Darkness Before Dawn (15 page)

“Did you get the ice?” Heather asked when Meg returned to the station.

“Yeah.”

“Nancy is something else isn’t she?” Heather continued.

“Yeah,” came the almost sarcastic reply.

“It’s absolutely amazing to me”—Heather paused for a moment as she looked in the mirror
and checked her hair—“that anyone who is dying of cancer can be that up—you know—that
happy. But she always is. And no matter how down I am, she makes me feel better.”

As Heather continued to rattle on about the woman, Meg turned her face toward the
wall as a wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over her. How could she have been
so rude to a patient, any patient, but especially one who was dying? Why didn’t she
check her file? All Nancy did was ask a question. A few weeks ago that question would
have been welcomed, too.

For the rest of the evening, a war raged inside Meg. Every time she walked by room
211, she wanted to stop, go in, apologize, and explain. But another force, a more
powerful, bitter one, kept her from carrying through on what she knew
would have been the right thing to do. When her shift ended, she still hadn’t gone
back to room 211.

“Night,” Heather said, yawning as the two walked out into the cold night air. Then,
as almost an afterthought, she said, “Oh, yeah. I don’t know why, but you know Nancy
in 211?”

Meg looked back, not speaking. She awkwardly stood, the wind blowing her hair and
biting at her cheeks, as if waiting for a shoe to drop. And one did!

“She told me to tell you she was sorry. She didn’t tell me for what, just said she
needed to apologize. You know why?”

Nodding, Meg walked away leaving Heather to wonder about the reasons behind the apology.
A few moments later Meg eased herself into the Mustang, started the car, snapped the
seat belt, and drove off.

C
HERYL
B
EDNARZ WAS VASTLY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT
M
EG HAD EXPECTED
. This third-generation Texan, who had moved to the Midwest to attend law school and
stayed to ply her trade in public service, was bubbly and energetic and had all appearances
of being a determined winner! Maybe having a young woman working on the case was a
good thing. Perhaps Webb Jones needed a partner like this to take on the powerful
Thomas family.

Though petite, Cheryl possessed an athletic build and strength that made her seem
much larger. She also possessed the brightest blue eyes Meg had ever seen. The assistant
district attorney’s thick black hair swirled around her head in a style that seemed
more appropriate to a beauty queen than an attorney, and her skin still hung onto
a tan that should have faded months before. Beneath her long, black coat, she was
dressed in a gray wool suit that fit as if it had been tailored especially for her
and a silk blouse that exactly matched her eyes. Her square jaw presented a determined
look, her smile came easily, her teeth were perfect, her handshake firm, her nails
long, and her voice still resonated with a twang that gave away her roots.

During the meal both women ate salads while occasionally throwing out small talk.
Finally, when the waiter brought
coffee for Ms. Bednarz and a Coke refill for Meg, the attorney began to advise Meg
about the upcoming trial. Her words were direct, honest, to the point, and disturbing.

“Usually, the defense will attempt to do one of two things in situations like this.
One of the tactics would be to attempt to find some way to prove that one of the two
vehicles involved might have been faulty. If this fails, they’ll often resort to a
tactic that represents the dirtier side of my profession.” Pausing to take a short
sip of coffee, Cheryl continued. “It’s too bad that you don’t like coffee, this stuff
is great! Now, where was I? Oh, yes!”

That sparkling life leaping from Cheryl’s eyes almost mesmerized Meg. The woman had
the enthusiasm of a new puppy, but it also appeared, that unlike a puppy, the attorney’s
energy was organized and directed.

“Jasper Tidwell is representing the Thomas kid,” Cheryl continued. “Jasper has a great
record for putting the victim on trial. One way or another he will attempt to convince
the judge and the jury that your husband was at fault and that his client is not only
innocent but is a full-blown saint. I’ve seen him do it before. He actually got one
jury to buy that a prostitute with a ten-year string of convictions worked the streets
only to support her family, not her cocaine habit. He paraded a host of witnesses
through the courtroom that practically canonized the woman. You would have thought
that we were trying Mother Teresa. I’m betting he’ll do the same thing here.”

“But, Cheryl,” Meg interjected, “Steve was so perfect, you know the all-American guy.
How can a lawyer possibly do anything that would imply that he was at fault and that
little, rich, spoiled heathen who killed him is anything but guilty?”

“I don’t know, and I won’t know until we get to court what he will do. But he
will
try something like that. He always does. But I’ll be ready.”

“You’re trying the case?” Meg’s voice showed her surprise, almost shock. She immediately
liked her, but Cheryl was just the assistant district attorney and she looked so young!
Surely it would be Webb Jones who would be in charge when the trial got under way.

“Yes, Mr. Jones gave it to me,” Cheryl explained confidently. “I hope you don’t have
a problem with that.”

“But, I mean . . .” Meg found that words were failing her.

“You thought,” Cheryl began, “that Webb would do it himself. Well, off the record,
he’s scared of the judge’s family. He’s afraid that he might lose this one, or more
important, lose a political connection. So, I got it. More than that, I wanted it!
I’m glad that Webb’s acting like a coward.” Letting her words sink in for a minute,
Cheryl continued. “In all honesty, in certain ways I’m better than he is. Yes, he
has the soap actor’s looks, perfect hair, and that deep voice, but he’s not as smart
as folks think. It is his administrative assistant who often thinks for him. Besides,
I know how you feel. He can’t and he never will. He just doesn’t grasp how important
this case is. You see, my daddy was killed by a drunk driver, and that son of a dog,
as my grandmother used to say, didn’t serve a day. So, for a lot of reasons, I want
this kid in the worst way.”

Those last words, said with a piercing anger, quickly convinced Meg she had the right
woman in her corner. The two were united by a common goal of revenge. Now, as she
looked across the table, it was like a bright light had been turned on. United by
a loved one’s deaths gave them a very special bond. Not one built on friendship or
common ground, but one constructed
on a need to see vengeance carried all the way through. With that thought, a warm
surge filled Meg’s heart.

After finishing the last of her coffee, Cheryl set her cup down and, while staring
intently into it, spoke. “Meg, do you know how many people are killed by drunks each
and every year?”

Watching as the attorney picked up a package of crackers from the center of the table
with her left hand and then placed it deep in the palm of her right hand, Meg just
shook her head.

“Last year,” Cheryl began,” alcohol mixed with driving killed over 12,000 men, women,
and children.”

Meg watched as Cheryl’s fist closed, crushing the crackers into tiny little crumbs.
Dropping the now-wasted package into her empty salad bowl, she continued. “You’d think
that we’d do something wouldn’t you? I mean, can you imagine what the government and
the FAA would do if 12,000 people were killed in plane crashes each year? The whole
air industry would be shut down. But you see, plane crashes are spectacular events
that kill a hundred or more at a time. The news media flocks to the scene with cameras
and reporters, and so we see these images of dolls without little girls and luggage
without anyone to claim played out on every station on our sets. And we are horrified.
We are so shaken we demand better inspections for planes and pilots.

“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.

A
S SHE DROVE HOME
, M
EG 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.