From Ashes to Honor (7 page)

Grabbing both mug handles and tucking the Thermos under one arm, he headed down to the galley. It had only been a few days since he'd reconnected with her, yet she popped into his head at the weirdest moments. Like when a songbird rang out a melody, or a soft breeze caressed his face. And without exception, he'd catch himself grinning like a knock-kneed schoolboy.

Sweaty palms and burning ears might have been normal in study hall, when he'd done his best not to let any of his classmates see him gawking at the prom queen, but at this stage of his life? No
way
he liked feeling that he'd lost all control over his thoughts
and
his emotions!

After washing Bud's mug and the Thermos, he propped both in the drain board and emptied the last of the coffee into his cup. TV flickering, he stretched out on the sofa and turned up the volume to hear Jamie Costello read the early morning news. But not even stories of robberies gone wrong and the threat of a hurricane skimming the Atlantic coast could distract him from thoughts of Mercy.

When, exactly, had his feelings for her changed from outand-out disdain to borderline affection? And would the feelings last, or were they—as Bud said every time Austin brought a woman home for a tour of the tug—"Just a flash in the pan"?

The tiny red-blinking light on his answering machine accomplished what the horizon's green flash and the morning news couldn't, and diverted his attention from the former therapist-turned-counselor.

He wouldn't call Cora now—though he would have bet the boat she hadn't gone to bed—because the boys were light sleepers and needed their sleep a whole lot more than she needed to cry on his shoulder. Besides, if he hoped to administer his usual dose of sympathy and patience, he needed a clear head.Better for him
and
her if he stopped on the way home from work, instead, with a couple of bags of the boys' favorite fast food.

He knew exactly how she'd react when she saw the familiar golden arches on the bags, first listing a dozen university studies that stated the negative after-effects of cheeseburgers, French fries, and chocolate shakes, then blasting him with "that stuff is simply
horrible
for growing children!" After a few minutes of the boys' unrelenting pleas, she'd invite Austin into the parlor, where she'd slide the pocket doors shut so the boys wouldn't hear her list the reasons she resented Eddy. And missed Eddy.And wished Eddy had chosen a safer line of work. As usual, he'd pray all the way to her house that he'd wouldn't lose his cool and blurt "For the love of
God,
Cora, get some counseling, why don't you, so those terrific boys of yours can look up
to
you, instead of looking out
for
you!"

He gave God the credit for reminding him what Mercy had said during one of their first sessions, and thanked Mercy for the words that kept his lips zipped: "Not everyone heals at the same pace or in the same way." It had taken him
years
to break free of his alcohol-induced prison of self-pity, and he hadn't been saddled with the care and well being of two impressionable kids. Who was he to judge how she handled her grief?

A shard of sunlight pierced the galley porthole, illuminating the round-faced captain's clock. Austin padded into the companionway and opened its glass-and-brass door. He'd always loved the gritty
whirr-purr
of the key, turning the gears that would keep the timepiece ticking for another day. A small thing, really, yet it gave him a sense of calm reassurance, because he knew he could depend on it to chime every hour on the hour. "Too bad
people
can't be as reliable," he said, closing the door.

On the way out, he grabbed a banana to quiet his rumbling stomach, and, while walking to his parking space, heard the steady
putt-putt-putt
of a boat motor. At this hour, it couldn't be anyone other than Jed Card, heading out to set his crab pots. The retired Marine never expected a big haul, but if he got one, he celebrated like a kid on Christmas morning.Mostly, though, Jed got his kicks from gliding up and down the Chesapeake's shores, checking his lines and offering two or three free Maryland blues to anyone who called the bay "home."

Jed untied his aluminum johnboat from the piling and tossed the thick rope onto the deck. "What're you doin' up so early, Tugger?"

He'd stuck Austin with the handle two days after the tugboat had been delivered to the dock, and except for Bud and Flora, that's what his neighbors had been calling him ever since.

"Same thing you are."

And Jed only nodded. The war-hardened former soldier was but one of the few who understood Austin's peculiar sleep habits—and his deep need for privacy. He could count on one hand—and have fingers left over—how many people had heard his 9/11 story, and if it hadn't been for that night several years ago, before he joined AA and returned to his Christian roots, Jed wouldn't know the details either.

A pang of gratitude clutched Austin's heart. Like Bud and Flora, Jed was, as his grandpa would say, "good people." In a pinch, he could call on any one of them, and they'd come running.Austin may not have a slew of blood kin, but he had the quiet reassurance of solid family ties, thanks to these three."So tell me, Card, when are you gonna admit you're the only one in this marina who operates on military time?"

"'Bout the time you quit startin' every sentence with the word 'so.'" His boisterous guffaw startled the roosting water birds into a wing-flapping frenzy. Squinting as their downy gull and tern feathers floated into the boat, Jed added, "Either that, or when I get my viking funeral. Whichever comes first."He cackled again. "So . . . ," he teased, "you want I should set aside a few blues for you?"

He blinked away the sunset image of Jed's lifeless body, floating out to sea as flames devoured him and his humble cabin cruiser. "Much as I hate to," Austin said, "I'd better pass, 'cause it's likely I'll pull a double shift today." Waving the banana, he increased his pace. "I'll take a rain check, though."

"Drive safe."

"You bet."

"I'm not talkin' about that bucket o' bolts you call a truck," Jed said. "I mean in the ambo. Take care not to drive it into any innocent civilians, y'got me?"

Chuckling, Austin tossed back, "And you take care not to ram that hunk of tin foil into any
real
boats."

Last thing he heard before turning over the pickup's motor was Jed's robust laughter, and Austin smiled. Despite the dream, his spirits were high, thanks to Jed and the Callahans.His mood rose even higher as he realized that at this hour he'd have an easy drive to the station, and higher still knowing that when he got there, he'd be greeted with a hearty slap on the back and noisy enthusiasm, especially from the lucky night shift guy who pulled the long straw and won the chance to head home a couple hours early.

He tuned the radio to WPOC in time for the last half of an old Garth Brooks tune. Most days, he would have belted out the lyrics, but today, he tapped the beat onto the gear shift knob while making a short list of things that might explain Flora's snoring. Bud's midnight meanderings. Regret that he'd turned down free steamed crabs, Baltimore style.

"Say," he said, giving the steering wheel a light thump, "
that's
what I'll serve when Mercy comes to dinner."

She didn't seem the type who'd go all prissy when faced with the mess, traditional part of cracking into the spice-androck-salt–covered crustaceans. And if she did? Well, that would settle things, once and for all. Because what choice would he have but to see it as a sign that she
wasn't
the woman God intended him to share the rest of his life with!

He might have laughed at the image of her, pinkies in the air and nose wrinkled as she recoiled from the rust-colored crustaceans on butcher paper. But his last thought smothered any enjoyment that might have resulted.
The rest of his life?
he replayed. Where had
that
come from? Austin scrubbed a palm over his face and muttered, "Great Scott." Because if he added up all time he'd spent with her—both in New York and here in Baltimore—he couldn't legitimately tally more than a dozen hours. "Oh, you're losin' it, old boy. Definitely losin' it."

Not a big leap from 'losing it' to 'lost.'

Lost in love?

Shaking his head, Austin added to the mental list of things he'd been compiling:

What in this crazy, out-of-control world had put Mercy Samara front and center in his head and way, way too deep in his heart?

M
ercy dialed Tommy Winston's room number at Bayview Hospital, and, after a dozen unanswered rings, hung up and tried the main switchboard.

"Mr. Winston was released this morning," the operator said, and abruptly ended the call. Which meant in order to retrieve his contact information and arrange a visit, she'd need to drive to the school. Not her favorite way to spend a summer Saturday, but as Tommy's counselor, she felt duty-bound to do it.

After donning jeans and a Yankees T-shirt, Mercy pulled her hair back in a clip and hurried to the foyer, where she stooped to give Woodrow a hearty goodbye backrub. "I'll be back before you finish your kibbles," she said, popping a kiss to his fuzzy brow. He emitted a happy
chirrup
and wound a figure eight around her ankles, then leaped onto the arm of the sectional. "So what do you think," she asked, grabbing her keys and purse, "which will cheer our injured football player more, a CD or a DVD ?"

Whiskers twitching, the fat tabby responded with a breathy "R-rup."

"Maybe I'll buy you a brand new catnip mouse while I'm out, just for being so adorable." And with that, she closed the door behind her, thankful her neighbors weren't out front to hear her talking to the feline as if he were human.

An hour later, she stood on the Winston's front porch, a big sack of fast food in one hand and a small department store bag in the other.

"It's open," called a voice from the other side of the door.

Mercy stepped into the dimly lit entryway. "Hello?"

"In here," came a gruff baritone.

She followed the sound of the voice to the family room at the end of the hall, and found Tommy, surrounded by sports magazines and candy wrappers. "Well, don't you look like king of the castle?"

Grimacing as he sat up straighter, Tommy said, "The folks took my little sisters to the movies. Probably won't be back for hours and hours."

Mercy perched on the corner of the coffee table. "I hope you haven't had lunch," she said, hoisting the bag of burgers."I wasn't sure if you preferred cheeseburgers or hamburgers, so I got both."

"Wow. Thanks, Dr. Samara. That was cool of you."

"So how are you doing? What's the prognosis?"

"Doin' great," he said around a mouthful of fries. "Doc says if I don't push it, I can be back on the field before the Homecoming game."

Considering that he'd dislocated his collarbone, broken two ribs, and pulled a tendon, the answer surprised her, and she said so.

Tommy unwrapped a cheeseburger, used it to point out all the games and goodies around him, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. "I figure it'll take Mom a week to get wise to me, and then, everything will go back to normal." He slurped his soda. "Until then, I'm gonna enjoy this while it lasts."

Mercy grinned as a big oaf of a dog trotted up beside her.

"That's Odlaw," Tommy said. "Y'know, the bad guy from the 'Where's Waldo' books?"

She ruffled his shaggy fur. "Aw, one look at that face and anybody could see he isn't a bad guy."

"Easy for you to say. You weren't here when he was a puppy, eating everything in sight and tearing up the place." His smiled dimmed when he asked, "Say, would you know how I could get in touch with those paramedics who took me to the hospital? My mom said it looked to her like you were pretty good friends with the tall one."

She could only imagine the rumors that would fly once school started if she confirmed a relationship with the goodlooking EMT.

Tommy shrugged. "I guess you think it's kinda weird, huh, that I want to thank them?"

"Absolutely not!" What's
weird,
she thought, is the fact that the mention of his name conjured a distinct memory of their almost-kiss. "I think it'd be a very thoughtful thing to do."

"Yeah, but I'll bet they get stuff like that every day. He'll probably think I'm from the planet Bizarro or something."

Mercy remembered two of the firefighters she'd counseled after 9/11, who'd been completely bowled over by the cards and gifts from the families of those they'd helped that day."Actually, I think the opposite is true. People probably have good intentions of calling or writing a note to say thank you, but then they get back to the business of living their lives, and before they know it, too much time has passed, and they tell themselves 'What's the point?'"

"That's sorta what I was thinking," Tommy said. He rooted through a stack of magazines and puzzle books until he found a square blue envelope. "It's all filled out, so if you'll be seeing them, could you deliver it for me?"

Mercy's hand went out automatically to accept it. Only when he let go did she acknowledge what the gesture meant: She
did
have a personal relationship with Austin Finley.

"I know it seems lame, maybe even a little bit sissy, but I was really scared that day." Tommy frowned. "Couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't tell them what hurt and what didn't, couldn't even cry about it! I thought I was a goner, for real." He brightened slightly to add, "And then those guys showed up, and the way the tall one said I was gonna be all right, well, I believed it." He concluded with a grin and a shrug. "That's when I relaxed and took a breath. Dad called it melodramatic when I said the dude saved my life. But I know better."

"Austin," she said quietly. "His name is Austin, Austin Finley, and his partner's name is Lyle McElroy."

Nodding, Tommy unearthed a pen and took back the card, then scribbled both names on the envelope. "There," he said, beaming. "Even if they get stuff like this a hundred times a day, I'll feel a lot better, thanking them for what they did. I'm sure Dad would say
this
is melodramatic, too, but I think those two guys are real heroes."

An odd sensation washed over her, and Mercy couldn't help smiling, because it felt good having a hero for a friend.

But was Austin a friend, or something more? That moment on her sofa, when his face hovered so near her own—why, if she'd leaned forward just half an inch, he—

"So what's in the shiny red bag?" Tommy asked.

As she handed it to him, Mercy said, "I didn't know if you'd like a CD or a DVD, so I got one of each." She hoped as he tossed aside the tissue paper that the kid who'd helped her in the discount store had the same taste as Tommy.

His eyes lit up as he looked at each brightly colored plastic square. "Whoa, I've been saving up for this album, and the guys were talking about this movie in the locker room the other day." He met her eyes. "Thanks, Dr. Samara. You're the best!"

"I'm glad you like them," she said, standing. "Well, I'd better get going. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave? Ice for your drink? A snack?"

"Nope. I'm good. But thanks. And thanks for the presents, and the visit. And for delivering the card for me. You really are cool."

"Tell your mom and dad I'm sorry I missed them." She grabbed her purse and slung it over one shoulder. "You take care, OK, and follow doctor's orders, so you really
can
get back onto the field in a few weeks."

Odlaw walked her to the entry, and wagged his shaggy tail as Mercy gave him a final pat. "Go on into the family room, y'big oaf, and keep Tommy company," she said, pulling the door shut behind her.

What a great kid, she thought, sliding behind the steering wheel. Thoughtful and considerate, honest and kind-hearted.If she was ever lucky enough to have a son, she hoped he'd be just like Tommy. Why, she wouldn't be at all surprised if, when school officially started in a few weeks, he made an appointment with her, for the sole purpose of discussing which classes would best prepare him to become an EMT. Not at all unusual for a boy who'd just experienced a life-changing event. In fact, because of his youthful enthusiasm, he could just as easily change his career track, along with the courses he'd chosen to earn credits for graduation.

She glanced at the blue envelope poking out of her purse, and tried to remember what inspired Austin to become a cop. None of the other family members he'd told her about during their sessions had chosen careers in law enforcement.Stumbling onto a bit of information she hadn't uncovered in New York produced a smile. How refreshing to have something to bring up—a bona fide question—when she saw him again.
If
she saw him again.

Traffic on I-95 came to a grinding halt, and she craned her neck to see what had caused the jam up ahead. Dozens of drivers had already exited their vehicles, and milled about between the lanes. Mercy stepped onto the pavement, too, and leaned an arm on the open car door. "What's the holdup?" she asked the man parked beside her.

"Ah, some fool bonehead doing ninety miles an hour on his Harley plowed into the rear of an eighteen wheeler. They'll hafta scrape him offa the bumper, for sure."

A tiny gasp slipped past her lips as fire engines, police cars, and rescue vehicles sped toward the scene.

"That idiot better hope he doesn't survive," the man growled.

And before she could protest, he added, "Must be a dozen or more cars involved in that pileup, and at least three fatalities that I could see—but I couldn't see much." He shook his head."I know
I
wouldn't want to live, only to find out that my selfcentered stupidity killed so many innocent people."

His agitation reminded her of the day her father decided to join New York's auxiliary police force. Gritting her teeth, she forced it from her mind, and aimed her fury at the fellow's hardhearted comment. She supposed anger and annoyance was perfectly normal under the circumstances, but in Mercy's opinion, verbalizing such a thought—to a stranger, no less—was
not.
And she would have said exactly that if the wind hadn't delivered a whiff of burning fuel, and thick black smoke overhead that pointed, like an accusing finger, to the source of the chaos.

Just then, an ambulance screamed past, lights flashing and horn blaring. If she'd blinked as it went by, she wouldn't have seen Austin behind the wheel. Rushing Tommy to the hospital after an accident on the football field couldn't compare to the events taking place a quarter mile up the road. What if, as he worked to extract an injured person from one of the burning vehicles,
he
became a victim, too!

Mercy slammed her car door and ran toward the eighteen wheeler, dodging curious bystanders who stood grumbling about the heat and humidity, arriving late for back yard barbeques and weddings, missing the opening credits of the movie they'd been on the way to see. "I'll run out of gas before they clean up this mess," complained a goateed boy. "I can top that," said one of his friends, "I'll run out of cigarettes!" All three laughed when a third teen added, "At least we have plenty of beer."

Under different circumstances, she might have stopped and given them a piece of her mind, about the hazards of smoking and the dangers of drinking and driving. Might have scolded them for their insensitive remarks, too. Instead, Mercy kept moving, intent on finding Austin, because she needed to see with her own eyes that he was all right.

She passed a young mother, pacing as she jiggled her crying baby. In the SUV ahead of hers, an elderly man tapped the gauges on his wife's oxygen tank. Two kids bickered in the back seat of a minivan while their distraught father threatened to disconnect the cable TV if they didn't knock it off. How strange, Mercy thought, elbowing her way through the whimpering, whining crowd, that they'd focused on their own ordinary, petty concerns, while up ahead, people just like them lay dead or dying.

The breath caught in her throat when she spotted Austin, barking orders to the inquisitive onlookers who'd pressed close, hoping to steal a look at the misery. "Get back!" he bellowed, stabbing the air with a beefy forefinger. "You want to end up like these poor folks?"

Mercy's gaze went automatically to the mangled black Harley, now fused to the semi's right mud flap. A total of eleven vehicles—counting the bike and the truck—seemed welded together, like a deformed and derailed passenger train.The pitiful cries of the injured mingled, making it impossible to tell man from woman, adult from child.

"Get back," Austin repeated, "or I'll flag one of those squad cars up ahead and have the cops haul you off to the can. We need to make room for the copter to set down and—"

That threat did the trick, and the droning throng dissipated.She remembered how Tommy had called Austin a hero.Seeing him in action for the second time in a week gave her no choice but to agree. Everything about him screamed "Hero!" from his authoritative stance to the commanding tone of his voice. How handsome and gallant he looked, branding each stubborn straggler with a get-a-move-on-or-else glare!

She wanted to call out his name, tell him to please be careful, but Mercy wouldn't risk distracting him and possibly putting him in harm's way. She decided to concentrate on the fact that some of the first responders had already left the scene as others prepared to follow. He'd leave soon, too—long before the snarl of cars even began to untangle—and she'd gratefully endure exhaust fumes and the angry shouts of frustrated drivers without complaint, because at least Austin was safe.

Suddenly, she remembered Tommy's card, there on the passenger seat, tucked under her purse. With the windows down, anyone passing by could see it. What if some greedy kid thought it contained a cash gift, reached into the car and grabbed it!

Mercy dashed back to her sedan, hoping with every slap of her flip-flops that she'd find the card untouched, right where she'd left it. When she saw the tiny triangle of blue peeking out from beneath her purse, she leaned against the driver's door and gasped with relief. Why would a simple thank you card, penned by a grateful boy, mean more than her credit cards and driver's license? Why did it seem more valuable than the GPS and digital camera in her glove box, or the laptop on the floor beneath the dash?

In a flash, the answer came to her.

Yes, she'd agreed to deliver it for Tommy, but more significant than that, it provided a legitimate excuse to see him again, in case his promise to call had been nothing more than a polite way of saying "Thanks, but I don't think I'm interested."