by Leigh Tudor
He shook his head. “She asked me not to tell you, Mercy. Said she wanted to be the one to explain.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured she deserved as much after everything she’d been through.”
Mercy crossed her arms and shook her head dejectedly, “You don’t know her.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Hell, Mercy. Your sister has been through hell.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Mercy said. “She’s put herself in solitary confinement and no one tried to stop her.”
Madame responded. “I tried Mercy. But she’s convinced that it’s better this way. I, for one, do not agree. But she can be quite single-minded. I don’t have to tell you that.”
“No, but you should’ve told me so I could go to her, talk to her. She’s all alone in some foreign . . . town, trying to make life easier on everyone but herself. She’s like a self-motivated martyr on enhanced steroids with little regard for her own welfare. I swear I don’t know whether to go get her or throw her into a choke hold.”
Madame concurred with a sigh. “You are right. I swear if given the chance, that young woman would self-flagellate with a cat-o-nines.”
A previously mute Ally whispered to Cara, “Is that a . . . sexual thing?”
Cara whispered back, “No, it’s a self-punishment thing.”
Mercy piped up, “Ally, does Alec know about any of this?”
Cara shrugged. “He’s been home for three days, but I haven’t seen him.”
Madame added, “He’s asked Levi if Ally could stay with him until he settles some things. We assumed it was related to the hardware store.”
All heads turned toward Trevor, who looked equally uninformed. “I didn’t even know Alec was back in town.”
Ally pushed her chair back. “I better check on him,” she said, pushing her chair back.
Trevor put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me stop by on my way home,” he said softly. “I’ll call to let you know how he’s doing.”
She nodded, worry etched on her brow.
Mercy piped up, “And I’m going to this godforsaken, wasteland of town called Newberry to talk or knock some sense into Loren.”
“She’s not home, dear,” Madame explained. “I attempted to do the same. She said she was indisposed and had some errands to run.”
“Fine, I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Please bring her home,” Cara said.
Chapter Seventeen
“It is not so much where my motivation comes from but rather how it manages to survive.”
—Louise Bourgeois
Trevor banged on Alec’s front door for about the fifth time.
Nothing.
He turned around and took a second look at the graveled driveway, confirming the man’s truck was sitting in front of the house. Was it possible he owned another vehicle? It made sense that the truck could be used strictly for farming purposes and he drove a car for shorter trips, like when he went into town to buy groceries or to hit Lucky’s.
But based on the traffic he had experienced so far in this small town, it appeared nearly everyone in Wilder tooled around in vehicles that got about eight miles to the gallon on a good day.
He checked his phone for the time. He needed to wrap this up.
Once again, Madame G and Levi agreed to watch the kids while he checked on Alec. He had a hunch his partner wasn’t handling the news about Loren moving outside of Wilder very well, and thought he should give him a quick wellness check.
The hardware store was going through renovations. Trevor had spent the last several weeks ensuring everything was set in place for their first day of business.
He and Alec had struck a deal. Alec would stay near Loren, keep an eye on the FBI and their sketchy interrogation techniques while Trevor prepared for the grand opening. As soon as the renovations were complete, new inventory would begin making its way into the store and they could hang out the “Open” sign.
It didn’t sit well that Alec was back in town and failed to let him know.
He needed his business partner alert and ready to hit the ground running. Not pining for a woman who was as difficult to pin down as a gnat during a midsummer picnic.
Stepping to the side of the door he peered inside the window.
It was dark inside, the only light coming from the bluish hue of the big-screen television hanging over the fireplace.
But then his eyes adjusted and he noticed an empty pizza box on the floor behind the couch. And boxes of takeout on the side table. His eyes continued to scan the contents of the room.
Ah, there it was. Or, there they were.
Three empty bottles of Jack, one tipped over and the other two sitting proudly upright next to the lamp beside the sofa.
Returning to the door, he began pounding nonstop. If Alec was upstairs, passed out in his bed, by God he wasn’t leaving until the asshole got up and answered the fucking door.
The door wrenched open with murder in Alec’s bloodshot eyes. Trevor refused to flinch. Without a word he sighed, turned around and walked back to the couch.
Trevor shut the door behind him.
Clothes were strewn all over the floor along with empty ice cream cartons and paper plates covered with half-eaten food.
He took in a whiff and cringed. “Jesus, Wilder. Which one of your farm animals died in your living room?”
Alec didn’t respond. Trevor turned the corner of the side table, moved an empty Styrofoam food container off the overstuffed chair and sat down. “What’s going on, man?”
“What? Did the inventory come in? Just give me a minute and I’ll go find some pants.”
He didn’t move.
Trevor glanced at the television showing a blank screen and side-eyed his friend.
“Inventory is still in transit. But pants would be good,” Trevor said, taking in his business partner wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt with a sketchy brown stain down the front. “A shower beforehand might not be bad idea either.”
Alec continued to stare at the screen. Trevor rubbed his palm over his head. “Alec. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Sick,” Alec said, staring at the empty blue screen of the television. “I’ve got the flu.” And then he rubbed his chest. “Or maybe angina. I’ve had a persistent squeezing pain in the center of my chest.”
Trevor looked around the disaster of a living room. “That right?” he asked, leaning his elbow on his knees. “It appears you’ve taken ‘starve a cold, feed a fever and decimate your liver’ to an all-time low.”
For a moment, Trevor second-guessed his move to Wilder. Between Mercy and now Alec, the town appeared to have a penchant for alcohol.
But where Mercy was a happy drunk, Alec appeared the polar opposite.
“Come on, man.” Trevor said, clapping his hands together, momentarily catching Alec’s attention. “Go take a shower and I’ll fix coffee and pick some of this shit up.
“Can’t. I told you I’m sick.”
Trevor eyeballed the ceiling in frustration.
“The only sickness you’re going to be suffering from is alcohol poisoning if you don’t man up and get your shit together.” Trevor got up, unable to take the squalor surrounding him and began to pick up some of the clothes lying on the floor with the intent to start a load of laundry.
He picked up a pillow to remove the casing and Alec wrenched it out of his hand. “Not that,” he said, holding it close to his chest.
“You have a thing about clean pillowcases?”
“It smells like her . . .”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Fuck me.”
Trevor dropped the clothes in a pile and stared at his hammered colleague.
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“She won’t have anything to do with me. I’ve been to her house every morning for the last three days and no answer. Then I come back here, and . . .”
“Self-medicate?”
No response.
“Jesus, Wilder,�
� Trevor said. “Get a grip, man.”
Alec shook his head. “What’s the fucking point? I’m in love with her and she hates the air I breathe. Moved to another fucking town, just so she didn’t have to see me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. In her messed-up head she thinks she’s doing you a favor. Fuck, this is hard to watch.”
It was clear Trevor wasn’t getting anywhere with him in his current condition. He needed to restrategize.
“Tell you what. You go take a shower. Brush your teeth. Because, frankly, you smell like something that fell out of a dog’s ass. And then, come down here and we’ll drink coffee get you sobered up and come up with a plan.”
“I have a plan,” Alec replied, finally looking at Trevor as opposed to the screen.
“Good.” Trevor said, “Take a shower, delouse, and then come back down to tell me all about it.”
Ignoring his instructions, Alec added, “I don’t want to fight with her anymore. I just want to talk to her. Take care of her.” Alec looked up at him and swallowed. “I fucking worry about her all the time. Is she getting enough sleep? Does she have a job? Does she have enough money for groceries? Is she lonely? She’s fucking killing me.”
Trevor nodded. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned is that a relationship with the Ingalls sisters isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“Or slow reflexes,” Alec added.
Trevor chuckled as Alec stood, picked up the pillow and walked up the stairs.
Thirty minutes later, Alec returned downstairs, much cleaner and more sober. His living room was also in better condition as he could hear the clothes washer sloshing in the laundry room and the dishwasher running the rinse cycle in the kitchen.
After a long shower, Alec threw on a clean pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, hoping Trevor could erase what happened earlier from his memory.
He found him in the kitchen, where he reached out to hand him a cup of black coffee.
“Better?” Trevor asked.
Alec winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that piece-of-shit-sob-fest you found on the couch earlier.”
“All good,” he said, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs for Alec and then sitting in the one in front him. “Tell me about this plan to get your girl back,” Trevor said, clasping his hands in his lap.
“There’s no getting her back,” Alec sneered, after taking a drink of coffee. “Have you not met Loren Ingalls? She’s the most stubborn, most aggravatingly self-reliant woman on planet earth. She’s completely immune to my efforts to give a damn about her.”
“So, if you’re resigned to never getting her back, what’s your plan and what’s it for?” Trevor asked.
“I’m having groceries delivered to her house.”
With narrowed eyes, Trevor said, “O-kay, but that doesn’t fix . . .”
Alec lifted a hand. “Let me finish.”
Trevor nodded.
“I’m making arrangements for her to get a roommate. You know, so she’s not lonely.”
“Who?”
“A homeless guy named Jimbo who lives behind a bar in town.”
Trevor’s eyebrows snaked up into his forehead. “Okay, not what I was expecting.”
“Going to buy her a car,” Alec added. “Of course she’s refused to join the witness protection program, so I’ll have to come up with a creative way to get her to accept it.”
“And when you say creative, you mean—lying.”
Alec growled. “Yes, because being straightforward and honest doesn’t work with Loren. I have to be cunning and employ subterfuge to get her to accept anything from me.”
Trevor rubbed his jaw. “I’m not sure what all this accomplishes.”
“I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. Doing these small things allows me to hold it together and not to lose my fucking mind worrying about her,” Alec said digging the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. “Figure out ways to take care of her, even though she’s living a fucking town away. It all gives me peace-of-mind in the short term so I can focus on a long-term plan.”
“What’s the long-term plan?”
Alec’s shoulders fell. “It’s in-process.”
“You have no idea what the long-term plan is, do you?”
“Not a clue.”
Alec was well aware of how pathetic he sounded. “Look, I’ll start showing up at the store to help get things ready. You shouldn’t have to do that and take care of three small people.”
“Glad to hear that, more for your sake than mine. Look man, I hate to say it, but I think you need to move on.”
Alec leaned on his elbows and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “You’re right. And as soon as I get these last few things done for her, I’ll do that. I’ll move on.”
He would never move on. He’d just learn to exist.
She was on his mind constantly. He’d wake up thinking about what it would be like to have her wrapped in his arms, safe and protected. What it would be like to wake up to the smell of her burning bacon in the kitchen and torching the toast.
The nights were the worst, as his memories would wrench back to when she had a gun focused on Bancroft, trembling but determined to seek the only form of justice she knew, or trusted.
As if Forrest read his mind he asked, “Why did you do it?” He set his cup of coffee on the table. “To be clear, this will be the last time we ever discuss this, I’ll never bring it up again. But I gotta know, why did you shoot him?”
Trevor sat back in his chair, resting his head on the back of his hands and taking a deep inhale. “You know better than anybody, that when you take a life, no matter how sick, twisted and heinous that life is, it takes something from you. With each life taken, a sliver of humanity dies inside your soul. And there’s no getting it back.”
He cleared his throat. “She never deserved the greedy, narcissistic hand she was given by the very person who swore to take care of her. So she did whatever she could to get by, being the one to carry the heavy load so her sisters could live a somewhat less shittier life.”
Alec watched his friend nod his head in understanding. Alec added, “He deserved to die. You know it and I know it. But she had lost enough of her soul. I guess you could say, I had more slivers to spare.”
It had been a while since Trevor spent his time occupied with anything outside of his demanding job. Or rather, his self-imposed demanding job, where he worked fifteen-hour days trying to rescue Haley and bring her home.
But in Wilder he seemed to flit back and forth from his house to Levi’s, and then Mercy’s, on to Alec’s and now back at Mercy’s again. He couldn’t remember being more social, or relationship driven. It was unsettling. Having spent so much of his life where he was responsible for solely himself and now living in Wilder where everyone was intrinsically entangled with, well, everyone.
Once again, he found himself knocking on Mercy’s door.
Make this quick Forrest.
Don’t become a shell of man like your partner.
In and out.
Mercy’s angry words from earlier in the day, came to mind.
She was unpredictable when she got all worked up. Wearing a cup might not have been a bad idea.
Less than a minute later Mercy opened the door, her low-waist leggings hugging her hips and covered with a number of splotches of paint. Her cropped T-shirt had a few colorful marks as did her chin.
Her wavy dark hair was tucked behind her ears and her olive complexion gleamed with an ever-present tan.
He was so fucked.
“Oh, hey,” Mercy said, wiping more paint from her hands on to her leggings. “Everyone left to get the last of Madame Garmond’s luggage and to grab dinner in town. I stayed here to unpack . . . and, other things.”
“You’re painting,” he stated, afraid to take it much farther than that.
“Wow,” she said cheekily. “You must’ve have been really good at your old job to connect the dots that fast.” She winked, turning and making her way to the bac
k of the house.
Huh, she seemed in good spirits.
Maybe his baby-makers were safe. For now.
Who was he kidding? She owned him, baby-makers and all.
Carefully, he followed her to the sunroom in the back. Sitting on an easel was a canvas with the beginnings of what looked to be an abstract painting.
“Since my stint in the hospital I haven’t painted. Well, except for a few pictures with Haley.”
“And?”
“And it’s going well. It will take a while to work out all the kinks, but I expected that.” She nervously moved some of her paints around on the fold-out table. “Um, I’m sorry I came down so hard on you earlier today. You know, about Loren moving outside of Wilder. I know you were just doing what she asked.” She chuckled nervously. “And no one knows better than I do how convincing she can be.”
Mercy continued to organize her space which didn’t need to be organized. Trevor reached out to catch her hand and still her marauding fingers that were only making more of a mess. “I’m sorry for not telling you. I should have.”
“This is my apology, not yours,” she mused with another smile as their fingers continued to tangle.
He couldn’t deny the electricity pinging between their fingertips as he watched Mercy watch their hands and swallow deeply.
She was affected too.
Beads of sweat covered his brow. The low-level threat of a warm and apologetic Mercy made him feel off-balance and upended. It was those amber eyes. Mesmerizing, like that of a wild animal that had been snared in a trap and resigned to its fate, she breathed in and out as if weighing her options. He realized his breathing was also labored. All at the mere touch of her fingers as a mixture of adrenaline and anticipation coiled in his gut.