Sacred Trust

by Hannah Alexander

  Mercy could tell the moment Robert opened the door that he was disappointed, even a little upset, about her extreme tardiness.

  He smiled at her, a tight smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Robert, I blew it.”

  He shrugged and turned to walk back toward what Mercy supposed was the dining room. The decor of the rooms was exquisite, all polished wood and brass and crystal, as she would have expected. He wore a burgundy silk shirt and tie. He looked meticulous. Mercy felt scruffy in comparison.

  “You had a busy day,” he said. “I know how that can be.”

  She followed him and saw the formal dining table set with fine china, silver and crystal wineglasses filled with amber liquid. Fresh-cut purple orchids graced a glass dish and ivory candles had burned halfway down before being extinguished. This was no casual dinner invitation.

  “I waited for your call for the first hour,” he said. “I’m not used to being stood up. Most women would come early for duck à l’ orange.” He helped her with her coat and laid it on the back of a dining-room chair.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “We had a disaster drill and I forgot.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “You forgot?”

  “I went to talk to my mother about her trip to Colorado.”

  He picked up a green crystal goblet and sipped at it. “Well, now you must be starving.”

  “I ate at Mom’s.”

  He put the goblet down harder than necessary. “You already ate? So I kept everything hot for nothing? Dessert? Wine?”

  “Sorry, Robert, I don’t drink. What kind of dessert?”

  “Bread pudding with rum sauce. It’s an old family recipe, and there surely won’t be enough rum to affect you. Religious beliefs? Your mother’s influence? I didn’t think you bought into that mind-set.”

  “‘Bought into’?” Mercy snapped. “Actually, Robert, it’s none of your business why I don’t drink, but just for the record, my mother’s personal beliefs have nothing to do with it.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at one of the place settings. “I know firsthand what too much alcohol can do to the human body. You know,” she said drily, “things like alcoholism, cirrhosis. My father was an alcoholic and I don’t want to chance a hereditary resemblance.”

  Robert went into the kitchen and came back with two delicate china dishes of bread pudding. “Believe it or not, I kept these warm in the oven, too.” He set them on the table with a flourish and took his seat. “You missed a good meal.” He patted his stomach. “So did I.”

  She scowled at him. “You could have eaten. I said I was sorry, okay?”

  He poured rum sauce from a small ceramic jug and coated both servings of the dessert with it. “You don’t sound sorry. You sound defensive.”

  “I didn’t come here for a romantic tête-à-tête. I came to discuss my mother.”

  Even in the candlelight, she could see a flush creep up his neck and face, and she instantly cursed her predilection for speaking before she engaged her brain, especially when she was irritable already.

  “I’m sorry, that was unkind,” she said quietly. “As I said, I just came from Mom’s, and I’m in argument mode. I went by to debate the issue of Colorado, and she took the wind out of my sails by leaving the decision up to the cardiologist. It seemed fair enough.”

  He shrugged and picked up his fork. “Works for me.”

  Mercy stared at him for a moment while he ate. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  He stopped chewing and looked at her for a moment, then swallowed. “What do you want me to say, Mercy? She’s at least willing to listen to the cardiologist. He’s a specialist in electrophysiology. Why should I bust my rear with it when a specialist will do it for me?”

  “I don’t know.” Mercy’s voice was clipped. She knew that her temper, always on edge lately, was slipping past control. “It sounded acceptable when you suggested over the phone tonight that we should get together to discuss Mom’s case. Maybe I really thought you meant it, not just as a ruse to show off your cooking skills, but because you cared about a patient of yours who just happens to be my mother. Why on earth I should take your word at face value is beyond me. Esoteric ideas like integrity and human compassion shouldn’t enter into the discussion where dating and prospective sex partners are concerned.” She shouldn’t have come. She’d been spoiling for a fight all day.

  His fork clattered to the table as he spat a curse and glared at her. “What’s gotten into you, Mercy? This is a simple dinner, not a seduction scene. I thought you might enjoy a little attention after a hard day at work.”

  Mercy glared back. “This is no simple dinner, and I’ve had all the attention I can handle today.” How dare he put the blame on her? Typical jerk attitude.

  Or maybe she really was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. At any rate, she wasn’t up for another confrontation tonight. Relationships like this she did not need, had not asked for, and she thought she’d made that very clear to Robert several times in the past.

  She pushed her dessert back and stood. “Smells delicious, Robert, but I’m out of the mood for some reason.”

  He threw his napkin on the table and stood with her. “I can’t imagine why. My appetite seems to have died an unnatural death, as well.”

  She’d never noticed how well his voice carried sarcasm. Had to admire that in a man, especially since there were so few things in men to admire.

  She reached for her coat.

  Robert put a hand on her shoulder. “Hold it.” He sighed and shook his head, the anger gone. “Listen to us. We’re doctors. Colleagues. I’d like to say we’re friends.”

  She did not reply. To do so would have continued the fight, and she did not want to hurt Robert’s feelings any more than she already had.

  “Because I am your friend,” he continued, “I know you have a chip on your shoulder the size of Missouri, and I know why. But, Mercy, you’re turning into a real misanthrope.”

  “No, I get along fine with women and children. It’s just the men I have problems with.”

  “See what I mean? You’re suspicious of every male you meet over the age of ten, and even the hint of a relationship sends you into combat readiness.”

  “I like it that way.” She gently stepped from his touch and pulled on her coat.

  “You know enough about psychology to know your reactions aren’t healthy. For your own sake, may I suggest you do something about the real source of your anger?”

  “Funny you should mention it. Mom suggested that very thing tonight.”

  “And?”

  “I told her I’d think about it. Good night, Robert.” She let herself out of the house.

  Chapter Ten

  Tedi Zimmerman glanced from the television screen to the front bay window and shivered. The sun was gone. Shadows deepened around the set until Little Joe Cartwright seemed to be the only figure in the room. This was a third rerun.

  Instead of channel surfing the way Dad always did, Tedi used the remote to turn off the set, then realized she didn’t have a light on. She scrambled to the lamp and switched it on before anything that thrived in the dark could grab her.

  A sudden, reassuring glow chased the shadows back behind the furniture and into the other rooms. Dad was late again. Wasn’t there some kind of law against parents leaving their ten-year-olds home alone after dark?

  Tedi hated the dark, but the last time Dad had come home this late she’d wished he hadn’t come home at all. She picked up a burgundy-and-gold decorative pillow and hugged it to her chest. She buried her face into it. Her stomach was starting to hurt the way it did in school lately when she had a test, or when Mrs. Watson asked her a question in front of the whole class.

  What would it be like to just disappear? Probably nobody would care except Mom and Grandma Ivy. Dad wouldn’t care, but he would blame Mom anyway.

  Dad hated Mom. He never said anything good about her.

  No matter
how nasty Dad was to Mom, she always sent the child support checks. Tedi got the mail, so she knew. She knew a lot of stuff a ten-year-old shouldn’t have to know. If Dad would keep his big mouth shut about Mom, maybe all that knowledge wouldn’t be so painful.

  The phone on the end table rang, and Tedi jerked, squeezing her pillow tighter for a moment. It rang again. And again.

  On the fourth ring, she answered, trying to make her voice sound deeper, older.

  “Hello?”

  “Where were you? What took you so long to answer?” Dad’s voice had a slight slur, which Tedi had long ago learned to recognize.

  Her stomach hurt a little more. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t know if I should answer.”

  “I’ll be a while longer.”

  Tedi tried not to whine. “Do you have to work late? Should I get a taxi to Grandma’s?”

  “No! You don’t need your grandma. You’re a big girl. Just stay there and do your homework.” He paused, and voices and laughter could be heard in the background. “I’ll only be another hour or so. I’ve got a couple of hot clients looking at the Polsner building.”

  Tedi wondered if the clients were drinking, too. “D-Dad, it’s dark. Can’t I just go next door and spend the night with Tasha?”

  “You’ll be okay for another hour. See you soon.” He hung up.

  Tedi’s face scrunched up as she fought tears. She replaced the receiver and buried her face once more into the pillow. Her stomach hurt even worse, and her whole body trembled.

  She wished she could go to Grandma’s. Grandma Ivy didn’t drink, and she told Bible stories and tucked Tedi into bed and prayed with her. Tedi loved her. It was easier to talk with Grandma than with Mom, because Grandma didn’t get mad about everything Dad did.

  “Grandma.”

  Tedi picked up the receiver and dialed the number she knew as well as her own. Good thing it wasn’t long distance. Dad didn’t know how much Tedi called her. He didn’t hate her as he did Mom, but he didn’t really like her, either. He talked about her as if she were a stupid old woman. Dad didn’t know much.

  “Hello.” The voice wrapped a blanket of comfort, warmth and acceptance around Tedi.

  “Grandma.” Tedi’s throat closed in a sob. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t talk.

  “Tedi? Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” Tedi’s sobs came harder. She sniffed and grabbed some tissues from the table beside the sofa.

  Grandma waited for a moment, then gently asked, “Is your father there?”

  “Uh-uh.” Tedi dabbed her face and blew her nose. She swallowed a couple of times and cleared her throat. “It’s dark.” She knew ten-year-olds weren’t supposed to be afraid of the dark, but Grandma would understand.

  “Why don’t I come over and—”

  “No! Dad said I couldn’t see you.”

  “Did he say how long he was going to be?”

  “He said an hour, but…I think he’ll be later.”

  “Is he…?” Grandma hesitated.

  Tedi guessed what she wanted to ask. “I think he was drinking.” She felt like a tattletale.

  There was silence, and Tedi knew Grandma was trying hard not to say anything bad about Dad. She knew that because she’d overheard Mom and Grandma talking about him one time. “Mercy,” Grandma had said, “the child doesn’t need us confusing her anymore. We’ve got to hold our tongues and be forgiving for Tedi’s sake. But sometimes I’d like to string him up by his…little toes.”

  Tedi frowned when she thought about Dad hanging from his little toes. He was pretty big. Wouldn’t his toes come off? Maybe if they just hung him by his arms or something….

  “Honey, has he been drinking more lately?”

  “I…think so.” She still felt like a tattletale, but she was just tattling the truth. “I don’t think Julie likes his drinking so much, but when she’s with him she drinks, too.”

  “Maybe Julie can convince him to slow it down a little.”

  “She tried. It didn’t work. I don’t know if she really likes him that much anyway. I think she thinks we’re rich, because of our house and the BMW. She said something about it one time.” Tedi smiled. “She told me my father must be pretty good if he could afford all this.”

  “Oh? Dare I ask what you told her?”

  “I told her the truth, Grandma. You always tell me to tell the truth.”

  “Uh-oh. How much of the truth did you tell her, Tedi?”

  “Everything. I told her Mom was still paying on the house and car and sending big child support payments. I also told her that Dad said Mom was crazy, and that he got her committed once. I said that it probably ran in families and that I was probably going to be crazy, too.”

  “Where on earth did you hear that?”

  “I read it in a book. It said depression is haired…um…hired…”

  “Hereditary. Babe, you’re too smart for your own good, but being depressed does not mean a person is crazy.”

  Tedi didn’t want to think about that right now. “You really think I’m smart?” It felt good just talking with Grandma.

  “Smartest kid in school. Don’t settle for my opinion. Tests have proven it.”

  “Mrs. Watson doesn’t think so.”

  “I’m sure she does. Do you think Julie told your father what you told her?”

  “I don’t know. He never said anything.”

  “She probably didn’t want your father to know she’s been feeling you out about his financial status. And the fact that she’s still seeing him means she’s either not that greedy after all, or you’ve convinced her you’re just a cheeky kid.”

  “A cheeky kid!”

  “Yup. You take after your grandmother.”

  “And Mom. You told me I’m like Mom.”

  “Spitting image.”

  “Yuck. I don’t spit.”

  “Not even when you brush your teeth or catch a bug in your mouth?”

  Tedi laughed. “Oh, Grandma.”

  “I love you, kid.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come over and stay with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t want to make Dad mad. He gets mad so easy lately.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll keep a low profile. Are you feeling better?”

  “Lots.”

  “Good. I bet you haven’t eaten, have you?”

  “No. I’m not supposed to cook when Dad’s not home. I had an apple when I got home.”

  “Fix yourself a bowl of cereal. You don’t have to cook Cheerios.”

  “I think I’ll be okay now, Grandma.”

  “That’s my gal. You’ll call me again if you need me, or if your dad doesn’t come home?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bye-bye, honey.”

  “Bye, Grandma.”

  Dad didn’t come home. Tedi didn’t call Grandma.

  By eleven-thirty the disaster drill was long past, though not without a few more disgruntled comments from Dorothy when more real patients came in, and Lukas insisted on treating them first.

  Lukas didn’t care. He was tired. He hadn’t asked for this twenty-four-hour shift. In fact, during his preliminary interview, he’d told Mrs. Pinkley that he heartily disapproved of long shifts. She’d seemed agreeable at the time. Was she aware of tonight?

  Lukas didn’t intend to run and whine to her about everything, but he didn’t want to be mistreated by an antagonistic director, either.

  He shook his head, turned out the bedside lamp, and stretched out on top of the covers. Maybe he was imagining things, but it had been his experience that whenever one crawled under the blankets and got too comfortable during a night shift, one got called out sooner. Right now all was quiet in the emergency department.

  He smiled as he remembered Mercy Richmond dressing-down Dr. George over the phone about the drill. She had a way with words. She had guts…and she was an attractive person. He liked what he knew of her, which he had to
admit to himself wasn’t much. It occurred to him that his initial response had not been what it was with most other single women: mistrust. She seemed to be the type of person who would have integrity, though there was no way for him to know something like that about someone he’d only met a few brief times. Funny that he should feel that way about someone who had a reputation as a man-hater and who wasn’t necessarily always friendly with everyone.

  But what about Lauren? He didn’t think she was un-trustworthy. She was open and friendly, maybe a little bit of a chatterbox, but she was good with patients. And she was certainly not ugly. Several male patients and staff members had indicated that they found her very attractive. And she had shown quite a bit of kindhearted interest in Lukas; besides that, she was a churchgoer and quite possibly a Christian. If Dad knew about her, he would nag Lukas constantly to get to know her better. Lukas didn’t want to. Their working relationship was fine.

  So was he feeling plain old male-female attraction to Mercy? Or was it just a sense of kinship or identification, perhaps because she was a doctor and because she’d also suffered at the hands of the opposite sex?

  He shook his head and sighed. He hated analyzing emotions to death…especially in the middle of the night when he needed sleep….

  The phone shrilled sometime later, startling Lukas awake. He picked up the receiver and peered at the bedside clock. Oh, wow, he’d slept a whole twenty minutes.

  “Yes.”

  “Ambulances coming in, Dr. Bower. Plural.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Beverly. I’ll be right in.” Lukas groaned as he hung up. “A disaster drill with no medical backup, and possibly no sleep during a twenty-four-hour shift,” he muttered as he left his call room. “Jarvis really does have it in for me.”