Page 35 of This is Why We Lied

Mercy felt a sudden unease come over her body. She grabbed on to the railing. Reality hit her like a hammer to the skull. What the hell was wrong with her, storming out of the dining hall like that? Delilah’s vote would’ve meant that Mercy only had to peel off one more person from Papa’s side. And here Mercy was, fucking herself over for a single, fleeting moment of pleasure. It was the same bad decision-making that kept her going back to Dave. How many times did she have to keep throwing herself into brick walls before she realized that she could stop fucking hurting herself?

She touched her fingers to her bruised throat. Swallowed the spit that had flooded into her mouth. Ignored the flop sweat dripping down her back. The famous Mercy Temper. More like the famous Mercy Insanity. She willed her hands to stop shaking. She had to banish the conversation from her mind. Banish Delilah. Banish Dave. Her family. None of them mattered right now. She just had to get through dinner.

Mercy was still the manager here. At least until Sunday. She checked on the guests. Monica was sitting off to the side with a glass in her hand. Frank was standing close to Sara, who was politely smiling at Papa’s yarn about a distant McAlpine wrestling a bear. Keisha was showing Drew a water spot on her glass. Fucking caterers. Let them deal with hard water and stoned townies who always rolled in half an hour late.

She looked for the other guests. Her stomach flipped when she saw Landry and Gordon coming down the trail. They were the last to arrive. Their heads were bent in private conversation. The investors were looking out over the ravine, probably discussing how many timeshares they could sell. Mercy hoped someone would toss them over the railing. She did another scan, searching for Will Trent. She had missed him at first. He was off in the corner, kneeling down to pet one of the cats. He still looked dick drunk, which meant Dave was the last thing on his mind.

Mercy should be so lucky.

“Hey there Mercy Mac.” Chuck rested his hand on her arm. “If I could—”

“Don’t touch me!” Mercy hadn’t realized she’d shouted until everyone was looking at her. She shook her head at Chuck, forcing a laugh, saying, “Sorry. Sorry. You just scared me, silly.”

Chuck looked confused as Mercy rubbed his arm. She never touched him. Avoided it at all costs.

“You’re really packing on the muscle there, Chuck.” She asked the crowd, “Does anyone want a refill?”

Monica held up a finger. Frank pushed down her hand.

“So, anyway, the bear,” Papa said. “Legend goes he ended up running a cigar store in North Carolina.”

There were some polite chuckles that broke the tension. Mercy used that as cover to walk toward the bar, which was fifteen feet away but felt like fifteen hundred yards. She turned the bottles, lining up the faded labels, silently longing for the taste of any or all of them in the back of her throat.

Penny whispered, “You all right, girl?”

“Hell no,” she whispered back. “Lighten the pour on that one lady. She’s gonna collapse at the table.”

“If I put any more water in her glass, it’s gonna look like a urine sample.”

Mercy glanced back at Monica. The woman’s eyes were vacant. “She won’t notice.”

“Mercy,” Papa called. “Come meet this nice couple from Atlanta.”

Her skin crawled at his jovial tone. This was the Papa that everyone adored. Mercy had loved watching this version of her father when she was a kid. Then she had started wondering why he couldn’t be that same cheerful, charming man to his own family.

The circle parted as she walked toward him. The investors stood on either side of his chair. Bitty was behind him. She silently touched the corner of her mouth, coaxing Mercy to smile.

Mercy did just that, plastering a fake grin on her face. “Hey, y’all. Welcome to the mountain. I hope you’uns got everythin’ ya need.”

Papa’s nostrils flared at her hillbilly accent, but he continued the introductions. “Sydney Flynn and Max Brouwer, this is Mercy. She’s been running the place while we look for someone more qualified to take over.”

Mercy felt her smile falter. He hadn’t even told them that she was his daughter. “That’s right. My daddy took quite a tumble down the mountain. It can be mighty dangerous up here.”

Sydney said, “Sometimes nature wins.”

Mercy should’ve guessed a horse lover would have a death wish. “I’m guessin’ by your boots you know your way around a stable.”

Sydney sparked to life. “Do you ride?”

“Oh, lordy, not me. My grandpappy always said horses are either homicidal or suicidal.” Mercy realized that every single guest had booked a horse-riding adventure. “Unless they’re really broken in. We only use therapy horses. They’re used to working with kids. Max, do you ride?”

“God, no. I’m a lawyer. I don’t ride horses.” He looked up from his phone. Papa’s no Wi-Fi rule for guests apparently had exceptions. “I just write the checks for them.”

Sydney gave the shrill laugh of a kept woman. “Mercy, you’ll have to show me around the property. I’d love to see more of the land inside the conservation easement. We’ve got some aerial shots of the pastures, but I want to look at them from the ground. Stick my hands in the soil. You know how it is. The earth has to speak to you.”

Mercy held her tongue as she nodded. “I think my brother has you booked for fly fishing tomorrow morning.”

“Fishing,” Max said. “That’s more my style. You can’t fall off a boat and break your neck.”