The Road to Mercy (11 page)

“Roi, I need the roses stripped and cleaned as soon as possible. I have lots of orders to fill this morning.” Isaac pointed toward the pile of multicolored flora in the back corner of the shop that Roi’s oldest brother, Eli, had delivered a few minutes before.

Isaac was thankful he could now delegate his least favorite chore, dethorning the spiny stems. Roi considered it simple work compared to the hours he often labored in the hot sun working for his father, watering and pruning plants each day.

No job in the flora business was easy. You would tear your flesh stripping flowers, and then need nimble fingers to design delicate bouquets.

While Roi stripped the roses, Isaac prepped the design table. He cleaned his workspace before organizing his tools and replenishing his supply of glass containers, floral paper, tape, and wire.

The heat from the late July morning had filtered into the shop, and Isaac welcomed the rush of chilly air when he opened the door to the large cooler. Grandfather and Uncle Moshe had built the closetlike structure into the back wall of the shop the year Isaac was born. Three years ago, he had helped his grandfather install a commercial chiller. The chrome box with its beveled glass doors now displayed fresh arrangements.

Isaac chose blooms for his first few orders of the day and transported them to the worktable, the way he had watched his grandfather do every morning for the first sixteen years of his life. Levi Ruben was a master at floral arrangements. He created living works of art from the blooms in season, adding twigs and leaves to complete his masterpieces.

Grandfather’s work was renowned within their multicultural community. People from all walks of life came to the shop to purchase bouquets and centerpieces for gifts and special occasions, such as birthdays and anniversaries. Some even used Grandfather’s creations as conciliatory offerings to end a lovers’ quarrel or pledge their lifelong love.

Isaac had come to understand a lot about humanity during his years of working at the shop. Many people lived a lie—and flowers were sometimes used to perpetuate their fraud. Men and women alike purchased Grandfather’s beautiful arrangements to bridge the gap between truth and desire, to conceal their indiscretions, and to hide the real agenda in their relationships. Complete strangers walked into the shop daily to reveal secrets about themselves, laying bare privileged information that belonged on a psychologist’s couch.

“Young man, I need your help. I want to send a dozen roses to,
ahem
, a friend. Here is her address—and cash. Of course, you won’t keep a record of the transaction?”

“Never, Mr. Stein. I understand. And how is Mrs. Stein, by the way?” Isaac enjoyed watching the cheaters squirm.

Although he would never reveal to anyone that Mr. Stein had a mistress, he thoroughly enjoyed the irony of the situation. If Mrs. Stein should eventually learn of the affair, chances were good that her husband would return for amnesty flowers. It was a never-ending game of human chicanery with flowers as the pawn.

Of course, greenery and blooms were also used in ritual worship, for funerals and celebrations of religious holidays.

Religion was, perhaps, the biggest illusion of all.

If there was a God, and man was made in his image as the Torah taught—from what Isaac had seen of human motives—he would have a hard time trusting him.

The back door opened, and Alex ran to Beth in time to catch her fall.

“What’s wrong?”

“I cut my finger,” Beth muttered. “I need to sit down.”

“Let me help you.” Alex grabbed a clean dishtowel from the cabinet drawer, threw it over her arm, and half-dragged, half-carried Beth to a bench at the kitchen table. She pulled up a side chair for herself and sat down. “Let me see the damage you’ve done.”

“It’s bad.” Beth’s hand trembled as she held it out for Alex to examine. Red globules continued to ooze from the cut.

“Hold this towel around the wound,” Alex directed. “I need to clean the blood away so I can see it better.” Seconds later, Alex returned with a bowl of warm water and a roll of paper towels. She cleaned the wound, while Beth explained how she had injured herself.

“This is all my fault. I thought I had time to do a few things at home while you were still sleeping.”

“I could have fixed cereal.” Beth did her best to smile, although her finger now throbbed more than her head.

“Keep holding your hand up,” Alex said. “I’ve got to get this bleeding stopped.”

“I’m sorry I was so stupid. I can’t do anything for myself.” Beth fought back tears.

“Relax, girlfriend.” Alex stroked Beth’s hair. “Everything will be okay.” She removed the damp towel to see if the blood was clotting. “We’re making progress.” Alex reapplied pressure to the wound. “Where do you keep your first-aid kit?”

“In the hall bathroom.” Beth started to get up. “I’ll go—”

“Whoa . . . you stay put. Hold your arm up and keep pressure on this. I’ll be right back.”

Beth held the towel firmly until Alex returned with a bottle of antibacterial spray and a box of bandages. She disinfected the cut and wrapped a large bandage around Beth’s index finger.

“Is this too tight?”

“No. Feels good.”

“You know you’re going to need stitches on this? It’s deep.”

“Please, no. I don’t want to go to the emergency room again,” Beth pleaded.

Josh dragged his tired body up the steps of the bus entrance. One more show, and then he could take a few days off for Thanksgiving. He tossed his black carry-on bag onto the jump seat and greeted Danny. The look on Danny’s face told him something was wrong.

“Is everything okay?”

“No,” Danny said. “I just talked to Daddy, and my mom’s back in the hospital.” His driver’s massive shoulders trembled. “I’m worried about her.”

“Keep your chin up, man. I’m praying. For your daddy too.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Do you need to fly home? Mitch can drive us the rest of the way.”

“My dad told me to finish the trip. We’ll be there in forty-eight hours.” Danny offered a weak smile. “Are you ready to roll?”

“Everyone here?”

“Yup, in their bunks. Except for Ryan. He’s working in the back lounge.”

“Let’s go. Keep us safe, man.” Josh slapped his driver on the shoulder and turned toward the rear of the bus.

The bus transmission engaged as Josh entered the bunkroom hallway. He prepared for a slight bump forward, readying his bus legs, a term seasoned road warriors used to describe the ability to stay balanced on a forward-moving, sideways-swaying bus.

He opened his closet door and dropped his bag onto the floor. The space wasn’t much bigger than a broom closet, but he had just enough room to squeeze in a small bag and a couple weeks’ worth of hanging clothes.

Josh walked past seven identical closets and four curtained bunks on his way to the back lounge. He opened the door and stuck his head inside.

“Hey, you planning to work all night?”

“Just finishing up with the merchandise reports,” Ryan said, shuffling papers.

“How’s it going?” Josh stepped fully into the room.

“Fine. No problem. If Mitch—” Ryan’s words were obscured by the squall of air brakes. “What in the deuce is that driver doing now? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” Ryan set his papers aside and made an effort to stand. When he did,
the bus lunged forward throwing him back into his seat. He cursed and started to get up again. “He’s the roughest driver I’ve—”

“Stay here,” Josh ordered. “He’s in heavy traffic.”

Ryan’s jaw tightened. He threw his hands up in disgust and, with mock compliance, settled back into his seat, again picking up his paperwork.

“Try to get some sleep. You’re tired and grumpy.” Josh turned to leave and then had a second thought. “By the way, if I ever hear you mention my wife’s name in a bad light again, I will fire you immediately.”

Ryan’s face turned a deep shade of red. He choked out an unintelligible response.

“I’m glad we understand each other.” Josh closed the bunkroom door and walked toward the front of the bus. Running his fingers through his hair, he pondered the distance between his driver and his road manager.

The only rub Josh had ever seen between Danny and anyone on the road had been with Ryan. Everyone seemed to like Danny. Although he was large enough to push his weight around, he chose to temper himself. He was a gentle giant in all aspects of his life, including his faith.

Ryan, on the other hand, was lean and fast with a runner’s body and an aggressive nature. He was an extraordinary musician, who held a degree in business, and was an excellent multitasker. Ryan had the charm of a politician when he wanted to use it. But it seemed that he chose to use it less and less lately.

Perhaps more than anyone here, Josh understood that road managing was a thankless task. That was one reason he tried to go easy on Ryan, despite complaints from everyone he worked with.

Coordinating a tour required a laundry list of skills. Most musicians focused on creative things and needed help getting from point A to point B. Ryan was a take-charge guy. He was like a good doctor with a bad bedside manner.

Ryan was a cattle herder, but his position ultimately required a shepherd. Josh hoped he could learn to see the difference. A good attitude could always accomplish more than sarcasm and arrogance.

After changing into a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, Josh crawled into his bunk. Two more nights and he could sleep in his own bed for a few days. He pulled the bunk curtain closed, shutting out the world the best he could, but his mind kept churning. He couldn’t afford to lose his road manager or his driver in the middle of a major tour. He needed Ryan, even if he wasn’t perfect.

Too many personal issues required Josh’s time right now. He had a lot to do when he got home. Alex needed a break from caregiving. And the baby’s room had to be painted before Beth could start the decorating she had planned.

For now, he would relax in his bunk and pray for God’s help with all the strength he could muster. He would pray for Danny’s mom, and for Beth, and for the baby. He had to believe that everything would be okay. God answered prayer. He had to believe that more now than ever. He had to trust that everything would work out.

Josh ran his hand along the smooth, perfectly restored, antique table in Alex’s kitchen. “We appreciate the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Glad to have you,” Alex said before turning to Beth. “Some people will do anything to avoid cooking.”

“Actually, I’m just too busy visiting the emergency room.” Beth returned the joust.

“That’s not what you told me Sunday.” Alex lobbed one back.

“Ouch.” Beth laughed.

“The two of you are having way too much fun while I’m on the road.” Josh said. He hadn’t seen his wife this relaxed in weeks. “I’m sorry I’ve missed it.”

“Oh, lots of fun,” Alex said, stirring a pot on the stove. “It was hilarious walking into your kitchen and seeing Beth on the floor in a pool of blood.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Beth winced.

“Okay, maybe not a pool of blood. But you scared me.”

“It’s my hobby. Scaring people.” Beth winked at Josh.

“Well, you’re good at it.” Alex dumped a bowl of cranberries into the hot pot.

“So what happened, exactly?” Josh had heard the story over the phone, without the details.

“It was my fault,” Alex said.

“No, it wasn’t. It was Buster’s fault.” Beth stroked the black-and-white terrier snuggled in her lap. “Of course, I had some liability in the matter too.” Her face clouded over. “It’s just that I wanted to do something for myself for a change.”

“You need to relax and enjoy the pampering while you can,” Josh told her.

“Read a book or two,” Alex said, still stirring the pot of cranberries.

“Great idea, but I can’t focus enough right now to read.” Beth blushed and averted her eyes to the dog.

Josh studied his wife. She appeared childlike, vulnerable. More so than when he had first brought her home from the hospital.

“Just do your best, Mama. That’s all you can do.” Alex walked over to the table with a paté knife, celery, and cheese spread. “Can you fill these stalks with pimento?”

“As long as it’s a dull knife.” Beth smiled and pushed the dog off her lap. “Scoot, Buster. I need to wash my hands so I can help with dinner.”

Josh watched her disappear down the hall. “I’ve been concerned about her.”

“I can understand why,” Alex said. “She’s having a tough time. One minute she’s on the top of the world, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably. I never know which Beth I’ll find when I get her up in the morning.”

He nodded.

“I feel terrible about Sunday, you know? She usually sleeps in until I wake her.”

“You’re doing a great job. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, no!” Alex froze.

“What’s wrong?”

“My contact slipped out.” Alex poked around on her face with her index finger. “Josh, can you help me?”

“Sure.” Josh tripped over the dog when he scrambled out of the chair to assist her. “Sorry, Buster.” The dog groused, walked to the edge of the room, and lay down. “Where did you lose it?”