Have Mercy (Have a Life #1)

by Maddy Wells

  “They returned it. I saw it when I came home.”

  “No kidding. Wow. You going to be okay?” I let him kiss me. I mean, who gets to decide when I’m grown up? I do. My first decision in my new role was: I kissed him back. I didn’t want to miss out on kissing which I actually really really liked. He looked surprised then he hugged me.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, stroking my hair. “It’s just a guy bragging about something that probably didn’t happen. Everyone will be talking about something else by tomorrow.”

  “You think so?”

  He hugged me again and it felt like everything was okay, at least until he rode away on his bike. I went outside and sat on the steps and thought about how long it was going to take me clean up the mess by myself.

  Chapter 15

  Garbage pickup happens Monday mornings so by seven o’clock I’d collected fifteen garbage bags of trash and lined them up neatly on the curb. The pizza boxes were recyclable so I stacked them together next to the blue paper recycling bin. I rinsed the beer cans and booze bottles out so they wouldn’t attract hornets and put them out on the curb in the two blue bins for glass and aluminum stuff. Then I got the hand mower out of the shed—the motorized lawn mower was out of gas, gee, surprise—and mowed down the dandelions. I sat down on the front steps out of breath and surveyed my work. We looked like every other house on the street, sort of. I was trying to think of what else I could do that seemed normal—maybe ask the Tudescos if I could walk their dogs—when Jane came out the door and sat down next to me.

  “It’s bright,” she said, shielding her eyes. She started to light a cigarette then put it in her bathrobe pocket and smiled at me.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “I didn’t say I was happy.”

  “You’re smiling.”

  “I thought I’d try it. Jesus, Mercedes, lighten up. You are such a downer to be around sometimes.”

  “Did you have fun last night?”

  She stood up, walked a few steps—“Far enough?” she asked—lit her cigarette and squinted at me through the smoke. “I was working.”

  “Oh, is that what you call it?”

  And all of a sudden she was holding her bathrobe closed with one hand and slapping me a good one with the other. “That’s enough!” she said. “What I do is my business. I’m the mother, remember?”

  My cheek burned and it felt like steam was rising off the tears that were streaming down my cheeks.

  “Sorry, Jane,” I said, “But it seems that what you do is everyone’s business.” I ran to the Trap door, grabbed my bike and pedaled away as fast as I could. I’ll go to the funeral home, I thought, and move in with Captain Kirby and her mom. Of course, Kulick wouldn’t let the Kirby’s beat up old van stay parked there during the day when they had viewings and stuff. Tim, I thought. He had an older brother who worked summers for an uncle in Scranton so there’d be an extra bed at his house, but he’d told me he didn’t get along so well with his dad who was always looking for reasons to ground him and they were all probably still asleep. I rode to the Seven-Eleven and asked for him, I knew he had a Sunday morning shift there, but the manager said he called in sick. “You look hungry,” he said, “here.” He handed me a hot dog slathered in mustard. I told him I didn’t have any money. “It’s okay. You’re a friend of Tim’s, right? I’ll take it out of his pay.” I ate the dog and since I had no place to go I walked my bike home and when I got there, Jane was coming down the steps dressed for school.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” she said, “Principal Thwaite called and wants to see me.”

  “Now? On Sunday? It’s Sunday.”

  “It’s probably about cleaning up the mess from the prom. The post-prom committee probably didn’t show up.”

  “Can’t it wait?” I asked, scared that whatever had happened was going to be dragged into the light for everyone to see and then they would start examining everything about us, about me. Jane had always insisted that we weren’t like other families. We were way cooler than families who washed their cars every Saturday and put screens in the windows on June 21 and replaced the screens with storm windows on September 21, because they didn’t have lives like we did. We were talented and special and we played by different rules. But people only let you play by special rules when you don’t break any of their big ones. “Can’t someone else clean up? Why can’t it wait?” I started to cry again.

  “Thwaite said it couldn’t wait. I’m sorry about smacking you, honey. You know I have to smoke to wake up. I won’t be long. I promise,” she said and got in the Kia and drove away.

  Chapter 16

  Jane was gone for a very long time and when she came back from her meeting with Principal Thwaite, she was more subdued than I have ever seen her. She said we had to talk and went into the house and came back out with two cans of beer. She cracked one open and handed me the other one, sat down on the steps and gestured for me to sit next to her.

  “I don’t like beer,” I told her.

  “You have my permission. You’re old enough.”

  “Actually, no I’m not,” I said it snottily and pushed the can away.

  She shrugged. “So. Anyway. Thwaite fired me. No, not fired me. I’m suspended. Administrative leave.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “In my case, none. I’ll probably never go back.”

  “You want that, though, don’t you? You always said you hated teaching.”

  “I never said that! I love teaching. Where did you get that idea?”

  “You said it. You said you hated teaching. Remember? When we took that vacation to see The Griffin when I was ten? You asked him to let us live with him and you said you couldn’t bear it anymore, that you hated teaching. I remember that.” My head really hurt, maybe from not sleeping or from the beer, which I was now guzzling, or maybe it was that Seven-Eleven hot dog because I felt like barfing.

  “You’re making that up, Mercedes! You got hysterical when we were leaving.”

  “I did not get hysterical! I never get hysterical. You said your teaching was the only thing keeping us in Pennsylvania. I know! I remember that!”

  “Okay, okay. Whatever. Well, anyway. Do you want to know why I’m suspended? I guess you have a right to know why I was suspended.”

  I put my fists over my ears and closed my eyes. “No, no no no,” I said. “I don’t care why, I don’t care!”

  “Okay, Mercedes.” She looked really sad and I started to really really really hate her. I could take care of her when she was happy and we were special and talented, but I couldn’t take care of her if we weren’t. I mean, I’m the kid, you know, and she’s the mother and one of the rules of the Two Cool Society, I made it up and Jane agreed to it, was that being cool made you happy. I didn’t want to take care of Jane’s sadness. I didn’t even know how to, to be honest. Captain Kirby had said, “You can’t go back,” but at that moment I wanted Jane to light one of her stupid cigarettes and blow smoke right in my face and leave the dirty dishes in the sink for me to do while she took a nap on the sofa and laugh at the dandelion seeds blowing across the neighborhood and continue not giving a shit what anyone thought like she always did. Here’s the thing about Jane: the thing I hated most about her was that she never seemed sad but I was always sad. I mean someone has to be sad or you aren’t a grownup house or something. Maybe, like Mrs. Thwaite said, you just need a moral compass. But that’s stupid. I mean, who wants a moral compass if you turn out like Mrs. Thwaite?

  “I just want you to hear my side of things,” Jane said, “Before you hear it from other people. I guess I want you to be on my side.” And then she started crying, bawling really, and I was screaming “Shut up shut up shut up, just shut up!” but she was telling me anyway that if she didn’t turn herself in the sheriff was going to come to the house and arrest her because the DA was pressing charges, he had to, the law was the law, especially for teachers because they were role models, and Rob
was seventeen, only eight days from his eighteenth birthday—how was she supposed to know that? He lied to her!—and she didn’t know who she could ask for bail money so once she turned herself in she probably wouldn’t be able to make arrangements for me. “I’m sorry I messed up, Mercedes, I didn’t mean to. I don’t know why they’re being such pricks about it. I didn’t hurt anybody. I was just trying to make The Griffin see…I don’t know. I left him a voice message from school. God, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”

  The beer and the sun baking us and that wrinkled hot dog which I was picturing swarming

  with bacteria that would multiply in my stomach and travel to my throat en route to my brain was being smothered and choked by a three ton bag of Jane O’Reilly’s sorrow which she was trying to ease onto my lap.

  “Say you forgive me, Mercedes, for making such a mess. Do you forgive me?”

  I couldn’t carry the bag of Jane’s sorrow and woes, even if I wanted to. It was too heavy this time. Forgive her? Never.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “I got to go.”

  “I guess I should call your grandmother in Akron. Come in the house while I do that.”

  “No,” I said, “I really have to go. I have to throw up.”

  Chapter 17

  At eleven in the morning, when it was becoming pretty clear that Jane—who had driven herself to the courthouse at nine— wasn’t coming back, the doorbell rang and I looked through the curtains in the living room to see a large woman on our front porch. She had long straight black hair with an inch of gray roots showing and a weird high forehead. The way she was dressed she looked like Principal Thwaite had done her shopping. She was holding a sheaf of papers and looking at our pathetic lawn with distaste. She rang the bell again and rubbed her index finger down the doorjamb and was examining the dirt on it when she saw me looking at her through the curtains. She walked over to the window, grimacing towards her ears in what I guess was supposed to be a disarming smile.

  “Mercedes?” she yelled at the window. “Mercedes O’Reilly? I’m Mrs. Valliere from Orphans and Childrens Court. I’m here to help you.” She fished around in her purse and pulled out an ID card which she pushed up against the window but which I couldn’t read through the

  filthy pane.

  I stepped away and let the curtains close.

  Mrs. Valliere waited for me to let her in and when it became obvious I wasn’t going to, she started jerking the knob back and forth and banging on the door. “Mercedes, you have to let me in. I’m here to help you.”

  Captain Kirby had come over after Jane left. She was standing behind me. “You gotta let her in, Mercy, or it just goes on your record that you’re difficult and then it only gets worse.”

  “Why should I let a stranger in my house? Isn’t that what they’re always harping on?”

  “Just talk to her. She’ll tell you how they’re going to make everything perfect for you if you do exactly what they say. You can figure out what’s next when she leaves.”

  “My mother will be home soon,” I yelled through the door. “Why don’t you come back later.”

  “I’m going to have to call the fire department to let me in if you don’t,” Mrs. Valliere said loudly. .

  “Can they do that?” I asked Captain Kirby.

  “Dunno. Maybe.”

  Mrs. Valliere began hip checking the door which was making groaning noises. I unlatched it and yanked it open and Mrs. Valliere fell into the house. “Good morning,” she said.

  “I told you my mother isn’t here. She’ll be back later.”

  “You’re the one I need to talk to. And you are who exactly?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at Captain Kirby. “Are you Mrs. Tudesco?”

  “Janet Kirby, ma’m.” Captain Kirby said. “I’m Mercedes’ cousin.”

  “Cousin?” Mrs. Valliere leafed through her papers. “I thought her grandmother was her closest relative.”

  “My father is my closest relative,” I said.

  “I’m the black sheep of the family,” Captain Kirby said. “They pretend I don’t exist. I’m not surprised there’s nothing about me in your records.” She shook her head sadly. “Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible.”

  “Do you have some identification on you?” Mrs. Valliere asked.

  “I can’t drive. I have epilepsy. But gosh, I’m glad you came. It would be marvelous if you could help me. With getting a driving license, I mean. Then I can vote, and drink, and do everything you do, m’am.”

  I thought Captain Kirby was going to have a seizure right then, that’s what a good actress she was, and Mrs. Valliere was biting her lip not knowing who to help first. We obviously had enough problems between us for a month of non-stop intervention.

  “Well, you’ll have to come down to the office tomorrow,” she said, finally. “For now, I am here to help Mercedes. Don’t you think that should be our priority? To get your cousin with her grandmother? Now, is that your grandmother, too?”

  “It sure would be great to get a driving license,” Captain Kirby said.

  “Can we sit down?” Mrs. Valliere asked, as she helped herself to a seat in the kitchen. “Did you have breakfast today?”

  “Bacon and scrambled eggs,” Captain Kirby said.

  “Not you,” Mrs. Valliere said, “I mean, I’m glad you had a good breakfast but we’re here to discuss Mercedes, aren’t we?”

  “I had a great breakfast too,” I said. “My cousin made it. She’s a chef.”

  Mrs. Valliere looked at Captain Kirby suspiciously. “You look so familiar to me. You don’t have any form of ID on you? And it’s too bad that Mrs, Tudesco didn’t mention you. It’s so much easier if there are relatives right in town.”

  “Whatever you decide is fine with me,” Captain Kirby said. “You’re the pro. But now, I got to go to work. It was very nice meeting you, m’am.”

  “Where do you work?” Mrs. Valliere asked.

  “At the high school, ma’m. In the kitchen. I haven’t been late in five years. Never missed a day. Stuff like that means a lot, right, about your helping me get a driving license, right?”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  “Don’t forget to study for your finals, cuz,” Kirby admonished me and left.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Mrs. Valliere said, “That she isn’t listed here.”

  I nodded. “Funny.”

  “That would have made it easier. But she isn’t here,” she leafed through her papers again, “So Judge Delgado has decided that you’ll have to go live with your grandmother in Akron. She’s on a plane now and I can tell you, she can hardly wait to see you.”

  The last time I spoke to my grandmother she had trouble remembering my name. I thought it was because she didn’t actually give a shit about me, but Jane said her mother was just distracted. “She has this job she’s worried about. Plus she’s almost 50.” Great. That’s just what I needed, a dotty old lady bossing me around.

  “What about my father?” I asked. “Why can’t I go live with him?”

  “Judge Delgado has decided that under the circumstances you should probably have a more wholesome influence. You’re a minor, Mercedes. And because your mother is a suspected sex offender, you’re a ward of the court. You need adult supervision which Judge Delgado has decided your mother isn’t fit to provide and there is a very real possibility your mother is going to jail.”

  Jane had told me before she left that she might not be coming back and said her mother

  was on her way, but it was just words like in a story. Now the story was coming to life. It was like a creepy horror movie. A ward of the court sounded like jail. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.

  “We know you didn’t, dear. But in case your mother, your sole custodian, is no longer here to care for you, you must go to your next of kin.”

  “Which is my father,” I said. “I can go live with him in Texas. He’s on his way there now.”

  I closed my eyes and could see his hous
e on Google Earth. I had it bookmarked as a favorite and could show it to Mrs. Valliere in a minute. “His house has a swimming pool in the back. That’s wholesome.”

  “Your father travels all the time. He’s not a suitable parent for you at this time. You need someone to give you constant supervision. Like your grandmother.”

  “I don’t even know my grandmother!” I shouted. “Like I forget her name. Nellie, Jellie, Bellie? I don’t remember! See!”

  “I know you’re going through a hard time,” Mrs. Valliere said. “And I wish you could stay with your cousin, Janet, but we have rules for a reason and that is the protection of the child. You, Mercedes.”

  “The Griffin is a great dad,” I said. “I was going to live with him in Houston when I turned sixteen, anyway.”

  “He said that?” Mrs. Valliere asked.

  “Not in those exact words, but I know he wants it too.”

  “I’m sure he does. But for now,” Mrs. Valliere said, “Your grandmother is your guardian. You have another week of school and she has graciously agreed to stay with you here until school is out. “Then”—she looked down at her papers—“you will go to Ohio to live with her until your mother’s trial. Everything’s been arranged. You’re very lucky that Mrs. Tudesco is such a good neighbor and alerted us to your plight.”

  “I don’t have a plight! Why can’t I stay here until my mother gets a trial? Mr. Dow says everyone gets a fair trial. Mr. Dow is my social studies teacher. Innocent until proven guilty. Ask him if you don’t believe me. He’s right at the school.”

  Mrs. Valliere tapped her pen on the table. “You mother is trying to post bail.”

  “See. You have to talk to The Griffin. He’ll post the bail and Jane can come back and everything will be fine. The Griffin is incredibly wealthy.”

  “You call your mother Jane?” Mrs. Valliere asked, writing it down in her file. My file. I was becoming the difficult child Captain Kirby warned me not to become.