The Riches of Mercy (15 page)

Natalie leaned forward. She considered getting out of bed.

"Don't you think it's bad for the hospital to have a murderer working here?" A woman's voice.

"Alleged," Wheeler said.

"She confessed. Come on, you know. All of North Carolina knows."

"What's going on in her personal life has no bearing on her position here. She's an excellent nurse."

"Her personal life? Justice affects the whole society, Dr. Wheeler. Do your patients know? How would they feel?"

Natalie certainly didn't know. She slipped off the bed, grabbed a walker, and hobbled, one-footed, toward the door. She reached it just in time to see Wheeler storming past. He didn't glance in her direction.

She peered into the hallway.

A young woman stood, polished and citified, overwhelming Natalie with a sense of nostalgia. The woman wasn't even wearing sneakers. She carried a briefcase. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a bun, and she was short and slender and pale. She noticed Natalie noticing her.

"Are you a patient of Meredith Jameison?" the woman asked.

"Who are you?" Natalie asked.

"Oh, sorry, most folks around here already know me. I'm Erica Mendes, reporter for the
Rocky Mount Telegram
. Merry's hearing is tomorrow, so we're doing a follow-up piece."

"Hearing?"

Erica frowned as if Natalie were wasting her time. "Do you know Nurse Jameison?"

Meredith hadn't told her what the appointment tomorrow was for, and Natalie has assumed, selfishly, it would result in some sort of surprise for her. Like cake.

Was Meredith suing someone? Why wouldn't she say? Why hadn't she asked Natalie for help?

The reporter staring at her hadn't stormed off yet. "Hey, haven't I seen you before?" Erica asked.

"In the news, maybe," Natalie said. Her stomach was starting to hurt. She leaned more heavily on the walker. She should have stayed in bed. Wheeler was going to be angry.

The reporter looked her up and down, the leg, the walker, the fading welt on her face. "You're her. The state prosecutor. You hit a deer."

"No comment."

Erica grinned. "I called your office in Charlotte. I tried to get your contact for an interview. I didn't know you were here in Tarpley. I knew you were nearby."

"Here I am."

"Are you still involved in the Roland case?"

Natalie knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she was far away from any recrimination, and she hadn't eaten and she was worried about Meredith. "Administrative leave," she said.

"Why?"

Natalie shrugged.

"So you don't have any active cases?"

"Not at the moment. They've been reassigned while I do my rehabilitation here. My injuries were too extensive, initially, to transfer me back to a Charlotte hospital."

"They've got good facilities down here."

"Yes, ma'am. You can quote me."

Erica grinned. "How are you liking Eastern Carolina?"

"It's wonderful. Very peaceful."

"Remind you of home?"

"No."

"Been to Wilmington yet?"

Natalie shook her head.

"Outer Banks?"

"No."

"Cape Hattaras? The Wright Brothers? Cape Fear?"

"Isn't Cape Fear on the other side?"

Erica chuckled. "Sure, but still. Myrtle Beach? Have you just been sitting here?"

"Massive injuries resulting from deer," Natalie said.

"Right. But if you ever want anyone to show you around--" Erica took out her wallet and pulled out a business card. "In return for some inside scoop on the Roland case, of course. No one around here cares, but I bet I could make the AP wire."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You didn't curse me out. Surprising."

"I'm used to reporters."

"I guess you are."

"And Rocky Mount's the big city?"

Erica laughed. "Oh, no. It's just got a supermarket and a couple of Wal-Marts, you know. I'd love to be working in Wilmington or Charlotte."

"Ambitious."

"Just want to get out of Nowheresville. The small towns--you can't imagine."

"I'm learning."

"This hospital is kind of an oasis. For employment and otherwise."

Natalie felt kinship with her. She wanted to pursue the conversation. "Where'd you go to school?"

"Wilmington. Party school. My parents are first generation, they moved from Texas to here to work in the factory. Why, I don't know. They could have made it to middle class by now if they'd stayed in the maquiadoras. They tell me they like the climate better."

Natalie nodded. "My mother, too. From the old country."

"The eastern part of the old country?"

"Yeah." Natalie never said much to a reporter, but Erica's clothes, Erica's accent--Midwestern trim, without a trace of drawl, despite her upbringing--lulled her into trust. She wanted to talk to an old friend. She didn't have many. But here was Erica, smiling, still standing in front of her, just like a work colleague. And Natalie had her number.

"How's your leg?" Erica asked.

"It'll be all right. It's better than they expected. They thought they were going to have to saw it off. But I'm even walking." Natalie shook her walker. "Except, I'm exhausted. Mind coming in?"

"Sure. Can I help?"

"I'll be all right." Natalie limped back to the bed. Erica stayed silent as Natalie sat down and exhaled.

"Not walking much?"

"I actually prefer the wheelchair. At least my leg doesn't hurt."

Erica nodded.

Natalie asked, with a lump in her throat, "You were talking about Merry?"

"You do know her."

"She's been my nurse. Off and on. When it's her shift."

"You must know everyone in a small place like this."

"Pretty much."

"But you don't know what she did?"

"What did she do?"

"It's just like the Roland case," Erica said.

Natalie's blood ran cold. Her world went gray. She didn't need to hear Erica's next words, but they rang in her ears, above the ping ringing in them.

"She killed her husband. Vincent Jameison. She pled not guilty. Self-defense. There's an evidentiary hearing tomorrow. We're running something tonight."

Spots swam in front of Natalie's eyes. She rubbed them, and then could only see black. Like before she'd seen Meredith's face for the first time. She rubbed harder. Haze and light re-entered her vision.

She'd been in worse spots than this; received worse news. Her principal at school telling her her mother was dead. Defendants lying on the stand. Rape victims telling the truth. The expression in Patrick's eyes, handing her the Roland case.

The expression she probably wore now. Seven years at her job gave her the conditioning to ask, if not the strength. "What happened?"

"He was in Iraq. A war hero."

"I know. I know."

"You do?"

Natalie thought of Jake. "It's a small town, remember."

"Right. Well, things were different when he came back. Her story is he was ill. PTSD. His parents claim she was cheating on him."

"With who?"

Erica shrugged. "No one knows."

"But she's working."

"She did about six months before she finally got bail lowered. Hardship case. Parent. His parents have been trying to get the kids away from her, but at the moment, they don't even have visitation. The police are too afraid of a kidnapping incident."

"That seems so--different from how it would play out in Charlotte."

Not totally different. She thought of all the poor mothers that had come through her doors. She'd never associated Meredith with them. Or with Roland. Another shuddering chill went through her. Roland was an evil, sick bastard.

"Small town," Erica said. "Her husband had friends on the force. They're sticking by Meredith. Guess they noticed a change, too."

"Seems that would taint the jury pool."

"Sure." Erica leaned forward over the chair, dangling her briefcase. "They want to move it down to Charlotte. I'm in favor. More sensational, I think. And I'll definitely get a travel budget."

Natalie felt sick. She closed her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

"Feeling a little weak. Would you mind? I've got your number."

"Sure," Erica's footsteps retreated. "Give me a call. Even if you just want to go to dinner or something. It's nice to see a kindred spirit."

Natalie waved but kept her eyes closed, willing her heartbeat to slow. She wasn't sure how many minutes passed with just her quiet, slow breathing and the sense of dread infusing her, but there came a knock on the open door. She didn't open her eyes, but she rolled her head vaguely in the direction of the sound.

"Nat? You ready?" Wheeler asked.

She opened her eyes and sat up.

He met her eyes with a friendly smile and came into the room.

"Is it true?" she asked.

"Is what true?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, still gazing into her face. Concerned. Doctorly.

"About Merry. I talked to Erica."

"The bitch," Wheeler said.

Natalie recoiled.

He took her hands. "I'm sorry. She isn't. I just--Yes, it's true. Everything she told you is probably true."

"Oh. Oh, Jesus." Natalie couldn’t breathe. Wheeler held her hands, watched her, until she sank into the bed.

"It's bad. If you care about her--"

"I do," Natalie said. She wanted Merediths' arms around her. She wanted Meredith laughing with her at dinner. Her chest hurt. She couldn't see again. The black spots were back.

"I don't know why she didn't tell you."

"Seems obvious to me."

He squeezed her hands. "Maybe so."

She turned her head away. Her eyes stung with tears. Wheeler scooted closer so he could put one hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Natalie."

"It's not. How can you say that?"

He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb in slow, soothing circles. Contact with another human being--not Meredith, but someone connected to her, and to Natalie, and to the whole human race--comforted her.

"It's horrible and sad, but we'll get through it," he said.

"Tell me everything."

"After your surgery. Your health is more important."

"It's not important at all."

"It is to me."

"Well, screw you."

"Just for that, I'm bringing a mirror to the surgery so you can see everything."

"You wouldn't," she said.

"Oh, I'm devious."

"Just like everyone else around here."

"Nat--You can only trust yourself. You’ve got to get stronger."

"I'm an attorney, maybe I could--" she searched for the words. "Help. Maybe I could help."

"After your surgery," he said.

She scowled.

"I promise."

He stood, and after pausing, leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "It's time. I'll go get Colleen."

She closed her eyes and waited for the doctors to come to her and change everything.

# #

Chapter Eighteen

"We'll be going in with laser scalpels," Bhatti said. "You won't feel a thing after."

"We just got the equipment installed a couple of months ago," Wheeler said.

Those tools had been available for years--perhaps longer than a decade--in Charlotte. If she'd been transferred, if she'd been injured there, she would have had top surgery at Presbyterian instead of emergency hacking. They wouldn't call a doctor down from Duke Medical.

Wheeler settled into the chair and the anesthesiologist came in.

"Usually I'd do this myself, but since he was on site--" Wheeler said.

"Better for your liability, though it costs more," the anesthesiologist said. "Gotta love insurance, right?"

Her insurance company told her this would be the last surgery they would pay for, and at the end of the week, she was out the nursing service, too. She'd be on her own.

"Nat?" Wheeler asked.

She glanced up, meeting his eyes.

"You looked pale for a second. You'll be all right."

"I have good hands," Bhatti said, and wiggled his fingers.

"I'm ready," Natalie said.

The anesthesiologist pushed a long, thin needle into her leg, hurting her, but the numbness came after, flooding through her leg, warmth and then incredible lightness. Wheeler poked her leg for her, since she couldn't reach, and there was only the sensation her leg had turned into a giant pillow.

The anesthesiologist stabbed her several more times, some she felt, and some she didn't, and she began to worry something feeling this incredibly good must be wrong, somehow.

Wheeler's face was filled with concern.

"Am I all right?" she asked.

"We're waiting to see if you're going to swell up like a balloon and stop breathing," Wheeler said.

The anesthesiologist glanced at his watch.

"What happens if I do?" Natalie asked.

"Epi pen, right into the heart," Wheeler said. "You'll be fine."

"Fabulous."

The anesthesiologist took her pulse. "She's doing well," he said.

"We're ready," Wheeler said.

Bhatti rubbed his hands together. "Let the games begin."

#

Wheeler and Bhatti cracked jokes with her throughout the surgery, poking her leg with small metal tongs, going into the side of her abdomen with a tube and a camera, testing stitches. She'd have known earlier if the internal wounds had not healed, if her intestines leaked and poisoned her--as it was, she was eating hot dogs and macaroni with impunity. But now they were medically sure, and they smiled when they told her.

With her leg numb she was brave enough to glance at the surgical monitor three times. So gross.

"Take your medicine exactly as instructed. Do not be brave. Do not be bold. Do not be ambitious," Bhatti said. "Then, you won't feel any pain."

"He's serious. And so am I," Wheeler said.

"Stay drugged out of my mind. Got it," Natalie said.

Wheeler patted her good leg. "It'll be a different experience than before. I promise."

Lighter, then. The light she felt inside her, especially inside her leg and her side, would continue.

"There's my angel," Bhatti said.

She smiled, her cheeks warming under his words.