Page 167 of This is Why We Lied

That was how she felt now when she found her mother in bed with her son.

It was a chaste scene. They were both clothed. Jon was lying in Bitty’s arms. Her lips were pressed to the top of his head. The music box was playing. His baby blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. Bitty’s fingers were curled into his hair, her legs intertwined with his, her hand up the front of his shirt as she stroked his belly with her fingers. It could have passed for normal except for the fact that Jon was nearly almost a grown man and she was his grandmother.

Bitty’s expression removed any shred of doubt. The guilt on her face told the entire story. She scrambled to get out of the bed, clutching her robe tight, saying, “Mercy, I can explain.”

Mercy’s knees buckled as she stumbled to the bathroom. She retched into the toilet. Water and vomit splashed back into her face. She grabbed the bowl with her hands. She retched again.

“Mercy,” Bitty whispered. She was blocking the door. She clutched Jon’s baby blanket to her chest. “Let’s talk about this. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Mercy didn’t need to talk. It was all coming back to her now. The way her mother had treated Jon, the way she had treated Dave. The cloy looks. The constant touching. The relentless babying and coddling.

“Mama …” Jon stood in the hall. His entire body was shaking. He was in his pajamas, the ones Bitty made him wear that had cartoons on the bottoms. “Mama, please …”

Mercy swallowed down the vomit in her mouth. “Pack your things.”

“Mama, I—”

“Go back into your room. Change your clothes.” She physically turned him around and steered him into his room. “Pack your stuff. Take whatever you need because we’re never coming back here.”

“Mama—”

“No!” She pointed her finger in his face. “Do you hear me, Jonathan? Pack your fucking clothes and meet me at the dining hall in five minutes or I will tear this fucking house down!”

Mercy ran into her room. She grabbed her phone off the charger. She called Dave. That motherfucker. He had known all along what Bitty was.

“Mercy!” Cecil yelled. “What the hell is going on up there?”

Mercy listened through to the fourth ring. She ended the call before Dave’s voicemail picked up. She looked around her room. She needed her hiking boots. They were going down the mountain tonight. They were never coming back to this godforsaken place.

“Mercy!” Papa yelled. “I know you can hear me!”

Mercy found her purple backpack on the floor. She started shoving in clothes. She didn’t pay attention to what went in, didn’t care. She called Dave again.

“Pick up, pick up,” she demanded. One ring. Two rings. Three, four. “Fuck!”

Mercy started to go, but then she remembered her notebook. Her letters to Jon. She dropped to her knees in front of her bed. She reached under the mattress. Suddenly, there was no air in her lungs. Jon’s childhood flashed through every molecule of her body. Her boy. Her gentle, sensitive young man. She held the notebook to her heart, hugged it like she was hugging her baby. She wanted to go back, to read every word in every letter, to see what she had missed.

Mercy held in a sob. Dave wasn’t the only monster here. Mercy had missed the signs. Everything had happened inside this very house, down that very hall, while she was sleeping.

She shoved the notebook into her backpack. The nylon was so tight she could barely get the zipper closed. She stood up.

Bitty was blocking the doorway.

“Mercy!” Papa yelled again.

She grabbed her mother by the arms and gave her a violent shake. “You wicked cunt. If I ever see you near my son again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”

Mercy shoved her back against the wall. She dialed Dave’s number as she walked into Jon’s room. He was sitting on the bed. “Get up. Now. Pack your shit. I mean it, Jon. I am your mother, and you will do what I fucking say.”

Jon stood up. He looked around the room, dazed.

Mercy ended the call to Dave. She went to Jon’s closet. She started throwing out clothes. Shirts. Underwear. Shorts. Hiking boots. She didn’t leave until Jon had started to pack. Her mother was still in the hall. Mercy heard a creaking sound from the floorboards. Fish was standing on the other side of his closed door.

“Stay in there!” Mercy warned her brother. She couldn’t let him see this. “Go back to bed, Fish. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Mercy waited for him to comply before she headed toward the back stairs. She felt snot and tears running down her face. Papa was waiting for her below. Both of his arms were hugging the banister for support.

She jabbed a finger at him. “I hope the Devil fucks you in hell.”