Love Mercy (15 page)

The phone call from Patrick had agitated her enough that she knew she wouldn’t be able to settle down. She wondered how Love was faring with her new granddaughter. She pictured them sitting at the pine kitchen table, like Mel had with Love and Cy so many times, sharing a meal and laughing. Was that what was happening? Mel suspected it wasn’t quite that simple. That young girl looked like she brought with her a boatload of trouble. That would be another reason Mel would leave if Patrick followed through on his threat to come out here. Love would have her hands full with her granddaughter. She didn’t need to worry about Mel.

She glanced over at the sunburst clock hanging next to the potbellied stove sitting in the corner of the living room. It was nine fifteen p.m. Too late for a piece of pie at the Buttercream. But she was restless, wanting to be on the move yet not knowing where to go. She grabbed her keys and left her house, driving her truck out of Morro Bay toward San Celina. She wanted a drink but didn’t want to go where anyone knew her. She had a lot to think about. If she was going to leave, she’d better start thinking about what she’d take, because it would happen fast, the minute that Patrick showed up on her doorstep.

In downtown San Celina, Mel parked in one of the new parking structures and walked down to Lopez Street, the town’s main drag. The old-fashioned streetlamps were decorated for Christmas with artificial pine boughs, giant red bows and gold trumpets. There were twinkling lights in the trees, giving the entire downtown a festive, Disney-like aura. They were cleaning up from the town’s famous Thursday night farmers’ market. The bars at the south end of the street were just starting to liven up, rowdy groups of Cal Poly students pouring out on the streets, loud, laughing and obnoxious. At least they seemed obnoxious to Mel, who not only had never lived that carefree college life but had spent a lot of her early years as a patrol officer hauling these overly privileged, drunk, puke-covered kids into the police station.

She walked down to the end of the street with her hands in the pockets of her flannel-lined barn jacket, trying to decide if she wanted to push through the crowds and find a quiet corner. She finally gave up and walked back up the street toward Blind Harry’s Bookstore, where she’d make do with a chai latte, even though what she craved was a double Irish coffee, a drink she’d grown to love when she was with Sean.

The bookstore was crowded with Christmas shoppers, and she realized that Blind Harry’s was having a special “open until midnight” sale. That worked for her. She hadn’t bought a Christmas gift for Love yet, and though she wasn’t sure if she’d even be around in a few weeks, she’d try to find something that she could leave with Polly to give to Love on Christmas Day.

It didn’t take her long to find what she hoped was the perfect gift. It was a book of photographs by the late Isaac Lyons, a famous photographer Love took a class from once and who had been married to Benni Ortiz’s grandmother, Dove. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the faux leather front cover.

“It just came in today,” said a pretty Hispanic woman who looked to be in her midforties. Her name tag read Elvia. “He was a local for many years. Married to the grandmother of a friend of mine before he passed away last year.” She straightened a stack of Christmas cards. “We miss him terribly.”

Mel nodded. “Benni and Dove. They have the ranch next to the Johnsons. I work for Polly and August occasionally.” She handed her the book. “I’ll take it. It’s actually a gift for Love Johnson.”

“Oh, my goodness, I’ve known Love forever. She’s a wonderful customer.” The woman smiled at Mel. “She’ll love it. I’d be happy to wrap it for you. No extra charge.”

“Sold,” Mel said. “Thank you.”

Happy that she’d found something Love would like, Mel carried her package to the basement coffeehouse to buy her latte, maybe read the newspapers always lying around on the round wooden tables. It was better she didn’t stay home and brood. There would be enough time for that later on tonight, when she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She ordered a decaf, hoping that her virtuous choice would stave off the insomnia gremlins.

She was perusing one of the bookshelves filled with used books that lined all the walls of the coffeehouse, waiting for her order to be called, when a vaguely familiar male voice said her name.

“Melina LeBlanc. As I live and breathe.”

She turned to look at the man, studying his animated face, trying to remember where she’d met him. He wore a navy blue cowboy shirt, jeans and a pair of dark, shiny cowboy boots made with the skin of some unfortunate lizard.

He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m absolutely crushed that you don’t remember me. Ford Hudson. Hud. Maisie’s dad.”

“Oh, yeah, hi.” The annoying sheriff’s deputy. She shook his hand firmly, one cop to another.

“Doing some holiday shopping?” He tilted his head, glancing at the red and silver Blind Harry’s bag. “Or a book for yourself?”

“A gift,” she said, glancing around, trying to figure out a way to extricate herself from this encounter. She’d driven to San Celina specifically because she didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“You have an appointment?” he asked, his dark eyes laughing at her.

She hesitated, not a natural liar but wanting to use the excuse to leave.

“I won’t bite. At least not until we’ve known each other a little longer.”

She frowned and looked him directly in the eyes. “I don’t find your flirting particularly amusing.”

“Flirting,
moi
?” He pretended to be shocked. “My daughter would inform you that I am way too elderly to flirt. According to her, people should stop dating or havin’ any fun at all after the age of thirty-five.”

She just stared at him, not wanting this conversation to continue. She had too much on her mind tonight to word wrestle with some middle-aged wannabe cowboy.

“I’m from Texas,” he said, completely out of the blue.

“Too bad,” she replied.

“You got something against Texans?”

She inhaled, holding it in for a few seconds before letting out a long breath. “Look, Mr. Hudson—”

“Hud. Mr. Hudson was—”

“I know, I know, your father. Look, I just want to be alone tonight, okay? I’m sure you’re a nice guy and that there are women who go for guys like you. So why don’t you go run your little spiel on them? I’m sure they’d appreciate it a lot more than me.”

“I’m very rich.” He said it matter-of-factly, with a friendly smile like he’d just said, I own a basset hound or I like fried chicken.

She felt her mouth drop open slightly. “That’s the most obnoxious pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“It got your attention, didn’t it? Don’t you want to know how I got rich? I swear, it’s not graft.”

It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. His words had to be a coincidence, but they still seemed to crumble around her like a brick house in an earthquake.

“I gotta go,” she said, her voice jagged in her ears. She ran up the steps, vaguely hearing her order being called. When she reached the street, she stood for a moment inhaling the cold night air, her chest heaving, trying to catch her breath. It felt like she was under water, like she was going to suffocate.

“Here,” Hud said, suddenly beside her. He pulled her into the alley next to Blind Harry’s. He took her Blind Harry’s bag and handed her a brown paper sack. “Put it over your—”

“I know,” she gasped and put the sack over her mouth, breathing slowly in and out, mentally telling herself to calm down, don’t panic, there’s no way this man could know about her and Sean. Was there? In a few minutes, she was breathing normally again, and she lowered the sack. She hadn’t had an attack like that for years. She used to hyperventilate when she was a kid, so much that she carried a paper lunch bag around in her backpack like the way a person susceptible to anaphylactic shock carries an EpiPen.

“Better?” Hud said, his voice gentle.

She looked up at him, knowing she should be grateful for his help, but all she wanted to do was crumple the bag in a hard ball and throw it in his face. Yes, he helped her by realizing she was hyperventilating and bringing her the thing she needed, but he also
caused
the attack to begin with. And by the look on his face, he was going to ask her why she reacted like she did.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not going to ask you what’s wrong, but it’s obvious to me that something traumatic is going on in your life.” He took his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a white business card and wrote on the back of it. “Here’s my home phone number, my cell and my work number. If you need any help—”

“I don’t.” She started folding the paper bag in neat squares, making it smaller and smaller until she couldn’t fold it anymore. “I’m fine. I just . . . have these attacks once in a while.”

He held out her Blind Harry’s bag and the business card. “I’ve gone through some rough times in my life. If you need someone to talk to . . .”

She grabbed the bag that held Love’s gift. “I don’t even know you.”

“We both know Benni Harper. And we’re her friends. That makes us friends once removed.”

Man, this guy was persistent. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

He stuck his card in her jacket’s pocket. “Just in case.”

She turned abruptly away from him, walking up Lopez Street, her back teeth aching from tension. With guys like him, the only thing you could do was walk away. Usually their egos kept them from chasing after you. When a few minutes later she was still alone, she sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was a guy, especially one who was a cop. As she walked down the crowded street, the sound of Christmas music in the air, she couldn’t help wondering where she would be at this time next year. She’d always suspected that her life in Morro Bay had been too good to last. When Cy died and she and Love continued their Friday night dinners, she’d been relieved. Though she knew that it was pity that Cy and Love had felt for her initially, she hoped that it had turned into a true caring, maybe even something close to a family.

But now Love had her real family here. A girl that might or might not appreciate how lucky she was to have Love as her grandmother. At any rate, this girl and possibly her sisters and her mother would fill up Love’s life, and though Mel was glad for Love, really happy for her, she was sad for herself. Maybe the call from Patrick had been a sign that it was time for Mel to move on.

A sharp wind came up when she was a block away from the parking structure. She looped the handled Blind Harry’s bag over the crook of her elbow and stuck her cold hands deep into her pockets. Her right fingers touched the folded paper bag that had given her back her breath only moments before; her left hand pulled out the card from the deputy who talked as smooth as melted chocolate, someone who reminded her way too much of a man she’d once loved. Right before she started up the stairs to the second level where her truck was parked, she threw the folded paper bag in an overflowing garbage can. Then, with only the slightest hesitation, she tossed the business card after it.

ELEVEN

R
ett could hear her grandma talking on the phone, her voice a low murmur. She wanted to get up and hear who she was talking to since she had a sneaking feeling that the conversation was about her. But when she sat up, her head thrummed like a bass fiddle, so she carefully lowered herself back down. Why did she have to get sick now? For a moment, she almost wished that she was back home, that the voice in the background was her mother’s. Mom wasn’t so bad when you were sick. It was the only time she seemed to be nice. It was a miracle that she, Patsy and Faith hadn’t all become total hypochondriacs.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. The moonlight through the thin white window shades gave shape to the furniture in the room, simple pieces that looked like they’d been around a while. Her grandma didn’t look rich, just normal. How did she make a living? There was so much Rett didn’t know about her dad’s family. Thinking about that made her angry with her mom all over again.

Love’s voice became a little louder, causing Rett to struggle up and swing her legs over to the side of the bed, ignoring her throbbing head. It sounded like her grandma Love was arguing. A deep dread in Rett’s stomach told her that, despite her protests, her grandma had contacted Mom.

She stood up, gripping the side of the bed as the room spun around while she inched her way over to the partially closed door. Love’s words became clearer.

“I assure you, Karla Rae, I had no idea she was coming out here. For heaven’s sake, I didn’t . . . don’t even know where y’all live. If not for Rett’s cell phone, I still wouldn’t know how to get in touch with you, which means I couldn’t have been in touch with her.” There was a pause, then her grandma said, “She’s eighteen, Karla. I can’t
make
her do anything.”

All right, Grandma, Rett thought. She could imagine her mom’s deep voice spewing accusations. Accusations that were totally bogus. Though Rett had thought about calling her grandma first and seeing if she even cared about seeing her, that wasn’t how Rett did things. Jump right in was her philosophy. Don’t think too much about stuff you want to do, because you’d probably chicken out. It was how she made friends—maybe not the smartest way, considering what happened with Dale—and it was how she wrote songs. She remembered Pete, her first stepdad, saying to her when she was nine or ten, “Rett, you are much too happy flying by the seat of your pants. Someday you’re going to be right sorry you don’t put a little more thought into what you do.”

She didn’t think about the last part of his comment because she’d zeroed in on that first image. She pictured herself on a flying carpet hurtling over the earth looking down on everyone as she dipped and flew her way to someplace more exciting than her life as the second Son Sister. That feeling had come back to her when she rode in the cab of Brother Dwaine’s big rig. Not that she thought she was better than other people. She just wanted to go her own way and do what she wanted without being bugged. What was wrong with that? She wasn’t hurting anyone, so why couldn’t they just leave her alone?