The Edge of Mercy Page 3

  Matt never spoke of God, especially not to me. Faith—religion—was the one thing we simply couldn’t find common ground on. So we’d just stopped talking about it altogether. It worked for us.

  But standing at the threshold of Kyle’s bedroom, staring at the back of my husband’s head and seeing my son’s puff of dark hair in the crook of his elbow, I too was overcome with gratitude. Surely Matt and I could find common ground in this, being thankful for our precious son. Conceived in a place of secret and passion, God had nevertheless shown us favor, brought good out of a mess.

  Four years later, when Matt and I were ready to have more children, God’s favor didn’t prove so tangible.

  “Sarah?”

  I sat up on the couch, rubbed my sleepy eyes, and swiped at a wet spot on the side of my mouth. I’d fallen asleep, and now before me stood my husband, suitcase in hand.

  “I just wanted to say good-bye.”

  It would have been easier if he had let me sleep.

  I slung my legs onto the floor. I wanted to yell at him for leaving, I wanted to clasp my arms around his legs and demand he stay.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re staying—in case I need to get ahold of you?”

  “You have my cell. I left the address on the counter.”

  I nodded and tried to quell the burning sensation working up my throat.

  “I just paid the mortgage and the electric bill, so you should be good for a while. I’ll be by Saturday to pick up the mail, and Kyle.”

  We were really having this conversation.

  I lifted my arms to him, then let them drop. He put a hand on the back of my head and leaned down to kiss my forehead. I regretted not doing my hair and makeup that morning. I regretted that my wedding rings were lost in the woods. I regretted falling asleep on the couch, waking up with bad breath. His last picture of me would surely not make him hesitate to leave.

  “Bye, honey,” he said, as if he were just leaving for a short business trip. My stomach twisted as he scooped up his keys and left. I opened my mouth to call out to him, but no sound came forth.

  Quiet filled the house, the grandfather clock eerily silent of its normal comforting ticks. Nausea climbed my insides.

  Matt and Kyle…they were what was truly important. They were my all. Without them, my life threatened to be swallowed up into a black hole of failure.

  Chapter 4

  “Are you kidding me?”

  I tossed the bag of Reese’s Pieces I’d been nibbling onto the coffee table and craned my neck toward the door. “Nice of you to knock.”

  “Nice of you to return my phone calls.” Essie waltzed into my living room and turned off Downton Abbey. “Is this what you’ve been too busy doing—stuffing your face and watching addictive dramas?”

  I groaned. “I’ve been throwing up a lot, but my nausea cleared yesterday, so yes, since then that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

  Essie looked in disgust at the used tissues crumpled in a scattered pile on the coffee table—the uncharacteristic disorder of my entire house. “Get up and shower. We’re going out.”

  “Don’t want to.”

  “Tough cookies. You need to get out of the house.”

  Before I could form a counterargument, my phone jingled where it lay on the coffee table.

  I grimaced at the sight of the hospital number. I’d called out sick four days in a row. Truthfully, I didn’t want to deal with the call, even if it was just one of the other nurses reaching out to show concern, but responsibility bade me answer. I could at least promise to be in tomorrow.

  I slid the answer button and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Sarah, hey . . . how you doing?”

  I let out a sigh. “Glad it’s you, Jen. I’m okay. Listen, sorry I called out again. I’ll be back tomorrow. Promise.”

  “Actually, I’m not calling about that. It’s something else. . . . Do you know a Barbara Lyne?”

  I lowered myself to the couch. “Yeah . . . sure, she’s my neighbor.”

  “She’s at the hospital, suffered two heart attacks last night.”

  “Oh no.” I stood, already looking for my keys. I should have checked in on Barb last night. I’d intended to. How could I have been so careless?

  “I usually go over there every couple of days. With everything happening—”

  “It’s okay, Sarah. But you might want to come down.”

  I moved to the foyer and slid on my flip-flops. “Of course. How’s she doing?”

  “Not well. I’m sorry, honey. And you’re her only listed contact.”

  Huh. Strange. I thought Barb had a daughter—it was why I didn’t check up on her more than a few times a week. She loved her independence, and in my mind her daughter was keeping an eye on her as well.

  I scooped up my purse. “No proxy?”

  “I know—practically unheard of for someone her age, but no. Just you.”

  I hung up with Jen and quickly explained to Essie the situation before heading to the hospital, popping a mint into my mouth along the way.

  I drove onto the highway, my mind on overload. Matt was gone. Barb had a heart attack. I was her only contact.

  Someone should find her daughter. She had a daughter, right? I’d been so certain . . . Mary, that was her name.

  I sank into the many memories I’d shared with my neighbor—how Barb had babysat Kyle more than once when he was small, insisting Matt and I have date time. Barb was the one who had shown me the walking paths in our town, including Abram’s Rock, telling me legends dating back to colonial times. I thought of the fierce love she held for the dog she’d recently lost—Howie, who never left her side. I thought of the many quilting projects scattered around her old home, of how she often comforted with a cool hand and soft words when I was upset. I pressed the gas pedal harder.

  “Hang in there, Barb. I’m coming.”

  My flip-flops slapped against the linoleum of the long hospital corridor—a much different sound than the crocs I usually wore. I breathed in the scent of disinfectant, comforting after so many years.

  When I entered the geriatric ward, the nurse at the desk greeted me by name. I ignored the need to explain why I was here when I had called out sick and instead headed to the room number Jen had given me over the phone.

  I knocked on the partially open door, hoping that Barb’s cheerful “Come in!” would greet me.

  Nothing.

  I pushed open the door.

  My neighbor lay on the hospital bed, looking especially small and frail. Amazing how such a strong-willed woman could wither to such slight existence.

  I moved closer, listening to the rattling breaths coming from her body. I lowered myself to the chair beside the bed, wondered if I should try to wake her.

  Jen came in a minute later. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Dr. Wyczyk doesn’t think she’ll last much longer. She called the ambulance after her first heart attack, but she had a second after she was brought in. She’s too weak for surgery. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  I pressed my lips together, nodded. “I meant to check on her last night. I should have.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done, girl.”

  Truth or not, it was what I needed to hear, even as I struggled to believe the words. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything medically, but I could have been there for my friend. She shouldn’t have been alone. “No one else is listed? What about her daughter?”

  Jen scooped out Barb’s chart, examining it, shaking her head. “Just you.”

  Barb and I were close, but not that close. I nearly said as much, but I didn’t know if Barb could hear me and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Apparently, she thought differently.

  After Jen left, I slid my hand into Barb’s. It was cold, and the skin on her bones lay limp and wrinkled. I squeezed. “Hey, Barb. It’s Sarah. I’d really like to talk to you.”

  No movement.

  I spoke again, about anything and everything. I
told her how Matt left, how Kyle was taking his finals this week, how I’d lost my wedding rings at her rock.

  “I wish we could go for another hike . . .” I’d been rambling too long, was probably saying things I shouldn’t say to someone on the brink of death, but somehow I felt that Barb, if conscious, would understand.

  From beneath the covers, her toe twitched. She moved her head back and forth, as if in a restless sleep. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “Hey, neighbor,” I said gently.

  She blinked again, her breath coming forth raspy.

  “Take it slow.”

  “Sarah . . .”

  “What are you thinking, giving me such a scare?” I arranged the blankets around her and counted it a victory when she smiled.

  All too quickly it vanished.

  “Barb, shouldn’t we call your daughter to let her know . . . you’re here?”

  She gave a short, humorless laugh. “To let her know I’m dying, you mean?”

  “Barb . . .”

  “She wouldn’t care. Told me as much last time we saw one another.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. True, I didn’t know my neighbor that well, but I also couldn’t imagine anyone harboring such resentment toward her, especially her daughter. “People say things when they’re angry. I’m sure your daughter would want to know you’re in the hospital.” I took out my phone. “Do you know her number? Or maybe I can find it if you tell me her name and where she lives.”

  Barb stared at the empty wall as if she stopped hearing my words. Something foreign surrounded her and it reeked of loneliness. I found myself searching beneath the covers for her hand again.

  “It’s never too late . . .” My words sounded desperate even to me. I thought of the brokenness between me and Matt. Was there truth to my words? Or did there come a time when such a flimsy thing as hope was no longer viable, no longer worth investing in?

  My neighbor slapped her lips together and I scooped up a cup of water and lifted it to her lips. After she’d drunk, she leaned back on the pillow, exhausted, and dragged in a deep breath. “Mary . . . she blames me for her father’s death. She blames me for our family falling apart.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to, honey. I should have loved better, is all. Worried more about loving than judging . . . especially my family. But I never lost hope . . . Elizabeth—you know, my ancestor? She taught me that. I’m still clinging to it now.”

  She wasn’t making sense. “Elizabeth?”

  Barb shook her head back and forth, as if uncomfortable or in pain. “The rock. Abram’s. She was there that day. I wish I could have shown Mary. But she’d left by then, wanted nothing to do with me. Then you and that precious baby showed up next door. Thank you, Sarah. I’m leaving it all to you. You’ll know . . . what to do with it.”

  I inched so close to the edge of my seat, I almost fell off the end. I grabbed for Barb’s other hand. The heart rate monitor beside her beeped in quick succession, rattling my nerves. I knew another nurse would come any minute. “Do with what? Barb, what do you want me to do?”

  “Tell Mary . . . Tell her I’m sorry and that I love her.”

  “You can tell her yourself. Do you know her number? Do you—?”

  The monitor flat-lined. A rattle sounded in my neighbor’s throat and I stood, squeezing her hand.

  I could accept that Barb was dying, but not that she should die like this, with her daughter just a phone call away and a mountain of regrets between them.

  “Barb, no. Barb.”

  Jen entered the room. Her gaze landed on my elderly friend and she slid past me, positioning her stethoscope in her ears and listening to Barb’s chest. I gripped my neighbor’s hand tighter.

  Minutes passed as Jen probed and then felt for a pulse. I knew what would come next.

  “She’s a DNR.” Jen let her fingers drop from Barb’s wrist. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

  I released Barb’s hand slowly, tried to gather my thoughts. “I—I wish we had just a few more minutes.”

  I wish I had paid more attention to her, I wish I had known about the rift between her and her daughter, wish I could have done something to help before . . . this.

  Jen patted my arm. “Take a minute if you want, okay? I can call you when my shift’s over.”

  I nodded, numb from the events of the last couple of days. “I was her only contact? What about the arrangements . . . a service . . . ?”

  “I’ll look into it, honey.”

  I forced a tight smile and a nod. My friend left the room. I sat with Barb for a long time, until I could no longer stand the emptiness of the room, the pallor of her lifeless skin. I leaned over and kissed my elderly neighbor’s cool brow. “Goodbye, Barb. I’ll give Mary your message. I promise.”

  I blew my nose and wiped my eyes before looking at my neighbor one last time. I gathered a breath and made my way down the hall, past a vaguely familiar doctor who gave me a peculiar look, past the nurses’ desk, and into the elevator. I gasped for breath when I reached the first floor and stumbled down another hall.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more I could have done, more I could have said. I couldn’t shake the guilt that I had chosen wallowing in my own problems over the well-being of an elderly woman who depended on me more than I knew. Without warning, a fresh burst of anger toward Matt erupted in my chest. If he hadn’t left, I would have been paying more attention. Maybe I could have seen early signs of Barb’s attack, maybe I could have prevented it.

  I slid back into my car and turned the key, loneliness near swallowing me up. I needed to find Barb’s daughter, give her my neighbor’s message. She was sorry. She loved her.

  Were the words enough to heal their broken relationship?

  Chapter 5

  I slid the key of Barb’s house into the side door, but one quick turn told me it had been left unlocked. The door swung open with a creaking sound that caused a shiver to chase up the back of my neck.

  Her kitchen lay spotless as always, save for a cup of tea with a bag still soaking within. The thought that this must have been the last thing my neighbor did—make herself a cup of tea—before her heart attack, caused the backs of my eyelids to burn.

  I took out the bag and threw it in the trash before dumping the cold tea down the sink. The rancid scent of the wastebasket called for my attention, and I went around the bedroom and bathrooms, grabbing the trash from each room before dumping it into the larger kitchen one and taking it outside. I opened windows, allowing the sweet scent of fading lilacs from a nearby bush to sweep in and replace the smell of decay.

  I paused at the sight of Barb’s living room and sat on the corner of her couch—my usual spot—to stare at her well-loved rocker, a quilt in turquoise and brown triangles sitting crumpled on the edge. I put my head in my hands. “Oh, Barb.”

  I ran my hands over my face, the task before me clear. Deep down, I didn’t want to worry about this now-abandoned property. I didn’t want to worry about an estranged daughter or making things right. What I really wanted to do was go to my own home, bury myself deep beneath my covers, and hug Matt’s pillow to my chest where his musky scent still clung. I wanted to grieve my marriage, grieve the fact that I hadn’t been there when Barb needed me. I just wanted to be sad.

  I gathered a breath and stood before going to the old rolltop desk in the corner. I opened it, noticing the thick layer of dust in the grooves, and began to search for an address book.

  Barb had never asked for help from me. For anything. In fact, most of the time, she was the one offering help—whether it be taking care of Kyle or getting our mail or offering a listening ear. Why hadn’t I made more of an effort to be a part of her life?

  I shuffled through an untidy stack of papers, ignoring the answer that needled my conscience.

  Quite simply, it was too much work.

  I had my own family, my own home, my own job. In my head, I wasn’t responsib
le for Barb. She had a daughter to help her—family.

  I riffled through another pile, continuing my search.

  My gaze landed on a spiral-bound address book behind one of the piles and I scooped it up. I took it to the couch and flipped it open to the first page, perusing the cursive writing for the name of Barb’s daughter.

  I finally found one entry under the L’s with the listing of simply Mary. A single phone number lay beneath it.

  I reached for my cell phone and dialed the number. A voice recording came on telling me that the number I dialed was no longer in service. I hung up, flipped the address book closed. Clearly this wasn’t going to be simple. I would have to find out more about Mary. A last name would help. Certainly Barb had photos around, or cards with old addresses on them. I knew she’d never ventured into social media, but there certainly had to be something in this house that would tell me how to reach her daughter. I could search Mary Lyne online, but I could only imagine the results I would get. And besides, if Mary had gotten married and taken her husband’s last name, searching for an L may not even help.

  I wandered into Barb’s bedroom. The sheets lay rumpled and without thinking, I pulled the covers up, revealing a beautiful quilt done in grays, oranges, and reds. I squinted at the familiar scene and went to the bottom of the bed to get a better view.

  While I knew Barb quilted, I hadn’t realized how intricate her designs. And there was no doubt she had made this quilt. Its vibrant colors pictured a large gray rock, the hint of a cave at the bottom. At the top stood a shadowed male form, feathers sticking out of long hair, a brilliant sunrise behind him. The pattern spoke of a Native American tribe, though I couldn’t be certain which. Either way, I knew who Barb had intended to picture.