Page 26 of This is Why We Lied

Jon asked, “That’s her Subaru on the parking pad?”

Mercy felt like a fool. Obviously, Jon had seen Delilah’s car. You couldn’t keep a secret around here. “I think Papa and Bitty have been talking to her. That’s why she drove up.”

“I don’t want to live with her.” Jon glanced at Mercy before looking away again. “If she’s here for that—I’m not leaving. Not for her, anyway.”

Mercy had used up all of her tears a long time ago, but she felt a profound sadness at the certainty in his voice. He was trying to take care of his mother. This might be the last time he did that for a while. Maybe ever.

He asked, “What does she want?”

Mercy’s throat hurt so bad she felt like she was swallowing nails. “You need to find Papa. He’s going to tell you what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Because—” Mercy struggled to explain herself. This wasn’t cowardice. It would be so easy to shape Jon’s view to her own thinking. But Mercy knew that she would be as bad as Dave if she manipulated her son. God knew she could do it. Even at sixteen, Jon was still too pliable. He was full of hormones and gullible as hell. She could talk him into walking off a cliff if she put her mind to it. Dave would absolutely destroy him.

“Mom?” Jon said. “Why won’t you tell me yourself?”

“Because you need to hear the other side from somebody who wants it.”

He smirked. “You’re talking weird.”

“Let me know when you wanna hear my side, okay? I’ll be as honest with you as I can. But you need to hear it from Papa first. All right?”

Mercy waited for his nod. Then she looked into his clear blue eyes and felt like somebody had reached their hands inside of her chest and ripped her heart into two pieces.

That was Dave’s doing. He was going to take another part of Mercy, the most precious part, and she would never get it back.

Jon was staring at her. “You okay?”

“Yep,” she said. “The woman in cottage seven wants a bottle of whiskey. Can you get that for her?”

“Sure.” Jon stood up. “Which kind?”

“The most expensive kind. And ask her if she wants more tomorrow.” Mercy stood up, too. “Then I want you to take the rest of the night off. I’ll handle the clean-up after supper.”

The toothy smile returned, and he was like her little boy again. “For real?”

“For real.” Mercy drank in his excitement. She wanted to hold on to this moment as long as she could. “You’ve been doing a really good job around here, baby. I’m proud of you.”

His smile was better than any drug she’d ever injected. Mercy had to compliment him more, to give him a chance to be a kid more. She was about to destroy her entire family. She had to break the asshole McAlpine cycle, too.

She said, “No matter what happens, remember that I love you, baby. Never forget that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I just fucking love you so much.”

“Mom,” he groaned.

But then he wrapped his arms around her, and Mercy felt like she was walking on air.

It lasted about two seconds before Jon broke away. She watched him trot up the trail, resisting the urge to call him back.

Mercy turned around before he disappeared. She let herself take a few seconds to collect herself before she got back to work. She went left at the split and walked along the curve of the lake. She could smell the fresh scent of the water alongside a musty, woodsy undertone.

They did a campfire every Saturday night by the Shallows to give the guests one last hurrah. S’mores and hot chocolate and Fish strumming his mandolin because obviously Fish was the type of sensitive soul who played the mandolin. Guests loved it. Honestly, Mercy did, too. She liked seeing the smiles on their faces and knowing that she was part of the reason they were happy. As the mother of a teenage son, as the ex-wife of an abusive alcoholic, as the daughter of a cruel son-of-a-bitch and a cold and distant mother, she had to take her wins where she could find them.

Mercy looked out over the water. She wondered how Papa would explain the investors to Jon. Would he paint Mercy in a bad light? Would he scream and curse her name? Had she unwittingly done some stealthy manipulation? The person being an asshole rarely got sympathy. Jon would want to protect her, even if he didn’t agree with her.

There was nothing she could do now but wait for him to find her.

Working would make that time go by faster. She took out her notepad. She would check on the honeymooners on her way back up the hill. She would fix the toilet herself. She would have to talk to the kitchen. She made a mark in the back for the bottle of whiskey Jon was delivering to cottage seven. She had a feeling the dentist would drop some serious dough before she checked out on Sunday. No reason Monica shouldn’t have the top shelf bottles with her platinum Amex. Papa was a teetotaler. He had never pushed liquor sales. The small batch whiskeys Mercy had promoted in the last year were almost solely responsible for the jump in profit.

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