Page 168 of This is Why We Lied

“You little bitch!” He grabbed at her arm, but he only managed to catch the laces on her hiking boots. She threw them in his face as she ran out the door. Mercy jogged down the wheelchair ramp. She dialed Dave’s number again. Counted through the rings.

Fuck!

Mercy’s knees gave out as she hit the Chow Trail. She fell to the ground, pressed her forehead to the crushed stone. She kept seeing images of Bitty. Not with Jon—the very thought was too agonizing—but with Dave. The way their mother demanded a kiss on her cheek every time she saw him. The way Dave washed Bitty’s hair in the sink and let her pick out his clothes. It wasn’t the cancer that had started those rituals. Dave would fetch Bitty’s morning coffee and rub her feet and listen to her gossip and paint her fingernails and put his head in her lap while she played with his hair. Bitty had started training him the second Papa had brought him through the door. He had been so grateful. So desperate for love.

Mercy sat back on her heels. She stared blankly into the darkness.

What if Dave didn’t know about Jon? What if he was just as clueless as Mercy had been? Dave had been molested by his PE teacher. He had never known his mother. He had spent his life surrounded by damaged people. He didn’t know what normal looked like. He only knew how to survive.

Mercy called his number again. Waited through the four rings before hanging up. Dave was probably at a bar. Or with a woman. Or sticking a needle in his arm. Or drowning a handful of Xanax with a bottle of rum. Anything to numb himself to the memories. Anything to escape.

Mercy would not let their son end up the same way.

She stood up. She went down the Chow Trail, walked across the viewing platform. She needed to get into the safe. There was only five grand in petty cash, but she was going to take it and hike down with Jon and then she would figure out what to do about all of this when she had a moment to catch her breath.

Mercy felt a minuscule bit of relief when she saw that the lights were already on in the kitchen. Jon had come down the back trail. Mercy tried to get hold of herself as she walked around the building, worked to take the torment off her face when she opened the door.

“Shit.” Drew was standing at the rolling bar cart. He held a bottle of liquor in his hand. Uncle Nearest. Mercy longed for the smooth taste burning down her throat.

She dropped her backpack by the door. She didn’t have time for this. “You caught me. It’s fake. The big still is in the equipment shed, the little one is in the boathouse. Tell Papa. Tell the cops. I don’t care.”

Drew put the bottle back on the cart. “We’re not going to tell anybody.”

“Really?” she asked. “I saw you pull Bitty aside after dinner. You told her you had some business you wanted to talk about. I thought you were gonna complain about the fucking water spots on the glasses. What is it, you and Keisha want a piece?”

“Mercy.” Drew sounded disappointed. “We love it up here. We just want you to stop. It’s dangerous. You could end up killing somebody.”

“If it was that easy, I would pour every bottle we have down my mother’s fucking throat.”

Drew clearly didn’t know what to do. He was the dog that caught the car.

“Just go.” Mercy propped open the door for him.

Drew shook his head as he walked past. She followed him around to the viewing platform to see if Jon was there. She heard rustling behind the kitchen. Her heart nearly leapt. Jon was coming down Fishtopher Trail.

Except it wasn’t Jon she found standing beside the outside freezer.

“Chuck.” Mercy spit out his name. “What the hell do you want?”

“I was worried.” Chuck put on that stupid bashful look that made her stomach turn. “I was asleep, and I heard Cecil yelling, and then I saw you running across the yard.”

“Was he yelling for you?” Mercy asked. “No? He wasn’t? Then go on back up the trail and mind your own goddam business.”

“Jesus, I was trying to be a gentleman. Why are you always such a bitch?”

“You fucking know why, you pervert.”

“Whoa.” Chuck patted the air like she was a rabid animal. “Calm down, mi-lady. There’s no need to get nasty.”

“Why don’t I take mi’nasty ass to cottage ten? That guy with the redhead is a cop. You want me to get him for you, Chuck? You want me to tell him about your little side-business down in Atlanta?”

His hands dropped. “You’re a fucking cunt.”

“Well congratulations. You finally got close to one.” Mercy went into the kitchen and slammed the door. She looked at the clock. She had no idea what time she’d left the house. She’d told Jon to be down here in five minutes, but it felt more like an hour.

She jogged into the dining hall to look for him, but it was empty. Then her heart jumped into her throat. The viewing platform. The ravine was a deathtrap. What if Jon couldn’t face her? What if he’d decided to take his life?

Mercy ran outside. She grabbed the railing. Looked over the side, the sheer, fifty-foot drop that cut straight down the mountain like the blade of an ax.

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