Rett jumped out of the jeep to look closer at the huge oak tree. Its trunk was scratchy to her touch and about a million shades of gray and brown. A black lightning-shaped mark scarred the trunk. “Did Mom and Dad . . . ?”
Love shook her head. “Your mom preferred getting married at the Episcopalian church in San Celina. It is a beautiful old stone church.”
“We call it the lightning tree,” August said. “That mark’s been there since I was twelve. Remember the storm that brought it. Flooding like I’ve never seen before or since. We lost fifty head of Angus. Ever so often one of the newspapers does a story on it, sends out a person to take a picture.”
“Cool,” Rett said, running her fingers over it.
After pie and ice cream, Rett and Love started back to Morro Bay with the promise they’d come on Sunday to help decorate the Christmas tree. Rett was thankful that her grandma didn’t want to talk on the drive back. She was exhausted from trying to make conversation with old people. It was three thirty when they returned to Morro Bay.
“At five thirty I have a weekly dinner with a good friend of mine,” Love said, while they put away the leftover food pressed on them by Polly. “You’re welcome to come. It’s at my favorite restaurant down on the Embarcadero. Best fried shrimp on the coast.” She opened the freezer door and started putting plastic bags of peaches and strawberries in the almost-empty space. “Do you like fish?”
Rett thought for a moment. She loved fried shrimp, but the idea of spending time with more old people seemed like more than she could handle.
“It’ll only be about an hour,” Love said. “I think you’ll like Mel.”
Rett looked at her grandma in surprise. Her friend was a man? Was he, like, her grandma’s boyfriend or something? Now she was curious. “Okay.”
Her grandma pointed to the Embarcadero from her back porch. It was a long street that ran along the bay. “At one time,” Love said, “this town’s whole identity was wrapped around the fishermen and their boats. But the biggest thing for sale now is our quaintness. That and salt water taffy.” She gave a wide yawn. “I think I’ll take a quick nap. Feel free to watch television or whatever. Oh, there’s some photo albums next to the sofa. Lots of photos of your dad. Some of you girls.”
After her grandma’s bedroom door closed, Rett was tempted to call Lissa and see if she’d heard from Dale again. But she resisted. She only had nine minutes left on her phone, and she needed to save them. Instead, she sat in the living room and looked through the photo albums.
Even when her dad was in high school he didn’t look much different than he did at twenty-three, the age he was when he was killed. Her mom didn’t have many early pictures of Dad, so this was really weird for Rett, seeing him grow up in these photos. Since her grandma Love wasn’t in most of them, she assumed that she’d taken them. She’d noticed the old Nikon sitting next to Love’s chair on the sunporch. It wasn’t a digital, so her grandma must take pictures the old way. That would be hard, she thought, ’cause you really didn’t know what you were getting; you kind of had to do it by faith. Digital was so much better.
There were a few pictures of her and her sisters, though they ended after Rett was four, obviously when her grandma and her mom stopped talking. She studied her grandma’s wedding photos, Love and Cy posed under the lightning tree. There was another photo of Mom and Dad underneath the same tree, a photo that Rett had never seen before. Dad’s grin was as big as a pie plate, and Mom squinted into the sun, sort of half smiling. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans, and Mom wore a short denim skirt, a yellow tank top and about a dozen thin bangle bracelets. Rett remembered playing with those bracelets when she was a little girl. For some reason, the photo made Rett sad.
Two hours later, after feeding Ace, they started for the restaurant. Though they could see the Embarcadero from the cottage’s back porch, they had to walk around the corner and down two blocks to reach it. It was colder than Rett expected, and she was glad that Love suggested she bring the blue hoodie that her grandma bought at the drugstore.
“It’s crowded like this on Fridays,” Love said, as they walked along the street that was filled with T-shirt shops, gift boutiques and fish restaurants. “During the summer or holidays, people from the Valley come here to escape the heat or just have a weekend away. The locals like to complain about them. But I’ve got many friends who live in the Valley. They remind me of my cousins back in Kentucky. Good-hearted, hard-working people without a lot of pretense.”
“Valley?” Rett asked. “What valley?”
Love laughed and opened the shiny red doors of the Happy Shrimp restaurant. It stood between a tiny bookstore called Books by the Bay and a salt water taffy store called Louann’s Taffy. “The Central Valley. Haven’t you ever looked at a map of California? The Central Valley is one of the biggest sections of farmland in the United States.”
“Oh,” Rett said, feeling halfway dumb and halfway that she didn’t care. She didn’t want to ask any more because already she was beginning to catch on that her grandma liked to tell stuff to people, kind of like a teacher. It was okay, except that Rett sometimes had a hard time paying attention, especially when it was something she wasn’t that interested in.
There was a line when they walked in, but Love moved past the people and gazed around the crowded restaurant. Three of the restaurant’s walls were windows and, since it was dark, Rett could just barely make out Morro Rock, lit tonight by a cartoony crescent moon. There were pictures of shrimp everywhere: realistic, cartoons and some bold paintings showing shrimp wearing different types of hats. Love waved at someone and turned to Rett, “Mel’s already got a table for us.”
Rett followed her to a table in the corner where a dark-haired thirty-ish woman was standing up, one hand held high. Oh, crap, Rett thought. Mel was a woman. And not just any woman. She was the woman Rett flipped off yesterday in the Buttercream.
“Hey, Love,” the woman said, giving Rett a cursory glance.
“Hey, yourself,” Love replied. She turned to Rett. “This is my friend, Melina LeBlanc. She likes to be called Mel. Mel, this is my granddaughter, Loretta Johnson. She likes to be called Rett.”
“Hi, Rett.” Mel’s face held no expression.
“Hi,” Rett said, feeling her face turn hot. What in the heck should she do now? Had this woman told her grandma that Rett flipped her off?
Before she had to think of something to say, the waitress came and reeled off the specials, all of them fish of some kind. Rett didn’t hear a word and just ordered the shrimp and chips and a Coke.
“How was your day with Polly and August?” Mel asked, looking first at Love, then Rett. Rett’s churning stomach calmed a little. Maybe this woman wouldn’t tell her grandma that Rett gave her the finger. For some reason, she didn’t want Love to hear about that. It was bad enough she thought Rett was a thief.
“They were thrilled, of course,” Love said. “August and I took Rett for a tour of the ranch.”
“What did you think?” Mel asked Rett.
Rett shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. It was pretty.”
“Don’t let your enthusiasm drown out the crowd,” Mel said.
Rett glared at her. “I said it was pretty.” What else did this woman expect her to say?
“So,” Love interrupted. “What interesting people did you see today, Mel?” She looked sideways at Rett. “Mel runs B & E Feed over by the fire department. Your grandpa Cy and I used to own it. Mel worked for your grandpa.”
Whoopee, Rett thought. She picked up a package of oyster crackers and started crushing them with her fingers.
Mel started telling Love something about a saddle and a cowboy named Oscar. Rett tuned them out and for the rest of the meal stared out the window at the sailboats bobbing on the moonlit purple and blue bay. The musical murmur of voices, the mysterious smell of the ocean, the briny taste of salt on her lips, the damp chill that seemed to reach into her bones, the foghorn in the distance, all those sensations mad
e her feel like she was in a dream. Her life in Tennessee, Dale, Patsy, her mom, Lissa, her messy bedroom seemed like a life she’d lived years ago. And the thing was, she didn’t miss it. Not any of it. Not even Lissa. She was ready to start a new life. She didn’t care if she ever saw any of them again. Even Dale. Especially Dale.
“Anything else I can get you ladies?” the waitress asked, laying the check down on the table.
“Would you like dessert, Rett?” her grandma asked.
Rett looked down at her plastic basket, surprised to see that she’d finished everything. She didn’t even remember eating. “No, thanks.”
“I guess we should head on home,” Love said. “Rett should probably get to bed early since she was not feeling well yesterday.”
“I wasn’t that sick,” Rett said, irritated that Love was kind of trying to tell her what to do.
“Listen to your grandma,” Mel said. “She’s had a bit more experience than you at those sorts of things.”
Rett had to hold back the urge to flip Mel off again. She acted like she was queen of the universe or something. Rett gave her a phony smile. “Who died and left you prison guard of the world?”
“Rett!” Her grandma gave a quick, nervous laugh.
Mel’s bottom lip tightened, and Rett could tell she was holding back a reply. Though she’d never admit it, this lady kinda scared Rett. She looked like she’d go all Columbine on you.
“Let’s call it a night,” Love said evenly, standing up. “We’ll see you at the lighted boat parade tomorrow night, Mel.” She fumbled with her purse, searching for her wallet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mel said, waving at her. “Dinner’s on me.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said. They exchanged a look, which kind of pissed Rett off. At the same time it kind of made her sad. It was like they could talk without actually saying words. Rett had always wanted a friend like that. She’d thought she’d had it with Dale. The synonym for Rett Johnson should be stupid girl.
She followed her grandma out without saying another word to Mel. Just as they left the restaurant, she turned back to look at the woman, thinking she would be watching Rett and Love, probably still wearing that know-it-all expression. But Mel was staring at the black hole that was Morro Rock. Her face held a look that even Rett could tell from where she stood was one of deep despair.
The next morning while Rett was eating her second English muffin, the phone rang. Love answered the extension hanging on the wall next to the microwave.
“Yes, this is Love Johnson. Well, yes she is. May I tell her who’s calling?” Love listened a few more seconds. “Just a minute. I’ll see if she’s available.” She put her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s Dale,” she mouthed.
Rett froze, not certain what to do. Either Lissa had told him where she was, or Rett’s mother had. It didn’t matter, because the fact was, he found her. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much of a head start she had.
Love cocked her head, waiting.
“May as well get it over with,” Rett said, tossing her half-eaten muffin on her plate. She could tell by the look on her grandma’s face that she was happy Rett chose that route. She took the phone and said, “What?” She watched her grandma go into the living room, closing the kitchen door behind her, giving Rett her privacy. Thank you, Grandma, she thought.
“I’ll tell you what,” Dale said. “I want my friggin’ banjo back.”
Even though his words were angry, the sound of his throaty voice, a baritone pitched at just the perfect place, made her heart beat faster. She hated how it caused a longing that made her go all soft inside. How could she still feel like this about someone so creepy? She had to be the most pathetic girl alive.
“Yeah, well, I think I’d like my heart back, you stupid jerk.” The minute she said the words, she wished she had said something else. Her line sounded so needy and lame and, worst of all, unoriginal.
“Rett,” he said, his voice growing softer. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“Save it for the soaps,” she interrupted. “Save it for my pregnant sister.”
“Look,” he said. “It’s not what you think—”
“Not what I think!” she said, hearing her voice go all shrill, like her mother’s did when she was mad. “You were screwing my sister at the same time you were telling me you loved me! What exactly does that sound like to you? Not something that would win any prizes from Dr. Phil, that’s for sure.”
“I just meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant. Go tell it to my sister. Maybe she gives a crap, because I sure don’t.”
His voice grew cold over the phone. “Look, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, Rett. All I want is my banjo back. You know how much it means to me, and I need it for this new gig. It’s my big chance. We can discuss this whole mess some other time.”
“Or like maybe, never.” Take that, you donkey.
“I’m in San Celina. I know where your grandma lives. I can be there in a half hour.”
Shocked, she slammed the phone down and ran through the living room past her openmouthed grandma. Ace followed her, barking, excited by the game. She pulled off her pajamas, threw on jeans, a sweatshirt and her boots. Almost tripping over the still-yapping dog, she grabbed the black banjo case.
“Oh, man, sorry, Ace.” She bent down and patted his head. “Gotta go.” She ran past her grandma. “Dale’s on his way. Stall him for me.”
“Wait!” she heard her grandma call after her. But Rett was young and fast and was down the street, leaving Love standing in the front doorway. Rett felt like the rottenest person on the planet leaving her grandma to talk to Dale, but she just couldn’t see him right now. Not yet. And she wasn’t ready to surrender the banjo.
Five minutes of running with the heavy banjo case was all she could manage. She slowed down to a walk, wondering what she should do now. She didn’t know anyone in this town. Once again, she’d been totally stupid and jumped before she thought. She knew eventually she’d have to go back to her grandma’s house where, no doubt, Dale would be waiting. Still, she could hold out as long as she could and decided to keep walking.
“Okay, Mister God,” she murmured. “I’m asking for some kind of sign here. I know that thieves aren’t exactly your favorite kind of people, but you know I didn’t steal Dale’s banjo for no reason. He deserves to be worried for a while. Look what he did.”
She knew, even as she said the words, that really, they wouldn’t convince God any more than they convinced her. Stealing was stealing. Look at how people justify stealing music over the Internet, saying its, like, public domain or whatever. They wouldn’t be so casual about it if they’d spent months writing a song, trying to get it right, and then if they were lucky enough to get someone to publish it, people downloaded it for free. No, she knew that asking God to help her right now was being the phoniest of phonies. Still, she thought, still.
She kept walking, turning back every once in a while to look at Morro Rock, a beacon that told her that she couldn’t really get lost in this town, the rock that watched over the town like a sentry guard. Like how all the songs she’d sung growing up in the church called Jesus the rock. She kind of got it now. From so much of this town a person could see Morro Rock. But even if you couldn’t see it, it was still there. Like, well, like God. It’s not like she never thought about what she sang about as a kid, but now it was beginning to kind of get deeper; she could see where the songwriters were coming from when they compared things. It made her want to go see Morro Rock up close, see exactly what it was made of, what it felt like, how it smelled.
But first she had to figure out a way to get out of this mess. For a moment, she regretted everything: stealing Dale’s banjo, running away from home, even being so pissed at her older sister. How much simpler life would have been if she’d just pretended like she didn’t care when she found out Patsy was pregnant by Dale. She could have just been cool about it, kept her face expression
less, like that lady Mel did. Though Rett didn’t like her very much, she did admire her ability to stay cool. How did a person learn that? Rett sure wished someone could teach her.
She stopped, out of breath, and looked around. She’d stayed away from the main downtown street and was walking along a side street. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that if Love or Dale wanted to, they could find her in two minutes if they were driving. She didn’t have a watch, but she figured it had to be at least a half hour, so it was likely he was at her grandma’s house right now. What would Love do? Would she stall him or help him find Rett? She didn’t have a clue. Her grandma seemed like the kind of person who did the right thing. But would her right thing be to protect Rett or help a guy recover his stolen property?
To her left was the post office, busy this Saturday morning. People were carrying in packages decorated with Christmas stickers. For a moment, Rett wondered what they were doing in Knoxville. Mom always had the coolest Christmas trees. Rett had to give her that. Their Christmas trees were always famous wherever they lived. They were a different theme every year. Last year it was soldiers and flags, honoring those serving in Iraq. The local paper even took a picture of it and put it on the front page. Mom smiled for days afterward. Christmas was always a good time in their house, though Rett doubted it would be this year.
She walked past the post office, trying to ignore the sad feeling. Next to the post office was the fire department. The yellow fire truck had a fake green Christmas bough with a fancy gold bow attached to its grill. Next to the fire department was B & E Feed. She stopped and stared at the red wooden building. A chalkboard next to the open door said, “Don’t forget your feathered friends this holiday season! Wild bird-seed—half price—today only.”
This was the feed store her grandpa once owned. She’d seen a picture of it in one of Love’s albums when it was called Cy’s Feed and Seed. It was where Love had told Rett that her dad had worked. It occurred to Rett in that moment that these were the streets her dad, that man she remembered holding her, his laugh a deep rumble against her tiny ear, lived and played and learned to do, well, everything a person had to learn to be a grown-up. Her father. Her chest felt like someone had pumped air into it, and with one prick she’d explode like a balloon. He grew up here. His father owned this feed store. Whenever she’d heard the word family, it was her mother and sisters who instantly came to mind. Maybe, if pressed, her grandfather Murphy, though he was mostly someone who was good for a check on her birthday and at Christmas. In that moment her concept of family changed. My people—she’d heard that remark hundreds of times in the little churches they sang at throughout Tennessee, Georgia, Arkansas and Alabama. Old people were always talking about “their people” and “your people.” The words had never meant much to her. Until now. She kind of got it now.
Love Mercy Page 16
