Have Mercy

by Siobhán Béabhar

  "I won't even charge you for that."

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  I was lured from sleep by the smell of coffee. It was one of those blends with a bitter, burnt quality to it. It wasn't my favorite, but it definitely was calling to me. My hand snaked out from under the sheet, grasping the handle of the mug. I drank the coffee, wincing when it burned my tongue. I set the mug down, tucked the sheet around me, and explored Jack's bedroom.

  There were photos on the wall. Most of the images were of Jack and a lovely blonde. She seemed like a joyful individual, as each photo showed her grinning or laughing with an equally happy Jack. I noticed a few pictures of him standing with an older couple. There was a resemblance between Jack and the older man, giving me the impression that they were his parents.

  "Would you like any more coffee?" Jack asked, opening the bedroom door.

  I glanced at him, doing a quick double take when I noticed he was dressed in yellow pajamas with images of Spongebob Square Pants. His hair stuck up from his head, and whiskers lightly shadowed his chin and cheeks.

  "Did I disturb your cartoons?" I asked, referring to his boyish appearance.

  Laughing, he leaned against the door. "I dug these out just for you."

  "Who gave them to you? The blonde?" I said, nodding toward the pictures.

  "That would be convenient, right? The guilty culprit was my grandmother. She and I watch cartoons whenever I visit with her. This guy happens to be one of her favorites." He touched one of the photos, his fingers tapping against the wooden frame. "The blonde is my ex-fiancée and she never allowed me to wear these pajamas."

  "Why not? They're cute."

  "But they aren't appropriate for someone my age, at least that was her perspective."

  "Well, I guess that's why she's the ex." I stood on my tiptoes, dropping a kiss on his chin. I patted his chest and walked into the hallway. He had made breakfast; I could smell the eggs and freshly made toast. He had cleared the dining table off, placing two place settings out. Sitting down at the table, I glanced up and saw Jack leaving the bedroom, carrying the coffee mug.

  "Didn't like it?" he asked, referring to the coffee.

  "I'm not a big fan of the bitter stuff."

  He dumped the contents of the mug into the sink. "I might have a lighter blend. I became addicted to the bolder stuff when I lived in Seattle. It's popular out there."

  "Don't worry about it, Jack. I'll be fine with water." Patting the seat next to me, I motioned for him to join me at the table.

  The stubborn man continued to poke around in his shelves, searching for more coffee. He finally found what he was looking for, raising the canister with a triumphant grin, before setting about making a fresh pot of coffee. As the room filled with the scent of brewing coffee, Jack sat down at the table.

  A roguish, self-satisfied smirk was on his face as he opened a jar of strawberry jam and placed a spoonful on his plate. "I don't know about you, but I'm a complete asshole without my coffee," he said, taking a bite of toast.

  "I think that I could go a day without it."

  The widening of his eyes showed he didn't believe me. "You're barely tolerable after a day's worth of coffee. I honestly don't want to know what you're like without it." My napkin landed in his face. He smirked and said, "I think you just proved me right."

  "You're lucky this is your house; otherwise, I'd tell you to leave. I would get out of here, but I'm waiting for that coffee. I think it's ready." I poked him as I stood to walk to the coffee pot. I poured a liberal serving for myself, stopping to take a quick sip. Fuck me. Hadn't I already learned this lesson this morning? I cringed from the pain, returning to the table.

  "Do you need cream or sugar?" he asked.

  I snorted in laughter. I'd usually answer such a question with "I like my coffee the way I like my men, black and hot," but I didn't think he would appreciate the humor. I waved my hand, pushing aside the offer.

  We ate in silence. Jack pulled out a small electronic tablet and read something on the screen. Whatever it was caused a small tic to begin at the corner of his mouth. Exasperated, he dropped his toast on his plate. Grabbing the tablet, he moved away from the table. "I have to make a quick phone call."

  He stepped into his bedroom, leaving me at the table. I waited until he disappeared and then I left the table and walked into the living room. I felt the leather of the black couch, and ran my hands over the fuzzy throw blanket on the ottoman. The room represented everything that I had come to like about Jack. The smooth, slick exterior, but with an undertone of softness and warmth.

  On the white walls, I noticed more pictures of him. They looked as if they were taken while he had been deployed to Afghanistan or Iraq. He was dressed in full battle gear. Some of the images were of him, standing in an all-girls school. The little girls looked withdrawn, as if afraid to stand next to a man, particularly a male soldier. In other images, he was surrounded by the severe landscape of the region.

  I heard him leave the bedroom. I turned to him, pointing my finger at the wall. "Where was that?"

  "Afghanistan," he said, coming to stand next to me. "Those over there," he indicated as he pointed at a row of images along the left wall, "were taken in Iraq."

  "How many times were you deployed?" I asked.

  "I was deployed to Afghanistan three times, and once to Iraq."

  I looked at the images, noticing the evolution. I could see a younger Jack, a more hopeful man, conversing with children, and laughing with village elders. In the newer images, there was a contemplative look on his face, a reservation that hinted at restlessness, maybe disappointment.

  "Thank goodness it's over," I said, referring to the draw-down in both conflicts.

  Jack shook his head. "Soon, but not yet. There are still troops being deployed to Afghanistan, and we'll likely be there for a few more years."

  "But your part is over," I said, wanting to feel assured. "It's mostly young soldiers training the locals on how to protect themselves. You've done your part, right?" I was like so many Americans, unaware of what was really happening over there. We heard about the deployments, the surges, the escalation of violence, but we didn't understand what our mission was, or when it would be over.

  When I was a child, I remembered the nightly broadcasts, providing the number of American casualties during the Vietnam War. My parents would spend their evenings poring over the columns of names, asking each other if they recognized someone from the list.

  My father had served in World War II, and I would try to ask him about the war, but my mother would shush me, telling me to leave him alone with his memories. One day, my father had been out on the porch, picking up the evening's paper. He watched a black car pull in front of the house. The paper fell from his hand as he entered the house and walked into his study, locking the door. I had skipped to the door, eager to see who our visitors were. There were two soldiers in dress uniforms, and I stood there, wondering where Samuel and Moses were.

  The soldiers stopped at the door, removed their hats, and asked if my parents were available. I opened the door, but my mother grabbed the handle from me, pushing the door closed. I remember her head slamming against the screen door, and the two soldiers standing there, silently watching as my mother collapsed. I ran to get my father, but one of my sisters grabbed me by the shoulders, taking me into our bedroom. The sound of my mother's sobs filled the house.

  Jack approached me from behind. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, his head dropping to rest against mine. I could feel his breath blowing against my hair. "I've done my share, certainly, but this is my job, my career. It won't ever really be over for me."

  I turned in his arms, embracing him tightly. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about Samuel and worried about Jack. Samuel had gone off to war, a young man with big dreams, but he had never come back. It rocked my core, thinking about this beautiful young life being snuffed out in some foreign land.

  "You're going back, aren't you?" I asked, s
ensing the hesitancy in his words. My mind reeled, recalling the date circled on the calendar and the books that I'd seen on his table last night. There had been battlefield biographies and academic debates on tactical approaches. They hadn't been light reading material.

  I felt his lips brush across the top of my head. His arms tightened around me. He didn't need to say anything. I had gotten the message. "When? How long before you go, Jack?" I asked, pulling away from him.

  "Two weeks."

  "Two weeks? That's rather soon. Don't you have to do some kind of training? Or maybe some pre-deployment stuff or something?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice. These latest wars hadn't affected me. I hadn't known anyone who had served or been deployed. But now I knew Jack, and John, and Thomas, and Truman.

  I calmed myself, trying to think rationally about the situation. What was the likelihood that an admiral or general would be on the front line, exchanging fire with Taliban fighters? I remember a few high-ranking officials dying in the war, but they had died in accidents or from friendly fire.

  "I've already completed the pre-deployment training. I've been given a few weeks of leave before we ship out," he said.

  "What is it that you do? You don't kick down doors, right?"

  "I haven't done that since I was a young captain. I'm an aide to a general now. I do mostly research and correspondence on his behalf," he explained.

  "So, no kicking down doors?"

  "No door-kicking," he laughed, squeezing my hand. "Now that we're on the subject, there's something I want to ask you. Would you be interested in getting out of DC for a while? We could go to Seattle or maybe drive down to Virginia Beach. Wherever you want to go, I'm game."

  I was speechless as I thought about his request. I didn't think he was asking as a client to an escort. The tone of his voice and the heat in his eyes gave me the impression that he was asking as a single male to a single female. The tiny part of me, the panicked part of me, wanted to yell "Yes!" and hurl myself into his arms, wanting to keep him with me for as long as possible. But the practical part of me realized that these weeks should be spent with his family, the people who truly mattered in his life.

  "You should go home, wherever that is." I patted his hands, a superficial comforting motion. I fought to control my pessimistic rage. My mind was blurring images of Samuel with Jack, and there was absolutely no reason to. "I had a brother, Samuel. He was ten years older than me, my favorite sibling. He was only twenty when he was sent to Vietnam. He was killed over there, his body never recovered. Before he left, he spent time with the family, and we were able to say goodbye, even though we prayed that it wasn't the last goodbye. I think you should be with your family for as long as you can."

  He folded his arms across his chest as he looked down at me. I knew he wanted to touch me, but I was sending out prickly vibes and he was smart to keep his distance. "Mercy...I...I'm sorry about your brother."

  I rubbed my hands together, as if trying to recreate some warmth in the room. "Thank you. It happened a long time ago, so the pain isn't so raw," I lied. "I only mentioned him because I want you to consider your family right now."

  "They've been through this drill a few times." He raised his hand, cutting off my objection, "I needed to burn some extra leave, so I went home and stayed with my parents for a few days. My brother even drove down for a visit."

  "Do you have any other siblings? Besides your brother?" I asked, curious about his family.

  "Just me and James," he said, his eyes narrowing. He drew back his lips, stifling whatever else he was going to say.

  I was curious about his reaction; I could tell there was more there, but I didn't press. "No children?"

  He laughed, cringing at the question. "No, I don't ever want to have kids."

  "Really?"

  "I don't really like them," he whispered. "That's why my engagement ended. I had always been clear about not wanting children, but she thought I would change my mind eventually. It finally sunk in that I wasn't. What about you? No children, right? I should clarify that," he said, grinning wickedly. "No adult offspring?"

  This question again. I hated having to think about how I should answer. "No, I don't have any children."

  "My parents would like a couple of grandkids, but I'm hoping Jamie fulfills that wish. I've met so many people that were convinced I would one day change my mind about kids, but I've felt this way since I was a child. I didn't like kids even when I was a kid," he stated.

  Maybe he believed we had this in common. That it had been my decision not to have children. I didn't correct him, since it wasn't relevant, but I didn't want to continue with this particular conversation.

  "When were you thinking about going away?" I asked.

  "The sooner, the better. I don't have that much time," he said, grinning. I smacked his shoulder, not liking the words he used. He looked down at me, sympathy in his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I only have a few weeks to do something, so the sooner we have our plans in place, the sooner we can get out of here. Does this mean you will go?"

  "Why me?"

  "Why not?" he answered. "I could try online, but I doubt I'd meet someone willing to drop everything and go away with me. What we have isn't complicated. We seem to have a good thing going here."

  "I'm not sure about Seattle. Do you think that we could go somewhere close? Maybe just a few hours away?" I didn't think I was ready to go on an extended trip with someone other than Moses. I thought I might be able to handle a day or two.

  "A buddy of mine told me about this historic inn along the Bay. I'll call and see if they have any rooms available," he said.

  "I'm not restricted to the weekend, so find the cheapest date."

  "Don't worry about the money. This trip, it's my treat," he said.

  I stood on my toes, leaned against his chest and kissed him. "I'm actually looking forward to getting away. It's been a long time."

  He glanced over my face. His eyes narrowed, watching my reaction. "Not since your husband died?"

  Jack really hated talking about Moses. "No, I managed a trip since then. I think it's probably been close to a year since I left the District."

  "Well, I'm glad you're going away with me," he said.

  "I am too." I kissed him again. "I think I better get going. The girls will be worried about my whereabouts." I walked into his bedroom, grabbed my clothes off the floor and tossed them on.

  Jack entered the bedroom, a towel in his hand. "I figured you might want a shower."

  "I'm going to take a long hot bath when I get home."

  "Maybe I should tag along," he grinned, leaning against the door.

  I walked past him, pulling the car keys from my pocket. I patted his cheek, grinning back at him. "Maybe another time, kiddo." He smacked my ass, causing me to leap in the air, from the surprise and not the impact.

  As I walked to the front door, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He kept a few feet between us, but his eyes were sparkling with a gleeful mischief. I blew him a kiss and walked out of his apartment. I closed the door before I allowed the tears to roll down my cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  I returned to find utter chaos at home. Walking into the foyer, I found Albertine and Red standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up towards the bedroom. Loud voices came from Penelope's bedroom, and I thought I recognized the male voice as Arthur's.

  "What's going on?" I asked, standing behind them.

  Red turned around and shushed me. She turned back to watch Penelope's door. A shadow moved along the wall, and I followed its movement. I finally saw Melia, pacing on the upstairs floor.

  I lifted my hands questioningly. Melia raised her hand and moved quickly down the stairs. When she approached me, I noticed it wasn't glee on her face.

  "It's Arthur," Melia said. "He came storming in this morning, demanding to see Penelope. We managed to push him out but then Penelope asked us to let him in. They went up to her room and they've been screamin
g at each other since."

  "Is he trying to get her to leave again?"

  Albertine shook her head. Sadness in her eyes, she said, "He came in, waving money at Penelope. He said he would pay her five hundred dollars if she slept with him."

  "You're joking, right?" I asked, not wanting to believe the man's audacity. He had cheated on Penelope by screwing her personal assistant, and then left their marriage for his young mistress. That same young mistress, now wife, had recently given birth to his child, and he was at our house, scratching at Penelope's door.

  "What should we do?" Albertine asked me.

  "I wanted to call the cops, but Carol insisted that we didn't," Melia added.

  "Do you think he will hurt her?" I asked Melia, not knowing how volatile the situation was.

  "I don't think he would, but he's not going to leave here willingly," she answered.

  "Then maybe we should call the cops and tell them he's trespassing," I said.

  Melia dashed into the kitchen, snatching up the wall phone. She had barely pressed 9-1 when Carol's finger slammed down on the receiver, ending the call.

  "I already told you we can't call the cops," Red seethed.

  "Why not?" I demanded.

  "For Christ's sake, think about it. You call the cops, they come barging into the house, and word spreads quickly, really quickly, that a US senator is making a nuisance of himself. It so happens that this senator thinks this house is a brothel. He already knows his wife has sold herself to his friend. Do you really want the press to come storming down on us?" Carol stepped away, brandishing her hands as if they were a billboard. "Our faces flashed across the paper: 'Aging Whores Operating DC Brothel'. No, sweetheart, calling the cops would be a real stupid move."

  "You want us to keep quiet when he could be hurting her?" Albertine demanded. "I understand your concerns, Carol, but I would rather you be embarrassed than have Penelope hurt by that man!"

  "Fuck this," I said, moving away from the bickering group. I walked briskly through the kitchen, trotted up the stairs and pounded on Penelope's door. The voices were loud. I didn't think they could hear me. I turned the doorknob but it was locked. I pounded again, this time screaming, "Penelope, open this damn door!"