Love Mercy

by Earlene Fowler

  Except that close up, she could see the tiny bits of life sustained in the crags and crevices, evidence of birds, wildflowers, insects. She turned away, walked to the edge of the ocean and peered into the churning water. It was so different from the lakes she’d grown up around, whose dangers included poisonous snakes and sometimes quicksand that grabbed your feet and made you feel like you were being pulled into the depths of the earth. This was different even from the ocean she’d seen in Florida. The Pacific Ocean seemed wild and untamable, like the wolves she’d seen on a National Geographic program. The pups were so cute, but then the photographer would zero in on the wolf mama’s eyes, and you just knew that she’d rip your throat out without a moment’s hesitation. A wave broke against the rocks, spraying her with a fine, cold mist. If she was going to do any writing, she’d definitely have to stay inside the car.

  Inside the car it was still cold, but she knew if she turned on the heater, it would make her drowsy, and she’d never get this song written. And it was itching at her, telling her, now, now, get it down now. The emotion from it welled up in her—the words, the melody—like one of the waves crashing against the rocky shore. She pulled Dale’s banjo out of its case and held it for a moment, letting its heavy fullness rest in her arms. She’d miss it, this hunk of satiny wood and cool metal that accompanied her on what was, for now, the biggest adventure of her life. But it wasn’t hers. And it was time, as Mel said, to move on. Dale would always, always have that piece of her heart. It sort of pissed her off, and at the same time she was sort of okay with it. Because it was her experience, her life, and it was hers to use. She wondered what she’d think about all this thirty years from now. Thirty years. It seemed like forever. She’d be forty-eight. Patsy would be forty-nine. This unborn child that was causing everyone so much pain would be twelve years older than Rett was right now. It was hard to imagine that much time passing.

  She tuned the banjo quickly by ear, second nature to her since she was ten, then started playing song after song, listening to its full sound once more, feeling the notes ring long after she’d plucked them—“Cripple Creek,” “Banjo in the Hollow,” “Bury Me Beneath the Willows,” “Sally Goodin’,” “Blackberry Blossom,” “Wayfaring Stranger”—old songs she’d played when she first learned the banjo. She ended with “Amazing Grace,” which she sang as she played, in her mind dedicating it to Tommy Johnson, the father she barely remembered. After a half hour or so, she set it upright in the passenger seat, like a fellow traveler, and pulled out her notebook. The words, baking in her subconscious like some kind of slow-cooking cobbler, flowed out of her in a quick, delicious waterfall of detail. For her, there was nothing better than this, not even first love. And, she suspected, there never would be.

  Before Rett realized it, the fog had burned away, and the sun shone through the car windows. She noticed people walking past her car, peering curiously inside as she wrote, played a riff or two, then wrote again. It would have been easier with a guitar, but she liked the idea of composing a song using this banjo. It was something else to remember about this last incredible week. In four hours she’d finished everything except two lines of the bridge. But they’d come to her. Though she probably wasn’t the best judge of her own work, she thought this song might be the coolest one she’d ever written. It made her cry, and that was a good sign, wasn’t it? She laughed at herself when she put the banjo back into its case. That was so totally self-centered. The song was probably a piece of crap, but, somehow, just writing it all down made her feel better, made her feel like she’d taken some kind of giant step forward in her life.

  She glanced at her phone. It was a quarter to one, but the Buttercream was only a few minutes away. She had plenty of time. It wouldn’t hurt Dale to wait a few minutes longer.

  She started to call Lissa to tell her everything that had happened. When she got the number half dialed, she disconnected. No, she didn’t need to do that. She could deal with this without help from her friend. It was time to take charge of her own life, with no advice from anyone else.

  When she walked into the café carrying the banjo, it was a few seconds before she spotted Dale sitting in a corner booth. His face, drawn and shadowed with irritation, softened when he saw her. Her heart skipped, unable to hold back hope, until she realized it was the banjo he was looking at, not her.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

  “Coffee?” Magnolia called, as Rett walked toward Dale. An untouched plate of French fries sat in front of him, steam rising from their golden depths.

  “Thank you,” Rett called back.

  Magnolia was at the table two seconds after Rett sat down across from Dale, pouring a white mug full of steaming coffee. “Hungry?”

  “Not right now, thanks,” Rett replied, looking up at the older woman. Did Magnolia know what a big moment this was in Rett’s life?

  “You let me know if you need any little thing, darlin’,” she said. Then she turned her attention to Dale. Her full lips pursed into a little donut before saying, “Young man, do you require anything more than that lonely plate of fries?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “This is fine.”

  “Okay, y’all holler if you need something.”

  Once she’d left, Rett picked up a fry and contemplated it before putting it in her mouth. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” he said, drumming his fingers on the red Formica table. “I’m ready to get going. You okay with things?”

  She contemplated his words. “Actually, I am. I mean, with things between you and me. I’m so over that, you know.” She looked him right in the eyes when she said it, daring him to contradict her.

  He looked back at her, his eyes lingering on her lips and throat. She felt herself start to warm, so she decided to squelch whatever physical thing there was between them right now.

  “You are going to go see Patsy when you get back, aren’t you? She needs you right now.”

  “I guess,” he said, his eyes darting sideways, looking in that moment to Rett just exactly what he was: a flaky, shallow guy who didn’t think past his next gig, his next bottle of beer or his next hookup. Poor Patsy. In that moment, Rett felt like throwing her cup of coffee in this sorry-ass guy’s face for messing up her sister’s life.

  “You are legally this baby’s father, and you should help her,” Rett said, coldly. “Step up, Dale. Be a man for once.”

  “Hey, that’s low,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Low is taking off on your pregnant girlfriend.”

  “You had my banjo! It was your fault I had to leave Knoxville.”

  She gave him what she hoped was a withering look. Withering. Now there was a good word. Had all kinds of connotations to it. “Just take your precious banjo and go home. Go talk to Patsy and figure stuff out. Grow some balls.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Though she’d always wonder what his comeback would have been, she knew a good last line when she heard one. She scooted out of the booth.

  He slid out and picked up the banjo case. “Guess this is good-bye, then.”

  She grabbed her mug, turned her back to him and walked over to the counter where Magnolia was cutting a lemon icebox pie. Rett stared at the yellow and white pie, feeling her heart give a little when she heard the cowbell on the door jangle.

  “He’s gone,” Magnolia said, slipping a plate in front of Rett. “Might as well have some pie.”

  Rett sat down on the stool. “That could be a song.”

  “You stick around this place long enough, you could write more songs than you could record in a year. Everyone’s got a story.” She cocked her head. “One of our morning waitresses just quit. It’s my job to hire and fire.”

  Rett picked up her fork and took a bite of the pie. It was sweet and sour and bitter all at the same time. Kind of like the last few days. “I’ve never been a waitress before.”

  Magnolia’s left eyebrow went up. “Everyone should be a
servant at some point in their life. It’s good for the character.”

  Rett took another bite. “I might not be here long. I have plans.” They were vague plans—L.A. or Nashville? She couldn’t decide.

  “Plans need money, and I hope you aren’t expecting your grandma to be footing the bill for your music career. We barely make enough to get by with this place. Thing is, I need someone from six to eleven a.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Minimum wage plus tips.”

  “That’s early,” Rett said. “I hate getting up early.”

  Magnolia slipped the pie back into the glass case. “Life’s hard, and then you die.”

  “Will I be working for my grandma? That’s kinda weird.”

  “Like I said, I hire and fire. That was my and Love’s deal. She does the books, buys the food and bakes the cakes. I deal with the employees.”

  Rett thought for a moment. “Okay. When do I start?”

  “Tomorrow. Wear comfortable shoes and bring a smile. A lot of screwups can be bought with a sincere smile.”

  Rett looked up at her and grinned.

  “Yeah,” Magnolia said, shaking her head, her expression saying she was already regretting her offer. “The old farts will like you just fine.”

  Before Rett could answer, the phone behind the counter rang. She went back to her pie, wondering how much it would cost to have her old banjo and guitar mailed out here. Or maybe she’d just save up for new ones, to go along with her new life. Living in California, wasn’t that something? Lissa was going to be so jealous. Her grandma would be glad. At least, she hoped so. Mom would pitch a fit, but what was new about that? She felt kind of bad that she wasn’t back there helping with this crisis with Patsy, but a person had their limits. She could give up Dale, but she wasn’t sure if she had it in her to sit there and watch them be all over each other as Patsy grew bigger with his baby. Then again, she had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t even be around when this baby was born.

  “Rett,” Magnolia said behind her. “You need to drive home right now and pick up Love. August is missing.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Love Mercy

  Though Love knew it was only minutes before Rett drove up, it felt like an hour. Rather than chew her nails to the skin while waiting, she tried to keep her wits about her and called Benni Ortiz. Their ranch was the closest to Polly and August. Love knew the best thing was to get someone there as quickly as possible. Though Polly’s voice didn’t sound hysterical when she called—she’d been a rancher’s wife far too long to fall apart when something out of the ordinary happened—Love could tell she was concerned.

  “Now, I don’t want you to worry,” she’d said, her voice holding a hint of a tremor. “But August has been gone for quite a little while, and I’m concerned that he might need some help.”

  “How long has he been gone?” Love felt her heart rev up like a motorcycle engine.

  She paused, thinking. “Oh, a few hours. He left about six this morning. Gone to check some fence up around Siler’s Ridge. Said he didn’t want to bother Mel with it, what with it being the holidays and all.”

  Love glanced at the clock on her desk. It was past three p.m. Nine hours. Back when they were all younger, she wouldn’t have thought twice about August being gone that long. The Johnson ranch was large, over hundreds of acres, and there were miles of fence, always sections that needed fixing. He’d often left early and come home after dark. Cy and Tommy had done the same. But August was eighty-seven and had been having those memory lapses they’d all been ignoring like they were an irritating cough or a case of hiccups that would eventually clear up on its own. How could she have been so irresponsible? She should have been more assertive about making August go to the doctor. Now, because of it, he might be lying somewhere hurt. Or . . . She didn’t want to think any further.

  Benni answered on the third ring. She listened to Love’s garbled explanation and said in a calm voice, “Gabe and I can be there in a few minutes.”

  “What’s going on?” she could hear Dove call out in the background.

  “August went out on a ride and hasn’t come back,” Benni told her. “We’re going to look for him.”

  “I’m coming too!” Dove said.

  “I’m waiting on Rett,” Love said. “She has my car, but she’s on her way home from the café.”

  “Meet us at the ranch,” Benni said, the calm certainty in her voice a balm to Love’s ears. “We’ll find him. He’s probably just taking his good sweet time like August always has.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “His own sweet time. August always takes his own sweet time.”

  While waiting for Rett, she called Mel at the feed store.

  “I’ll close up now,” she said. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

  “No, Rett will be here in a minute.”

  “Meet you at the ranch then.”

  She poured some dry dog food out for Ace and filled his water dish, in case it turned out to be a late night. What she really hoped was that by the time they arrived at the ranch, August was sitting in his worn leather chair laughing at all of them for being so silly.

  Love was at the curb when Rett drove up. When Rett started to get out of the driver’s seat, she motioned her back. “No, you drive. I’ll tell you how to get there.”

  Love was glad in that moment that someone else was at the wheel. While she had waited, like an incoming tsunami, all the sorrows of her life seemed to flow over her: losing DJ, then Daddy and Mama, Tommy’s too early death and her dear, sweet Cy. All of them gone. Were they all together? Could they see what was going on? Did the saints sit on heaven’s sidelines and cheer on the ones left behind as she’d been told by so many ministers? Love wasn’t ready to lose one more person she loved.

  Benni, Gabe, Dove and Mel all beat Rett and Love to the ranch. They were standing around the round kitchen table looking at an old topographical map chicken-scratched with notations. The sight of Cy’s familiar printed letters caused Love to inhale sharply. She longed for his strong arm around her shoulders, assuring her that things would work out fine.

  “I called Rocky and Magnolia,” Mel said. “They’re on their way. Should we call search and rescue?”

  “Already did,” Gabe said. “They’ll be here soon, but I suggested we start looking on our own. We know this ranch better than they do. They agreed.” Having Gabe, a former police chief, take control made Love feel less panicked. He spoke directly to Love. “Daisy came back without him.”

  Everyone was silent a moment. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “I’ll start baking a chicken,” Polly said, wiping her hands down her apron. “And I’ll make some biscuits. It’ll keep while you all fetch August. Heats up easy. He’ll likely be hungry.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Dove said, heading for the kitchen. “Give me some fruit. I’ll make a cobbler.”

  While Dove and Polly set about doing the thing that they’d grown up doing when disaster struck, the rest of them turned to Gabe, whose high brown cheekbones seemed cut with a diamond knife. Rocky and Magnolia walked into the room just as Gabe started to talk. Zane followed behind them.

  “Hey,” Rocky said. “Zane was working at the church when you called. Thought we could need another set of eyes and legs.”

  “Always helpful,” Gabe said, nodding at them.

  “Okay, let’s do this in teams,” Gabe said. “Benni and Mel, Love and Rett, Zane and me. Rocky, I need you and Magnolia to stay here to tell the search and rescue when they arrive what we’re doing.” He pointed at Love. “You take the jeep, since I’m assuming Rett isn’t an experienced rider.” He looked at Rett, and she nodded, her face solemn. “Take the north side, because it has the most drivable roads.”

  He pointed to the other sections of the ranch. “Benni and Mel, you two take the south part, starting at the lightning tree and to beyond the old avocado orchard. Zane and I will ride the western and eastern sections over by Smuggler’s Cave and Siler’s Ridge.”

&
nbsp; “We only have one horse,” Love said. “I’m sure Daisy’s in no shape . . .”

  “We figured on that,” Benni said. “We brought three. Tacked them up while we were waiting for you.”

  “Okay, everyone coordinate cell phone numbers, and let’s get going,” Gabe said.

  Zane and Rett, quickest at that sort of thing, entered everyone’s numbers in their cell phones so that they’d all be in constant communication . . . that is, if the phones worked at all sections of the ranch.

  Benni handed each of them a red backpack. “They’re actually for earthquakes, but they have everything you need: water, food, basic first aid supplies, flashlights.”

  “Let’s pray before you all go,” Rocky said.

  They all gathered in a circle and held hands, listening to Rocky’s hoarse, sure voice ask God to keep August safe, to keep the searchers safe and, most of all, for them to trust and believe that all things work for the glory of God.

  Love felt frozen as Rocky prayed, wanting to join in but feeling like a phony, begging for God’s help when she’d ignored him for so long.

  She drove the old jeep up the road toward the northern section of the ranch. It was soupy from the recent rain, and a couple of times they had to get out and push the jeep out of a soggy pothole. Love was proud of Rett. She pushed with grit and determination, stronger than her slight frame appeared.

  They drove up roads barely wide enough to accommodate the vehicle, and Love scanned the deep crevice on her side, searching for a movement, a glimpse of faded denim. The old engine was loud enough to drown out any cries of help, so she was depending on her eyes to spot any indication of August. But there was no sign of him. Of all times for Ring to go lame and have to stay home. Love was sure if Ring had been with August instead of recuperating in the house, the dog would have led them to him.

  They’d driven about a mile following the road that Love knew he customarily rode up to the northern part of the ranch when, like a flash of lightning, it hit Love where August might be.