Sacred Trust. Hannah Alexander

is my mother?” she asked, her voice heavy with frustration.

      “She was in the private waiting room when I left her.” Dr. Bower shook his head at the monitor. “No change. We need to shock again.”

      He charged the defibrillator to 360 joules. “Clear.”

      Mercy stepped back and almost turned to leave, but she couldn’t. A sort of morbid amazement held her there, watching the scene of horror play out before her. She gripped the door frame. A loud pop and flash preceded the stench of burned flesh. An electrode had blown. Lauren and Dr. Bower checked for signs of life while another nurse replaced the electrode.

      “No change,” Dr. Bower said.

      Mercy felt sick. Mom should be here to see what her crazy order was doing to Grandma. But then, Mom, too, had suffered enough.

      Again they shocked, and Mercy could not bring herself to leave. CPR resumed. The longer they worked, the more convinced she became that Grandma was already far past their so-called help. And that meant she was also past any more pain.

      Dr. Bower called a halt a seeming eternity later. Mercy did not move until he pronounced the time of death.

      She stepped from the doorway as the code team cleaned up the mess of scattered monitor strips and plastic wrapping that had been tossed on the floor during the code. One by one, they filed out past her, some avoiding her eyes as if ashamed of the work they had just done.

      Lauren stopped and laid a tanned, slender hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dr. Mercy.” Tears filled her pretty green eyes.

      “So am I, Lauren. Thanks for calling me over.”

      “It was Dr. Bower’s request. Your mom told us not to.”

      “Figures.” Mercy was thirty-nine, and Mom had still not overcome the need to hem her in with maternal over-protectiveness. Often it rankled. It showed lack of respect for Mercy’s ability to cope. For goodness’ sake, she was a doctor.

      Dr. Bower paused for a moment at the bedside, his hand resting gently on Grandma’s arm, his head bent and eyes closed. When the last team member had left the room, Mercy walked over to stand beside the man and gaze into Grandma’s silent, scarred face.

      Dr. Bower raised his head and looked at her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Richmond, I’ve been told she was a much loved lady.” He had a kind voice, deep and masculine, but with a gentle quality.

      Mercy nodded, dry eyed. “She was.”

      “I apologize for my abruptness. I could have handled the situation better.”

      The sincerity in his voice disarmed her. She’d been prepared for battle when she came in here. Now she felt spent. Empty. “I wouldn’t let you.” She shook her head. “I had always sworn that I would never do to another doc what patients and families have done to me, and here I led the pack—aided by my mother, of course. I know the law, Dr. Bower. It’s just that she’s my grandma.” Her voice caught, and her professional demeanor abandoned her for a moment. Her throat ached with tears she refused to shed. She was grateful for the man’s thoughtful silence.

      “My mother died of metastatic breast cancer three years ago,” he said after a few moments. “I remember the feelings of helplessness and anger. I wanted to do so much more for her, and there was nothing more to do except keep her comfortable. Had we revived your grandmother…”

      “I know.”

      There was another pause, then Dr. Bower asked, “Would you like me to go with you to tell your mother?”

      Mercy took a final look at Grandma and turned away. “No, thank you. It’ll be best coming from me.”

      He hesitated. “Did you not have a chance to discuss the DNR form with your mother?”

      “I tried. Mom wouldn’t talk about it.”

      “It’s a difficult subject to discuss. I gathered that your mother was the main caregiver.”

      “Yes. I tried to help more, just to keep her from exhausting herself.” Mercy shook her head. “Mom can be stubborn and self-sufficient. She’s lost so much sleep lately…she hasn’t been her usual, rational self—not that she’s ever been a perfect example of rationality.” Why was she talking to this stranger like this? And a man, to boot.

      “I know what you mean,” he said. “My father was the same way after Mom’s death. Be patient with your mother. This kind of grief and exhaustion can do strange things to the mind. And it can last a lot longer than anyone expects.”

      “Let me talk to Mom.” She forced a smile and looked again into those blue eyes. “It’ll be easier for all of us.”

      A few moments later, after taking a drink of water from the fountain and a few deep breaths to compose herself, Mercy opened the door to the private waiting room. The first thing she saw was Mom standing there in the middle of the floor, glaring in her direction.

      “Where is that blasted doctor? I told them not to call you yet.” Ivy Richmond turned to pace across the room toward the thickly cushioned sofa on the far side, then back again. “It’s been over an hour, and no one has seen fit to tell me anything. Do you know that man came in here and asked for permission to just let Mother die?”

      “Grandma had an advance directive, Mom.”

      “How can he just take it upon himself to decide who is and who isn’t worthy to live? Mother couldn’t have known what she was doing when she signed that form.” Tears filled Ivy’s eyes. “Oh, Mother.”

      Mercy’s eyes grew moist, too. She’d thought they would have been drained of emotion months ago, but the stages of grief had continued to batter them. Right now confusion ran high, and Mercy knew Mom was exhausted and weak from too many nights of sleeplessness.

      Ivy jerked another tissue from the box on an end table and blew her reddened nose. “I wish they hadn’t called you against my wishes.”

      “It’s a good thing they did.”

      Ivy stiffened at those words.

      “She’s gone, Mom.”

      Ivy’s face twisted into a mask of pain. “Mother wasn’t ready to die.”

      Mercy closed the door behind her and took a seat on the nearby recliner, perching on the edge with her hands in her pockets. “We’re the ones who weren’t ready.”

      Ivy turned away. “I can’t believe my own daughter, the learned doctor, cannot grasp the reality of an afterlife.”

      Mercy suppressed a sigh. Now was not the time to bring up that old argument again, but if Mom had found peace in her so-called God these past few years, where was that peace now?

      Ivy reached up toward her chest with both hands and bent forward, as if on a sob.

      “Mom…?”

      Ivy shook her head.

      Mercy stepped up and laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom? Are you okay?”

      Slowly Ivy straightened and turned around. Her face was as gray as the clouds gathering outside, but she nodded and patted Mercy’s hand.

      “I’ll be fine. This just brings back so many memories.”

      “I know.” Mercy’s father had also died a lingering, painful death five years ago. That was when Mom had suddenly started babbling about “finding Jesus.” At the time, Mercy was sure she would get over it, but she hadn’t. Where was her Jesus now?

      Ivy took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “That doctor is dangerous. He doesn’t hold human life sacred. He tried to manipulate me into allowing Mother to die. He was going to go over my head to keep from doing anything for her. Did he even try to save her?”

      “He called a code. I saw it.”

      “How