Where Mercy Flows (30 page)

“Well, I’m not the spunkiest trout in the pond, you know. I think he has other options.”

“Oh. Well, that complicates things. Maybe you’re going to have to fight for him.”

“Like I said, I don’t have the spunk or the splash or the succotash that I used to. It’s all I can do to walk to the bathroom
gracefully. I’m too tired to fight right now.”

“That will be over soon. After your surgery, you’ll feel great. They’ll have you on the treadmill within a few weeks. Do you
know that?”

I nodded. “That’s what they say. Am I getting too heavy?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to put you down. It’s been so long since you would do this.”

“Probably because I’m a grown-up now.”

“No. It started long before that.”

I slid off his lap but stayed close to him. “You didn’t love me like you love Lindsey. I always knew that. But it’s probably
because I was adopted and she, well, she’s your own.”

His eyes looked pained, like I had calmly slid a knife into his belly. “Samantha. Is that what you thought?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “By God, Samantha. I never loved one of you more than the other. Your mom and I loved you
before we ever laid eyes on you. And when we brought you home—you were our first, you know; you were the first to take a step,
the first to say my name. Your sister was always four months behind you. And the two of you together . . . well, let’s just
say I felt like a blessed man. But you were different. I had to treat you differently. Lindsey was happy to stay by your mother’s
side, learning to cook, having tea parties and the like. You, on the other hand, were more of a challenge. You were an adventurer.
Always doing the unexpected. I had to discipline you more, but that was because I loved you.”

I felt myself melting into him, both from weakness and from a strange, overwhelming need. The pressure I had felt in my chest
since the excursion to the barn mounted. I coughed reflexively. “I was a pain in the butt, wasn’t I? I’m a screwup. I always
have been.” This gush of honesty was a surprise to me, but I let it go. “I know what you expect from me, but I can’t be that.
I can’t be like Lindsey.” I shrugged nonchalantly, but my breaking voice betrayed me. “I guess I turned out to be everything
you hate.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know what I hate? I hate the destructive choices you’ve made. But I love you. I always have. I abhor
the lies that you’ve believed. You say you’re nothing. I say you’re destined for greatness. You can do anything. Anything
that you believe!”

He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “I know how I am when I get angry. Like a swarm of Kansas twisters. But you
have to understand, Sammy, you’re my daughter. I hate anything that might destroy you, whether it’s a diseased heart or some
lie from the pit of hell that you’ve chosen to embrace. I can’t just sit back and see what happens. That’s against my nature.”

A single bulb lit our corner of the barn. My father’s shadow covered mine so that I could see only his shape on the dusty
floor. “There is a line between right and wrong, Sam. Truth and lies. That’s all there is. There is no neutral ground.” He
paused thoughtfully. “And only the truth will set you free.”

It was all a bit ethereal for me. I didn’t understand the words at the time, but I felt his passion. Something stirred in
my spirit.

“The truth is,” I said humbly, “if I don’t get a new heart very soon, I’m going to die.”

My father held my face so I had to look him straight in the eye. “You will have your heart.” I couldn’t look away, even if
I wanted to. He said it again, his eyes ablaze, his deep voice booming with the authority of a judge proclaiming a life-or-death
sentence. “You
will
have your heart, Sammy.” His decree dropped inside me like an anchor. I envied his unwavering optimism. It may have been childish,
but I believed him. I believed him with all my soul.

It felt good to cry. It felt good to lean into my father while he spoke of the future. My future. I had forgotten how to dream.
I had forgotten that after winter comes spring; that just beyond the darkness there is light. We imagined what TJ would become,
painting wonderful word pictures of the days and years ahead. And I was in every one of them.

One thing still bothered me. “Dad.” It seemed right to call him that and he looked pleased. “Is something wrong? You never
told me what you were praying about. Are you in some kind of trouble? You can tell me, you know.”

He shook his head thoughtfully. “No trouble. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

I squinted my eyes at him, unconvinced.

He looked away. “Remember what I said about truth? It is an absolute and yet it is sometimes hard to see. Every time I hear
a case I’m overwhelmed by the weight of my authority. My job is to make decisions that will alter the course of a person’s
life. Their fate. Ideally the justice system sorts truth from lies, right from wrong, according to the law. But the system
is not perfect. I couldn’t sleep nights if I were to make a wrong call. God and I sort it out, one piece at a time. It’s always
been that way. When I have my answer, I know it.” He stared off into the shadows of the barn. “The answer just settles down
inside me and I know it.”

He became quiet and I knew that he was remembering the discussion with God that I had interrupted.

“Did you get your answer tonight?” I asked.

He touched my face tenderly and smiled. “Yes. I’m sure of it.”

Maybe someday I could have unshakable faith like that—the kind that could move a mountain of trouble and cast it into the
sea.

It was after midnight when my father helped me to my feet and led me toward the door of the barn. I was ready for sleep now.
If I was still a little girl, I would have said,
Carry me, Daddy
, and I would have been asleep before he laid me in my bed. He turned off the light that hung over the worm bed, but as he
headed for the switch near the door, he stopped short. The shadowy figure of a man leaned against the doorframe.

“I saw your light on.” The raspy voice was instantly familiar and as alarming as grating gears.

“Enrich.” My father pushed me gently toward the open barn door, away from the side where the man stood. “I wasn’t expecting
you tonight.”

“But you
were
expecting me.” The man pushed himself away from the jamb, swaying slightly.

I looked back at my father and he waved me toward the house, but as I slid past the opening, the man reached out and grabbed
my arm. I jerked away reflexively, leaving him with a handful of blanket. My father lurched toward him. “Don’t touch her!”

“Why?” the man jeered. I saw the gun in his hand. I fell to my knees and when I looked up the barrel was pointed at my head.
My father pulled back, but like a cobra poised to strike. “Why, Dodd? You got a problem with seeing your kid’s blood in the
snow? You got a problem with looking into those pretty eyes and nobody lookin’ back?” My chest was unbearably heavy, little
oxygen coming to my brain. I fought to stay conscious.

His eyes were red-rimmed and liquid. “That’s the way it was with my Ronnie. It looked like him, but there wasn’t nobody home.
He just laid there,” he slurred. “The only person who ever thought I was worth a lick—boxed up like a slab o’ smoked salmon
ready to be shipped off to the relatives down south. He couldn’t hear a word I said. And he never will.”

“I’m sorry about your son, Enrich. I heard he hanged himself in his cell and I’m sorry about that. I really am. He would have
been up for parole in a few more years.”

The man swung the gun toward the Judge. “A few?” he cried. “He was in that hole for nine years! The prime of his life. He
was the best quarterback this county ever saw. On his way to the pros. Every stinkin’ day was a year! And
you
put him there.”

My father’s fingers moved ever so slightly. I knew he was signaling me to get up and run toward the house, but the anvil in
my chest anchored me to the spot.

“Your son committed murder. He killed your wife, Enrich. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“She had it comin’.”

“What do you mean?” Again my father glanced my way. I tried to push myself up.

“That witch . . .” Enrich looked at me over his left shoulder and I froze. “She thought she was the queen of the world. Thought
she could control everything and everybody. Couldn’t even divorce her. She said she would get Ronnie if I did. Said she would
convince the court that I was an unfit, crazy drunk. If you were treated like a dog who was lucky to have a bed and a bowl
of cold stew, you’d keep a bottle or two within reach too. I always thought I’d kill her myself, put an end to her abuse.
I told Ronnie so. Don’t ever trust her, I said. Told him she would destroy him in the end. I was right about that.” He swiped
at his wet face, tottering slightly and shaking his head. “I don’t know why he did it,” he whined. “I told him I would take
care of it. I was going to take care of it.”

“Well, you were the top button, Enrich. You had murder in your heart and you still do. You programmed it right into your boy.
Ronald was so full of hatred that he was a time bomb ready to go off. I couldn’t chance letting him get out and hurt someone
else. Can’t you see that?
You
destroyed your family. Now you want to destroy mine. The truth is
you
killed them. Both of them.”

“Shut up!” he sobbed, raising the gun toward my father’s face. I heard the hammer click back.

My father nodded. “Do what you have to do.”

Enrich paused.

What was happening? I whimpered in disbelief.

Suddenly the gun swung toward me. I was on my hands and knees in the snow. Even in the semidarkness I could see his jaw harden.
“Sorry, girl, but it’s better this way. Don’t you see?”

“No!” my father screamed just as my arms failed me. The shot rang out into the winter night. The sound tore through my body.
I fell face-first into the snow, plunging through a terrible bottomless tunnel, helpless and very cold.

I
REMEMBER AS IF in a dream the shouts of strangers, the slamming of vehicle doors and the glare of cruel lights—red and blue
flashes on tense faces with none of the joy of Christmas. But I just wanted to sleep.

Once, when I opened my eyes, my mother’s distraught face was just above mine. A warm tear fell on my forehead, trickled into
my hair. When I looked again she was gone. I felt myself moving. The man with me gently held my arms down when I tried to
push something off my face. I tried to ask him about my father. And Mom. He said, “They’re on their way to the hospital. Now,
you keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl. Hang in there, darlin’.” I must have slept for a long time. I heard the siren like
it was only the wail of a train, miles away on a moonlit night.

In the gray light of morning I awoke to find myself between fresh sheets in my old hospital room. Tubes ran from hanging IV
bags into needles stuck into my arm. The familiar electronic blipping noise of my heart monitor was comforting. I ran my hands
over my body. Some kind of catheter had been stuck in my neck. I felt no pain, other than the usual nagging ache in my chest.
Had it all been a dream? A vivid, horrifying dream that seemed more real than this sterile room?

The bed next to mine was empty.

“Welcome home.” Christopher leaned through the partially open door, his long braid draped over the shoulder of his pale green
scrubs.

Normally I would have said, “If this is home, where is hell?” or something of the sort. Instead, I weakly lifted my head from
the pillow and implored, “What happened?” He walked hesitantly to my bedside but didn’t sit down.

My hands continued to explore my body. “Am I shot?”

Christopher shook his head. “No. You’re okay.”

“It was not a dream, Chris. I remember. Some ugly lunatic hillbilly tried to shoot me.”

He nodded. “So I heard. Lucky for you, he missed.” He touched my forehead, pressing my head into the pillow. “Lie still. You
need to rest now, do you understand? We never should have let you out of here. You’ve gone and worn yourself out and you have
to do whatever it takes to get your strength back.” He pulled the gown off my shoulder and checked the IV needles, and then
did something with the bags.

“Where’s my family? Is my father okay?”

“They’ll be here. I guess there’s quite a blizzard going on up north. Snow and ice are so bad they’ve had to shut down the
freeway. Now get some sleep while you can. The last thing you need is a crowd bustling around here.”

“Where did Lulu go?”

He patted my shoulder and turned toward the door.

“You’re holding out on me! You know something, Chris. Now tell me!”

Christopher paused with a grin. “I think the old Sam’s back.” He slipped out the door and then poked his head back in. “I
heard your boyfriend blew the lunatic’s kneecap off. That ought to teach him.” Then he was gone, leaving me with more questions
than I had before.

In spite of it, sleep overcame me again. For how long I don’t know. I awoke to find Dr. Sovold next to me, studying my chart.
“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Do you think you can get up and walk around?” He helped me sit up.

“Where did you put Lulu?”

Dr. Sovold stepped backward and sank into the chair by my bed. He studied my face for too long and I knew. He wondered if
I was strong enough to hear the truth. “Samantha . . .”

“Please say you moved her to another room.”

He put his chin in his hand and shook his head. “She passed away in her sleep.”

I stared at him for several moments before I could speak. “But I was gone for only two days.” Her bed lay flat and white without
a wrinkle in remembrance of her. She was supposed to drive to Monterey with the Wacky Widows in June. She just wanted to dine
on enchiladas and watch the sea lions on the rocks below. How could she be dead? That was Lulu’s tangerine nail polish on
my toes.

The doctor watched me intently. “She was tired. I think she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to go through the operation
even if she did get a donor heart. She called her son earlier that day and spoke for some time. Her daughter too. Lulu seemed
ready. At peace, you know? Are you okay?”