Page 34 of This is Why We Lied

“Worthless,” Delilah finished. “Mercy-love, I have never been your enemy.”

Mercy snorted out a laugh. All she had these days were enemies.

“I secreted myself in the sitting room while Cecil was conducting the family meeting.” Delilah didn’t have to say that the walls in the house were thin. She would’ve heard everything, including Mercy’s threats. “My girl, you’re playing a dangerous game.”

“It’s the only game I know how to play.”

“You would really send them to jail? Humiliate them? Destroy them?”

“Look at what they’re trying to do to me.”

“I’ll grant you that. They’ve never been easy on you. Bitty would choose Dave over either one of her own children.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“I’m trying to talk to you like an adult.”

Mercy was overwhelmed with the desire to do something childish. That was the stupid side of her, the one that would torch a bridge while she was running across it.

“Aren’t you tired?” Delilah asked. “Battling all these people. People who will never give you what you need.”

“What do I need?”

“Safety.”

Mercy’s chest went tight. She’d had enough gut punches today, but the word hit her like a sledgehammer. Safety was the one thing she had never felt. There was always the fear that Papa would explode. That Bitty would do something spiteful. That Fish would abandon her. That Dave would—shit, it wasn’t even worth going through the list because Dave did everything except make her feel safe. Even Jon didn’t bring her a sense of peace. Mercy was always terrified that he would turn on her like the others had. That she would lose him. That she would always be alone.

She had lived her entire life waiting for the next punch.

“Sweetheart.” Without warning, Delilah reached across the table and held on to Mercy’s hand. “Talk to me.”

Mercy looked down at their hands. This was where Delilah had aged. Sunspots. Scars from heating lye and oils. Callouses from packing and unpacking wooden molds. Delilah was too sharp. Too clever. This wasn’t quicksand Mercy was running in. It was water set to boil.

Mercy crossed her arms as she leaned back in her chair. Delilah had been back on the property less than a day and already she was making Mercy feel raw and vulnerable. “Why did Papa leave you out of the family meeting?”

“Because I told him you have my vote. Whatever you want to do, I’ll support.”

Mercy shook her head again. This was some kind of trick. No one ever supported her, especially Delilah. “You’re the one playing games now.”

“There’s no game on my part, Mercy. Per the rules of the trust, I still get copies of the financials. Based on what I can see, you’ve kept this place going through some very hard times. On a personal level, you’ve managed to right yourself.” Delilah shrugged. “At my age, I would much prefer to walk away with the money, but I’m not going to punish you for turning your life around. You’ve got my support. I’ll vote against the sale.”

The word support grated on her like a bed of nails. Delilah wasn’t here to offer support. She always had ulterior motives. Mercy was too tired to see them now, or maybe she was just fucking exhausted by her lying, hateful family.

She said the first words that came into her head. “I don’t need your fucking support.”

“Is that so?” Delilah looked amused, which was even more infuriating.

“Yeah, that’s so.” Mercy put a hard edge on the last word. Her hand ached to smack that smirk off Delilah’s face. “You can stick your support up your ass.”

“I see you haven’t lost that famous Mercy Temper.” Delilah still looked amused. “Is this wise?”

“You wanna know what’s wise? Staying out of my fucking business.”

“I’m trying to help you, Mercy. Why are you like this?”

“Figure it out yourself, Dee. You’re the smartest one up here.”

The walk across the room felt magnificent, like the most rewarding go fuck yourself ever. Warm air embraced Mercy as she pushed open the double doors. She took in the crowd. The deck was packed with people. Chuck was huddled with Fish, who wouldn’t look at her when she tried to catch his eye. Papa was at the center of a group, giving them some bullshit story about seven generations of McAlpines loving each other and the land. Jon was still nowhere to be seen. He was probably eating a frozen dinner in his room. Or thinking about all the empty promises Dave had shot out of his ass about a giant house in town with a swimming pool and one big happy family that didn’t include his fucking mother.

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