Episode 027

Mercy struggles to stay alive. Jequon struggles with keeping his promise.

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CHAPTER 26

The good Samaritan leans out over the port-side rail and extends a J-hooked aluminum rescue pole in our direction. Mercy's lost consciousness again; out, well, ‘cold' as soon as she'd pointed out the, ahem, ‘Answered Prayer.'

"Heave-to," he calls out, signaling an unseen skipper who swings the bow windward and flaps the main sail, stalling the craft before it straddles us. He shuffles fore until he reaches the trampoline netting standard on most catamarans and to within snagging distance.

"Can you grab on?"

"I'll try."

He wrangles us in alongside the craft like he'd been practicing and tugs us aft to a fold-down swimming platform built into the stern of the craft.

"Her first. She's hypothermic."

A woman appears from an elevated cockpit; late forties, early fifties. Lean, earnest, presumably the man's wife. They each take an arm and pull Mercy out of the water. Sans the buoyancy of  the bay, I struggle up the swimmer's ladder behind her as if I'm suddenly obese, like an astronaut returning from the space station after a long stay.

"You OK?" the man asks.

"I'll be fine."

The three of us carry her into the main cabin and onto built-in faux-leather couch.

"Karen, get her some dry clothes, I'll grab the blankets."

She's a step ahead of him, having already disappeared down two stairs leading into the starboard hull.

He thrusts out his hand. Callused. Wiry like the man himself. A single pump, but sincere.

"Frank."

 "Patrick."

"That's my wife, Karen," he says on his way after her. From the other room he calls out: "I've got some coveralls that might fit you…a towel?"

"Just her for now, she's barely hanging on."

I feel the side of her neck for a pulse; make sure she's still breathing.

Karen returns with an armload of sweaters, sweatpants, and flannel; Frank in tow with a down comforter. From their own bed no doubt. They dump them at the foot of the couch.

Karen says, "Let's get her undressed and into these. Turn your head, Frank."

Frank faces away almost reverently.

Karen says, "I assume you two are…"

"A couple, yeah."

She removes Mercy's drenched top and bra while I peel off her slacks and socks and underwear, willing myself not to look at what I can't help but see. There's not a damn thing sexual about this situation. I'm only trying to save her life…and still I blush. Half angel, all man. A man she kissed less than an hour ago. A man who's yet to satisfy the curiosity a kiss like that inspires.

Two layers of nappy sweats and wool sweaters and I'm literally relieved.

"You can turn around now. She's decent."

Frank hands Karen a towel for Mercy's hair. "Sorry we don't have an electric blanket or a hair dryer. We figured they weren't worth the draw on our batteries."

"I'm just grateful you pulled us out."

I sit down at Mercy's feet. Drape her legs over my thighs and rub them vigorously. Karen secures a towel around Mercy's head like a turban, and follows my lead on her arms.

"Karen, this is Patrick," Frank says.

"Pleased to meet you, Karen. This is Mercy."

Frank tosses a comforter on the cushion beside Karen. "Here, let's wrap her up in this."

I lift Mercy up off the couch and they spread out the blanket beneath us. A couple folds of the quilted floral print and she's my beautiful burrr-ritto.

Franks says, "You really ought to get out of those clothes. Go. Through that door and to your left. In the dresser. Help yourself to anything that fits.. I'll take over until you get back."

Karen adds, "You can hang your wet ones in the shower."

I'm grateful beyond words and in no state to decline their hospitality. "You sure?" I'm just not used to this kind of selflessness from people. Puts me a little on edge.

"By all means," Frank says.

Karen nods approvingly. "Of course. Please, go get warm. We'll make her toasty. Promise."

"Thanks."

I bring Mercy's discarded outfit to their surprisingly spacious bedroom. Strip down and squeeze into a pair of Frank's coveralls. They're tight in the shoulders so I can't zip them up all the way. Still, dry never felt so good. I head to the head, hang our wets over the shower rod, and return to the main cabin.

"Great. Glad those work for you," Franks says. He seems a little embarrassed massaging another woman's calves in front of his wife. He stands, motioning for me to take over.

Karen nixes what's almost an awkward silence. "Her heart rate's picking up nicely."

Sure enough, the color's returning to Mercy's face; the rise and fall of her chest noticeable even through all the winter-wear and the bedspread.

"Here, I'll let you hold her," Karen says to me. "Frank, you'd better man the helm. We're liable to run into someone out here in the channel. I'll make us some hot tea."

I lift Mercy up and cradle her as if she were a sleeping child; ease back down onto the couch. She snuggles her hips into a more comfortable position on my lap and sighs softly as she nuzzles her face into my chest. Motor-driven cams and gears hum overhead, and sail rigging rattles against the aluminum mast as Frank single-hands the craft back on a leeward tack.

"I'd love some tea," Mercy says to the new people who've arrived in her dream.

"Mercy? You awake?"

At the sound of her name, her eyelids flutter like butterfly wings air-drying dew. She starts to grin, then startles into full wakefulness. She sits up on my lap and scans the window lined room; straightens up to peer outside; locks eyes with Karen, who is filling a tea kettle with water in the galley a few feet away.

"Where am I?" she asks, wriggling her arms free of the tightly wrapped blanket. "What's happening?"

"It's OK. You're safe. This is Karen. Her husband Frank is up in the cockpit. We're on their sailboat. They…rescued us."

Mercy stares directly into my eyes, clearly unsure of who (she thinks) I am. It takes her a second before the last bit of fog clears: her wide-eyed anxiety relaxing into a frown of stoic resignation as recent (and no-doubt surreal) events slowly come back to her.

"Oh…. Oh. Well, Karen, my name is Mercy and I'm pleased to meet you. Thank you for…for saving my life."

"Nice to meet you, Mercy. I'm so glad we weren't too late." She sets down the kettle on the stovetop and lights the gas burner. "What kind of tea would you like? I have Earl Grey, chamomile, fennel, and green with mint."

"Green with mint sounds nice. That's so kind of you. Thank you so much, Karen."

"Patrick, what would you like?"

"The same, thanks."

Mercy shoots me another of her trademark, one-eyebrow-up sideways glances, and seems to notice for the first time that she's sitting on my lap for no good reason amid the sea of empty couch. She slides off my lap, stays next to me.

"Alright," Karen says, "three green-mint teas coming up. Frank likes to drink chamomile at night."

On queue, Frank returns from his captaining duties. "Well look who's joined us in the land of the living. Mercy, I'm Frank. Welcome to our humble abode."

"Pleasure to meet you, Frank-and thank you. Really. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you rescued us. That was brave."

"Well I don't know about ‘brave,' but you're quite welcome. Anyone else would have done the same."

"Not anyone," I say, proving a surreptitious pinch on the leg from Mercy. Tact: not my strong suit. Right up there with small talk.

Mercy says, "So, you two live onboard? How exciting! How long have you been on the water?"

Am I the only one who sees the elephant in the room?

"Five years this Spring," Karen says.

Frank takes a seat across from us in a recliner. "The best five years of our life. Wish we'd have done it sooner."

Why yes I am.

Frank continues, "You two warm enough for a quick tour while we're waiting for the water to boil?"

"Ooh, I'd love that," Mercy says, scooting forward to the edge of her cushion.

"I'd be honored."

Actually, I'm perfectly content to stay out of (rifle) sight below deck, though I can sense this is a good time to follow the lead of a bona-fide people person. And we've cruised far enough to be out of range, so there's no real risk.

For the next fifteen minutes, Frank shares his passion for sailing and the live-aboard-lifestyle, the pros and cons of catamarans versus single-hulled keel boats, and lessons learned the hard way pertaining to equipment selection and provisioning for an extended journey at sea. Mercy peppers him with insightful questions the entire time, and he's thrilled to have such a receptive audience. I'm thrilled for the chance to simply tag along—to collect my thoughts while they bond—and very impressed, too, with Mercy's knack for connecting with people. By the end of our walkthrough it's as if they're father and daughter catching up after a lengthy separation.

Must be nice.

The teakettle whistles as Frank finishes up teaching Mercy the basics of celestial navigation. I've had just enough time to confirm that: a) the SOJ hit-men are indeed private contractors, small in number; b) they've lost us, because otherwise they'd have already assaulted the boat; and c) as much as I'm not a fan of the water, we're safe, dry, and soon to be fed, if, like Mercy, Frank and Karen are also the Minnesotan transplants their accents and hospitality suggests they are. They haven't even bothered to ask us yet how we ended up almost drowning in the bay. The Midwesterner's Creed: eat first, avoid conflict.

"Come and get it," Karen calls up to us.

Sure enough, the smell of chicken and herb flavored Ramen noodles lures us away from the helm. We single-file it down the steps and into the galley and gather ‘round the dining table adjacent.

"Thought you might like some soup to go with the tea. You two must be starving."

"Thanks, Karen. That's so sweet of you. I'd love some," Mercy says.

"You shouldn't have, but I'm so glad you did. Thank you."

Minus the two packs of airplane peanuts on the flight out, I haven't eaten anything going on two days now. Liquid meals don't count.

"You're quite welcome, and there's no sense wasting the extra hot water, now is there?"

During Frank's show-and-tell we learned the importance of rationing supplies while living on the water. Anything that runs out: from water, to electricity, to propane, to diesel—they make it stretch. I wish everyone today was as frugal. A hundred years ago, you could still see the ocean from Sequoia National Park.

Karen serves up two bowls of steaming goodness.

"You're not having any?" I ask.

"Nah. Frank and I already ate."

"Oh, I don't know, sweetheart. That actually smells pretty good. Mind dishing me up a bowl?"

She retrieves another package from a cabinet above the stove. "Oriental flavor is all we have left. That OK?"

"Perfect."

She tears open the wrapper, breaks apart the brick of noodles, and places them in a large bowl before sprinkling the little foil packet of seasoning over the top. Then she sets the bone-dry concoction on a placemat in front of Frank. "I'll heat up more water. And if you guys are still hungry, there's some mac-n-cheese I could whip up."

Mercy can't hide her love for the cheesy deliciousness, and she bats her lashes at me to signal she'd like me to make the request.

"Would it be too much trouble?" I oblige. "All that swinging, swimming and dodging of paddle boats really worked up an appetite."

"No trouble whatsoever."

Mercy frowns disapprovingly at me, as if I'd just farted in an elevator, but I figure it's time someone broaches the topic; that poor elephant's dying of neglect.

Frank grinds his fork into his stack of Ramen wafers. "Listen, we are curious about how you two managed to get yourselves into such a predicament, but let me say this right up front: Neither of you need to worry about us putting our noses where they don't belong. We saw two people in trouble in the water, and we wanted to help. It's our nature. Beginning, middle, and end if that's how you want it…

"Which isn't to say we don't love hearing a good story; I've been known to tell a few myself. Just rest assured that no one ever needs to know you were onboard, and all we ask, is for you to extend the same courtesy. Beyond that, you're our guests and we want to show you a good time. Eat, drink, and be merry."

That's a relief.

Something tells me (Mercy's lips moving perhaps?)  the feeling won't last. "Well there's no reason for us to be rude. Besides, I'm more than a little curious myself: how did you helping me look for a lost friend, lead me to getting shot at, flung off the side of a bridge, and damn near drowned? Do tell, Jequon."

Karen clanks down a pot full of water on the stove burner a little harder than  necessary. "I thought your name was ‘Patrick.'"

 "Patrick's my middle name. It's what I go by, but ever since we started dating, Mercy likes to use my first name whenever I get her flustered."

By the torment of our fathers in darkness she'd better take the hint.

"And how long have we been dating, ‘Patrick?' I think I might have amnesia from  the fall-or maybe it was the boat that slammed into us."

God damn her if she doesn't enjoy pushing my buttons.

Fortunately, Frank's  married, so he's been in the dog house enough times to know he ought to throw me a bone. "Don't-cha-know a beer sounds good to me. Who else wants one?"

"I'll have one." I'm nothing if not opportunistic.

"With tea and ramen?" Karen asks. "I'll pass."

"How a-boot you, young lady?" The accent must creep into his voice when he's nervous.

"Yah, fer sure," Mercy says, picking up on it.

Atta-girl. That buys me a little more time for me to concoct a pseudo-plausible explanation for what happened, though I'm afraid I'll be having a heart-to-heart with someone before morning.

Frank smiles on his way to the fridge. Asks her, "You from Minnesota originally?"

"Born and raised in Detroit Lakes, forty minutes east of Fargo. You?"

He retrieves  us each a bottle of Coors and sits back down. "Yeah, I grew up in Bemidji. Moved to Phoenix when I was nineteen. But after Karen and I got married, we honeymooned up at Rainy Lake, and liked it so much we decided to buy a summer cabin there. Found a little A-frame on an island just a mile south of the Canadian border. It took fifteen summers of tinkering to get it the way we wanted; had to ferry over every beam, board, and nail. In hindsight, I guess living on a sailboat was the natural progression. But boy do I miss that cabin sometimes."

Mercy looks genuinely concerned. "You don't have it anymore? What happened?"

"Bush happened, that's what."

Karen can do the one-eyebrow reproach, too, but it's more subtle than Mercy's. "Come on, Frank. You don't need to bring up politics to tell the story. Next you'll want to torture them with religion." She empties the box of macaroni into the pot of now boiling water (something else we learned on Frank's tour: only on a catamaran would you dare boil a pot of water while under sail).

Frank volleys the Coors cap back and forth between his fingers on the tabletop. "Well, there is a little more to it than that. In truth. I think I told you we became live-aboards two years ago, right? What I didn't mention-because it really has turned out  to be an amazing transition for us-is that it wasn't by choice in the beginning. More of a necessity.

"In late '07 and into '08, when the bottom fell out of the housing market, that was right around the time our adjustable rate mortgage, shall we say, ‘adjusted.' We'd bought a new place on a golf course in Scottsdale just a year earlier. I had a good job, just two years left until retirement, and a what I thought would be a comfortable nest egg. Housing prices had doubled over the last five years, so even though we signed on for a rather creatively structured  loan, we didn't blink, because we had a year before the rates went up, and planned to refinance.

"Then life threw us a curve ball. The company I worked for, unbeknownst to anyone outside of upper management, got caught dealing with a company based in Dubai, which turned out to be on the fed's list of known sponsors of terrorism. No one found out about it until we showed up to work on a Monday and all the doors in the building were locked. The company had filed for bankruptcy, and cleaned everything out over the weekend. My ‘comfortable nest egg' had been tied up in suddenly worthless company stock-stupid, I know, not to have diversified-but I was getting matched contributions from the company, on stock which had  grown 215% annually for the last eight years. Who doesn't take that risk? I only had two years…

"Anyway, to make matters worse, because of an ongoing investigation, every employee who worked there ended up on a ‘persons of interest' list circulated by the Department of Homeland Security. It's against the law for U.S. businesses to hire anyone who appears on that list.

"So, I'd lost my job, wasn't allowed to find another one, and then the housing crisis hits. Banks stopped loaning out money, even for refis, and especially not to unemployed ‘persons of interest' over age sixty. Suddenly, we can't pay the mortgage. And we're not liquid enough to ride it out. We either sell the house, or start selling off assets to cover our monthly nut until the situation improves. The only assets we had to sell, however, were the cabin, and this yacht. And by then, the house in Scottsdale was worth 20-percent less than what we owed. I'd hired an attorney to help me clear my name so I could find work again, but all he managed to do was bleed us dry faster while the feds dragged their feet and justified their B.S. with Bush's pet Patriot Act.

"We asked ourselves what happens after we sell the cabin, sell the yacht, and take out the last bit of our savings to cover the mortgage? What happens is, we still can't pay the mortgage, the house continues to drop in value, and  then we don't have a backup plan. For what? To be able to play golf every day?

"So we did what we had to do. We took a loss on the house. Sold the lake cabin for half of what it was worth, and used most of the proceeds to pay back what we owed the bank. And this yacht, which we'd been gearing up for winter island hopping in the Caribbean, became our fulltime residence instead."

Karen drains the water from the macaroni noodles and stirs in the powdered cheese. "He's too modest to say so, but one of his stock market gambles really paid off, or we wouldn't even have had the yacht as an option."

"Google… Right when it public, I cashed half of the company stock I'd accrued, and bought as much as I could. Personally, I think it had more to do with daily prayer and God's grace than any wise investing on my part-hence the name: ‘Answered Prayer.'"

"You just can't resist talking religion and politics-not even after you offended the Moynihan's last week," Karen scolds.

"It's OK," Mercy says, "I'm not offended in the least. I know exactly what you mean, Frank. Where would any of us be without a little divine intervention in our lives?"

Let it go, Jequon. They don't know any better. Just let it go…

"Let me tell you, if I hadn't been praying the whole way down off that bridge, I doubt either of us would be sitting here. Talk about a miracle."

But she just has to keep blabbing.

"You know, if you're going to give God the credit for ‘ miracles,' then you have to give Him credit for the cluster-fucks, near misses, and missing friends, too.  Just sayin'."

Mercy looks at me with an expression of bewildered disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you? I mean, what did God ever do to you? Look in the mirror, Angel Face: I'd say He doled out more than your fair share of blessings, eh?"

"You see what you've started, Frank?"

Frank takes long swig of beer; nods his head in agreement. "You're right Karen—I'm sorry—but hold on a minute…what's this about a missing friend? I wasn't going to bring it up, but that's the second time you mentioned it…"

Mercy points to their flat-screen TV mounted  to the opposite wall. "You haven't been watching the news lately?"

"Nah. That's just for movies; Disney gets a lot of play when the grandkids come to visit."

"Well it's probably for the best, given the less than flattering portrait the press has been painting of me."

Karen brings over three bowls of mac-‘n-cheese, but Franks waves his off. "I'd better eat this ramen first. Just pour in some hot water."

Mercy also has second thoughts about the macaroni.

"What about you…Patrick?"

"I'll eat mine now, thanks Karen. Smells delicious."

I savor every morsel while Mercy recounts the events on Halloween leading up to Cindy's disappearance; how she lied to police in order to stir up press coverage; how she'd suspected Henry Whitmore from the outset; and how she endured her fair share of harassment after the lie had been exposed and the media reported that Henry and Cindy had filed a restraining order against her before ‘eloping to Mexico.'

"Then, I get a call from him," Mercy says, finishing her story just as I swallow my last bite of mouth-watering cheesy delight (I'm pretty sure Karen snuck in a slice or two of Velveeta when I wasn't looking).

The three of them are eyeing me expectantly. Mercy sighs with exaggerated impatience, says, "This is the part where you jump in and tell us the rest. I for one would love to know what happened inside the Hotel Del…and don't give us any lame crap about it being ‘classified' or some-such nonsense. You're special alright, but you're no ‘special agent.'"

I search her eyes, trying to gauge what she already suspects, and how much I might be reading into her sarcasm. She's really pissing me off though, all but overwhelming any powers of discernment normally available to me. Why doesn't she just get up on the table and dance a jig to: ‘liar, liar, pants on fire…' Of course, I'd be confrontational, too, given all I've put her through today. What's surprising, is that she hasn't confided in Frank or Karen that a madman is holding her hostage; asked them to radio the Coast Guard. Maybe she has. Maybe Karen slipped in something a little more potent than Velveeta into my bowl…

Like what, Jequon? Angel-kill-cake? Get a grip.

"Well?" Mercy says, "are you gonna leave us hanging?"

Karen and Frank are still focused on me so they don't see her mouth the words: ‘we need to talk,' for my sole benefit.

For her soul's benefit, I'm not so sure we do. "I don't mean to be rude, but I could use some fresh air out on the deck right now."

"You want company?" Frank asks.

"I appreciate the offer, but no. A little time to myself would be nice. No offense."

"None taken."

I excuse myself and go outside to stand at the front rail. The downside to the stiff breeze, and a solid cabin wall between us, is that I can't hear a word they're saying.

The upside is, they won't hear the splash.