The cutting edge, p.26
The Cutting Edge, page 26
Suddenly, a puzzled look replaced the pain in his eyes. He didn’t seem to understand compassion or maybe his life had been so void of love that he didn’t recognize it. Either way it was so very sad.
Hearing a siren, Leslie jumped up and ran outside just in time to see a police car and rescue unit roll up, closely followed by Hunter’s Jeep. Rosatelli was the first person to get to Leslie.
“What happened?” The captain demanded.
“You had the wrong guy,” she explained. “The guy who attacked me came back and this time tried to kill me. His plan backfired, literally. He’s in the kitchen and has been badly burned.”
Leading the paramedics into the house the captain left Leslie outside. Looking across the porch, she opened her arms and Angel raced across the wooden planks to her. Not far behind her was Hunter.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Nodding her head, Leslie sank to her knees and hugged Angel even harder. Smiling, the little girl whispered, “I told you it would be all right.”
“You sure did, honey.”
A few seconds later, Rosatelli ambled out the front door. Scratching his head, he offered a far from official assessment of the situation. “I don’t know if there is real justice, not here on earth anyway, but maybe there’s a price that some people pay that amounts to a living hell for their crimes. The boys in there tell me that Spence might make it, barring infection. And if he does, he’s burned so badly, he’ll be a man without a face. All things considered, it seems like God’s extracted a fair judgment.”
Moments later, paramedics rushed a stretcher carrying Jake Spence to the waiting vehicle. As they drove off, Leslie picked up Angel in her arms and turned to Rosatelli. “No, Captain, what happened to him did not come about by God’s hand, but rather by his own. He chose his own pain and his own downfall, and yet even now, after he’s lost his face, freedom, and misplaced pride, he still has time to choose a better life and a better tomorrow.”
She took a deep breath before continuing, “My scars were only skin deep, his go clear to his soul. They are rooted there. He has probably always felt ugly. But God can heal those deeply seated scars too.”
Pushing a strand of blonde hair away from Angel’s face, Leslie turned her attention back to the ambulance, “Every tragedy is either a turning point or the end. Jake is now on the cutting edge of life, and I pray that he doesn’t sever the ties of hope. I’m sure grateful that I found someone—make that two someones—who wouldn’t let me.”
Feeling Hunter’s strong hands on her shoulders, even as Angel wrapped her arms tightly around Leslie’s neck, she fell back into his arms. Never had Leslie Rhoads felt so secure or so needed.
73
I didn’t expect to see you today,” Marsha noted as Meg walked through the employee’s entrance of Springfield Community Hospital.
“Well, you notice I’m not exactly in uniform,” she laughed while pointing to the red suit. “This is just one of my best outfits and I wouldn’t waste it on you all.”
“And pretty it is and so are you,” the on-duty nurse agreed. “Now, why are you here? I thought the bridal shower was today.”
“It is,” Meg replied, setting her purse down on the counter, “but I forgot to take my present home last night. Left it at my station. So, I had to drive ten minutes out of my way to get it. You are coming to the wedding aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Marsha answered. “You know it doesn’t seem possible that it’s been almost a year since it happened.”
“A lot has happened in those fifty-two weeks,” Meg added. “Jake and his brother are locked up for a long time, they found and convicted the other gang members, and the Woodson kid is getting the help he needs, too. Once he gets clean and finishes his short stretch in prison, maybe he can get his life back on the right track.”
“If it hadn’t been for Leslie,” Marsha noted, “that boy would have gotten a much longer sentence. I don’t know how she could ask the courts to forgive a kid who helped hold her down during the attack.”
“Forgiveness is not easy,” Meg agreed, “but somehow out of this tragic experience, Leslie has made such a wonderful turnaround. Now she is going to be a bride one day, and through the miracle of love and the state courts, a mother the next. It is amazing that her pain brought hope to a hopeless child.”
Marsha nodded, “I’m so glad the adoption worked out so easily. Angel couldn’t have found a better mother, and father for that matter. But I still can’t believe Leslie, you know, doesn’t lash out. She was so beautiful before this happened.”
“Maybe more beautiful now,” Meg said.
Meg slipped down the hall to the nurse’s station, pulled her wrapped present from under the counter, and returned to Marsha. Waving, she started to leave only to be stopped by another voice belonging to Molli Cassle.
“I saw your cousin yesterday,” the nurse announced as she ran up and hugged Meg. “Seeing her reminded me of the shower and, of course, that reminded me of shopping. And you know how I love to shop. Can you give this to her?”
“Sure,” Meg answered, “just set it on top of mine.”
“Meg?” Molli’s tone indicated a question was coming.
“Yes.”
“Did Leslie have another round of surgery? I couldn’t believe how great she looked. I mean I figured Parks must have done the third round while I was on vacation and no one told me. I mean the scars are still there, but they don’t jump out now. In fact, when I ran into her at the mall, she was radiant.”
Smiling, Meg shook her head. “No, Molli, Leslie’s been too busy going to school and getting ready for the wedding to schedule it. But you’re right, she does look good. I think her secret’s coming from the inside and blossoming out or maybe she just isn’t someone who can be scarred too deeply. Whatever it is, I know she’s happy. I’m sure she is right with herself and God, and I feel she is immersed in that special kind of love few folks know. I think, my dear nurses, and heaven knows I’m not belittling our profession, but the greatest gift of healing can’t be found in a hospital.”
Grinning, Molli asked, “By the way, what did you get her for a wedding present? You know her better than anyone, so you probably got the perfect gift. You’ve got to tell us what is it?”
Smiling, Meg answered, “A glass slipper.”
“What?” Molli was stunned
“A glass slipper,” Meg giggled. As she walked toward the door she added, “After all, could anything be more perfect for Cinderella?”
Discussion Questions
1. Leslie did not consider the opportunity to star in the perfume ad for very long before deciding to accept the offer. Who do you believe was the person most responsible for her sacrificing her principles to take the job: her agent, her mother, or Leslie herself? Why?
2. How much did Leslie’s magazine cover shot have to do with what transpired in the alley? Would things have turned out differently if she had not been perceived as a famous and wealthy celebrity?
3. We don’t find out what Meg told Leslie’s parents when she called to let them know about the attack and Leslie’s injuries. What would you have said if you had to deliver that news? What could you have told them that could have cushioned their shock?
4. Carlee, Leslie’s agent, has a much different reaction to the full nature of Leslie’s injuries than anyone else. Is Carlee’s reaction a normal one for a woman in her profession? Do you believe, as Carlee stated early in the book, that in the business world people are nothing more than products? And does it have to be that way for a business to make profits? Why?
5. Why do you believe that Hunter Jefferson was initially interested in reconnecting with Leslie? Was he more driven by a need for friendship, an old crush, or pity?
6. What does Hunter bring into Leslie’s life that her parents do not?
7. Why is Meg so important in helping Leslie come to grips with the reality of a life without physical beauty?
8. Angel takes one look at Leslie and says, “So even if God hates you, I’m not scared of you.” How common is that kind of thinking in Christian circles? Have you thought that God must hate you? Do bad things happen to people because God makes them happen? Why doesn’t He stop the pain and suffering?
9. Leslie closes the curtains and hides in the dark because of her injuries. What are some other reasons people pull out of the real world and hide behind closed doors?
10. Who is more responsible for Leslie coming to grips with her condition and deciding to give life another shot? Hunter or Angel?
11. What do you see as Leslie’s mother’s biggest flaw? And how has the dynamic of her marriage allowed it to fester and grow?
12. Why do you believe that Leslie suddenly found the courage to face Jake?
13. What was the symbolism of Leslie feeling the need to protect Angel from Jake?
14. Was the price Jake paid at the end of the story enough? Was it fitting?
We hope you enjoyed reading The Cutting Edge and that you will continue to read Abingdon Press fiction books. Here’s an excerpt from Ace Collins’s Darkness Before Dawn.
1
When it first reached the inner most depths of her dreams, Meg Richards thought the distant noise came from the alarm clock rousing her for another day of work at the hospital. As she struggled to rise and shake off her deep slumber, the ringing sound stopped. As it did, she fell back onto the bed. But a second later, like a determined mosquito, it came back for a second strike. This time, awake enough to separate dream from reality, she began to understand her cell phone demanded her attention. She didn’t want to leave her dreams to answer it, and, if she had known who was waiting on the other end of the line, she wouldn’t have. But she couldn’t let phones ring; it wasn’t in her nature. When a phone rang, her curiosity always won out over everything, including her need for sleep.
Awkwardly rolling out of bed, her feet finding the cool slats of the wooden floor, she blinked a half dozen times until she could finally focus on her clock. 2:32 a.m.!
Trying to shake the grogginess from her head, she moaned, “What could anyone want at this time of night?” Even as her heavy eyelids closed out the world, she halfway fell forward toward the sound.
“Steve,” she mumbled looking over her shoulder to the other side of the bed, “who could be calling at this time of the night or morning or whatever it is?” Then it hit her. There could only be one answer. “Steve, I swear, if this is the hospital calling …”
As she glanced over her shoulder, she momentarily froze. The far side of the bed was empty; the covers hadn’t even been pulled back. What had happened to her husband? Hilldale’s only a couple of hours away. He should have been home long ago. Ah, nothing to worry about, probably just got delayed by something unexpected on his job. Not the first time and wouldn’t be the last time that had happened. Besides, with her bizarre schedule, she had no room to complain.
Like a boxer struggling to find his balance in the late rounds of a title fight, Meg unwrapped her lithe, five-foot-two inch frame from the sheet and bedspread and stumbled out of the bedroom. Eight short steps led into the small apartment’s living room. Hurrying past the couch, she sprinted to an end table on the far side of the fourteen-by-twelve-foot room.
“I should keep the charger closer to the bed,” she muttered as she searched for the lamp’s switch. By the time its harsh light flooded the room, the phone had completed its sixth ring. On the seventh, the voice mail would make her short trek a complete waste of time, so she had to hurry. Finally, with a few more of the sleep-induced cobwebs shaken from her mind, Meg cleared her throat, picked up the iPhone, slid it on, and tapped accept.
“Hello?” She spit her one-word greeting with a perturbed and questioning tone. She knew who it had to be. After all, who else would call at this time of the night except the hospital wanting her to come in early again. And this was not a night she wanted to give up her sleep for rounds at Springfield Community. She’d done that far too much the past few months. This week alone she had pulled two double shifts and those had left her dead on her feet. It was time for them to hire a few more nurses, ones that could be depended upon, rather than overworking the staff they already had!
“Mrs. Richards?”
Surprisingly it wasn’t her boss, Hospital Administrator John Willis. This was another voice. One she didn’t know. Before she had time to answer the man’s first simple question, he grew more specific and demanding. “Is this the home of Megan Richards?”
What in the world did this stranger want at this time of the night and how did he get her number? She wavered for a second, questioning if it was wise to share any personal information. She glanced over to her door and made sure it was locked before hesitantly replying. “Yes, this is Megan Richards. Who are you?”
“Mrs. Richards, this is Officer Roland Johnson with the state police. Is your husband’s name Steven?”
His query froze her in her tracks. Not only couldn’t she answer, she couldn’t even breathe, much less move. It was as if a summer fog had invaded the living room and surrounded her in a haze so deep she could barely see. She stole a glance at the wedding photo hanging on the wall just a few feet away. As it came into focus, a chill raced down her spine and then a thousand random thoughts all flashed through her head. Each of those thoughts was crowding another one for space. Her throat grew dry and her knees weak as her brain tried to push out of the fog. Surprisingly, in a few short seconds her mind had driven the fog away and she was once more processing information. And as clarity set in, she sensed the call’s meaning. Something had happened! That’s why Steven hadn’t come home.
She knew the routine. As a nurse, she had seen it play out a hundred times. There had to have been an accident. That’s the only reason the police would call. But, no, that couldn’t be it. She wouldn’t let herself even consider that. It had to be something much more routine. It just had to be!
It suddenly felt as if an unseen hand had found her throat and was squeezing with more force each second. Finding the corner of the couch with her free hand, she slowly crumpled into a sitting position on the arm. Glancing back to the wedding photo, she transported to the moment Steve asked her to marry him. It was in the park, the moon had been full and there were more stars than she’d ever seen. She could now smell the trees and feel the wind. Only the man’s distant voice coming from her phone kept her from staying in that “safe” place.
“Mrs. Richards … are you still there … Mrs. Richards?”
She knew that tone all too well. She’d heard doctors use it when sharing a bleak prognosis and pastors employ it when informing a person their son or daughter had just died. She had heard it so much she had a name for it—“dark music.” Now that old familiar, stormy tune had been cued up for her. That man on the phone would soon hit the chord that shattered her world into a million pieces. He’d probably been practicing the words that went with the “dark music” for at least ten minutes. He’d likely said them over and over to make sure they stung as little as possible. What if she hung up the phone and cut the “dark music” off before the song began? After all, if she didn’t hear the lyrics, the story they told wouldn’t be real. Would it?
Her voice still muted, her eyes glued on the wedding portrait, she studied the good-looking groom. It came to her then, the picture was speaking a phrase he’d once said and it began to bounce off the walls. At first it was just one single voice whispering the five words, but in a matter of seconds it seemed as if a thousand different people were screaming that one line in unison.
’Til death do us part! ’Til death do us part! ’Til death do us part! ’Til death do us part!
She wanted to throw the phone against the wall, cover her ears with her hands, and race back to bed. She didn’t want the song to play out because the “dark music” always brought parting. No, much more than separation; the “dark music” always brought death!
“Mrs. Richards.” The voice on the phone wouldn’t go away. It kept demanding she rejoin the conversation. She knew she had to answer that voice and prayed her premonitions were wrong, but even as her lips began to form words, her heart demanded she remain silent. Finally, it was her lips that won the tug-of-war over her emotions.
“Yes. I’m Meg Richards.” The words all but caught in her throat, hanging there like a cough drop that had gone down the wrong way, robbing her of air and stealing whatever hope she had left.
Why did this happen now? Why in the middle of the night? Why when everything had just started to go so right? After another deep breath that did nothing to slow her racing heart or ease her growing fears, she whispered the most painful words that had ever crossed her lips, “Has something happened to Steve?”
“Mrs. Richards,” the man’s voice was now flat, almost emotionless, as if trying to be empathetic, but lacking the knowledge as to how to accomplish that task. He forced out another “Mrs. Richards,” before pausing again. Was he tone deaf or had he not been trained in how to sing the “dark music’s” tune. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t seem to impart the heartfelt emotion that this number called for. If something had happened to Steve, there needed to be deep emotion in the “dark music,” his life demanded that much. But when the voice came back, it was flat and emotionless.
“Mrs. Richards.” He was now distant and robotic. No one could do justice to the “dark music” like that. But that didn’t matter now. She hadn’t got to choose the singer or the song. “I am sorry to have to inform you that there has been an accident. Your husband’s car was hit by a vehicle carrying a group of teenagers. I don’t know if I should provide you with this information, but from what we have been able to gather, the youngsters had been drinking.”
