Love Mercy (33 page)

Rett glanced over at Dale, whose bored expression kind of pissed her off. The lady’s remark struck a nerve in Rett, though, a reminder that she and Dale still had Patsy and the baby to discuss.

“Three thousand pups were born last year,” the woman said. “There’s always something going on: mating, birthing, breeding, pups crying and nursing, females squabbling, males trying to one-up each other. And then they leave. Not all at once, but the females leave their weaned babies to go back out to sea to feed, the babies stay here and learn to swim when the males are out feeding too. Then the juveniles and females come back to molt around March. The grown males come back around July looking like a bunch of homeless wanderers, all scruffy and tattered. Six weeks later after their molting, they are sleek as Vegas con men. The adolescent males are the most fun to watch. They’re just big old show-offs.” The woman’s smile showed beige, even teeth. “I name my favorites, take photos and put them up on my refrigerator. It’s exciting if I recognize them the next year. I suppose I should get a life.”

Rett listened to the woman, amazed at how she was so excited about these seals, seemed to just love being here. It was cool, really, how people loved things, like she loved making music, like she loved . . . she almost thought, Dale. She turned to look at him. He’d walked away in the middle of the woman’s stories. He stood over by the fence, ignoring a duet of squirrels chattering at him, begging for food. He glanced at his watch, then looked over at the car.

“You might want to reconsider that one,” the older woman commented. “I’ve had three husbands. Outlived them all. And trust me, the one I miss the most was my third husband, Mitch. He and I saw life the same way, thought the same things were beautiful. That makes all the difference in the world.”

It embarrassed Rett that Dale didn’t see how amazing these animals were, how cool this old lady was.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said, not remembering where she’d heard that, but she thought it sounded kinda cool and adult.

The old woman threw back her head and laughed. Her frizzy hair blew around her head like a cotton candy halo. “You do that, young woman. I think you can do better, though I do see the natural attraction. He’s a fine-looking one.”

Rett laughed with her, although if someone had asked her to put into words what was funny, she doubted that she could have. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

“Looks fade,” the woman said. “A good heart doesn’t.”

“Thanks,” Rett said, handing back the binoculars. “For letting me use these, and, like, all the information.”

“Stay true,” the woman said, turning back to the seals.

“Let’s go,” Rett said, when she walked up to Dale. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I mean, seen one seal, seen them all, right?”

She didn’t answer.

In the car, he asked, “Where to now?”

“Back to Morro Bay. Drop me off at the Buttercream Café, and I’ll fetch your banjo for you.”

He nodded, turning on the ignition. “Are we, like, cool on everything?”

She took a deep breath, wishing she could just let go, scream, hit him, force this car into a ditch. But what would that prove? And who would it help? Be true, the elephant seal woman had said. What did she mean? For Rett to be true to herself, to be a true person, to tell the truth? The truth right now was that she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive Dale. Would she forgive Patsy? If her sister hadn’t known Dale was seeing both of them, there wouldn’t really be anything to forgive. The fault was all his. Somehow, she didn’t believe Patsy knew. For one thing, Patsy was horrible at keeping any kind of secret. And, Rett wanted to believe, she wouldn’t do that to her sister.

“No, we’re not at
all
cool. What you did was disgusting. I’m giving you your banjo back because it was wrong of me to take it. And me doing something wrong doesn’t even out you doing something wrong. I wish I never had to see you again, but because of Patsy being pregnant, we probably will. Are you going to marry her?”

He held up both hands. “Whoa, where’d that come from? Patsy and I aren’t anywhere close to that kind of relationship.”

At that moment, if Rett had a knife, she swore she’d stick it in his gut. “You make me sick. You’re having a baby with her, you freakazoid! You’d better not let her go through this alone.”

“I never said that. But, Rett, baby, this gig I was offered is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Patsy wouldn’t want me to give it up.”

That’s where you’re wrong, Rett thought.

“Take me back to town,” Rett said, buckling her seat belt. “Then you go back to your hotel and wait for my call. I have the banjo in a safe place. You’ll have it by tomorrow. My word.”

“Why can’t I go with you to pick it up?”

She gave him a look—her Killer Karla look, as she and her sisters called it. One of the valuable things their mom inadvertently passed on to them. It never failed. He instantly shut up.

They didn’t speak the whole drive back to Morro Bay.

When he dropped her off in front of the Buttercream, he said, “Are you sure I can’t—”

“I’ll call you,” she said, jumping out and slamming the door.

The coffeepot-shaped clock above the cash register read four thirty-two. The café was almost empty, with only two old men in beat-up cowboy hats sitting at the counter eating pie and reading the newspaper. Rett could hear a male voice singing in the kitchen, a Gillian Welch song about a man whose daughter had died and who warned listeners that no one gets everything they want in life and until you die and face Jesus, there’s no use wondering why. Rett had always thought it was one of Gillian’s best songs.

Magnolia stood in front of the silver and black Bunn coffeemaker singing along with the voice in the kitchen. Rett listened to them, mesmerized by their perfect harmony. Magnolia’s voice was as good as any pro that Rett had heard in Nashville. She remembered that Love told her that Magnolia had been a professional singer. Rocky had said she still sang in some bar once a month. Did she ever regret giving up her career in Vegas to be a pastor’s wife and a café owner? Magnolia belted out the chorus, still not aware Rett was listening. The words tore at Rett’s heart every time she heard them. Magnolia’s deep, rich contralto had an aching, mountain vibrato that gave the words an authenticity Rett could feel in her bones.

When the last note reverberated in the room, Rett gave in to her spontaneous urge and clapped.

Magnolia whirled around, surprised. “Oh, my land. I didn’t know anyone had come in.”

Rett glanced at the cowbell that had clamored when she opened the door.

“That thing,” Magnolia said, dismissing it with the wave of a red-nailed hand. “It don’t even register in my brainpan anymore.” She picked up a white bar towel and folded it in half.

“I love Gillian Welch,” Rett said, walking up to the counter and sitting down. “I wish I could write like her.”

“She is one talented young woman,” Magnolia said. She wiped the counter, despite the fact it was clean as a dentist’s tray. “What can I get you?”

“See you later, Magnolia,” one old man said, standing up. The other man did the same. “Good butterscotch pie. It’s a keeper.”

“Thanks, boys. Y’all come back.” She turned back to Rett. “So, are you hungry? How about a piece of butterscotch pie? Shug just made it.” She nodded her head at the skinny, bald man Rett could see in the kitchen’s pass-through. He lifted a flour-dusty hand.

“Sure,” Rett said.

Magnolia cut her a piece, poured her a cup of black coffee, then leaned against the back counter. “So, I see that boy dropped you off. Did y’all get your ducks in a row?”

Rett looked down at the meringue-topped pie. Its sweet, buttery scent caused her stomach to rumble. She’d only eaten half her soup for lunch and wondered what Love was going to have for dinner. She took a big bite, then said, “Yeah, I guess so. I suppose my grandma told you the whole pathetic story.”

Magnolia nodded. “It’s a mess. But not unfixable. I’d say you got the raw end of the deal.”

Rett looked up at her in surprise. “I thought everyone would think that Patsy did.”

Magnolia contemplated the folded bar towel in her hands. “Oh, I’m not saying your big sister hasn’t got herself a hard row to hoe. But at least she’ll get people’s sympathy when he takes off. And, trust me, he will. Haven’t met too many young buck musicians like him who were very dependable. She’ll have her some sad, lonely nights. But you have to suffer in silence while you’re feeling pretty much the same humiliation. That’s hard. I’ve been there. My younger sister married the man I was in love with, and I had to be one of her bridesmaids. Let me tell you, that was hard. And the worst of it was the dress was ugly as homemade sin. Aqua and gray satin. I looked like a beached whale. Well, I was thinner then. Maybe a beached seal. I always wondered if Rosie picked those ugly dresses out on purpose.”

Surprise froze Rett’s fork halfway to her mouth.

Magnolia gave a deep laugh. “Girlie, did you think you was the first one that ever happened to? I’m here to tell you, I survived and, frankly, it was darn near the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Hate to imagine where I’d be if I’d’ve married Varner.” She gave a physical shudder. “As it was, their marriage lasted four miserable years. They had three kids, and my sister had to fight tooth and nail for every darn child support penny. Then the flake up and died! Not a speck of life insurance, of course. Whereas I hightailed it out of Chicago to Las Vegas and sang in a variety of nightclubs. I eventually met Rocky, and as they say about history, that’s the rest of it.” She tossed the damp folded towel into a plastic tub full of dirty dishes. “All I’m saying is it looks like a big old jagged mountain now, but thirty years from now, it’ll be a rolling hill.”

Rett lowered her fork, thinking about what Magnolia said. “My grandma said I should use the experience, write a song about it.”

“Not often Love is wrong about things,” Magnolia said. “My advice is you listen to her. She know you were out with that boy?”

Rett nodded. “She was worried, didn’t want me to go. But I knew I’d be okay. We drove up the coast and stopped to look at the elephant seals.”

Magnolia crossed her arms over her ample chest. “What about the boy’s banjo?”

“I told him I’d give it to him tomorrow.”

Magnolia raised her eyebrows.

“I wanted to play it one more time. I deserve that much.”

“You can’t get on with things until you give it back.”

“I know.” Rett took a last big bite of pie, then pushed the plate back. “I have to go get the banjo. Mel’s keeping it for me at the feed store.”

Magnolia picked up the plate. “Will you be staying with Love awhile?”

Rett nodded. “At least until I save up some money. I need a job.” She glanced around the café. “Is being a waitress . . . uh . . . hard?”

“Can be.”

Rett stood up. “Well, thanks for the pie.” She reached down into the pockets of her jeans.

“Forget it,” Magnolia said. “On the house. From one scorned sister to another.”

Rett gave a small smile. “That’s a good song hook.”

“Go for it,” Magnolia said. “Write that man right outta your hair. Want me to call Love and tell her you survived?”

Rett knew there was only one acceptable answer to that question.

“Sure. Tell her I’ll be right home.”

Rett walked the three blocks to the feed store, watching the sun set on the Pacific Ocean. With the orange-juice-colored sun glowing behind Morro Rock, the beauty of the moment made her wish there was some way she could capture it in a song. But writing about scenery in a way that people could see it was hard. Relationships were always easier.

It was a little before five p.m., the air that unreal purple blue tint that seemed deeper here in the West, when she crossed the feed store threshold. Mel sat behind the counter leafing through a catalog with pictures of flowers and giant pumpkins. She wore a green B & E Feed sweatshirt and brown cords. Behind her a radio was playing softly. Rett couldn’t make out the artist.

“Hey,” Rett said.

Mel looked up from the catalog. “Hey, yourself. How’d things go with you and the butt wipe?”

Rett grinned. “Is that, like, cop talk or something?”

Mel gave her a half smile and tossed the seed catalog aside. “Nah, that there is scorned woman talk.”

Rett laughed. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that word today.”

Mel lifted her eyebrows in question.

“Scorned,” Rett said. “Magnolia has been scorned too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a big club. Lots of members.”

“So I hear.” Rett leaned against the counter. “I told Dale I’d give him back his banjo.”

Mel nodded. “Probably best. Want me to get it?”

“Yeah, but I’m giving it back to him tomorrow. Want him to suffer one more night. And I want to play it one more time.”

Mel didn’t reply, just stood up and went through the doorway into the small office behind the counter. Rett heard a closet open and close. Mel came back a few seconds later carrying the banjo case.

“This sucker is heavy,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” Rett said. “I lugged it clear across the country.”

“Next time, fall for a harmonica player.”

Rett giggled. It felt good to be joking with another woman about Dale. It did almost feel like she’d gained membership into a kind of club. The scorned sisters, Magnolia had called them. Membership requirement: one broken heart. She felt her heart beat faster. That
did
sound like the beginning of a song.

Mel smiled, then like a flash, her expression changed. She stared over Rett’s shoulder, a look that Rett could only discern as fury on her face. Rett turned around and saw a heavy-chested man standing in the feed store doorway. He wore a dark trench coat, like those eastern city detectives on
Law and Order
. His hair was short and curly, his complexion shiny red, especially around his nose and cheeks. He reminded her of her second stepfather, Roy, who was a total alcoholic.