Have Mercy

by Siobhán Béabhar

  She blew a kiss at me, and I ducked away from its trail. "I'll see you later, Mercy."

  "Don't bother."

  "You can tell me all about your roommates." She beamed with pleasure.

  I rolled my eyes as I scratched at my blotchy skin. "Whatever. Bye."

  "Mercy. Mercy. You need to take better care of yourself. When do you go back to work?"

  I tucked my hands between my thighs and shifted my gaze to the floor. Why didn't she just leave already? "I might have been suspended."

  She stepped away and looked me over. "Wait. What?"

  "Allegedly, someone dropped some fox piss over near the shoe department and poured a few drops of wolf piss in the cosmetics department. Some bitter old black lady snitched me out. She said she noticed my strange behavior in the shoe department. Allegedly, you understand."

  "Mercy, why?" She plucked our coffee mugs from the table and went to the sink. She ran the water and picked up the sponge to clean them, muttering under her breath. I think she was speaking some Polynesian language.

  There wasn't any need to pretend with her. I swiveled in my chair and watched her fuss around my kitchen. The need to share my escapades overwhelmed me. It was exciting to have someone to confide in, even Caitlyn. "It was an experiment. We had just got in a new shipment of pest deterrents, and I was curious to know which piss deterred the most pests. There were several complaints of a foul odor in the shoe department—who'd have thought?—but not a single complaint from cosmetics. I guess women are so used to foul-smelling shit they ain't bothered by a few drops of piss."

  "You speak of women as if you aren't one. You ever notice that? Maybe you and your new roomies can go out and do some fun girly stuff."

  "That will never happen."

  She left the sink and stood before me. She placed her fists on her wide hips and glared down at me like I was a child. "I will pray that it does. You need something to do. Try a new hobby or join a new group. You need to channel your energy into something positive. If you keep playing tricks at the store, you're gonna be fired."

  That had my head snapping upwards. "Don't you think if they could fire me, I'd already be gone? They're too afraid I'd bring an age discrimination case against them. Girl, leave me be. I need the amusement." I cackled in delight. My reputation as a cantankerous old biddy was one thing that brought me genuine pleasure.

  Caitlyn's mouth puckered as she tugged at her blue uniform. Was it too small? She did look like she'd gained a few more pounds since the last time she intruded. Rolling her shoulders back, she inhaled deeply and shifted her weight. Damn, I wished she would say what she needed to and get on with her business.

  A naturally cheerful person, she had remained upbeat even during Moses's worst moments. Her troubled expression gave me the impression that her next words were going to be profound. I didn't need any of it.

  I couldn't help myself. I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for her declaration. Her mouth fell open and I could see her tongue roll against her teeth. Abruptly, she closed her mouth then nodded. "I better get going. I need to stop by the pharmacy before my next shift."

  Seriously? After that huge unnecessary production, that was all she had to say? Could I claim self-defense if I choked her right now?

  "I'll see you soon, Mercy," she said.

  "I'd rather you didn't." I watched as she left the kitchen and walked out of the house. Since her neck was unavailable, I choked the air. It wasn't quite as satisfying.

  Picking up the newspaper, I slapped it against the table a few times before flipping to the classifieds. I usually saved that part of the paper for last, but I was eager to read my ad.

  "Rooms for rent. Women only. Nine-month lease then month to month. Middle-aged teacher in search of quiet, respectful tenants. No smoking. No drugs. No deadbeats. No criminals. For more information call: 555-331-5970."

  My life had certainly hit a low point. I actually felt a little happiness reading my words in the paper. It wasn't as if I had written an opinion piece or anything, but I felt a glow blossom on my cheeks.

  It faded quickly when I heard feet pounding up the porch steps. Caitlyn must have forgotten something. I glanced around the kitchen, but saw nothing that belonged to her. I stood up and pulled my robe tighter around my body. As I tied the knot, I heard a quick knock at the door.

  Hurrying through the kitchen, I crept to the front door and glanced through the peephole. I saw a halo of curly, lustrous red-hair. Not Caitlyn. Who in the Sam Hell was it? When I looked back through the peephole, a green eye peered back at me. Lurching backwards, I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open.

  "May I help you with something?" I asked the redhead. What I truly wanted to say was Get the fuck off my porch.

  Her long, sensuous lips curled into a smile. Fine lines appeared in her skin as she ogled me. Without an invitation, she pulled open the screen door and stepped into the foyer. I had to dart backwards to avoid her. Encroaching on my space, she reminded me of a cat assessing its prey. "I'm Carol O'Brennan. I'm here for the room."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Jesus H. Christ but I do not want to see that man's penis at this time of day." Through the window, I could see my neighbor prancing around his living room, his dick swinging to a jaunty rhythm.

  "What's this about a penis?" the redhead asked.

  I spun around, surprised by her quiet approach. My eyes locked on her tall, shapely physique. She was a beautiful woman, close to my age, but with a vibrancy that I had lost long ago. Her gaze fluttered over the room, pausing on the circus themed wallpaper and the light blue ceiling. I could tell that she was mentally calculating the space available in the bedroom. Dear Jesus, she better not bring a lot of crap into my house.

  She had caught me off-guard. When she had called earlier that morning, I'd written down the wrong time, so I thought I had another hour to bathe and dress before our appointment. I had felt uncomfortable leaving a stranger alone in my kitchen while I hopped into the shower. But I did. I would have felt even more uncomfortable showing her the room in my unkempt state.

  Freshly showered and neatly groomed, I had led her to this bedroom. Now, she hovered behind me, asking about random penises. Coughing loudly, I pushed the curtains apart.

  "From this room, you get a nice view of the garden. My tulips are late bloomers, probably popping up towards the end of May, but they are lovely when they do. You'll also have a good view of the resurrection lilies when they bloom in the summer." Moving to stand beside her, I hid a grimace. The next bit of information could very well be a deal breaker. "You can also see the fence. I had to put that up a few years ago since that guy—my next door neighbor in the yellow house—likes to peep through windows."

  I tapped my finger against the window, pointing out a beige house. "Then there's the guy in that house. He has a tendency to do everything in the nude. He should really close his blinds because, believe me, no one wants to see that at six o'clock in the morning." When I turned back around, I caught the redhead checking out my body. She saw my surprise and dropped her gaze to the floor. I adjusted my blouse and rubbed my hands over my back pockets. I hoped I didn't have a stain on my pants.

  She cleared her throat. "And, this room is also five hundred?" She was tall, with a slim but voluptuous build. Her pale skin contrasted vividly with her deep red hair and green eyes. She wore a long floral dress that seemed to be two sizes too large. It looked a bit faded. Maybe it was secondhand?

  She could have been one of those cigarette girls when she was younger. One of those beautiful young women who enticed men into making bad decisions.

  "Yes, since this room is a bit bigger than the others, it's five hundred. There's another room across the way that's also five hundred, but it has its own bathroom. The two bedrooms at the front of the house are each four hundred." I would have gone into more detail, but she walked across the room, brushing my body as she passed.

  I watched her closely, not sure what I needed to say to convince h
er to rent the room. She was putting one foot in front of the other as if measuring whether or not a king-sized bed could fit. She glanced up at the walls and out towards the backyard. Drawn by something out there, she returned to the window. "Damn, I was hoping he would at least be something to look at."

  "Who?"

  "Yer man. The one that likes it nude."

  My heart fluttered with anxiety. "He's not my man."

  She turned and glanced at me. She smiled, noticing the distance I'd created between us. "No. I know. I mean... never mind. It's just an expression."

  "I haven't heard it before."

  "Well, it's something we say back home." She turned back to the window. Her fingers grazed the glass as if it was the only thing separating her from her home. "Back in Ireland."

  The mood had turned maudlin. Having two depressed people in the same room was a drag. I stepped towards her and tried to muster up a smile. "Oh, so you're Irish. I wondered if that was the case, but sometimes I have a hard time distinguishing between Irish people and English people. Your accents..."

  "Are completely different." She turned abruptly towards me. Judging from her tightly drawn lips, I had offended her. Oh well. I didn't intend to apologize. To hell with good intentions.

  "Your accent isn't all that noticeable, really. So, does that mean that you've been in the States a while? Did you move here with a husband? Perhaps a job transfer?" Tell me about yourself, particularly your income potential.

  "Hmm. I moved here over forty years ago."

  "Did your family move to the US?"

  "No," she whispered as she smoothed her curly hair. She seemed to be composing herself. "My family was part of the Traveller community. I objected to my father's choice of husband, and I ran away to America." She shrugged, but there was a challenge in the way that she stared at me.

  "A Traveller? Ain't that like a gypsy or something?" Shit. I had better check my kitchen. She might have stolen something.

  She chuckled. "Don't worry, dearie. All your treasures are safe with me." Had she just read my mind? Weren't Gypsies fortune-tellers? I wondered if she did Tarot Cards. Maybe she could give me a few winning lottery numbers. Judging from her frown, I didn't think she'd appreciate where my mind had wandered.

  "Are you interested in the room?"

  "Yes, I'll take it. I won't mind your neighbor at all. I reckon he's going to be a lovely distraction," she said with a smile.

  I grinned. It wasn't that I was happy to have her join me. I was just pleased to have one less room to stress about. I still had three more rooms to let, but since I had several more appointments this afternoon and tomorrow, I was sure they'd be snatched up in no time. Meanwhile, I'd need to thoroughly catalog my treasures before she officially moved in.

  "Do you live here alone?" the redhead asked.

  Oh my God. Was the bitch planning to kill me and steal my money? Oh right, I didn't have any money. "I have a large, close family. They pop in and out very frequently. I hope you don't mind their visits." It was a lie. All of it.

  Sadness flared in her eyes, but she said nothing. Nodding in acceptance, she continued to survey the room. She reached out to touch the wallpaper, focusing on a pink balloon. Damn. I should have thought about updating this room. It had been a nursery. An unused nursery.

  "You have children?" she asked.

  "No." Yes, I screamed in my mind.

  "Odd choice for wallpaper," she whispered.

  The old grief stirred, making my stomach churn. This was a topic I didn't want to pursue, not with this lady. "Let's go downstairs and I'll make us some coffee. We can discuss the details over some hazelnut roast. I love the stuff. You'll always find some in the house. If you're sure about the room, we can go ahead and review the lease today." I inclined my head towards the door, and she left the room.

  "I really love your home. When did you say it was built?" Red asked as she stepped down the stairs. She smiled softly as she caressed the wood of the banister.

  I felt her appreciation. It was like Moses had built the house around it. When you entered, the presence of the staircase caught your eye. It was made entirely of cherry wood, and clearly the work of a master craftsman.

  Moses had carved each of the spindles and handrails by hand. Stepping into the foyer, you were welcomed by eight stairs that led to the first landing. There were two leather armchairs with a small round table sitting between them. Behind the table and chairs, you could see the little butterflies etched in the wood. Its rich color caught the eye, but the detail astounded you. From the landing, the staircase broke into two turn-out staircases that led to the second floor.

  The stairway was well crafted, Moses's pride and joy. He always said that you could tell the character of a carpenter by the small details he left behind in his work. Most people who looked at the staircase saw little butterflies in the wood, but that was Moses's little gift to me.

  They weren't butterflies. They were two M's, bottom to bottom, and an ampersand. Mercy and Moses. M&M.

  I was so lost in thought that I forgot Red's question. She didn't seem to mind. The treads groaned as she descended the staircase. With each step towards the landing, her pace slowed. She took two steps, pivoted, and gracefully dipped into a low curtsy. "All that's missing is a fan," she cackled while coyly batting her lashes. "Something about this place reminds me of those old English manor homes."

  "So it reminds you of home?"

  Throwing me an amused glance, she descended the last steps of the flared stairway. She examined the large, open foyer. I pointed to her right, toward the kitchen. She took one last glance at the grand staircase then she turned to follow me. The stairway and foyer were magnificent, but she had yet to see my favorite room.

  I had made renovations to Moses's house. I'd wanted something that was just mine. I converted the open attic into my master suite and spent a lot of money updating all of the bathrooms. Then I'd splurged on enlarging the kitchen.

  Back when I married Moses, he wasn't particularly impressed with my cooking. I grew up the youngest child of five, and my older sisters were responsible for making meals. By the time I was old enough to cook, there was only me to impress. I liked my cooking, but no one else seemed to. So when we built the house, Moses decided to make the actual kitchen smaller than the pantry. He'd argued that we'd need the room for all of the canned food we'd have to store up.

  "Will I need to buy my own pots?" Red asked.

  Damn. I had done it again. I was lost in my memories while the redhead appraised my stuff.

  "No. I don't mind sharing. I've got tons of pots and pans. Some years ago, I updated the kitchen. Hired some guys to add that wall of counters and cabinets, and upgraded to steel appliances. Added the island and re-did the counters. I put the backsplash up myself."

  "It's impressive." She grinned as she stood in front of the large, steel refrigerator. She grabbed the French doors and opened them wide. "This is huge. Will I have my own shelf?"

  "I can make room." I nudged one of the doors closed. Already she was running up my electric bill.

  As the nosey broad looked over each shelf in the fridge, I slid over to the cabinet closest to the window. Loudly, I tapped on the wooden door. "You'll find the glasses and mugs here." I opened the door, grabbed two mugs, and walked towards the single-cup brewing machine. I set the mugs down and yanked open the drawer where I stashed the coffee pods for the machine. Sorting through the flavors, I settled on something different. Irish Cream. Ah. She would probably like that.

  Placing the pod into the machine, I turned to gaze out the large window. "There used to be this tiny little window right here. I had them knock out a portion of the wall so I could enlarge it. I wanted a..." The redhead walked over to stand behind me. "I think they call it a panoramic view of the yard."

  When I was younger, I was considered tall. My height was what caught Moses's attention. He had been a big man at nearly six-five and he said that he wasn't going to ruin his back "tryna kiss no little gi
rl." Caitlyn had me beat, and so did Red. I was five-eight and she had several inches on me. I could feel her peering over my shoulder, looking down into the flowerbed outside the window. She had a faint floral scent to her. Gardenia.

  I didn't feel particularly comfortable with the red-headed Viking/Celt standing at my back, peering over my shoulder. I turned to face her, hoping she would step back. Instead, she surveyed my features. She frowned. "What are you?" she asked.

  "What do you do?" I said quickly.

  She smiled and folded her hands demurely in front of her. "I'm a personal development consultant."

  "And that's lucrative?" I asked, vaguely familiar with the term. Back when Moses had first been diagnosed, a fellow teacher had recommended a spiritual life coach. I had called, curious about their services. I had hung up after hearing their rates.

  She chuckled. "Quite lucrative. Would you like to see a bank statement? I can provide references."

  "References would be great."

  "So, what are you?"

  My eyebrows shot up towards my hairline. She hadn't let it go. It wasn't an uncommon question. A rude question, but some people seemed compelled to ask when they met me. I knew why, but it didn't make it better.

  "I'm Black. African American."

  "Huh. You don't look it." She walked over to the coffee machine. She saw the little pod marked "Irish Cream" and winked at me.

  Many people, when they learned I was Black, politely shifted their gaze as if I were some escapee from an asylum. Others would look at me in disbelief. My skin was a light, golden brown, and many people assumed I was of Spanish or Italian heritage.

  "I've never lived with a Black person before."

  "I've never lived with a Gypsy," I said.

  The corner of her mouth hitched up. "I'm a Traveller, not a Gypsy. Calling me a Gypsy is like calling you a ni—"

  "Point taken," I interrupted. We stared at each other, appraising each other and sorting through our unsaid prejudices.