Page 78 of A Surefire Love
Nothing.
She ran to the mud room and hit the garage door button, then jogged outside. The November chill cut through the thin flannel of her pajamas. No Mercy in the garage or yard.
This could not be happening.
Panting, she returned to the house. She needed to call the police. No, first, Mercy’s friends. And Marissa, who might know when Mercy had read the papers and how she’d acted afterward.
Now where had she left her phone? She spun a circle in the living room. Still in her room? She took two steps toward the stairs when the door opened behind her. She whirled around.
Mercy stepped into the mud room with a blanket huddled around her shoulders. The hood of a sweatshirt covered her head, and jeans and shoes stuck out from beneath the blanket. She froze on seeing Blaze.
Blaze floundered in a swamp of impulses and emotions. She stopped in the doorway between the living room and mud room. “Where were you?” Though low and calm, her voice rasped.
Mercy let the blanket fall, revealing that she’d layered a winter coat over her hoodie. She shed the coat and hung it up, and she looked so small. Vulnerable. She held a coat hook for balance as she toed off her shoes. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Of course I care. Where did you go? When did you leave?”
Mercy slipped by Blaze into the living room, on course for her room.
“Mercy!” Her voice cracked.
Mercy turned, her shoulders stiff. “You resent me, right? And youneverloved Mom. You were glad I was gone, and now you’re mad I’m back.” She glared.
“That is not at all true.” A tremor kicked up in her chest, and her nose stung. How could she fix this? “I love you, and I’m sorry my testimony hurt your feelings, but you can’t sneak out.”
“Sure, I can! I was gone all night, and you didn’t even miss me, did you? You don’t love me!” She broke for her room and slammed her door.
All night? Blaze’s breath rolled fast, and she couldn’t seem to focus. She braced her hand on the couch and melted to a seat.
Because of her own free-range childhood, Blaze made sure Mercy wasn’t home alone for extended periods, even though other eleven-year-olds sometimes were. Despite all her care, Mercy snuck out, and Blaze had been oblivious.
The realization caught fire and spread. What if this wasn’t the first time? It wasn’t the first time Mercy had been upset with her, and if she coped by sneaking out, Mercy could be the child who camped out at church sometimes. The building was four miles away. A middle schooler could make it by bike. Though Blaze had checked the garage, she hadn’t noticed whether Mercy’s bike leaned against the back wall.
On trembling legs, Blaze descended the stairs.
Mercy sat next to the hutch, feeding BunBun his breakfast pellets from a bowl. A tear trail ran down her cheek.
Blaze knew rejection and loneliness, and she’d never wanted to cause her sister either one. She sat on the bed. “Let’s talk about my testimony.”
Mercy passed her wrist over her damp cheek.
“I’m sorry my story hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean for you to read it. It’s not ready yet.”
Mercy set the bowl on the ground and scooted back. “Mom wasn’t like what you said.”
“What do you remember about her?”
“She was fun. She laughed and danced with me in the kitchen.” Her voice grew animated. “We had singing competitions to see who could be loudest. She drew on the sidewalk with me. We made a fort together. Once, we made breakfast for dinner, and you came in all mad about the mess we made. When you left, she laughed and said you just didn’t understand.” She peeked at Blaze.
She nodded. She didn’t remember the specific incident, but Mom and Mercy had often been partners in crime.
“Then she got sick. She was tired and crabby all the time instead of just sometimes. I couldn’t always make her feel better, but sometimes I think I did. I remember lying down next to her and she kissed me.” Mercy plopped her palm against the side of her head. “Said I was a perfect angel and she loved me more than anything.”
Anything except alcohol. But even that Mom had set aside to give Mercy a healthy start. “I have some good memories of Mom too. She could be goofy and fun, couldn’t she?”
Mercy nodded.
“The thing is …” Blaze hesitated, but the truth needed to be told or they’d repeat this conversation every time Blaze was honest about her childhood. Besides, eventually, Mercy would have to deal with Mom’s impact on her own life. “Mom was actually sick the whole time. Do you know what alcoholism is?”
