Where Mercy Flows (8 page)

“What do you mean by that?”

“Anyone who would traipse through the pouring rain to bury a brand-new doll in the mud . . .”

“She was dead.”

He threw his hands up and tipped back his head. “Oh! Well, that explains it. But just out of curiosity, what killed her?”

I twisted my face thoughtfully. “Natural causes, as I recall. I never played with dolls after that.”

He nodded in mock sincerity. “Too much heartache?”

“Yup.” The doll was a Spanish dancer with real eyelashes, sleek black hair and a red dress. Lindsey got one for Christmas
too. Hers was a blond Southern belle in a frock of blue lace, who lived a long and healthy life.

For a moment we just surveyed each other. Donnie’s coarse blond hair was cropped short like mowed hay, his brows a little
wild and his eyes bluer than I remembered. “Last time I saw you,” I said, “you had hair down to here and you were singing
‘Stairway to Heaven’ at the school prom.” I emptied my mug and Donnie signaled the waitress to bring us a pitcher.

“And
you
danced with Tim Weatherbee all night. At least when you two weren’t off in some corner arguing about something. Next thing
anybody knew you dropped out of school and ran off with him.”

“But I’m back.”

He raised his brows. “No Tim?”

I shook my head. “No Tim.”

Don seemed to be waiting for an explanation. I paused before changing the subject. “Looks like you’re still bucking hay.”
I nodded toward his burly shoulders.

He shrugged. “That’s right. You didn’t believe me when I said I was going to be an attorney, did you?”

I studied his face. He was acting too casual. “Yes, I believed it. And so did you. What happened? You know you’re smart enough.
I heard you one time when you were on the debate team.”

“You did?”

I nodded. “I was just walking by the door of the classroom and I heard your voice. I stopped and listened for a long time.
You were good.”

“Tell me more.”

“You were arguing the case for capital punishment—which I am totally against, just for the record—but you were convincing.
All those facts. I tried to make you laugh. Don’t you remember that? You just looked right through me like I wasn’t there.
You kind of reminded me of the Judge.”

“Thank you.”

I cocked my head. “What makes you think that was a compliment?”

He sighed. “You still have that burr in your boot? I like your dad. I buy worms from him. We hang out in the barn for an hour
or more sometimes, talking about the way things are, the way they should be. Then I go home and toss out the worms.”

“Good for you,” I said. “Tell me, has he measured you up yet? Has he taken out his invisible tape and run it from your toes
to the top of your head and left you feeling like a midget? Has he given you the map of your life—the only acceptable route—and
informed you that any other road will lead to destruction?” My words tasted bitter and I knew they were making my eyes get
squinty and mean-looking. I deliberately swallowed and raised my brows, which helped pull the corners of my mouth up. “So.
Come here often?”

He shook his head. “I saw a pretty girl speed by the ranch in a dirty old Jeep. Followed her here.”

“I was thinking about calling you. I’ve only been here for a little over a week.”

“I heard you’ve been in Nevada. What brought you back?”

I brightened. “Donnie, I didn’t tell you. I have a son.” I reached for my wallet and placed a small snapshot on the table.
“His name is TJ. He’s five now. This was taken last year.”

“Good-lookin’ kid. Your dad told me you had a son. I’ve always asked about you, you know. Not that he ever seemed to know
much.” He studied the picture some more. “So. Does Tim have some Indian blood in him?”

“Subtle,” I said. “Hey, if you want to know who I’ve been sleeping with, just ask. I’ve never kept secrets from you.”

“Yeah, right.” He frowned.

I poured him a glass from the full pitcher. “Here. Drink this. You’re getting moody.”

His mouth spread slowly into a grin and his blue eyes danced. “Dang, I’ve missed you. I didn’t know how much until just now.
You’re still just the same. And you haven’t answered my question. Why did you come home? The truth.”

I wanted to tell him everything. Who knew me better than my childhood playmate? We had fought side by side in countless wars.
He saved my hide from the James Gang, a ruthless batch of brothers from the other side of the creek who launched cow pies
from a catapult instead of throwing pinecone grenades like the rest of us. And when it came to building dams, Donnie was an
engineering genius. He made a swimming hole on the creek that lasted for two years before a spring flood washed it out. I
always admired him for that.

We had been best friends up until puberty. Then things got confusing. Donnie started playing basketball and hanging out with
some guys from school. He didn’t want to fish much anymore. When he did come over it was usually with a friend or two and
they just draped their lanky bodies over the porch rails while Lindsey served them iced tea. Once, when I went over to the
Appaloosa Ranch to help him with his chores, he pressed me up against a stall door and kissed me. I kicked like a branded
mare and wiped the kiss from my mouth in disgust. He never tried that again.

After that I avoided him for a while, and he didn’t seem to have much interest in me. Sometimes he helped me get my homework
done on the morning school bus, though. Donnie was smart for a rancher.

I couldn’t tell him I came home because I was sick or that I couldn’t keep a job. Tim was long gone. I had been feeding my
son Top Ramen three nights a week. “The truth is,” I finally said, “I needed to smell the cottonwoods again.” That was not
a lie. “Also for TJ. A kid needs a family. He needed to meet his grandma and grandpa and know he has roots. He’s so happy
now, Donnie. You should see him run and play in the big field, just like you and I used to. He’s a wonderful person. I want
you to meet him.”

“Are you going to tell me about his daddy?”

I drained my beer. “TJ has no daddy.” Donnie refilled my glass. I made a mental note that this would be my last one. I had
planned to have just one beer when I came in. Then I would get on the wagon and do everything the doctor said. “I’ll tell
you the gory details after you tell me why you’re still here in Carter and not fighting for justice in the courtrooms of America.”

He held up his glass and stared into the golden liquid. “I don’t know. Seems like there’s just never a good time to get away.
There’s always a barn to rebuild or a lame tractor or a fence down. My dad pretty much takes care of the horses but there
are a lot of things he just can’t do anymore.”

“Is he sick?”

He glared. “You really have been out of touch. Four years ago August, a hay fork came out of the loft and nearly nailed him
to the barn floor.”

My jaw dropped. “A hay fork
came
out of the loft? How? How did that happen?”

“I threw it.”

I stared at him and waited. He swirled his beer like it was a fine merlot before taking a sip and setting the glass down.
“I didn’t mean to hit him. We were up in the hayloft, rigging up a pulley. You know how he can be. A first-class jackass.
He expects everything, appreciates nothing. I put off law school for two years because he needed me at the ranch. I was all
set to go to the U Dub that fall, and he starts in on me again. Tells me it’s a waste of money and a lost cause. ‘Sixty percent
of all law students drop out in the first year,’ he says. He reminded me for the thousandth time that I was just a country
hick and I could never hold my own against those slick city boys. ‘Your place is here, boy,’ he says, and he goes down the
ladder. I thought he had left the barn. I started kicking things. I grabbed the pitchfork and hurled it into space like a
javelin. Then I heard him scream.” He paused. “It got his right thigh and severed a tendon in his knee. He walks with a limp
now. Has to use a cane on bad days.”

I whispered a curse. “I’m sorry. Sorry for you mostly.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s got you now. He’s got you right where he wants you.”

Don pushed away from the table. “Let’s get out of here.” He threw some bills on the table and took my arm.

“Let me go to the bathroom first.” I stopped at the restroom and when I came out there was the cigarette machine looking right
at me. What the heck, I thought. I’ll be good starting tomorrow. Donnie was already outside on the porch with his back to
me. I popped my money in and a pack of Kool filters slid out. As I tapped the first one out of the package, someone shoved
a lighter in my face and flicked it to flame. It startled me and I recoiled. The man’s face was too close to mine, lit up
by an orange glow, with deep grooves running from the outer corners of his eyes down to his jaw. He lit my cigarette. “Those
things’ll kill ya, you know.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Thanks.” When I stepped toward the door, he blocked my path. He just stood there staring at me like the
Big Bad Wolf with an evil smile that made me feel sick. I pushed him aside with a few choice expletives and stormed out the
door.

“You okay?” Donnie asked. He glanced at my cigarette and frowned.

I held up my hand. “Don’t say it.” I gestured toward the man who was still watching me through the tavern window. “Who is
that guy?”

“Him? That’s Dwight Enrich. Was he giving you a hard time?” I nodded. “He’s just a bitter old drunk. Remember Ron Enrich?
The kid who bashed his mother’s head in? That’s his dad. Fraser’s is his home away from home. Ignore him.” We hopped in his
shiny Ford truck, leaving my Jeep behind in the parking lot in a cloud of dust.

The moon was a half disk of white neon in a glittered sky. Scents of green alfalfa and honeysuckle rode the wind through the
open windows, and Ray Charles sang “Georgia on My Mind” on the radio. We sang along until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Okay. That’s it,” I said. “You sing the blues like a cowboy.” I pulled a pencil out of his console and tapped demonstratively
on the dashboard. “From now on you’re rhythm; I’m blues.”

The next song was peppier. He drummed on the dashboard, the window, the steering wheel and my head. I sang my heart out, making
up words wherever necessary, and we laughed all the way to Dixon, where we stopped for a bag of chips, huge navel oranges
and some beer. After that we pulled off at a rest stop by the river.

“How do things turn out the way they do, Sam?” Donnie leaned against his door with his feet on the dash, while I sat cross-legged,
ravenously attacking the bag of chips. “You’re the one who said you’d always live within earshot of this river. You said you’d
build a cabin on the other side and live off the land and never get a real job. Remember that? And I said I’d hit the road
the day I turned eighteen and never look back.”

I bit off all three corners of my tortilla chip methodically before popping the rest of it in my mouth. Was I supposed to
have an answer to that question? Was life actually supposed to make some kind of sense? It was not like I left the valley
on purpose; I was more or less shot out of my father’s cannon and landed in Reno with powder burns that still hadn’t healed.

“And what about you and me?” he continued. “Why didn’t we ever date or anything?”

I looked at him like he was nuts. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but as I recall you never asked me out.”

He laughed. “I kissed you once. What do ya want?”

“A little warning would have been nice, for starters. You scared the snot out of me. You never acted like that before.”

“You never looked like that before. At least it was the first time I really noticed. After that I figured I’d keep my distance
until you were mature enough to handle a real man.” His chest swelled and his voice deepened at the end of his sentence. “Guess
I should have checked in a little sooner. Tim slid in there ahead of me. So, whatever happened between you two?”

“We’re still married.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. You’re not wearing a ring or anything.”

“Well, after I didn’t see or hear from him for a few years, I just took it off.”

“That jerk! He walked out on you? Takes you away from your family and friends to some godforsaken desert and then dumps you
there? Sam. I wish I had known. I would have come and kicked his butt up around his ears. I wish you had kept in touch.” He
twisted the cap off a beer and passed it to me.

I took a long swig and let my head fall back on the seat. “It wasn’t like that exactly.” It wasn’t fair to let the blame fall
on Tim. Tim loved me. I never doubted that one minute of one day. Not even when we were fighting. I was such a shrew that
summer of my third trimester, my belly protruding halfway to Texas, ankles swollen from the heat, still trying to earn my
keep on the ranch. The pregnancy was a terrible inconvenience, totally unplanned, but after what happened the first time—well,
I couldn’t consider that alternative again. So I suffered through it, along with Tim. He rubbed my back at night while we
lay on our sides naked, an electric fan propped in the open window stirring the air like in a convection oven. He told me
if it was a girl we’d get her a pony as soon as she was big enough to ride. But I knew what he really wanted was a boy. “My
son’s gonna know how to rebuild his own truck, from headlight to tailpipe,” he would say. “I’m going to teach him to spit
and scratch and pee his name in the dirt.”

Donnie was respectfully silent. Finally, I raised my head. “Tim was not the bad guy. It was me.”

“You left him?”

“No. The last time I saw Tim was in the hospital after TJ was born. He was there the whole time I was in labor. He made me
focus and do all those breathing techniques we learned; he brought me ice and put cold washcloths on my forehead. He held
my hand while I was pushing and I thought I was going to die, but he just stayed calm. He was a very patient person.” Suddenly,
I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t talked about this to anyone. Why was I spilling my guts to a guy I hadn’t seen in seven years?
“I think I’ve had too much to drink,” I said.