Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“Were you told these things in confidence?”

“No. In fact, I have a feeling the people in this town want you to know how proud they are.”

“I’ve failed so many.”

“You don’t know what failure is.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Well, we’re going to have two years to change that,” Ruth said. “I’m willing to listen now, if you’re willing to talk.”

Jama felt her resistance begin to crumble. It had been a long day, and she felt weary to the bone. And friendless, in spite of this warm gesture from Ruth.

Sharing with someone was somehow suddenly especially appealing. To her surprise, Jama heard herself telling about the night Amy died. A story she’d never told to anyone, and here she was relating it for the second time in a few hours.

Tyrell watched through the window of the private ICU room, where Mark and Heather hovered at their daughter’s bedside. After giving them a tearful and apologetic greeting, with a promise to never, ever, ever disobey them again, Doriann had begun to tell them about her harrowing experience. She hadn’t shut up since.

Doriann had been examined to see if she had been sexually violated, and she had not. Tyrell wished the authorities would have just taken her word for it. Why inflict more anxiety on her when she’d been through so much?

Heather and Mark had been flown to St. Mary’s hospital from Kansas City by the FBI. Tyrell was grateful for this, even though he knew the agents’ reasoning was that a child could not be questioned without a parent present.

As he watched the Streeter family together, he thought about forgiveness. Doriann’s actions yesterday morning had nearly cost her life, and Mark and Heather had been frantic. Yet when they arrived at the hospital, all was forgiven as soon as the parents saw their cherished child.

He could forgive Jama for her actions on the night of Amy’s death. He knew he could. Her act was not intentional, and she had punished herself for it ever since.

What hurt him the most, after he’d had time to consider it, was that she didn’t feel safe enough to tell him.

But why should she?

When he’d finally convinced her that she could trust him with anything, he’d responded to the truth with anger.

He professed to love her so much, and yet he sure hadn’t loved her when she was most vulnerable.

Someone squeezed his arm. Mom. He looked down at her. Anyone meeting Fran Mercer for the first time was always surprised when her age was revealed. She could pass for a woman in her forties. No one believed she was sixty, but tonight they would.

“You need to get some rest, Mom.”

“So does everyone else. Are those people going to keep Doriann up all night? She needs to sleep.”

“She told me she slept for a while in a cave with Humphrey.”

Mom looked up at him in surprise, and then a smile lit her eyes. “So it was Humphrey that Jama and I saw on the road. That’s where he was going.”

“Not possible. Doriann couldn’t have even been there yet.”

“All things are possible, honey.”

He simply nodded.

Her hand tightened on his arm. “You’re brooding.”

He nodded again.

“Tyrell, you should be overjoyed. Your father and your niece are both out of danger, the frost didn’t happen. Our family is still intact.”

He nodded. “It’s a little surreal to me right now.”

“And you’re thinking about Jama.”

Of course. With everyone else out of danger, Jama was all he could think about.

Jama told Ruth everything, and Ruth gave her total attention. When Jama was finished, she sat back. Her hands were shaking.

“That’s an awful thing for you to endure, Jama.” Ruth’s words were tender, as if she were talking with a child.

The gentle response soothed something deep inside Jama.

“It was awful for Amy,” she said.

“It isn’t awful for her now, from what you’ve told me,” Ruth said. “You’re the one suffering the most over this.”

“Her family suffered the most.”

“I know…” Ruth’s voice faltered. “I know.” She swallowed and sighed, looking down at her hands. “They still live with the grief, and they share it with each other. And you live with the grief plus the guilt. That’s a heavy burden to bear alone all these years.”

Jama stared at her. She understood.

“So you think you’re the sole reason she died.”

“My actions-”

“You’re not God, Jama. Your actions might impact a lot of people throughout your life, but the consequences are controlled by God, not you. You made a good call with Amy’s father in an emergency situation, and it appears you put your life on the line for Doriann. That’s two lives your actions influenced in twenty-four hours. But God trumps your actions.”

Jama cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Of course He does.”

“Have you ever lost a patient under your care?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever made mistakes with patient care?”

“Yes, every resident does, but-”

“And you obviously didn’t change professions because you made a mistake. You learned from it so it didn’t happen again. So you’re telling me that big hunk who came to the clinic this morning is the kind of man who will hold one bad decision against you for the rest of your life?”

“That bad decision killed-”

“No, your bad decision and her bad decision killed her. She didn’t have to drive anywhere. You could have slept in the car right where you were.” Ruth held her hands out to her sides. “I’m living proof that people can sleep in cars.”

“I begged her to keep going.”

“If she thought you were too drunk to drive, what made her think you were sober enough to make that kind of decision? She was a surgery resident. She should have been wise enough to figure that out.”

“You have to understand the Mercer family Christmas-”

“I understand that if he doesn’t love you enough to forgive you for what you did, then he doesn’t love you. Period. He loves his own version of you. If he can’t accept the real you, flaws and all, then you don’t want him for a husband, because, sooner or later, you will let him down…”

Ruth’s voice quavered and failed. She spread her hands and draped them over her knees. “You’ll let him down.”

For a moment, Jama pushed away thoughts of Tyrell and focused on the enigmatic woman in front of her. It didn’t take a genius to realize Ruth was in pain, but Jama wished she’d seen it sooner.

“Is that what happened to you?” she asked Ruth.

The director closed her eyes, features contorting.

Jama felt sudden compunction. Not your business, Jama Sue.

“You’ve helped me realize how unfair I’ve been to Jack.” Ruth’s eyes opened, and a film of moisture dissolved into droplets that coursed slowly down her cheeks.

“How?” Jama asked.

“We had a five-year-old little boy. Our only child.” Ruth’s eyes closed again. “Benjamin.” She said the word as if the very sound of his name caused pain. “Three weeks ago, Jack took him along on a call to a nearby village across the river near our home. He did this over my objections.”

A deep breath, uneven and filled with anguish. “Their boat capsized, and Benjamin was swept downriver.”

Jama felt the heat of her own tears once more. “Was he found?”

Ruth nodded. “Word spread throughout the area, and some people from a village far downriver brought his body to us. Our whole community turned out for a funeral, taking care of everything, while I hid out in the house, unable to cope, furious with God for allowing this to happen to us when we’d given up everything to serve Him.”