Page 143 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

She struck low and quick, and caught him right in the kidney.

“Jesus.” He rubbed the offended spot and scooted away from her. “You’re a fucking mongoose.”

Her ferocious look cracked, and a smirk peeked through. “Mongoose?”

“Yeah. They’re fast or whatever, right?”

She shook her head, and slumped down on the pew, head resting against its high back, gaze on the ceiling. “This place is amazing.”

“Yeah. But you’re not seriously gonna tell me you left the most fertile man in the world–”

She kicked at him, halfheartedly, and missed. “Four kids isn’t some kinda freak show, get over yourself, douchebag.”

“A man who’s pretty damn fertile,” he corrected, and caught the sideways slice of her wry grin, “to look at some old church.”

She rolled her head along the back of the pew. “Your point?”

“This place isn’t in walking distance of the hospital. What are you doing here?”

“Ian texted and said you were here.”

“What a snitch.” He frowned. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Because Dad’s looking for you, and I thought it’d be better if I talked to you first.”

He’d expected as much, first with Ian, now with her, but still, his stomach shriveled. He wasn’t going to run, if Ghost showed up; in his twenties, he would have, but not now. His insides might shrink and cringe, but he’d learned to breathe through the anger, the disappointment, the awful twist of love that most of the time felt more like grief. And there was no fear anymore. There hadn’t been for a long time.

He resettled himself on the pew, and then folded his arms. “Okay. So. Talk.”

“That’s the way you wanna play it? Really?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “Are you angry with me, too? For not telling you?”

“Nah.” And that was the truth; he saw the surprise of it smooth her brow. “Remy was gone, and you were…” He made an expansive gesture in an attempt at describing how utterly devoid of personality she’d been. “Besides. It’s not your job to make excuses for him.”

“But you’re mad at Mom,” she guessed. “Because she’s the Queen of Making Excuses for Kenny Teague.”

He waved her off. “She’s his wife. She’s, like, legally obligated to make his excuses. It’s whatever.”

“I was with her when you called her,” Ava said. “You sounded upset.”

He made another gesture, this one vague.

“She could have told you then, and she didn’t. It’s understandable that your feelings are hurt.”

“Oh my God, what is with y’all today? My ‘feelings are hurt.’ I’m not in kindergarten – shut it,” he added, when she cocked a single brow. “It doesn’tmatter.”

“But you’re pissed at her.”

“Of course I am!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but his own words echoed back to him from unseen corners. The old women lighting candles turned creakily around to shoot him dark looks. He waved in apology, and lowered his voice. Hissed, “But I don’t need you to act like you’re my therapist or some shit. Don’t have one, never needed one, not gonna get one.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.” Adjusted her lean against the back of the pew, wincing. She had to be sore. He couldn’t believe she was awake right now, to be honest.

“You know,” she mused, and the fatigue bled into her voice, now. “When I was younger, I used to get so pissed that Mom would defend him to me. He’d do something so overbearing, and so…infuriating, and Mom was always in his corner. She was in mine, too, but also in his. I don’t think I understoond how damn hard that is until I became a mom.” She tipped her head so she was looking at him again. “I would do anything for Mercy. There’s not one thing I’d balk at. And I finally realized that’s how Mom feels about Dad. And it’s how Dad feels about her – about all of us. Even if thatanythingmeans being the world’s biggest dickbag.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

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