his father
, June thought, regarding her son’s strong chin and the wide plane of his forehead, his honey-blond hair. He had always been more like her in temperament, though, reflective, measured, careful about his future. She had an urge to run her palm over his head, to cup his cheeks, but Nate was already edging back toward the stairs, his gaze sliding back to his feet. “I just came down to say I love you. I’ll see you and Dad in the morning.”
“Okay,” June said to the empty spot he left behind him. “Sleeptight.” The same incantation she’d always bestowed upon him in the same singsong lilt. But nothing was the same anymore, she knew, nor would it be, not with Suzie’s dirty mitten shoved in the back of that solitary drawer, lost to the light, as treacherous as a single yellow footprint dusted under new-fallen snow.
Chapter Five
T he moon was up high, peeking over the clouds and the trees, when Mercy finally extracted herself from the hospital. Hazel had planted herself fast as a weed by Fergus’s side and told Mercy to take her car for the night. Though Mercy tried to refuse, she was secretly grateful for the favor, since her body longed for sleep the way a hungry man’s stomach demanded food.
She didn’t think Hazel had heard the news yet that it was Zeke who’d caused the crash. Otherwise Hazel surely wouldn’t have loaned her the car. She wouldn’t have put her powdery arms around Mercy and squeezed good-bye, whispering her thanks. She wouldn’t have given Mercy the key to her house and begged her to look in on the sheep in the morning. Those sheep were family to Hazel, and good people didn’t put their families in the path of trouble if they didn’t have to, Mercy was all too aware.
In the forest Arlene had blended in as naturally as bluebells in spring, but in a town folks would get one look at her and the rope of grizzled hair tossed over her shoulder and they’d set their lips and pick up their feet. This used to make her laugh. “If I’m the scariest they’ve seen, then they sure haven’t seen much,” she used to crow, straightening the knife attached to her belt, and inthese moments Mercy always used to feel a surge of pride in her mother, who knew how to snare a bird so that it would be waiting fresh with the morning dew, who could draw fire out of two rocks and make a blade of grass sing between her fat thumbs.
Remembering all this, Mercy almost developed the courage to blurt out to Hazel what she’d heard at the nurses’ station about Zeke and the accident. She wanted to, but her throat choked up like a stream jammed with stones, and the words stuck inside her, swirling indefinitely. What would she say anyway? An apology, maybe.
I’m sorrier than sorry.
Followed by an explanation of what Zeke had once done for her, how he’d taken care of a pair of men in the woods who’d hurt her and then paid the price for it. How, after jail and losing Arlene, he wasn’t really himself anymore. Hadn’t Hazel buried her own son? She must know all about the razor teeth of grief, Mercy reflected—how if you weren’t careful, they’d scrape you raw, eating up your flesh before going for the far more delicious meat in the middle of your bones.
Instead she suffered Hazel’s embrace in silence, guilt making her arms stiff and her back a ridge of stone. She couldn’t remember the last time another woman besides her mother had embraced her, and the too-sudden proximity made loss fresh all over again for Mercy. Would Hazel rebuke her tomorrow, curse her, or simply close the door in her face with the gentlest and firmest of clicks? Mercy wondered.
“I have to go,” she said. “My little sister…” She trailed off. The less she said about Hannah, the better. She hoped to God that when the sheriff had come for Zeke, Hannah had had the good sense to hide the way Mercy had taught her. She wasn’t declared Hannah’s legal guardian, and she had an abiding fear that one look around
, June thought, regarding her son’s strong chin and the wide plane of his forehead, his honey-blond hair. He had always been more like her in temperament, though, reflective, measured, careful about his future. She had an urge to run her palm over his head, to cup his cheeks, but Nate was already edging back toward the stairs, his gaze sliding back to his feet. “I just came down to say I love you. I’ll see you and Dad in the morning.”
“Okay,” June said to the empty spot he left behind him. “Sleeptight.” The same incantation she’d always bestowed upon him in the same singsong lilt. But nothing was the same anymore, she knew, nor would it be, not with Suzie’s dirty mitten shoved in the back of that solitary drawer, lost to the light, as treacherous as a single yellow footprint dusted under new-fallen snow.
Chapter Five
T he moon was up high, peeking over the clouds and the trees, when Mercy finally extracted herself from the hospital. Hazel had planted herself fast as a weed by Fergus’s side and told Mercy to take her car for the night. Though Mercy tried to refuse, she was secretly grateful for the favor, since her body longed for sleep the way a hungry man’s stomach demanded food.
She didn’t think Hazel had heard the news yet that it was Zeke who’d caused the crash. Otherwise Hazel surely wouldn’t have loaned her the car. She wouldn’t have put her powdery arms around Mercy and squeezed good-bye, whispering her thanks. She wouldn’t have given Mercy the key to her house and begged her to look in on the sheep in the morning. Those sheep were family to Hazel, and good people didn’t put their families in the path of trouble if they didn’t have to, Mercy was all too aware.
In the forest Arlene had blended in as naturally as bluebells in spring, but in a town folks would get one look at her and the rope of grizzled hair tossed over her shoulder and they’d set their lips and pick up their feet. This used to make her laugh. “If I’m the scariest they’ve seen, then they sure haven’t seen much,” she used to crow, straightening the knife attached to her belt, and inthese moments Mercy always used to feel a surge of pride in her mother, who knew how to snare a bird so that it would be waiting fresh with the morning dew, who could draw fire out of two rocks and make a blade of grass sing between her fat thumbs.
Remembering all this, Mercy almost developed the courage to blurt out to Hazel what she’d heard at the nurses’ station about Zeke and the accident. She wanted to, but her throat choked up like a stream jammed with stones, and the words stuck inside her, swirling indefinitely. What would she say anyway? An apology, maybe.
I’m sorrier than sorry.
Followed by an explanation of what Zeke had once done for her, how he’d taken care of a pair of men in the woods who’d hurt her and then paid the price for it. How, after jail and losing Arlene, he wasn’t really himself anymore. Hadn’t Hazel buried her own son? She must know all about the razor teeth of grief, Mercy reflected—how if you weren’t careful, they’d scrape you raw, eating up your flesh before going for the far more delicious meat in the middle of your bones.
Instead she suffered Hazel’s embrace in silence, guilt making her arms stiff and her back a ridge of stone. She couldn’t remember the last time another woman besides her mother had embraced her, and the too-sudden proximity made loss fresh all over again for Mercy. Would Hazel rebuke her tomorrow, curse her, or simply close the door in her face with the gentlest and firmest of clicks? Mercy wondered.
“I have to go,” she said. “My little sister…” She trailed off. The less she said about Hannah, the better. She hoped to God that when the sheriff had come for Zeke, Hannah had had the good sense to hide the way Mercy had taught her. She wasn’t declared Hannah’s legal guardian, and she had an abiding fear that one look around
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