And the next morning, Tammy and Fenton are gone. Just like in Mercy’s dream, she wakes up and looks over at the bed across the room, and it is empty. No Tammy curled up in a ball under the blankets, no Fenton on the floor. Mercy is alone. Not sure if she is awake or not, she does what she did in her dream. She pulls the covers back and gets out of bed. She walks across the room to the window and looks out at the driveway. The sun is just rising. It is mostly dark but orange-pink light is beginning to spread across the ground. Claire’s car and Darren’s truck, the grass in the yard, the stones in the driveway, are all shining in the morning light.
But Tammy’s truck is gone.
Mercy puts on her slippers and goes downstairs. The house is quiet and still. There is light coming from the kitchen. Dee and Speckles are asleep on the hide-a-bed, so she creeps by quietly to join Claire who is already up, making toast. She doesn’t know if her grandmother knows yet that Tammy is gone and she doesn’t want to tell her.
Mercy knows she will be sad. And mad.
She walks over and stands beside her grandmother at the counter and leans against her. Claire reaches down and rests her hand on top of Mercy’s head, smooths down her tangled hair. Then she pops up the toast and scrapes some butter on it. “Oh, Mercy,” she says. “Just you and me this morning, I guess. Let’s make some hot chocolate.”
Mercy can’t believe this. She never gets hot chocolate during the week. She feels a hundred confusing things at once. She thinks she might cry. “Grandma Claire, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m not sure if I love my mom.” She feels terrible for saying it. It is a terrible thing to say, a terrible way to feel.
“Maybe you do.”
“I didn’t really have time.” And now Mercy is crying. She had her chance and she missed it. Her grandmother picks her up like she is a baby, like she weighs nothing at all. Mercy lays her head on Claire’s shoulder, lets her stroke her hair and kiss her cheek.
Claire sighs. “She’s not easy to love, Mercy.”