A Night Of Mercy

by Messer Stone

  CHAPTER 16

  Mercy

  One of the last subjects covered in my high school history class, before I was forced to drop out, was the presidency of Woodrow Wilson.

  From what I can recall, he was president during World War One and the stress of it must’ve worn him out because in 1919, he had a massive stroke.

  He was completely incapacitated, unable to perform even the simplest tasks. The crazy thing is, almost no one knew about it. With the help of a few advisors, his wife Edith pretty much ran the show. They even staged a photograph, making it look like he was signing an important document, when really it was Edith propping him up and guiding the pen.

  For some reason, that’s all I can think about right now. Parker’s arm is draped over my shoulder as we ride in the back seat of the Range Rover. I wring my hands in my lap, staring out the window and watching the busy Manhattan street go by. When my phone rings in my purse, it takes me a few moments to realize it.

  “Hello?” I say in a quiet voice.

  There’s a very long pause from the other end of the line.

  “Mercy, hey. You okay?” Sean sounds concerned. Clearly, the tremulous tone of my voice revealed my anxiety.

  “Hey.” I make an effort to sound more upbeat. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Long week, you know?”

  “Ah. Well, I sympathize with you there,” he says, his tone much lighter. “Listen, I’ve heard back from George.”

  George McDonough, he means. The family lawyer that Sean mentioned when he came to Holtsville over the weekend to discuss the potential legal ramifications of the situation with Dad. The one he was going to reach out to in search of specialized advice.

  My anxiety ratchets up even higher. “And?”

  “He says that at this point, you have nothing to worry about. The state agency won’t get involved unless someone calls them to report possible neglect. And since Jason and Sophie are the furthest thing from neglected, the odds of that happening are slim to none.”

  “Yeah, but what about dad? I mean, at some point someone’s going to figure out that he’s not getting better.”

  My stomach knots thinking about the questions awaiting me at St. Andrews. They’ve been more than understanding up until now. The extent of Dad’s physical injuries have never been a secret. Ever since the weeks following the accident, I’ve been Jason and Sophie’s primary family contact. I’ve signed the permission slips and gone to the parent teacher conferences, and no one has said a word about it. Yet . When will that understanding run out?

  “You’re looking at this the wrong way, Mercy. State agencies are over-run and back-logged as it is. They’re not about to add onto that by removing two children from a safe, loving home. Even if things aren’t perfect. And hell, even if it did come to that, there’s no reason you wouldn’t be awarded custody in the end. The prevailing rule in these situations is that the court must always act in the best interest of the child, or in this case, the children. And the best thing for Jason and Sophie is to be with you.”

  I blow out a breath, the knots in my gut loosening marginally. “Really?”

  “Of course. Especially now that you’ve secured a stable income. They have clothes, food. Their attendance at school is perfect. And hey—” He huffs out a laugh. “It’s not like you’re working the street corner or anything.”

  The phone drops out of my hand and clatters to the floor of the car. “Shit!”

  I bend over to get it, faintly hearing Sean’s voice. “Mercy what was that? Are you okay?”

  Bringing the phone back to my ear, I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes. Sorry about that. Phone slipped right out of my hand.” I steal a glance at Parker who is eyeing me warily. “Listen Sean, I gotta go. Thanks for your help.”

  After ending the call, I slip my phone back into my bag and resume my staring out the window, trying to ignore the weight of Parker’s speculation.

  “Who was that?”

  “Sean. The man I was at lunch with when you and I ran into each other. Remember?”

  “Yes. Steven’s husband.”

  “Right.” I take a breath and turn to face him. “He was just looking into some stuff for me.”

  A crease forms between his brows. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Nothing, really.” I look down at my hands. I don’t want to give him more problems to fix. With a pang, I remember us as we were this week. The little game we played day after day that began that afternoon in the break room.

  I know jealousy when I see it, and Parker was jealous. Before, I’d always felt like the girl I was the night we met. Scared, alone, in desperate need for someone to notice I was drowning.

  This week I became someone else. That time he tried to kiss me while I was sitting on his desk, my instincts told me to push him away, make him work for it. Show him I’m not a lovesick girl who will give in the second he demands it. That’s how it was the first time he kissed me, in the restaurant. I let him devour me— he had all the power.

  As good as his intentions are, Parker tends to steamroll. He’s half-wildfire, half-shooting star. Uncatchable, uncontainable. And yet, when I’d teased him this week— when I’d made him play my game —he changed. The light didn’t burn out; rather, it softened and smoldered, glowing in my hands like a firefly caught in the sweet warmth of a summer night.

  Right now, it’s so tempting to let all that light and fire loose. To lay out every single one of my fears, every one of my insecurities, every one of the monsters that haunt my dreams, and let him chase them away.

  But wouldn’t that just take us right back to where we started? Me, the scared kid with no one else to help her. Him, the benevolent God among men, showing me the mercy of kindness.

  Seeming to sense my indecision, he doesn’t push me. He captures both of my hands within his, rubbing my chilled skin, providing warmth with friction. “What did the school say when they called?”

  I blow out a breath through pursed lips. “Not much. Just that Jason was in a fight.”

  “What happened? Did Jason start it?”

  “I’m not sure that matters,” I mutter. After seeing his confused expression, I elaborate. “Apparently, the fight was with Warren Fitzpatrick. His family is loaded. They donate all kinds of money to the school.”

  Parker tilts his head to one side. “His father wouldn’t happen to be Wayne Fitzpatrick?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I only know his older sister, Tricia. She was a year ahead of me, but we had a few mutual friends. She got away with all kinds of stuff.”

  God, what if Jason gets suspended? What if Sister Katherine demands to speak to my father? What if everyone figures out that it’s just been me, the Edith to my father’s Woodrow?

  “Hey.” Parker puts his finger under my chin and tilts my face up in a way that never fails to turn my bones to jelly. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  Without another word, he pulls me into his side and I go, willingly.

  * * * *

  My alma mater isn’t much different from any other Catholic school in Long Island. Home of The Knights, St. Andrew’s Catholic Day School is a pillar of suburban life here in Holtsville.

  The walls are draped with banners that sport the official school colors. Blue for nobility, silver for truth, and white for purity.

  Pumpkins, ghosts, and candy corn cut from construction paper decorate rows of pale green lockers. The halls are quiet now, but as we pass by the classrooms, the narrow windows in the doors allow for a brief peak at heads bent over desks.

  It’s bizarre to me, being at school dressed in something other than my uniform. Part of me is waiting for Sister Catherine or Sister Mathilda to come barreling around the corner, already brandishing a demerit for such an obscene breach of school policy.

  Parker walks beside me, hands clasped behind his back. “Must be strange, coming back.”

  We pass the bathroom where just a year ago, Elena and I huddled together with other girls from our class
, trading shades of matte lip gloss like prisoner’s bartering with contraband. “You have no idea.”

  He waits with me once we reach the administration office. With his hands in his pockets, he’s relaxed and powerful all at once. He takes in the unfamiliar space around him with casual interest, wandering over to a glass case and peering at the accolades inside.

  “Is this you?” He’s pointing at the picture taken of the dance team after we won the regional championship my sophomore year.

  I suppress a wince of embarrassment at the version of me from three years ago. Mouth full of braces, dorky side ponytail, and bright pink scrunchie.

  I’ve grown up so much since then. In more ways than one.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He grins at me, putting those deep dimples on display. “Any way I can get a copy? Preferably in wallet size?”

  “Oh, shut up.” I roll my eyes, even as my heart squeezes.

  I know teasing is his way of distracting me from my anxiety over this meeting, and it’s working. Suddenly, I’m trying to picture an alternate universe where Parker and I meet as students in these halls. Me, the girl from that picture— sans braces. Him as the dreamy senior, the star player of the football team.

  My mind conjures an image of him holding my hand as he walks me to pre-calculus, kissing me sweetly outside the door.

  Maybe on another day we’d sneak away to a secluded corner of the library. Somewhere hidden among the dog-eared copies of Beowulf and The Canterbury Tales , he’d lift me up onto a table and stand between my legs. The blue checkered plaid of my skirt would inch up and up and—

  “Mercy?” Ruth, St. Andrew’s elderly receptionist is smiling at me as she stands in the office doorway. “You can come in now.”

  Parker gives me a look, silently asking permission to follow. I nod a little too eagerly, the idea of going in alone sitting like a heavy stone in my gut.

  When we reach Sister Katherine’s office, I know I made the right decision. Jason is slumped in his chair, looking at his hands as he picks at his fingernails. Warren Fitzpatrick sits in his chair as though it’s a throne made of gold. With spiky brown hair, expensive looking sneakers, and a subtly pompous smirk, he shows all the signs of a douchebag-in-training.

  Flanking him are two people I presume to be his parents. His mother is a bottle-blonde with a face caked in makeup. His father gives me the vibe of a sleazy car salesman masquerading as an important business man. When we walk in, he looks at me like I’m an ant he’s preparing to step on.

  And then he sees Parker.

  “Callahan?” He jolts forward and the foot he’d propped on his knee falls clumsily to the ground.

  Parker steps around me, hand extended. “Wayne. Good to see you.”

  There’s not a trace of smugness on Mr. Fitzpatrick’s face as he stands to greet us now. “What are you doing here?”

  Parker gives me a pointed look before answering. “Mercy here is a good friend of mine. She was so distressed when she got the call, and I didn’t want her to come all the way down here alone.” His golden eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “I’m terribly fond of her, and I hate seeing her upset.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick’s throat bobs as he swallows, though his wife seems less than impressed.

  Coming out from behind her desk, Sister Katherine clears her throat as she approaches Parker. Her familiar face is weathered and stern, but her eyes are kind. She’s swathed in her traditional black robes with a thin brown rope tied at her waist. A silver crucifix on a chain falls to just below her bib collar, and rosary beads dangle from her sleeve as she lifts an arm to shake Parker’s hand.

  “Welcome to St. Andrew’s, Mr…?”

  “Parker Callahan.” He flashes her his movie star smile, painting an uncharacteristic blush across the Sister’s cheeks.

  “Lovely to meet you. I’m Sister Katherine.” She darts a confused glance between the two of us.

  “I’m afraid it’s highly unusual to include non-immediate family members in these sorts of meetings.”

  Parker steps forward to stand beside Jason, who’s looking up at him like a condemned soul greeting its savior. “I understand that. But given the circumstances, surely you can make an exception.”

  He moves closer to her and lowers his voice. “Mercy and Jason shouldn’t have to be in here alone.”

  “That may be true, but—”

  “I’d like him to stay,” I blurt out. I’m in so far over my head, I can’t see the surface anymore. I’m positive that without my Parker shield, I’ll be no match for Mr. Sleaze and the Real Housewives reject. “Please.”

  “Just for moral support, Sister. I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I suppose I can allow it. Under the circumstances.” She gestures at the chairs beside Jason before going back to her desk. I take the one next to Jason, while Parker takes the one next to me. I put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, but he won’t look up at me.

  The sister pushes her wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose as she settles in her chair. “Mercy, I had hoped your father would be joining us.”

  “Oh, well, uh— he wanted to be here, but—”

  Thankfully, I am spared the gargantuan levels of Catholic guilt that comes with lying to a nun when Warren’s mother joins the conversation.

  “Can we get on with this please?” She points a claw-like red fingernail at Warren. “My son was attacked today right here in this school. A school we’ve donated to on countless—”

  “Hang on,” I say. A strong protective instinct wells up inside of me, and all my earlier anxieties are rendered meaningless. “Why are you assuming this is all Jason’s fault?”

  She snorts out a laugh. “Well, my Warren is a good boy. He was brought up right. Meanwhile, it seems that the only thing this young man has had in the way of a disciplinarian lately is a clueless—”

  “I highly recommend against finishing that sentence.” I don’t have to look at Parker to see the anger in his face. I can hear it just fine in his voice.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick gapes at him, before turning to her husband. “Are you going to let him talk to me that way?”

  Wayne, for his part, appears to be about as tightly wound up as a ball of yarn. His lips are pressed together in a hard line and his eyes are burning a hole in the floor. When she fails to get a response from him, Mrs. Fitzpatrick curses under her breath before turning back to Sister Katherine.

  “Well, Warren says he didn’t do anything wrong and I believe him.”

  Sister Katherine pinches the bridge of her nose. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick, are you really expecting me to believe that Jason, a child with a flawless disciplinary record and no history of violent behavior, just randomly charged a classmate with absolutely zero provocation?”

  “Are you calling my kid a liar, Sister?”

  “Yes,” she responds without missing a beat. “I’m afraid this is not a simple matter of Jason’s word against Warren’s. It seems that another student recorded the entire incident on a cell phone that has since been confiscated. And, well…”

  She trails off as she turns her computer screen around to face us. When she hits play, we’re greeted with the image of Jason and Warren surrounded by a group of other boys in a hallway I recognize as being just outside the cafeteria. The taunting goes on for several minutes and Jason stoically ignores all of it.

  That’s when Warren delivers the final blow.

  “Tell you what, Chase,” he sneers. “Since your family’s so hard up for cash, why don’t you tell your hot sister to meet me in my bed tonight? I’ll give her a twenty when we’re finished.”

  The boys around them erupt into a cacophony of reactions, intensifying even more when Jason charges at Warren with a roar, slamming him into the wall.

  Silence falls over the room as Sister Katherine turns the screen back around. I’m too stunned to move or speak. Next to me, I can feel the rage radiating off of Parker as he stands abruptly, his chair scraping the floor with a loud screech.<
br />
  Warren has the sense to look embarrassed while Wayne immediately jumps into damage control. “Okay, clearly there was some fault on both sides here—”

  “What?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick screeches. “So, that little punk can’t control his temper. That’s not Warren’s fault—”

  “Shut up, Donna!” Wayne’s roar seems sufficient to stun his wife into silence. He turns to face me and Jason, darting an occasional anxious glance at Parker. “What do you say we just put this whole thing behind us?”

  * * * *

  In the end, it’s not quite that simple. Warren and Jason are both given a week’s worth of lunchtime detention, and both are assigned a two-page essay on why violence is bad. But of course, it could have been a lot worse.

  Even with the damning video as evidence, I’m sure Wayne Fitzpatrick would have gone the same route as his wife, claiming that the culpability rested with Jason for failing to ‘control his temper.’ Had Parker not been there, that is. I make a mental note to ask him about that later.

  It’s after four by the time we get back to the house with both Jason and Sophie in tow. Upstairs, the kids are packing their bags for an overnight trip to the Warners.

  The Warners have lived down the street from us for years; Matt Warner is Jason’s best friend. His younger sister Hallie is Sophie’s.

  “Are you alright?” Parker asks as he follows me into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, actually.” And that’s the honest to God truth. Part of me knows I should be more angry with Jason, but I’m not.

  “Well, I’m not sure I am.” He crosses his arms and scowls broodily. “Someone needs to teach that little prick some manners.”

  “Oh, c’mon. He’s just a stupid kid. Besides…” I waggle my eyebrows. “He was only gonna spend twenty bucks. I think it’s pretty clear he couldn’t possibly afford me.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I think it’s pretty funny,” I say with a shrug.

  Crossing my arms, I lean with my hip against the kitchen island. From upstairs, I can hear Jason and Sophie arguing over who will get control of the game room in the Warner’s basement. “I probably shouldn’t let him go, should I?”