by Dani Collins
“I come from a family that is very good at getting there, yes.” She brushed at the stain left by a leaf on the top of the gray brick wall. “Been through lots of stops and starts. Not enough stopping,” she murmured faintly, thinking of Porsha drying out through both her pregnancies, but honestly, had she skipped so much as a day since Ayjia had been born? Mercedes wasn’t even sure she was stopping at alcohol these days, but wasn’t letting herself dwell on it because the implications with the kids were so huge.
“I’ve been sober a couple years and I’m motivated to stay that way. Keeping busy helps.”
Lifting her head, she studied him, thinking she could see the years of hard living in the lines at his eyes. She saw honesty and it scared her. Everything he’d said had only confirmed that she had no business wanting to know him better, yet she felt an overwhelming urge to do so.
“For instance, assessing the repairs on a building might keep my mind off things I shouldn’t be thinking. That’s the sort of coping strategy I’ve developed,” L.C. prompted.
As comprehension dawned, Mercedes realized she was staring. His expression remained deadpan, but the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened a fraction. The twitch of his sexy lips said, Or we could do what you’re thinking.
Her insides tightened and a flush of sexual arousal went through her.
She so didn’t need this. She’d show him the units, work out a schedule for Zack to fix them, and say, Adios.
L.C. stepped into the thick air of the abandoned unit and a cloying smell hit him. He gagged, losing the fantasy of pulling Mercedes into a kiss while they had some privacy.
Mercedes winced an apology. “No one has lived here since Mrs. Fairmont died three years ago.”
“Have they removed her body?”
“She had cats. Close to forty, I think. The people next door moved out and no one would buy either unit. The smell is almost as bad over there.”
“It’s really bad,” L.C. said, breathing through his mouth as he took in the layout of the kitchen and dining area with a lounge around the corner. A short hallway opened into a bathroom, a laundry, and two bedrooms. “These carpets have to go.”
“I know.”
They toured quickly. Every doorframe had been used as a scratching post and the gas fireplace had acidic pock marks that likely came from cat spray. The bathroom fixtures were caked with soap scum, toothpaste and dust. In both bedrooms, the blinds hung broken and battered, abused by animals ducking through and around them.
“Where are the appliances?” he asked when he came back to the main lounge.
“Good ol’ Frank sent them out for repair. Oddly no one had ever complained they were broken and somehow they never made it back. He totally gutted the other side.” She shook her head.
He ducked into the laundry, glanced at the chewed wiring. “You wouldn’t think mice would come in when it reeks of cats, but... Man, was this room the litter box?” He pointed at the stained grout. “That’s gotta come out or you’ll always have this cheery aroma. It might even be in the sub-floor.”
“Can Zack fix something like that?” she asked with an apprehensive frown.
L.C. shook his head, genuinely sorry to be the messenger on that bad news. “The clean up and cosmetic stuff he can do,” he assured her. “Ripping up carpet and painting, no problem. But he’s never rebuilt a floor and wiring needs an electrician.”
“Mrs. Garvey will love seeing bills for trades.” Mercedes’s bottom lip came out in a discontented pout.
L.C. pulled his thoughts from nibbling that lip and onto Zack and sobriety. “Can I see next door?”
“Of course.” She didn’t bother locking the broken door before leading L.C. through the little iron gate between the two sides of the patio.
Harrison and Pete saw them move to the second unit and left the golf cart. Mercedes pushed through the other broken door, leading L.C. into a unit with the reverse layout of the first.
Here was where his jackass son had partied himself into a jail cell. Beer cans with ashes on their rims cluttered the counter. In the dust on the mirror over the fireplace, someone had drawn a self-portrait from the waist down. The toilet had been used despite its dry bowl, leaving a fresh stink on air already heavy with the musk of cat urine and old cigarettes.
However, as L.C. toured the compact unit, he saw the place was in pretty good shape. Better than next door. “Zack could have this side livable in a couple of weeks with minimal help. It’s actually only a few days work, but he’ll be doing it around school.”
“Still, that’s pretty good.” Mercedes brightened with optimism. “What about the other side?”
“That’s going to be expensive.”
“Oh.” Her expression fell.
“Don’t forget the fence,” one of the men said from outside.
They walked out to find Pete picking at the flaking paint around the doorframe. Harrison leaned on the stone wall surrounding the patio, eyes closed.
“What happened to the fence?” L.C. asked.
“They pulled it back to make enough space to get through,” Pete said.
“I should look at that,” L.C. said.
“But what do you think so far?” Mercedes asked. “Harrison, do you want to wake up and hear this?”
“I’ve told you, it’s rude to interrupt a man when he’s having a conversation with the voices in his head.”
“Tell me what you think we could realistically put up for renovating these two units and I’ll let you get back to your party,” she said.
“Including the tranquilizers for Edith?”
“Be nice.”
“Hell, I don’t know. I still think stamps are thirteen cents.” Harrison pointed his cigar at L.C. “What do you think it’s going to take?”
L.C. dragged his brain onto math, shrugged and tossed out a figure that made Mercedes wince.
“That’s with labor. Zack couldn’t do all of it, but he could do a lot so you’ll save a few bucks there.” Pushing his fingers palms out into his back pockets, he shrugged. “I could do the rest for twenty bucks an hour if you wanted to offer me this space rent-free until the work is done.” He nodded at the side of the duplex that hadn’t asphyxiated them.
Silence.
Harrison swiped his sleeve across the sweat standing on his brow. “Damn, L.C. That’d mean another Special Meeting of the Board. Pete, you got more beer in that cart? I’m dying out here.”
“Help yourself.” Pete’s voice floated from inside the unit. “Bring me one.”
L.C. glanced at Mercedes to see what she thought of the idea. Her face was deep red. She looked well on the way to overheating.
“Mind viewing that fence with me?” she said.
Great. He knew what it meant when a woman’s voice got thin and tight like that. She intended to ream him a new one and he didn’t even know why.
“We’re going to look at the fence,” L.C. said behind Mercedes as she led him past Harrison. She didn’t like the tone of his voice. It sounded very much like he was humoring her when she was furious enough to explode.
The sun was growing blistering, which didn’t help. It made the air so dry, her nose hurt. The relief of stepping off the asphalt of the Ring Road and into the narrow shadow cast by the bluff made her let out a huffing sigh.
“Hey, I thought it was a good idea,” L.C. said behind her. “You’re worried about costs, I can cut that. Zack’s needs a place to stay if you keep him on. It’s not really fair for me to pay rent so he can work community hours. How is this not a win-win?”
“The part where you steal my job kind of sucks for me.” She halted at the edge of the shade where they could see the bent fence and hear the traffic beyond.
“I don’t want your job. I’m with Harrison. Meetings are a pain in the ass. The last thing I need is to spend my days going toe to toe with that Garvey woman over the height of speed bumps or wattage of light bulbs.” He scratched the middle of his chest, leaving a damp patch. She had a
similar sweat gathering between her breasts. Standing out here was stupid. Nevertheless...
“So you just want to renovate for us out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Like I said, Zack and I are going to need a place to stay. I mean, he might be able to put up at the Y and I could hit the road again, but—” He hooked his thumbs in his waistband. Scowled darkly toward nothing. “I should spend some time with him,” he said in a quiet voice. “I haven’t seen much of him in the last couple of years and…”
“Kids never stop needing their parents?” She wished he wouldn’t make her feel all soft like this. Wished he didn’t make her think of the kids who needed their mom, and how urgently she needed to get them back to Porsha.
Turning, Mercedes braved the intensity of the sun and approached the fence. The broken links were hot, but she pulled the edges back together.
L.C. came up beside her to help, drawing her eye to the tats on his upper arm and shoulder. She loved ink on muscle and his were pure art, surprisingly beautiful and a little whimsical. An exalted warrior held his sword to the sky in defiance. Next to his feet, a nymph like angel sat with her knees drawn up, her face hidden in her folded arms, wings bowed in a protective frame around her.
He noticed she was staring. His expression grew stony, not encouraging her to ask about the design.
“I, um, guess I’ll call a contractor when we get back to the office.” She nodded at the fence. “What do you think this’ll cost?”
“About forty-five cents in zap straps. Are you kidding me with the contractor?”
“That’s not going to look very nice, is it?”
“It won’t look that bad and who cares? No one even lives back here. Tell you what. Put me in that duplex and anyone breaking through this fence will wish the police had been called.”
“Listen to you, tough guy.” She grinned, but shivered too, despite the heat, because the way he lifted a negligent brow told her he wasn’t joking. He was tough.
She stood too close. She could feel the tingle of a sunburn starting and something else. Sexual awareness. Seeing him every day would only exacerbate it. Not good, but he was so...enticing.
He skimmed his gaze over her face, down her neck, into her moist cleavage. The tip of his tongue touched his bottom lip.
Tiny internal adjustments happened without her consent. She straightened her spine and set back her shoulders, opened her eyes wider and parted her lips.
In an act of self-defense, she turned her face aside, trying to get hold of herself.
He made a humorless little noise and looked the other way.
“How, um, how long do you think it would take? To get both units up to occupancy?”
“Me, full time, with Zack’s help? Six to eight weeks.”
She did some mental math. “So we could sell them by summer. That’s not bad.”
He, however, and the way she was reacting to him, was very bad.
Two short months, she told herself.
“Let’s see what the board thinks.”
Chapter 7
Mercedes and the men returned. They gathered for a second time in the meeting room. Harrison explained what had been decided and Edith shook her head, infuriated. How did this always happen? She couldn’t count the number of times school staff had met without her, then presented her with what had been decided at a meeting she hadn’t even been invited to attend. It was rude and disrespectful.
“Our bylaws clearly state this is an adult-only complex.” She felt her cheeks tremble as she continued to shake her head.
“Zack is eighteen,” That Man said. Here she’d been worried about the son, but honestly, was she the only person who could see letting some tattooed jailbird live among them was a very poor idea? She glanced to Mrs. Yamamoto, but she only lowered her knitting and smiled.
“Your son is a very nice young man,” she told him. “He wanted to buy us iced tea when he took the children to the cantina. I said I prefer hot tea, but it was very kind of him to ask.”
Edith had seen it for the attempt to cozen up that it was and had declined as well. She almost said so, but caught a glimpse of Mercedes discreetly glancing at her wrist. She was worried about the children, obviously, and so she should be, leaving them in the care of a strange young man. What was she thinking?
Trying to wrap up the meeting as efficiently as possible, Edith sat straighter and said firmly, “This should be put to a general vote. The cost of the appliances alone is beyond our limit.”
“That’s why L.C. is going to make do with his son’s microwave and take the fridge from Pete’s garage,” Harrison said. “We’ll vote on purchasing the new appliances for both units at the next general meeting. All right, are we done?”
“But—” Edith touched fingers to her throat, wondering if she hadn’t spoken strongly enough because no one had heard her. “We need to vote on whether the men can move in.”
“Edith, we’re getting two strong backs for the price of one. Why in hell are you arguing?” Harrison asked gruffly, as if she was the most unreasonable person in the world. She wasn’t. Why did people always talk to her like that?
“This is a senior living complex, Harrison. That’s what our residents expect.”
“Can someone move to adjourn this meeting?” Harrison asked. “Pete and I have a fridge full of beer to empty.”
“Move,” Peter Dolinski said.
“Second,” Mrs. Yamamoto said.
“Good.” Harrison handed off keys to That Man and they all filed out, leaving Edith alone, still trying to voice her misgivings.
Mercedes still had Mrs. Garvey’s impotent arguments ringing in her brain when the social worker, Shonda Rakin, offered up her advice on how Mercedes should handle the situation with Dayton and Ayjia.
“Are you kidding?” Custody?
Shonda looked like a sunflower with her short blond dreads framing her round, brown face. It was a nice face. She’d had nice things to say to the children, and even her apologetic I-wish-I-could-hand-out-miracles half-smile was nice.
At least if Mercedes could hate the woman, she would have an outlet for her impotent anger. As it was, she didn’t want to make Shonda’s job harder than it already was but, “I can’t do that to the kids.”
Shonda brushed a dread back from her face. “Well, there’s foster care, but there’s no guarantee they would be kept together.”
“They have to stay together.” Panic spliced through Mercedes. “How could they not stay together?”
“It just depends on where spaces are available. That’s why we encourage the extended family to keep the children in these types of situations.”
“But Porsha hasn’t really abandoned them. I mean, not like someone who leaves her baby at a bus stop or whatever. She just— Can you excuse me a minute?” Standing to open the sliding door, Mercedes stepped out and touched Ayjia’s shoulder as she passed behind the girl coloring at the patio table. Over the stone wall, she called, “Off the fence please, Dayton. Come draw a picture with Ayjia.”
“I hate drawing.”
“I know you do, but please do it anyway.”
“I’m hot. Can we go in the pool?”
“After dinner. Come sit in the shade and you’ll cool down.”
“When’s dinner?”
Mercedes swallowed back a groan, digging deep for another level of endurance. “After my meeting. Off the fence, please.”
He dropped to the concrete, crumpled briefly, then bounced back up.
She clutched her stalled heart and waited for him to come back, then promised him ice cream for dessert if he would draw her a fire truck.
Entering the bliss of her air-conditioned apartment, she mostly closed the door then sat so she could see the kids again. “Sorry about that. He’s a climber. Anyway, like I said, Porsha usually just hares off for a couple of nights, but she always comes back.”
“She always leaves them with you?”
“Usually with my mother.” Mercedes wa
tched the kids play tug of war over a crayon. “But Mom’s not really an option,” she added when Shonda showed interest. “When Porsha leaves them there, I take time off and get up there to help.”
“What about their father?”
“Ayjia’s dad is not in the picture and that’s a good thing.” With any luck, he’d been killed in whatever prison he’d wound up in. “Dayton’s father is married. He sends Porsha money, but I don’t think he’s ever met Dayton. I certainly don’t see him taking both kids. Look, I just want to get Ayjia a tetanus shot and put them in daycare for a few days until Porsha gets back, not disrupt their entire lives.”
“They need to be in school, Mercedes.”
Mercedes winced. She knew that. “I can’t take them back to Holbrook right now. I need to work. I can’t take custody for the same reason,” she insisted.
“Single mothers work,” Shonda pointed out gently. “I have a daughter.”
Mercedes rubbed her brow, thinking she at least understood now why Porsha didn’t have a job. It was so complicated. “I think you’re part of a special breed,” Mercedes said. “One that’s better equipped to handle work and kids.”
Shonda’s dreads bounced as she shook her head and smiled her nice empathetic smile. “No. Most single moms are exactly like you: women who wind up on their own with kids to look after and they find a way to make it work because they have to.”
But Mercedes had known for years she would never be a mom. She hadn’t braced herself for this dilemma. Which added another layer of resentment aimed at her sister. Be grateful for what you have.
She didn’t let herself go down that rabbit hole. She forced herself to stay focused on the kids.
Shonda adjusted her clipboard on her knee and wiggled her pen. “One thing that might help, if you had custody, we could ask Dayton’s father to transfer his support payments to you. That would take some of the financial sting out of it at least.”