Love Mercy (21 page)

“Let’s call it a night,” Love said evenly, standing up. “We’ll see you at the lighted boat parade tomorrow night, Mel.” She fumbled with her purse, searching for her wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mel said, waving at her. “Dinner’s on me.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said. They exchanged a look, which kind of pissed Rett off. At the same time it kind of made her sad. It was like they could talk without actually saying words. Rett had always wanted a friend like that. She’d thought she’d had it with Dale. The synonym for Rett Johnson should be
stupid girl
.

She followed her grandma out without saying another word to Mel. Just as they left the restaurant, she turned back to look at the woman, thinking she would be watching Rett and Love, probably still wearing that know-it-all expression. But Mel was staring at the black hole that was Morro Rock. Her face held a look that even Rett could tell from where she stood was one of deep despair.

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning while Rett was eating her second English muffin, the phone rang. Love answered the extension hanging on the wall next to the microwave.

“Yes, this is Love Johnson. Well, yes she is. May I tell her who’s calling?” Love listened a few more seconds. “Just a minute. I’ll see if she’s available.” She put her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s Dale,” she mouthed.

Rett froze, not certain what to do. Either Lissa had told him where she was, or Rett’s mother had. It didn’t matter, because the fact was, he found her. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much of a head start she had.

Love cocked her head, waiting.

“May as well get it over with,” Rett said, tossing her half-eaten muffin on her plate. She could tell by the look on her grandma’s face that she was happy Rett chose that route. She took the phone and said, “What?” She watched her grandma go into the living room, closing the kitchen door behind her, giving Rett her privacy. Thank you, Grandma, she thought.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dale said. “I want my friggin’ banjo back.”

Even though his words were angry, the sound of his throaty voice, a baritone pitched at just the perfect place, made her heart beat faster. She hated how it caused a longing that made her go all soft inside. How could she still feel like this about someone so creepy? She had to be the most pathetic girl alive.

“Yeah, well, I think I’d like my heart back, you stupid jerk.” The minute she said the words, she wished she had said something else. Her line sounded so needy and lame and, worst of all, unoriginal.

“Rett,” he said, his voice growing softer. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“Save it for the soaps,” she interrupted. “Save it for my
pregnant
sister.”

“Look,” he said. “It’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think!” she said, hearing her voice go all shrill, like her mother’s did when she was mad. “You were screwing my sister at the same time you were telling me you loved me! What exactly does that sound like to you? Not something that would win any prizes from Dr. Phil, that’s for sure.”

“I just meant—”

“I don’t care what you meant. Go tell it to my sister. Maybe she gives a crap, because I sure don’t.”

His voice grew cold over the phone. “Look, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, Rett. All I want is my banjo back. You know how much it means to me, and I need it for this new gig. It’s my big chance. We can discuss this whole mess some other time.”

“Or like maybe, never.” Take that, you donkey.

“I’m in San Celina. I know where your grandma lives. I can be there in a half hour.”

Shocked, she slammed the phone down and ran through the living room past her openmouthed grandma. Ace followed her, barking, excited by the game. She pulled off her pajamas, threw on jeans, a sweatshirt and her boots. Almost tripping over the still-yapping dog, she grabbed the black banjo case.

“Oh, man, sorry, Ace.” She bent down and patted his head. “Gotta go.” She ran past her grandma. “Dale’s on his way. Stall him for me.”

“Wait!” she heard her grandma call after her. But Rett was young and fast and was down the street, leaving Love standing in the front doorway. Rett felt like the rottenest person on the planet leaving her grandma to talk to Dale, but she just couldn’t see him right now. Not yet. And she wasn’t ready to surrender the banjo.

Five minutes of running with the heavy banjo case was all she could manage. She slowed down to a walk, wondering what she should do now. She didn’t know anyone in this town. Once again, she’d been totally stupid and jumped before she thought. She knew eventually she’d have to go back to her grandma’s house where, no doubt, Dale would be waiting. Still, she could hold out as long as she could and decided to keep walking.

“Okay, Mister God,” she murmured. “I’m asking for some kind of sign here. I know that thieves aren’t exactly your favorite kind of people, but you know I didn’t steal Dale’s banjo for no reason. He deserves to be worried for a while. Look what he did.”

She knew, even as she said the words, that really, they wouldn’t convince God any more than they convinced her. Stealing was stealing. Look at how people justify stealing music over the Internet, saying its, like, public domain or whatever. They wouldn’t be so casual about it if they’d spent months writing a song, trying to get it right, and then if they were lucky enough to get someone to publish it, people downloaded it for free. No, she knew that asking God to help her right now was being the phoniest of phonies. Still, she thought,
still.

She kept walking, turning back every once in a while to look at Morro Rock, a beacon that told her that she couldn’t really get lost in this town, the rock that watched over the town like a sentry guard. Like how all the songs she’d sung growing up in the church called Jesus the rock. She kind of got it now. From so much of this town a person could see Morro Rock. But even if you couldn’t see it, it was still there. Like, well, like God. It’s not like she never thought about what she sang about as a kid, but now it was beginning to kind of get deeper; she could see where the songwriters were coming from when they compared things. It made her want to go see Morro Rock up close, see exactly what it was made of, what it felt like, how it smelled.

But first she had to figure out a way to get out of this mess. For a moment, she regretted everything: stealing Dale’s banjo, running away from home, even being so pissed at her older sister. How much simpler life would have been if she’d just pretended like she didn’t care when she found out Patsy was pregnant by Dale. She could have just been cool about it, kept her face expressionless, like that lady Mel did. Though Rett didn’t like her very much, she did admire her ability to stay cool. How did a person learn that? Rett sure wished someone could teach her.

She stopped, out of breath, and looked around. She’d stayed away from the main downtown street and was walking along a side street. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that if Love or Dale wanted to, they could find her in two minutes if they were driving. She didn’t have a watch, but she figured it had to be at least a half hour, so it was likely he was at her grandma’s house right now. What would Love do? Would she stall him or help him find Rett? She didn’t have a clue. Her grandma seemed like the kind of person who did the right thing. But would her right thing be to protect Rett or help a guy recover his stolen property?

To her left was the post office, busy this Saturday morning. People were carrying in packages decorated with Christmas stickers. For a moment, Rett wondered what they were doing in Knoxville. Mom always had the coolest Christmas trees. Rett had to give her that. Their Christmas trees were always famous wherever they lived. They were a different theme every year. Last year it was soldiers and flags, honoring those serving in Iraq. The local paper even took a picture of it and put it on the front page. Mom smiled for days afterward. Christmas was always a good time in their house, though Rett doubted it would be this year.

She walked past the post office, trying to ignore the sad feeling. Next to the post office was the fire department. The yellow fire truck had a fake green Christmas bough with a fancy gold bow attached to its grill. Next to the fire department was B & E Feed. She stopped and stared at the red wooden building. A chalkboard next to the open door said, “Don’t forget your feathered friends this holiday season! Wild bird-seed—half price—today only.”

This was the feed store her grandpa once owned. She’d seen a picture of it in one of Love’s albums when it was called Cy’s Feed and Seed. It was where Love had told Rett that her dad had worked. It occurred to Rett in that moment that these were the streets her dad, that man she remembered holding her, his laugh a deep rumble against her tiny ear, lived and played and learned to do, well, everything a person had to learn to be a grown-up. Her
father.
Her chest felt like someone had pumped air into it, and with one prick she’d explode like a balloon. He grew up here. His father owned this feed store. Whenever she’d heard the word
family
, it was her mother and sisters who instantly came to mind. Maybe, if pressed, her grandfather Murphy, though he was mostly someone who was good for a check on her birthday and at Christmas. In that moment her concept of family changed. My people—she’d heard that remark hundreds of times in the little churches they sang at throughout Tennessee, Georgia, Arkansas and Alabama. Old people were always talking about “their people” and “your people.” The words had never meant much to her. Until now. She kind of got it now.

She switched the banjo case to the other hand and walked into the feed store. It was warm inside and smelled nutty, like cooked oatmeal. Before she could glance around, Mel walked out of a back room behind the counter, holding a sheaf of papers. Her head was down when she asked, “May I help you?”

She glanced up before Rett could answer.

“Oh!” Mel said. Her face didn’t look mad or sad, just surprised.

Rett hesitated a moment, thinking, well, Mister God, maybe this is your answer? Was it just an accident she picked this street to walk down? Or was it just some big cosmic joke? Whatever it was, right now, this woman Mel was her only hope.

“Actually,” Rett said. “I kind of do need your help.” She paused, then reluctantly added, “Please?”

SEVENTEEN

I
’m here to see Rett.” The man’s low, melodious voice sounded like water gliding over smooth river stones.

Love peered at him through the screen door. Though she had never been the kind of woman who looked at every man she met as a potential source of romance, she also wasn’t blind to the charms of the opposite sex. There was no doubt that this young man with the thick auburn hair who stood at the bottom of her porch steps was a fine-looking specimen. Yes, this man with the smoldering dark eyes and long, thick sideburns straight out of the seventies definitely exuded pheromones or whatever it was that drew good women to bad men like ants to sugar water.

She narrowed her eyes, not a bit fooled by nature’s peacock display. This man had also broken the hearts of not one, but two of her granddaughters and she was ready to let this
child molester
have the full brunt of her anger.

Dale came up to the second porch step, causing Ace to throw his bullet-shaped body against the screen door. The man backed down, startled by Ace’s deep bark. When he looked closer and saw Ace’s size, he gave a relaxed chortle.

“All bark—” he started.

“Plenty of bite,” Love snapped. “Stay where you are, young man.”

“Ma’am,” he said, his sexy voice taking on a little steel. “I don’t mean to bother you, but, like I said, I’m here to see Rett, not you.”

“I don’t know where she is.” She tried not to imagine this experienced male’s voice whispering silky promises to both Rett and Patsy.

“She’s got my banjo, and I want it back.”

She pushed Ace gently aside with her foot and stepped out on the front porch, cradling Cy’s shotgun in her arms.

“Whoa, now,” the man said, holding up his hands and backing down the steps. “No need for that.” He nervously touched the side of his shiny dark hair, combed in an Elvis-like rockabilly pompadour that reminded Love of the backwoods Kentucky boys at Redwater High who drove two-tone Chevys and ran ’shine for their daddies.

“I don’t know where she is,” Love said. “And I don’t have your banjo. Now get yourself gone right now.”

He hesitated, not certain if she was serious.

“I’m from Redwater, Kentucky, son,” she said, exaggerating her drawl. “We don’t cotton to older men taking advantage of young girls.”

His eyes darted from side to side like a panicked bull.

She couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit sorry for him. She had been the mother of a young man. She knew that they were often brash, unthinking and way too ruled by hormones. Look at how her Tommy had just up and left his whole life behind because he’d fallen in love and lust.

Still and all, her son married the girl. He took responsibility for his actions. This man had wantonly used two young girls,
her granddaughters
. She wasn’t about to let some vague motherly feelings let him off the hook.

“Rett is not here, and neither is your . . . the banjo,” she repeated.

“You got it right the first time. It’s my banjo.”

“I told you she’s not here.”

“She’s in town. I just talked to her. I won’t leave without my banjo.”

They glared at each other in a stalemate. She knew that legally he was completely in the right. But all she could think of was that she had to protect Rett, help her resolve this situation, though she didn’t have a clue how. When in doubt, stall for time had always been Love’s philosophy. Then hightail it to someone who knew more than you did about the subject in question.

Using her sweetest cajoling tone, Love said, “Look, Dale. Rett is real hurt and angry, and from what I understand, has a mighty good right to be. I know that takin’ your instrument wasn’t the wisest thing she could’ve done, but try to see her point of view.” She drew out the try, using a long
a
—traah. She paused. Should she bring up Patsy’s pregnancy? No, best keep things as calm as possible, at least until she found Rett and talked her into giving this boy back his instrument. The situation with Patsy could be dealt with later.