by P. J. Day
But this was her daughter, and much more important than any case. Being tired was no excuse. She made it a point to always be present. “Spill the beans, sweetie.”
“Well,” Terra began dramatically. “Thomas was going to try and push David off the swing at recess... I saw it happen before it happened. I could tell, Mommy.”
Mercy breathed in through her nose and exhaled. She knew there’d be a day where Terra’s inherited skills would have to be addressed. She was also relieved that she didn’t get a call from school this time around, and thankful that Terra always told the truth.
“David didn’t do anything wrong, Mommy. It made me mad. So, I told Thomas he was a poopyhead. I know you told me not to say that word, but he shouldn’t have decided to push David.”
Mercy held back a smile. “Next time use your nice words, Terra. What did Mrs. Burke do?”
“I got in trouble for saying the bad word,” Terra admitted. “But while I was in timeout, I saw David pushing Thomas off the swing again—I saw it, Mom, in my head.” Terra pointed to the side of her noggin to emphasize the point. “He was going to try again.” Terra then folded her arms. “So, after timeout I threw sand in his face. And I’m not sorry, even though I was told to say sorry.”
Terra looked up at her mother, her expression worried and defiant.
Mercy kept a poker face. Terra got in trouble more than anyone in her class, and Mercy chose not to be too hard on Terra, as she saw a minuscule amount of her daughter in herself. But since Terra seemed to be having more visions as of late, Mercy now felt that the two of them might be more alike than she’d previously imagined.
Mercy pulled up a chair, sat next to Terra, and made it a point to make eye contact. She smoothed back her daughter’s long, silky black ponytail that was a perfect clone of her own, and spoke softly. “Territa, listen to me. Sometimes kids get mad, like Thomas and David. But you’ve got to let them learn their own lessons. You can’t interfere with every little problem you see in your head.”
Terra nodded. Mercy continued. “Did they put you in timeout again?”
“Yeah. I had to sit against the wall at lunch.”
“Well, what would have happened if you’d just let Thomas push David?”
“David might have gotten hurt!” Terra exclaimed.
“Maybe a little.” Mercy remained calm. “But not a lot, right?”
“No, probably not,” she answered.
“So, if you had left them alone, who would have gotten in trouble?”
“Thomas.”
“And who would have been sitting against the wall at lunch?”
“Thomas.”
“So,” Mercy said, raising her eyebrows as if she were Mrs. Burke. “What are you going to do next time?”
“I’ll try to stay out of it,” Terra answered despondently. “But Mom...”
“No buts. I know it’s sometimes hard, Terra, but you have to be responsible for your own behavior. You do the best you can and let others be. The other kids don’t know the things you do. Right?”
“Right. I don’t think they do. Why is that, Mommy?”
Mercy let the question slide, for now. “You’re just lucky that way. But just keep these things to yourself. Alright?”
“I’ll try...”
Mercy kissed her daughter on the forehead and rose. “Now we have to hurry... finish your oatmeal. I don’t want you to be late for school, or Mrs. Burke will have me sit next to the wall.” Terra giggled and shoved spoonfuls of oatmeal into her mouth.
Mercedes Cruz’ third cup of coffee had now cooled and that was alright. Mercy didn’t drink the strong black brew for the flavor; she drank it for the effect. She hurried and gulped the second one down too.
***
Outside their home—a comfy, two bedroom, corner apartment that sat right above Mercy’s office at ground level—a construction crew was busy placing large letters above Mercy’s storefront door and windows.
Magic Eye Private I
She and Terra watched with pride as the two got into their car parked out front. A couple of crewmen on a scaffold were having trouble balancing the letter M just above the varnished, antique door. Mercy and Terra looked on, wondering if the letter would stay in place as it kept falling into a slant.
Mercy felt a sudden urge to touch the air when she saw the men struggling. She reached her hand out as if she were tapping the letter from afar and tilted it to the right ever so slightly.
Terra gasped as the letter magically lurched upward, spitting in the face of Newton himself.
“Dios Mio,” Mercy whispered. It seemed her own powers were growing, too. Terra knew her mother had done it and with just the flick of her hand.
Terra and Mercy caught the glances from the crewmen. They shrugged and smiled at them through the windshield right before the crewmen burst into laughter at the minor occupational miracle.
“I thought you said to let others figure stuff out on their own,” Terra said.
Mercy sighed. “I know, Mija,” she said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. I guess we all make mistakes.”
Terra nodded, but Mercy couldn’t help but smile as she merged their car into the slow flow of cars that looped around the traffic circle in front of the office, before heading toward Terra’s school.
Chapter Two
“So, what’s the problem?”
Mercedes leveled a cool gaze onto her ex-husband, Grant. “There’s no problem, really,” she stated.
“You just told me Terra’s teacher had a long talk with you. Terra’s misbehaving in school. Christ, Mercy, she’s only in kindergarten! What kind of trouble could she possibly get into?”
“The teacher doesn’t understand her.” Mercy tried to explain. “She thinks Terra’s acting out because she’s got A.D.H.D. But I know she doesn’t.”
“Of course not,” Grant agreed. “But something must be going on if the teacher has to talk with you over and over.”
Mercy sighed. Grant really hadn’t known what he was getting into when he married her. She’d never been able to bring herself to tell him she’d come from a long line of witches, and Grant stopped trying to understand Mercy toward the end of their marriage anyway. This, compounded with Grant’s strong traditional and Catholic beliefs, was a recipe for divorce.
“She’s just... very sensitive,” Mercy told him. “And perhaps a little intuitive. She cares about the other students, and she tries to set things right. Terra just needs to learn to mind her own business, that’s all. When she does, I’m sure she’ll calm down.”
“And in the meantime?” Grant asked. “I don’t want our daughter labeled from kindergarten on. Those labels can stick around a long time. They’ll affect her self-esteem.”
“I know, Grant, I know. I don’t want that either. I’m working on it... talking with her all the time.”
Grant nodded but with a pout. Mercy understood his moods and stopped the conversation. She noticed his hair was graying a little too and her eyes softened. He’d run the business since his father retired, and Mercy understood he was under a lot of pressure. And she also knew Grant loved Terra as much as she did.
“Look, I didn’t come to argue with you,” Mercy said, softly as she knew dealing with Grant was all about the tone in her voice. “I’m just keeping you informed. Okay? And I thought I’d save you some time and pick up the check.”
Grant walked up to his desk and pulled out a pre-written check from underneath a stack of invoices and handed it to Mercy.
“Thank you.” She paused a moment, trying to find the right words. “She’ll be fine, Grant.”
“I know, Mercy.”
Despite the disagreements, Grant regarded Mercy as a wonderful mother. It was a shame the way things turned out between them; he still cared about her, and loved Terra deeply. She was the light of his life. If only Mercy had succumbed to his definition of a stay at home wife and mother, they’d probably would have remained married. But Mercy was stubb
orn, and she’d refused. He knew she didn’t want that kind of life. And there was a mysterious nature about Mercy that Grant never did comprehend. She always seemed as if she were reading his thoughts, answering his questions with miraculous accuracy, almost clairvoyantly, to the point of irritation.
He shook his head, dispelling the haunting memories of spousal mind control. “Well, I’d like to spend more time with her, if that’s okay with you?” he asked.
“Of course, Grant,” Mercy said. “Terra loves spending time with her daddy.” This brought a smile to his face. “Just don’t spoil her too much,” she added. “It’s hard for me to get her back into a routine after you give her tons of ice cream and let her stay up all night watching videos on your tablet!” But she smiled, too. Let him spoil her. After all, he didn’t spend half the time with their daughter as Mercy did.
“Is it okay if I have her over for the whole weekend?” Grant asked.
Mercy hesitated only a moment. Her heart ached when her daughter wasn’t with her. They were very close. But she was grateful that Terra had a father who loved her too.
“I suppose,” she answered. “I’ve got a lot of work to do anyhow.”
“Hey, how’s the business going, anyway?” he asked.
“Good,” she answered with a smile. “I’m hustling work, but that’s alright.”
“You need more work?” His tone was casual, but Mercy sensed a serious undertone.
“Always,” she answered, leaning forward. “What do you have?”
“You know Javier, right?” he said, nervously scratching the back of his head. It wasn’t really a question either; he knew that she did.
“Javier?” Mercy said, surprised and concerned. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Grant answered. He then cleared his throat. “He’s... uh... he’s been missing for four days.”
***
Mercy sat back in her chair, stunned. She knew Javier and his family well. Javier had been working there long before Mercy even met Grant, and she’d never known him to miss a day of work in his life. “What do you mean missing?” she finally asked. “Missing from home or work?”
“I mean he hasn’t been to work in four days.” Grant was obviously irritated. “You know, I don’t remember the last time he missed a day.”
“I know. You’re right. Now that I look back, he’s been the most reliable employee I’ve ever known.” Mercy was concerned now. “What does Julia say?” She pronounced it the way Javier did, Hoolia.
“Who?”
“Julia, his wife.” Grant was okay in many ways, but the fact that he didn’t even know anything about his employees bothered Mercy.
“Well, she doesn’t know where he is either,” Grant replied. “The rest of the guys are worried, and frankly, so am I. Would you be willing to check it out?”
Of course I would, Mercy thought to herself. Javier was an honest, hard-working family man whom she’d always respected. More than that, he and his family were dear to Mercy. Many times, Mercy had sent homegrown fruits and veggies to Javier and Julia’s home. In return, Mercy was delighted each Christmas with a couple of dozen delicious tamales. She would have looked into his disappearance even if Grant hadn’t asked her.
But the businesswoman in Mercy couldn’t help herself. Grant was the one with the money. She leveled her eyes at him again. “I suppose I could put off a couple of things, for both you and Javier, of course. But—”
“I’ll pay you, no problem,” Grant said, waving a hand. “Whatever you want. Productivity... morale is down without him. Bad for business…”
“Alright,” Mercy said. She flashed a pair of smiling eyes at the man she still cared for but was no longer in love with. “Give me his info. I need all you have on him, social security, driver’s license... does he have a green card?”
Grant opened a file drawer and began searching. “Give me a minute,” he said.
Mercy decided to wander into the shop’s innards while waiting on Grant for the necessary information to begin her search. She let herself out of the office and entered the huge work area. She’d been there hundreds of times before, but still couldn’t get used to the vibe of the place. It was always dark; the lights shining down from thirty feet above. It stank of chemicals she couldn’t begin to imagine the contents of.
She noticed the fridge on the right and knew it was always stocked with beer for clients Grant bargained with. Mostly Mexican beer; Tecate, Bohemia, Modelo. All familiar brands she used to sit down and drink with Grant when times were good.
She walked toward the large, rusty tanks filled with chemicals that smoked and brewed. Above them hung huge chains, some raised, some sinking down into the bowels of the tanks, clutching whatever pieces of metal that were being chromed. The other employees hailed her warmly and she greeted them in turn. But they were busy, lifting, lowering, using custom sanders to refine and reshape the chromed parts.
This was a money-making operation for sure. A factory of sorts, the kind that most people never saw. They only saw the end result of all the dirty and dangerous hard work; clothing racks for department stores, push door-bars for huge buildings, a few custom silver accessories for flashy cars.
An eerie, heavy orange dust covered everything in the old place. Mercy remembered when she and Grant were married, he’d replace his steel-toed boots three or four times a year due to the acidic dust. Even Grant’s toes were eternally stained orange. Mercy shuddered and wrinkled her nose at the thought.
Mercy approached Grant’s other desk. This one was messy, dirty. Stacks of quotes and receipts, a desk calendar scribbled over with names and numbers. She took a seat in his chair, as she had done so many other times in the last eight years, and waited patiently, for Javier’s information.
Her eyes wandered to a wooden box filled with paychecks and time cards, then they moved to the front office door; Grant was still in there. She looked down at the phone and noticed he was on the line, probably with a customer.
She pulled in the wooden box from across the desk and plucked out Javier’s time card. He hadn’t missed a day until four days ago. But he had been late, and that wasn’t like him either. Five times in the last two weeks.
Right as Mercy sunk into deep thought, she jumped at the sensation of a hand on her shoulder. “Snooping around, my dear?”
She smiled up at Grant. “It’s my job. You know that.”
Grant handed her some papers. “Okay, see what you can dig up. Here’s a check for your time as well.”
Mercy rose and gave her ex-husband a perfunctory hug. “I’ll keep in touch. If you find anything out...”
“I’ll call you,” he finished. “I’m sorry, Mercy.” His voice held a hint of bitterness. “But I’ve got to get to work.”
Poor baby, Mercedes thought sarcastically as she tapped Grant on his shoulder before making her way back through the front office and down the steps to her car.
A cool summer breeze swept the dry, orange tree leaves up from the cracked sidewalk. Mercy stopped and took in the citrusy smell. She smiled and a feeling of redemption tickled her soul as she realized that Grant had come around, and finally recognized her beyond the roles of mother and wife.
Mercy’s Magic
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The Last Rhino
A short story by P.J. Day
(read on for a sample)
He’d been a child soldier, killing twenty people before the age of sixteen, a fact he’d never denied when asked by one of Ol Pejeta Conservancy’s ministers.
“Any women, children, the aged or infirm?” asked a panelist at the table.
“Never,” said Tarik, “I am no murderer.”
“But you have killed before?”
“Yes, but only in battle, sir.”
The panel remained quiet. This made Tarik nervous. A few of them looked down at their questions. A heavyset man, the park’s f
inance minister, played on his iPhone and smiled from time to time.
The brief silence did help Tarik regroup his thoughts but it was short-lived. His pensive scanning was soon interrupted by a strong female voice.
“Mr. Daw.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied as he’d been instructed by the recruiter.
He felt his right eyelid twitch. He’d never heard a woman call his name with such confidence before. His surprise sprang not from misplaced machismo but from awkwardness.
“This assignment is monumental,” she said, fearlessly making eye contact with the battle-hardened soldier. “You do understand what is at stake here?”
Tarik nodded.
“You’re certainly decorated—militarily,” she said, as she scanned her notes. “You’ve fought with honor and integrity for your adoptive country. We thank you for that.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Tarik subdued a smile.
The woman placed her sheets of paper down onto the table and picked up her pen and then pointed it at Tarik.
“Do you cherish all life? Even the lowliest of animals?” she asked.
“He’s not here to protect cockroaches,” said the finance minister, his joke eliciting laughter from the panel.
Tarik’s dry look quickly diminished the chuckles. He then noticed everyone staring at him intently, even the minister who had been playing on his phone. He felt that the woman’s question was strange and ignorant. Perhaps they felt he was a savage, religious presumptions and all.
“In my native Sudan, I was taught to respect all life. Even the cockroach.”
“You wouldn’t consider sacrificing Juma ritualistically?” asked the finance minister.
Tarik squirmed. “Excuse me, sir. Was that a serious question?”
The woman replied with a nod.
“With all due respect,” said Tarik, “it is true that I have butchered goats, chickens, and have gutted a fish or two, but none was done ritualistically. I have never done such a thing, and neither have I ever seen anyone do such a thing. I have only killed for sustenance. I assure all of you that if I cannot feed myself, I would consider butchering a pheasant before I would ever consider doing anything to Juma.”
