His Choice

His Choice

Shaunna Gonzales

Copyright 2015 Shaunna Gonzales

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Published by Shaunna Gonzales at Smashwords.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

And always, thank you to my husband, Herman, my beautiful children, for the love and support, strength and encouragement.

Chapter One

Trevor stared at the pool, envisioning himself in a 'dead man' float. He didn't deserve any better.

He retired early only to find his sleep riddled with fitful memories of Porsche. Porsche and that stupid goat. Porsche conquering her fear to ride the horse. Porsche in his arms. He settled into a deeper slumber. Porsche laughing beside him in the darkness. A scream shaking the mountain down around them. The ground sinks, taking her away, only her hand reaching for him. Panic as she slides out of reach. The panic.

He shuttered awake, his memory intact. The cold, hard facts of what he had done bellowed at him from the darkness, bawling for him to change the past. She was his friend, she trusted him and he had led her to her death. A cold dark death. No wonder he wanted to die. He even deserved to die and suffer before doing so.

#

Sitting in the shade wasn't much relief from the early September heat. Trevor breathed deep, thankful to escape the oppressive presence of his mother. Marjean meant well, but ever since Dr. Whipple's office had called to notify him of a slight glitch in his regular therapy sessions, caused by Mercedes' need for family time off, Marjean had become overbearing. She insisted he remain indoors for most of the day. During the hottest part of the day, he could understand, but not from ten a.m. to the wee morning hours of the following day. That proved way too much 'Marjean care' for even the strongest constitution.

If he retreated to his room to watch television, she would bustle in every hour to check on him and his needs, some of which she had no ability to take care of and others she had no business messing with. Trying to relax in the great room bordered on near insanity with her constant need for chatter. She even tried to convince him to go to lunch with her and get a pedicure. Like he needed pretty feet. She didn't even try to figure out how to get him in and out of her town car with his wheelchair.

Only in the heat did he find peace, a reprieve he needed desperately, even if a therapist could only come in twice a week to keep his joints from completely freezing up. Scott, Trevor's regular nurse, cared for his daily needs twice a day for two hours. A total of four hours Trevor never thought he would look forward to, now became his saving grace. If only Mercedes would come back, things would return to normal and life could go on.

Of course Mercedes would return knowing the truth and should she condemn him to torture, so be it. He deserved the harshest punishment she could dish out.

Maybe he should have told her the truth about Porsche. He couldn’t change the past but waiting for the future and its ramifications pained him. When would she return? He needed to know. He scrolled through the numbers on his phone and found the one he wanted. It rang twice.

Dr. Lance Whipple's office.

It must have been a new girl; she didn't include the tag that usually followed the greeting.

This is Trevor Palmer. I'm calling to verify some information.

I can help you with that. The receptionist sounded like she'd swallowed a bucket of good humor.

I'm a patient of Dr. Whipple's. I've been assigned a therapist. Can you tell me when she will return?

I'm sorry Mr. Palmer. It's against policy to share that information. Is there anything else I can do for you? Is the care you are receiving during her absence satisfactory?

What care? No, being left to let his joints stiffen three and four days a week wasn't satisfactory care but he didn't want to bring up those facts. He'd never been a cry baby, he wasn't about to be now. Besides he deserved weeks, months and years of punishment for his part in Porsche's death. No. Thank you.

Mr. Palmer, while I have you on the phone, could you clarify some information for me? The receptionists tone lost a bit of its humor. She replaced it with placating professional courtesy. Trevor remained silent, unwilling to commit his willingness to comply.

Mr. Palmer?

Yes.

I see on your chart that Miss Roemer has been spending, on the average, in excess of eight hours at your home on a daily basis. Is that correct?

Yes, that is correct.

I don't see any notes here as to what she fills those hours with. Could you tell me, please?

She starts everyday with… Trevor started to answer without thinking. Mercedes wasn't certified as a water therapist or whatever title that kind of therapy required. If he revealed their secret of therapy hours spent in the pool, not only could she lose her job, but her whole career. A complete massage to keep my muscles from atrophying. Her methods are quite effective. I believe she mentioned keeping Dr. Whipple updated.

Surely there is more involved than a massage, sir?

Trevor rubbed his beard. What could he say? He had to tell her something. The pool remained out of the question and telling her nothing could be just as damaging to Mercedes career. Why did he care so much? He gently pressed the 'end' button.

Chapter Two

Mercedes stared at the grave through teary eyes. Grandma Adeline sat in the row of graveside chairs provided by the funeral home, her three pronged cane standing at attention, waiting for the hushed tears of its owner to give way to make need for it once more. Ilene sat next to her mother-in-law, her arm draped over the drooping shoulders. The two women looked like a huddled mass of blackened mushrooms with Grandma's bulky black dress and Ilene's black skirt and jacket punctuated by the creamy fabric of her blouse. Ilene had aged since May, probably from the loss of weight and sleepless nights worrying at Porsche's bedside.

Ralph accepted the last of the hushed condolences issued at the graveside several feet away. A small group of family members waited at the cars while several friends, especially those from church, had retreated to the church building to spread out the meal for those needing to travel some distance to their homes.

You go right ahead and cry, sweetheart. It's not every one that has a sister like Porsche, nor is it every day that God takes them from us. Ralph wrapped his strong arm around Mercedes, comforting her.

Dad, why aren't you crying?

Sweetheart, I've cried until the tears have all dried up. I'll start over again just as soon as I rehydrate. Ralph smiled wryly. His hair had gone completely white this past summer. Just not sure how many more vehicles the neighbors are going to let me flood with tears in the coming months.

Dad, Mercedes elbowed Ralph and managed a small smile at his joke. She had little doubt that if the neighbors learned that tinkering under a car's hood brought her dad peace, they would drag, roll and drive any vehicle to his shop. I just don't get it. How do you manage to comfort everyone else and keep working? It's like nothing has happened.

Sweetheart, your mother and I have lost our baby. No woman should have to bury her child.

But it's your loss, too.

True.

How do you deal with it without breaking down into a soggy puddle? Mercedes hadn't seen her father, or any man ever really breakdown and cry. It wasn't fair that they seemed to have this invisible shield that nothing ever broke through.

You women bake. I tinker with car engines. I've even taken that red pickup in the driveway apart and put it back together this summer.

I don't bake, Mercedes corrected. So if that pickup needed so much work, why did you buy it? A few neighbors might buy 'junkers' for him to repair but not relatively new vehicles.

I didn't.

Someone gave it to you? Mercedes asked incredulously.

Not exactly. Sheriff Zupan thought it might be safer from vandals at our place than parked by his office.

So, not having an impound lot it was left at your mercy?

I guess he figured since I know the young man it belongs to, and the fact that I worked on it last spring, I wouldn't make a mess of it.

So the guy's in jail or prison?

No. I'm not sure where Trevor is these days. I tried to call and let him know his truck's at the house, but didn't get a hold of him. Sherriff Zupan tells me the guy doesn't have any outstanding warrants. Doesn't own or rent anywhere in Nevada. He dropped off the planet. I just hope the mine didn't kill him too.

Mercedes gulped at her dad's revelation. Could her physical therapy patient be the same Trevor? No. But he was from Nevada and living with his mother who had recently remarried. So he obviously wasn't renting an apartment and he had said he'd sold his company. If he'd left his truck here, why hadn't he called to check on it? Even if he couldn't drive it, wouldn't he want to know about his truck?

Shame really, Ralph continued his narration. Reinhold told me this morning that a customer had interrupted Porsche and Trevor kissing at the hardware store. Knew she was sweet on him and he on her, but I didn't know they'd let on to one another.

How did you know?

Ralph smirked before getting a distant expression on his face. Parents just know these things.

"I remember Mom