by K. S. Adkins
“But you just got here,” she exclaims and when her eyes light up, I knew mine were dull. Because when she says, “My Mercy, when is she coming?” instead of answering her, I could only kiss her cheek and because she let me, I’d put this visit in the ‘good day’ column. Because for my mom, I was a stranger and I never knew how she would handle receiving affection from me.
Showing myself out, I closed the door behind me and to the wood I said, “I love you, Mom.”
When I turned around to leave, I found myself in the comfort of Dion’s arms and because of that let myself cry.
I took Ember’s advice and followed Mercy.
After parking and explaining my reason for being there, a staff member gave me the room number I needed. Poised to knock right outside of the door, I heard the helplessness in Mercy’s voice and lowered my fist.
“My name is Mercy, Miss Marilyn,” she was saying gently.
“Mercy,” the woman replies. “Unique, it suits you.”
“My mom really loved Marvin Gaye,” Mercy says with so much sadness I was surprised the sky hadn’t opened up with rain. When the woman began to sing it all clicked into place and my heart broke on her behalf.
Stepping away, I moved just enough not to scare her but when Mercy came out she hadn’t even noticed me.
Placing her forehead on the door, both palms on either side, in agony she whispers, “I love you, Mom.”
Before Mercy exhaled, I was there taking her into my arms.
Curling into me, I felt her shudder followed by a sob of total loss.
Scooping her up, I carry her back to my truck setting her in the passenger seat. It took a solid ten minutes for her to calm down enough to say, “I miss her, Dion.”
“How long has she –”
“She’s struggled since I could remember but she’s been here almost five years. My dad couldn’t take—she doesn’t remember us so he had to –” taking a deep breath she finishes. “For her own safety, she needs round the clock care.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“He’s my next stop,” she says twisting her hands in her lap. I understood now why she shut me out earlier but the next step was hers to take. As much as I wanted to demand she let me help her, it needed to be Mercy who asked for it. I wasn’t strong-arming her on this one. So, when she faces me and says, “Will you come with me?” on the inside my heart swelled in joy but instead of kissing her senseless, I simply said, “Tell me where to go.”
She explained the care her mom needed was so expensive that her dad sold her childhood home, cashed in all of his stocks and savings refusing to take a dime from his daughter. She also went to explain that her piece of shit ex-husband found the money she’d been saving to take over her care and fucking blew it at the track. I swear to God, I wanted to turn around, drive to his house and gut him.
Lost in her own thoughts, when she started to really open up, I made it a point to drive slower.
“She lashed out about forgetting and misplacing things because she knew the day would come when she wouldn’t even remember who she was, who I was. I can’t even imagine how scared she must have been. How do you fight Alzheimer’s? It’s the mystery I cannot fucking solve.”
The rest of the drive was made in silence and when she directed me to turn into the cemetery, I followed her directions with our final stop being her father’s grave. Jumping down from the truck before I could take her hand, Mercy squared her shoulders and I watched her prepare herself. Turning to me, she extends her hand and seeing my chance to comfort her, I do. “Can I ask how?”
“Stroke,” she confesses quietly. “He never got over losing my mom.”
“Do you always visit them both on the same day?”
“Yes, one day of me wallowing is enough. I can’t imagine what spreading it out would do.”
“You’re allowed to grieve,” I promise her.
“All I do is grieve, Dion. Every time I visit her, I lose her all over again. Only she’s not dead. She’s existing in a world I’m not allowed access to. He’s gone from this earth and some days I don’t think she knows what earth is. And then there’s me who wanted someone of my own so badly that I actually married Nick.”
“Mercy –”
“Just let me get it out, okay? I need you to understand why I am the way I am.”
“Alright,” I say pulling her close.
“It wasn’t love for me, it was fear. I wanted someone who’d remember me and don’t think for a minute Nick did. I worked eighty to ninety hours a week to save money for her care. I just told you that son of a bitch took the money and blew it on horses, Dion. Nick can sniff out a nickel in a shit storm, so Ember and I bought the shop not just for income and office space but to keep his fucking hands off what’s mine. Do you know, to this day he still has the balls to drop my name when he runs into trouble? Who does that? It makes me ask myself, am I really that forgettable? Then I meet you and I feel things I’ve never felt before. I want the very things I’m terrified I’ll forget. But you know, if my dad could have met you, he’d have seen for himself that I not only found my someone, but that he treated his daughter like a queen. He’d have died with one less worry on his heart.”
Tilting her chin up, I kiss her nose and explain, “You see a woman who is forgettable but I see a woman who was waiting for me to adore her. I was worth the wait, Mercy and you need to understand that all my life I’ve been waiting for you too.”
When she closes her eyes, the tears flow freely and gripping my waist, Mercy buries her face in my chest mumbling, “Today was hard.”
“I know it was, beautiful.”
“But you made it easier.”
“Not a God damn thing I wouldn’t do to ease you, Mercy.”
“I know something else that would ease me.”
“My cock, right?” I ask hoping to cheer her up.
Biting her lip and giving me a wink she says, “Ellen.”
An hour later, Mercy and I took our seats at the Ellen DeGeneres slot machines.
Let’s just say the kind of therapy my woman liked was expensive because Ellen was not in a giving mood.
Dion was not one to mince words or withhold affection. He was also bossy and expected his orders to be followed without question. Which was why we were having a standoff in my garage. After staying out way too late, I wasn’t in the mood to debate. Reminding him that, “You’re the one who wants to partner up and I didn’t fight you on it. But, when we work, we take my car.”
“This garage is so fucking small I can’t even get to your car, Mercy.”
Okay this was true, but whatever, it’s my garage. “Climb in on my side or wait outside.”
“You know what?” he groans. “Just get in the fucking car.”
“Pardon?”
“Get in the fucking car,” he says slowly.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I fire back.
“Woman, I can’t get to the passenger door or the other fucking door until this lump of shit moves. I am literally stuck here.”
“Keep it up and I might run you over.”
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and asks nicely, “Please get in the fucking car, Mercy.”
“Roger that,” I salute. Starting her up, I back out into the driveway ignoring the sound of scratching metal and watch as Dion does a walk around my car shaking his head. Rolling down my window, I lean out and ask, “What?”
Waving at my ride, I notice his face is red and he’s sweating. “This car is a classic,” his voice nearly squeaks. “It’s a 68 and meant to be cherished. Except your garage is so tight the sides look like you ran it through a cheese grater.”
“And this bothers you because?”
“It’s sacrilegious!” he yells then starts getting critical. “Your God damn mirrors are held on by duct tape, Mercy.”
“The good shit, too,” I agree.
“Have you ever even washed it?”
“I feel like yes is the only answer that won
’t send you into shock.”
“It kills me to see something so beautiful treated so…”
“So?” I prompt.
“You can’t neglect a car like this,” he says staring at it like it was taking its last breath.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mumble reaching in and popping the hood. “Come here,” I ask and when he does, he leans over the engine like all men do. Honestly, I still haven’t mastered it.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes and then immediately starts touching. “It’s got a 428 Cobra Jet in it.”
“Yep.” Is what I said but I really wanted to say, “No shit.”
“Yep?” he laughs. “This Mustang is a beast, why do you beat the shit out of it?”
I wasn’t ready to share the real reason I bought it so I went with wisdom, “Hasn’t anyone told you it’s what’s on the inside that counts?”
Blinking at me, he opens his mouth, closes it and then explodes, “It’s a fucking Mustang, Mercy!”
“Yes, Dion, I’m aware.”
“The engine is mint,” he paces. “The body can be fixed –”
“Whoa,” I interrupt. “I’ve got a plan for this car and it’s not you taking pity on it and doing the work. Speaking of, we have a lead to follow, so get in.”
Ready to argue he says, “I’m not letting this car rot to shit,” as he folds into his seat.
“It’s not going to rot to shit,” I grate out and before he could say anymore, I end the chat with, “Trust me.”
He could eye me all he wanted to but I bought this car for a reason and he wasn’t it.
Today was Bring Your Kid to Work day as evidenced by Pita taking her side in our most recent argument. Okay, so we weren’t exactly arguing, more like debating but getting a reaction out of her was so much fun, I refused to stop. Since Mercy and the kid started working at the club, I won’t lie, he’s grown on me.
Not only did Mercy hang the moon and the stars for him, but she kept his ass on the right path too. He was young, on his own with no family and I knew from experience the road you planned on isn’t always the one you end up on. That meant he belonged to me too. And so, I needed to earn his trust like she had.
Even though he wanted to side with me, he wasn’t going against his girl.
Not yet.
And that was okay.
We’d get there.
“I see the way you stare at me,” I wink at her. “You love me in a suit.”
“You rock a suit,” she smirks. “But wearing a suit in the streets is asking for it.”
“We’re at a fucking park so the kid can get his Thursday ass kicking. How does a suit factor in?”
“Maybe you should have a spare bag,” Pita offers as he stretches. “Who wants to fight in a suit?”
“I don’t intend to fight at all,” I remind him. “So, it shouldn’t matter what I have on.”
“Pita,” Mercy says hopping up to sit on the picnic table. “Practice what you learned last week on Dion.”
“Dion?” he gulps going pale.
“I know what to expect,” she shrugs. “Dion doesn’t.”
“Dion is also eight of you and six and a half of me, boss.”
“He’s also standing right here,” I add rolling up my sleeves. “Show me what you’ve got, kid.”
“But your suit –”
“He doesn’t care about his suit,” she waves it off. “So, neither should you.”
“How much did it cost?” he whispers.
“About seven fifty,” I shrug.
“If I land this move, you buy me a suit.”
“Is everything a negotiation with you?”
Unapologetically, he looks up smiles and says, “Yep. I’m young, I require rewards to stay motivated.”
“You land this move and I’ll buy you a suit.”
“That suit,” he points to my chest. “I want that suit, in my size.”
“Fine,” I agree. “This suit in your –” and then the little fucker spit in my face. “The fuck was that for –” and the distraction cost me. Not only did he spew Mountain Dew all over my God damn suit, he also managed to snag my wrist, applying enough pressure that I froze, giving him time to pin my arm behind my back.
“Now I haven’t been measured,” he says evenly from behind me. “But I’m assuming the tailor includes that in the cost.”
Impressed and irritated, I was opening my mouth to respond when a grimy piece of shit punk puts a gun in my face and demands, “Wallet, phone, now.”
“Are you serious?” I ask raising a brow.
“Oh fuck,” Pita says releasing me.
“This nine millimeter says I’m real fucking serious.”
“Dion,” Pita whispers nervously.
“Wallet, phone, now,” the fucker growls again.
Stepping quietly from the asshole’s right, Mercy puts her barrel flush to his temple and says, “Gun, forty-caliber.”
“Fuck,” the guy freezes.
“Wrong park, wrong mark,” she warns. “Hand him the gun or I drop you.”
Doing as she says, he hands it to me, looks around for an escape but wasn’t dumb enough to move. With her gun now pointed at his chest she checks on Pita, who was next to me, then searches my face. “I’m good, beautiful. Thanks for the save.”
Smiling huge at me, she turns to face the punk and advises he, “Run.”
Like the devil was on his ass, he did and when Pita says, “Guy’s fast, boss.”
And she says, “But I’m faster,” I stepped forward to protest only I was staring at her back as she sprinted off.
Rounding on the kid, I was about to give his ass what for when he was running to the car to grab his phone.
“You’re not filming this shit, Pita!”
“No?” he asks with a grin. “Guess you better catch me then, big man.”
Then that little fucker took off too.
God damn, I hated cardio.
Dion and I spent what should have been an amazing post-bang snuggle last night, arguing about the merits of living together. As in, he actually made a list of the reasons why it made sense that we do. I wasn’t disagreeing because I wanted to piss him off. I held back a smidge because, hello? We just started dating…
I was fast-forward with Nick and no, Dion was not Nick but still… Perhaps the men weren’t the problem. It wouldn’t be the first time I considered that maybe, I was the problem. I wasn’t exactly Betty-fucking-Crocker. I was a PI with more balls than brains and I loved that about me. Plus, I already had one shit marriage under my belt and wasn’t keen on another any time soon.
But Dion?
He wanted a wife. We haven’t discussed it (thank God) but I guarantee he wants kids, a yard, and a yellow Labrador too. And it’s not that I didn’t. I just didn’t right now.
Hell, I was finally about to be divorced…
And yes, that what if cloud followed me everywhere. Because what if we built an amazing life together and I started to forget? I saw what it had done to my dad and I never wanted that for Dion, for anyone.
So, it was about one in the morning when Dion had declared he had enough of my bullshit excuses and went back to his place. I still saw him every day, worked out of his office, and shared a bed; so why did it matter where I had my mail delivered?
I cohabited all of ninety-two days with Nick before he stole from me thus ending our union. Pardon me for being gun shy…
Hefting my garbage over my shoulder, I sling it into the bin and ask the universe, “Are all men like this?”
I was hauling my trash out to the curb when none other than my soon to be ex-husband pulled up. Rolling down his window he asks, “Is Dion here?”
God, he was such a pussy. “I’m great, Nick, thanks for asking.”
“We need to talk,” he says stepping out.
“Actually, you need to go before I really do put my hands on you.”
Not taking the bait, he surprises me when he rushes over and says, “I fucked up huge, Mercy.”<
br />
“Shocker.”
“I dropped your name in circles I shouldn’t have and –”
“Back up,” I say angrily. “Dropped my name, how?”
“That if anything happened to me, my wife, who’s a detective, would come looking.”
“Only we’re getting divorced and I haven’t been active in years,” I remind him. “And it’s so fucking sad that my own husband would put me in harm’s ways to cover his own ass.”
“Mercy, fuck –”
Backhanding him, I scream, “Don’t ever put the two together, Nick!”
“I’m sorry!” he says backing away holding his cheek. “I came to say I’m sorry, and –”
“And what, you piece of fucking shit coward?”
“To warn you,” he says earnestly. “Keep your man with you, alright? Someone needs to have your back here, Mercy.”
“You know what, Nick?” I whisper sadly. “Stare at mine as I walk away.”
And Nick being the asshole he is, didn’t listen.
“I told you the truth!” he whines. “Why do you have to be like this?”
When it came over me, I rounded on him, giving him no quarter. In his face, I demand, “I need a name.”
“Oh,” he stumbles. “I can’t do that –”
Reaching in, I palm my pistol, bringing it to my side slowly. When he sees it, his eyes go round and he tries wiggling free. “I asked for a name, Nick.”
He no sooner said, “Bruno Sylvester,” that there was gunfire. Taking his dumb ass to the ground along with my own, I contemplated shooting him for the trouble. Look, I know a drive by and if the occupants of that SUV wanted us dead, we’d be dead. Instead, they lit Nick’s car up and I watched as the guy in the passenger seat blew me a kiss. I didn’t have time to wonder where I had seen him before because my ex was attempting to hide behind me. Coming to my feet, I put my foot on his back and warn him, “You better pray they find you before Dion does.”
“Mercy F –” he starts then zips his mouth shut.
“Go,” I say softly. “Before I do it myself and cash in on the policy.”
Finally, the idiot listened.
