Running From Mercy (16 page)

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Authors: Terra Little

BOOK: Running From Mercy
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“You make it sound like what we did the last time we were together was a good thing.”
“Wasn't a bad thing. I mean, as far as bad things go, I've heard of worse. I was under the impression that you enjoyed making love with me as much as I did with you.”
Pam shot nervous glances over her shoulders and frowned up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd walked up. “Lower your voice, Chad. Somebody might be listening. Matter of fact, knowing Mercy, somebody probably
is
listening.”
He scanned the area where they were standing at length. “I think we're safe. In case you're wondering, I've wanted to do that for the last eighteen years and I'm glad we did. Both times.”
“Yeah, well if the rumors about me being a whore weren't true before that night, I guess they are now, aren't they?” A frustrated groan pushed past her lips as she fell back against the tree and dropped her head in her hand wearily. She massaged the wrinkles from her forehead with stiff fingers. “Nikki could've come out and seen us. Anyone could've walked up those steps and seen us. A mistake like that could've cost us both a lot.”
“Couldn't have cost me any more than I've already paid.”
“I wish you would stop hinting around about your life being so damn bad because I just don't see it. You always wanted to be a teacher and that's what you are. You wanted kids and that's what you got.” She looked him from head to toe. “You don't look like you're suffering to me.”
“What about the part where I wanted to do all that and have all that with you?”
“Chad, please, okay? Right now all I can concentrate on is the fact that I slept with my sister's husband and I feel like shit about it, so please don't make me feel worse by shoving the past down my throat on top of that.” She dropped her cigarette and stepped on it, then bent to pick the butt out of the grass.
Chad considered her curiously, wondering if he should just come out and say what was on his mind or let the subject die a slow death. Even in profile, she looked tortured, like she was beating herself up at that very moment and hating herself for what they'd done. He, on the other hand, was feeling nothing but the calmness that came along with hot, hard, long-awaited release. The stirrings of anticipation were in his gut, too. Given the chance, he'd make love to Pam again and again, as many times as he could without causing himself bodily harm. He didn't feel the slightest tinge of either guilt or remorse. More like contentment, if he was being completely honest.
Realizing that he was staring at her and that there were probably several pairs of busy eyes turned in their direction, Chad shifted away from Pam and looked out over the field.
“Fourteen years,” he said suddenly. He looked up at the sky and noticed that it was darkening slowly. The Tilt-A-Whirl was doing a brisk business, as was the Ferris Wheel and he thought he saw Nikki ducking into the Bouncing Ball House. He shook his head sadly, thinking that she was too old and much too tall, even if she was still a kid at heart.
“What?”
“You heard me, Pam. I said fourteen years. That's how long it's been since I was intimate with Paris.” She sputtered and he rushed ahead before she could interrupt him. “Longer, if you count the months in between, during that first year. Paris and I were never about the same thing you and I were about.”
Pam's eyes grew wide as she stared at Chad's profile. He was studying the goings-on at the festival as if he was totally engrossed in them. One hand was pushed casually in his pants pocket and the other held his cup loosely, dangling at his side. “I don't believe that.”
“You should, because it's the truth.” Chad downed the last of his beer and belched discreetly behind the cup. “Drop your butt in here,” he told her, holding the empty cup out to her. She did and he left her standing there long enough to take the cup over to a nearby trash can. When he came back the distance between them was noticeably shorter. “We had separate bedrooms from the time Nikki was five.”
“You have to be lying. Paris never told me about that and I know she would have. And Nikki never mentioned it to me, either.”
“Nikki was raised not to discuss what went on in our home, not even with you. I can't say why Paris never told you, but it's the truth. I think you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't lie about something like this. I don't think I've ever lied to you about anything, as far as that goes.”
“You have to admit it's a little hard to swallow.” Unable to stand still any longer, Pam came away from the tree and paced back and forth. She pushed her hands through her hair and fisted them at the nape of her neck. Her eyes darted around restlessly. “God, what is it about this damn town? It's like I'm in the
Twilight Zone
. First Jasper tells me that all the old folks are mad with me because I haven't gotten my hair done or been run out of Willie's kitchen. And now you . . .” She released the hold she had on her hair long enough to wave a distracted hand in his direction. “What am I supposed to do with what you're telling me, Chad? First of all, how am I supposed to believe it? Would you be telling me this if Paris was still alive?”
He thought about the question and shook his head quickly. “Probably not since you undoubtedly wouldn't be here if that was the case. I'm telling you now so you can finally understand the legacy you left behind.”
“You told me once years ago that I'd fucked up everybody's life. I don't need to hear that shit again.”
“Then at least stop beating yourself up about what happened between us the other night. Hell, Paris would've been the first to tell you that none of us is perfect. I couldn't be the husband I'd promised to be, so she found what she needed somewhere else, and that was fine with me. I encouraged her to be with someone else. And I never told her, but I'm sure she knew I had other relationships, too. It was an arrangement that worked out for us because we were never meant to be together in the first place. The being together part was for you and me.”
“This is crazy.” Pam met his eyes and stared into them long and hard. “Why would either of you want to live like that? And why didn't she tell me?”
“We talked about divorce a few times, but whenever the subject of who would get Nikki came up, we left it alone. I told her I would fight her and drag you into court right along with her if it came to that.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“What would you have done, Pam? Would you have come back?”
Pam opened her mouth to respond, but she never got the chance. Nikki chose that moment to come rushing over to them, a look of relief on her smiling face. As if sensing the tension between them, she looked from Chad to Pam before grabbing hold to Pam's hand.
“Aunt Pam, Mr. Jasper said for you to come on. The band is setting up and he told me to come and find you.”
“He's ready for me already?” Pam looked up at the sky and frowned. “They didn't used to start the singing and shit until it was completely dark.”
“You're singing?” Chad asked, eyebrows high on his forehead.
“Yep,” Nikki jumped in. “They're starting early because Mr. Jasper told everybody and their mama that Aunt Pam was singing.”
“I said I would sing
one song
,” Pam protested. Nikki tugged on her hand until she was reluctantly skipping along behind her. She threw Chad a slightly alarmed look over her shoulder, to which he only smiled. As they came closer to the stage, she saw that a wooden stool was sitting on the stage behind a freestanding microphone and that was all. The band was nowhere in sight.
Jasper saw her coming and damn near ran up the steps along the side of the stage. The look on his face told her that he had accurately intercepted the look on hers. She was seriously considering strangling him with her bare hands and he knew it. He adjusted the microphone and sent a high-pitched squeal out over the field, then cleared his throat. Pam stood at the bottom of the steps with her arms folded protectively around her middle.
“This is ridiculous,” she spat out of the side of her mouth to Nikki, whose arms were draped around her shoulders possessively.
“Shhhh, listen,” Nikki whispered back, lifting a hand like she intended to place it over Pam's mouth. She missed the glare Pam shot her.
“Okay, so ya'll know little Pam Mayes finally brought her tail back to Mercy,” Jasper was saying. He held up his hands to hold the crowd off as catcalls rose up in the air. “I told her she was gon' have to sing for us if she wanted us to look over her being away so long and all. Seems to me she's got a lot of making up to do. Am I right?”
“I'm going to kill him,” Pam hissed to Nikki. She glanced over and locked eyes with Willie and couldn't help the smile that curved her lips. He was tuning up his guitar and looking at her expectantly. She eased away from Nikki and went over to him. “You getting that thing ready for me?”
“This here thing 'bout old as you, gal.” Willie looked at her sternly from under bushy brows. “Don't be too rough with it 'less you wanna deal with me, and you ain't too old for me to turn over my knee, either.”
“You spanked my butt a few times, as I recall.”
“You remember that?” A chuckle rumbled in his throat.
“Nobody forgets your spankings, Mr. Willie. I remember everything.” She took his hand and squeezed it warmly.
“Don't be tryin' to butter me up, gal. Always was a shyster.” He pretended to be twisting his hand free of hers as he frowned at her. “And still ain't gave me no suga, either.” He beamed after she leaned in and pecked his cheek.
Then Nikki was there, poking and prodding at Pam until she was up on the stage, taking slow steps across the wooden surface to the microphone. She spent a few minutes simply staring out at the crowd, collecting her thoughts as she smoothed her hair back and away from her face. She reached behind her to pick up the stool and set it to the side before she brought the microphone closer to her mouth.
“I've sang in a lot of places and for a lot of people,” Pam told the crowd, “but none of those people knew me when I was flat-chested and missing my front teeth.” A smattering of laughter reached her ears and some of the tension in her shoulders dissipated. “Never sang in Mercy before, and I'm a little nervous, so please bear with me. Nikki?” She looked toward the steps and caught Nikki's eyes. “Would you get Auntie some water, please?” Scant minutes later, Nikki handed Pam a bottle of water and she turned it up gratefully. Then she spoke into the microphone again. “Now, can someone over eighteen please get me a beer?”
The crowd howled with laughter and Pam began to sing. She didn't need the guitar for the Negro National Anthem. She sang it a cappella and encouraged the crowd to sing along with her, which they did. After the final verse ended and the clapping and cheering died down, she pulled the stool close, sat down and adjusted the microphone. Willie handed her his guitar and she settled it across her lap reverently.
Pam strummed the guitar strings softly and closed her eyes as she found her rhythm. While she allowed her fingers to warm up, she hummed along with the chords and let the music roll through her body.
“Miss Verna, I'm coming to get my hair touched up real soon,” she said and laughter was her response. “Nobody shampoos hair like Miss Verna, and ya'll know it. Got that whole scalp scratching thing down to a science. And Miss Merlene . . .” she strummed a few more strings absently, “next time I come over don't run me out of your front room with a broomstick, okay?” More laughter, this time stronger and louder. She let it die down, then cleared her throat. “I wrote this song a while back, but this'll be the first time I've ever sang it in public. It's called ‘Have Mercy On Me.' This is for you, Mercy, and for you, Paris, wherever you are. I love you.”
Pam sat still with the lump in her throat and the crowd stood still with her. Then she took a deep breath and pretended she was thousands of miles away in concert and let loose.
Three songs and many hugs and kisses later, Pam slipped away from the crowd and made a hasty beeline for her car. She locked herself inside, put the key in the ignition, and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She took several deep, calming breaths and scrubbed half-dried tears from her cheeks roughly. She reached to turn on the headlights and ended up with the windshield wipers swishing across the glass instead. It took her shaking hands several tries to locate the switch to turn the wipers off and then find the correct button for the lights. She turned them on and pulled out into the street slowly.
Two miles down the road, her hands were still shaking, and Pam leaned over to feel around in the passenger seat for her cell phone. She flipped it open and dialed with one hand steering the car. The phone rang ten times on the other end and then a sleepy voice answered.
“This is Pamela Mayes. Is this a bad time?” she said into the phone. Just hearing the familiar voice instantly calmed Pam's nerves. She pulled over to the side of the road to talk and then to listen.

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