The Riches of Mercy

by C. E. Case

  Natalie closed her eyes and bowed her head. The spray hit her hair and ran in rivulets down her back and sides. The water hitting plastic made an obnoxious crinkling sound. She felt better immediately, despite the pain, despite being in a strange house, with a family. She'd never known a family. Growing up she'd only had her mother, nervous and foreign and ultimately defeated by cancer, sick where Meredith was healthy, scared where Meredith was smart. The boys—Natalie did love them already—made her feel like she fit in.

  It scared her. This outpouring of domestication, of waking up and experiencing Meredith. She wanted to stay, and learn more about Meredith, the better to laugh with her, to play, to raise the children. She'd never before been so drawn.

  Her life was reduced to sitting naked in someone else's shower. Nothing was hers anymore.

  Meredith never would be.

  She was just being nice. She was nice to everyone. Natalie certainly wasn't anything besides bedraggled, taking advantage of some gentle Southern woman's hospitality. Just a thing, not a person. Nothing Meredith could really love.

  The feeling was supposed to go away. Meredith assured her. Patients got better. Patients grew less attached. The feeling she'd first felt in Meredith's presence, pulling, hadn't faded. Each smile Meredith granted her, each touch, made it stronger instead.

  Natalie bowed her head and cried.

  She could cry without pain now, and the tears came quickly, and then the heaving sobs, as she tried to contain herself, tried to reach for the soap. She shook until her side began to hurt in earnest, until the loneliness hollowed her out. She was sitting in a folding chair in a shower. Absurd. She steadied, and managed to soap herself, and let the spray fall on her chest, on her legs. With cleanliness came a sense of newness, and peace.

  She filled her hand with shampoo, and then reached up. Pain jolted her arm. She lowered it again. She'd never have full motion of the arm, they'd told her. Trying to wash her hair with one hand sent fresh tears to her eyes.

  "Merry?" she called. Then coughed, and said louder, "Merry?"

  Footsteps, and then Meredith cracked open the door. "Nat?"

  "Can you come in?"

  Meredith slipped in, shutting the door behind her.

  Natalie gave her a wobbly smile, tears now dripping down her cheeks at the sight of Meredith, whole and beautiful and standing so close.

  "Can you wash my hair?"

  “Sure. Just let me…" She glanced around, and then before Natalie could protest, pulled off her shirt and draped it over the sink, leaving herself in a bra and jeans. She pulled the shower curtain to the side.

  "Thank you." Natalie closed her eyes. Then the tears might stop.

  "I figured you'd want your hair washed. Water's still warm, even."

  Natalie would have preferred nettles stinging her skin. When Meredith touched her scalp, Natalie began to sob. She endured Meredith's hands in her hair, and the smell of conditioner, and the massaging motions should have soothed her, but made her feel wild and exposed.

  "Why are you crying?" Meredith asked, her voice quiet, barely audible under the spray.

  "I like it here."

  Meredith traced her neck. "Don't you miss your home?"

  "No."

  Meredith didn't say anything, just slipped down to hug her. The water turned cool. Natalie patted Meredith's hands.

  "It's okay. We like you here."

  Natalie felt Meredith tremble against her. She planned to cry again, becoming a habit, but a laugh came out instead.

  "Nat?"

  "I think I'm out of tears."

  "And out of hot water." Meredith turned off the water and pulled away to get a towel.

  "Taking a shower was a bad idea."

  "You think?"

  Natalie felt cool but limber, no longer in much pain, drained but brave enough to attempt getting back into her wheelchair, naked. To stand, even. She met Meredith's gaze, finding it tremulous. She reached and Meredith took her arm, helping her up. Then she was eye-to-eye with Meredith.

  "I think it was a good idea," Meredith said.

  "Maybe. But I don't want to do it again for a while."

  Meredith gave her a smile. "Maybe not. Maybe just some sleep."

  # #

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harold came to take Natalie back to the hospital, where there was a therapy room and a gym. Merritt and Beau watched in awe from the safety of the front porch.

  "How's living with that woman?" Harold asked her.

  'Just wonderful' was on the tip of Natalie's tongue, but something in his tone made her hesitate. She said, instead, in measured, lawyerly tones, "Fine. I'm lucky to have nursing care."

  Nursing care consisted of fresh flowers in her room and breakfast in bed in exchange for dinner and babysitting. Natalie wasn't even sure it was a fair trade, much less worth what her insurance was paying Meredith. Not that she'd tell the driver. Or the insurance company. She was happy about the arrangements.

  "Sure. Just like living with Kathy Bates," Harold said.

  Natalie rubbed her nose. She didn't see the resemblance.

  Harold didn't elucidate.

  Natalie focused on the scenery outside her window. She was sorry when the van pulled up to the hospital entrance. Numbly, she let herself be lowered and then pushed inside.

  Jake came out to greet her. He kissed her cheeks and said, "Mon cherie! You have color! You have tone!"

  Natalie blushed.

  He pushed her wheelchair and leaned over to smell her hair. "Your hair is so clean and shiny. Are they feeding you new oats?"

  "Corn Flakes."

  "Oh, honey. At least in the hospital we cook for you."

  "You came to this job for the food, didn't you? This physical therapy thing is merely incidental."

  "Merely incidental." He giggled. "You're such a lawyer."

  Natalie lifted her chin.

  "I'll put you in your place. Today you're going to walk. Not step from the chair to the bed. Not stand up. Walk."

  "What? No. I'm not ready to walk."

  He parked her wheelchair next to the parallel bars, and produced crutches. He sprawled on them, swinging one foot forward.

  "Jake, I'm still in pain every day. I can't--"

  "Look," he said, pointing two fingers at her, and then at his eyes, and then back at her again.

  She folded her arms.

  "You've gotten downright comfortable, haven't you? You can get to the bathroom. You can bathe, obviously. Your leg hurts like hell, and isn't it great you don't have to worry about it so much? You can feed yourself, probably, and watch TV, and probably even work. Are you working?"

  "Sort of."

  "Plenty of people are in wheelchairs and do just fine. And besides, it's only temporary, right?"

  "Right." Her face felt hot.

  "Do you have Tivo?" he asked.

  "Sure, back at my condo."

  "You have a condo."

  She stuck her tongue out.

  "Girl, I have a house here and a condo by the beach. There ain't no cute little apartments in Tarpley. Or Warsaw. Or--"

  "There's some in Wilmington," she said.

  He tossed his head. "Let's walk."

  #

  "You're good at this," Natalie said, falling with relief into her chair. Jake held her, making sure her hips didn't slam into the sides and her back didn't bunch up.

  "I was trained well. I went to school, you know."

  "After the army? And you found it worthwhile?"

  "Oh, yeah. They taught us things I never would have thought of on my own. How to keep you happy." He winked.

  "Just smile," she said.

  He blushed. "It's all about total health. And preventative. Weird to say after trauma, but true."

  "Is this your, uh, calling?"

  "Oh, no." He laughed, sprawling on the mat in front of her, gazing up with his wide, friendly brown eyes. "I wanted to be a soldier. I enlisted the second I graduated high school."

  "But yo
u didn't stay?"

  He shrugged. "I did my four years. Stayed in the reserves for a while, but they stopped calling. Isn't it obvious?"

  She raised her eyebrows.

  "Right. You ain't from around here. Everything must seem a little off."

  "It does. I've gone, what, a hundred miles? And it's like visiting a foreign country. All the signs have English on them and the people are dressed the same as me, but I'm worried using the wrong fork could land me in an underground prison."

  "Right, well, my dad. He tried to forbid it."

  "Doesn't like soldiers?"

  "Well, he listens to what the Quakers say when they come to do their outreach. He thinks they're misguided Buddhists. But no, he's an American, he believes in the costs. You'd think he'd be proud to have a son go into the army."

  Natalie nodded.

  Jake glanced away and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. "But Dad said, 'They'll kill you. They'll beat you. I don't want my boy to get hurt. You just aren't man enough.' Well, he didn't say the last bit, but that's what he meant. And he was serious. I never want to see that reflected in his eyes again--an old man imagining his son's death. But I went anyway. My best friend and I, we did it together. That's what we wanted."

  "But now you teach people how to walk again."

  "Yeah. It's a living."

  "You don't seem resentful. You're too good at what you do."

  "Around here, I'm lucky to have a trade."

  "Ever thought about upgrading? Becoming a nurse?"

  "Thought about it. But it's a different job. I don't think I could be like Merry. I'm more physical. Maybe when I grow up I'll transfer to sports medicine, though. Follow the Panthers around."

  "Merry. Did you know her husband?"

  "Yeah." A shadow fell across Jake's face. "He's the buddy I enlisted with. Even though he ended up infantry and I got my ass stuck in a chopper."

  "You were friends?"

  "Oh, yeah. Since grade school. Hard to see someone who wet his pants in third grade and who set a frog free in middle school as a soldier. But there he was."

  "What happened?"

  She didn't know precisely what she was asking, but Jake had a far-off look in his eyes, and wherever he would go, she would follow. Guiltily, she wanted to learn more about Merry. Sinfully, she hoped for clues to Merry's heart.

  "How'd he end up playing army man? 9-11. We were seventeen and he wanted to enlist the next day. He was so--I mean, all of us were terrified. We were just kids. We didn't watch the news much. We didn't read The New York Times. So this happened in a vacuum and just filled all the space. Everyone talked about it and nothing else. And everyone was afraid. Even around here. It was totally shocking. And Vincey got so angry--So angry. He just never stopped. He was never truly happy again. Not even at prom. When the boys were born, he wept. Right here at the hospital. But he wasn't happy."

  "Was he violent?"

  "No--Hell no. Not before the war. He brooded like crazy, sure, but he was the sweetest guy. My dad didn't think I could be in the army? I was always the one getting in fights to defend Vince's sissy ass. He liked furry animals and stuff. There was a reason he and I were—Anyway."

  Natalie swallowed.

  Jake sighed. "He was a good guy."

  "No wonder Merry married him."

  Jake rolled onto his feet and frowned. "When you've got a life plan from kindergarten, it's kind of hard to deviate. They found more reasons as they got older. They were a team. Inseparable. And they kept planning. She did the nursing school fast track on his combat pay, and they got the boys and the house--they had everything worked out. And now she has--"

  Natalie put her hand on his arm as he hung his head.

  Jake rallied himself. She just let him push her toward a low table.

  "Massage time," he said.

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yes. You've earned it. You've walked. I can't send you home to Merry all stiff and sore and expended. She'd whup me. Now, the trick is to get onto this on your stomach, so you don't have to roll over."

  She gamely planted her hands on the edge of the table and strained forward. Jake was there, wrapping his arms around her waist and leveraging her. She felt lighter than air and toppled easily onto the table, face-first. She spread her arms and her good leg and sighed. The scent of lavender tickled her nose. She turned her head. Jake lit a candle and placed it in front of her on the floor.

  "I'm going to take off your shirt, okay?"

  "Okay," she mumbled. The obvious joke came to her--dinner and a movie, first--but she didn't make it. She was used to Jake's hands.

  Jake worked her shirt up over her head. "Once you're walking again like you've done it all your life, I'll come to your place more often. After the surgery. But we've got all the good equipment here, and you need it."

  "So there's a plan."

  "There's always a plan, girl. And there's a plan for if you don't follow the plan, or if there's a flaw to the plan, or if we all get nuked from orbit."

  Natalie breathed in the lavender air and then breathed it out again. "Thanks for telling me the plan."

  "You're welcome. I don't tell everyone. It's nice, having a lawyer around. You understand things."

  She blinked. Her back must have tensed, because his hands settled onto her shoulders and he pushed her gently back down.

  "I mean, you're smart. You see things. Some people--lovely people, just differently lovely--it's a one day at a time thing. Goals are vague, or short-term. Their recovery seems miraculous to them, to their friends."

  "I won't be miraculous?" Natalie asked.

  "Oh, you will. In my hands? But you'll feel better if you see the future."

  "I hate that you know that."

  "Don't like being obvious?"

  "I thought I had it all figured out."

  "Until splat," he said.

  "Yeah."

  "So, are you going to get back on course with your fancy lawyer life story, after we patch you up?"

  She shook her head. "I hope not."

  "No?"

  "I pray I don't go back there."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Natalie closed her eyes. "I'm going to start having physical therapy at the place I'm staying next week. Short term. Different. I like the sound of that."

  Jake rubbed her back. Sorrow was in her bones and he comforted her, as gently as he could, using his hands and his knowledge to try to keep every part of her from hurting.

  #

  The van took Natalie home. The neighbor brought the boys over. She cooked them dinner and read to them and made them brush their teeth. Constant, cloying demand for attention from the boys made them just another obstacle to conquer. Merritt, in particular, would not move away from her even when she wheeled around the kitchen cutting up hot dogs, and Beau terrorized her cat.

  She couldn't quite match up their faces--though mischievous--with the tormentors of her childhood, who called her Polack and beat her up and made fun of her left-handedness. She swore she would correct Merritt and Beau if they taunted their friends.

  As if she'd have a say in it.

  She'd expected her monumental accomplishment to exact a monumental price, but her hips and leg, while sore, felt loose.

  No headache plagued her.

  She put the boys to bed in the living room and stayed with them until they were asleep, reassuring them their mother would come home soon. They were past true separation anxiety, but they looked at her with worried eyes until she promised them she'd wake them up when their mother got home.

  A promise she intended to break. She cleaned the kitchen and let her mind wander. Her early evenings in Charlotte never felt this fulfilled, doing paperwork alone. Here, she was doing domestic work and she was actually happy.

  She checked on the boys one more time before bed, choosing to stand and pant and hold onto the wall. She took the step to peer around the door rather than squeak through with the wheelchair and risk banging into something.
Exhausted, aching, and proud, she crawled into bed and fell asleep. She trusted the night would continue as planned and Meredith would come home.

  #

  In sleeping, free of drugs, exhausted by the day, she dreamed.

  She saw the deer for the first time. A fragmented, still photograph of a deer. The deer was caught in motion--leaping like a gazelle but impossibly small--She'd imagined deer as moose, large, black shadows across the night road.

  This doe had white spots on the flank and a watery, gentle look in her eyes.

  No terror. There wasn't enough time to be terrified. To turn the wheel. To scream.

  Natalie and the deer were powerless, both of them, against physics and atoms spinning in the universe to bring them right to that collision. She didn't take a breath. She didn't yank the wheel. The deer was still and moving, from right to left across her vision, and she was still and moving.

  Heisenberg, damn him. She could see where she was and how fast she was going.

  She could see the future.

  Everything went black.

  "Natalya, Natalya, get up."

  Natalie's eyes fluttered open. Her mother stood over her bed, shaking her shoulder.

  "You're going to be late for school."

  "I don't want to go. They make fun of me," she said. If she'd been clearer in the head, she never would have confessed.

  "Screw them," her mother said. "You're there for an education. A free, good, American education."

  Natalie groaned and tried to roll over, but her mother's grip on her shoulder tightened, pinning her down.

  "You will go."

  Natalie turned, ready to stare her mother down. The nails hurting her shoulder made her set her jaw. Her mother had no idea what she was going through.

  Her words failed.

  Her mother grew older, frailer, and smaller in front of her eyes. Natalie blinked. Held in the grip of the dream, she couldn't move, couldn't turn away. Her mother turned into the deer--not a metamorphosis, but just instead of her mother's face, there was the deer, the deer from the picture, twisting Natalie's stomach with a sense of déjà vu. The deer was her mother, and everything was perfectly still and yet rushing past.

  She gathered up all her strength, terrified, and thrashed. Her arms landed against the pillows. Her back sank. Her eyes flew open and she heard herself yelping.

  The lamp beside her bed came on, and then hands were on her shoulders, pushing her down, but tenderly. Not her mother.