Life Support (38 page)

“Rena instructed me to prepare a petition to terminate Baxter's life support. A hearing is set in front of a judge in Greenville for next Friday afternoon beginning at one o'clock.” Alexia put the envelope on the edge of Mr. Leggitt's desk. “Here are the papers. It should be filed in Greenville on Monday. There is also an acknowledgment of service for you to sign as Ezra's attorney.”

Ralph Leggitt didn't pick up the envelope. His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Alexia remained steady. “It's what my client wants to do, and there is medical justification for her request.”

“Did you tell her how this might affect the cooperation she's received from her father-in-law?”

“Yes.”

His face grim, Leggitt put his pen down on his desk. “After our conversation the other day, I thought we were moving toward family harmony, not conflict. Ezra is going to be very upset when he finds out about this, and it makes my advice that he be generous toward Rena look foolish.”

“You told Ezra to do the right thing, and even though he had no business taking the money out of Rena's checking account and filing criminal charges against her, his change of heart didn't go unappreciated. Rena thought about calling him, but I suggested she wait because of their differences about maintaining Baxter's life support. Even now, we're willing to discuss the situation with him and try to come to an agreement.”

Leggitt snorted. “Do you expect Ezra Richardson to speed up his son's death when the doctors still hold out hope of a recovery?”

“We could arrange a conference call or meeting with Dr. Draughton. I've talked to him, and he can explain the situation in a way that's easy to understand.”

The cloud over Ralph Leggitt darkened. “Don't patronize me or my client, Alexia. You sandbagged me, and now I'm going to look like an idiot.”

Alexia flushed slightly. “Uh, I didn't mislead you. We didn't talk about—”

The older lawyer interrupted. “You knew all along that Rena wanted to pull the plug on Baxter, but you waited until you got what you wanted before filing the petition. I told Ezra I could trust you to be honest with me. I was wrong.”

Mr. Leggitt stood up. “I won't make the same mistake again.”

Alexia remained seated. “If I were in your place, I'd be mad, too. But there is medical support for Rena's request, and it deserves a hearing in front of a judge.”

“Save your arguments. I know what's going on.”

“What do you mean?”

Leggitt didn't answer. “We'll acknowledge service for Mr. Richardson.”

Alexia stood. Leggitt didn't make a move to escort her out of his office.

He spoke in a low voice. “Your client has chosen the hard way, and I'll do everything I can to make sure she regrets it,” he said.

Alexia didn't respond. She had a policy not to engage in verbal threats before going to court. It sapped her energy.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said as she walked from the office.

In the hallway outside, Alexia took a deep breath and exhaled. In some ways she preferred Ralph Leggitt as an adversary rather than an ally. As an enemy, his actions were unerringly predictable—whatever served his self-interest was the unfailing principle.

Ted Morgan had returned to work at Marylou Hobart's house Friday afternoon. In the heat of the summer she relied on two single-room air conditioners to stay comfortable, but it wouldn't be hot again for many months, and the old woman wanted to put screens in her windows so she could enjoy the fall breeze. Ted found the screens in a shed behind the house and cleaned them with a hose and soapy water. He didn't think it would be a difficult job, but when he attempted to install the first screen, it didn't fit.

“There's a problem,” he told Mrs. Hobart, who was standing inside the house on the opposite side of the open window and peering out at him.

“I'm not upset,” she answered. “I know you came as soon as you could.”

Ted pushed on the screen, but it was a half-inch too long. Mrs. Hobart tapped the window sill.

“Oh, that one must go somewheres else,” she said. “Each one is different. They're customer made.”

Ted nodded. The house was so old and the windows so irregular that Mrs. Hobart's mother must have ordered custom-made screens. None of the screens or windows had been labeled by the last person who had removed them. The result was a giant jigsaw puzzle. Ted took all the screens to the first window and tried each one until he found the matching piece. He repeated the process as he moved from window to window until he finished the downstairs.

The second story of the house had six windows. Ted was used to scrambling up and down ladders, but the prospect of doing so repeatedly on Mrs. Hobart's rickety ladder with an armload of screens was not a pleasant prospect.

“You don't use the upstairs, do you?” he called to Mrs. Hobart, who was sitting in a rocking chair on her back porch.

“I haven't been staring at you. I trust you to do a good job.”

Ted came closer and repeated his question. The old woman smiled.

“I'm sorry. I haven't been up the steps in ages. No need to risk breaking your neck on the ladder. What you've done is just fine. Come inside and have a glass of tea. It'll perk you up.”

Mrs. Hobart's tea was so sweet it could have been used for pancake syrup. Ted liked sweet drinks, but he filled his tea glass to the top and added extra water as soon as the old woman's back was turned. Even then, it was not a drink for those on a low carbohydrate diet. Ted took a tentative sip. It tasted great. Mrs. Hobart must have forgotten and cut the amount of sugar in half.

“This is good,” he said, holding up his glass.

She smiled at the compliment. “It could be sweeter.”

“Do you remember talking about the woman I wanted to invite over to my house for supper?” Ted called out.

“Delores?” the old woman replied.

“No. Her name is Alexia.”

As soon as he said it, Ted realized his mistake. Mrs. Hobart gave him a strange look that let him know she'd heard him clearly. She shook her head.

“I don't agree with the women who are trying to be men. I never told anyone to call me Lou. My name has always been Marylou.”

“Alexia is her nickname,” Ted responded in a loud voice. “Her real name is Alexia. Her mother is Russian.”

Mrs. Hobart's frown deepened. “Can you understand her when she talks to you?”

“Yes, ma'am. She's lived in the United States all her life.”

Mrs. Hobart sighed. “I know you're a preacher, but I'm going to pray for you myself. Most men don't understand the first thing about women. It took me years to get Harry straightened out. You're too good a man to get trapped by the wrong person.”

Ted had an old-fashioned charcoal grill. He preferred genuine smoked flavor in the food he cooked for the same reasons he appreciated the nuances produced by his Steinway over the sounds generated by a mass-produced piano. He set up the grill in a shaded grassy area behind the house. Several older trees kept most of the yard in perpetual shadow, and sometimes Ted would sit in a lounge chair in the backyard and read. It was a peaceful place. The residents of the nearby cemetery were quiet neighbors, and the nearest houses to the church were several hundred yards away.

The charcoal briquettes were beginning to turn gray around the edges when he heard the wheels of a car crackle across the seashell-covered driveway in front of the parsonage. He walked around the corner as Alexia got out of her BMW. She'd gone home after work to take care of her pets and changed into tan slacks with a white top. Plain clothes always brought out the color of her green eyes.

“Welcome,” he said.

Alexia gave him a smile. “Thanks. It's going to be a beautiful evening. I live on the marsh and can usually tell when it's going to be nice weather by the color and type of the clouds at sunrise and sunset.”

“You live on the marsh? Tell me about your house.”

Alexia had brought half a cheesecake she'd bought from Edith Katz. She retrieved it from the passenger seat, and they walked together toward the front door.

“It's off Pelican Point Drive. I have a view of an uninhabited barrier island.”

Telling him about her pets and her little boat, she followed him into the house. It was obvious he'd spent time making it clean and neat. He'd put a white tablecloth on the kitchen table where they'd sipped lemonade. The steaks were in a plastic bag, soaking in a dark-colored sauce.

“What's in the marinade?” Alexia asked.

“Wine, garlic, olive oil, and a few pinches of other stuff. How do you like your meat cooked?”

“Medium rare. I like it rare, but if I eat too much raw meat, it makes me mean.”

Ted laughed. “I'll be careful to cook it enough to avoid problems.”

Ted had put two chairs in the backyard. Since it was past the season for insects, they went outside and sat while they waited for the briquettes to thoroughly ash.

“This reminds me of my grandmother's house and backyard,” Alexia said. “Very relaxing and peaceful.”

“In Russia?”

“No. My father is from central Ohio. He grew up on a farm surrounded by corn and soybean fields. When we visited my grandmother, it was an excuse for other relatives to come to the house for a big meal. After we ate, my grandmother liked to sit outside in the evenings and talk until the stars came out.”

“What did she talk about?”

“People I didn't know anything about. My family had lived in the same house for three generations, and she knew everybody for miles around.” Alexia paused. “Sometimes she talked about her faith, and when I was small, I thought she'd memorized the entire Bible. Whenever a problem came up, she often quoted a verse that was supposed to be the answer.”

“She sounds like my Uncle Frank. He was the bass singer in a gospel quartet and really knew the Bible. I think it was the only book he ever read. Do you remember any of the verses your grandmother quoted?”

“Let me think. She died when I was twelve.” Alexia looked up at the darkening sky and tried to retrieve a memory. “Here's one.
You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.
I used to think it was funny because there wasn't a hill for miles and miles until you reached Cincinnati.”

“That's Matthew 5:14. It's from the Sermon on the Mount. Why would she quote that verse?”

“Actually, she said it to me several times. Even when I was a little girl, I had a strong desire for justice, you know, to see the right thing happen. I guess she picked up on it and thought the verse applied to me. She even wrote it on a piece of paper for my birthday one year and gave it to me inside a card. I have it somewhere at my house.”

“Are you letting your light shine?”

Alexia nodded. “I'd say so. My clients aren't always in the right on all issues, but I do my best to expose the darkness and bring in the light.”

Ted walked over to the grill.

“The coals will be ready in a few more minutes,” he said. “Is everything in your life related to being a lawyer?”

Alexia opened her mouth and then quickly closed it. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear her answer. The minister's casual question came at a vulnerable moment and exposed the narrow focus of her existence. She enjoyed her private world of grand seclusion on the marsh, but all her true energy was directed toward her clients and her work. Except for Gwen, she didn't have any close friends.

“Why did you ask me that question?” she asked slowly.

Ted leaned over and pulled up one of the last dandelions of the season. He blew it and watched the feathery seeds cascade away in the early evening air.

“It's easy for a person who passionately cares about what they do to get so involved with work that it consumes them. I know it's necessary for you to represent your clients zealously, but I think the verse you mentioned has a broader application than what you do in your job.”

Alexia tried to regain her footing. “You're preaching again, aren't you?”

Ted glanced toward her with kind eyes before answering.

“I'm filling in for your grandmother. If she were here, I bet she'd ask you the same thing.”

And the Holy Spirit moved across Alexia Lindale's heart. It was a divine moment—a delayed response to the faith-filled prayers of an Ohio farm wife who had quietly walked into the upstairs bedroom where her dark-haired granddaughter slept and asked that the child's life might one day shine with the light of Jesus Christ. The passage of a quarter of a century is less than the width of an eyelash in the perspective of eternity. All God-inspired prayers are answered in the fullness of time.

First in a rural church in Santee and later on the shores of southern France, the door of Alexia's heart had been slowly opening in response to the knock of heaven. Her chest felt heavy. Moisture collected in the corners of her eyes. She rubbed away the tears with her palms, but fresh pools immediately formed. Ted didn't speak. Alexia stared at the ground, but the blades of grass blurred through the prism of her tears. She looked up through bleary eyes at the cemetery, irrefutable evidence of the transitory nature of life on earth. A divine stillness settled upon the peaceful yard.

You are the light of the world.

Ted went into the house. He returned with the steaks and a few tissues that he gently placed in Alexia's hands. She was aware of Ted, but his activity didn't recall her from the realm where her thoughts and feelings took her. With yearning beyond words, she wanted the kind of light her grandmother talked about to shine through every pore of her being. Bowing her head, she sent her request to the only One who could give it to her, and in an instant, the flame of eternal life was kindled in her heart.

A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.