The Riches of Mercy (8 page)

"Put your hands on my shoulders and try again."

She pulled herself up, and it hurt, but nothing pulled. "Okay."

"And you're not even breathing hard."

"Will it get easier?"

"Of course it will. Faster than you think. You'll forget all this."

"Never."

He grinned and patted her hand. "I'll be back on Tuesday. Don't slip on the way to the bathroom. There are parts of you I don't want to massage."

"You haven't even seen my tattoo."

He wolf-whistled, and left her alone to contemplate lunch and her great adventure of the afternoon. By the time she saw Meredith, she might have something to brag about.

#

Meredith could tell from the tension in Natalie’s expression she was in some pain. Meredith brought dinner from the cafeteria--French toast with fresh fruit and bacon. She brought it in, feeling apprehensive in the face of Natalie's mood change.

"For dinner?" Natalie asked.

"It's Breakfast Tuesday," Meredith said.

"I never noticed." Natalie picked up her fork, but just sat glumly staring at the toast.

"Television?" Meredith asked. The natural desensitizer when people didn't want to feel anymore.

Natalie nodded.

Meredith turned on the television and found the six o'clock sitcoms on. Natalie nibbled on bacon. Beyond the grayness of her complexion, Natalie's hair was washed and her hospital gown was crisp. The bruises were faded from her face and arms. Except for the shaved part of her head, she looked halfway to healthy.

Meredith kept quiet until the first commercial break, and then asked, "You smell like--strawberries?"

"Yeah. Colleen brought it for me, now that I can do my own sponge baths. Well, I helped. I was sweaty this afternoon. Can you believe it? Sweaty. From lying in bed."

"Well, that's not all you did today, is it? You exerted yourself."

"Barely," Natalie said. She sighed.

Meredith reached for a raspberry on Natalie's plate.

Natalie said, "I just can't believe I can't walk across a room without my entire body hurting. I want to lie in bed for a week. And with enough drugs in my leg to put down a rhinoceros."

"Two weeks ago you were in a coma, you know. You've come pretty far."

"Yes, but three weeks ago," Natalie said.

"What is it?"

"I was just trying to picture where I was three weeks ago. There'd been the beach trip, all planned. All by myself. Solitary. But here I am, with you." Natalie said. She turned and met Meredith's eyes and gave her a genuine smile.

Meredith smiled back. Sharp relief struck her heart at the shedding of Natalie's despair. With it her own despair rose up in her chest. She bit her lip until it hurt. Her thoughts turned inward, to Vincent, and she forgot Natalie was still gazing at her.

"You don't look very good, Merry," Natalie said.

"I just got some bad news, is all. I don't mean for it to affect you."

"It does. I mean, it should. I mean--" Natalie put her hand on her forehead.

Meredith, her thoughts still half-distracted by the morning call from her lawyer, said, "You have enough on your plate without me adding mine."

"I could say the same thing. I've been taking advantage of your kindness for too long. I've been selfish. You probably have bigger problems than being able to walk across to the bathroom or not."

"It's just about my husband, is all." Even saying that made her feel better.

Natalie hesitated, and then reached over and brushed Meredith's arm. "What about him?"

Meredith said, having to clear her throat and restart. "Well, you know he passed away."

"Okay. I didn't know--Okay." Natalie slid her hand down Meredith's arm, past her elbow, and tugged, until Meredith willingly clasped her hand with one of her own. Meredith squeezed. Natalie winced.

"Sorry," Meredith said, letting go.

"No, it's okay." Natalie took her hand again. "I was just--I was surprised. I haven't been held on to so tightly in a long time."

A tear rolled down Meredith's cheek. She impatiently brushed it away. She wasn't even thinking of Vincent at all, not since Natalie took her hand. The despair, though, remained, coiled up and heavy in her chest, and somehow Natalie's presence made her feel even more lonely.

"I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I'm so sorry, Merry."

Meredith half-bent and half-raised Natalie's hand so that she could press her forehead against the clasped fingers. She inhaled deeply, fighting back the crying. Natalie's grip was strong. Meredith let herself draw on the strength. She got control of herself and lifted her chin to give Natalie a watery smile.

Natalie smiled back, meeting her eyes with a solid, compassionate gaze.

"I think I'm in the wrong room," Meredith said, drawling for effect. "I heard you was a lawyer."

# #

Chapter Ten

Natalie woke up to her own pain and the memory of the previous night, and Meredith's tears.

Her mother had never clung, wanting instead to spare her from the pain of her death. Everyone spared Natalie. Patrick, her closest ally, never revealed much--he'd only told her about Roland under great duress. She'd seen it bother him to have to burden her.

She'd been left with people's petty complaints. Co-workers hoping for sympathy because a boyfriend hadn't called or the traffic was bad. She became bitter because people didn't connect with her. So long as she could connect with the jury, she felt alive.

She didn't offer much of herself. She just channeled victims through her own emptiness. It worked.

Jake came with the wheelchair. "Big day."

"They're all big days here."

Jake nodded.

Natalie couldn't get herself into her own wheelchair, even though she'd become quite adept at sliding herself inches side to side or front to back on the bed. She put her arms around his strong shoulders and let herself be lifted. Once in the chair, she felt better, though it hurt to hold her neck up. Two weeks in bed made her muscles lose all purpose.

"Is it normal to lose so much mobility, even with a fabulous physical therapist?"

"Yes ma'am. It's completely typical to be pathetic."

Natalie let her head loll to the side. So this is why people sagged in wheelchairs. She blushed. Her hand twitched. The instinct to cross herself ran through her, but the strength wasn't there.

She gripped the wheelchair arms.

Jake parked her out on the sidewalk under the awning. She got her first view of Tarpley.

The world in front of her wasn't remarkable--a parking lot, a ring of trees beyond it. Pavement. Sidewalks. The awning itself was dark green. The hospital signs were grim.

She breathed deeply. Her chest burned in protest.

She'd never been a fan of the outdoors. She'd only been camping once in Girl Scouts and she'd gone home crying in the middle of the night.

Here she was in the wilderness.

"How far is the beach?" she asked.

Jake stood beside her. He had one hand on the handlebar, just behind her shoulder, and he was slouching companionably. She was glad he was there. Even having met him only a few times, he'd healed her--she could feel herself healing in his presence--and now she looked forward to his easy, friendly smile as if he were a drug.

"It's about an hour by car that way." He pointed in a direction she assumed was east. "But by wheels..." He looked her up and down. "Better start rolling."

"Maybe I could hitchhike."

Jake giggled. "I just pictured you, chair and all, strapped into the back of a pick-up truck, like some old rocking chair."

She rolled her eyes.

"Want me to do your makeup?"

"Makeup?"

"It's just--This is your first big day out. You're a little pale. And blotchy. I don't know if you've looked at yourself recently."

"Recently. You mean since--"

"I mean since," he said.

She’d seen in the mirror in the bathroom. She'd looked sixty years old, stooped, and feeble.

"Do I look haggard?" she asked.

"Sort of like a zombie. But--You're clean, your clothes look okay. Sometimes women like to 'put their face on.'" He made air quotes. "A right of passage. Makes them feel whole again. I'm speaking as a therapist here, not as Mr. Black."

She glanced down at her leg.

"Forget I said anything."

"Jake, I didn't mean it like--" From emotional leech to depressed drama queen already. This was a slippery slope.

A horn honked.

A van with a handicap access symbol painted on its side rolled up. A driver got out. He yanked open the bay doors, and began to lower the ramp.

"Only one in the county," Jake said. "Cost your insurance $200 every time you use it. Though I don't expect you will much, except for coming back for your surgery. Be right back." Jake darted inside.

Natalie glanced at the driver. He unlocked the brake on her wheelchair and pushed her onto the ramp.

"Is this safe?" she asked.

He snorted and pushed her in. The tilt of her chair made her wince, but she managed not to yelp. Once inside the van, he locked her wheels.

"Over here," Jake said.

Natalie glanced back toward the van door. The hospital entrance lay before her. Demure concrete and brick with a red cross on a white background near the sliding glass doors. Her home for two weeks. And in front of her home stood Jake, who was holding a gift basket.

Natalie raised her eyebrows.

"For you, my dear," Jake said.

He stood at chest-height. So the terrifying ramp hadn't taken her as high as she thought. She snorted and took the basket. There was soap and body oil and chocolate and Tylenol-3.

"The chocolate's for Merry, for putting up with your white ass."

"What do I get?" The driver asked.

Jake stepped out of Natalie's line of sight. She cautiously leaned forward to see around the van door just in time to see Jake tuck a ten dollar bill into the driver's shirt pocket.

"Drive slowly," Jake said. "She's never been to Tarpley."

"Absolutely true," Natalie said.

The driver frowned at Jake. "What's with the accent?"

"She's from Charlotte."

The driver looked askance at her. Natalie retreated back into the van. Jake appeared in the doorway again. He leaned in and took her hands. "See you soon, Nat."

"Thank you, Jake." His name caught in her throat. Tears stung her eyes.

Jake winked.

The driver got into his seat. "What was that? You two going to the big Pride rally? Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

Natalie rubbed her cheek and didn't meet his eyes in the rearview mirror.

The driver started the van. "I'm Harold. You thirsty? I got coffee."

"No, thank you. How long of a drive is it?"

Harold grunted. "Ten minutes."

"I'll just stare out the window, then."

The van pulled out of the parking lot. Harold turned on the radio, and then turned down the volume, so the country-western music became a faint background sound.

"Get lost on your way to the beach?"

"I guess. Yeah. That's what happened."

"So did I. Hell, I should've stayed in Rocky Mount."

"What's in Rocky Mount?" Natalie asked.

"They got a Starbucks."

Natalie nearly threw herself out of the van. "Tarpley doesn't have a Starbucks?"

"Welcome to Tarpley, ma'am. We got a nice Hardees."

The urge to cross herself returned; the urge to ward all of this off and beg for forgiveness. She'd survived the accident and survived surviving the accident so far. Outside the van windows cars and trucks rushed by. Beyond them she saw empty, flat land. She was descending into Hell.

The van slowed to a stop. A train whistle blew.

Harold sighed and put the van in park. Past the front windshield, a freight train rumbled by, impossibly slow, right there in the middle of the road.

"You golf?" Harold asked, distracting her from her horror. "I mean, when you were better?"

"No."

"A shame. Not much else to do around here."

"Would you drive me all the way to the beach?"

Harold glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Not today. But Wilmington's closer than you think. You'll see it before you know it. Smells like the sea. That's all you need."

"And a job."

"Good point, there. What do you do?"

The van finally began to move again. Natalie glanced around furtively for the train. "I'm an attorney."

He whistled. "Not many of those around here. Not even in Rocky Mount. You go up to UNC?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, Lord. Not Duke?"

"Wake."

"Fair enough."

"Have you always been in North Carolina?" Natalie asked.

"I was born in Rocky Mount. My parents came from Ecuador. A long journey," he said.

"Have you ever been there?"

"Ecuador?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "No. Don't think I ever will."

The van turned into a neighborhood. He slowed his driving, and asked, "Your people come over on the Mayflower?"

She shook her head. "During the war."

"You Jewish?"

"No, just--" She paused, trying to think of what she was.

"Just screwed. I got it."

"Everywhere you turn."

"Yup. World's a shitty place."

He stopped the van in front of a two-story cottage. Toys were strewn over the front lawn.

The house needed new paint and a good window-washing, but there were flowers planted around the mailbox and the porch had a swing.

Harold pulled open the van door and carefully wheeled her down to Earth.

"Home sweet home," he said.

Meredith came onto the porch.

"I could probably do worse," she said.

He snorted.

Meredith stepped onto the front stoop. Two little boys rushed past her. They stopped halfway up the gravel driveway and stared at Natalie.

Natalie felt her blood drain from her face.

"Better get used to it," Harold said.

"I have to get used to it?"

He didn't say anything more as he pushed her up the driveway. The wheels moved easily over the thin gravel--more like gray and silver packed dirt. The boys scooted backward as she approached.