Shirley, Goodness and Mercy Read online

  After all these years, it was payback time. Greg had deserted a woman in need; Phil hadn’t known Catherine well, but he’d liked her…and he’d heard rumors about a pregnancy. Then, perhaps worst of all, Greg had ignored his own mother on her deathbed, and when Phil had confronted him, he hadn’t shown any genuine remorse.

  Naturally, because of his religious beliefs, Phil tried not to hate his brother. He was willing to admit, though, that he felt strongly antagonistic toward Greg, not to mention gleeful about his financial woes.

  He hadn’t missed the fact that the one place Greg hadn’t come to apply for a loan was Pacific Union. A wise decision. Given the opportunity, Phil would have relished personally refusing his brother’s application. More than that, he’d done everything he could to make sure Greg didn’t obtain funding. Actually, he’d handled that situation in a pretty clever way. He’d sent word through the banking community that when an application came to them from Bennett Wines, no one was to accept it. He’d given the impression that he’d be the one helping his brother.

  If Sandy learned about this, she’d be furious. She’d accuse him of sabotaging Greg’s business, but that wasn’t how Phil viewed it. All he’d done was make sure Greg didn’t get anything he didn’t deserve. It’d probably be the first time, too. From childhood on, Greg had been the favored son. His fascination with that damned vineyard had guaranteed his special position with their father. And perhaps because he was the youngest, Greg had been coddled by their mother.

  Even when she was dying, she’d made excuses for him. It was now ten years since they’d buried their mother, and every time Phil thought about the funeral, the fury he still felt toward his brother threatened to consume him.

  The grief Greg had shown was as phoney as a three-dollar bill. If he’d cared even a little about their mother, he would have come to the hospital when she asked for him. They’d known her illness was terminal! Nothing could have been more important; nothing should have kept him away. When Phil found out that Greg had chosen to attend the settlement hearing on his divorce case instead, he’d completely lost his temper.

  The two brothers had nearly come to blows at the wake. What irked Phil the most was the grieving-son act Greg had put on for family and friends.

  Grieving? Yeah, right.

  Phil had been appalled by the number of people who seemed to fall for Greg’s act. Phil had been hurting, too, but he’d disciplined himself not to show his emotions. Grief was private, after all. He’d also grown accustomed to the reality of her death, because he’d been there. His mother’s illness had lasted several months, and Phil had been the one to sit at her bedside, to read to her and comfort her.

  Sure, his brother had come to visit on occasion, but he always had a convenient excuse for not staying long. In the beginning it was because he was harvesting the grapes. That was followed by the wine-production period, which he said demanded constant supervision. During the last months of their mother’s life, Greg had been involved in his divorce, too. His second divorce.

  As far as Phil was concerned, his brother’s marital problems were exactly what he deserved. The first wife, who’d lasted ten years, was bad enough. The second one, who looked shockingly like the first, had stayed around three years, possibly four, he couldn’t remember. Phil had heard that there was a third Mrs. Greg Bennett, and he couldn’t help wondering if she’d go the way of her predecessors.

  “Phil, hurry, or we’re going to be late,” Sandy called from the kitchen.

  They’d finished dinner and washed their few dishes, and while Sandy was collecting the sheet music, Phil watched the last of the national news.

  “I’m ready,” he called back, turning off the TV. Preoccupied with thoughts of his brother, Phil hadn’t heard a word of the newscast.

  The church parking lot was only partially filled when they arrived. The choir director smiled in greeting, but didn’t allow anyone to waste time. The Christmas cantata was only two weeks away, and there remained plenty of room for improvement.

  The choir members gathered on the bleachers; as a tenor, Phil stood in the back row behind the women singing first soprano. It wasn’t until they started the first song that he noticed the blonde standing directly in front of him. He’d never heard anyone with a more spectacular voice. It was hard to remember his own part. The woman’s clear strong voice was so stunning he was completely distracted.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said during the break.

  She turned around and smiled. “We haven’t.”

  “Phil Bennett,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yes. I know quite a bit about you, Mr. Bennett.”

  This was something. Phil squared his shoulders a bit, feeling downright flattered by this lovely woman’s interest.

  The director was pleased with their performance and after an hour and a half, dismissed them for the night.

  “We sounded quite good, didn’t we?” Sandy said on the drive home.

  “I thought so, too. By the way, who was the woman standing in front of me?”

  “Mrs. Hansen?”

  “No, the blonde.”

  His wife cast him a curious look. “There wasn’t any blonde standing in front of you.”

  “Yes, there was. We spoke. You couldn’t have missed her, Sandy. She had the most angelic voice. Really gifted.”

  Sandy laughed softly. “And what was her name?”

  Phil hesitated, trying to remember. “I don’t believe she gave it to me.”

  “I see.” Although Sandy wasn’t actually smiling, he heard the amusement in her voice.

  “I’m telling you there was a blond woman standing in front of me, and she sang like no one I’ve ever heard.”

  “If you say so, darling.”

  Women! If Sandy hadn’t seen the blonde for herself, Phil couldn’t make her believe she’d been there. Next practice, he’d be sure to introduce the woman to his wife. Then he’d see what Sandy had to say.

  Six

  “Goodness!” Shirley waited until the church had emptied before chastising her fellow angel. She just didn’t know how to handle Goodness and Mercy. Their antics were going to get them permanently expelled from earth. “You had to do it, didn’t you?”

  At least Goodness had the decency to look properly repentant. “You’re right, I know you’re right, but I couldn’t stand the smug way Phil Bennett was acting. From the moment he heard about his brother’s problems, he was beside himself with pleasure. All his talk about being a good Christian, too!”

  “We aren’t here to deal with Phil Bennett.”

  “But he’s part and parcel of what’s happening to Greg.”

  “Well, yes, and no…”

  “I don’t think we need to worry,” Mercy told her. “If Gabriel’s going to be upset with us, it’ll be because of what happened with the hot-air balloon. Goodness singing in a church choir is minor compared to that.”

  Shirley had done her utmost to put the balloon episode out of her mind, and Mercy’s reference did nothing to calm her already tattered nerves. “Please, don’t remind me.”

  “If Gabriel didn’t hear about that, then we don’t need to—” Mercy stopped midsentence. A panic-stricken look came over her face, and she blinked several times before she said, “Oh…hello, Gabriel.”

  “Hello, Gabriel,” Goodness repeated, wide-eyed and subservient.

  “The Archangel Gabriel to you,” their boss said sternly.

  Feeling slightly light-headed, Shirley turned around and swallowed nervously. She opened her mouth to offer a multitude of excuses and saw that it would do no good. Their chances of putting something over on the archangel were virtually nil.

  “I’m here for a progress report,” he announced in the same controlled voice.

  Goodness and Mercy both gazed pleadingly at Shirley, silently begging her to respond. She glared at them. When she tried to speak, her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.


  “Well?” Gabriel muttered. “I’m waiting.”

  “Greg talked to Catherine and he knows he fathered a son,” Shirley blurted out.

  “Are you telling me that after thirty-five years, Greg just happened to stumble upon Catherine?” Gabriel demanded.

  Shirley was never sure how much Gabriel knew of their antics, but suspected he was aware of it all. The questions were most likely a test to see how much they’d learned….

  All three nodded in unison.

  The archangel’s frown darkened. “Thanks to a tableful of spilled crab, as I understand it.”

  “Yes, but that was only a means—”

  “To an end,” Gabriel completed for Mercy.

  “Yes, and it worked very nicely, in my humble opinion,” Goodness said in a bold rush. “It seemed a shame for the two of them to be in the same place after all those years and not know it. Really, all I did was point Greg out to Catherine. It was up to her to ignore or confront him.”

  “Yes,” Mercy agreed. “Greg never did appreciate Catherine’s strength.”

  “In other words, you’re telling me,” Gabriel said thoughtfully, “that Catherine chose to face him?”

  Again all three nodded as one.

  Gabriel’s smile seemed involuntary. “The truth is, Catherine has Greg to thank for that inner strength. She gained it when he deserted her.”

  “They might never have met again if it hadn’t been for those spilled crabs.” Goodness made her foolishness sound like an act of genius.

  Gabriel didn’t look pleased—nor should he, Shirley reasoned. But that one antic had worked beautifully. She’d admit it now, even though she hadn’t approved at the time.

  “Do you have anything else to report?” Gabriel asked.

  The three glanced at one another and shrugged.

  “We’ve been to visit Matthias in the Seattle area,” Mercy told him in an offhand manner meant to suggest that Gabriel probably already knew about it. “He still hates Greg, but he’s more concerned about his grandson’s condition just now.”

  “Ah, yes,” Gabriel said, frowning again. “I’ve heard something about that. Cancer, is it?”

  Shirley nodded. “The same form of leukemia that killed the boy’s grandmother.” Then, because she wanted to impress upon the archangel that their time on earth had been well spent, she said, “We’ve been to see Greg’s brother, as well. Phil Bennett. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Gabriel assured them. “I didn’t realize Goodness enjoyed singing in choirs as much as she does. I’m sure she’ll volunteer to be part of the heavenly host next year—is that correct?”

  “Ah…” Goodness waited desperately for Shirley to rescue her, but Shirley was in no mood to offer assistance. She might have leaped in to save her friend, if not for that escapade with the hot-air balloon. She felt mortified every time she thought about it. True, the sparkling wine had gone a long way toward tempering her anger, but…

  “I’ll be happy to serve wherever assigned,” Goodness stated with a woeful look in Shirley’s direction.

  Gabriel arched his brows as if to say her willingness surprised him. “I find your attitude a refreshing change from when we last spoke.”

  “Singing with the heavenly host isn’t my favorite Christmas duty,” Goodness was quick to add, “but I’ll serve wherever you feel I’d do best.”

  Once again Gabriel’s expression implied that he was having trouble believing her. “Anything else you’d like to report?” he finally asked.

  “Not a thing,” Shirley said, eager for him to be on his way.

  “None.”

  “Nothing I can think of.”

  He stared at the three of them. “All right, then, carry on. Just remember there are less than three weeks until Christmas.”

  “Oh, yes,” they said in unison. They’d made a lucky escape, Shirley felt. Gabriel hadn’t even mentioned the hot-air balloon.

  “It was very good of you to check up on us,” Goodness said.

  That was overdoing it, in Shirley’s opinion. She resisted the urge to step on the other angel’s foot.

  “Oh, yes,” Mercy chimed in. “Stop by again any time.” For good measure, she added a small wave.

  Shirley sent both Goodness and Mercy looks potent enough to perm their hair.

  Gabriel turned away, then abruptly turned back. “I had no idea you three enjoyed wine.”

  Not one of them uttered a word. Shirley swallowed hard, certain they were going to be plucking harp strings on some cloud for the remainder of their careers.

  “I don’t suppose you happened to notice the label, did you?” he asked.

  No one answered.

  “That’s what I thought,” Gabriel said. “It was the Bennett label. Greg Bennett is a talented wine maker. It would be a pity for him to go out of business, don’t you think?” Not giving them the opportunity to respond, Gabriel whisked back to the realms of glory.

  Greg Bennett had an aversion to the antiseptic smell that permeated hospitals. It nearly overpowered him the minute he walked through the large glass doors of San Francisco General. His dislike of hospitals was linked to his mother’s long stay before her death, he supposed. That, and his own revulsion to needles and blood.

  He paused at the information center.

  “Can I help you?” a much-too-perky candy striper asked him.

  “Where might I find Dr. Edward Thorpe?”

  “Oh, you’re here about the article. That’s wonderful!”

  Article? What article? Greg hadn’t a clue, but he played along as if he did. His son had decided he didn’t want to meet him, and that was his choice, but Greg wanted to see Edward. Needed to see him. He wasn’t going to make an issue of it, wasn’t going to announce who he was. He didn’t plan to cause a scene or even call attention to himself. It was just that his curiosity had gotten the better of him….

  Greg realized he’d given up his parental rights years ago, but he couldn’t leave matters as they were. Not now that he knew Catherine had borne the child.

  Catherine had mentioned the physical resemblance between them, and Greg felt an urge to simply see his son. He doubted they’d exchange a word. Without ever knowing him, without wanting to know him, Edward had rejected Greg.

  Like father, like son.

  “Take the elevator to the fifth floor.” The young woman at the information desk pointed toward the row of elevators on the opposite side of the lobby. “Tell the nurse at the desk that you’re here for the blood test.”

  “Ah.” Greg hesitated. Did she say blood? He was most definitely not interested in anything to do with blood.

  “I think it’s wonderful of you,” she added with a sweetness that made him want to cringe.

  Greg didn’t feel wonderful. Furthermore, he had no intention of giving anyone a drop of his blood. Not without one hell of a fight first.

  “Dr. Edward Thorpe—you’re sure he’s there?”

  “He’s on the fifth floor,” the woman assured him. “Just ask for him at the nurses’ station.”

  “Thank you,” he said, turning toward the bank of elevators.

  “No, thank you,” she called after him.

  Greg got off the elevator at the fifth floor and to his surprise walked into a corridor filled with people. As instructed, he headed for the nurses’ station, but before he could say a word, he was handed a clipboard.

  “Complete the form, sign the bottom of the page and bring this back to me when you’re finished.”

  Greg stared at the woman. “What’s it for?”

  “We need you to fill out the questionnaire and sign the release if we’re going to take your blood.” Unlike the perky candy striper, this one looked harassed and overworked.

  “I realize that, but—”

  “Just read the form. If you have any questions after that, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

  That sounded fair enough. Greg joined the others, sat down and read the page. It was ex
actly what the nurse had said. Basically, San Francisco General was requesting permission to draw blood. Not that he’d give it. Not in this lifetime.

  As soon as he finished reading the form, he knew it was time to leave. He was about to pick himself up and discreetly disappear when a physician entered the room.

  Conversation stopped as the man stood before the group and started to speak. Greg glanced up and froze. It was Edward. He recognized him immediately, long before he looked at the identification badge that hung around his neck.

  “Has everyone finished signing the waiver?” Dr. Thorpe asked. “If you’ve decided this isn’t something that interests you, you can leave now. We appreciate your time. For those of you who wish to continue, we promise to make this as quick and painless as possible. Before you know it, you’ll be on your way.”

  Three or four people left the room.

  Greg could follow them or proceed with this. Swallowing his natural aversion, he quickly signed his name. Okay, so he had to give a little of his blood. No big deal. He’d give a lot more if it meant he could spend a few minutes getting to know his son.

  Catherine was right about one thing. Edward was tall and distinguished-looking, but as far as family resemblance went, Greg didn’t see it. Still, he couldn’t stop staring. This was his son. Edward looked good. Damn good. One glance had told Greg that his son was everything he wasn’t. Dedicated. Compassionate. Smart.

  “I’ll need that,” the nurse said as Greg shuffled past.

  He gave her the clipboard and walked down the corridor, along with the others.

  “Before we go any farther,” Edward said, “I want to personally thank each of you for your generous response to the recent newspaper article. We didn’t have this many volunteers in the entire month of November. I’d like to think the Christmas spirit has touched us all. Does anyone have any questions?”

  A man with prematurely white hair raised his hand. “What will happen if we’re a match?”

  While Edward talked about obscure-sounding medical procedures, Greg leaned toward the woman standing ahead of him. “A match for what?”