I looked in her direction and caught the calculating look on her face. "What's your Indian name?" Red asked Melia, breaking the silence.
"What makes you think I have one?"
"You strike me as the type to demand one. So what is it?"
"It's taboo," Melia answered.
"Your Indian name is 'Taboo?'" Albertine said. "I never knew that was Indian. I just thought it was such a strange word."
"What?" I asked.
"Taboo," Albertine said.
"I don't think Melia meant that her name is 'Taboo'" I said. "She meant that it's a taboo subject."
"Really? Why?"
"All of these damn questions," Melia grumbled.
"Oh. You must not have one," Red challenged. "I thought all Indians had Indian names." Melia's eyes widened and she cocked her head to one side. Uh-oh. I knew that look. That was the universal signal for trouble brewing.
"It is 'Kl'tche Sne.'"
"Glee Ha Snow?" Red mimicked.
"No. Kl'tche Sne. Tchgleyee hasnu. You have to speak like something's caught in your throat, almost like a clucking sound. Kl'tche Sne," Melia said, repeating her name.
"What does it mean?" Red asked.
"It doesn't exactly translate into English," Melia answered.
"What's the closest?" I asked.
"One Who Speaks Like Thunder."
"Thundering Voice? Fits perfectly," I said, smiling at the apt description.
Melia sat back, her eyes narrowed and her shoulders hunched. She said nothing else, but her eyes were scalping me for sure. Oops.
"Hey, Mercy," Red called, breaking the tension. I turned to look at Red. She leaned forward with her arms folded on top of the kitchen island. She had yet to touch her pie. "Do you have plans next Friday?"
If I said "no," she was going to invite me to do something. If I said "yes," then I would have to find someplace to hide.
"Yeah, actually, I do," I lied.
"Bullshit," she responded. She chortled, smugness in her tone. "You never have plans."
"You're wrong. I've been thinking about picking up more shifts at work. I was going to volunteer that day," I bullshitted.
She smiled at me. "Well, if that doesn't work out, I am going to a ball with some friends. We need another lady to join us; one of the lad's dates has canceled."
There was a knock at the door. Thank God. The timing couldn't be better. "That must be my pizza," I said as I fled. After paying the delivery girl, I thought about running up to my room.
Red must have read my thoughts. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her gaze followed me while she sniffed the air. There was a greedy look in her eye as she eyed my pizza. "I haven't had pizza in a long time. What kind is it?"
"It's pepperoni," I said, turning away.
She fell in step beside me. Her eyes were locked on the pizza box and her bottom lip was pouting. All that was missing was her licking her lips.
"Can I pay for half?" she said, brushing against my arm. I bumped her away from me. She side-stepped, and then moved ahead to stand between me and the table.
I arched an eyebrow. "You want to pay for half so you can get half? What happened to the pot-pie?"
"I threw it out."
"Why? Got cold?"
"No, the bastard burned me. It deserved to suffer," she responded with a grin. "I'll pay for half the pizza. How about it?"
I thought about keeping the leftovers to eat at work. Maybe instead, I could use the money to buy a sandwich from the store's deli. "Okay, I'll give you half."
Red gave me a thumbs up and smiled with satisfaction. Melia looked between me and Red. Her brow crinkled as she stared at our dinner. "Can I grab a slice?"
"Oh, for fuck's sakes," I muttered. "You can have one of Carol's slices." Red shrugged at me then nodded towards Melia. I was actually surprised Red was willing to share with Melia, let alone the fact that she was still in the kitchen with us all.
Albertine hadn't glanced towards the pizza box. She didn't seem interested in what we were planning to eat. Her back was towards us as she continued to stir her soup. "I have plenty of soup. Would anyone like some?"
Melia glanced at me with an appalled look. Red raised her hand to try to hide a laugh. I just shook my head.
Huffing, Albertine pulled the spoon out and struck it against the side of the pot. Melia, Red, and I exchanged looks and we began to laugh. Albertine turned to glare at us before she, too, began to laugh. It felt really odd sharing the moment of humor with them.
"I'm sure the soup is delicious, Albie, but I'd rather have the pizza," Melia said, pointing towards the box.
"But the soup is healthier for you." Albertine nearly clucked her tongue as she stared at us, her little fists on her hips. She pointed in Melia's direction. "You told me the other day that you wanted to drop a few pounds."
Melia's eyes widened. She sat back in her seat, and her cheeks seemed a tad bit redder. "Remind me not to confide in you again."
Albertine straightened. She glanced at all of us and her mouth fell open. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that was a secret." Her large eyes widened behind the wide, thick lenses of her glasses. When she noticed Melia's smile, Albertine waved an oven mitten in her direction.
"Come grab a piece," I offered to Albertine. She looked over at the table and cocked her head. I sat down while Red went to the cabinet to grab plates. She walked over to the table and set three plates down for us. Melia grabbed the pizza box. She pulled back the lid, and we all peered down at the pizza.
"It's grand," Red said.
"It's just a pizza." I grabbed a slice and dropped it onto a plate. "Carol, don't worry about paying me. Let's consider this a treat on me." I wasn't exactly flush with money, but my mood was a bit celebratory.
Red picked up a slice and placed it on her plate. She went to the drawer where I kept the silverware. Grabbing a knife and fork, she returned to the table. Taking her seat, she began cutting the slice into smaller pieces.
Melia grimaced. "Why don't you just pick it up?"
"Oh, right," Red said, shaking her head. "No. I always eat pizza with a knife and fork."
I glanced at her. My skepticism was clear on my face.
"This is how we eat pizza in Ireland," she said, pointing her fork at my plate. "Not everyone eats like a heathen."
I swiveled in my chair to stare at her hands. "Pizza is made to be eaten with your hands."
"No, it isn't," she responded with her eyes downcast. She lifted a forkful of pizza to her mouth. Right before she placed it into her mouth, she said, "Italians eat pizza with a knife and fork, too."
"Well, thank God we aren't in Italy," I said, biting into my slice. Red looked at me, and then at Melia. She sighed before lifting her slice of pizza to her mouth.
She took a bite. "There, you happy now?" she asked as she dropped the slice back onto her plate. She picked up her knife and fork and began forking her pieces into her mouth.
Ladling soup into her bowl, Albertine laughed. She left the stove and joined us at the table. Smiling with anticipation, she sipped her dinner.
"You know what, Albertine, I'll take some of your soup for lunch," I said.
She smiled at my attempt to be kind. "I think that you'll like it," she said, taking a dainty sip.
I looked at Red. She smiled as if sharing a secret with me. Winking, she resumed cutting her pizza. Melia moved on to a second slice. She read a message on her phone before turning it off with a huff.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
She sneered at her phone. "My daughter's having problems at work," she said. "She started working for a very small and disorganized department, but her flaky manager doesn't know what to do with her position. They created it a year ago or so; the previous gal quit because of the office politics."
Red stopped cutting her pizza to listen. "What does she do? Has she talked to anyone about the problems?" Red asked.
Melia nodded. "She was hired as a project manager, but they have her
doing investigations or some shit. She went to human resources asking for their help, but HR hinted she'd be better off getting out of that messy place."
"How long has she been there?"
"Only a few months," Melia said. "The benefits are really good and she wants to find a position in a different department, but she's still on probation. I hope they get things sorted out. It's been really stressful for her."
"That's why I'm my own boss," Red said. "I don't have to deal with any petty office bullshit or lame managers only out to protect their own asses. The wind is constantly changing and someone has to be the scapegoat if some wonky shit goes down. I don't think I could work fearing someone's out to get me."
"How many daughters do you have, Melia?" I asked.
She wiped her hands on a napkin and took a sip from her glass. "I have four daughters. Two live in Illinois. One lives in Tennessee. My baby girl... well... she's passed," she said. Her demeanor was unaffected as she mentioned her daughter's death.
"I'm sorry about your daughter. Was she very young?" I asked as I thought about my own daughter. Melia paused and I realized how insensitive my question was. "You don't need to answer that. I can be nosey at times."
"No, it's okay. She was twenty-three, a corporal in the Army. It happened in 2005. Iraq," Melia said in a stilted manner.
I was struck by this connection to her. She and I had lost our daughters. We were both affected by war. Since the moment we met, we butted heads. Now I realized it was because we were so much alike. I didn't think it was appropriate to mention my own daughter and how she died. I didn't want it to seem like it was a contest over which grieving mother had it worse. I finished my pizza in silence, choking down my own grief.
Grabbing my empty plate, I escaped to the sink. Tears gathered in my eyes as I washed my dishes. I hated doing it, but it was the perfect excuse to keep my back turned. "It's been a long day, ladies. I'm going to head upstairs."
I heard movement behind me. I smelled Red's gardenia scent before I felt her hand on my shoulder. "It's early, yet. Far too early to tuck into bed; well, not unless there's a man waiting for you. I, for one, am curious to learn more about the great Mercy."
A burst of anger replaced my sorrow. I pushed away from the sink and stared back at her. "Why on earth would you be curious about me?"
"You are a bit of a mystery, Mercy," Melia said. Her eyebrows were raised and she stared at me, an expectant look on her face.
"Is this a set-up?"
"No." Melia pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit. "We're just getting to know each other is all. I told you about my daughters. Tell us about your husband. I saw a picture of him. He was a fine-looking man."
My nostrils flared as I stared at each of them. Albertine looked at me with kindness in her eyes. Melia, smirking as usual, was still pointing at the chair.
Red wrapped her arm around my shoulders and guided me back to the table. I sat down and stared hard at Melia. "How did you see a picture of him? The only one that I have is in my bedroom."
"Let's not get caught up on details," Melia said.
"How long were you two married?" asked Albertine. I continued to stare at Melia. How did she know what Moses looked like?
They all watched me eagerly. They seemed desperate to learn more about me. I felt awkward under their attention.
"Moses was a very skilled carpenter. He actually built this home, and designed the grand staircase." Being alone for so long, I hadn't had anyone to talk to. To keep sane, I had lived in my mind, reliving past experiences. Not long ago, I caught myself opening up to Penny. I was skeptical that anyone would be interested in talking with me, but I could see their curiosity was real.
"How did you two meet?" Albertine asked.
"Moses and my brother were in the Army together. Samuel teased me that when he returned from Vietnam, he would make sure that Moses and me got married. Well, he never returned. He was killed there." I nodded in Melia's direction. She smiled softly, acknowledging that connection. I stopped talking as the memories of Samuel overwhelmed me. Damn. Not only did I have to deal with Moses's ghost, but I had to deal with Samuel's, too.
"Years passed and I didn't hear from Moses, but then one day he wrote my parents a letter. Samuel had made him promise that if he were to die in Vietnam, then Moses would be like the son my parents had lost. Moses had written, offering to be of assistance if they ever needed him." I smiled, recalling my excitement at reading Moses's sprawling signature. "I had stolen the letter before my parents found it. They hadn't known that Moses had written to them."
Albertine folded her hands over heart. I smiled at her innocence. "You wrote letters to each other? That sounds so romantic. It reminds me of those old movies from the forties," she said, leaning into the table.
Red's eyes narrowed as she glanced in Albertine's direction. She sat back in her chair and lifted her glass of wine. Her thumb caressed the glass as she asked, "Why would you keep the letter from your parents?"
"I don't know. I guess I was being selfish. I didn't want to share Moses with anyone. Besides, they wouldn't have approved of me talking to a man ten years older than me. We corresponded for years. He even proposed to me through a letter." I smiled, recalling my excitement. "My parents learned about our romance when Moses attended my college graduation. At first, they thought it was a coincidence that Samuel's old friend was there, but I told them that Moses and I were in love and we were going to be married in a week's time. My parents went from smiling with pride about my graduation, to anger and shock. I thought they were disappointed that I had kept it secret, but they were actually disappointed in my choice."
"Did they want you to marry someone else?" Red asked. We shared a look of understanding. I recalled the reason why she had left Ireland.
"Yes. They said Moses was a good man, but they didn't want me to marry someone uneducated. Someone ten years older than me. Someone that dark." I always knew that our color had been important to my family, but I had, until then, never known that it had been a conscious choice. My parents had been drawn to each other because of their light skin.
"Oh. You come from those type of people," Melia murmured. Albertine opened her mouth to ask a question, but Melia shot her a dark glance. Albertine's mouth snapped shut and she pushed her glasses up her nose.
I glanced at Melia, as if speaking only to her. "My parents disowned me when I married Moses. I didn't speak to my family for nearly two years. Then one day, I heard a knock at the door and when I opened it, there stood my parents." Moses had written to them, sharing the news of our pregnancy. We reconciled because I wanted my daughter to know her grandparents. Unfortunately, my parents never knew their granddaughter. "They eventually embraced Moses into the family. He really became the son that Samuel had wanted him to be. But I never forgot their feelings toward him. I never forgot that they chose color over love."
Electricity seemed to run up and down Albertine's spine. "You're Black?"
"Jesus," muttered Melia. "The girl just shared a heart-breaking story about her husband and family, and you ask if she's Black. Don't mind her, Mercy."
"It's fine. I'm used to it. Yes, Albertine. I'm Black."
"I am sorry, but I'm genuinely surprised."
"Really, why?" I asked her.
She looked at me then at Melia. She studied our features, her brow furrowed as she apparently thought of the right words to say. "I assumed all this time that you were White." She glanced at Red and threw her hand up in apology. "Not that there's anything wrong with being White. I guess that, to me, you just don't look black, Mercy."
"It's okay, Albertine. Trust me when I say that I've heard that all of my life."
"Really?" asked Red.
"C'mon, even when you and I met, you asked me what I was. I know I look more White than Black, but I am Black. Both of my parents were Black. They were very light-skinned, coming from Black families heavily watered down by White ancestors. In fact, my mother could have passed if she wanted
to. I guess my parents expected that I would, knowing the better treatment I could have received."
"What do you mean 'pass'?" asked Red.
I laughed. "Passing as White. I'm fair enough that I look like a tanned White lady to most people. When I was a kid, people treated me differently than my older sisters. I think that's part of the reason we don't get along now. Older relatives would treat me like I was special because I had delicate features and fine hair."
As a child, I hadn't really understood the dynamics behind why my sisters were treated that way. Looking back as an adult, I was absolutely disgusted. Sometimes I worried that in my innocence, I had perpetuated the familial discrimination.
One great-uncle would call my sisters jigaboos because they were a tad bit darker than the rest of us. They were still light compared to other Blacks, probably passing any paper-bag tests, but that didn't matter to a family that was color-struck.
"My older sisters participated in protests and marches against my parents' wishes," I said. "It was really hard for Blacks back then, and many older folks didn't want to be involved. They would rather suffer through the bigotry than create more hardships for us. For the lucky, or maybe unlucky, passing as White gave more freedom. It was a ticket out of discrimination and oppression. My own grandmother insisted that I try to pass, but I'm Black and that's all that I know. I grew up in a Black neighborhood. Went to an all-Black school. In spite of how others may see me, I see myself as a Black woman."
Albertine opened her mouth to ask another question, but Red interrupted her by clearing the table. "Maybe we should create a cleaning schedule."
I looked at Albertine. She stared back at me. Her gaze fell to the floor, but she shrugged. "I understand, now, I do. We have a lot of diversity within the Latino community, too. There are Latinos who could, I guess, pass for Black. And others could pass as White. Then those like me who come from an Indigenous and Spanish background. Although it wouldn't surprise me if I had an African ancestor or two."
"About the chores—" Red cut in. Her cheeks were flushed, and she fidgeted. I think this subject made her uncomfortable. Maybe she was afraid that the conversation would turn to her Traveller background.
Have Mercy Page 7