Where Mercy Flows (15 page)

I helped carry my sister’s things to her car. She patted my face before slipping onto the leather seat. “Get some rest.” I
didn’t argue.

She had backed her SUV partway down the drive when she rolled her window down and called to me. “Hey, Sammy!”

I stopped and looked back.

“About that wedding. Let’s do it! It might be fun!”

LINDSEY’S HOUSE was like her. Elegant. Tasteful. Perfect. It could have been on a postcard, the way it stood up there on a
knoll with the manicured lawn, a huge maple hovering protectively over it. With some financial help from David’s parents,
they had purchased the five-acre parcel just outside of Darlington—about a fifteen-minute drive from the Judge and Mom’s place
on the river—and had built the home that some people in their forties were still just dreaming of. The general contractor
told them the maple tree would have to come out—they couldn’t possibly maneuver heavy equipment around it—but Lindsey had
insisted it stay. The tree spread its arms victoriously into the sky, rewarding them with shade in the summer and piles of
brown leaves to rake and burn in the fall. White columns stood as sentinels on the wide porch. I liked to lean on them and
watch the horses beyond the fence in the neighbor’s field.

“Samantha, are you coming?” I followed my sister through the living room and into the master suite and sprawled across the
bed. Something like gauze was draped from corner to corner over the framework of the four posters. A bronze cherub dangled
its chubby legs over the edge of an ornately carved table, sweetly tending the entrance to the bathroom. The walls were papered
in a fancy print that was either flowers or lions, depending on how you squinted your eyes. An awful lot of fu-fu if you asked
me.

Wedding photos lined the top of the cherry dresser. David and Lindsey looked like magazine people, as did the setting, which
was the sprawling backyard garden of David’s parents’ home on Lake Washington. I saw relatives in the photos that I hadn’t
seen in years. I wondered if they had asked about me or if I was a taboo subject carefully skirted, at least in the presence
of my immediate family. Set apart from the others, in a larger gold frame, was a close-up of Lindsey and our father, dancing.
They grinned for the camera, cheeks touching. I had seen the same shot proudly displayed on the Judge’s dresser back home.
There were no photos on my father’s dresser of me.

“What about this one?” Lindsey held up a peach-colored dress.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” She frowned and returned to the closet, emerging again with a two-piece knit. “Definitely
not!” I said. “That looks like something Mom would wear.”

“Are you kidding?” She looked over the outfit as if seeing it for the first time. “I just bought this! Sam, this would look
good on you. You’ve got the body for it.”

I didn’t bite. She sighed and went in again. Her voice preceded her. “Sammy, I don’t have anything in denim or flannel in
here. This is a chance to get dressed up.” I heard hangers scraping and banging against each other. “You can’t put on your
clunky boots and a string of pearls and clomp into a wedding at the country club. Hey, how about a simple skirt and blouse?”
She produced a black tapered skirt and white blouse.

“Okay. I’ll try it. It looks a little small, don’t you think?” I stripped down to bra and panties and maneuvered myself into
the ensemble. I tucked in the blouse while Lindsey zipped the back of the skirt. “It’s too tight.”

“Are you sure?” Lindsey stepped back. “Oh, Sam. Go look at yourself.”

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bath and stared. Lindsey smiled smugly over my left shoulder and
the bronze cherub admired me from the right. “What about shoes?”

“I have the perfect shoes!” She ran out and returned holding them over her head like trophies. Lindsey always loved playing
dress-up.

The delicate shoes had heels and straps. Because of the skirt, I couldn’t bend far enough to get them on, so I sat on the
bed, which was high and awkward, and Lindsey bowed at my feet like a maidservant to clasp the tiny buckles. She spent more
time dressing me than she did herself. Then we applied makeup and fussed with our hair. Mine had grown down to my shoulders,
which I liked because now I could put it up in a ponytail when I didn’t want to mess with it. I thought I was done until she
screwed up her face and cocked her head to one side like there was something wrong. “Let me try something. Have you ever put
it up like this?” She teased and pinned and sprayed, and then let me select earrings from her jewelry box until I found the
right ones.

David was sprawled across the sofa in the family room, watching a preseason Seahawks game. When he saw us, he sat up and leaned
forward with his jaw hanging open. “Wow.”

“Ta-da!” Lindsey struck a pose like a model. I crossed my eyes and walked pigeon-toed.

“Oh, Sam! Knock it off!”

I went to the kitchen for a drink of water. The thing about tight skirts and high heels is that they make you walk funny.
David stood suddenly. “Hey, let me get you something to drink.” He pulled out a chilled jug of cider that their neighbors
had made from their own apples and poured it into crystal stemmed glasses. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window
and the cider seemed to glow. He held his glass up to ours. “To two gorgeous ladies. I’m crazy for letting you out of my sight.”

We clicked glasses. The last time I was there David offered me a soda, but I had had to get it out of the fridge myself.

“Honey, you know you can come with us,” Lindsey said.

He scoffed. “If there’s one thing more boring than a wedding, it’s one where you don’t know anybody.” He leaned against the
counter and watched me like I was a big-screen TV. “Sam, you look great. I had no idea. . . .”

I looked down at myself. “Yeah. I clean up pretty good, don’t I?” Lindsey stood back and smiled like she was da Vinci and
I was the
Mona Lisa.

Suddenly her brows drew together. “Sam, you look a little pale. Are you sure you want to do this? We’ll be out late.”

“It won’t hurt me. And stop mothering me. Just for tonight, okay?”

It seemed like a good idea to rest for a while. I settled into a big leather chair. Outside the window, the vine maples were
already turning orange, yellow and red. Lindsey and David crammed themselves into one corner of the long burgundy leather
sofa. His arm rested around her shoulders as they talked, and I remembered the comfort, the sheer joy, of being with the one
person in the world who could make me feel complete. I was happy for my sister. David was boringly predictable, but he was
a good guy. Lindsey deserved a good man.

I stared at the TV, trying to quiet the voice that kept saying,
This is a bad idea; call the whole thing off.
My skirt was too tight. It was a good thing, though, because I didn’t have to remember to keep my legs together. Crossing
them took extreme skill. I practiced crossing and uncrossing and pointing my toes. What would Tim do when he saw me? What
would I do? What would I say? I sipped from my glass casually while football players scrambled across the screen, piling up
into tangles of butts and elbows.

My insides were on their third down with nine yards to go.

T
HE PORT SUSAN Country Club parking lot was full. I was surprised at the number of motorcycles lined up against the front of
the building—almost exclusively Harley-Davidsons. We parked along the street and I tried to walk the curb like it was a balance
beam. Not a good idea in those shoes. I slipped but Lindsey caught my arm. She carried our gift, a pretty pewter platter,
which we had tried to say ten times fast on the long drive from the country. I had coached her on what to say and what not
to say. Bottom line, under no circumstances was anyone to know I was sick. I held my head high, took a long slow breath and
walked in the door like the queen of the country club. The tapered skirt and pointy heels forced me to take dainty little
steps, and I suddenly felt embarrassed, as in a dream when you find yourself walking down the hall at school in your pajamas
or, worse yet, naked as a newborn hamster. Only in this case I felt overdressed. Out of character. Like when Donnie caught
me playing dress-up with my sister when we were twelve. Here I was again, upswept hair, jewelry, lipstick and all. I hoped
I got the lipstick inside the lines this time.

A few minglers chatted in the lobby. For the millionth time I thought I saw the back of Tim. He stood like a Marine, dressed
in a black tuxedo with his arm on the bare back of a woman in a long blue dress. Only this time it really was him! My heart
squished violently and all my blood seemed to drain into a vacuum like the black hole. Lindsey saw him too. We watched him
take the woman’s arm and guide her through the doors at the far end of the lobby. Lindsey got me to the double doors nearest
us, where an usher smiled, placed my arm on his and led us to the second row from the back on the right-hand side. I fought
for control. Something told me this was not a good time to stick my head between my knees.

When I dared look toward the left side of the auditorium, I saw him again. This time he showed an elderly couple to their
seat. I chided myself for embracing my first impression. Of course, stupid. He’s an usher. That’s what groomsmen do.

I felt safely disguised and hidden among what I assumed to be the groom’s friends and family, as I didn’t recognize a single
one. All the bikers were on our side. They stood out from the traditionally dressed wedding-goers because of the leather vests
and jackets with bold Harley-Davidson logos on the backs. The man in front of me stood to wave someone over. He wore a crisp
blue cotton shirt under his Harley vest. His salt-and-pepper gray hair hung in a neat braid down his back, and his thirty-eight-inch-waist
blue jeans with a thirty-two-inch inseam were stiff and new. I knew that because he had forgotten to take the size sticker
off the back of his thigh. He sat down, fidgeting and wiping his brow, probably dreaming of the moment he could tie a red
bandana on his head and ride away from there on the night wind.

Tim went away and I didn’t see him again until a girl with a guitar started singing and he appeared at the front with two
other tuxedoed men whom I didn’t recognize. He whispered something to the guy next to him. They grinned and then simultaneously
lifted their chins, standing tall like two boys trying to be good in church. His hair was shorter and a little darker. Of
course, he would have had it cut before the wedding and his summer-blond locks had fallen to the barber’s floor. I couldn’t
tell if it was just the tuxedo, or if he had filled out some. Anyway, he looked better than ever. Lindsey thought so too.
I could feel her watching me. Probably hoping it wasn’t a huge mistake bringing me there. I smiled and nodded reassuringly.
Everything is fine. I’m not going to cry or faint or throw up or anything. See? I smoothed my skirt and let my eyes wander
to the bride’s side of the room. I recognized Tim’s mother, Lila, and their aunt Lacey. Tim’s mom was a nice lady. I was glad
the chemotherapy had not made her hair fall out. At least not yet. She had cut figures of Santa and his reindeer out of plywood
to decorate their front lawn and I had helped her paint them one November day seven years ago out in their garage. I was just
Tim’s little girlfriend then. We didn’t know that I was pregnant, or that my father would find out, or that within weeks we
would be fleeing to Reno in Tim’s red Chevy pickup. I didn’t know then that my childhood was officially over.

I regretted that Mrs. Weatherbee and I had never had much chance to bond. Maybe there was still a chance. I would be proud
to be introduced as her daughter-in-law. Would she even recognize me after all these years? I wondered how Tim had explained
my disappearance from his life. Would I get a chance to talk to him? Could he forgive me for what I did to him?

The couple sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Mrs. Weatherbee must have been the groom’s parents. She was a large
woman with long blond hair, wearing a peasant-style skirt and blouse. The man’s tux was a poor disguise. I figured him to
be the king of the bikers. He had a face as pocked as the grille of a semitruck after a cross-country run, like he had weathered
some long hard rides. His hair was long and his mustache hung Yosemite Sam-style below his chin.

The music changed and the young groom showed up at the front, along with his best man. From the safe camouflage of the crowd,
my eyes fixed on Tim, even as the bridesmaids stepped their way down the carpeted aisle. They all wore the same powder-blue
dress, tightly fitted at the bodice and spraying out from the waist like upside-down sprinklers. The last one to park her
fluffy little tail on the platform steps cast a flirtatious glance directly at Tim. She looked like Glinda, the Good Witch
of the North. He returned her smile, and for the rest of the ceremony I summoned any telepathic powers I might have, hoping
to knock her flat on her rosy face.

Lindsey was right. Sarah had lost her baby fat. We all stood when she strolled down the pathway to marital bliss, all of us
probably wondering the same thing. Will this one last? She shone with joy; you could see it even through her veil. Her husband-to-be
looked at her the way Tim used to look at me. When the pastor said the part about “as long as you both shall live,” their
eyes locked on each other and they spoke their vows with the same confidence TJ had when he assured me that he would never
grow up and leave me.

The reception was held upstairs in a huge hall with a fireplace and a balcony overlooking Port Susan Bay. The back rows in
the chapel were the last to file out and make their way upstairs, so by the time Lindsey and I arrived, the room buzzed with
activity. Along one wall the wedding party had lined up to greet the long chain of guests waiting to express their congratulations.
We skipped the lineup and found seats at a round table scattered with blue glitter stars, an arrangement of white candles
flickering in its center. I purposely sat with my back to the reception line. Lindsey knew quite a few people, both from high
school and just from living and volunteering in the area for so long. They stopped by to greet her, and when she introduced
me some seemed surprised that she had a sister. I could see their eyes going back and forth, trying to find some resemblance.
Her hair was blond and sleek; mine thick and dark. When they asked which one was older, we just said I was and left it at
that. There was one guy who knew me from Darlington High, but I couldn’t remember him. He said he had to look back at me several
times before he could be sure it was really Samantha Dodd. “You were such a tomboy. Who would have thought you’d turn out
so . . . well, you look just great!” He practically drooled on me until I mentioned that my husband was there somewhere. Then
he cooled off and headed for the prawns and prime rib.