Church was a different experience today.Cathy didn't sing the hymns; she listened to the words. She didn't join in the responsive reading; she let the Scripture speak to her. And when Pastor Kennedy asked the congregation to turn to Exodus 16, Cathy left her Bible closed in her lap, choosing instead to sit with her head bowed, visualizing the scene of God feeding the children of Israel in the wilderness, sending them manna every morning.
She listened as the preacher took this familiar Bible passage and made it real for her. She flashed back to a Sunday school teacher saying something about "He opened the Scriptures to them." That was Jesus, she was pretty sure, but that also seemed to be what Pastor Kennedy was doing today.
"God provides for His children," he said. "We may not like what He provides, though, because we don't see the big picture as God can. I'm sure there were Israelites who prayed for a varied menu. Can't you just hear them now? 'Manna again today?' But there were also those who remained faithful-faithful for forty years as they wandered in the wilderness waiting for the fulfillment of God's promises to them. These were the ones who awoke each morning with a smile, looked out of their tents, and said, 'Oh, look! There's manna again this morning!' "
Pastor Kennedy moved away from the pulpit and lowered his voice, but the microphone clipped to his tie carried his words to every corner of the room. "We don't always like what God sends. We forget that He sees things we can't. God wants to send us blessings, even though we may not recognize them. And when He blesses us, I hope each of us will take the time to thank Him… for the manna."
Cathy locked the outer door behind her before she picked up the folder from Jane's desk and took it to her own. She hated to leave the comfort of the Kennedys living room and the company of the family that had taken her into their home and hearts. She longed to relax this Sunday afternoon. But she needed to check her balance sheet. Monday promised to be a busy day.
On her way to the office, she had stopped at the hospital to look in on Ella Mae. There'd been no change. Physically, the woman seemed to be recovering from the effects of her overdose. Mentally, however, it was as though she'd crept into a hard shell to keep out the world. Hopefully, the psychiatrist could help her.
Cathy popped the tab on a Diet Coke and settled into the chair behind her desk. She wondered how long it would be before it was all snatched from her: the desk, the chair, the office furniture. She'd shopped with care, overwhelmed by the cost of computers, fax machines, copiers, a phone system. The seventy thousand dollars that seemed like so much when she signed the note shrank like an ice cube in the sun when she started writing checks on her newly opened practice account.
Right now that seventy thousand dollars loomed like the national debt. And she didn't even want to think of the student loans she'd accumulated during four years of medical school. Thank goodness she wasn't due to start repaying those for a couple of years. Even so, they were part of the load she felt pressing down on her. She guessed that whoever said "Money isn't everything" probably had some.
Before she could do more than glance over the figures Jane had put together, Cathy's cell phone rang. The hospital? She wasn't on call. Ella Mae? She had seemed fine just an hour ago. Cathy glanced at the caller ID. Will.
"Hello?"
"Cathy, this is Will. Are you in your office right now?"
"Yes, I'm looking over my finances to see if there's any way I can come up with five thousand dollars by Wednesday." She sipped her soft drink. "I hated to leave. It was nice spending a quiet Sunday afternoon with you all."
"I enjoyed it too. Don't you think you could use the services of your attorney? I mean, two heads are better than one."
Trusting anyone, even Will, came hard for her. "I don't want to bother you."
"No bother."
She shrugged. Why not? "Okay, come on over."
"Would you open the door then? It's lonely out here."
Cathy hurried to the office door. When she lifted a slat of the Venetian blind, she saw an eye peeping back at her and heard Will's voice in her phone. "I'm sorry, but I don't know the password."
"Funny man."
Will reached into his jacket pocket. "I brought you something. Mom thought you might like one of her special chocolate chip cookies."
"I notice there are two, so I guess you expect me to share. Let me get you something to drink. Diet Coke okay?"
With Will settled beside her at the desk, Cathy ran her finger down the column of figures Jane had prepared. On paper, her practice had started to turn a profit. But it would take at least another month before she received sufficient insurance payments for those paper profits to show up in her bank account.
"It will be a stretch just to come up with the money for the interest on the loan. There's no way I can meet the bank's new terms."
Will popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth and licked his fingers. "See what tomorrow brings. Don't forget what Dad said in his sermon today."
Cathy nodded uneasily. She could agree in principal with leaning on God to supply her needs, but in practice? Not so easy.
"What's that?" Will pointed to two sheets of paper peeking out from under the list of accounts receivable.
"Those are the names of everyone in the county who owns a black Ford Expedition. The sheriffthought I might recognize the name of a person who would want to run me out of town. Or kill me."
"Let me see one sheet; you take the other. Then we'll switch."
Cathy had the top of the alphabet. She put down the remains of her cookie and started down the list. Abernathy. Archer. Bascomb. Bell. Clawson. Conroy.
"Whoa," she said. "Look at this." She handed the list to Will and pointed out a name.
"Marcus Bell," he said. "You think he might be behind this?"
Cathy shook her head. "I don't know. At first, Marcus seemed supportive of me professionally. Then he asked me out a couple of times and I said no. After that, he's been a bit less friendly. But, surely, he wouldn't try to hurt me just because I turned him down for a date." She gnawed at a fingernail. "Besides, the incident with the SUV happened before he ever asked me out."
"Maybe we're looking at it backward," Will said. "Maybe Marcus was out to get you even before he asked you out. Remember how something always stopped you from getting privileges? Marcus was in a perfect position to pull that off."
"I can't believe he'd do that."
"When he saw you in the emergency room after the accident, how long had he been there?"
"I'm not sure," Cathy said. "The nurse said he'd come in to look at a patient with possible appendicitis, but that wouldn't take long. The work-up had been done already. And it was a while between the time of the accident and my arrival at the ER."
Will tapped his fingers against his front teeth. "Could he have been in that SUV on his way to the hospital when he saw you and decided to run you offthe road? Or might it have been an accident, and afterward he was afraid to admit it?"
"I don't know." Cathy wanted to scream. "I just want my life back."
Will took Cathy's hand and squeezed it. "Okay. I didn't mean to upset you. Let's finish checking this list so you can talk to SheriffDunaway in the morning. In the meantime, be careful around Marcus Bell."
Cathy chewed the last bite of her cookie, but it seemed to turn to dust in her mouth.
"Sheriff, I want to make it clear that I'm not accusing anyone whose name I've marked. These are just people who seem to be the most likely suspects."
Dunaway inclined his head. "I understand, Dr. Sewell. We'll be very discreet in our questions. I'll have one of my deputies make a few calls to see if these folks can verify where they were at the times you encountered that black SUV. Your name won't be mentioned."
Cathy came out from behind her desk and offered her hand. "Thank you. I appreciate everything you're doing."
"Not at all. Not only is it my job, I… I don't guess you'd remember. You were only about eight or nine at the time. My son, Jerry, fell out of a tree and hit his head. By the time we got him to the hospital, he had what they called an acute subdural hematoma-bleeding over the outside of the brain. The nearest neurosurgeon was an hour away, and your daddy said that by then Jerry would be dead. He told us he hadn't seen one of these kind of injuries since he was a resident, but he asked our permission to do an emergency operation to relieve the pressure. He called it 'burr holes.' After he did it, he rode in the ambulance to Dallas with Jerry. The neurosurgeon said Dr. Sewell saved our son's life."
Cathy had a faint memory of her father mentioning the episode, but he never made much of it. "Just another day at the office" was his usual comment.
"Your father was a fine man and a good doctor," Dunaway said. "And he took wonderful care of your mother when she got sick. I think you'll find there are lots of folks around here who still feel grateful to him."
"How is Jerry?" Cathy asked.
"Killed in Afghanistan. Threw himself on a grenade to save his buddies." Dunaway blinked rapidly. "But we were blessed to have him as long as we did, thanks to your daddy's work. God was really good to us."
Cathy found herself touched by the attitude of this man and confused by the picture everyone had painted of her father. Maybe she'd been wrong-about lots of things.
Cathy blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes and shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension. It had been a busy morning, and the balance of the day promised to be more of the same. She didn't really have time to make this call, but Jane had said it was important.
"Marcus, Jane said that you called."
"Yes. Thanks for calling back." He hesitated so long Cathy thought she'd lost the connection.
"Marcus, are you there?"
"Cathy, this is hard for me. I know you've been angry with me, perhaps with good reason. I don't know. But I'd still like to invite you out-if not for dinner, then just for coffee. What do you say?"
"I'm sorry I got angry with you for not taking my side," Cathy said. "I realize that perhaps you really do think you should stay neutral in staffmatters. And I hope you will believe me when I say that the reason I keep turning your invitations down isn't because I don't like you. I do… but as a friend and colleague."
"Just what every man wants to hear. So, things are serious between you and Will Kennedy?"
Were they? Maybe they were. She didn't need to ask how Marcus knew about their relationship. People always knew one another's business in a small town. "I guess they are."
"I'm happy for you. When my wife died, I didn't think I'd ever want to be with anyone else again. Although time dulls the pain, it doesn't take away the loneliness. I guess I thought you might be the answer."
"God has someone out there for you, I'm sure. It just isn't me." Cathy's words shocked her. She had no idea where they had come from. She hadn't said anything like that since God killed her parents.
But now she knew that God hadn't killed them. A senseless combination of speed and a rain-slick road had caused the accident. And maybe God had given her Will to take away her own loneliness.
Late Monday afternoon, Cathy looked over Jane's shoulders and read the numbers on the bank deposit-a few checks from patients, but no large insurance payments. She would need to call Will tonight and give him the bad news: no way could she come up with the five thousand dollars plus more than fourteen hundred dollars in interest that the bank had demanded. She could only hope Nix would change his mind, but that seemed unlikely.
Before sinking into her chair, Cathy shed her white coat and tossed it into the hamper. She tipped her chair forward and reached toward the bottom desk drawer to retrieve her purse when she saw the envelope centered on her blotter- a plain white envelope, no return address, postmarked last Thursday. A Post-it note stuck to the front that read "Elams brought this by" obscured the address. She removed the yellow sticky and noticed the envelope was addressed to her apartment.
The only mail she ever got at that address consisted of circulars, catalogs, and junk pieces addressed to "Occupant." All her bills and important correspondence came to the office.
Quickly, she slit the envelope open and pulled out a computer-generated letter on a single sheet of white paper. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the signature-Ella Mae Mercer. The missing suicide note.
Dear Cathy,
Forgive the familiarity. I know so much about you from my relationship with your father. When you read this I'll be dead. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it happens to be true. I'm guilty of a terrible wrong, and I need to put it right before I die. Then when I stand before my Maker perhaps He won't judge me too harshly.
Cathy looked away, steeling her emotions. Here it comes- her confession that she had an affair with my father. Ella Mae felt so guilty that he prescribed a tranquilizer for her. Or maybe he broke it off, and she needed the medicine to get through that time.
Years ago, I forged your father's signature to a check to pay for my mother's burial. The cost of care during her last days took every cent I had. I'd hoped to cover the shortage before your father found out, but I couldn't. He came to the bank to ask about it. It didn't take long before I broke down and confessed, begging him not to press charges. Instead, he pulled his checkbook from his coat pocket, turned to the check register, and wrote in the amount of the check I'd forged. Then he looked at me with nothing but pity in those gray eyes of his. "It's over. Now I'll pray for you."
I know he needed the money himself, because I saw his account records and knew how much he spent every month for your mother's care. But he never said another word about it. That's when he wrote me a prescription to help me through my depression.
My crime has eaten at me all these years. I thought I could ease my conscience by helping you out with the insurance company, but it wasn't enough. That's when I decided I had to make amends before I die.
I hope that, like your father, you'll pray for me.
Ella Mae Mercer
Could it be true that she had misjudged her father so badly? He didn't have an affair with Ella Mae. He'd helped out the poor woman. And he'd probably talked with his pastor and asked him to pray for Ella Mae as he had promised.
What about the difficult times her parents had gone through? Cathy could picture her father and Matthew Kennedy kneeling in the pastor's study, asking God for help in keeping that marriage together. Pastors keep a lot of secrets-so do doctors-but Cathy knew that husbands had no secrets from their wives. That must be the reason Dora could say with such certainty that Nolan Sewell had been faithful to his wife.
"Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I thought those horrible things about you. I'm sorry I let this come between us."
When she folded the letter to replace it in the envelope, her fingers touched something else. She pulled out a stiff piece of paper just small enough to fit into the envelope. A note was clipped to it: "Principal and interest for my loan from your father. Paid in full."
She removed the note and looked at the cashier's check for six thousand, five hundred dollars. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and whispered, "And here's the manna!" She could hardly choke out her next words. "Thank you, God."