Page 12 of This is Why We Lied

“Take off half for taxes,” Mercy said. “Six million divided by seven, right? Papa and Bitty get equal shares. Fish gets his part whether he votes or not.”

Dave said, “So does Jon.”

“Dave, please.” She waited for him to look at her. He was too busy seeing the dollar signs, running through all the shit he would buy, the people he would impress. Mercy was in a room full of people, surrounded by her family, but as always, she was completely alone.

Bitty said, “Think about what you kids could do with that kind of money. Travel. Start your own business. Go back to school, maybe?”

Mercy knew exactly what they would do. Jon wouldn’t be able to hold on to it. Dave would snort it and drink it and still want more. Fish would donate it to whatever the hell river conservation society he could find. Mercy would have to watch every penny because she was a convicted felon with two DUIs who’d dropped out of high school to have a baby. God only knew if the money would last into her old age. If she made it that long.

Her parents, on the other hand, were fine. They had an annuity, a 401(k). The accident policies had covered Papa’s hospital bills and rehab. They were both on Medicare, both receiving social security and dividends from the lodge. They didn’t need the money. They had everything they needed.

Except for time.

She asked her father, “How long do you think you have left?”

Papa blinked. For just a moment, his guard slipped down. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not doing your physical therapy. You refuse to do your breathing exercises. You only leave the house to check after me.” Mercy shrugged. “Covid or RSV or a bad case of the flu could take you out next week.”

“Merce,” Dave mumbled. “Don’t make this mean.”

Mercy dried the tears from her eyes. She was past mean. She wanted to hurt them the way they kept hurting her. “What about you, Mother? How long before the cancer comes back?”

“Jesus,” Dave said. “That’s too far.”

“And stealing away my birthright isn’t?”

“Your birthright,” Papa said. “You stupid bitch. You wanna know what happened to your birthright? Take a look in the mirror at your ugly fucking face.”

Mercy felt a vibration go through her body. A sense of tension. A sickening dread.

Papa hadn’t moved, but she felt like she was a teenager again with his hands wrapped around her neck. Grabbing Mercy by the hair when she tried to run away. Jerking her arm so hard that the tendon popped. She was late to school again, late for work again, hadn’t done her homework, had done her homework too soon. He was always after her, punching her arm, bruising her leg, beating her with his belt, whipping her with the rope in the barn. He had kicked her in the stomach when she was pregnant. Shoved her face into her plate when she was too sick to eat. Put a lock outside her bedroom door so she couldn’t see Dave. Testified in front of a judge that she deserved prison time. Told another judge she was mentally ill. Told a third judge she was unfit to be a mother.

She saw him now with a sudden, startling clarity.

Papa wasn’t angry about what he had lost in the bike accident.

He was angry about what Mercy had gained.

“You stupid old man.” The voice that came out of her mouth sounded possessed. “I’ve wasted nearly all my life on this godforsaken land. You think I haven’t heard your talks and your whispers and your phone calls and your late-night confessions?”

Papa’s head reared back. “Don’t you dare—”

“Shut up,” Mercy snapped. “All of you. Each and every one of you. Fish. Dave. Bitty. Even Delilah, wherever the fuck she’s hiding. I could ruin your lives right now. One phone call. One letter. At least two of you motherfuckers could land your asses in jail. The rest of you would never be able to show your faces again. There’s not enough money in the world that would buy your lives back. You’ll be ruined.”

Their fear gave Mercy a sense of power she had never felt in her life. She could see them considering the threats, weighing the odds. They knew she wasn’t bluffing. Mercy could burn them all down without even striking a match.

Dave said, “Mercy.”

“What, Dave? Are you saying my name, or are you giving up like you always do?”

He tucked his chin to his chest. “I’m just saying be careful.”

“Careful of what?” she asked. “You know for a fact I can take a punch. And all of my shit is already out there. It’s written on my ugly fucking face. It’s carved into that gravestone down at the Atlanta cemetery. I’ve got nothing to lose but this place, and if it comes to that, I swear to almighty God I’m taking all of you down with me.”

The threat was enough to shut them all up for one blissful moment. In the silence, Mercy heard tires crunching on the gravel lane. The old truck needed a new muffler, but she was grateful for the warning. Jon was on his way back from town.

She told them, “We’ll talk about this after supper. We’ve got guests coming. Dave, fix the toilet in three. Fish, get those canoes cleaned out. Bitty, remind the kitchen Chuck’s allergic to peanuts. And you, Papa. I know you can’t do much, but you damn well better keep your fucking sister away from my son.”

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