The Riches of Mercy (3 page)

The bastard.

She hadn't been seeking any spotlight. She'd just wanted a steady job that didn't require eighty hours of work for twenty years to get anywhere. The state prosecutor's office had been fine, even at a post outside of Raleigh, which meant no upward mobility. Still, she had a steady job, and overworked meant fifty to sixty hours a week, when there was a big case.

There wasn't often a big case. She was just doing her time in the trenches right after law school, prosecuting drug felon after drug felon, before moving onto domestic violence, and then onto sex crimes. High profile murder was not her job. At least putting rapists away gave her some feminist satisfaction. And the cases were complex and involved enough she felt personally involved. Something to live for.

"You're taking the Roland case," Patrick said, coming into her office and announcing it without preamble.

"I don't want the Roland case. I've got an FBI thing. Can you believe they're actually questioning the bust?"

"They're defense attorneys. That's what they do. But someone else can do it. An intern--"

"You think an intern can do my job?"

"Paralegal?"

She shot him an annoyed look.

"Nat," he said, sitting down across from her desk.

She raised her eyebrows.

He sighed.

She put her pencil down. "This is the case of the year. And it doesn't involve Duke. Thank God. You've got to be shitting yourself for this."

"I have to recuse myself, Natalie."

"What? Why?"

He studied her pencil.

She ran her fingers through her hair and frowned at him. He looked sad, and tired, and she wondered for the first time just how close to retirement he was.

"Roland--he's a friend of mine, Nat. Not just a guy I know at parties, I schmooze money from, I see at the golf club. An actual, real friend. Our kids play together. We're from the same alma mater. Roland--he's a good guy."

A sickening, twisting feeling came in Natalie's stomach. She picked up her pencil. "You don't think he did it?"

"I don't know." Patrick turned away, and his eyes were watery. He folded his hands. "I guess he did. I guess--we arrested him. But Jesus, Nat. I can't do this."

"Okay. Okay, I get it. Why me?"

"You do your job, but you're not an asshole about it. I can't stand to see anyone out for blood. Rodriguez--" He sighed.

"Can be a prick on high-profile cases," Natalie said.

"And you're qualified. It's out of your zone, but not out of your rank."

"Thanks. I guess. I'm sorry, Patrick."

Patrick leaned across the desk and said, "Make sure he pays for what he did." He squeezed her hand.

She covered his with hers. "Okay. Don't worry about it."

But when he got up and walked away, his posture showed he'd be worrying about it for the rest of his life. And she had another reason to hate Roland.

#

Meredith leaned her forehead against the glass. This would be the last night she'd see Natalie from this particular angle. Natalie was healing her way out of the ICU. She was talking. The color in her was getting brighter. Meredith was relieved she wouldn't die, but relief hadn't eased any of her apprehension. She didn't think it was a coincidence such a powerful attorney ended up in Tarpley. Meredith wouldn't have expected a woman--not this broken, not this seemingly bitter--but she had been searching for a sign.

Praying so hard.

Whenever Natalie caught her passing by the window, Natalie offered up a radiant smile that only twisted the knots tighter inside Meredith's stomach.

This gift from God. She wasn’t sure what to do with it besides heal it and look after it. She knew not to try anything more, or hope for anything more, than having this one person in all of Tarpley that looked at her with warmth, not pity and studied her with curiosity, not condemnation.

She wasn't ready for this test. Not yet. Not so soon. But God brought this creature via helicopter right to her and Meredith couldn't deny that kind of sign.

Not anymore.

#

"You awake?" A nurse asked Natalie, coming into the room. She carried pills. Sedatives, Natalie hoped. And a glass of water and a newspaper.

"Thank God."

"Are you in pain?" The nurse came closer. Her badge read Teresa.

"No, I was just thinking. And--You're the first person who isn't white with brown hair. I thought I'd been abducted by very bland clones."

Teresa chuckled. "Wheeler and Merry are cousins. Distant cousins. Not in the Southern sense. Well, maybe a little. You probably understand."

"Everyone knows each other around here?"

"Of course. Merry sat two seats down from me in elementary school. I tutored her in math."

"Charlotte isn't like that."

"You grew up there?"

"My parents were from Pittsburgh, but you know, the economy."

"Yeah, Charlotte is full of transplants. The bases down here bring in all kinds of foreigners, too--" Teresa stopped herself. "Sorry."

Natalie grinned.

Teresa put the pills on the tray. "Let me tell you why you need to take these, girl."

"You could tell?"

"I can always tell. Confusion lies close to the surface."

Natalie sighed.

"You're tired, right?"

"Yes."

"And don't feel much like moving."

"Yes."

"And you want to think about everything. How you got here, where you're going, what the hell is up with your leg."

"And my hip."

"You've got to sleep. You're a big-time lawyer. You're going to keep yourself up all night. You're going to seek all the angles. So. This is the off-switch."

"For how long?"

"We have you scheduled for three more nights, but if you're good, we might make it two."

"And then--" Natalie's eyes filled with tears, unbidden. Teresa was right--she felt chaotic, emotional, terrified. She didn't want to feel like this all night, for hours in the darkness. "And then will they tell me what's wrong with me?"

Teresa put her hand on Natalie's shoulder. "First thing in the morning."

Natalie took her pills.

"Good, good. Now, as your reward, I brought you the paper. You're on the front page."

"Oh, come on."

"And so's your car."

Natalie grabbed the paper.

Teresa laughed. "They said you'd like that."

Natalie's fingers traced the image of her crumpled BMW. Her grief overwhelmed the shame she knew she was supposed to be feeling. She'd been inside. Maybe thrown out. She felt nauseous. The destroyed machine was like an extension of herself--a visualization of her insides. Not pretty.

"You going to be all right with your paper?" Teresa asked.

"Yes. Thank you. Hey," Natalie said, glancing up, forcing herself to put the paper down. "When is Merry scheduled?"

"She'll be here in the morning. Everybody loves Merry."

"I love you, too, Teresa."

"Everyone loves the Candyman. And hey," Teresa said, going to the door. "Merry needs a good lawyer."

Natalie raised her eyebrows, but Teresa waved and left, leaving Natalie to wonder why a nurse she'd known for two days needed a lawyer. And why, after such a short period of time, Natalie wanted to help her.

Must be the drugs.

She studied the front page. She started to read the article on herself, but by the second paragraph her eyes were too heavy to hold open and her head threatened to give her a headache if she tried anymore. The great thing about hospital beds, they were always ready to let her sleep. She didn't even have to lie back down.

# #

Chapter Four

"Ready to see your favorite patient, Merry?" Wheeler asked.

Meredith's face grew hot. "She's not my--I treat all my patients equally."

"How noble."

She frowned.

"We're delivering the bad news. She may need you to make her feel like your favorite patient."

"I know the drill." Needed in a crisis and then forgotten afterward. Caring wasn't lying, even if it was brief. She'd wanted to do this. She made it her life's work. And caring for the boys. Those two tasks gave her life balance.

Wheeler put his hand on her shoulder.

Meredith glanced at the door.

A tall, dark, and handsome stranger literally dropped from the sky. Different, somehow, than the other patients coming and going. The ones focused on their own lives. Natalie was present. Meredith wanted to tell Vincent how weird it all was. She sent him a prayer. Then she took a deep breath and nodded at Wheeler. They went into Natalie's room.

The breakfast tray lay across Natalie’s lap. Dry toast with marmalade and ice water. The marmalade came from Colleen's aunt's farm. Meredith felt like sharing the fact with Natalie, but didn't, and just trailed after Wheeler to the bed.

"How many patients are at this hospital?" Natalie asked Wheeler.

"About thirty. We have fifty beds."

"Wow," Natalie said.

"Wow." Wheeler answered.

A pang went through Meredith's heart as Natalie struggled to get her bearings. Meredith wanted to take her hand and explain everything. But she couldn't. This was Wheeler's burden.

He sat down beside Natalie and put papers on her bed.

Natalie raised her eyebrows. She let Meredith take the breakfast tray and set it on a side table.

"We talked to your insurance folks this morning, everything's going to be all right," Wheeler said.

Natalie's eyes flickered toward Meredith's. Meredith met her gaze and smiled. Natalie gave her a faint smile back.

Meredith pulled a second chair up to Natalie's bed, sitting beside Wheeler, down near Natalie's knees. Natalie wouldn't have to turn her head much to see either of them. They'd done this a hundred times.

Meredith looked at her hands.

"How was breakfast, Natalie?" Wheeler asked.

"Was it real?"

"It wasn't a figment of your imagination. Call me Hank if you want. Do you think you imagined it?"

"I'm not calling my doctor, Hank, and I'm not having hallucinations." Natalie said.

Meredith nearly laughed.

"Dr. Henry?" Wheeler asked.

Natalie picked up the top paper.

"It's time to give you a full assessment of your injuries and your recovery time," Wheeler said.

Natalie's face grew pale. She blinked rapidly. Merry leaned forward. She knew nausea when she saw it. She knew pain.

Wheeler waited.

"Okay," Natalie finally said.

"You were out for four days, you know that. I'm glad to see you've recovered so well from the anesthetic."

Natalie nodded.

"During that time, you had two surgeries. The first after you were med-evaced in--"

"You have a helicopter?"

"The state does. They took care of it. We put you down in the parking lot. People are still talking," he said.

Meredith was still thinking about it; how the first spotlight shined on the pavement; how small and still and bloodied Natalie had been.

Natalie didn't respond.

Wheeler's expression sobered. "The first surgery was part of your triage. We put the pins in your hip to keep your midsection from collapsing. We took out your appendix, part of your spleen, and assessed your intestines. And we tried to stabilize your crushed leg. But we couldn't devote much time to it, because we were focused on making sure you didn't have any head or neck trauma."

"My neck hurts. A good sign, right?"

Meredith nodded.

"You pulled just about every muscle in your body, and it's going to be a couple of weeks until we can see if there's any real lasting trauma on your spine. But you're mostly okay," Wheeler said.

Natalie nodded again. She swallowed.

Meredith took Natalie's hand.

Natalie exhaled, and then as the silence gathered in the room, tensed, her fingers tightening on Meredith's. "There's more?" she asked.

Wheeler took a deep breath and said, "We did a second surgery on your leg to repair tendons and make sure the blood could flow properly. The swelling was more than we would have liked. I don't know if we're going to have to do more--I'll talk to you about that in a moment. But Natalie, even though you aren't paralyzed, I don't know when you'll be able to walk again."

Natalie glanced away.

Meredith squeezed her hand.

Wheeler said, "Or how things will go. It'll be rough, whether you get full mobility back or not. We're also looking at only sixty to eighty percent recovery of motion in your right shoulder. You should still be able to write. Continue as an attorney."

"But my leg," Natalie said, in a small voice, gazing down. Meredith's heart broke. Natalie held her fingers.

Wheeler said, "Only time will tell. Beyond that, there's going to be a pain issue."

Pain was such an ugly, four-letter word.

Wheeler said, "We can't keep you on these kinds of drugs forever. There are other kinds of drugs, though, and we may be looking at lifetime treatment for chronic pain. We won't know until you start healing. It’s going to hurt."

Natalie's eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away, and turned to the wall opposite them, at a poster of a cat hanging from a tree.

Already, nurses and therapists moved Natalie's limbs, re-bandaged her, changed her clothes, and washed her and shuffled around her. Contact would only increase in Natalie's near future. By exponential factor, when they started teaching her to put weight on her legs again. Lying for nearly a week in a hospital bed hadn't done her body any good, even as broken as it was.

"What kind of pain have you been in before, in your life? Can you recall any instances?" Wheeler asked.

Natalie exhaled. She slowly turned her head back to meet Wheeler's gaze, her hand slack in Meredith's. She said, "I broke my arm one summer, when I was ten."

"Tell me about it," Wheeler said.

Natalie swallowed. "I remember--Really?"

"Yes."

Natalie said, "I remember lying in the grass, smelling the fresh summer clippings around me. I was trying to breathe--it was hard--hard to breathe through the pain. I remember my friends screaming out for my mother, and trying to breathe."

"What happened next?" Wheeler asked.