From Ashes to Honor (9 page)

T
hey got the preliminary "hellos" and "how are yous" out of the way, then launched into an abbreviated version of the weather forecast—Austin quoting WBAL's John Collins, Mercy citing the version Marty Bass delivered on Channel 13. Following a short silence, Austin said, "Sorry I haven't called before now."And chuckling, he added "If you want the truth, I forgot who was supposed to call whom."

Mercy loved the sound of his laugh—deep and hearty and wholly masculine. A smart woman would figure out how to inspire more of it. "No problem. I figured you were busy. Or working some off-beat shift. Or both."

"So, when's it convenient to have that dinner I promised?" If she'd been talking to any other man, Mercy would have put him off a day or two, to ensure he wouldn't get the idea she'd kept all her nights free, in case he called. But she could hardly call Austin "any other man."

"I guess that depends."

"On . . . ?"

"Whether or not you've stocked up on the ingredients to
make
that dinner you promised."

He paused only slightly before saying "I guess that depends."

All her life, people had been telling her she needed to play more, work less. What could it hurt to play along? "On . . ."

"On whether or not you're 'pro' steamed crabs or 'con.' "

"Oh, pro. Definitely!"

"Ah, she's a woman after m'own heart."

"Say, isn't 'Finley' an Irish name?"

"Yes'm, 'tis."

"Then I'm flabbergasted that—"

"Flabbergasted? Such language!"

"—that you can't do a better brogue than
that."

Another hesitation, and then "You know the old saying, 'Honesty is the best policy'?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, it's bunk. Wouldn't have killed you to
pretend
mine is the best Irish accent you've ever heard, bar none, to protect my fragile ego. Y'know?"

"Fragile, indeed. Why, if I had to guess, I'd guess the only fragile thing about you is your—"

"OK. All right. That's
it.
No crabs for you."

Mercy threw back her head and laughed, and oh, how good it felt! "I take it back, I take it back! You're the most sensitive, fragile, easily hurt human being on planet Earth." And now she paused. "Am I forgiven? Will you still serve steamed crabs tonight?"

"Sure. I'll pick you up at—"

"Don't be silly. I'm perfectly capable of driving to your place.Just tell me what time to be there and give me some directions, and—" What did a dinner guest bring her host with an entrée like that? "What can I bring? Rolls? Wine or beer? Dessert?"

"I don't drink."

Had she imagined it, or had his voice taken on a gritty tone?

"But I keep a few bottles in the fridge, for guests who do. So, unless you have a favorite brew—"

She remembered how he'd been written up by his lieutenant for coming to work hung over. On more than one occasion.Marcum made a point to tell her that, in his opinion and by every other measure, Austin was an alcoholic. If he'd kicked the habit, she sure didn't want to be the one to tempt him back to it.

"Seriously. Doesn't bother me a bit—any more—to be around people who, ah, imbibe. Besides, I know almost as well as native Baltimoreans that crabs and beer go together like—"

"A hand and a glove?"

He laughed. "I was gonna say salt and pepper."

"Or socks and shoes."

"A horse and carriage."

The lyrics of an old Frank Sinatra song echoed in her head, but no way she intended to top his comeback with "love and marriage."

"You win," she said.

"Don't sound so surprised. I win far more often than I lose."

If he thought she planned to ask "Win
what?"
well, he had yet
another
think coming, that's what!

Once they'd rounded out the conversation with arrival time and directions to the marina, Woodrow walked a figure-eight around her ankles. "Just enough time," she told him, looking at the clock, "to whip up a cheesecake for dessert." She bent to scoop up the cat. "You think he likes plain, or blueberries on top?"

The feline answered with a musical chirrup, and leaped from his mistress's arms.

"Plain it is, then."

An hour and a half later, Mercy set the dessert on the stovetop to cool as the phone rang. With any luck, Austin wouldn't view her change of mind as a "This is what life would be like if we were married!" hint, because in place of the cheesecake, she'd made—

"As I live and breathe, you're
home,"
said the voice on the other end of the phone. "It's as though you disappeared from the face of the earth!"

She would have recognized that oh-so-proper British accent anywhere. "Leo! Oh, my goodness, it's good to hear from you.And ironic, too, because I've been thinking a lot about you lately."

"Uh oh."

"Only good things, of course."

"Despite those horrible pranks I played on you when we were kids?"

"Forgotten! Well, except for the time you blindfolded me and made me eat a cicada. And the time when—"

"Seems to me you haven't forgotten at all." Laughing, Leo added, "But just listen to me, telling the family psychiatrist about should-be-buried memories and the hidden meanings behind them." Another chuckle, then, "I have to see a patient in five minutes. It's reveal day, don't you know, so there's a higher than normal price if I'm late. But I digress. The reason I called, sister dear, is that I have a few weeks' vacation time coming. And I haven't seen you since you were here in . . . how long has it been, three years now?"

"Something like that," Mercy said, hoping Leo wouldn't bring up the reason she'd gone to London.

"How would you feel about putting up with a middle-aged English houseguest for a few days?"

"You want to come
here?
Oh, wow, Leo, that's wonderful! I'd love to see you, and since I have a few weeks, myself, before school starts, I can show you aroun—"

"I'll only say it this once, Mercy dear, and only out of deep affection and genuine caring, so bear with me, won't you?"

She listened as he sighed, clucked his tongue.

"Trading your fascinating post with the police department to work with rude, tattooed teenagers? Honestly. What were you thinking?"

"As I've said a thousand times, the job wasn't all that fascinating," she muttered, "and the kids aren't
all
rude."

"Well, there's the bright side, I suppose."

The mantle clock chimed four times, meaning she had an hour to shower, dress, and drive to Austin's. "When is your flight? I'll pick you up at BWI, save you taxi fare, and show you a little bit of Charm City on the way from the airport."

"I haven't made reservations yet. Wanted to make sure you were up for a visit first."

Why wouldn't she be up for a visit? Surely Leo didn't believe that she still suffered from the after-effects of the depression that sent her over edge a few years back. "I love you for being such a protective big brother, but take my word for it: I'm fine," she said in the most upbeat voice she could muster. "It'll be so good to see you! I won't hurt your feelings, will I, if I tell you that I can't chat long? I have a dinner date across town, you see and—"

"Bully for you, sister dear, bully for you! It's high time you put some zest into your life!"

She'd never thought of Austin as 'zesty.' But then, he'd promised to serve steamed crabs.
Can't get much spicier than that!
Grinning, Mercy said "Let me know just as soon as you've booked your flights. Meanwhile, I'll gussy up your room and put your favorite after shave in the guest bath. Is French toast still your favorite breakfast?"

"Does the queen have white hair?" Leo laughed. "Go on, now. I wouldn't want to make you late for your very important date."

Mercy hurried to her room and pulled together an easy-care outfit that wouldn't show the tell-tale signs of a crab-eating frenzy, and in the shower, she pictured her only living relative.He'd been wonderfully supportive throughout her ordeal, spending countless hours listening to her blubber, reassuring her that in time her life would return to normal. He hadn't made her feel the least bit rushed, even when the intended two-week visit turned into nearly eight.

Once she'd remarked that maybe he'd chosen the wrong specialty, because his understanding of the human mind equaled that of any psychiatrist she'd studied under or worked with. "My dear," he'd said, patting her hand, "I'll grant you it takes skill to do what I do in the operating room, but the
hard
work begins long before I pick up a scalpel."

Until then, she'd never given a thought to how much "doctoring" goes into preparing a patient for plastic surgery, whether the operation is scheduled to repair scars and burns, or add and subtract inches in just the right places. Her appreciation of Leo doubled that day, and so did her love for him.

Mercy grabbed her keys and GPS as Woodrow wove a figure eight around her ankles. "Can you believe it?" she said, stooping to scratch between his ears, "you're going to meet my big brother soon!" She slung her purse over one shoulder."Behave yourself while I'm gone, and I'll give you two treats when I get back."

As she drove toward the highway, she made a mental list of things to buy before Leo arrived. His favorite ice cream. A tube of that ultra-minty toothpaste he liked so much. Some American sports magazines for the guest room.

She wondered what he'd think of Austin, what would Austin think of him.
But it's too early in the relationship to introduce them, isn't it?

Relationship?

The question distracted her so much that she nearly missed the ramp to I-83.

It was way too early to call it a
relationship.

Wasn't it?

Mercy shrugged. She didn't know why, but it seemed important to see how the two got along. The only question that remained was what to serve once the meeting was arranged.

Now won't
that
be a Norman Rockwell moment, she thought, picturing her two favorite men, shaking hands for the first time.

Mercy laughed so hard that she drove right past the sign that pointed the way to Austin's marina.

M
ercy found the only employee at the tiny marina convenience store in the back, stacking toilet tissue on a ginghamcovered shelf. "Excuse me, but I'm a little lost. I wonder if you've heard of a houseboat called
One Regret?"

"Sounds familiar," he said, thumbing his Orioles cap to the back of his head. "Follow me, young lady, and we'll see what we can see."

He led her to the counter, where he slid a book from a tidy shelf behind the cash register, and proceeded to page through it. "
One Regret, One Regret,"
he chanted as his beefy forefinger slid over the listings. "Here we go . . .
One Regret,
registered to Austin Finley."

"Whew," she said. "I drove three miles past your sign before I realized I'd missed the entrance."

"Missed it?" he echoed. "The thing's as big as a billboard."Chuckling, he added, "It is a billboard! How'd you miss something that size?"

Mercy felt her cheeks go hot as she remembered the ridiculous thoughts that turned her into a scatterbrained twit. "Can I bother you for directions from here?"

A dapper gent with a tidy white beard stepped up beside her and said, "Don't trust this old geezer. Why, some days, he needs help finding his way to the door of his own store!"

"Bud, if you didn't pay for all your groceries with cold, hard cash, I'd bar you from the door of my very own store."

"All bark, no bite," Bud shot back. And an aside to Mercy: "He's harmless. Just a little feeble-minded, is all." Then he sandwiched her hand between his own. "Did I hear you say you're having dinner with Austin? Alone? On his boat?"

The heat of her blush intensified. "Um, yes."

Bud gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, doggies! His taste in women is improving, ain't it, Pete?"

"Big time!" Pete put his book back on the shelf. "Much as I'd love to stand here jabbering with you, you old coot, I have work to do. Can I trust you to get this pretty little thing to Finley's slip? No funny business now, you hear, or I'll sic Flora on you."

Mercy didn't quite know what to make of the exchange.Quite clearly, both men had met several of Austin's female guests. She should feel flattered that, compared to the others, they saw her as an improvement. So why did she feel jealous, instead?

Bud's hearty laughter didn't give her much time to bristle as Pete headed for the back of the store. "I'll make you a deal," he said, gathering up his groceries, "you drive me to my boat, and I'll show you where Austin's is."

He looked so friendly and harmless that she didn't give it a second thought. "Is your boat far from his?"

"Oh, not too," he said as she led the way to her car. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's all of twenty yards from my place."

Mercy punched in the digits to unlock the car as Bud stuck out his right hand. "Name's Bud. Bud Callahan."

"Mercy," she said, shaking it. "Pleasure to meet you, Bud."

"Mercy. Now ain't that a lovely name!"

Smiling, she waited until he'd buckled his seatbelt before rolling toward the exit.

"Make this left," he said, pointing, "then follow that little road 'til it dead ends, and go right."

"How long have you known Austin?"

Bud scratched his chin. "Lemme see now, we came here in '98, and unless my memory is fading, he showed up about five years later." Chuckling, he added, "Don't tell him I shared this with you, but most folks around here call him Tugger, 'cause he spent the better part of a year working on beat-up old boat.I think if he hadn't come along when he did, they'd-a sunk her on Lake Michigan so the sea life could set up house on her."

Mercy grinned. She could almost picture Austin on his hands and knees, sanding the decks, stern-faced and determined to make quick and efficient work of it. "You don't call him that?"

"No-no-no," he said. "We met him long before the rest of these yokels did, and he said his name was Austin. We're creatures of habit, the wife and me." Bud shrugged. "Like Flora always says, makes our relationship with him special. And we like to think he feels the same way."

"Well, m'dear, here's our parking pad. You can pull in beside Austin's truck, if you like."

She stopped behind the pickup. "But wouldn't you rather I parked closer to your place, so you won't have to walk too far?"

Bud laughed. "My boat is one hundred and four steps from his. I know, 'cause I've counted."

Grinning, she slid into the space. As they exited the car, Mercy retrieved a rectangular cake pan from the floor of the backseat as Bud collected his groceries. "He told me not to bring anything, but I couldn't just show up with
nothing."
As they neared the walkway between the boats, she said, "Maybe you can join us for dessert?"

"Depends," Bud said with a wink. "What is it?"

"Pineapple upside down cake."

"Land o' Goshen," he said. "The boy's favorite." He regarded her from the corner of his eye. "How'd you get
that
bit of information out of him? Normally, he's more tight-lipped than— well, lordy—I can't think of anybody who says less about himself!"

And that, Mercy thought, is precisely why I can't tell Bud that the subject had come up during one of her first sessions with Austin, as she helped him remember good times with Avery. But even if it hadn't still fallen under the patient confidentiality principles, she'd have kept it to herself. Mercy didn't have to be his therapist to feel protective of him.

"Don't tell anyone I'm sharing this with you," she said, "but I'm a mind reader."

Laughing, Bud turned and headed up the ramp leading to his boat. "I'll see how Flora's feeling, and if she's up for dessert, I'll have her call the boy." He put his arm back, thrust a hand into the air, and waved. "Hopefully, she'll be interrupting something, and he'll say no."

And laughing, he disappeared inside, oblivious to Mercy's reddening cheeks. She stood at the foot of Austin's ramp, wishing she'd inherited her father's swarthy complexion to help hide the fact that she blushed so easily.

"I was beginning to think maybe you chickened out on me."

The voice came from above, and she shaded her eyes to look up. Bent at the waist, he leaned both forearms on the gleaming brass rail that surrounded a small porch-like room high on the boat. "Pass up free crabs? Obviously, you don't know me very well."

One corner of his mustachioed mouth lifted in a wry grin.Oh, how she loved that grin!

"The whole point of this dinner is to get to know you better," he said, straightening. "Stay where you are, and I'll meet you, help you hop over the water gap."

She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to, because her feet seemed nailed to the weathered wood boards of the walkway.Why had she fussed with her hair, instead of wearing it in a ponytail, or a clip, anything to get it up off her neck, because sudden nervousness threatened to wake beads of perspiration that would flatten her efforts in no time.

Smiling, he jogged toward her, blond curls glistening in the sun. "Thought I said you didn't have to bring anything," he said, taking the cake pan from her.

"I know. But I wanted to."

He balanced the pan on his left palm, pressed the right one to the small of her back. "C'mon, so I can show you around."

When they reached the end of the walkway, she laughed."You must think I'm dumb as a bag of rocks," she teased, looking at the one-foot space between the boards. "Or more clumsy than a drunken ostrich."

Chuckling, Austin took her hand. "It's just an excuse to do this," he said as she put hers into it.

"Oh, I'll bet you say that to all your women," she said as his fingers closed around hers.

"All my women?"

Mercy might have come back with a teasing barb—if she hadn't noticed the froth of waves slapping at the piling. She froze, and, pointing, said "Is that . . . is that a
stingray
down there?"

Austin peered into the murky water. "Yep. It sure enough is." He gave her hand a tiny squeeze, then let go of it and moved easily to the other side of the opening. "Trust me," he said, reaching for her, "I won't let you fall through, though God knows you're tiny enough to."

Mercy couldn't decide whether she so quickly and willingly took because she wanted to see the inside of his houseboat, or at the unspoken invitation that beamed from his gorgeous blue eyes.

"This thing weighs a ton," he said, nodding at the cake pan."Don't tell me. . . it's a ten-pound cake?"

Once both feet made it past the gap, she grinned up at him."They don't call it pound cake because that's what it weighs.It's because in the old days, the recipe called for a pound of flour, a pound of sugar, a pound of—"

He sniffed the pan's aluminum cover. "Do I smell
pineapples?"

Much as she hated to do it, Mercy wriggled free of his grasp and relieved him of the cake. "It's a surprise. For after dinner."It was her turn to sniff. "Why don't I smell crabs steaming?"

"Because we aren't having crabs, that's why."

He didn't give her time to ask why not. The spring that kept the screen door from swinging freely on its hinges creaked as he opened it for her. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, bowing slightly as she climbed to steep steps and entered the tug. "From this spot, you can see—well, you can pretty much see all of my humble abode in one glance."

A small, red-speckled Formica table nestled between two high-backed matching benches, and he slid the cake onto it to announce "This is the galley." He made a quarter turn and pointed. "That's the cabin." Another quarter turn. "The stateroom, ah, translation: bedroom. And down the companionway, er, hall, you'll find the head, better known to land-lubbers like you as the bathroom."

She followed his gaze to a narrow ladder. "Is that where you were when you called down to me?"

"The pilot house. Want to see it?"

"I'd love to."

And so Austin led the way up as Mercy wished she'd worn sneakers, to get better purchase on the flat wood rungs. The instant she stepped into the pilot house, she found herself turning in a slow circle. From every one of the dozen or so narrow windows, a different but equally beautiful look at the Chesapeake. "Oh, Austin," she sighed, "how do you ever tear yourself away from this spectacular view?"

"Isn't easy," she heard him say. He stepped up beside her."So, you like it?"

"What's not to like? It's breathtaking." Facing him, Mercy added, "I'll bet the sunrises are mind-blowing."

"So are the sunsets. That's why we're eating out there." He nodded to indicate a short doorway. "We're standing in the pilot house. When this was a working tug, this is where the captain stood, to—"

"—to pilot the boat, and keep an eye on everything?"

"Exactly."

"And that?" She pointed at the deck, barely visible on the other side of the west-facing windows. "What's that called?"

"The up-deck. Where you came in? I call that the downdeck."Austin shrugged. "And the rest of the stuff beneath your pretty little shoes is just plain deck."

All right, so maybe she'd made the right choice, not wearing sneakers.

"Come see the deck. Earlier, there was an osprey on her nest. Her babies are pretty much grown, but they still sit in it with her. If we're lucky, the whole feathered family will be home."

He ducked through a door barely taller than his shoulders."Take care not to thump your forehead on the door jamb."

She joined him on the deck and said "Thanks for the tip, Gulliver."

And then Mercy spied the little round table he'd set up in the shade of the pilot house, near the rail. A glass-globed lantern sat in the center of a red-and-white checked tablecloth, its points flapping in the evening breeze. In the middle of each white enamel plate, a matching napkin.

He'd wrapped the silverware in the napkin, placed a big red tumbler at two o'clock next to each plate, and, at the ten o'clock position, a salad bowl. Chunky salt and pepper shakers and a gingham-lined basket of rolls completed the setting.Either he was
very
practiced at entertaining ladies on board his houseboat or a generous and gracious host. Either way, it seemed he saw this as a bona-fide date. And if he ever found out how much time and effort had gone into getting herself ready, he'd have realized that she did, too.

"It's lovely," she admitted.

"Yeah. I know. Sometimes when I come up here, I'm amazed at how fast the hours go by."

She prepared to point out that it was the beautiful restaurant-style set-up he'd created, not the spectacular view that had captivated her when he said "What can I get you to drink?" He tapped the top of a waist-high refrigerator where a stumpy CD player thumped with a quiet tune. He counted on his fingertips."I have iced tea, lemonade, root beer, cola—"

"Iced tea sounds great. And I love that song!"

"'No More Cloudy Days'," Austin said, grabbing a pitcher from the fridge. "It's been one of my favorites since the Eagles recorded it. I forget the year."

"2007," she provided. "I have the same album. You should hear me belt that one out on the way to work, especially if I'm stuck in traffic! They're probably the only group I'd pay to see in concert. I became an Eagles fan when I stayed with my brother a few years back."

A strange expression darkened his face, but he recovered quickly.

Only Leo and her doctor knew about that awful time in her past, so Mercy didn't know how to explain the peculiar eye contact. Fortunately, it didn't last long.

"Something tells me you have a lovely voice.""Then something tells you wrong." Mercy laughed as he filled their tumblers. As he put the pitcher back into the fridge, she noticed that he'd placed a bench beside the table, and on it stood an ice bucket and silvery tongs, a covered butter dish, and a shiny red tray that held tortilla chips and salsa.

Obviously, he'd put even more effort into getting the boat ready for her visit than she had to come see it. And if she didn't watch out, tears of gratitude would spoil her careful mascara application, because Mercy couldn't remember when anyone had gone to so much trouble for her!

He added ice to the tea and handed her a glass. "Let's sit and enjoy the sunset," he said, gesturing toward two Adirondack chairs near the rail. He checked his watch. "We have about twenty minutes, by my guesstimation."