Shirley, Goodness and Mercy(21)

The sidewalks were crowded, since it was almost lunchtime. A brisk wind blew off the bay and he hunched his shoulders against it, ignoring the expensive-looking decorations on the bank buildings and the tasteful Christmas music floating out from well-appointed lobbies as doors were opened.

He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be forced to see Phil this early in the process, if at all. Knowing Phil as he did, Greg was keenly aware that his brother would take real pleasure in personally rejecting his application. Then again, he might exercise some modicum of mercy and leave it to someone else, a junior officer. But that wasn’t something Greg needed to worry about just yet. Today was only the first step—meeting with a loan officer and completing the lengthy application. Once he’d finished the paperwork, he could leave. Walk out the doors of yet another bank, wait for yet another rejection.

He hated his own pessimistic attitude, but nothing had happened in the past week to give him any hope. His brother hated him—it was that simple—and Phil wasn’t the kind of man to put their argument behind him. If he hadn’t forgiven Greg in ten years, he wasn’t likely to do it now.

Phil had always been somewhat jealous of him, Greg knew, something he’d never really understood. Greg supposed his greatest sin was the fact that he’d been born last. That, and sharing a passion for wine making with his father. Despite what Phil believed, Greg had loved their mother. Her death, although expected, had hit him hard.

He’d had no way of knowing how critical her condition was. They’d spoken briefly the night before, and while she’d sounded weak, she’d encouraged him to take care of his own business, to keep his appointment at court. So he’d felt there was still plenty of time. She hadn’t seemed that close to death.

His fight with Phil after the funeral had been the lowest point in his life. The truth was, Phil hadn’t called him any name he hadn’t called himself in the years since.


When Greg had finished with the loan application at Pacific union  , he walked back to the parking lot and paid the attendant what amounted to a ransom. But instead of heading for the St. Francis for a good stiff drink as was his custom, Greg drove to Viewcrest, the cemetery where his mother was buried.

He spent more than an hour wandering down long grassy rows in the biting wind before he located his mother’s grave. He stood there, gazing down at the marker. Lydia Smith Bennett, 1930-1989 Beloved Mother. Phil had arranged for that stone. Phil had made all the arrangements.

This was Greg’s first visit since they’d buried her. He shook his head, brushing away tears, overwhelmed by all the things he’d left unsaid. I loved you, Mom. I did. I do. I’m sorry…

Eventually he squatted down, touched his fingers to his lips and pressed them to the marble gravestone. A long moment passed before he stood up again, shoulders bent, head bowed, and silently walked away.


“Has anyone got a tissue?” Mercy wailed, and when no one responded, she threw herself against Goodness, wiping her face on her friend’s soft sleeve.

“Would you kindly stop?”

But Goodness sounded suspiciously tearful. Shirley, too, was having a hard time holding back her emotions. Seeing Greg like this, broken and defeated, was painful. She barely recognized him anymore. She didn’t know when it had happened or how, but she’d started to care about this man. Obviously Goodness and Mercy had also revised their feelings toward him.

“We’ve got to do something to help Greg!”

“We’re trying,” Shirley said.

“But he’s in bad shape.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to get worse,” Shirley whispered, fearing the future.

“Say it isn’t so.” Mercy wailed all the louder.

“His brother’s going to reject the loan, isn’t he?”

Shirley couldn’t imagine Phil making any other decision and said as much.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Goodness cried. “I think it’s time I got ready for choir practice again, don’t you?”

“Goodness, no!”

“I don’t care if Gabriel sends me back to singing with the heavenly host or even gate-keeping. Phil Bennett is about to get a piece of my mind.”

“Goodness,” Mercy gasped.

“What?”

“Goodness,” Shirley began. “You—”

“I’m going, too.” Mercy glanced at Shirley.

Shirley could see she had no choice. “Oh, all right, but we can’t all three join the choir.”

“Why not?” Mercy asked, rushing to catch up with Goodness.

Shirley shook her head in wonder, sure they’d be facing the wrath of Gabriel once again. She just hoped the sacrifice they were prepared to make on Greg Bennett’s behalf would turn out to be worth it.