Your Neighborhood Legend: Neighborhood #10

by Tarrah Anders

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC Tarrah.anders@gmail.com |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC

  Cover: Jess Bryant Designs

  Ordering Information: Your Neighborhood Legend

  ISBN: 9780463134368

  Sometimes, you have big dreams in a small town… and it’s okay to spread your wings.

  Your Neighborhood Legend

  Neighborhood #10

  Tarrah Anders

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Also by Tarrah Anders

  Dear Friends,

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  I’ve been back in this small ass town for two fucking months and I’m sick and tired of how tiny it is. There is no one here of any interest that I haven’t already known my whole life and those who do look to be new to town are hooked up with townies already.

  It’s been about fifteen years though since I’ve been back to Mercy, and it’s been fifteen minutes too long that I’ve stayed. I came to Mercy for a weekend, when my mother passed away. I stayed twenty-four hours for her service and then I was done. After accidentally hitting a car in my rush to get the hell out of here, I was gone.

  Screw this!

  Why am I here?

  Oh, that’s right.

  My father.

  Old man Mercy.

  Due to my father’s failing health, he asked I return to Mercy and asked that I take a break from band activity to focus on what’s happening right here and now, and to spend time with him. Ultimately, he wants me to learn what it takes to be a ‘Mercy’ man, a public figure.

  Does he not know who I am now?

  That I am a public figure?

  Truthfully, my father can do whatever he damn well pleases with this town. I want zero ownership out of it. I wouldn’t know a thing about being the town namesake. All I care about is keeping to myself and my band.

  Mercy’s Grind is the band that I am the lead singer of. I work with an immaculate group of guys that are more family to me than my own was. We’ve traveled all around the world, played large stages and small stages, we’ve sold enough albums to feed a small country and we’re still not done.

  When we first arrived to town, we played in the middle of the woods to a small group of townies and some old-time fans until the cops came and broke up the production. Since then, we’ve only talked about playing, and I’m itching to get creative.

  So, I’ve followed my father’s rules. All the way up until the day he died.

  Which was yesterday.

  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.

  We’ve had countless meetings with the lawyers, and holy shit, the man had more lawyers than I do as a performer. And surprisingly was a town angel moreso than the Grinch that I thought he was while growing up.

  The plan for the next week is to meet with his row of lawyers and begin to decide finally what to do with the estate. My father wanted me to keep it, and I told him that I would. The place is nice, but it’s too much for me. I could live here easily, I’m not looking to make Mercy my home right now.

  The trusts and estates attorney will be here in the morning and I just want to get this whole process over with.

  My bandmates all sit in the theater room watching something as I take my seat in the middle, my usual seat. I sit down and sigh loudly, not for any specific reason other than exhaustion.

  “Yo, you cool man? Need us to do anything?” Pete, my drummer asks.

  “I’m good. I’m just ready to pass out, this week has been a bitch,” I say leaning my head back on the chair, closing my eyes in exhaustion.

  “Can I get you something?” Will, my guitarist asks.

  “Nah, man. I’m good.” I reply.

  “You sure, we can get someone to fly in if you need some tender loving?” Pete jokes.

  “When have I ever had to fly in some pussy?” I turn my head to him beside me.

  “There’s a first time for everything, plus I’m sure one those groupies over the last leg of our tour would want to console you! Hell, I saw some of the chicks in town. They look fun!”

  “I don’t need anyone to console me, bitch. But if you’re offering, I’m sure your mama would like to come by and help me out.” I wink over at him.

  “Fuck you, Mercy!”

  “That’s what your mom said to me the last time I saw her!” I tease.

  The doorbell rings and I groan while standing and move through the empty rooms to the front door.

  I slowly open the front door and come face to face with an officer. But not just any officer. This officer is by far the most gorgeous creature that I’ve ever seen and being on the road for as long as I have, in and out of arenas with screaming half naked women trying to get my attention, I’ve seen my fair share.

  “Hi there, how may I be of service, officer?” I grin, adding on my charm. I recognize her, but I just can’t place how. She looks a lot like…

  “Caleb?” she says losing her composure at seeing me as if she’s seen a ghost.

  I drop my hands to my side, as soon as she says my name, the way she says it, I instantly recognize it. I’ve heard my name come from her lips countless times during our teens.

  In anger, happiness and then disbelief.

  The last time that I did hear it, it was asking me where I was, on my voicemail.

  Two

  I haven’t seen her in over ten years, and looking at her right now, I don’t know how I didn’t know immediately upon opening the door that it was her. She’s grown up over the years. When before she was all slender and looked like life had never touched her. But now, she looks like an adult, curves in the right place, a few smile lines and she’s got a hardness that wasn’t there before, but I do have to say, she looks just as gorgeous as she did when I took her to prom, maybe better.

  “Les.” I say in a breath.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” she says crossing her arms.

  “Who else would be here?” I ask a little too roughly, “Sorry, it’s been quiet the week.”

  “I heard, that’s why I’m here. Your dad and I have kept close over the years, but the past few years, I’ve been working a lot of overtime with the station. Anyways, I was wondering if Melly would be around. Unless you have information on services and such?” Leslie says uncomfortably shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  “I’ve
been home for a bit and I haven’t heard that you two were talking.” I cock my head and say.

  “I would come by once a week and we’d read together, go for a walk or whatever he really wanted to do. But the last few times we saw one another, his health began declining a little and so, we just really would sit in the viewing room and watch the ID channel. I suggested that he contact you, I’m glad that he finally listened to me about something.” She hides a small smile.

  “True crime, of course.” I nod my head stuffing my hand in my pocket.

  “He was always one for some cold cases, he liked to put his detective hat on and try to come up with new angles. Actually, he’s the reason why I went for the academy.”

  “Cool. I never knew that was something that you would have done. Especially since I had to kill all spiders that crossed your path. Thank you though, for being here for him, when I wasn’t.”

  “He missed you, we’d talk about you from time to time. But not much, he knew how things went between us and didn’t want to open any wounds, you know,” she says quietly.

  “Well, um anyways, Melly is out right now. I let everyone do their own thing. Dad just died yesterday, I didn’t need them to do anything when they could be getting on with their lives.”

  “I would think that this place is their life, everyone under the Mercy estate has been here for years,” she explains.

  “I know. I just want to give them the respect of a day off and to not tend to anyone - was I wrong?” I ask her, suddenly second guessing my original thoughts.

  “No, it’s thoughtful,” she smiles warmly meeting my eyes.

  “Um, so a service, right. That will likely be by weeks end. All the lawyers will come and go from here for the next few days, but Friday. I expect it to be Friday.” I say clutching the door.

  “Thank you,” she smiles, looks down and then looks directly at me with concern. “You doing alright?”

  “I’m good. I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Say, you wouldn’t have been hanging out in the woods a few months ago?” she asks, placing her legs apart and her hand on her holster, looking very cop-like.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about officer, why do you ask?” I say with a small smile.

  “Hmmm, so you’re not linked to a small concert in the woods after dark? I don’t recall seeing anything on social media, but you can never be too sure.”

  “You checking social media for me, Les?”

  “Shut up, Caleb. Were you or weren’t you?”

  “Not sure. I’ll have to check my calendar. Is this official sheriff’s business?” I ask, lowering my tone.

  “Next time, just turn off your amps, use no electrical and invite your old friends, will ya?”

  “My old friends, hmmm. I’ll have to remember that.”

  “I’ll see you Friday. Good to see you, Caleb,” she says as she turns on her heel and walks away with a tiny glance over her shoulder to make sure that I was still watching.

  I was.

  Three

  Three days later, I am sitting with the estate lawyer and we got down to the nitty gritty details of my father’s last wishes.

  1. Make more of a try in town.

  What the fuck does that mean? The lawyer had no real details and I figured that this was some kind of riddle that my father wanted me to figure out on my own.

  2. Keep the house or turn it into some kind of foundation for social services.

  Again, there was no further details as to exactly what my father would like to have his estate and the land that it lays on be used for. Social services can mean a million things.

  And lastly, 3. Expand the town.

  Now, this one doesn’t sound like a fair request. I’m in the business of creativity. I’m not into the business side and I wouldn’t know the first thing about what or how to do this request.

  This is something that the lawyer did have back up documents for. He had a list of names and phone numbers for contractors, some rough sketches of ideas and random phrases here and there, which I will need to study to make heads or tails out of.

  A last note from my father directly to me, was to take a hiatus from touring and stay local. To make good on our family name and to not let the small town of Mercy to become a thing of the past.

  The lawyer left and I felt drained and confused. I wasn’t sure where to start, but I knew that I needed to speak to my band mates about the request to chill out on touring, since this aspect affected them financially - I couldn’t make this decision solely on my own.

  I casually walk into the kitchen, where all the guys are lingering while eating and having a few drinks. A beer is handed to me by Will and the rest of the guys look at me as if they expect me to break down.

  I clear my throat and look down at the granite countertop underneath my hands.

  “I have a lot to solve, and I feel like a prick asking for a longer break than we’ve already had, but what would you guys say about laying low for a while longer?” I finally get the courage to ask.

  “How much longer are we talking about here?” Will asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit.

  “Well, what exactly would you consider as laying low?” Mitch, the keyboardist asks.

  “I think that’s up for us as a group to decide. I don’t want to make decisions alone, since it’s not just me that this would affect,” I say looking in his direction, but unable to meet his eyes.

  “Well, we haven’t done jack shit with writing a new album. We can use some time to do shit like that?” Pete suggests, “I would like for us to play some new songs and shit.”

  “That would be, what six months?” Will asks.

  “Or more, depending on how much we put into it. Then we would need to factor in the production time,” I reply.

  “You likely need to stick around, yes?” Pete asks and I nod. “Then, let’s write. Can we convert one of the rooms into a studio?”

  “There’s already one, on the lower level,” I supply.

  “What? There’s a fucking lower level in this house? Why have we not been in there? What other kind of sorcery shit do you have here? Do you have a batcave?” Will asks standing in shock.

  “Dude, I’ve never been in there. My dad had it made for me, in hopes that I would use this house as a retreat,” I shrug.

  “Um, you’re a total prick, you should have mentioned this.” Will shakes his head and jabs his finger playfully into my shoulder.

  “Sorry, I’ve never used it, so I didn’t think of it, until now.”

  “Okay, so, we write. Then what?” Pete asks.

  “I’m not sure how long all this shit from what my father is asking will take. I have to first figure out what he means, but what if, we write. And then we do a local tour? I know that the bar in town is opening up an event space to the back of the bar. We can have regular gigs there to keep us playing and then tour up and down this side of the country? Maybe do a special concert somewhere, for a good cause or something?” I offer.

  The guys all nod and smile with my idea and I’m hoping for now that will tide us over. As we are all nomads, staying in one spot for too long makes us all a little antsy, which is why we love being on the road.

  “The Mercy Grind, small town tour?” Pete says.

  “I like the ring of that,” I smile feeling good with the conversation.

  Now I just need to speak to the bar owner and see if he will let us play at the bar, and who knows that could drive new business to the town, when people from the close-by areas hear that we’re playing at a small-town bar, then bring the idea to our manager.

  “So, now that we’ll be staying here for a while longer, we need to do a few things.” Will says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “First things first, we need to see this lower level and the studio. And second, we need to meet some women, I’m getting antsy.”

  I stand stoically in the receiving line, expressionless as I shake hands of those who attended m
y father’s service. The entire town seems to be in attendance along with people that I assume are business related people that my father has dealt with over the years. The place is packed. There are even people outside the hall, watching the service outside on a few flat screen televisions lined up.

  Many kind words were said by people that I didn’t know, repeated over and over again. People became faceless that eventually it’s all sounds rather than words until Leslie stands in front of me. The surroundings and people come back into focus and I think it’s the first time of the day that I’ve smiled.

  “How are you holding up?” she asks.

  “I don’t think I know?” I shake my head slowly and say.

  “Want to catch a drink later?”

  “That would be nice. After the burial?” I reply interrupting her.

  “Sure thing. I’ll meet you at the bar,” she replies.

  I’m standing around awkwardly counting down the minutes until I can leave. I stand with the funeral home staff and sign off on the final documents before getting into the car and joining procession of cars to the cemetery.

  My bandmates are sitting in the limo with me, no one is talking, and each person is staring blankly out the windows. When we arrive to the cemetery and the walk up the small grassy hill to where my father’s giant gravestone will be, his final resting place.

  I look at the ostentatious giant stone cross with his name etched on the polished surface.

  Faithful Husband. Father to One. Man of many things.

  As much as I would like to say this information is incorrect. He was the doting husband, and still remained faithful to my mother after her death. There is no reason for our relationship to have dwindled down to nothing like it has, except I’m the one to blame for it. It’s my fault that I left home as soon as I could. He tried to get me to come back to visit whenever we spoke, but it was my arrogance that kept me away.