Page 22 of This is Why We Lied

The switch failed her. She stepped off the trail and found a tree to lean against. Sweat was rolling down her back. Her stomach had turned sour. She leaned over and coughed up bile. The splatter bowed the fronds of a maidenhair fern down to the ground. Mercy felt the same way; like a heavy sickness was constantly weighing her down.

“Mercy Mac?”

Fucking Dave.

“What’re you doing hiding in the trees?” Dave pushed his way through the overgrowth. He smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes.

She said, “I found vape cartridges in Jon’s room. That’s down to you.”

“What?” He put on his insulted look. “Jesus, girl, you gonna lay into me every time you see me today?”

“What do you want, Dave? I’ve got work to do.”

“Come on, now,” he said. “I was gonna tell you something funny, but I don’t know if you’re in the mood.”

Mercy leaned against the tree. She knew he wasn’t going to let her leave. “What is it?”

“Not with that attitude.”

She wanted to smack him. Three hours ago, he was flopping on top of her like a gasping whale. Two hours ago, she was threatening to ruin his life. And now he wanted to tell her a funny story.

She relented, “I’m sorry. What is it?”

“You sure?” He didn’t wait for more coaxing. “Remember that kid I told you about from the home?”

He had a lot of stories about kids from the children’s home. “Which one?”

“Trashcan,” he said. “He’s the tall guy that showed up today. Will Trent. The dude with the redhead.”

Mercy couldn’t help herself. “That’s the girl who gave you your first blowjob?”

“Nah, that was another girl, Angie. Guess she finally dropped his sorry ass. Or she’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Never thought that dumbass would end up with somebody normal.”

Normal was Dave’s word for people who weren’t screwed up by their shitty childhoods. Mercy had rarely met someone who fell into the category, but Sara Linton seemed to be one of those lucky few. She gave off that vibe that only other women could pick up on. She had her shit together.

Mercy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her shit was scattered around like broken Legos on the floor.

Dave said, “It’s weird seeing him up here. I told you he don’t read too good. Couldn’t memorize the Bible verses. Kind of pathetic him showing up near the campground all these years later. Like, dude, you had your chance. Time to move on.”

Mercy leaned back against the tree. She was still sweating. The puked-on fern was less than twelve inches from his foot. As usual, Dave was too caught up in himself to notice. As usual, she had to pretend to be interested. Or maybe pretend wasn’t the right word because Mercy was actually interested. Trashcan had always featured prominently in Dave’s stories of his tragic youth. The bumbling kid was the punchline to almost every joke.

This would not be the first time Dave had read somebody wrong. Mercy hadn’t spoken a word to Will Trent, but his wife was not the type of woman who’d be with a walking punchline. That was more Mercy’s speed.

She asked, “What’s the real story? You were acting kind of strange when you saw him on the trailhead camera.”

Dave shrugged. “Bad blood. If it was up to me, I’d tell him he could hike right back where he came from.”

Mercy had to hold back a laugh at his idiotic bluster. “What’d he do to you?”

“Nothing. It’s what he thinks I did to him.” Dave let out an exaggerated, phlegmy sigh. “Dude got pissed at me cause he thought I was the one that gave him the nickname.”

She watched Dave hold out his arms in an open shrug, completely innocent of giving people stupid nicknames like Bitty Mama, Mercy Mac, Chuck, or Fishtopher.

He said, “I mean, whatever happened way back then at the children’s home, I tried to be the bigger man today. Dude was a straight-up asshole.”

“You talked to him?”

“I was heading up the path to fix that toilet. Ran into him.”

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