From Ashes to Honor (12 page)

T
he table looks
lovely,
Mercy, simply lovely! In fact, your entire
house
is just lovely!" The redhead clapped, then jiggled her shoulders. "I can't
tell
you how much I appreciate your invitation.What a
lovely
surprise it was when that darling brother of yours called and asked me to dinner!"

Mercy didn't know which distracted her more—Debbie's tendency to over-emphasize every other word, or Austin, standing there looking like a GQ cover model, with hands in pockets and one loafered foot crossed over the other. "I can't remember a time when Leo has enjoyed a visit to the States more," she said, "and since you're partly responsible for that, Debbie—"

"Really? Do you think he's having fun? Oh, I
hope
so," came her breathy reply, "because I'd so, so,
so
like him to come back.Or invite me to come see him in London!"

Clearly, Debbie wanted her opinion, and Mercy had no intention of giving it. "I know this dinner was rather last-minute, so I'm happy you weren't busy tonight."

"Oh, believe me, if I had been, I would gladly have cancelled for Leo. He's
such
a darling man!"

Across the pond, her brother had earned his ladies' man reputation. Charming and handsome, he attracted women simply by making his interest known. Add "doctor to the stars" to the mix, and it wouldn't have mattered to most of them if he dragged his knuckles and summoned them by thumping his chest. Mercy felt a little sorry for Debbie, because she'd certainly put a lot of effort into impressing Leo, and really, what chance did a woman like that have with a man like him!

"Tell me what I can do to help," Debbie said. "It just isn't fair that you're in here all alone, slaving over a hot stove, while the rest of us are out there in your
lovely
living room, sipping iced tea."

Mercy saw Austin's lips form the word "Alone?" A heartbeat later, he pointed to himself and mouthed, "What am I, chopped liver?"

She did her best not to grin, but Debbie saw it. "Goodness," she said, looking at Austin, "I nearly forgot you were here!" And stepping closer to Mercy, she whispered, "I've always been partial to the strong, silent types, too."

Then what are you doing with the likes of Leo? she wanted to know. "Trust me," she said instead, "Austin isn't always this quiet."

"You're
such
a
lovely
couple," Debbie gushed. "How long have you been engaged?"

Leo walked into the room in time to hear them to sputter "
Engaged?"

"They aren't betrothed, dear sweet
lovely
Debbie." He looked at Austin, then Mercy, and said, "I dare say, I haven't the foggiest notion
how
to describe what they are to one another."Eyeing Mercy, he grinned. "Help us out, sister dear, and define your relationship for us."

She didn't have the foggiest notion how to describe
or
define it, either. Austin rescued her with "We're old friends."

"Really," Debbie said, her voice ringing with skepticism."I would have bet a plane ticket to London that the two of you were a couple, and that you've
been
a couple for ages and ages."

"See there?" Austin said. "You've just underscored one of many reasons I'm not a gambling man."

"Same here," Mercy said. "Give me a sure thing, and I'm a happy camper."

Debbie's brow furrowed with confusion as Leo offered her his arm. "'Happy camper.' What a peculiar turn of phrase," he said, ushering her into the living room. "You Americans have so many odd expressions." Patting her hand, he said into her ear "I'm hoping you'll give me a lesson."

"Oh,
Leo!
I'd love, love,
love
to!" Patting her hand, Leo laughed. "I'd love it, too. Why, what man in his right mind
wouldn't
want his very own talking dictionary?" As they rounded the corner, he winked at Mercy.

Once their voices faded, Austin strode up to the island and planted beefy palms on the counter. "Where did your brother find her?"

"At the Walters—or so he claims." Mercy shrugged. "Hand me that pot holder, will you?"

"This purple one?" he asked, tossing her the only one in sight. "He'd better keep his wallet in his pocket and his watch on his wrist."

"She's a bit—" Mercy searched for the right word, "— a bit eccentric, but Debbie seems harmless enough. And Leo seems to enjoy her company."

One brow rose on his forehead. "Right. Company. That's probably what I'd tell you, too, if you were my sister." He held up a hand to forestall her retort. "But just for the record, I'm so, so,
so
glad you're not my sister."

"In med school, I spent a few weeks on the children's ward, and read
Never Tease a Weasel.
If I ever have kids, it'll be on their bookshelf, for sure." Then she launched into a line from the book. 'The weasel will not like it, and teasing isn't nice.'"

"I don't know whether you're saying Debbie's a weasel, or that I'm not allowed to tease you."

Before she could tell him which, he quickly added, "If that stuff in the pot tastes half as good as it smells, my belly is in for a real treat."

"This
stuff,"
she explained, "is Beef Wellington. I thought since Leo's only in town a few more days, it'd be nice to fix him a nice meal. Something he wouldn't get in a restaurant.Well, he could, I suppose, but it wouldn't be homemade, just for him."

"I skipped lunch."

"Duly noted."

"So tell me . . . ."

Squinting, he tilted his head, and Mercy waited for another "Leo Question." With any luck, she wouldn't need to remind him that two weeks during summer vacation and every other Christmas hadn't given her much time to bond with her brother.

"How come 'July' is pronounced 'Joo-
lie'
and we say '
doolee,
even though it's spelled almost exactly the same way?"

Mercy slid the roaster from the oven to the stovetop and met his eyes. "Um . . . because the English language is almost as confusing and difficult as Mandarin Chinese?"

"I think you and I should catch a movie tomorrow night."

"I don't see any bumps or bruises on your head."

Austin ran a hand through his hair. "Bumps and—" "How else am I to explain that you've jumped from Leo to the entrée to phonics, and now movies in a span of, what, two minutes?"

She laughed, and when he joined her, Mercy wished she'd been born with a better-developed comic gene. That way, she could crack jokes any time she had a yen to enjoy the delightful sound. "Would you do me a favor?"

He walked around to her side of the island, and, hands on her shoulders, said "Your wish is my command."

"Let Leo and Debbie know that dinner will be on the table in five minutes?"

He grimaced. "Aw, Mom, do I hafta?"

"Only if you want dessert."

He raised one eyebrow. "What did you make? 'Cause if it isn't worth the trip in there—"

She slid the beef onto a deep platter. "Chocolate cheesecake.It's one of—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, one of Leo's favorites. Is it homemade?"

"Uh-huh. And you haven't called them to the table."

"From scratch?"

"Yes, using a recipe I found on the Internet this afternoon."

"Just like that."

She grinned back at him. "Just like that." And pointing toward the living room, she said, "Please?"

Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead."I'll be back in two shakes of your serving spoon to help you carry stuff to the table."

And before she could tell him that wasn't necessary, he hustled toward the doorway. Mercy stood stock-still, slotted spoon in one hand, purple pot holder in the other, and caught a glimpse of herself in the polished glass of the microwave door. The sight inspired an embarrassed giggle.
You look like the experiment of a mad scientist who crossed the Cheshire cat with Mickey's pal, Goofy.

She started to lift the heavy ironstone platter when Austin darted back into the room.

"My eyes, my eyes!" he said, covering them with his fingertips.

Mercy dampened a paper towel and raced to his side. "What happened? Did you walk past the automatic air freshener and take a spritz to the face? That happened to Woodrow once.Ohmygoodness, don't tell me you've developed an allergy to him—"

When Austin came out from hiding,
he
grinned like the Cheshire cat. "No, but I'd take either over what I just saw: your brother and his . . . and his
Debbie,
doing their best to imitate a couple of human pretzels. Why, I'll bet he—" He noticed the paper towel. "Is that for me?"

Mercy clucked her tongue. "Well, it
was."

"Y'know what?"

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You're sweet." He pulled her to him. "And thoughtful. And caring, too."

"Much as I hate to interrupt your admiration recitation, I just have to ask: Did you get a chance to call them to the table before their twining rendered you temporarily blind?"

"No. I did not. But I will. Right after."

"After what?"

"After this." And he proceeded to kiss her, long and slow and sweet, then stepped back and smacked his lips, as if he'd just gulped a tall refreshing glass of lemonade. "Ahh," he sighed."That oughta hold me 'til dessert."

H
e heard her mantle clock counting out the eleven o'clock hour as they walked onto the terrace. "Your brother's quite a card," he said, settling down beside her on the rattan loveseat.

"Funny, but he said the same thing about you."

"Wouldn't it be a hoot, getting Leo and Bud in the same place at the same time?"

"We'd probably do permanent damage to our vocal cords, laughing at their antics."

He slid an arm around her. "Let's hope not. I love the sound of your voice."

Austin might have said more if she hadn't leaned her head on his shoulder. "How much longer can Leo stay?"

"I think his plane is scheduled to take off day after tomorrow.A red-eye flight."

"I hate those."

"Why?"

"'Cause there you are," he said, his hand emulating a jetliner, "over the inky Atlantic. You know it's down there, but you can't see it. Or anything else." He faked a nervous shiver."Scary."

"Funny," she said again, "but I can't picture you being scared of anything."

He snorted, "Obviously, you don't know me well enough.""Yet."

Her one-word reply sent his heart into overdrive. What was it about her that brought out such enormous reactions in him?

"I'll check my schedule. If I'm not on duty, I'll drive you two to the airport."

Mercy only nodded.

"Unless you'd rather be alone to say goodbye . . . ."

She giggled. "He's my brother, not my boyfriend, y'big silly."

For some-odd reason, her remark reminded him of something Leo had said over dinner, about twice-yearly visits to Long Island that stopped abruptly after 9/11. "So what happened after September eleventh? Did he get cold feet about flying?"

"No. At least I don't think so."

"Then why did he quit making semi-annual jaunts to the good ol' U.S. of A.?"

"Because I stopped inviting him."

"Am I being too nosy if I ask why?"

The distant notes of sirens and car horns peppered the steady buzz of city traffic that slipped over the tall brick walls surrounding the outdoor room. Was Mercy's silence her way of saying she didn't want to talk about it?

"Airfare from Heathrow to BWI isn't cheap."

"Please. He could afford his own private jet and an on-call pilot if he didn't want to fly it himself."

"True, but it's still a long flight, and I wouldn't have been a very good host in those days."

He took her hand in his and rolled back the cuff of her blouse. "'Those days,' " he echoed, running a forefinger over her wrist. "Is that when you did this?"

Austin half expected her to snap her hand back. But she didn't. Instead, she said, "Every time I see those scars, it takes a second or two to for it to sink in. Some days, I still can't believe that I did that to myself."

Last thing he wanted was to awaken bad memories. He searched his mind for something else to talk about, to get her mind off whatever had driven her to take such a drastic and desperate step.

"I was pretty close to quitting my job when it happened, so it was a relief when my boss said he couldn't have somebody with such questionable mental stability working with cops who were psychologically shaky, themselves."

He sat quietly, one forefinger gently stroking the back of her hand. If she wanted to talk about it, Austin would listen. And if she didn't? He said a silent prayer, to thank God for saving her. She had survived, and learned to deal with whatever had driven her to it. What else mattered?

"There was this one cop," she said quietly, snuggling closer, "who just couldn't seem to cope with what he'd seen that day.Came to his sessions blind drunk most of the time."

"Hey, wait just a minute, here. We aren't talking about
me,
are we?"

"No," she said, laughing softly, "you never showed up
blotto."
He thought of the time she'd looked him in the eye and asked him straight out when he'd last consumed alcohol.Ashamed—and afraid of what she'd write in his file—he'd lied through his teeth. Austin had already made his peace with God for it, and one of these days, he'd fulfill the dictates of number nine on the twelve steps list, and make amends to Mercy, too.

"Took me weeks," she said, "but I finally got him to agree that he needed more help than I could give him, and convinced him to sign himself into a rehab center."

He felt for the guy. It had taken Griff two miserable days to talk Austin into making a commitment to AA. How much more agonizing had it been for
that
cop?

"About halfway through his treatment," she continued, "his wife said she couldn't take it any more. Packed up the kids and left him, just like that. He signed himself out of the treatment facility, and by the time he got to my office, he looked like he'd been run over by a city bus. He'd been sober when he told me all about it, but not long enough to go out there on his own." She heaved a shaky sigh. "So I prescribed paroxitine, because it had worked so well for my other patients with chronic depression or PTSD."

Mercy lapsed into another long silence, making Austin feel like a first-class heel for opening the door to the disturbing subject. He looked toward the heavens for help in leading her away from the tormenting memories, when Venus winked her bright light into the inky darkness. Maybe the Lord would see fit to cast a shooting star across the sky, the way He had when she'd had dinner on
One Regret.

"He must have filled the script on his way home from my office, gone straight home and swallowed every pill, all at the same time."

Austin cringed. "Jeez. That's terrible." He glanced down at her. "But it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. But that didn't stop me from second-guessing myself.Maybe I should've given him a smaller dose. A different drug.
No
drugs—" She ended with a raspy sigh. "But that isn't why I did this," she added, holding out both wrists.

Austin tensed. If she started talking about why she had tried to kill herself, should he let her . . . or change the subject?

"I hate to sound like a walking cliché, but my dad's death was the straw that broke this camel's back."

She'd already told him that her father had become a citizen, that he'd converted to Christianity. Austin had a feeling she was about to add to the raw and painful story. Should he let her? Would talking about it be therapeutic . . . or psychologically damaging? "Oh?"

Mercy nodded against his shoulder, and he pulled her a little closer.
Lord, give me the strength to say what she needs to hear . . . .

"One night at the end of his watch, after his partner went home for the night, I met Dad for supper at his favorite little pizza place, right around the corner from his apartment.We'd barely had a bite when this guy came in, screaming and shouting and waving the biggest handgun I'd ever seen. He demanded all the money in the cash register, and the poor kid behind the counter got so scared that he could barely do more than tremble. Guess he didn't move fast enough, because that animal shot him, jumped over the counter, and helped himself to the money.

"Dad shoved me to the floor and radioed for help, then tried to chase the guy. But he didn't get very far before the robber shot him, too. Point blank."

And she'd seen and heard it all.
Thing like that would mess anybody up,
he thought, wincing.

"He was a fighter, though, and hung on for nearly two months in Intensive Care. And then pneumonia set in." Her voice thick with tears, Mercy wrapped up with "He died in my arms."

Austin didn't know her well, but he knew better than to say anything that smacked even remotely of pity or sympathy.So he sat quietly, patting her shoulder as the fingers of his free hand absently stroked the long white scar on her arm.

"After the funeral, I kind of hit rock bottom, let self-pity do a number on me." Another shrug, and then a nervous little laugh. "So there you have it. The story of 'Why the Shrink Attempted Suicide.'"

The misery in her voice made his heart ache. If only he knew how to comfort her! "So who found you, got you to the hospital?"

"Leo . . . sort of."

"He was in town?"

"No." Another peculiar giggle. "He stayed with me for a few days right after the shooting, got me through the surgery. But he had patients of his own to take care of." Mercy shook her head. "So he started calling every night at midnight to check up on me. When I didn't answer that night, he called out the cavalry. Told them to break down the doors and shatter the windows if they had to."

Austin remembered a few occasions when he'd been forced to do the same thing. Remembered, too, how he'd been just as horrified during the last rescue as he'd been on the first, regardless of the choice of weapon. His heart clenched, picturing Mercy as the victim.

" The paramedics made such a mess that my landlord threatened to sue. But once again, it was Leo to the rescue. While they were patching me up in the hospital, he wrote a check to the greedy old miser. Bought me a one-way trip to London and threatened that if I didn't use it, he'd get on the next plane and kick my butt all the way across the Atlantic." A sad sigh punctuated her sentence. "Turns out he knows me fairly well, despite how little time we were together as kids."

"I ought to go upstairs and wake him up, right now."

"Why?"

Austin turned her to face him, and, bracketing her face with his hands, kissed her forehead and chin and the tip of her nose. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and when she blinked, one slid slowly down her cheek. He caught it with the pad of one thumb, then kissed the shiny track it painted on her skin. "For saving you, that's why."

A sweet, warm smile lifted the corners of her mouth before she snuggled into the crook of his neck.

And that's where she stayed until the clock struck twelve.