by Leigh Tudor
There. That ought to screw the lid on the proverbial jar of misdirected intentions.
Eyes the color of prairie skies on a cloudless day bore into her soul, and then as if he couldn’t stand what he saw, he turned away.
Loren wrapped her arms around her waist in an attempt to hide the sliver of bare skin showing just above her baggy thrift store boyfriend jeans. She hadn’t really thought through her clothing choices as she raced to dress herself this morning, looking vulnerable and borderline anemic.
Her head popped up as Trevor opened the door and waved her in.
She flew through the door to get to her sister and to get away from the one man who made her question everything.
Mercy’s eyes grew wide, obviously unaware that she had been just outside her room as Loren catapulted into her body and pulled her in a tight embrace.
Waterworks. Copious tears. It was embarrassing just as much as it was unavoidable. They swayed back and forth, both of them realizing that they had never in their lives hugged for this length of time.
After several minutes of embarrassing the others in the room, considering the number of coughs and throat clearings in the background, Loren finally pulled away a smidge to give them time to swipe at the sheets of tears running down their faces and then leaned her forehead onto Mercy’s.
“I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me for not being here with you.”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“You look so good,” Loren said, taking a step back but holding on to Mercy’s biceps to check her from head to toe. She touched an errant lock of hair. “Your hair’s so long.”
“I know. I can pull it behind my ear now.”
Loren caught Madame making what was supposed to be a clandestine gesture toward the door, suggesting to Trevor that they give them some privacy, but Loren reached out and held her thin wrist.
“Thank you so much for being here for her.” She couldn’t help herself and grabbed the woman in a bear hug that clearly made Madame feel both uncomfortable and overwhelmed with emotion.
“There, there,” she cooed, stiffly patting Loren on the back. “I would have done the same for you, my dear. You are my granddaughter after all.”
As many times before, Loren nor Mercy bothered to deny the statement as she was their grandmother in not only spirit but also action. And no one knew better than Loren how actions spoke louder than words.
Words were cheap; actions were precious commodities.
By this time, Loren noticed that Alec has stealthily made his way inside the room, standing as close to the door and as far away as possible in the tight confines. Again, he leaned against the doorframe staring at his polished shoes with his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants.
Thank God his forearms weren’t exposed. That would have been pure torture.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Loren, you have forty minutes, and then we have to go.”
Mercy’s eyes grew confused. “Is everything okay? Are the discussions with the authorities going well?”
Loren smiled wide. “Things are going so well. They set me up in a really nice hotel and gave me a whole new wardrobe.” Realizing her lack of attire, she added, “I just threw on the first thing I could find. But it’s just a matter of time before this is finally behind us.”
Mercy nodded. “That’s good to hear. I didn’t know what to think when they took you away in handcuffs. Kinda freaked me out.”
“Just a formality. No big deal,” Loren assured, hoping the two men behind her weren’t sharing eye contact at her gross misrepresentation of events.
Loren turned toward Madame. “Cara’s with Levi?”
“Ally as well,” Madame assured. “Quite worried about the both of you but receiving daily updates.”
“Don’t you find it strange that the only person you’re allowed to talk to is Madame?” Mercy asked with a slight shake of her head.
Loren blew it off. “Well, you know, Madame has that commanding British air about her. They were probably afraid to refuse her.”
Or she was an undercover operative working with Trevor all these years to bring down Halstead. Loren learned that tidbit after hours of leading questions from a multitude of poorly trained interrogators. They ended up divulging more information than gathering it. Nevertheless, what she learned about their dear self-proclaimed grandmother was that Madame was much more than Cara’s caretaker all those years.
Thankfully, the matriarch’s protective nature toward her little sister exceeded her career aspirations.
Loren turned back to Mercy and pulled her down to sit beside her on the hospital bed.
“So what are the doctors saying? Any chance you can go home soon?” She had received updates but wanted to hear Mercy’s take on everything.
“Well,” she said, counting her fingers, “they say I almost died, and then my brain checked out for four days, and then I came back. Basically, I’m considered a medical miracle.”
“Are you serious, or is this you and your special brand of hyperbole?”
“Totally serious and leaning more toward understatement and downplaying the facts.”
“And going home?”
“When I can take care of myself and no longer get dizzy.”
“That is such great news.”
Mercy leaned toward Loren with her trademark brazen grin. “Wanna hear some recent news that’s really unexpected?”
Loren nodded enthusiastically.
Mercy’s focus moved toward the other side of the room. Loren turned toward Trevor with a furrowed brow.
“Meet my brand spanking new fake fiancé.” She lowered her voice. “Not that I’m into that spanking thing.”
Loren’s head swished back toward Mercy.
“Umm . . .” Her head swished back to Trevor. “You’re engaged to . . . this guy? The guy wearing a perfectly tailored suit and works for a sketchy underground security surveillance organization that takes on questionably legal missions the feds won’t touch with a ten-foot rocket launcher?”
Trevor bristled. “Suit guy standing right here.”
She continued her questioning while staring at Trevor with newfound skepticism. “A guy who fails to possess a single attribute listed on your ‘Mr. Mercy Ingalls’ Must-Haves’ whiteboard bolted on your bedroom door?”
Trevor was becoming progressively uncomfortable with all the scrutiny, tugging at the collar of his overstarched shirt.
Mercy explained, “But that’s the beauty of the whole fake fiancé thing. I don’t have to marry him. Just pretend that I’m going to.” She looked past Loren’s shoulder. “No offense there, Sugarplum.”
“None taken,” he muttered.
“Oh, yeah,” Loren groused. “That’s totally convincing.”
And then Mercy told her everything. Haley’s night terrors, Trevor’s almost failed attempt to foster Nate and Marleigh, needing a pretend wife, Nate eliminating any other options other than Mercy, and settling his family in Wilder.
Loren's eyes remained wide, feeling forced out of the loop and lacking a level of control over the situation, but she was oddly encouraged by Trevor’s motivations as it pertained to her sister.
“And you’re okay with playing his fake fiancée?”
Madame cleared her throat, ensuring all eyes moved in concert toward what were sure to be pearls of wisdom. “Rest assured, I have been highly involved and vastly aware of the details and potential pitfalls. I may have taken it upon myself to validate this man’s story. His circumstances are quite tenuous, his intentions have been forthcoming, selfless, and stalwart, and his overall plea for your sister’s assistance, sincere and necessary.”
Loren couldn’t exactly argue with that, given this women’s immaculate reputation in undercover espionage.
Trevor checked his watch. “Time to go, Loren.”
Loren nodded, grateful she had the time she did with her sister and fully aware of the risks these men took to make it happen.
They all hugged, said their goodbyes, and walked out to the parking lot and into the SUV without saying a word.
Two hours into their ride back to New Mexico, Loren knew in her gut that Trevor was her best shot at moving this process to a tenable point where she could finally absolve herself and Mercy of prison time and erase their past.
Reaching into her sweatshirt and into the lining of her underwire bra, she pulled out a flash drive. As she clicked her seat belt open, she noticed Alec watching her through the rearview mirror.
Pervert.
She poked Trevor on the shoulder.
“You’re still officially employed with M2M, correct?”
“Yes,” Trevor said, stretching the word out. “On vacation but still employed.”
She held up the flash drive. “This holds the key to Pandora’s box everyone’s been jonesing for. There’s a hidden door in a storeroom at the Center. Inside is a rack of servers. The feed into that stack is hidden underneath a cable tray in the ceiling and marked as ground cable in the off-chance someone finds it. This flash drive has the diagram of the location of cable feeds and the dedicated servers with relevant official documents. I’m talking offshore bank accounts, personal email accounts full of incriminating communications, videos; you name it, I saved it and encrypted it. Everything you need to know to find those servers and the information is on this drive.”
“Why give it to me?” Trevor asked, glancing at Alec, who was openly agitated with some pretty impressive veins pulsating from his neck.
“Because I have yet to come across someone I could trust to leverage its contents solely on our behalf. I don’t want you to just turn it over to the so-called authorities. I want you and Birch to finalize this shitshow of a half-ass deal by negotiating the hell out of the contents. To convince them to cease and desist from their incessant badgering and allow me to walk away with the documented assurance that we will all be left alone and allowed to live in peace.”
She added, “If the negotiations require it, I’ll agree to testify. But that’s all they’re going to get from me from here on out.”
Handing it over to Trevor, he looked at it as if it were a priceless ancient artifact.
“So,” Loren reasoned, “they have a choice. Either pester me for the unforeseeable future, hoping to cobble together what little evidence they can to convict little ole me. Or use this evidence to take down dozens of criminals who make Amado look like a harmless granny with a bad perm with the career-catapulting chance of garnering the affection and confidence of hundreds of media outlets spanning three continents.”
Trevor hesitated. “What am I missing?”
She shrugged. “If you don’t follow through as instructed, you’ll lose your fake fiancée.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re basically blackmailing me.” Trevor expelled a sigh, muttering something that sounded like, “Now I know where her sister gets it.”
Loren leaned back in her seat and buckled her seat belt.
“You can thank me later.”
Loren swerved to the left just as Alec took an expected turn into a fast food restaurant with a drive-through. He slammed the brakes before ramming into a white van in line in front of them and turned to her with a raised eyebrow and a look that said, don’t even.
After ordering enough food to feed a long-haul trucker, she sat back in her seat with an appetite for the first time in weeks and a look of pure satisfaction.
* * *
The following morning, Madame Garmond waltzed into Mercy’s hospital room with her Styrofoam cup and a frown.
“How difficult is it to make a decent cup of tea, I ask you? You could teach a monkey to make an adequate cup of tea. I know, I’ve seen a documentary on that very thing on the BBC. However, the young man in the cafeteria operating the coffee and tea station, the one with a blank look on his face and atrocious bowl-cut hairstyle, manages to hand me a cup every morning with unidentified objects floating to the top. When I promptly asked him if he might consider using filtered water in the future, he just stares at me open-mouthed. Do you think they hire people with special needs? If so, I’ll not utter another word as I don’t speak ill of those with mental incapacities, but if a monkey can brew a cup of Earl Grey, you’d assume this young man could muddle through.”
Mercy smiled at the woman’s repetitive monologue while sitting on the edge of her bed as opposed to flat on her back and huddled under the sheets. She reached out her hand to hold Madame G’s.
“I really love you,” she said with heartfelt sincerity.
Madame instantly melted at the words. “Goodness, I was gone but thirty minutes.” She blushed, somehow embarrassed by Mercy’s simple admission.
Mercy refused to let her shove the emotions under the rug. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past several weeks.”
“You would have muddled through. You’re a strong and fiercely tenacious young woman. And… and you’re dressed!”
Mercy returned a smile. “I took a shower while you were gone.”
Madame's face turned concerned. “Was that wise? You should have waited for me.”
“The doctors said I could go home once I started taking care of myself without feeling dizzy or weak. And I feel wonderful.” And she was being perfectly honest. Hearing just a few days ago that she was to become a pretend fiancée with a pretend family inspired her to fast-track her recovery. She could hardly wait to get home to Wilder to play out this little family theater project and help win the day for Trevor and his feral pack of small wolves.
She held no illusions that Nate would continue this fantasy about her becoming his mom. It wouldn’t be long before he settled into family life with Trevor and the rest of the pack.
And once the social worker saw what an awesome pretend fiancé and dad Trevor was, she was sure to give the green light. Then she could watch him raise his little brood, helping to babysit upon occasion and maybe working with Haley on her painting.
Painting.
The open-ended question that had yet to be answered.
Would she be capable of putting brush to canvas as she had before? Or did her brain revert to pre-surgery days, when she’d be lucky to draw an anatomically correct stick man?
It bothered her more than she cared to admit as it brought about such a massive dose of conflicting thoughts. How could she worry and pine for a talent created by an evil neurosurgeon who found toxic levels of joy from carving into her brain?
Shouldn’t she feel some level of relief at the potential of being more . . . normal?
Then again, what if she went back to painting with the same level of ease and indescribable enthusiasm? Conversely, when she wasn’t painting, she went to those dark moments when she felt like a fraud, flaunting artistic capabilities artificially inspired?
Being the master of distraction, she’d move on to other ruminations.
Like would she ever have children? The doctors had said time would tell. They admitted to finding some scarring from Dr. Vile’s slippery paw, but they were also encouraged, assuring her the corrective surgery had gone well.
A cautious knock on the partially closed door caught both of their attention.
Mercy’s face split into a huge grin at seeing her pretend fiancé’s handsome face hesitantly peer inside.
“Is everyone decent?” he asked.
“Not at all, but we’re dressed!” Mercy replied cheekily.
She could barely contain her excitement. She was clean, her teeth brushed and her hair blown-dry to a rather fashionable chin-length bob tucked behind each ear. A remarkable transformation from when he saw her just a couple of days ago. And her sexy-as-sin pretend fiancé had arrived just in time to pull some of his elusive strings and get her released.
Turning to Madame, she said, “The doctors are on their way to sign my release papers. You ready to go home?”
Trevor held up four airline tickets.
“To Wilder?” Madame asked with a satisfied smile
.
“Where else?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Children are not only philosophers; they are cosmologists; they’re inventors of myths, of religions.”
– John Holt
It was moving day for Trevor and his miniature-sized motley crew, who were currently with his fake fiancée as he closed on the house and then met the movers an hour later.
At Madame G’s authoritarian insistence, they had all spent the night at Levi’s, which ended up being quite the madhouse.
Mercy had been released from the hospital two weeks prior and was staying at Levi’s until the kitchen renovations at her and Loren’s house were completed.
Trevor knew what this meant to Mercy. It would have been hard for her to return to the kitchen where she lost her friend.
The renovations were a “welcome home” gift from Madame, which made Mercy cry and hug the rigid woman for what seemed an eternity. Although stiff as a board, Madame’s eyes watered as she patted her back.
Ally was there as well, spending most of her time with Amarilla, Levi’s granddaughter, who was glued to her phone paging through posts with her thumb like a social media boss. Upon occasion, she would stop, smile, and show her screen to Ally and Cara, and the trio would break out in smiles and giggles.
Cara divided her time between her friends and playing with Marleigh and Haley, when she wasn’t peppering Mercy with questions about what happened beyond Wilder. Mercy answered each one with a deft mixture of enthusiasm and understatement. A skill set she had undoubtedly learned over the years from her older sister.
Nate stayed close to Haley and Marleigh, playing their personal butler and grabbing them juice boxes and their gummy vitamins at their immediate bequest. When he wasn’t reacting to their beck-and-call demands, he was surreptitiously making love-sick swoony eyes at Cara, who appeared oblivious to having become the poor kid’s obvious obsession.