Love Mercy (16 page)

She edged closer to the door as Love’s voice grew softer.

“Karla Rae—excuse me—Karla—I’m sorry you were so worried. That was why I tried to find you. I understand. No, I can’t put her on the phone. She’s got the flu, and she’s asleep.”

There was a long pause, probably because her mom was nagging her grandma’s ear off. Rett felt a quick stab of regret for putting Love through this. But it was kinda her own fault. Rett
told
her not to call Karla.

“I’ll ask her to call you the minute she gets up,” Love said, her voice way more calm than Rett’s would have been, she was sure. Another short pause. “I can’t guarantee anything, Karla. As I said before, she’s a legal adult.”

All right, Grandma, Rett silently cheered, suddenly feeling a lot better about her spontaneous trip here. Maybe everything would turn out okay. There was still Dale’s banjo she had to think about. It was only a matter of time before he forced Lissa into telling him where Rett was. She didn’t expect her girlfriend to hold out forever, and Rett sure knew how persuasive Dale could be. What would he do when he found out she took his precious banjo? Would he come out here and try to get it back? The thought of pawning it still rolled around in her head, but since it was technically stolen, she didn’t want to do something that might land her in jail. Though, she thought, that would give her some interesting material for songs and a bio that was way cooler than being one-third of a second-rate girl bluegrass-gospel group. Well, she’d figure out what to do if Dale actually showed up.

Love hung up the phone. Rett hobbled back to bed and climbed in. She didn’t want her grandma to think she was some kind of weirdo snoop. Rett suspected that her grandma would check on her right now and probably lots of times during the night. She seemed like that kind of person. Rett sighed, feeling like she could sleep for a week. She snuggled down into the soft comforter with the intention of closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep when her grandma checked, but before she even heard her grandma open the bedroom door, she wasn’t pretending.

TWELVE

L
ove collapsed in Cy’s old leather chair. This wasn’t the end of it between her and Karla Rae by any stretch of the imagination.
Karla
, Love reminded herself. Her daughter-in-law had informed her she no longer went by Karla Rae.

Well, at least Love couldn’t be accused of trying to hide Rett from her. It would be up to Rett now to stay in contact with her mother. Her former daughter-in-law’s accusations that Love was somehow involved with Rett running away from home still rang in Love’s ears. Fourteen years hadn’t done much to soften Karla.

Love stood up and walked into the guest room to check on Rett. The poor girl was sound asleep, her hair spread in a wild disarray on the white pillow. Love gently touched her forehead with her fingertips. It was damp and cool. The Tylenol had broken the fever. She studied her granddaughter’s peaceful face, feeling a combination of joy and sorrow. Seeing Rett made the loss of Cy and Tommy so much more tangible. She managed to go for days at a time not mourning her life, thinking about how her whole family had been snatched from her. When she saw families down on the Embarcadero, visiting from L.A. or the Valley, eating ice cream, laughing at family jokes, she just barely managed to squelch the resentment she felt, the anger that she harbored against God.

Love had grown up attending the little Baptist church in Redwater, Kentucky, where she and Cy met. Her faith back then was as simple as the church’s unpainted pine walls. It was a faith taught to her by her mother, Nora, who had the sort of honest and trusting faith in God and Jesus that never questioned, as far as Love knew, why bad things happened, not even when the coal mine took first her son through a mine collapse, then her husband through black lung. Bad things just happened, seemed to be her mother’s unspoken credo, and a person was supposed to endure and trust that better times were coming. It wasn’t proper to ask God why, not respectful to demand an explanation. Job and his travails was a popular sermon topic in Redwater.

Something deep inside Love always rebelled against that. It was that attitude that made her want to leave Redwater, find someplace where there was more hope. Though at the time, she’d said to her heartbroken mother that it was a wife’s duty to follow her husband, Love knew that though she loved Cy with all her heart, even if he hadn’t come along, she would have eventually fled Kentucky. It was pure luck on her part to fall in love with a man who wasn’t a local boy, but she’d decided to leave Kentucky the day the Redwater mine manager walked up to their screen door with the news that her eighteen-year-old twin brother, DJ, had been killed. In that moment, Kentucky lost her forever.

She had to shake her head at her naive young self now. She’d thought by fleeing the hollers and coal mines of her childhood, she could outrun sadness, outmaneuver tragedy. How wrong she’d been. Everyone she had given her heart to lay in graveyards here or in Redwater. And despite what her mother taught her, Love questioned God. When he didn’t answer, she’d just stopped talking. She did go to church one or two Sundays a month, not wanting to disappoint Rocky or Magnolia. She listened to Rocky’s sermons, enjoyed Magnolia’s beautiful solos, and she silently moved her lips to the familiar old gospel songs. She did it all with a heart that she was sure if it could be photographed inside her chest would look exactly like a dried corncob, one scraped bare of any sweet kernels, as barren as an old seashell.

On the Sundays she skipped church, a practice her good friends, bless their hearts, never questioned, she took photos of churches. It had grown into almost a compulsion. She liked taking the photos on Sunday afternoons or evenings, right after they’d emptied of worshippers. There seemed an almost-palpable something in the air then, something that seemed to tinge the photographs, a mistiness that gave them a haunted look. Though she had a digital camera that she was slowly learning to work with, for these outings she preferred her old Nikon SLR with real film. She actually liked not knowing what her photographs looked like until they were developed. One of her favorites was of a tiny wood-frame church in Cayucos. She took the photo at sunset, certain that no one was on the premises. When she had the photos developed the next week, there was, to her surprise, a blurred arm showing from the left side of the church; it almost appeared to be waving. It seemed a ghostly message of something, though she never could figure out what it was trying to say.

For the second time she studied the lines and planes of her granddaughter’s face. Love felt like she could see the whole history of Appalachia on Rett’s smooth cheeks. She wondered if she could convince Rett to pose for a portrait before she left. Love planned it in her head, shooting it up at the ranch next to the lightning oak. It would be dusk—blue time—and she’d take it at an angle, half of Rett’s face in shadows, hinting at the murky kudzu-filled hollers of her ancestors.

Like a water moccasin, a ripple of fear shimmied through Love. She wanted to love this girl, but there were no guarantees. Could she survive losing someone she loved again? She remembered what Mama told her the day of DJ’s funeral only three weeks after they’d celebrated their eighteenth birthday, when the smell of all those lilies and roses made her want to gag. The world looked like she was watching it through a waterfall.

“How can you stand it?” she asked her mother who had spent the day comforting other people.

“No choice, child,” Mama had told her. Her mother’s wrinkled face had been as luminous as an old painting. “If you love, you grieve.”

Love closed the bedroom door halfway so that she could hear Rett if she needed something during the night. Ace followed Love from the living room into the kitchen, where she sat at the kitchen table. What to do now? Wait was the answer that came to mind. Something she was experienced at.

The clock on the stove read eight thirty. Still early enough to call Polly and August. They needed to hear about Rett from her.

“You almost missed us,” Polly said.

“Were you two going out to paint the town red?” She chuckled, knowing exactly what Polly meant.

“No, going upstairs to read the insides of our eyelids.”

“I have some news that might make you feel like painting the town red. We’ve got company in town.”

“Do say?”

“Your second great-granddaughter, Loretta Lynn, dropped in for a visit. She likes to be called Rett.”

“Well, I’ll be. August will be thrilled. How old is the girl now?”

“Eighteen, believe it or not.”

“Did you know . . . no, forget I asked that. Of course you didn’t know she was coming.”

“She just showed up at the Buttercream, and Magnolia called me. It’s been a rather exciting few hours. About two minutes after she stepped over the threshold of my place, she got sick.”

“Poor little thing. With what?”

“Looks like the flu. Clint’s son, the doctor, is visiting him, so I traded chocolate cupcakes for a house call. I’ll bring her by as soon as she starts feeling better.”

“Does Karla Rae know she’s here?”

“She does now. I found her number in Rett’s cell phone. Oh, and she prefers to be called just Karla now.”

“What did just Karla say?”

“She accused me of being behind Rett’s running away. I think there’s something else going on in the family besides a tiff between daughter and mother. Hopefully, I’ll be able to convince Rett to tell me what it is.”

“Well, I’m just going to have to knit Rett a scarf for Christmas. I’ll go to town tomorrow and buy some new yarn. You bring her around just as soon as you can. Mel brought us our Christmas tree today, and we were waiting on you to decorate it. Now, it’ll be even better with Rett here.”

“Yes,” Love said, thinking, Let’s hope so.

“Sweet dreams, Love.”

The next person she called was Magnolia. She knew her friend was dying to know what happened this evening.

“She has the flu,” Love said. “At least, that’s what Garth thinks.”

“The judge’s son is still here? I thought he was supposed to leave yesterday.” Magnolia always knew everything from soup to nuts that went on in Morro Bay.

“Thank goodness he didn’t. I was afraid to give her anything, since I know nothing about her medical background. She had a fever.”

“How’s she doing now?”

“She’s asleep. The Tylenol broke her fever.”

“So, what’s her story?”

“I don’t really know yet. I managed to get ahold of Karla.” She picked at a rough spot on the pine dining table.

“You did the right thing, calling her.”

“Rett didn’t want me to call.”

“Well, she’ll just have to deal with it. You couldn’t let her mama worry, no matter how crazy Karla Rae is. So, what’s next?”

“Just Karla. She’s dropped the Rae. Anyway, I have no idea. Rett and I didn’t really get a chance to discuss her plans before she got sick.”

“August and Polly know she’s here?”

“I just called. Polly took it in stride, like she does everything. She’ll be up at dawn baking and planning a special meal. I’ll make a wild guess that we’ll be eating lunch there tomorrow.”

“It’s going to work out fine. There’s a reason she showed up on your doorstep.”

Love promised to call Magnolia as soon as she learned anything new. What would she do without her good friend? Without Magnolia and her down-to-earth practicality, Love was sure she’d have long ago dug a hole and just crawled right in. Especially after Cy died. Her heart had felt so torn and ragged, so used up, but no matter how cranky or short she was, Magnolia took it in stride, barged right past her bad mood with her deep laugh and cranberry coffee cake.

“I’ll knock on your door until you can’t stand the noise and answer,” she’d said. She meant it literally and emotionally. “It is nigh on impossible to ignore an Italian Southern girl.”

They’d become friends because she’d walked right up to Love on the first day she’d come to work at the diner and said, “Girl, I like the way you look. I think we could be best friends.”

Love was taken aback for a moment. Like her Appalachian ancestors, she had a tendency to be suspicious of most folks, certain that they were up to no good, as so many smiling, fork-tongued people had been throughout the history of Appalachia. But Magnolia was as open and sweet as the flower she was named for. Mama used to tell Love and DJ, you can only trust two things in life: the Good Lord and family. Love added friends to that list. You can trust good, true friends like Magnolia and Rocky.

An old cliché popped into her head: don’t wish for something, you might just get it. She’d always wanted—no,
yearned
for—family, and now here it was in the form of a complicated runaway teenager who may or may not stay.

Still, there was an undeniable lightness in her heart when she checked Rett one last time before going to bed herself. She left both bedroom doors open, worried that her long-unused mother radar had gone dormant.

In bed, she settled the quilt over her legs and turned out the light, knowing she should get on her knees and thank God that one of her granddaughters had finally come home. But, though she wasn’t the most faithful of followers, the one thing she’d always been in her often bumpy relationship with God was honest. She always figured she might as well be. If God was truly God and could read her thoughts, see what she was doing when no one else could, what was the point of pretending he couldn’t? She hoped that it counted for something.

We’ll see, Lord, she thought. We’ll just see.

THIRTEEN

R
ett’s cell phone woke her out of a deep sleep. The room was tinted a pale yellow, and the clock on the bedside table read nine thirty. Man, she must have slept twelve hours.

“Don’t be mad,” Lissa blurted out.

Before Rett could answer, there was a soft knock on the partially closed bedroom door.