Little Mercies

by Heather Gudenkauf

  Hank pulls Theresa out of harm’s way and I briefly see their shocked faces in between Lucy’s blows.

  Two men, one in scrubs, the other in street clothes, peel Lucy off me. I touch my fingers to my face. Already my lip is swollen, my nose bleeding.

  “Bitch!” she screams again. “You think you can take my kids away from me? You think you’re above the law?”

  Lucy is twenty-four years old but looks seventeen. She has long wheat-colored hair, stands about four-nine, weighs ninety pounds, if that. She also has sweet elfin features, a small upturned nose, high cheekbones, big blue eyes, the mouth of a sailor and an addiction to prescription pain medications. Lucy is the single mother of a five-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl that she lost custody of three months ago when, high on drugs, she set her own apartment on fire, severely burning one of the children. Obviously, the children were put into foster care.

  Her face is contorted and red with rage. “You think you’re better than me?”

  I say nothing though I could say so much. What I don’t say is: Yes, Lucy, I made a terrible mistake, a mistake I will never, ever forgive myself for. I bite my swollen lip to keep from speaking, but my shoulders sag with the realization that maybe I am not so different from the Lucy Pikes of the world.

  “I hope they send your ass to jail. I hope your kids get put in foster care and you never see them again! See how it feels!” She is struggling against the arms that are holding her back from attacking me again. Her hair is greasy, her skin waxy and pale. Lucy was tiny to begin with but has somehow lost more weight. It’s clear that she is self-medicating again, this time with something that doesn’t dull her senses like hydrocodone. I suspect meth or heroin.

  The two men restraining Lucy let her go and just as quickly as she appeared, she is gone. Theresa gently presses a wad of tissues to my face. “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “I think so.”

  “What was that all about?” Hank looks around in disbelief. “Who was that woman?”

  The small crowd that had formed drifts away and Theresa and Hank each take me by the arm and lead me to a bench. Concern crinkles Hank’s already creased face. “Do we need to get a doctor?”

  “No, no. I’m okay,” I insist. My nose throbs but is no longer bleeding. “Please, you should go up and see how Avery is doing. I’m hoping that you can relieve Adam for a little while so he can get some rest.” I look down and realize that I am squeezing Theresa’s hands tightly and quickly release them. “Please don’t tell Adam about this,” I whimper. “He has so much to worry about as it is.”

  Theresa takes my hands back into hers. “We won’t say anything, will we, Hank?” Theresa says, and Hank nods in agreement.

  “Thank you,” I say gratefully. We both look up and I immediately recognize the Channel Eleven reporter that I had seen on the news report from earlier this morning. A cameraman lags just behind her, his camera poised on his shoulder. “Oh, no,” I whisper, and I stand. “Go while you have the chance,” I tell Hank and Theresa. “You won’t want to speak to the press.”

  Theresa gives me a hug and Hank gives my hand one final squeeze before they hurry away.

  “Ellen Moore?” the reporter begins. “I’m Lindsey Wright from Channel Eleven News. Lucy Pike has given her side of events. Would you like to respond?”

  What side of events? I want to scream. Lucy Pike has no side to tell. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my family, was nowhere near when Avery was pulled from the car. I shake my head. “No comment,” I say.

  Lindsey glances over her shoulder at the cameraman who has his camera zeroed in on my face. “Norman,” she says in exasperation, “put that down.” Norman reluctantly lowers the camera and she continues. “I’d love to hear your account of what happened.” Again I shake my head. Lindsey holds up her hand. “The interview would be completely on your terms. You pick the location, the time, the scope of what we talk about.”

  “No comment,” I repeat, and scan the corridor, wondering where Joe could be. “Excuse me,” I tell her as politely as I’m able and move to walk away, though I’m not sure where I will go. She couldn’t follow me into the bathroom, could she?

  “Mrs. Moore, I know this is a terrible time for you. I have a little boy myself.” She turns to the cameraman. “Norman, can you give us a few minutes?” Norman shrugs and wanders away. “Listen, public opinion out there is brutal.” I wince at the bluntness of her words. “Surely you’ve seen the reports. More parents are contacting us about you. They are furious that you were released from jail and are demanding the removal of your other children from your care.” I open my mouth to respond. I want to tell her about all of the successes that I’ve had through the years. The children, at one time in terrible home situations, graduating from high school, the parents who have gotten treatment for alcohol and drug abuse. I’ve done good things, too, I want to tell her, but I clamp my mouth shut and take a deep breath.

  “I have nothing to say,” I respond with a finality that is unmistakable even to this determined reporter.

  Finally, Joe emerges from around a corner and, on seeing the reporter, a look of irritation flashes across his face. I’ve seen this look on Joe’s face before and I grin inwardly until I see that Norman, the cameraman is filming the entire exchange I’m having with Lindsey. Joe sees it, too, and he steps between me and the reporter, hands on his hips.

  “Ms. Wright,” he says with forced politeness.

  “Officer Gaddey,” Lindsey responds with a tight smile.

  “I don’t believe hospital policy allows for unauthorized interviews being held in the building.” Joe casts a dark glare at the cameraman, who sheepishly lowers his camera.

  “Just passing through,” Lindsay answers. To me she extends her hand, offering a business card embossed with her name and number. “If you’d like to talk, please let me know,” she says. “Good luck to you.” I take the card, knowing that I will never call her.

  “You’re not going to talk to her, are you?” Joe scolds me.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Avery doing okay?”

  I nod. “She’s better today.”

  “That’s great news. Come on, I’ll take you to your mom’s house.”

  “Thank you,” I tell Joe for perhaps the thousandth time in the past forty-eight hours.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Joe says dismissively. “Listen, I got some info on that name you gave me.”

  “Jenny Briard?”

  “Yeah. Girl’s dad was arrested three days ago in Benton, Nebraska, for disorderly conduct and for assaulting a police officer. According to Billy Briard, he was attacked by some acquaintances he owed money to in the parking lot of a bus station. He was getting the crap beat out of him. Meantime, ten-year-old Jenny Briard is sitting on a bus waiting for her father to get on. He never did. When the police came, he tried to tell them about Jenny on the bus. When they didn’t listen, he freaked out. Broke a cop’s nose.”

  “She traveled all this way by herself,” I say, still not believing it could be possible. As we climb into his unmarked police car, I ask, “Why didn’t she tell anybody? Why didn’t she get off the bus before it left?”

  “Don’t know, but the officer I talked to said that Briard isn’t a bad guy. A drunk, but not a mean drunk. Gets jobs, loses jobs, but always seems to land on his feet.”

  “Such a sad story,” I say as Joe drives toward my mother’s house.

  “There’s more,” he finally says. I look over at him. “The grandmother, Margaret Flanagan, died a little over a year ago.” I nod. This is what my mother told me. “You are never going to believe who Margaret’s daughter is,” Joe says as he pulls into my mother’s driveway.

  “Who?” I ask as I notice Lucas and Leah waiting on the porch. Even before the car is in Park my mother is rushing down the steps toward us. I leap
from the car.

  Dread washes over me and I wonder if something happened to Avery in the short time I’ve been away from the hospital

  “It’s Jenny,” my mother says. “She’s gone.”

  Chapter 32

  This morning she had risen early, arranged three pillows on the sofa beneath her blanket to make it look like she was still sleeping, slid the twenty-dollar bill and a short note that read “Thank you. Love, Jenny” beneath the covers. She picked up her backpack and, moving carefully so as to not make any noise, tiptoed into the kitchen. In the dim morning light, Jenny surveyed Maudene’s kitchen one last time, grabbed two blueberry muffins from the wicker basket on the counter, gave half of one to Dolly and quietly slipped out the back door.

  It had taken Jenny an hour to walk to her grandmother’s house on Hickory Street and her feet ached. Though Jenny wasn’t much of a reader, she had the map the woman at the gas station gave her and she easily remembered the landmarks that Maudene had passed during their drive back to Maudene’s from her grandmother’s home: the church with the cross atop the steeple, the gas station with the green dinosaur on the sign, the elementary school with the colorful playground equipment. Jenny looked longingly at the structure with its bright yellow spiral slide, monkey bars, firefighter’s pole and arched bridges. No time for play, she told herself and allowed a twinkle of hope that maybe this could be her school, her playground.

  When she finally arrived on Hickory Street, she lingered on the corner of the busy street, but quickly realized that the sight of a ten-year-old girl at six-thirty in the morning was unusual. After several curious glances from dog walkers and drivers on their way to work, Jenny took a deep breath and looked around for a place to wait, unnoticed, until she got the nerve to knock on the door of her grandmother’s house and maybe, just maybe, it would open to reveal her mother.

  Her grandmother’s yard didn’t have much in the way of landscaping, no trees with low-hanging branches to climb into, no bushy hedges to hide behind, but the home right next door did. Jenny dashed across the street and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then she ducked into the swaying, silvery plumes of maiden grass that lined the neighbor’s house. The arching foliage was scratchier than it looked and though the day was already starting warm, Jenny pulled her father’s t-shirt from her backpack and tugged it over her head. She lowered herself to the ground, drew the t-shirt down over her bare knees and waited. From her shaded vantage point, Jenny wasn’t able to see much of her grandmother’s house and yard, but there was a window. Through the window screen Jenny had a postage stamp view of the house where Maudene said her mother lived. The room appeared to be the kitchen, with a line of cupboards affixed near the ceiling. In the gap between the top of the cupboards and the ceiling someone had placed a collection of teapots. She wondered if that had been her mother’s or her grandmother’s idea. She never recalled her mother drinking tea, only cups of coffee and diet soda out of a can.

  The strong smell of cigarettes wafted through the window down to Jenny. Someone was home. A slim figure moved across Jenny’s field of vision and, though she saw her for only the briefest of moments and couldn’t quite see the woman’s face, Jenny knew it was her mother. It was the slope of her narrow shoulders, the way she dipped her head, the way she brought one hand up to brush her bangs from her eyes. The time it took for the woman to glide past, the blink of an eye, the flash of light from a firefly, was all it took for Jenny to know for certain. Jenny was nearly to her feet when another shadow filled the window, this one much larger. She immediately fell back to the ground, urgently trying to pull the plants around her. Jenny held her breath as the man absently looked out the window, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, took a deep pull and exhaled, his face obscured in a smoky cloud. As with her mother, Jenny didn’t need to see a face to know who the man was. Jimmy.

  Jenny couldn’t remember feeling so many emotions at one time. Not even when her father was attacked in the parking lot and the bus pulled away, sending her off all alone into the world. That was just one emotion, strong as it was, fear. Not when Jimmy would make fun of her and hit her. That was embarrassment, helplessness and the oh-so-familiar fear. What she felt now was much more complicated. There was the soaring feeling of finding her mother. The choking terror at seeing Jimmy again. The flip-flopping disappointment and anger that her mother could have stayed with the man who had hurt her so badly. And, worst of all, the hollowed-out feeling that she had nowhere left to go. Barely daring to breathe, Jenny stayed as still as she was able and prayed that Jimmy wouldn’t look down. If he did, he was sure to see her.

  After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a minute, Jimmy moved away from the window. There was the sound of muffled voices. Not the angry shouts that she remembered from her time when she lived with Jimmy and her mother. They were always fighting. Jenny remembered covering her ears or humming some made-up melody to block out the cutting words and biting remarks. What she heard now sounded, well, normal. What she imagined a regular family might sound like. Talking about what they were going to do that day, what they were going to eat for supper that evening. There was even the light, songlike laugh she remembered of her mother’s followed by a deeper but equally mirthful chuckle by Jimmy. A sound she could never, ever remember hearing before. It struck her then, as she sat amidst the scratchy stems of maiden grass. Here, in her grandmother’s house, the arguments, the tears, the shouting, the hitting had stopped. Every word that Jimmy had spit at her was true—she was spoiled, she was a selfish little brat that made her mother so unhappy, made them fight, made him hit her. If she was gone, everything would be okay. It had nothing to do with Jimmy. It was all her. It was Jenny.

  Jenny didn’t even try to stop the tears that welled in her eyes, though she bit down hard on her lip to muffle the mournful sounds that were bubbling from deep within. Her shoulders rose and fell with silent sobs, and hot tears fell, staining her father’s t-shirt. Jenny licked the corner of her mouth, catching the river of salty tears that ran down her face. This is what sad tastes like, she thought to herself.

  As the sun rose slowly higher in the eastern sky, Jenny sat frozen in place. She didn’t know where to go. If she stayed, someone was sure to find her and she didn’t know how to begin to explain why she was there, and the thought of Jimmy recognizing her terrified Jenny. She also dismissed the idea of going back to Maudene’s house. She couldn’t face Maudene after sneaking away without telling her where she was going. She was too ashamed after all the nice things Maudene had done for her. She checked her father’s cell phone for the time. How could it only be 7:00 a.m.? Had she only been sitting there for half an hour? Her tailbone ached and she was already becoming uncomfortably warm.

  In Jenny’s mind there only seemed to be two remaining options: call Connie back and ask her to come get her or go back to the station and return to Benton the way she had come—by bus. Waiting for Connie to make the eight-hour drive seemed endless so Jenny opted for the bus station, except she couldn’t quite remember how to get there. That meant asking for directions and Jenny knew that with her red, tearstained face, she was in no condition to approach anyone. She rubbed her face with the sleeve of her father’s t-shirt, aware that his smell was beginning to fade from it, and Jenny feared for a brief moment that she was forgetting what he looked like. She squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to conjure him. Reddish-brown hair, eyes as blue as a robin’s egg, a scrub brush whiskery face. She relaxed, eyes still shut, fixing the image firmly in her mind. She hadn’t forgotten.

  A shadow dimmed the already filtered light through her closed eyelids and for a moment Jenny thought a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Rain, she thought, would be wonderful. It had been so long since she felt the cool plop of raindrops on her skin but hoped it would hold off until she reached the bus station.

  “Jenny?” the voice questioned, breathless
and tentative.

  With a spasm of alarm, Jenny’s eyes popped open. Above her stood her mother. Jenny wanted to scramble to her feet and dash away, and with equal measure she wanted to throw herself into her mother’s arms. Instead, she stayed put, mouth agape, returning her mother’s surprised gaze. Her mother had changed some in the six years since Jenny had last seen her. She was a bit heavier around the middle, but had the same gray eyes and brown hair twisted up with a clip. Her nose looked different than she remembered. Thicker, a little off center.

  “You’re here,” her mother said in disbelief. Jenny nodded wordlessly and dragged her eyes away from her mother’s face to the window above her. “It’s okay, he left for work,” she said, seeing Jenny’s distrustful expression. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said, shaking her head, bending at the waist, hands on knees to get a better look. “Your dad okay?” she asked sharply. “Are you okay?” Jenny didn’t know how to answer so she remained silent. “I remembered you talking a lot more.” Her lips curved upward, showing her gap-toothed smile that fell away when Jenny didn’t smile back. “You want to come inside? It’s getting hot already.”

  Her mother offered her hand, but Jenny ignored it. She got to her feet on her own and hooked her backpack protectively around her shoulders. Her mother led her around to the back entrance of the house and up a set of rickety wooden steps. A stout brown-and-black dog with sharp eyes sniffed at Jenny through the screen door. Jenny released a whimper of fear and her mother placed a gentle hand on her back. “It’s okay, Jenny. Roscoe is a good dog. He won’t bite. Come on in.” Her mother went to open the door, but Jenny cried out again. “I’ll go put him in the bedroom,” her mother promised. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

  In the few seconds that her mother was gone, Jenny considered running away, but she found that she was too curious to leave. She was finally with her mother again. She could ask her all those questions that she had been dying to know the answers to. How could you let Jimmy be so mean to me? Why did you choose him? Why didn’t you ever call? Did you ever miss me?