Mercy by Rhiannon Paille Page B

to see Scott at fifteen was a bit better than Scott at thirteen. She squinted as the sun broke the trees and caught her in the face with a natural brightness. She held up a hand as she scrambled to tie up her boat and get out. Scott was a silhouette; standing with a group of guys sipping PowerAde as they meandered towards the parking lot. Maeva almost tripped over her shoelace as she grabbed her backpack. Her eyes widened as she did a quick save, pulling it away from the ledge of the dock. Her heart jolted and she closed her eyes taking a deep breath before standing and slinging it over her shoulder. She didn’t like the docks at St. Mary Harbor because there were a lot of them and they floated farther away from the shore than she cared to be. The one at her house was small so the chances of losing her footing and falling in were nil.
    Here, with the main piers and all the small docks jutting off of them was like a tight rope and she had to work hard at keeping her balance just to get to the shore. Her stomach was sludge as she reached it, and passed the group of guys on the way to her Sundance.
    She loved the car. She didn’t expect her dad to do anything for her but when they moved to the island the question of mobility became an issue. After a long discussion, Scott got a canoe and she got a car. It was nothing special, made in ninety-two, and barely worth a thousand dollars. It had rust spots all over the place, making the silver paint look grayish. She had a problem with the ignition too, which turned into a backwards security feature. She unhooked the keys from the stuffed bird key chain attached to her zipper and unlocked the front door. She pulled up the lock to the back door and put her backpack on the seat. She sighed. Scott and his friends were done with the morning banter and were getting into their nicer cars on the far side of the parking lot.
    Maeva opened the backpack, feeling for the small metal cylinder. It wasn’t there. She frowned, checked the bag a second time, and laughed at herself, rolling her eyes. She slammed both doors shut, twirling her keys on her key ring as she crossed the lot and went in through the service door to Earl’s Garage. It smelled like oil, tires and gasoline, an old boom box blaring classic rock. Earl was bent over a Caravan. Maeva knocked on the long blue counter, separating customers from employees and Earl glanced her way.
    “Mornin’ darling,” he drawled, his Native American accent shining through. His family was once part of the reserves in the area, but most of them had migrated to Kenora and surrounding area, working regular jobs. Earl opened the garage on a bunch of government grants. He was tall, his leathery skin wrinkled. He used to have long black hair but his favorite story was the one about how it all burned up in some house fire he barely escaped. Now it was short, growing out amidst the scars on his skull. Maeva shifted foot-to-foot, not comfortable with the darling part of the greeting.
    “Morning, Earl,” she returned as cordially as possible, looking at her shoes.
    Earl came over to the desk and Maeva heard papers shuffling around. “I know what ya came for.”
    Maeva felt a blush creep up her cheeks, embarrassed. “Yeah well, I can’t really get to school …” she trailed off, not meeting his thick brown eyes. She jumped as something hit the counter with a jolt.
    “You should let me fix it,” Earl said, shooting her a glare. He smoothly grabbed his shirt pocket and slid out a cigarette. That was the other smell Maeva couldn’t stand. She gave him a half smile.
    “How much did you say it would cost?”
    Earl removed the cigarette from his lips while searching his pockets for a lighter. “A hundred and fifty, like I said before. You got the part so it’s just labor.”
    Maeva laughed. “I think I’ll be fine. It still runs.” She turned to the door and as she pushed it open she heard Earl’s voice behind her.
    “You know my number for