Running From Mercy

by Terra Little

  “When?”

  “Way before then, and that’s all I’m going to say.” He had a thought. “We really shouldn’t be gossiping about this, anyway. Is this awkward for you? Because I’m starting to feel a little twitchy myself.”

  “Too late for that. Come on, tell me.”

  “It’s none of your business. It’s between me and Pam.”

  “I told you all kinds of stuff when we were kids.” She was indignant. “I told you stuff I didn’t even tell Pam!”

  “Like what?”

  “Like about the time with Rick Moony out at Truman Field. And the time I helped Mike Robins steal his mother’s car and we almost got caught.”

  Chad waved his hand negligently, a lopsided grin on his face. “Rick Moony was a punk, so that doesn’t count. And you did tell Pam because she told me about it not too long after you told me about it. Plus, riding in the passenger seat does not constitute helping someone steal a car.”

  “Oh, come on, Chad!”

  He unlaced his fingers and turned his palms toward the ceiling. “Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to tell Pam I told you. It’s old news, but at the time it was a secret.”

  “Okay.”

  “She had just turned fourteen and I was about to be sixteen.”

  “But she didn’t get pregnant with Nikki until she was eighteen . . .” Paris’s voice trailed off as the implications of what he’d said sank in. “I’ll kill her for not telling me.”

  “You just promised not to say anything.”

  She sat with a thunderstruck expression for a few seconds. “So you guys were . . .”

  “Pretty serious for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “Pretty much from the day we met up until the day she got on that bus and rode off into the sunset.”

  “Exclusive?”

  “Damn right.”

  “I can’t believe she never told me. All that time and she never said a word, the sneaky little bitch,” Paris hissed. There was no heat in her voice, but disbelief and hurt were strong. “We told each other everything.”

  “It was a big thing for us to wrap our minds around at the time. Neither of us knew what to do with what we were doing, except to keep doing it.” He interpreted the expression on Paris’s face and laid a hand on hers. “We both knew we were way too young to be doing what we were doing, but we couldn’t seem to stop.”

  “You were in love with each other.”

  Chad looked at his wife a long time. He was nodding his head when his mouth opened. “I was, anyway.”

  “She hurt you badly when she left.”

  “A little bit, yeah, but finding out about Nikki crushed me.”

  “That’s why you married me, so you could have Nikki?” She tried to slide her hand from under his, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “I saw you caring for Nikki and doing what I felt Pam should’ve been doing and I cared too much about you to let you keep doing it on your own. Plus, I had a responsibility toward Nikki, even if Pam didn’t think so. Finding out that Nikki was my child only made me love you more than I already did.”

  “But not like you loved Pam.” She would’ve snatched her hand away if he hadn’t tightened his hold and refused to release her. She thought she had a clear understanding of what everything had been about and it galled her.

  Silently, they watched three consecutive episodes of Law and Order with his hand still clamped around hers. A fourth episode was coming on when he rolled to his side and made her look at him.

  “You can go on hating me if you want to, but I won’t let you stop being my friend,” he told her.

  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you think about it and let me know what you decide?”

  ELEVEN

  June 17th

  Dear Diary,

  I told Nikki that I was leaving next month and she took it harder than I expected her to. She knew I wasn’t planning to stay in Mercy forever, didn’t she? With school out for the summer she wanted to know what she was going to do and how she was going to pass the time. I told her I didn’t know. Maybe Chad would allow her to come and visit me after the tour was over, but she’d have to ask and see. Either way, I have to go. It’s time.

  I’ve been taking Gillian’s advice and venturing out more. Mercy is actually a lovely little town, and it’s nice to see that not much has changed. Except for the fact that I’ve been asked to pose for pictures with several of the teenagers and even a few of the parents. I somehow managed to get out of the habit of being stopped every tenth step I took to autograph something or to answer obnoxious questions, but it all came crashing back after I went into the grocery store out on the interstate. Nikki got a kick out of all the attention when we went shopping in Atlanta, but I grew tired of it very quickly. I’m sure there will be a photo of the two of us in one of the gossip rags in the coming days, and I know she’ll love seeing it. She’s still too young to know the true value of privacy.

  Chad and I are getting along surprisingly well. Since the day he kissed me, he hasn’t touched me again and I’m thankful for that. All the tension between us complicates things, and I would rather pretend it doesn’t exist than deal with it. It’s too late anyway. We can laugh and talk now, but there are still questions in his eyes that I won’t answer. I hope he’s decided to leave well enough alone.

  I think of Paris every day. She is like a cloud I walk around with, floating above my head, waiting to pour down any minute. Sometimes I can feel her presence hovering around me and I catch myself talking to her. I reach for the phone to call her and then I remember I can’t and why. It’s hell living without her. The sun isn’t as bright when it shines, and the rain is colder against my skin. I hope that once I leave I’ll feel more optimistic about the future. That’s always been the case in the past. I can’t grow in Mercy.

  Nikki is badgering me about going with her to the town festival at the end of the month. There will be carnival rides and funnel cakes and lots of other greasy foods to gorge on, she says. I told her I didn’t need to go because they had all that shit when I was a kid and I went to plenty of festivals. I think she just wants me to go because she thinks Chad will let her stay out later if he knows she’s with me. I’m not so sure about that, though, especially after the wine-drinking, tattle-telling incident. She really put her foot in it that time, and I didn’t help matters any.

  What’s on my agenda for today? Moira.

  More next time.

  Pam

  Pam found Moira in the south flower garden kneeling in a flowerbed, yanking at weeds and muttering under her breath. She crossed the grass slowly and came to stand over her. Moira was so intent on her task it took her a few minutes to realize she was no longer alone. Surprised, she pressed a hand to the top of her head to hold the straw hat in place and looked up. A slow smile spread across her face, and her eyes widened with pleasure as she pulled her gardening gloves off and came to her feet.

  “Pamela?”

  “I’m the only one left, Moira,” Pam said softly. “You know it’s me.” She reached out to help Moira to her feet, but her hand was graciously ignored. Even at seventy-five, Moira was still slim and physically fit, only slightly larger than she had been when she was thirty-five.

  “Even if that wasn’t the case, I never had a bit of trouble telling you and Paris apart.” She opened her arms and wrapped them around Pam, squeezing tightly. “How have you been?”

  “Better than I thought I would be. You look wonderful, Moira.” Moira reached up and removed her hat and Pam’s eyes widened. “What happened to your beautiful red hair?” Without thinking, she stepped forward and ran her fingers through the silky white hair flowing around Moira’s shoulders.

  “I worried it all gray after you took off for parts unknown,” Moira quipped, only half teasing. She hooked an arm through Pam’s and turned them toward the house. “Paris kept me updated on what you were doing, so that helped, and now I h
ave that lovely niece of yours to tell me all the gossip. But before that, I had no idea where you’d gone or what you were doing. Not that it was any of my business, but I still missed you.”

  “I missed you, too,” Pam said.

  They climbed the steps to the back porch and sat across from each other at a patio table. As Pam situated herself in a chair and set her sunglasses on the table between them, she let her eyes take Moira in. In her mind, whenever her thoughts had wandered to Moira, the image was always the same. Pam remembered Moira as she’d looked when she saw her last. She knew she should’ve been prepared for the inevitable changes, but she wasn’t. The idea that Moira had aged was startling.

  Gone was the flowing, fire-red hair, and in its place was a head full of wispy, silver strands. The same green eyes stared out of her face and the freckles were still there too, but wrinkles and age spots had joined them. Pam was reminded all over again of how long she had been away, and the thought of all she’d missed suddenly made her sad.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Pamela,” Moira teased gently. “You’re thinking that I’ve gotten old. I know this because I’m sitting here thinking the same thing about you. I remember when you were running around in pigtails and blue jean shorts, before you had breasts and hips. Now look at you. You went away from here and grew up on me.”

  Moira’s long-time housekeeper poked her head out the back door and came up short when she saw Moira wasn’t alone. “I thought I heard you out here, Miss Moira. I didn’t know you had company.” Her name was Janice and she had two teenage daughters at home, which meant she recognized Pam immediately, even if she did live in a neighboring town and hadn’t been very familiar with Paris. She smiled brightly and tried not to stare. “Aren’t you . . . ?”

  Pam put an easy smile on her face and nodded, though the last thing she wanted to do was be drawn into a lengthy conversation about her career. Thankfully Moira intercepted the faintly frozen look on her face and stepped in smoothly.

  “Yes Janice, this is Pamela Mayes,” she drawled. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I believe we’ll have some lunch.” Janice disappeared as quickly as she had appeared. To Pam, Moira said, “I remembered that you used to love my chicken salad, so I made some this morning. You will stay for lunch, won’t you?”

  “You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

  “You know I won’t.” Moira’s eyes searched Pam’s face. “You don’t like it very much, do you?”

  “Like what?”

  “All the attention you get from people. I think it drives you a little crazy. Am I right?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a feeling, I guess. A few minutes ago you had the same look on your face as you did the time I suggested you try the broiled octopus I had prepared. Like you didn’t want to be rude, but you really wanted to throw up.”

  Pam chuckled at the memory and sat back in her chair. “I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t be nice to be able to shop for groceries and not have to sign thirty autographs before I check out, but I love what I do.”

  “You’re good at it, too. I came to one of your concerts once, in St. Louis I think. I really enjoyed it, seeing you onstage and everything. Of course, one or two of the songs made me blush.” Moira looked around as Janice came back out onto the porch carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and glasses perched on it. “Janice, what was the song I told you I was going to have to speak with Pamela about?”

  Janice’s face split in half with a grin. She winked at Pam as she poured the tea. Tongue in cheek, she said, “I think it was called Touch Myself, Miss Moira.”

  “Yes, that’s it. It was . . . interesting.” A flush crept up Moira’s neck as she sipped at her tea. She set her glass down and cleared her throat. “In my day young women didn’t speak of such things. And with such . . . clarity.”

  “Things change, Miss Moira. My girls can’t get enough of your music,” Janice told Pam. “At least you ain’t doing all that cussing and going on.”

  Pam sipped her own iced tea. “How old are your girls?” Some of her songs were pretty explicit.

  “Sixteen and seventeen. They’ll have heart attacks when I tell them I met you today, too. I’ll be right back with lunch.”

  “She listens to your music just as much as those girls of hers,” Moira confided when Janice was gone. “Every now and again I leave and come back, and catch her in the library with the radio blasting.”

  “Do you think her girls would like an autograph?”

  “They’d love it, and come to think of it, I would, too. I know just the album I want you to sign.”

  “David told me you have all of my CD’s,” Pam said, smiling.

  “David?”

  “Your stepson.”

  “Oh.” Moira’s eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead. David was Miles’s middle name and she couldn’t figure out what his reasons were for introducing himself to Pam as such. She made a mental note to question him about it when he returned. “His father was my second husband. The one with the sticky fingers.”

  “He didn’t tell me that part of the story.”

  Moira thought about it, then shook her head. “He may not even know what actually happened between his father and me. He was just a little boy when we divorced, around eight or nine, but he looked me up the minute he was old enough to use the telephone on his own.”

  “I wondered why I’d never seen him in Mercy before now. He said you two always visited and kept in touch.” Janice brought out two covered plates and silverware and Pam spread her napkin in her lap before scooting all the way up to the table. She smiled her thanks and turned her attention back to Moira.

  “I mainly went to him,” Moira confessed. “In the beginning he was in boarding school and it was easier for me to go there from time to time rather than have to deal with his father. Then, when he was in college, he decided Mercy was too small and insignificant to bother making the trip. After that, I backed off and only visited him when I knew I’d be in the vicinity of where he was. Is he treating you kindly?” Her eyes narrowed on Pam’s face.

  “We’re not dating, Moira,” Pam said after she had chewed and swallowed. “He must’ve told you about my car stopping and him giving me a ride into town. We’ve met for lunch a few times and yes, he’s been a perfect gentleman each time.”

  “Still, I don’t want him bothering you. Especially after everything that’s happened.” She sighed tiredly and flattened her hands on the table. “I said I wasn’t going to bring that up. The last thing I want to do is upset you any more than I’m sure you already are. I’m sorry, Pamela.”

  Pam set her fork down and reached across the table for Moira’s hand. She gave it a squeeze. “I’m fine, Moira. We can talk about Paris if you want to. I promise I won’t get hysterical on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about. I’ll confess that I didn’t take her death very calmly myself. Part of me still doesn’t want to believe it. I keep looking for her to come zooming up the drive, ready to dig around in my garden with me, but she doesn’t come. That sounds so selfish,” Moira chastised herself, swiping at the stray tears that gathered in her eyes.

  “No more selfish than me wanting to pick up the phone and call her or wanting to ask her about something and getting angry because I can’t do it. It’ll take me some time to get used to being alone in the world.” She gave Moira’s hand one last squeeze and went back to her lunch. “She was all I had.”

  “You two were inseparable as children. I remember how you would comb each other’s hair and paint each other’s toenails.” A wistful smile took over Moira’s face as she searched her memory. “You split everything right down the middle, like two little old women. It was adorable to watch, and you were the most beautiful children.”

  Speechless, Pam could only nod as she drank her tea. She remembered all of those things too. And more. “When I left Mercy I wasn’t ever planning t
o come back. I never thought something like this would be the thing that forced me to eat my words.”

  “Why did you leave, Pamela?”

  “Do you realize that you’re like, the only person who calls me Pamela? You never say Pam, always Pamela. Why is that?”

  “Pamela is your name, isn’t it? Pamela Anne Mayes. I never liked the way people desecrate a name by chopping it up or cutting it off. I think it should be illegal to do that.” Moira took one last bite of her food and pushed her plate away. “It occurs to me that you haven’t answered my question.”

  Pam spent several minutes looking out over the massive backyard. Not very much about it had changed since the last time she’d run across the grass barefoot toward the stables, looking for Moira. In the distance, the converted barn still stood, and she knew that there were horses inside, waiting for someone to ride them. A gated training area was next to the stables, and she recalled many times when she was allowed to lead a horse inside the circle and ride until she grew sore between her thighs, while Moira stood at the gate watching and waiting patiently.

  She was waiting patiently for Pam’s answer, when she decided to offer one a little while later. Pam shrugged listlessly and met her eyes. “I don’t know why I left, Moira. I just knew I had to get away from here. I felt like there was nothing here for me anymore. Not that there ever was,” she chuckled. “Me and Paris were just floating along, living in the home with all the other unwanted children and waiting to grow up. What would I have done if I’d stayed? Married some man I didn’t love? Gotten a job at the dry cleaners? What?”

  “Was the home so bad? Did they mistreat you there?”

  “Not that I can recall. If anything, they let us run wild,” Pam replied. “I was never there when I was supposed to be, but you probably know that already since I was here often enough. It was really just a holding place for us until we were old enough to get out on our own. Not exactly the kind of childhood a kid would choose for themselves.”