Mercy

by Sarah L. Thomson

  At last Sunny’s nervous energy was worked off and the dog stopped pulling at the leash, settling into an easy pace by Haley’s side. They walked till they reached East Park, a triangular scrap of worn-out grass with a few swings and a battered slide. A couple of little kids were still playing. Haley watched as one pumped her swing up high and then leaped off, flinging herself forward. She landed hard and fell to her hands and knees, but she was laughing, triumphant.

  Haley remembered doing that. She and Mel, back in second grade, every recess, racing across the playground to get the swings first. There was that moment when you let go of the chains, just at the peak of your swing, and you could soar. It was amazing.

  She couldn’t do it now. Haley had tried, once or twice, but she’d grown too much. Too heavy. She could swing, but she couldn’t fly.

  She turned the dog back toward Jake’s. Sunny trotted quietly now, glancing up at Haley every now and then with a mixture of affection and anxiety. You’re still there, right? Haley imagined the dog thinking, Oh, good. You’re still there, right?

  “Not going anywhere,” she whispered, and reached down to stroke Sunny’s head gently.

  When they got back, Liam was shrugging into his jacket. Jake hadn’t moved. The cards were scattered up on the table by his chair, poker chips lying around them. Sunny waited, quivering impatiently, for Haley to take off the leash, then dashed over to bury her head in Jake’s lap. He pulled her ears, smiling down at her, and she made a happy mooing sound. It was her way of greeting him. Sunny knew better than to jump on Jake.

  Haley slipped her camera out of her pocket. Quickly, before either of them could move, she snapped the picture—Sunny’s smooth golden head, her dark eyes lifted up to stare at Jake, the affection in Jake’s fingers as he ruffled her fur.

  “That’s six hundred and seventy-three dollars you owe me, you deadbeat,” Liam announced. “Haley, you’re a witness.”

  “I’ll leave it to you in my will. Anyway, I should deduct something for all of my beer you drink.”

  Liam was tall enough that he would have towered over Jake, if Jake had stood up. He lifted weights, or ran triathlons, or something, Haley couldn’t remember, when he wasn’t directing plays. His voice was deep and loud, an actor’s voice, trained to project to the back row of seats. Next to him Jake seemed even more frail than usual.

  Liam pulled his keys from a pocket and fiddled with them. “The play’s opening next Friday,” he said after a moment, and Haley thought it was the first time she’d ever seen him look awkward. “If you—I mean, the set looks great. If you think you can make it . . . ”

  Jake smiled with one corner of his mouth.

  “Probably not. But thanks.”

  “Well. Call. If you change your mind.”

  Jake nodded and Liam left quickly, looking (Haley thought) relieved. He aimed to ruffle her hair on the way out, but she ducked. Her lips pinched in disapproval as she saw the two green bottles he’d left on the floor. She picked them up and set them near the door so she could take them to the recycling bin on the way out. Didn’t he know better than to leave a thing like that for Jake to finish?

  And didn’t he know better than to ask Jake to do something he couldn’t? As if Jake was remotely well enough to go out to a play, even to see the last set he’d designed. Before he got sick. Again.

  “It stinks in here,” she muttered as she began to stack the poker chips in their box.

  “He only smoked one, Haley.” Jake sounded a little amused. “His weekly cigarette. He always saves it for the game. Leave that stuff, I’ll do it later. You’re not the maid.”

  “How do you play poker anyway?” Haley asked, to distract him, as she continued to sort the little red and white and blue discs. They fell neatly into their places with a satisfying plastic clicking sound. Next to the chips and the cards on the table was an ashtray where Jake often dumped pencils and pens. Right now it held smudges of dark gray ash and the butt from Liam’s cigarette.

  Jake looked horrified. “You don’t know?” Haley shook her head. “Your education has been sadly lacking. Seriously, I never taught you this? Sit down.”

  Haley hesitated, looking sharply at Jake’s face, trying to gauge the pallor of his skin. Were the circles under his eyes darker than usual? He’d already had one visitor today. “I don’t know. I should go. You’re—”

  “I can rest in the grave, so they tell me.” Haley winced, but Jake had already picked up the cards and was starting to shuffle them. “Sit. Get me a piece of paper. Here are the hands. One pair’s the lowest, you never bet much on one pair. Then two . . . ”

  Haley sat. The lamp, shining over Jake’s shoulder, cast a warm yellow circle of light on the table where he was slapping down the cards. The rest of the room was in dimness, including the hospital bed against the far wall, the dresser with comb and hairbrush and the clusters of small brown plastic bottles.

  Jake handed out chips—the whites were one, the reds were five, the blues ten—and showed Haley how to ante, tossing two white chips onto the table. Then he dealt.

  “Five-card draw,” Jake said, a little breathless from so much talking. “Pick up your hand, look at it, see if you have any of those things I wrote down for you.”

  “A pair of sevens.”

  Jake groaned. “Don’t tell me, stupid. Never mind. I didn’t hear that. Now we bet. Then you tell me how many new cards you want and we bet again.”

  After Haley had lost several hands dismally, she began to catch on. “Heard from your mom?” Jake asked as he shuffled and dealt once more.

  “Yeah. Thanksgiving in Manhattan.”

  “That’ll be good, right?”

  Haley raised her eyes to Jake’s face in disbelief. “Remember last year? She ordered in Thai food.”

  Jake grinned. “Aunt Kay was never a traditionalist. I’ll bet five. But why not? Pad thai is something to be thankful for.”

  “This year she wants to try Ethiopian. See you. Is that right?”

  “That’s right. Well, what’s wrong with Ethiopian?”

  That’s what Haley’s mom had said, as Haley had slumped on the floor beside her bed, clutching the phone to her ear. “Couldn’t we . . . you know . . . have some turkey?” Haley had asked plaintively.

  Her mom had laughed. “Haley, sweetie, you know I can’t fit a turkey in this fridge!” That was true. Her mom’s tiny kitchen had a fridge the size of a shoebox, stuffed with chunks of cheeses with weird names, half-finished bottles of wine, and takeout containers. “Anyway, you should branch out. It’s good for you. Honey, I’m having some friends over here for the dinner, you’ll like them. Lucas has a show going up at the gallery next week and I showed him some of your photos. He was so impressed—”

  “Mom!”

  “What? I can’t be proud of my own daughter?”

  Be proud of me, sure, Haley had thought, squirming inside. Just don’t talk about me to people, okay?

  But her mom was already rattling on about the bus schedule and meeting Haley at Port Authority and how she was on no account to talk to anyone there, as if Haley hadn’t done this a million times already since the divorce five years ago, and Haley was left thinking about the crisp brown skin of a turkey against the creamy white meat of the breast. Jewel-red cranberry sauce. Deep orange sweet potatoes with pale yellow butter melting into them. Haley saw it all arranged on a plate, the colors as harmonious as a still life. Perfect. Even if she didn’t really like sweet potatoes and never ate the cranberry sauce.

  Meanwhile, Jake had dealt himself one card and was waiting for Haley to say how many she wanted.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Um. Three cards. Ethiopian is fine. I mean, why not?”

  Who was she to complain about eating unidentifiable food for Thanksgiving? Jake’s fingers, as he rolled a red chip between them, looked as if they’d been whittled out of ivory. He was as thin as if he hadn’t been eating anything at all.

  “Bet, Haley, it’s your bet. How’s stuff at hom
e?”

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you for that detailed report.”

  Haley hesitated, looking over at the list Jake had written out for her. “Well, it’s just. Fine,” she said, talking to give herself time to think. “Eddie’s getting into everything.” Sticky hands and endless determination, that was Eddie. He had more powers of concentration than any two-year-old should really have. “But it’s fine.” She’d hoped for another jack to give herself three of a kind, but hadn’t gotten it. Nothing but a pair. And Jake looked smug, gazing down at his hand. “I give up.” She laid her cards facedown.

  “Fold—you mean you fold. So everything’s fine?” Jake turned his cards faceup as he raked the chips from the center of the table into his pile. He had two threes.

  “You—I could have beaten you!”

  “Too late now,” Jake said calmly. “Next time we’ll cover bluffing. Not that you really need a lesson in that. So do you get a cash bonus or something every time you use the word ‘fine’ in a sentence?”

  “What?”

  “It’s fine if you’re not fine all the time.”

  Haley blinked at her cousin. The one who’d shown her how to throw a punch in third grade when Adele Pinkney took Haley’s new diary and the teacher had believed that it was Adele’s and not Haley’s. The one who’d moved into her family’s attic after his mom died, and who’d lived there for the last three years of high school. The one who’d given her her first good camera, a Canon SLR to replace her stupid Instamatic. She’d heard her father telling Jake he should have waited; it was way too expensive and complicated a camera for a ten-year-old. “She needs it,” Jake had answered.

  Even though she’d gone digital now, she kept the SLR on a shelf in her closet. Sometimes you needed the control a light meter gave you.

  Haley looked at Jake, who, three months ago, had said he was done. Who’d quit with the blood tests and the new medications and the transfusions. Who’d said that if the doctors hadn’t figured out what was wrong with his blood in twenty-three years, they weren’t going to do it in the next six months.

  Jake lifted one eyebrow, a dark angled streak against his pale skin. Haley reached into her pocket for her camera.

  “No, I’m fine,” Haley said after taking the picture. “I mean, everything’s fine.”

  And it was true. Haley was fine. She wasn’t the one who was dying.

  “Okay. You’re fine. Can you do something for me?”

  “Sure.”

  He didn’t have to ask. He knew—didn’t he know?—that she’d do anything.

  Sunny had put her head in Jake’s lap again. Jake pulled at her ears gently. “Sunny—she’s getting to be a little much for me. Even with you walking her every day. And the neighbors say she barks at night, sometimes. I don’t know, I never hear her; maybe it’s some other dog. But . . .” He didn’t go on.

  Haley felt an odd little shiver run through her stomach. Jake loved Sunny. He must be worse than she’d thought if he—

  “You want me to take her?”

  Jake didn’t look down at the soft golden head in his lap, though his fingers kept mechanically scratching. “If your parents say it’s all right. If they don’t mind.”

  “No, they won’t.” Haley found she was standing up. Her feet were moving. She was walking backward toward the door of the apartment, and words were pouring out of her mouth, too quick, slippery. She couldn’t stop them. “They won’t mind. It’s fine. Sure. I’ll take her. And I’ll bring her over to visit. All the time. You won’t even miss her.”

  Jake smiled a little. “You should really ask them first, Haley.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.” Sunny’s leash was hanging underneath Haley’s coat. She snatched them both. “They won’t mind. I’ll take her with me. Don’t—”

  “Well, if they have a problem, bring her back. I’ll find—”

  “—worry. I’ll take good care of her. You’ll see. It’s fine.”

  Sunny had been puzzled but delighted when Haley had taken her leash down for a second time. Now she trotted happily alongside as Haley walked her bike down the sidewalk. But when they reached East Park, the dog stopped. The tiny playground was deserted now; empty swings rocked a little in the wind that had sprung up when the sun set. A rusty bolt chirped like a cicada, stranded in the wrong season.

  When Haley tugged gently at the leash, Sunny braced her feet and whined.

  “I know,” Haley told her. “You don’t understand. But it’s different now.” The wind was cold, a warning of winter; it stung tears from the corners of Haley’s eyes. “Come on.” She pulled at the leash again, and Sunny followed obediently. But at each corner, when Haley paused to let traffic go by, the dog looked back.

  When they reached Haley’s house, the kitchen windows were lit, warm yellow squares against the dark brick walls. You’d need a tripod to capture it, Haley thought. A handheld camera wouldn’t stay still long enough to keep the focus sharp. It looked cozy and safe. In a photograph, it would say: home at the end of a long day. Comfort and peace.

  Everybody thought photographs always told the truth. But a picture could be very deceiving.

  Haley leaned her bike against the porch steps and led Sunny, her tail waving happily and her nose investigating every corner, up to the kitchen door. Haley pulled Sunny close and turned the knob.

  Noise. That was the first thing that hit her. After the silence of the cemetery and the peace of Jake’s apartment, it was like a slap, painful and shocking, no matter how much Haley had tried to brace herself for it. Elaine had given Eddie a big metal pot to play with, and he was whacking the bottom of it with both hands and shrieking happily. The radio was on loud, so Elaine could hear the news. Twelve people killed by a car bomb in Baghdad. Someone weeping. Sunny crowded nervously against Haley’s leg.

  “Haley, honey!” Elaine shouted. She was stirring a vat of spaghetti sauce on the stove. “Thank goodness! You can set the table. Your dad’s going to be here any minute now and—what’s that?”

  Haley shut the door and dropped Sunny’s leash as she stepped forward to block Eddie, who’d abandoned the pot and was making straight for the dog, both arms straight in front of him, fingers outstretched to grab. “It’s Sunny,” she said loudly as Eddie ran into her legs. Gunfire rattled from the radio. Haley raised her voice even more. “Jake asked me—”

  Eddie tried to maneuver around the obstacle of his big sister. Haley grabbed his hands. Sunny gave a nervous little yelp.

  “I know it’s—” Stirring with one hand, Elaine reached over and switched off the radio with the other. “I know it’s Sunny,” she repeated. “What is Sunny doing here?”

  “Jake asked me to—” Haley had to pick Eddie up and he yelled and kicked. Sunny, her leash trailing, made a dash for what looked like safety under the kitchen table. “To take her,” Haley finished, grabbing Eddie more firmly around the waist. A determined two-year-old was harder to hold on to than a sack of angry cats. “He said he—ow! Eddie, stop!” For such a little kid, Eddie had quite a punch.

  “Oh, here, give him to me.” Elaine, tucking strands of her bright, coppery hair behind her ears, came over to take the struggling toddler. “Jake wanted you to take the dog? And you just—took her? Haley, why didn’t you check with me or your dad?”

  “I thought it would be okay.” Eddie was really roaring now, arching his body back in Elaine’s arms, his face growing red.

  “Haley!” Elaine sounded mad too. “You can’t just decide to bring a dog home. We don’t even know if she’ll be safe with Eddie.”

  “She’s a good dog. She’s Jake’s dog!”

  Haley stopped, appalled at the sound of her own voice. She sounded about five years old.

  Elaine had heard too. She shifted Eddie to one arm and reached out a hand as if to put it on Haley’s shoulder.

  “Honey. I understand. But you have to think—”

  “Fine,” Haley interrupted, stepping back to avoid Elaine’s h
and. “We’ll just drag her off to a shelter or something. Jake can’t take care of her anymore, so we’ll just put her to sleep. Then you’ll be happy.” As usual, the anger was helping. It patched up the crack in her voice, steadied her lips so they didn’t tremble.

  “Haley, that’s not—” There was a frothing splash as the water boiled over on the stove. “Oh, just take her out of here! Take her up to your room for now. Then we’ll talk.”

  Haley snatched up Sunny’s leash. The dog was more than happy to be led out of the kitchen. Haley shut the door on Eddie’s wails and Elaine’s soothing voice.

  Upstairs, she slid down to sit on the floor by her bed and hugged Sunny against her. The dog flopped down with her head in Haley’s lap. Haley tugged at her ears, but Sunny didn’t make the happy mooing noise she did when Jake petted her.

  Haley knew she’d been unfair to Elaine. She didn’t care. Jake wasn’t Elaine’s relative, after all. She hadn’t even met him until she’d married Haley’s dad three years ago.

  Then a year after that there had been Eddie.

  Nobody had asked Haley if she wanted a little brother. Wanted her sleep interrupted by crying, night after night. Wanted toys scattered all over her house and diapers stinking up the trash. Wanted every day to be scheduled around feeding Eddie and changing Eddie and getting Eddie to bed.

  Of course, nobody had asked her if she wanted her parents to get divorced, either. Or her mom to move to New York. Or if she wanted a stepmother. Certainly nobody had asked her if she wanted her cousin to die.

  Sunny pulled away from Haley’s hands, shook herself so that the tags on her collar rattled, and went on a tour of inspection. She stuck her nose under piles of dirty clothes on the floor, checked out the bottom shelf of the bookcase, nudged a shabby teddy bear that leaned against a thick pile of photography books, and rooted under Haley’s desk, where a snake’s nest of dusty cables connected her computer and printer. Then Sunny pushed open the door to the closet, squeezed in, turned around twice, and flopped down on a pile of Haley’s shoes.