Chapter 29
Blaze let her eyes sink closed as she stretched first thing in the morning. Her muscles responded with the languid ease of a sleepy cat. How long had it been since she’d slept so soundly? Weeks? Months? Ever?
For the first time in her life, she had a diagnosis and a plan for dealing with the symptoms that haunted her. She’d been on an amazing first date. Mercy was doing well too.
Her eyes eased open to sunlight glowing through the curtains.
She rose and pushed the fabric back so the rays spilled over her.
It was like Jesus had finally lifted the shadowy curse she’d described to Anson, and the future looked bright.
It was almost like going back to before she realized her mom was an alcoholic. Before the garage fire.
Your brain is a powerful asset, Jennifer.
The compliment was flattering, but the use of her name had hit her more powerfully.
She should’ve taken Anson up on his offer to call her by her given name, at least once in a while.
Not the full name—she’d never gone by Jennifer—but she was no longer the little girl who’d been called Jenny, either. Jen, perhaps?
Her stomach flipped at the thought of that name on Anson’s lips. She turned from the window and headed downstairs to make coffee.
As she padded through the living room on her way to the kitchen, she spotted her testimony littering the armchair beside the couch. She plucked the pages up. She shouldn’t have left such personal notes out for anyone to read, especially not spread all over Mercy’s favorite chair.
Blaze straightened. She wouldn’t have left the testimony like this.
She’d left it on the coffee table to edit later.
She hadn’t thought Mercy would notice it next to the stacks of forms, bills, and junk mail.
Blaze herself couldn’t say whether the papers had been on the chair or the table when she’d come in last night.
She leafed through the papers. Several had been wrinkled. Mercy had definitely read the pages. Her gaze landed on a line near a newly torn edge: I resented having to take care of Mom and Mercy. Blaze’s stomach rolled. She’d made her sister feel like a burden. How could she have been so careless?
Mercy was usually up by now, but if she’d read this, it was no wonder she hadn’t shown her face yet.
Blaze went down and pushed open her sister’s bedroom door. Light from the window spilled over the empty bed. On the nightstand, her sister’s phone was still on the charger.
“Mercy?” She flicked on the light. BunBun froze with his mouth full of hay. After a moment, his nibbling continued. Mercy wasn’t by the desk, closet, or hutch.
Blaze forced a deep breath. Maybe Mercy was in one of the bathrooms or the kitchen.
She hurried through the house calling her name. She checked the unfinished storage space and every closet. Dread grew in her stomach as, room after room, her calls went unanswered.
“Mercy?” She returned to her sister’s room.
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 you never loved 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?”
Mercy shrugged. “People who drink too much. Like that guy who fell into me at The Depot and sprained my ankle. I know you think Mom was one.”
Blaze patted the bed and waited until Mercy sat beside her to continue.
“When people hurt, they want to feel better. Drinking can help them forget and have fun. At least that’s what they tell themselves.
Sometimes they believe it so much, they don’t see how their drinking hurts other people, so they don’t see how much they need to change. That was Mom, and it could’ve been me.”
Mercy stole a sideways glance at her. “You?”
“That’s what I was writing about. I was angry that I needed to take care of things Mom should’ve taken care of.
And that’s the truth. I shouldn’t have had to.
But drinking wasn’t the answer—it made everything worse.
I just couldn’t see that until one day, God used you to show me how much pain I was causing. ”
Mercy’s lips pursed, and her brows lifted.
Blaze wrapped an arm around her. “If it wasn’t for you, Mercy, I don’t think I would’ve gone to church or decided I wanted Jesus. I’m really grateful for you. You saved me, and I love getting to share our lives. Most sisters don’t get to be as close as we are.”
Mercy hugged her back. “I’m sorry I got so angry.”
“I forgive you. And I’m sorry I was so careless.”
“I forgive you.”
Blaze took a deep breath. “Can you tell me about last night? When did you leave? Where did you go?”
Mercy played with her hoodie zipper. “I waited for you to come check on me when you got home, but you didn’t. You just went to bed. So I left. I read a book in the gazebo and then came home.”
The gazebo in the park was about halfway to the church. Nighttime temperatures dropped near freezing this time of year. “Did you go anywhere else? Maybe the church so you could warm up?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just the gazebo. I put the blanket over my head, and it wasn’t so bad.”
Blaze’s suspicion spiked. She’d assumed a streetlight near the gazebo had provided illumination so Mercy could read one of her paperbacks. “How did you have enough light to read, then?”
Mercy stuck her hand in her backpack and drew out a small light with a clip. A book-light Blaze hadn’t gotten her.
“Where did you get that?”
“Amelia’s mom gave it to me.”
“Okay. Um … how did you get there? To the gazebo?”
Mercy snorted. “Don’t worry, I didn’t steal the car.”
Blaze rubbed her temple. That thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “What about your bike? Did you ride that?”
“No, I walked. I didn’t think of my bike, but the blanket would’ve tangled with the tires.”
That made sense. “Was last night the first time you snuck out?”
Mercy nodded. “And I don’t think I will again. The gazebo isn’t very comfortable.”
Knowing Mercy had left the security of home wasn’t very comfortable either. Blaze would have to be more vigilant. “It’s also not safe for a little girl to be out all night by herself.”
“I’m not that little.”
“I would’ve been scared outside like that in the dark.”
“Guess I’m just braver than you.” Mercy grinned up at her. “So. Wanna make pancakes?”
Blaze scoffed. “Not so fast. It’s not okay to sneak out. You’re grounded for the next two weeks.”
“Grounded?”
Blaze nodded as if she wasn’t making this up as she went along. She’d never grounded Mercy before. She’d never been grounded herself. But this seemed like the kind of situation that required a responsible guardian to assign consequences. “You scared me really badly, and that was so dangerous.”
Mercy brushed her bangs back. “I knew you’d be mad, but two weeks?”
“Don’t argue unless you want me to make it longer.”
Mercy jammed her lips shut, but they curved with a frown.
Blaze rose. “Breakfast is up to you. We can do pancakes if you still want.”
Mercy’s frown deepened.
“Think about it.” Blaze returned to the living room and lowered onto the couch to replay the conversation. Mercy probably wasn’t the kid breaking into the church, but if she was? That’d be embarrassing at best, dangerous at worst.
Then again, if the camera in the youth room had caught Mercy last night, Anson would’ve called.
She could probably rule out a trip to the church.
But that didn’t mean her sister would never wander out again.
For added peace of mind, she borrowed Anson’s idea and went online to find doorbell cameras for both the side and front doors.
As she finalized her order, Mercy stepped into the living room.
“Pancakes?” Blaze asked.
Mercy nodded.
“Good.” They could use the sister time. She left her phone on the coffee table and turned for the kitchen.
“Oh. Your boyfriend’s here.”
Blaze’s stomach jolted. She pivoted, and sure enough, out the front window, Anson’s SUV was parked at the curb. “I—I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Mercy pushed her glasses up. “You said you were going to dinner with a friend last night. And then Anson picked you up, and he’s a boy, isn’t he?” The corners of her mouth tipped up. “Your boyfriend.”
“Going to dinner doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend.”
“But you keeping him a secret does.” Mercy giggled, apparently recovered from the morning’s tension.
Anson started up the front walk.
Blaze couldn’t answer the door in pajamas with tangled hair and unbrushed teeth. “Can you let him in? I need to go change.”
“Okay, but I’m gonna tell him you lo-ove him.” She skipped to the door.
Blaze scampered up the stairs and out of sight. “You can say like if you want, but not love.”
Was she falling in love? Possibly, because her uneasiness over Mercy had evaporated at the sight of him.