Chapter Fifteen Mercy
Chapter Fifteen
Mercy
We’d forgotten the pictures.
The realization struck after Scary Grandma left to go back to her hotel for the evening, and Caroline and Rose excused themselves for an early bedtime.
Even though neither of us were tired, Grant was in our room getting ready for bed, and because I was a giant chickenshit who wasn’t ready to face all that, I found myself lingering in the family room, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened.
In the kitchen, wiping down counters that didn’t need to be wiped.
And when I ran the wet, soapy rag over the stretch of counter above the junk drawer, I paused, recognition hitting me full force. He’d hidden all the pictures for me.
I tossed the dishcloth into the sink and set my hands on my hips, squinting at the expensive-looking handle of the drawer before pulling it open.
The first framed photo of our wedding was easy, I’d already looked at that one.
My pulse was tripping over itself as I picked up the second. Someone must have snapped it without our knowledge, which somehow made it even worse.
We were in what looked like a classroom, but it wasn’t mine.
Grant was leaning up against an ancient-looking desk that had seen better days—battered metal, chips in the hard surface along the edges, and old stickers on the legs that someone must have tried to remove and failed.
Grant’s hands were braced on the edge, long legs stretched out with one crossed over the top.
I sat next to him, perched on top of the desk, my legs crossed and angled in his direction.
Whatever he’d said, it had made me laugh—a big laugh, too, based on my facial expression—and he was staring at me with a ghost of a smile on his face, the damnable glasses perched on his nose.
He’d made me laugh. Really laugh.
He was smiling at me like he liked me. Really liked me.
These little breadcrumbs about our past weren’t enough.
I wanted to plug myself into a hard drive somewhere, press a button, and download all the things I was missing, but I couldn’t.
With his family here, it was the last thing that I could ask of him.
Too risky. But in the moment, the gaps in my memory felt like an unbearable assault.
No, not felt like—they were. An attack on who I was as a person.
What made me me was the collection of my experiences over the last twenty-five years.
It was the hard things from my youth that I didn’t like thinking about.
It was the struggles that Connor and I faced when he took in a teenager who’d been abandoned by the people who were supposed to love her, just so that she couldn’t grow past them like her brother had.
It was working three part-time jobs to get through school.
Long nights studying because what I wanted more than anything was to help kids like me, make sure that they had a voice in their ear telling them they were enough and they could work for any dream, even if the people around them said it was stupid.
Who would I be if those things were just . . . gone?
Would I still be Mercy?
My knees wobbled under the weight of these existential, unanswerable questions, and I sank onto one of the stools, spearing my hands into my hair as I stared at the other face down frame.
There was no stopping the pitch and roll of my stomach, the unsteadiness that rang through my entire body like I’d been stuck on a boat for too long.
“Are you all right, dear?”
At the sound of Caroline’s voice, I snapped upright. “Oh yeah. Just cleaning up.”
She joined me at the island, and no wonder I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs—her steps were completely soundless.
I wondered whether they trained them how to do that as rich little children.
Her face was free of makeup, a navy satin robe tied around her willowy frame, and she was still so beautiful that I couldn’t help but smile.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just wondering what it feels like to be God’s favorite.”
Her eyebrows arched gracefully. “Beg your pardon?”
“You’re jet-lagged—exhausted, no doubt—and you’re still one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I look like a swamp monster when I miss one night of sleep.”
She pursed her lips, eyes sparkling. “One, I find that hard to believe. And two, you’re very kind, but you and I both know that this comes at great cost and with a little help from experts.”
I smiled. “Of course.”
Caroline’s eyes landed on the stack of framed photos. “Where were these hiding?”
“The top drawer,” I said, mind racing for an excuse. “We had, um, cleaners come before you arrived. I think they moved them to wipe down the counter.”
It wasn’t total bullshit. We’d had a brisk, efficient crew of four come in that morning while Grant took me to another pointless You’re doing great, rest, don’t push yourself, come back in two weeks doctor’s appointment.
Caroline turned over the third photo, her expression softening. “Lovely. I haven’t seen this one.”
Join the fucking club.
She set it on the counter, angling it just in front of the other two, and I forced myself not to look, terrified of what she’d see in my face.
“I’m surprised you’re not sleeping.”
Caroline sighed. “Yes, well, it turns out that one can worry about your children even when they’re grown and you’re under the same roof.
I thought being here would temporarily quiet those thoughts.
I thought he might still be awake, but .
. .” Her eyes were full of questions when they met mine.
“Speaking of quiet, you hardly said a word during the meal. Have we pushed too hard by being here? Rose and I can join Lady Hastings at her hotel.”
“No, please don’t. I feel fine.” Based on the look on her face, she didn’t believe me. I set my hand on hers. “I promise. We saw the doctor again this morning, and she wasn’t worried about your visit at all.”
Now that was about 50 percent bullshit.
I’m not sure how I feel about this, she’d said. If you feel an increase in headaches or pain, or find yourself worrying excessively, remove yourself from the group and take a break.
But she hadn’t explicitly said they had to cancel, so Grant and I decided together to allow them to stay since it was only a few days.
Her eyes searched mine. “I’m quite glad to hear that. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be missing pieces of your life.” Her voice softened even further. “I’d be terrified, so I find you to be incredibly brave, Mercy.”
There was an ominous burning at the bridge of my nose, a thickening wedge in my throat, and I stared down at the counter, desperately trying to swallow it down. It simply wouldn’t do to cry in front of this very lovely woman.
Slipping on a mask of flippancy might not solve the world’s problems, but it was comfortable if nothing else.
“I’m not sure I’m all that brave. I do get pissed off if I think about it too long.” I smiled a little. “It’s almost like there’s someone pulling strings behind a curtain and I can’t quite cut them loose.”
She hummed. “My son has a problem not being in control, so I imagine he feels much the same.”
A problem not being in control. My neck flushed hot, and I cursed my pervy little brain at where it instantly traveled at her innocently spoken words. Probably because that control freak son and his glasses were waiting in the bedroom for me, and I still had to pluck up the courage to join him.
“He’s been very patient.”
“Yes,” she said, eyeing me briefly. “He’s being quite careful with you. It’s different from the couple we saw last year in London.” Her smile was full of affection. “You both seemed hell-bent on eliciting a reaction from the other. And us,” she said ruefully.
A warning blared in the back of my mind, a lightning-fast pulse of caution that I shouldn’t be having this conversation without Grant.
I let out a short laugh. “Trust me, we’ve been like that here too. I think the presence of Lady Hastings has me thrown more than anything. She’s terrifying.”
The entire dinner had been spent listening to her talk about people I didn’t know, events with the elite that I didn’t understand, all of it quite obviously done to make me feel excluded.
Grant and Rose, for their part, tried repeatedly to change the subject, but the Iron Lady 2.
0 wasn’t having it, steering them right back where she wanted.
All in all, super fun night.
“You weren’t intimidated by her the first time you met,” she pointed out. “It was quite entertaining, my dear.”
Now my cheeks were warm for a very different reason. “Yes, Grant said as much.”
She laughed quietly, patting my hand in an easy, motherly way that made my chest hurt. “You’re good for him. Good for each other.” Her eyes were so sincere it broke my heart. “As long as you don’t forget that, you’ll be just fine.”
Her hand squeezed gently, then slid over mine as she glided back through the family room and down the stairs without making a sound.
She’d make a killing as a criminal.
I rubbed my hands over my face and sighed, dropping them into my lap and finally daring to look at the third photo.
My hands were shaking as I picked it up.
It was another candid, this time taken at a party.
New Year’s Eve, based on the silly hats and balloons and confetti.
Grant and I were oblivious to the people around us, completely wrapped up in each other.
One of his big hands held my face, the other was anchored in my hair, and he was kissing me.
Kissing me well too. My own grip was tight, one hand on his wrist, the other fisted in his cream cable-knit sweater.
There was a flash of his tongue in my mouth, his brow knitted tight in a tortured sort of expression that made my belly flip. The fact that we wanted this on display in our home said things I wasn’t sure I was ready to face, despite my earlier frantic need to know it all.