd apologize in a minute or two, once she'd caught her breath and quit trembling with rage.

"Did the Callahans say when Flora's reports would be in?" One shoulder lifted and she did her best not to snarl "I gather they're expecting to hear something within the next few days, because Bud said one of them would call about a week before Thanksgiving to let me know if they can make it or not."

Austin only nodded, so she tacked on "If Mohammad can't come to the mountain . . ."

He looked up so quickly, she was surprised his neck didn't pop. And he wasn't smiling when he said "Was that some kind of test?"

Years ago, he'd asked the same thing in her office. Back then, though the question was out of line, it had at least made sense, given his situation. But now? Mercy had no idea what he was talking about, and said so.

"You know, a test, to see if I'd say something anti-Muslim, to retaliate for the way you slammed God just now?"

Mercy hadn't known what he might say, but if asked to guess, it certainly wouldn't have been
that.
She supposed she had it coming, because she
had
torn his precious heavenly Father to shreds just now.

"I'll be perfectly honest with you, Austin. I don't believe in
any
god. Not the god of the Christians or the Jews or the Buddhists or the Muslims or any other religion you can name.Life experiences have made it very clear to me that there is no god. Not in heaven. Not on earth. Not in your heart or mine.None."

How could he sit there so cool and calm while she ranted and raved like a lunatic? For all she knew, he'd already dialed the state's best psychiatric hospital and any minute now, a big white truck with "Shephard Pratt" printed across its side would roll up to cart her off to a padded cell.
If you stop
behaving
like a lunatic, it'll be your word against his.

"So no, that wasn't a test. I'm sorry for all the yelling, because it isn't your fault the world's in such a sorry state, and if it makes you feel safer believing there's a great and powerful entity up there in the sky looking out for you, well, this
is
America."

He took a gulp of his drink and said "So what time's dinner on Thanksgiving?"

It didn't go unnoticed that he'd ignored her apology. A good sign, she wondered, or a bad omen? "Three o'clock?"

"Need me to bring anything? I'm told I make one mean spinach dip."

He'd grinned to say it, but only slightly, and Mercy knew it was her fault that the smile never reached his eyes.

"M-m-m. Love the stuff." If she had any sense at all, she'd thank her lucky stars that he still wanted to come to Thanksgiving dinner. But if she had any sense at all, she'd never have allowed their once strictly professional relationship to become such an important part of her life. "Do you put yours in a pumpernickel or rye bread bowl?"

He opened another tiny container of sweet and sour sauce."I usually just slop it in bowl and serve it with crackers. But I'm happy to hollow out a loaf of bread if that's the way you like it; whichever is your preference."

In the weeks since they'd reconnected, Austin had never sounded—or looked—more stiff and formal as he did now. If only she'd heeded her dad's advice, and sidestepped the whole religion thing! Why had she let her emotions take control over logic?

"Either's fine."

Again, he only nodded, then leaned against the stool's backrest and patted his flat stomach. "I'm stuffed."

She didn't want him to leave. Ever. "You know how Asian food is," Mercy said, forcing a smile. "You'll be hungry again in half an hour."

On his feet now, he stretched. "Early day tomorrow," he said on the heels of a yawn. "Better hit the road." Then he began stacking empty containers and paper plates from the counter."What're your plans for tomorrow night?"