He snatched one of the pillows and placed it over his face. He screamed into it, doing a pretty good impression of my morning ill-humor. I tugged his right foot before turning towards the door that led to our porch.
I stepped out onto our private deck. We were at the back of the house, facing the water, so we didn't have to worry about neighbors looking over into our room or patio. "It's really pretty out here," I called back to Jack.
He grunted, refusing to move from the bed. I turned to peek at him through a window. His back was turned towards the patio door, his legs were curled, and his head rested on a pillow. I sat down on one of the patio chairs, taking in the cool breeze coming from the water.
As much as I looked forward to spending the weekend with Jack, feelings of inadequacy kept nagging me. I didn't have a lot of sexual experience. I didn't know if I could adequately separate my feelings from the job. My experience as an escort was limited, having had only two clients, but I knew that I had blurred the line between professional and personal.
Did I regret this choice? No. Jack was deploying in a few short weeks and I wanted to cram as many experiences as possible into this short weekend. But, I wasn't fool enough to believe there were any long-term possibilities for us.
I left the patio, returning to the bedroom. I moved silently across the carpet, sliding onto the lush bed beside Jack. I leaned over him; his eyes were closed tightly, a peaceful look on his face. I combed my fingers through his black, wavy hair, feeling the warmth and vitality in the strands. I kissed his temple and left the bed. I snatched up his keys and walked towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Jack said from the bed.
"Oh, I thought you were napping. I was just going to take a drive into town."
He opened one eye, his stare pinning me in place. I stood, shifting my weight from leg to leg, feeling like a naughty teenager caught by a parent. He rolled onto his back, his hands curled behind his head as he stretched.
"Were you really going to sneak out and leave me behind?" he asked from the bed, his lips curving into a smile.
"Well, you looked tired and I'm feeling a bit restless."
He lifted his head off the pillow as he checked the clock on the nightstand. "I know how we can burn off some energy," he said, patting the bed beside him.
"I'd rather shop."
He sat up, a sharp tone in his voice, "I hope you're joking."
"Nope." I moved back to the bed, sitting on the corner as I looked at him. "Please tell me that you truly didn't think we would spend the entire weekend rolling around in bed."
He flopped back onto the pillow. I waited, expecting him to kick his legs like a petulant child; instead, he rested one hand on his belly, stroking his cotton shirt. "Maybe get a few good meals, too," he said as he peered over at me, a devilish expression on his face. He lifted his hand, beckoning me to join him in the bed.
I looked at the door, debating whether or not I should make a run for it. I wouldn't make it far before he caught me. He would probably think it was an amusing game, a bit of foreplay.
I had a total flip-flop moment. Going away with him had been a dumbass idea.
I was staying in a hotel with a man I barely knew. It wasn't that I felt in danger with Jack. I needed to acknowledge that I was in way over my head. What was I supposed to do with him? How was I supposed to keep him entertained? I liked shopping, playing solitaire and reading a good book. Jack? I didn't know what he liked, and that was the problem.
"What's wrong, Mercy?" he asked, his hand dropping back to the bed as I continued to stand at the door.
"What's wrong? I'm not quite sure. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's the place. I can't really tell you because I don't really know myself." My chest was beginning to burn as I fought back emotion. The feeling of inadequacy continued to grow as I questioned my being with Jack. I didn't understand what he wanted with me. I didn't know what I could give him.
He climbed off the bed and stood in front of me. He traced my jaw with his fingers; his eyes locked on my lips. I pulled away from him. "I'm really not in the mood," I said, my voice catching.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me what's wrong," he persisted.
"You can ask me twenty thousand different ways, and the answer will be the same. I don't know," I snapped.
He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at me. The walls of the room seemed to close in on us. It felt like a vise squeezed my throat; I raised my hand, pulling at the collar of my shirt. The pressure didn't decrease. I began to tug at my neck, as if something was caught in my throat, choking me.
"Fuck," he said, reaching for me. He lifted me in his arms, carried me to the bed and lay me down. "Close your eyes," he ordered. Tears fell from my eyes. My breath caught in my chest. I felt like I was suffocating and the tears were drowning me.
"Mercy. Close your eyes," he ordered again.
Pressure settled over my chest. It felt like Jack was straddling me, making it difficult for me to breathe, but he was sitting next to me and not touching my body. Oh my God. Was I having a heart attack? I moved my left arm; wasn't it supposed to hurt if I was having a heart attack? Sweat broke out on my forehead; I counted the seconds, waiting for the nothingness to come. I didn't want to die on that bed, in that strange place.
Jack leaned over me. "Mercy, can you trust me?"
"I can't," I said. That wasn't right. I could trust Jack. I just didn't know what was happening and it scared the hell out of me.
"Why not?" he asked softly.
"I. Do. Not. Know."
"Okay." He turned away, looking at the clock. He stretched out beside me. His body was so close that I could feel the twitching of his fingers even though we didn't touch.
"How old was I?" he said. "I must have been eight or nine when we moved to Texas. It had been our third move in four years, so my brother and I were used to shuffling around, starting a new school, making new friends. One day, we were up in our room, opening boxes, looking for toys. So far, we had only found books and clothing. We stumbled across an old beat-up box with 'Willa' written on the side. I opened it and found toys, but they were dolls, a play kitchen set, and other girly things."
He stopped to take a long breath, the air rushing out through his mouth. "Jamie and I were confused. We thought the movers mixed up one of our boxes with another family's. I remember we ran to our mother, outraged that we had little girl toys to play with. Mom was outside, watering plants at the time, and I'll never forget the happy look on her face when we approached her. It's burned into my memory because of how quickly it faded when Jamie handed her one of the dolls. It was a pretty little porcelain doll with curly black hair and dark blue eyes. Her eyes dimmed with recognition, as she caressed the doll's hair. The happiness was gone. Her breathing became difficult, her hands unsteady as she gripped the doll. Her knuckles turned white and I pried the doll from her fingers. She began to rake her nails over her forearms, as if she wanted to rip her skin off."
He laughed softly. I could hear the anguish in his voice as he continued. "My brother ran into the kitchen, filled a glass of water and came running back outside. I thought he was going to offer her a drink, but instead, he threw it in her face. I remember being angry and hitting him. My mother slid to the ground, her hands covering her face. Then my father walked through the door. He strode down off the porch, picked my mom up, and disappeared back into the house. Jamie and I didn't know what happened, but I grabbed that doll, marched to the trash and dumped all of the toys inside. I would have lit them up with a match, but my dad caught me in time. That's when Jack and I finally learned about Willa. You remember when you asked if I had any other siblings besides Jamie? Well, that wasn't the truth. I had a sister. Willa. I didn't know her because she died a year before I was born. My mother never talked about Willa, hiding her existence from us all of those years. Dad explained that thinking about Willa caused mom to suffer these panic attacks."
; Jack turned on his side, his hand sliding under the pillow. My breathing had slowed. My mind had stopped racing as I concentrated on his story.
"How did Willa die?" I asked.
He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. "I never asked. It was like we allowed ourselves that one day to talk about her."
Squeezing my eyes closed, I licked my dry lips. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and said, "I lied, too. I have a daughter. Or had a daughter."
"What was her name?" he asked.
I shook my head, biting down on my lips. "Baby Girl Higgins," I answered. He scanned my face, frowning. "She was stillborn."
"But you didn't name her?" he asked.
I looked away. "Why would we?"
He sat up on the bed, folding his legs and crossing his ankles. He folded his hands together in his lap. "Why wouldn't you?"
I grabbed the pillow behind my head and pushed it against the headboard. I fluffed the pillow before I relaxed onto it. "We had chosen a name for our daughter, but I...didn't want to...I thought I would save it for the next one," I said weakly. He sat there patiently, waiting for me to explain. At that moment, I knew my reason was silly, but at the time, I was so very hopeful. "The doctor told me I was unlikely to carry another child and I thought, maybe, if I kept the name, then I would be blessed with another child."
His gaze fell to his lap. He clenched his fingers as if he was fighting the urge to react too emotionally. "Every child deserves a name," he said. "What was the name?"
"No, Jack," I said firmly. I closed my eyes and leaned towards him, wrapping my arms around him and placing my head against his chest. Hearing his steady heartbeat calmed me further.
He pushed strands of my hair away from my face. As he caressed my cheek, I could feel the words rumbling through his chest. "Are they buried together? Your husband and daughter?" He didn't return my embrace.
"Yes, but I tried to get him buried in the veteran's cemetery, but he insisted on being buried next to her."
"Will you be buried with them?"
My eyes shot up to his. "No, I'm going to be cremated."
"Mercy," he said, sighing. His arms fell away as he looked at me. "Do you visit them at least?"
I ignored his question. I climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I turned on the shower, the hot water steaming up the bathroom. I sat down behind the door, propping my feet against the wall, and I let the warmth embrace me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"You should try the sausages; they're delicious," Jack said, pointing his knife at the links on my plate. He ate two while I picked at my food. I nibbled on the toast, not wanting to risk anything heavier in my stomach.
He was watching me, counting my bites. There was a tight, pinched look around his eyes, and I felt awful, thinking I was ruining his weekend getaway. I cut a slice from a sausage and lifted it to my mouth. I chewed, savoring the flavor before taking another bite of toast. I grinned at him, hoping he would relax.
He looked away, folding his arms on top of the table. A young family sat at the table beside us. Jack watched the two toddlers as they gobbled down their sausage links. He turned to stare at me, his eyebrows raised as if contrasting my stubborn refusal to eat with the children's gluttonous joy.
I plucked the sausage from my plate, tore it in half and tossed both halves onto his plate. He glanced down, a half-smile on his face. "What am I supposed to do with you?" he asked no one in particular.
I shrugged. It was a question that I occasionally asked myself, and I had yet to find an answer. "Ready to go, kiddo?"
He threw his hands up as if surrendering. He pushed away from the table, glancing back at the children. I grabbed our plates and returned them to the kitchen. I waved at Paul as he placed another platter of sausages on the buffet table.
I walked out of the dining room, Jack striding behind me. He caught up to me, sliding his arm around my waist as we walked out of the inn.
"Tell me about her."
"Who?"
"Your daughter."
I stopped walking and turned to stare up at him. I clenched my jaw, fighting to hold back my anger. "I would have thought it was clear from last night that I didn't want to talk about her."
"Really? Was that why you hid in the bathroom? I thought maybe you were just full of shit."
I stomped quickly away from him, following a gravel path that led to the water. He fell into step beside me, saying nothing as we walked.
I sat down on a bench. I crossed my legs and folded my arms, closing myself off. Jack joined me on the bench.
"Why are you so curious?" I asked, looking at the water.
"I find everything about you curious," he said, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankles.
"I don't know why you would."
He leaned away from me with a questioning look. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as cranky as you before."
"It comes with age."
"No. I think it comes with grief," he said. "You're likely to have another panic attack as long as you keep your emotions so closely locked away."
I jumped up from the bench and looked down at him. "If you shut up, I'll have sex with you."
"You're going to have sex with me regardless," he said, brushing aside my offer. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back down on the bench. "Tell me about Moses."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about my dead husband."
"Well, I'd like to know more about the saint that put up with you all of those years," he quipped. He glared at me and I bit back a retort. "So, he served in the military?"
"He was a Vietnam veteran."
He blew out a deep breath. Shaking his head, he said, "Damn."
"What?"
"Nothing. How did you two meet?" he asked.
I shot him a glance, annoyed that he hadn't answered my question. "Moses was a friend of my brother's. They met at boot camp."
"Samuel, right?"
"Yeah. Samuel."
"I guess your parents have passed on, also?"
"Yeah. Dad five years ago and mom twelve," I confirmed.
"I think you mentioned you had sisters?"
"Three."
"And? Are they still living?"
"Yeah, they're around. We aren't close."
His eyes widened, a look of fake shock on his face. He pressed his hand over his heart. "Is that right?"
"Bite me."
He kissed my ear and whispered, "Later, I promise." I snorted with laughter. He pulled back, grinning broadly at me. "You know what your problem is? You don't like anyone getting close to you. I think you have abandonment issues."
"Is that right?" I asked, throwing his words back at him.
He nodded solemnly, his lips curving into a smile. "What if I promise not to abandon you?"
I gagged. I didn't know on what, but I gagged. "Oh God. You think I'm some kind of rich widow."
"A rich widow selling herself as a prostitute? Of course," he scoffed. He lifted his hand and began to tick off fingers, "Samuel. Moses. Baby Girl Higgins. Your mom and dad. Anyone else dead?"
"Yes, I think we have that covered, Jack."
"Dead, dead, dead," he responded. I smacked his shoulder, causing him to grunt. "You push people away because you're afraid that they'll die on you."
"Thanks, doc, but I knew that already."
"Then why do you continue to do it?"
"Habit. Jack, look at those baby ducks. Aren't they cute? I wish I could smuggle one home."
"They're dead."
"The baby ducks? They are quite alive."
"Your husband and daughter. Your brother. Your parents. Dead." He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I leaned against his hand, loving the feel of his skin against mine. "But you're not, Mercy."
"You're next, you know," I said quietly.
There was a wildness in his eyes. Hopping away from the bench, he looked down at me, horror on his face. "That's a really fu
cked up thing to say."
I ducked my head, knowing that it was true. True that what I had said was really fucked up, but also because my heart screamed that I couldn't let him close because he was going to die and leave me, too.
"Maybe we should go back to D.C.," I said, standing up. He stood away from me, his lips thinned and his cheeks hollowed. "I'm sorry, Jack."
"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked. "It's getting chilly outside. Let's go back to the inn." He stood there a moment. Then he offered his hand to me.
I grasped his hand, holding it firmly, feeling the throbbing of his pulse. He pulled me along the path, back towards the inn. He rushed through the building, taking us back to our room.
Once inside, he shut the door and leaned against it. I sat on the edge of the bed and removed my shoes. My fist supported my chin as I watched him. He looked back at me, and I knew I'd created the divide between us.
"If I died, would you visit me at the cemetery?" he asked.
"I don't visit my own daughter and husband, why would I visit you?" I expected him to flinch. His eyebrow lifted instead, as if challenging me to think of something better.
"Why did you become an escort?"
I shrugged. "Your constant chatter is giving me a headache."
"I'll give you a moment to catch your breath before I ask my question again."
Giving him the finger, I sank down into the soft mattress. "I love this mattress."
"About your job," he began. "Why do you do it?" He moved away from the door and joined me on the bed. His hand smacked against my thigh, causing me to lurch into a sitting position. "Well?"
"Why do you think any woman would do it? It's about the money." I had already shared some of my deepest vulnerabilities. I decided I wasn't going to explain how this job was bringing me back to life.
"Weren't you a teacher?" he asked. "Don't you have some type of retirement from your job? Moses?"
"You aren't going to let this go, are you?"
Jack pulled off his watch. Tossing it aside, he said, "Affirmative."
"Moses had cancer and a big chunk of our savings went into paying for his treatments. We went through the VA the first time. When the cancer came back, we sought treatment through one of those holistic cancer treatment centers. After he died, I made some renovations to the house, taking out a loan that I'm now stuck paying back. Any other questions?" I asked.
Have Mercy Page 28
