Liquid Courage
Page 17
I argued that she doesn’t know the difference, that I’m the one that suffers when he covered my mouth with his hand and said, “That is bullshit and you know it.”
He was absolutely right.
And for the last ten minutes, I’ve been standing outside of her door afraid to go in.
Sliding his arms around me, Dion promises, “I’ll be right there with you.”
Nodding my okay, I open the door to find her staring out of the window. From the first mention of assisted living, I wanted my mom to have the best care and view money could buy. Though I couldn’t fix her, I could give her this. I could keep her safe.
“Hello, Miss Marilyn,” I say gently, as always. Only this time, I had the man I love supporting me.
“Hello. Who are you?” And God how beautiful she looked today.
“My name is Mercy, Miss Marilyn.”
“Mercy,” she thinks on it. “Unique, it suits you.”
Facing us, she looks from Dion to me and asks cheerfully, “Did you come to play cards?”
“We did,” Dion says ushering me to the table. Wasting no time, she grabs the deck and begins to shuffle.
“That is quite a talent you have there, Miss Marilyn,” he notices.
“Thank you,” she says dealing our cards perfectly. “My husband and I were quite the poker players.”
Meeting her eyes, I wanted to remind her she was the best poker player I had ever seen. That she was nearly unbeatable and how she always let me find their friend’s missing car keys when it was time to leave. Instead, I said nothing and for the next hour, pretended to play cards when in reality, we only held them.
But watching Dion chat with her, laugh with her and put her at ease was comforting and painful. Because my mom would have adored Dion. Just as I did. Another loss for her.
“Beautiful rings,” she says taking my hand in hers to inspect it.
“Thank you,” I choke out because she doesn’t initiate touch often. And right now, she wasn’t letting me go either. The look of confusion on her face killed me because I couldn’t explain myself without confusing her.
Searching my eyes, she asks, “Who are you?”
“My name is Mercy, Miss Marilyn.”
“Mercy,” she thinks on it, again. “Unique, it suits you.”
And just like that, she went back to dealing while I stared at my hand mourning the loss of her warmth. When she began singing, whoa mercy mercy me… I latched on to Dion’s wrist under the table.
“I like that song too, Miss Marilyn,” Dion smiles lovingly.
As if he hadn’t spoke, she goes on, “Oh things ain’t what they used to be, no no.”
“Fuck,” I whisper in agony.
“Language,” she admonishes.
“I’m sorry, Miss Marilyn.”
“My daughter curses a lot.”
“Your daughter?” Dion asks and I had no chance to warn him that she wasn’t referring to me.
“Look,” she says handing him our photo and pointing to the back. “That’s her, and I’m wearing the beige hat.”
I saw it hit him and his wince. Yeah, I understood the feeling. “She takes after you,” he says gripping my wrist now.
“Flip it over,” she suggests and when he did she says, “Would you look at that. Her name is Mercy, too.”
“Yes ma’am it is,” I agree unable to mask my pain.
“Why you two could be sisters,” she smiles as she raises the frame holding it next to my face.
For my mom, time had no start or no end. She had no routine, nothing to anticipate or worry about. She was the queen of her own kingdom, a kingdom of one. And I loved her so much, I begged whoever was watching over her to allow her to see me one last time.
“Do you want to play cards?” she asks absently shuffling.
Unsure what to do, Dion looks to me and I force out the words, “It’s time for us to go, Miss Marilyn.”
Had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have had the strength to stand and we both knew it.
Mercy’s pain was coming off of her in waves.
Careful not to startle her mom, but quickly enough to get Mercy outside before she fell apart, I was reaching for the door when she suddenly stopped.
She was wound tight, close to losing it as Marilyn continued to sing unaware of her daughter’s pain.
Resting her head against my chest, I held her close, offering her comfort as she watched her mom go about her day. Unable to take anymore, she turned into me gripping the sides of my suit jacket. The jacket she thought her mom would love on me, just like she did.
Giving her the time she needed to deal with her grief, I watched Marilyn pick the photo back up and study it. The first night we spent together, I asked her why she kept her long hair if it always got in her face. Her answer was, “This is how I looked the last time she remembered me.”
The longer Marilyn stared at the picture, it was obvious she was concentrating. Slowly, she broke away to look at Mercy before going back to the frame. Because I counted, I knew she had done this four times.
As hard as it was for me to witness, it was crushing to know that before me, Mercy had no one to hold her.
Kissing the top of Mercy’s head, I catch Marilyn’s curious gaze and offer her a smile.
The last thing I expected was for her to smile back as if she knew something I didn’t. Standing up, Marilyn hugs the frame to her chest and says the sweetest thing I have ever heard.
“Mercy?”
When Mercy looks up at me in shock, I knew for certain all it takes is one word to bring back a thousand memories. Because I saw every single one on her face.
On a gasp, she whips around and I adjust my hold on her.
Hesitantly she whispers, “Mom?”
“Are you going to introduce us?” she asks smiling and Mercy looked so much like her mother in that moment it was uncanny.
Mercy, for her part, couldn’t speak so I move us forward offering, “Mrs. Mohr, my name is Dion and I’m in love with your daughter. She has even agreed to marry me.”
“My Mercy’s getting married,” she positively beams at the two of us.
“M-mom –” Mercy says through her tears.
“Come here, baby.”
With my help, she went into her mom’s arms and openly wept. “Mommy,” she cries. “I missed you so much.”
“Shh now,” she soothes her not understanding why Mercy was upset. “Did you lose something, baby?”
“Yes,” she chokes out clutching Marilyn tighter.
“You’ll find it, Mercy. You always do.”
Forcing herself to look into her mom’s eyes, Mercy strokes her face whispering, “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too,” she says kissing her cheek. In another moment of clarity, she says, “Stop worrying about me, I’m okay.”
“Mommy –” Mercy begs unable to hold it in any longer. “Don’t go, not yet.”
“I have to, baby,” she says stepping away to face the window. “This is how I want you to remember me.”
For Mercy to have this memory, we needed to leave now. Marilyn wanted that for her daughter, I felt it. Having no other choice, I scooped her up and listened to Marilyn singing Oh mercy mercy me, until I was stepping through the door. And I heard Marilyn say, “Take care of my daughter, Dion,” as it closed behind me.
With Pita visiting us for the weekend, I was busy in the kitchen readying food for the grill while the men fawned over the pontoon boat. I should mention, if it’s not boat season they stand around the weed whacker or leaf blower. Winter? They huddled at the snow blower. Figuring out men and their mutual love of engines was not a psych class I was interested in taking.
Not too long after our wedding, Pita (the kid who walked me down the aisle and gave me away) announced, after getting his two-year degree, he wasn’t going to pursue film school. We told him, whatever he chose to do was completely up to him. To my knowledge, he still hadn’t settled on a major.
Which was f
ine with us because he’s earned the right to choose. No matter his decision, we would support it.
Dropping his bag in the spare room earlier, he said, “Tonight at dinner, I’ve got a surprise.”
Hence my cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Thanks to Chaz’s lessons, I didn’t burn nearly as much food as I used to.
Now that we’ve eaten, I notice him drinking a little more than usual. But before I could give him my full attention, I slapped the phone out of Dion’s hand.
“Hey,” he says with his what the fuck look.
“Your followers can wait,” I chastise him. For a guy who was all up in arms about my videos, the second Pita set Dion up with his own Instagram account (TheFoxxxPI of all fucking things) and people (women) started following him; he couldn’t put the God damn phone down. He was well and truly in love with himself these days. Even Puma offered his page sponsorship and don’t get me started on which designers wanted him to wear their clothes.
Seriously, if I see #suitporn one more time…
“Sorry, baby,” he says kissing the top of my hand.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Pita.
“Yeah,” he exhales. “Just need a little liquid courage for this one, Mercy.”
“When you’re ready, we are all ears.”
Looking directly at me he says, “You know you’re still my real-life superhero. And now that I’ve got my associates degree, I’m one step closer to following in your footsteps.” He was nervous, I could see it. While we still called him kid out of habit, he’s grown into a responsible, very muscular and sweet man. No matter what he said, he would have our support. So, when he blurts, “I took the law enforcement exam,” I sucked in a breath.
“And?” Dion asks sliding him another beer.
“I passed.”
Shooting out of my chair, I shout, “Oh my god, Pita!” and tackle him.
“Got accepted into the police academy too,” he grins up at me.
“You dropped my name like I said, right?”
“Nope,” he beams. “Got in on my own merits, Mercy. It was important that I do.”
“Of course it was,” I wipe my eyes so damn proud I couldn’t see shit.
“Fuck,” Dion smiles and gives him a bump. “You impress me, kid.”
“It was a no-brainer. Detroit police officers drive Mustangs,” he smirks. Speaking of, Pita still had his and with Dion’s help, restored to its original non-cheese-grated beauty. He named even named her, Boss, after me.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think we’ll back you on one condition.”
“Um, Okay?”
“You let us pay for it.”
“Mercy –”
“Do you really want to test her, kid?” Dion says pulling me off him and back to my seat. “You’re going to accept and I don’t want to eat dessert from the floor because she breaks all the dishes.”
“I accept,” he says raising his drink up and we follow suit.
“To Pita,” I say so proud I could cry so, I did.
“To the kid,” Dion says.
“To scoring hot chicks who love badges and a tight suit,” Pita says clinking our glasses.
Dropping my head into my hand, I mumbled, “Pain in the ass.”
But I did this smiling at my family.
The end
Playlist
Mercy Mercy me by Marvin Gaye
When I Grow Up by Garbage
Don’t Forget About Me by The Cloves
Panda by Desiigner
Marry Me by Train
Teenage Wasteland by The Who
Plays Pretty for Baby by Zolof the Rock & Roll Destroyer
Mikey Rocks by The Cool Kids
Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top
Come and Get Your Love by Redbone
K.S. Adkins is a full-time everything. When I'm not wifing, mothering or being bossy, I'm reading, writing or shooting. A full-time realtor, lifelong Michigander and all around lover of all things guns and Detroit, I believe in freedom of foul language, gratuitous nudity, tattoos and mosh pits. I've recently taken up drinking wine and feel like I'm really making progress with it. I think my chances at finding a place within the Romance genre is 50/50, but I suck at numbers so what do I know?
My stories are written with heavy dialogue and are Detroit-based. If you don't like heavy dialogue or Detroit, don't read my stories. My characters are typically dark and fairly fucked up so if you want sappy characters without issues, don't read my stories.
I love violence, guns, blood, naughty words, awkward sex, rap, metal, and untraditional people. Every fight scene was tried and tested by me. I have the bruises to prove it too.
I write romance, but my characters are not always romantic. Each is a work in progress. My stories are about strong women and the alphas who try to tame them but never do.
At the end of the day, you may not like my stories, you may also think I suck as an author and that's okay, but I have to tell you, I had the best fucking time writing them and for me, that's what it's all about.
I love new likes so hit me up on Facebook @ K.S. Adkins or Twitter @ Hoodwrites and let me know if you loved it or hated it. ♥