Page 41 of This is Why We Lied

Mercy sat back on the toilet. She tilted up her chin by way of agreement. The cartilage was aligned. The hyoid bone was intact. The red marks were prominent and swollen. The pressure on her carotids combined with the compression of her trachea could’ve easily led to her death. The only thing more dangerous was a chokehold.

Sara guessed that Mercy was aware of how close she’d come to dying, and she knew that lecturing a victim of domestic violence had never stopped a future act of domestic violence. All that Sara could do was let the woman know that she wasn’t alone.

She said, “Everything seems okay. You’re going to have some bad bruising. I want you to find me if at any time you feel like something’s wrong. Night or day, all right? I don’t care what I’m doing. This could be serious.”

Mercy looked skeptical. “Did your husband tell you the real story about Dave?”

“He told me.”

“Dave gave him the nickname.”

“I know.”

“There’s probably other shit that—”

“I honestly don’t care,” Sara said. “You’re not your ex-husband.”

“No,” Mercy said, looking down at the floor. “But I’m the dumbass who keeps taking him back.”

Sara gave her a moment to collect herself. She opened the suture kit. Laid out the gauze, the lidocaine, a small syringe. When she glanced up at Mercy, she could tell the woman was ready.

Sara said, “Hold your hand over the sink.”

Again, Mercy didn’t flinch when Sara poured iodine into the wound. The cut was deep. Mercy had been handling food. The shard of glass had been on the floor. Any one of these things could lead to an infection. Normally, Sara would’ve given Mercy a script for antibiotics just in case, but she would have to make do with a warning. “If you feel feverish or see any red marks, or experience unusual pain—”

“I know,” Mercy said. “There’s a doctor in town I can follow up with.”

Sara could tell by the tone of her voice that she had no intention of following up. Again, she spared the woman a lecture. One thing that Sara had learned from working in the emergency department in Atlanta’s only public hospital was that you could treat the injury if not the disease.

Mercy said, “Let’s get this over with.”

She was compliant as Sara draped paper towels across Mercy’s lap. Then she put a drape from the first aid kit on top of that. Sara washed her hands again. Then used the hand sanitizer.

“He seems nice,” Mercy said. “Your husband.”

Sara shook out her hands to dry. “He is.”

“Do you …” Mercy’s voice trailed off as she gathered her thoughts. “Does he make you feel safe?”

“Completely.” Sara looked up at Mercy’s face. The woman didn’t seem like the type who easily showed her emotions, but her expression was one of profound sadness.

“I’m glad for you.” Mercy’s tone was wistful. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe around anybody in my life.”

Sara couldn’t find a response, but Mercy didn’t seem to want one.

“Did you marry your father?”

Sara almost laughed at the question. It sounded like neo-Freudian hokum, but this wasn’t the first time she’d heard the turn of phrase. “I remember when I was in college, I got so angry when my aunt told me that girls always marry their fathers.”

“Was she right?”

Sara thought about it as she slipped on the nitrile gloves. Will and her father were both tall, though her father had lost his lankiness. They were both frugal, if frugal meant spending countless minutes scraping the last ounce of the peanut butter out of the jar. Will wasn’t one for dad jokes, but he had the same self-deprecating sense of humor as her father. He was more likely to fix a broken chair or patch a wall himself than call a handyman. He was also more likely to stand up when everyone else stayed seated.

“Yes,” Sara admitted. “I married my father.”

“Me, too.”

Sara gathered she wasn’t thinking of Cecil McAlpine’s good traits, but there was no way to follow up. Mercy went quiet, lost in her own thoughts as she stared down at her injured thumb. Sara drew lidocaine into the syringe. If Mercy noticed the pain from the injections, she didn’t say. Sara guessed if you spent your day dealing with bruises and strangulation, a needle piercing your flesh was a small inconvenience by comparison.