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MERCY
We come up the big archway marking the entry, and my heart sings at the sight of the cast iron R and P still hanging at its peak beside a faded red rose my grandmother painted into the wood herself many years ago. Every so often, someone retouches her work, but the original always shines through, even now.
The water levels are already notably lower than they were just last night, and even though cars and trucks still can’t pass through here just yet without flooding their engines, I’m hopeful the town will continue to recover as rapidly as it already has.
Trees are down on both sides of the long winding driveway, another obstacle a vehicle would struggle to overcome, but not our horses.
“You can see the roof from here,” Frank says, pointing his finger out over the patch of woods giving the B and B its constant sense of peace and privacy. “Smartest thing Nettie ever did was picking the one hill on her property to build a house on.”
My grandfather had fought her on it, told her people would mind the climb of stairs coming and going with their luggage, but my grandmother had insisted. Countless hurricanes later, and we were all still reaping the benefits of her wisdom and stubbornness.
“She always knew the right answer to everything,” I say, smiling at the thought of countless moments I turned to her for advice, every one of them met with her kindness and insight. She never steered me wrong. “Life is so much harder when you have to figure everything out for yourself,” I joke, just to make light of things before they get so heavy that the grief buries me. Doesn’t matter how many years go by, it never seems to lose its power over me. Maybe because my grandma was the last person here who could still keep my dad’s memory alive for me. When she was gone, too, it was like losing him all over again.
“I don’t think she’d ever leave you to sort things out for yourself,” Frank says quietly. “In her own way, I’m sure she’s never been gone from you for even a second.”
I smile, knowing he’s right. Maybe more than he even realizes. “After she died, I didn’t know how to cope with it. In the beginning, I threw myself into my work, kept busy at all cost, so that my mind was occupied from the second I opened my eyes to the second I closed them to pass out. I just couldn’t face it. It seemed so surreal to think she was gone. She was always so strong and full of life. You should have seen her in the city when she’d visit. She loved it. Talked to everyone. Walked everywhere. It was impossible to accept that that same woman had laid down and taken her last breaths. And I just couldn’t do it. Not when she was my one source of comfort. Who was going to help me through losing her if she wasn’t there to do it?” It sounds so stupid, to hear it out loud, so ridiculous, as though grieving her was just as impossible to face as losing her in the first place. “Of course, that wasn’t exactly sustainable.” I roll my eyes to acknowledge the flaws in my plan. Even as I was living it, I knew it would backfire. “I crashed. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Total mess. Must have cried for two days straight. Then, the following sunrise, I got up. And walked for the door. I just had this inexplicable need to go outside, to see sunlight for myself, as if the power of her rise above the horizon would be all the magic I needed to replenish all that I had shed.” I’m so caught up in my own memories, the ride up toward the house, the debris and damage along the way all fade into a haze as I remember. “My building has a rooftop garden. I’d lived there three years and never went up to see it. Not once. Until that morning.” I turn to Frank, tears welling in my eyes but not from sadness.
He stares back at me, studying my face, and slowly he smiles, a bittersweet smile. “Roses,” he says.
I nod. “Everywhere. Every color. An entire rose garden. There, the whole time, just waiting for me to come up and see her.”
The corners of his blue eyes crinkle as his smile reaches them. “Told you.”
I face forward again as the present catches up with me. I’ve never told anyone that story. Not even Chase. He never knew my grandmother. I just didn’t think he’d truly understand.
Maybe it’s the same reason I didn’t ask him to come out with me to see the B and B. It’s sacred to me and seeing it in disrepair will hurt. I needed someone here with me who would just get that without my having to explain, someone who cared about the place as well, someone who had their own history with it. Like Wyatt. And Frank.
Only with Frank, it’s not just the B and B we both have history with. It’s each other.
Now’s not the time to start taking detours down memory lane though. We’re here, standing in front of The Rose Petal at last, with solid ground under the horses’ hooves. The damage, while heartbreaking at first sight, isn’t so devastating that it can touch my sense of hope. My mind reels, searching for the words of comfort I need. Then I remember the things Frank said. We can come back from this. Just like the rose painted on the wood, we can touch it up and still have all the magic of the original.
“I’m really glad you came out here with me today,” I say quietly, “I’m not sure I would have been able to see as clearly if you hadn’t prepared me for what I would be looking at.”
“Come on,” he says, his leg swinging over the back of his horse as he dismounts, “Let’s see a little more.”
I nod, following his lead. Part of me isn’t ready to see more. The roof is missing more shingles than it has left. Several shutters have been ripped from the windows. At first glance, I can already make out where a patch of siding is missing on the far-left corner of the house. Seeing more will only reveal more damage, more broken of what I once believed to be invincible.
We lead our horses to tying posts anchored so deep in the ground even a hurricane couldn’t move them. We secure the horses with just enough reach to nibble on grass and help themselves to the water trough between them. Then, we make our way up the walkway to the house.
It’s covered in leaves and dirt and things I can’t even make out in the mess, but the path is forever imprinted on my mind and I walk it on memory.
“I take it your dad already talked to the Ashbys?” I don’t know why I need to make stupid small talk. Something about letting the silence grow between us makes me scared of the seedlings my thoughts might sprout when left to their own devices. Thoughts about Frank. Thoughts about life in Lacey. Thoughts about how different life would look today if I had been here to weather the storm with everyone else. With him.
“They did better than most. Generator’s been running since the power went out. They’ve got enough power to keep the basics going. Which is good, because I heard they were at capacity when the storm turned and came for us.”
I almost trip on a large branch sitting smack in my path. “There are guests here? Right now?”
“You didn’t expect Tray and Kirsten to send everyone packing in the middle of a storm, did you?” He shakes his head, as if he’s surprised I’d even ask. “Keep saying things like that, and I’m going to start worrying you got that every-man-for-himself city thinking from being away too long. It may have been the land of opportunities for you, but if following your dreams cost you your heart, it’d be a damn shame.”
I blink several times, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, no, implying about what I said. “No, that’s not —” I stop, still struggling to collect my thoughts. “I was worried enough thinking it was just Tray and Kirsten stranded out here. Realizing they’ve been looking after a house full of people makes me wish I had thought to do more to help.”
He glances back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth hitched up, his brows furrowed. “You mean instead of helping us save Jake’s life yesterday? Or maybe you would have done more while you were driving nonstop in a tiny rental car to get here. Oh, unless you’ve developed psychic powers, of course, and knew before any of us that the hurricane would shift last minute and plow us.” He shakes his head, chuckling quietly. “You’re not Wonder Woman, Red. And you’re already doing more than others.”
My eyes drift sideways to avoid looking at him. “Do you insult me just to make it confusing when you compliment me a second later? Like, you can’t just say something nice and let me feel nice about it. You have to say something mean first so I’m too distracted to enjoy the nice thing when it comes my way because I’m too wrapped up in trying to understand where it came from all of a sudden?” We slow down as we near the steps leading up to the wraparound porch. “Also, I could be Wonder Woman. You don’t know. Maybe that’s what’s been keeping me from coming home all these years. Lotta crime in the big city,” I say as if I’ve made a serious argument.
He stops, never taking that step up, and turns back to face me. Now he’s closer than I expected, given I was all set to follow him up the porch before he brought everything to a screeching halt.
“I think we both know what’s been keeping you from coming home,” he says quietly, blue eyes warm with a tenderness I haven’t felt from them in so long it should be impossible to even remember. Except it’s not, because I dream of it. Dream of him, looking at me, just like this, all the time. Then the warmth transforms into something else, something new I’ve never seen in them before. Pain. Pain so raw it stings inside my chest. “And it’s not anything in the big city keeping you there, it’s what’s here that keeps you away.”
He’s on the porch, the thud of his knuckles against the wood of the front door as he knocks, echoing in my ears, when I finally start to breathe again.
––––––––
FRANK
I don’t know what the hell went wrong, but it definitely did. All wrong. Because my plan was to piss her off, to remind her just how much she hates me and get her all good and ready to leave town again just as fast as she swept back in. That was the point I intended to make when I spun around to meet her. And the words came out right, but goddamn, I said them all wrong.
I wasn’t planning on her being so close behind me. Wasn’t thinking how it would feel to have her chest brush against mine. Have her lock her gaze on me with those deep pools of emerald green pulling me in so fast it felt like I was sinking inside them. Drowning in everything she used to make me feel, reminding me of the drought my heart has lived in ever since she left.
I pound my fist against the door again, harder the second time around, motivated by an increasing need to put more distance between me and Mercy. Preferably with walls. And people to distract us both.
I can hear her feet moving up the steps behind me. Hear her take in air as if she’s about to speak.
The door opens to save us both.
“Frank,” Kirsten greets me, and I can tell from her voice she wasn’t expecting to find me standing here. “What brings you out this way first thing this morning?” she asks cheerfully, because it’s the Kirsten way. It’s part of why Nettie chose her to take over back when Nettie couldn’t run the B and B on her own anymore. Exuding constant cheer is part of the job description.
“If you’re surprised to see me, just wait until you see who I brought along,” I tell her as I step aside to reveal Mercy, whose petite frame was no doubt hidden behind me.
She waves, a timid smile on her lips. “Hi, Kirsten.”
“Oh, my word!” Kirsten gasps, practically leaping forward to snatch Mercy up in an enthusiastic embrace. “Mercy Rose, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” She swings her body side to side, dragging Mercy along, though she hardly seems to mind. Once upon a time, Kirsten was like the older sister she never had. For years after Mercy left, I suspected they stayed in touch even when the rest of us didn’t hear from Mercy. Found out eventually I was wrong. Mercy cut everyone off the same. Need for a clean slate and all, I suppose. Not to mention, the two worlds really don’t mix. Her new boyfriend is all the proof of that anyone should ever need. Seeing him here, standing out like one of them tall city towers would in one of our open fields. The contrast is undeniable.
“I think I’ll leave you two to your catching up while I go check in with Tray. See what needs doing...Yeah.” I stick my hands in my back pockets, too tempted to fidget or, God forbid, touch, and walk on into the house in search of a task I can devote all of my attention to.
Doesn’t take long either. I’m barely into the hall leading toward the kitchen when I stumble upon a tree, literally. Came in through the window. Glass has been cleaned up, and the damage has been patched with tarps, but beyond that, there’s still some work left to be done.
“Tray?” I call into the house, certain he’ll pop out from somewhere at the mention of his name.
I’m not disappointed. Half a second after I say his name, Tray’s head pokes out of the doorway just a few feet down past the tree.
“Yo,” he answers, then he sees me. “Frank! Anyone ever tell you your timing is perfect?” He grins. Our eyes move toward the tree trunk at my feet at the same time and we both know why he’s so happy to see me.
“No. But then most people don’t have a fallen tree blocking their way to the kitchen.”
Tray laughs. “There is that.” Then he stops, listening for the voices chatting eagerly behind me. “That’s not...?”
I nod. “Oh, but it is.”
Tray does his best to conceal his surprise, but his efforts aren’t lost on me. I’ve known him way too long to miss the meaning of the expression on his face. I can almost hear all the things he isn’t saying. Right now, he’s suppressing a smirk based on his assumptions alone.
“No.” I wave my hand back and forth as if it will stop his every deluded thought before they fully form. “Nothing remotely close to what you’re thinking is happening. She’s here to check on The Rose. That’s all.”
“Sure. That’s what finally gave her a reason to come back home,” he says, still gloating. “But what will wind up being her reason to stay?”
“She’s not staying.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because,” I inform him, “her city boyfriend will insist they go back to where they came from.”
Tray grimaces. “City boyfriend? No way. A city boy would make her crazy.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I did that. And clearly, it wasn’t her thing.” I take a step toward the tree and bend over, wrapping my hands around the trunk to get a feel for its weight. It’ll definitely take both of us. “We doing this, or what?”
“I’ve got a saw,” Tray offers, and I appreciate his willingness to change the subject more than his saw, but I go with the saw.
“Let’s get it and get this thing gone.”
Between the two of us and a few effective tools, it doesn’t take long to get the path cleared and the tree back outdoors where it belongs. Though now it’s in the firewood stack along the shed rather than the ground where it was before the storm came along and ripped it out by its roots.
“Think you have time to help me with something else before you head back out?” Tray asks, wiping his hands on his pants as we walk back to the house after dropping the last load of branches on the pile.
“I doubt Mercy’s in any hurry to leave again. Whatcha need?”
He stops short of the backdoor we’ve been traveling in and out of and points up. “Wind tore up more than a few tiles up there. It’s causing a leak straight into one of the guest rooms. We’ve had to move the Meyers into our own room for the time being, which is fine, but I’m worried the damage will spread if we don’t get it patched soon.”
“I assume you have a ladder handy?” I ask, amused at his longwinded attempt to not actually ask me to help him fix his roof while still asking me to do it.
“Right this way, my friend.” He’s already leading the way to the garage as he says it. It’s a six-car set up and built separate from the house. Not that anyone’s ever parked a car in it the entire time I’ve been coming around the B and B. Mostly just used for storage and occasionally cleaned out and decorated for some fancy cookout or event, in which case everything stored inside it gets moved to the barn. Which, of course, is not used for animals.
“So, if the Meyers are staying in your bed, where are you and Kirsten sleeping?” I ask, making small talk as we move the ladder to where we need it. It’s not usually my thing, but I’d rather fill the silence with nonsense than give Tray a chance to pick up where he left off on his Mercy theories.
“Haven’t been doing much sleeping to be honest. Too much to do, trying to keep everyone safe and dry while somehow maintaining the illusion that everything is still running same as usual. We’re not succeeding there, obviously, but it’s important to Kirsten to put on a good show, so I roll with it and pretend it’s just business as usual as I’m heating water on the hotplate so I can wash the dishes.” He shrugs. “How about you? Your father said you and the boys were going out on horseback, checking in on folks. Haven’t been able to get much word out here on how the rest of town is doing.”
“Pruitts got hit pretty hard,” I tell him, “Few others got hit nearly as bad. Didn’t make it out to everyone yet, but the guys are out and about again today, so we’ll know more by this evening.”
He nods. “Must be hard getting derailed as a tour guide while everyone else is out there without you.”
“Not hard. Plenty ways to help here too,” I remind him, checking the ladder to make sure it’s secure before we begin the climb. “After you.” I step aside and gesture for Tray to go ahead.
“You’ll catch me if I fall, right?” he jokes, starting up the first few rungs. “I mean, that is the Frank Kingston way.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, shaking my head as I start to follow him up. “I am all about letting people fall on their asses these days.”
He doesn’t answer, but I can hear him laugh up ahead of me. He would think it was funny. Mercy would probably find it hard to see the humor in it.