Darkness Before Dawn

by Ace Collins

  “But when your husband or my father died, ABC didn’t set up a remote from the crash site. Nor did CNN interview the victim’s relatives or those that were responsible. As a matter of fact, no one did much of a story at all. Even the local paper pretty much buried it. No one demanded legislation, they only offered consolations. And except for a few organizations like MADD, everyone turned the page.”

  Cheryl let her gaze drift up to the ceiling and then, in a much quieter tone, revealed some of her own pain. “My father was just a simple farmer. Mom died when I was born and for seventeen years Dad took care of me. I never knew why, but he always called me Bunny; he never used my real name.

  “One day a worthless, good-for-nothing, filthy rich businessman had spent too much time at a bar celebrating a big strike in the oil field, crossed the center line, and hit my daddy head-on. As luck would have it, I had just gotten out of school and was on the road a couple minutes behind him. When I got there, he was still alive.”

  Cheryl paused for a moment, using her napkin to wipe a few stray tears from her eyes, then picked up where she had left off.

  “His truck was so bent up they couldn’t even get him out, but he was still alive. I walked up to him. As I leaned over, he took my hand and said ‘I’ll love you forever, Bunny.’ Then he died. Forever didn’t last too long. And the drunk didn’t even get bruised.” Cheryl pointed toward another section of the restaurant.

  “Look over there.” Meg turned and glanced at a small bar were five or six businessmen and two women appeared to have few cares and lots of time. As she took in the scene, Cheryl continued in a bitter tone. “Those folks right there are past this state’s limit for intoxication, I’d bet on it. But if they get in a car and get caught driving home, odds are four-to-one they won’t ever pay a fine or spend any time in jail. Meg, I want to change that!”

  While Meg continued to gaze at the people gathered around the bar, Cheryl made a promise. “So, for me, this case is about more than your husband. It is about my father, too. And I’ll admit it is more than about justice. It is about revenge. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  Meg turned her eyes back to the other woman. Nodding her head, she smiled. “No, I like it.”

  Cheryl smiled. “This drive and bitterness, this focus on getting those responsible for stupid and unlawful behavior, well, it probably cost me my marriage. My husband just hadn’t been able to understand the hate that filled me. He couldn’t adjust to coming in second place to law school and then the district attorney’s office. Losing Greg hurt. But that doesn’t matter now, because I finally have the case for which I have waited for years, and I know a woman who shares my need for revenge. I’m just sorry it had to be your husband. But just remember, I do understand.”

  “I know that now,” Meg assured her.

  Yes, this was the perfect woman for the job. She had the passion and she was fearless. Maybe together they could turn the Thomas family upside-down and bring a lifetime of pain into their home. And they could celebrate together after they’d won!

  “Meg,” Cheryl’s voice brought her attention back from thoughts of revenge to the moment. “You mentioned on the phone the other day that you were expecting a baby.”

  Meg nodded.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

  At first, the question made little sense to Meg. What was there to do? You carry it for nine months and then take care of it for twenty years. She had never really considered any other option. What else could she do? What other choice did she have?

  After waiting an appropriate amount of time for an answer, Cheryl continued. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is that a lot of people in your shoes consider having an abortion. And since you’re obviously not very far along, I thought that maybe you were thinking along these lines.”

  Abortion—a word that Meg, the nurse, was certainly familiar with. But Meg, the woman, had never spent much time thinking about such a thing. But why not? This might well be the best piece of advice she’d had been given in her life. She didn’t have to have this baby. She didn’t have to look at a child and be reminded of Steve and all she’d lost.

  26

  AS SHE DROVE HOME, MEG WONDERED AGAIN WHY SHE HADN’T THOUGHT of this before. Had her mind been in that much of a fog? Or perhaps something remained from the old Meg causing her to still cling to a morality system that died when Steve did? Whatever the reason she had not considered her real choices in the past couple of weeks, but she would consider them now. After all, as a woman she did have choices.

  As soon she returned to her apartment, Meg leafed through several of her own medical books and then hit the Internet. Over the next two hours as she dug up everything she could on abortions, she was lost in study. While she uncovered no new information, everything she had learned in nursing school still held true. Just seeing the words, reading a description of the procedure, and realizing that thousands of women—respected women—turned to this option every day, reassured her this was a path she could use. A few minutes later, when she lost her supper to morning sickness now visiting her at night for the first time, she was much closer to making her final choice.

  Putting a damp washcloth over her head, she lay back on the couch and tried to focus. This decision required logic. Emotions needed to be left on the doorstep; they couldn’t enter in. And logic told her that without Steve this baby would be nothing more than a haunting reminder of the past. She didn’t want to have to look at the baby’s face and see Steve’s eyes. When that happened she’d feel a flood of painful memories that would rock her to the depths of her heart. It would be far easier to pretend that the past didn’t exist and that the future was to be spent alone than to have a piece of her husband reminding her of how he looked on that gurney the night he died. By getting rid of the baby, she could more easily accomplish this. This was the direction she needed to go. And if folks didn’t understand, so be it.

  As the world stopped turning and she regained her equilibrium, she pulled herself off the couch, turned off the living room light, and headed toward bed. As she changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, she knew that for the first time in the weeks since Steve died, she would sleep well. With Cheryl’s firm resolve, she was sure her case was in good hands, even better hands than those of Webb Jones. And with an option to rid herself of this now unwanted pregnancy, she realized she’d soon be feeling strong again. She was back on track, maybe not the same track she had spent her life traveling on, but a track that could get her things she needed and take her away from the things she had to forget.

  The phone’s ring stopped her just before she turned out the light beside her bed. Walking back to the living room, she wondered who would be calling her on her landline. A glance at the receiver told her it was a hospital exchange. But this wasn’t one she was familiar with. She almost let it go, but, as she was in a good mood and seemed to have the world by the tail, she decided to gamble this would be someone she wanted to talk to. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hello.” For the first time in weeks, Meg’s voice had an almost upbeat ring to it.

  “Hi, this is Nancy.”

  “Who?” Meg inquired flipping through a mental catalogue of the people she knew at Springfield Community.

  “Nancy Leslie,” the woman explained, “the nosy patient in room 211.”

  Of course, the woman she’d been so rude and insensitive toward earlier in the day. Why would she be calling her at home? A little embarrassed, Meg blushed and awkwardly mumbled, “Hi.”

  “I suppose,” Nancy continued, “that you’re surprised to hear from me, but I felt I owed you something. After all, I was pretty thoughtless. Nurse Rodgers told me what you’d been through, and well, I really put my foot in it, didn’t I? I hope that you can forgive me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Meg assured her. “I just had a bad day.”

  “You know, folks like me . . .” Nancy’s voice halted for a few seconds, and then in
a rather unsure manner she picked up her thoughts. “I guess what I mean is that I often take it for granted that no one has any problems but me. Joe—he’s my husband—was in this evening, and I told him about what I’d done and the tough situation that you were in. After we talked I realized I’m much luckier that you.”

  “What way is that?” Meg’s asked. “I mean you’re . . .” She stopped herself before going any further.

  “You can say it,” Nancy began. “I’ve gotten use to hearing it. I’m dying. But sometimes I think that my dying is tougher on Joe than me. I mean, I don’t want to die, but at least I’m a lot closer to finding out why it had to happen than Joe is. Do you know what I mean?”

  As she considered Nancy’s words the old Meg resurfaced to such a degree she almost said a prayer. While the prayer never came out, a bit of compassion did bubble to the top.”

  “Nancy, I think I follow you,” Meg softly replied, “but what you’re going through is—well—it’s horrible. You’re too young and according to Heather, you are too special to die.” She almost choked on the last word and after it had come out she regretted even saying it.

  “The world’s not perfect,” Nancy replied, “but I’ve been blessed more than some who live a hundred years.”

  “Isn’t there something someone can do? They’ve got incredible programs at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. Maybe someone down there has a new treatment that could help you.”

  “I’ve been there,” Nancy assured her. “And a lot of other places, too. I think I’m a decade too soon.”

  Meg heard the words but refused to accept what Nancy was saying. It was just too painful. Rather than respond directly to the question, she threw out a trite statement that carried little weight and one she’d heard a half dozen times in the days after Steve died. “It has got to be tough on you.”

  “Yeah, maybe it was for a while. I mean, I want to live as much as the next person, but after a lot of soul searching, I finally decided that it was better me than someone I love.”

  “What?” Meg asked.

  Nancy didn’t hesitate with her reply. “God’s given me a ticket to a better place and I’d be a fool to question His timing. So I just say why not me? From what Heather told me about your husband, I think he’d rather it have been him than you.”

  The woman was probably correct. Steve always put her first. But this wasn’t about a choice; it was about a murder. Steve didn’t get cancer, he’d been murdered. If that was God’s will, then didn’t that make God an accessory to that murder?

  “Nancy,” Meg asked, as an image of Jim Thomas once more entered her head, “don’t you feel like God cheated you?” Meg’s voice hid none of her own bitterness. She was angry about what had happened to Steve. And she was suddenly angry about what was happening to Nancy. In fact, in a strange sort of way, she was beginning to identify with Nancy. They’d both been treated unfairly, and therefore, they both had every right to ask that the world cater to them. Yet, why didn’t this woman demand that? Meg figured if she pressed all the right buttons, Nancy would reveal these emotions and if Nancy would just admit her anger it would be easier for Meg to quit feeling sorry for her. And Meg didn’t really want to feel sorry for anyone other than herself. But right now she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Nancy.

  “No,” the woman answered, “cancer isn’t something that God created.” Her voice was firm and resolute as she continued. “You see, the earth He created was perfect. It was people who messed it up. I really believe that God feels just as cheated as I do. But He hasn’t forgotten me; He really wants to comfort me. It took me a while to figure that out.”

  “I just can’t buy it.” Meg’s answer revealed her pain. “In fact, I think anyone who says that God cares about us is pretty stupid. I don’t even know if there really is a God. But I do believe the devil is the kid who was driving that car that killed Steve.”

  “I think I understand,” came the calm response. “I was pretty angry when the cancer came back the third time. I thought I had it licked after the first two battles. It just didn’t seem fair. Then I got to thinking about my family and friends. I sure wouldn’t want them to have to deal with this. So I decided I’d gladly take it if that meant they wouldn’t get cancer. That probably doesn’t make any sense to you right now.”

  “No,” Meg replied, “I’d rather anyone else in the world, even one of my friends, would be going through this rather than me. I would do anything and sacrifice anyone to get Steve back.”

  Nancy answered rapidly. “But given time . . .”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Meg’s tone was much like that of a mother talking down to a child. “In my case, I would rather have died than lose Steve. It would have been easier. Especially the way I lost him.” Without realizing it, Meg had suddenly been drawn into revealing her true feelings—feelings she hadn’t even voiced until this moment and feelings she didn’t want to voice. Now that the door was open, there didn’t seem to be a way to close it. Why had she gotten caught up in this conversation? Why had she answered the phone? It was just too painful. Never had the truth hurt so much.

  With Meg struggling not to cry, Nancy offered another observation. “Joe and I always wanted kids, but my first surgery prevented that. If we had had a child, then Joe wouldn’t be so all alone when I die. I probably shouldn’t, but I have to admit that I know that you’re pregnant. I also know that your child is something you can live for. Your child will be the product of the love you had for your husband and he had for you.”

  “I don’t want the child,” Meg shot back. “I’m sorry to say that, after finding out that you couldn’t have any of your own, but the only thing I really want is to make sure that Steve’s killer is punished. One way or the other, I will do that.”

  “Meg, Heather told me that you and your husband had always been very dedicated Christians. I know you worked with kids in church. Surely the mere fact that Steve had accepted Christ and is in heaven . . .”

  Meg didn’t have any patience for this. She didn’t want to hear one more thing about God. She snapped back. “There isn’t a God, at least not in my world. The con job that I got my whole life was that if I were good then I’d be blessed. Well, you see what that kind of thinking got me. My life is in my hands. The things I want, I’ll get. The things that I don’t want, I’ll get rid of.”

  Before Meg could conclude, Nancy cut back in, “Does that mean your baby?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

  “Yes,” the answer was firm.

  “Have you talked to anyone about this?” Nancy’s tone was now somewhat frantic. “I mean, maybe you could speak with your preacher or a family counselor or someone. You really need to be sure that this is the right decision. You can’t just do it and then change your mind.”

  “I don’t need to talk to anyone else,” Meg retorted. “It’s my decision, mine alone. I don’t need anyone else to tell me how I feel. I know how I feel!”

  For several long seconds the line was deathly quiet. Finally, Nancy spoke.

  “I know that I’m once again being nosy. I know that I have no right to even ask this, but I have to. What would your husband think of your decision?”

  Why did she have to call at all? Why did Nancy have to ask that question? This question was one that Meg hadn’t considered. And she didn’t want to consider it now because she knew what Steve would want. He would want her to keep the baby. He’d so wanted to have a little girl to spoil. And then later, he wanted a boy to take fishing and to ballgames. He’d always thought that kids were special and he loved their innocent views of life. He’d gone to the park just to watch them play. He’d even spent hours teaching the neighbors’ kids how to throw a baseball and shoot a basketball. He had forced her to go to toy stores when they went shopping and pointed out which toys their kids were going to have. Yes, she had to admit, she had once felt the same way, but now she couldn’t let herself feel anything. The past was the past. Everything had changed. She had to stand up f
or herself. She had to be strong. If she wasn’t, she might change her mind.

  “Well, he would . . .” Suddenly, the assurance, so evident in Meg’s voice just minutes before, was gone. Though she wanted to lie, she couldn’t. Finally she just said, “Steve would have understood.”

  She knew her answer hadn’t convinced Nancy, but she hoped the other woman wouldn’t pursue this angle any further.

  “It sounds like your husband was a very special person.” Nancy’s statement was phrased more like a question.

  “He was the most special person on earth.” Meg’s response brought back a flood of memories as to just why Steve had been so incredible. She remembered the cards he had sent, the clothes he had surprised her with, the picnics in the middle of the living room, and the way he had held her in the middle of the night. Those memories brought back an overwhelming need to see him again, to hold him in her arms. Still, she knew that those times were gone forever. Glancing down at her wedding ring—the one that she kept meaning to take off but never did—she attempted to put together some kind of sentence that would explain to this woman just how wonderful Steve had been. “There just aren’t any words,” she finally offered, her voice now much softer. “He was thoughtful, loving, and so much more. When he was here, I was so alive. Now”—her voice caught on the words—”now, I’m just not complete.”

  “Yes.” Nancy’s voice showed real sympathy. “I know you’re not. Steve’s life was very precious, wasn’t it?”

  Without even thinking, Meg responded, “Yes.”

  “You don’t have to answer this,” Nancy began. “But don’t you think that his baby’s life might be just as precious to someone, someday? Maybe even you? That child can’t take your husband’s place, no one can. But doesn’t the fact that it has a part of your husband in his or her genes make it special enough that you would fight for it? Maybe even die for it?