Chapter 3

3

Mercy pointed in the direction of the small kitchen inside cottage three. "Coffeemaker's there. Pods are in the box there. Mugs are—"

"We got this." Keisha had a knowing smile on her face. She ran a catering business in Atlanta. She knew what it was like to go through the same routine day after day. "Thank you, Mercy. We're overjoyed to be back."

"Extra overjoyed." Drew was standing at the open French doors off the living room. All the one-bedroom cottages overlooked the Cherokee Ridge. "I can already feel my blood pressure dropping."

"You're still taking your pills, mister." Keisha turned to Mercy. "How's your daddy doing?"

"He's doing," Mercy said, trying not to clench her teeth. She hadn't seen any of her family since she'd threatened to ruin their lives. "It's y'all's third time here. We're all real happy you came back again."

Keisha said, "Make sure Bitty knows we'd still like to talk with her."

Mercy noted her voice had an edge to it, but she had enough shit on her plate right now without turning everything into a shit sandwich. "Will do."

"Seems like you've got a good group this time," Drew said. "With a few exceptions."

Mercy kept her smile plastered on. She'd met the dentist and her yippy husband. It hadn't been surprising when Monica had handed over her Amex and told Mercy to keep the liquor flowing.

Keisha said, "I really liked the teacher, Sara. We got to know each other on the trail."

"Husband seemed like a nice guy," Drew said. "Mind if we team up?"

"No problem." Mercy kept her tone light, even though she'd have to redo the entire schedule after supper. "Fishtopher has some great spots picked out for you guys. I think you're going to be really pleased."

"I'm already pleased." Drew looked down at Keisha. "Are you pleased?"

"Oh, honey, I'm always pleased."

Mercy took that as her cue to exit. They were embracing when she closed the door. She should've been impressed that they were twenty years older than her and still going at it, but she was envious. And also irritated. She'd heard their toilet running in the bathroom, which meant that Dave hadn't bothered to fix it.

She made a note on her pad as she walked toward cottage five. Mercy could feel Papa's disapproving gaze tracking her from the porch. Bitty was beside him knitting something no one would ever wear. The cats were laid out at her feet. Both her parents were acting like the family meeting had gone as usual. Still no sign of Delilah. Dave had disappeared. Fish had scampered off to the equipment shed. Of all of them, he was probably the only person actually doing what Mercy had told him to do. He was probably the most worried, too.

She should find her brother and apologize. She should tell him he was going to be okay. There had to be a way Mercy could convince Dave to vote against the sell. She would have to scrape up some money to bribe him. Dave would always take $100 today versus $500 in a week. Then he'd whine about the lost $400 for the rest of his damn life.

"Mercy Mac!" Chuck bellowed across the compound. He was carrying his usual gigantic water jug like he was some kind of elite athlete desperately in need of hydration. He walked like he was throwing one foot after the other, which was why Dave had started calling him Chuck—dude chucks his feet like he's tossing sledgehammers. Mercy couldn't even remember the man's real name anymore. What she knew was that he had a giant crush on her, and that he had always made her skin crawl.

She lied, "Fish is waiting for you down at the equipment shed."

"Oh." He blinked behind his thick glasses. "Thanks. I was looking for you, though. Wanted to make sure you knew about my—"

"Peanut allergy," Mercy finished. She had known about the allergy for seven years, but he always reminded her. "I told Bitty to let the kitchen know. You should check with her."

"All right." He glanced back at Bitty, but didn't leave. "You need any help with anything? I'm stronger than I look."

Mercy watched him flex a fat-wrapped muscle. She bit her lip so she didn't tell him to please, for the love of God, fuck off. He was her brother's best friend. His only friend, if she was being honest. The least she could do was tolerate the creepy fucker. "You'd better go talk to Bitty. It'd take at least an hour for an ambulance to get here. Don't wanna lose you from peanut poisoning."

She turned away so she didn't have to see the disappointment register on his moon-pie face. Mercy's entire life had been filled with Chucks. Well-meaning, goofy guys who had good jobs and practiced basic hygiene. Mercy had dated some of them. Met their mamas. Even went to their churches. And then she always found herself screwing it up by going back to Dave.

Maybe Papa wasn't that far off when he said that Mercy's biggest tragedy was that she was smart enough to know how stupid she was. There was nothing in her past that would indicate otherwise. The only good thing she'd ever done was get her son back. Most days, Jon would probably agree with her. She wondered how he would feel when he found out that Mercy was blocking the sale. She would have to jump off that bridge when she got to it.

Mercy walked up the stairs to cottage five. She knocked harder than she'd meant to.

"Yes?" The door was opened by Landry Peterson. They had met during the intake, but now he was only wearing a towel around his waist. He was a good-looking man. His right nipple was pierced. There was a tattoo over his heart, lots of colorful flowers and a butterfly surrounding a looping cursive that read Gabbie.

Mercy's eyes started to burn as she focused on the name. She felt all of the spit leave her mouth. She forced her gaze away from the tattoo. Looked up at Landry.

His smile was pleasant enough. Then he said, "Quite a scar you've got there."

"I—" Mercy's hand went to the scar on her face, but there was no covering the entire thing.

"Sorry for prying, I was a maxillofacial surgeon in a former life." Landry tilted his head, studying her like she was a specimen under glass. "They did a good job. Must've taken quite a few sutures. How long were you in the OR?"

Mercy finally managed to swallow. She flipped on that McAlpine switch in her head that let her pretend like everything was fine. "I'm not sure. It was a long time ago. Anyway, I wanted to check with you guys that everything's okay. Do you need anything?"

"I think we're fine for now." He looked behind her, first left, then right. "Nice situation you've got here. Must bring in a pretty penny. Supports the whole family, right?"

Mercy was taken aback. She wondered if this man was somehow tied up with the investors. She tried to put the topic back on familiar ground. "You'll see the schedule in your folder. Dinner is at—"

"Hon?" Gordon Wylie called from inside the cottage. Mercy recognized his rich baritone. "Are you coming?"

Mercy started to back away. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Just a minute," Landry told Mercy. "What were you saying about dinner?"

"Cocktails at six. Meal is served at six-thirty."

Mercy took out her notepad and pretended to write as she walked down the stairs. She didn't hear the door close. Landry was watching her, adding a second set of eyes to Papa's white-hot glare of disapproval. She felt like her back was on fire as she headed toward the Loop.

Was Landry acting strange? Was Mercy making it strange? Gabbie could be anything. A song, a place, a woman. Lots of gay men experimented before they came out. Or maybe Landry was bi. Maybe he was flirting with Mercy. She'd had that happen before. Or she could be freaking out because seeing that damn tattoo had made her heart feel like it was about to slide down the mountain like an avalanche.

Gabbie.

Mercy touched her fingers to the scar on her face. There was never a better representation of before and after. Before, when Mercy had only been a disappointing fuck-up. After, when Mercy had destroyed the only good thing that had ever happened in her life. Not just the good thing, but her chance at happiness. At peace. At a future that didn't leave her desperate to go back and change the past.

She willed the McAlpine switch to flip back on and take her to everything-is-fine land. Mercy had enough stress without looking for more things to stress about. She looked down at her to-do list. She needed to check on the honeymooners. She should go by the kitchen because there was no way Bitty had told them about Chuck's allergy. She should find Fish and make things right. She should fix the broken toilet herself. The investors would show up at some point. Apparently, they were too good for the hike and would drive in on the access road. Mercy hadn't spent much time considering how she would act around them. She was torn between being coldly polite and scratching their eyes out.

Gabbie.

The switch failed her. She stepped off the trail and found a tree to lean against. Sweat was rolling down her back. Her stomach had turned sour. She leaned over and coughed up bile. The splatter bowed the fronds of a maidenhair fern down to the ground. Mercy felt the same way; like a heavy sickness was constantly weighing her down.

"Mercy Mac?"

Fucking Dave.

"What're you doing hiding in the trees?" Dave pushed his way through the overgrowth. He smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes.

She said, "I found vape cartridges in Jon's room. That's down to you."

"What?" He put on his insulted look. "Jesus, girl, you gonna lay into me every time you see me today?"

"What do you want, Dave? I've got work to do."

"Come on, now," he said. "I was gonna tell you something funny, but I don't know if you're in the mood."

Mercy leaned against the tree. She knew he wasn't going to let her leave. "What is it?"

"Not with that attitude."

She wanted to smack him. Three hours ago, he was flopping on top of her like a gasping whale. Two hours ago, she was threatening to ruin his life. And now he wanted to tell her a funny story.

She relented, "I'm sorry. What is it?"

"You sure?" He didn't wait for more coaxing. "Remember that kid I told you about from the home?"

He had a lot of stories about kids from the children's home. "Which one?"

"Trashcan," he said. "He's the tall guy that showed up today. Will Trent. The dude with the redhead."

Mercy couldn't help herself. "That's the girl who gave you your first blowjob?"

"Nah, that was another girl, Angie. Guess she finally dropped his sorry ass. Or she's dead in a ditch somewhere. Never thought that dumbass would end up with somebody normal."

Normal was Dave's word for people who weren't screwed up by their shitty childhoods. Mercy had rarely met someone who fell into the category, but Sara Linton seemed to be one of those lucky few. She gave off that vibe that only other women could pick up on. She had her shit together.

Mercy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her shit was scattered around like broken Legos on the floor.

Dave said, "It's weird seeing him up here. I told you he don't read too good. Couldn't memorize the Bible verses. Kind of pathetic him showing up near the campground all these years later. Like, dude, you had your chance. Time to move on."

Mercy leaned back against the tree. She was still sweating. The puked-on fern was less than twelve inches from his foot. As usual, Dave was too caught up in himself to notice. As usual, she had to pretend to be interested. Or maybe pretend wasn't the right word because Mercy was actually interested. Trashcan had always featured prominently in Dave's stories of his tragic youth. The bumbling kid was the punchline to almost every joke.

This would not be the first time Dave had read somebody wrong. Mercy hadn't spoken a word to Will Trent, but his wife was not the type of woman who'd be with a walking punchline. That was more Mercy's speed.

She asked, "What's the real story? You were acting kind of strange when you saw him on the trailhead camera."

Dave shrugged. "Bad blood. If it was up to me, I'd tell him he could hike right back where he came from."

Mercy had to hold back a laugh at his idiotic bluster. "What'd he do to you?"

"Nothing. It's what he thinks I did to him." Dave let out an exaggerated, phlegmy sigh. "Dude got pissed at me cause he thought I was the one that gave him the nickname."

She watched Dave hold out his arms in an open shrug, completely innocent of giving people stupid nicknames like Bitty Mama, Mercy Mac, Chuck, or Fishtopher.

He said, "I mean, whatever happened way back then at the children's home, I tried to be the bigger man today. Dude was a straight-up asshole."

"You talked to him?"

"I was heading up the path to fix that toilet. Ran into him."

Mercy wondered how dumb Dave really thought she was. Cottage ten was on the back end of the Loop. The leaking toilet was in cottage three, directly behind her.

Still, she prompted, "And?"

Dave shrugged again. "I tried to do the right thing. It wasn't my fault what happened to him, but I thought maybe an apology would help him work through some of the trauma. Wish somebody would be that nice to me."

Mercy had been on the receiving end of Dave's half-assed apologies. They were not nice. "What'd you say exactly?"

"I don't know. Something like, let's leave the past in the past." Dave shrugged again. "Tried to be magnanimous."

Mercy bit her lip. That was a big word for Dave. "What'd he say?"

"He started counting down from ten." Dave hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "Like, was I supposed to feel threatened? I told you he ain't smart."

Mercy looked down so he wouldn't see her reaction. Will Trent was a foot taller than Dave and had more muscle on him than Jon. She would've bet her stake in the lodge that Dave had scampered before Will could reach the count of five. Otherwise, Dave would've been carried off the mountain in a body bag.

She asked him, "What'd you do?"

"Walked away. What else could I do?" Dave scratched his stomach, one of his many tells when he was lying. "Like I said, he's kind of pathetic. Dude was always quiet, didn't know how to talk to people. And he's up here at the campground after how many years? Some kids, they never shake what they went through. Not my fault he's still screwed up."

Mercy could say a lot about people who wouldn't let things go.

"Anyway," Dave groaned out the word. "What you said in the family meeting. That was just you talking bullshit, right?"

Mercy felt her spine stiffen. "No, it wasn't just bullshit, Dave. I'm not gonna let Papa sell this place out from under me. From under Jon."

"So you're gonna take almost a million bucks away from your own kid?"

"I'm not taking away anything," Mercy said. "Look around you, Dave. Look at this place. The lodge can take care of Jon for the rest of his life. He can pass it on to his kids and grandkids. That's his name on the sign by the road, too. All he's gotta do is work. I owe him that much."

"You owe him a choice," Dave said. "Ask Jon what he wants to do. He's practically a man. This should be his decision, too."

Mercy felt her head shaking before he finished. "Hell. No."

"That's what I thought." Dave snorted in disappointment. "You're not asking Jon because you're too much of a coward to hear his answer."

"I'm not asking Jon because he's still a kid," Mercy said. "I won't put that kind of pressure on him. Jon will know you want to sell. He'll know I don't. It'd be like asking him to choose between us. Do you really want to do that to him?"

"He could go to college."

Mercy was shocked by the suggestion. Not because she didn't want Jon to have an education, but because Dave had bullied Jon for years into thinking college was a waste of time. He'd done the same thing to Mercy when she'd started taking night classes to get her GED. He never wanted anybody to do more than he had.

"Merce," Dave said. "Think about what you're trying to pass up. You been wanting to get off this mountain as long as I've known you."

"I wanted to get off the mountain with you, Dave. And I was fifteen years old when I told you that. I'm not a baby anymore. I like running this place. You said I was good at it."

"That was just—" he waved his hand, dismissing the compliment that had made her feel so damn proud. "You gotta see sense. We're talking about life-changing money."

"Not the good kind," she said. "I'm not gonna say what I'm thinking, but we both know how hateful you get around money."

"Watch it."

"There's nothing to watch. It doesn't matter. We might as well be talking about the price of hot-air balloons. I'm not letting you take this place from me. Not after I poured my heart into it. Not after all I've been through."

"What the hell have you been through?" Dave demanded. "I know it wasn't easy, but you always had a home. You always had food on the table. You never slept outside in the pouring rain. You never had some fucking pervert shoving your face into the ground."

Mercy stared past his shoulder. The first time Dave had told her about the sexual abuse he'd suffered as a child, she'd been racked with grief. The second and third time she had cried along with him. Then the fourth and fifth and even the hundredth time, she'd done whatever he'd asked to help him out of that dark place, whether it was cooking or cleaning or something in the bedroom. Something that hurt. Something that made her feel dirty and small. Anything that would make him feel better.

And then Mercy had realized that what had happened to Dave when he was a child didn't matter. What mattered was the hell he put her through now that he was an adult.

His need was the bottomless hole in the quicksand.

She said, "There's no use in having this conversation. My mind is made up."

"Seriously? You're not even gonna talk about it? You're just gonna fuck over your own child?"

"It's not me that's gonna fuck him over, Dave!" Mercy didn't care if guests could hear her. "You're the one I'm worried about."

"Me? What the hell am I gonna do?"

"You're gonna take his money."

"Bullshit."

"I've seen what you do when you've got a little cash in your pocket. You couldn't even hold on to that thousand bucks Papa gave you for more than a day."

"I told you I bought materials!"

"Who's bullshitting now?" Mercy asked. "You're never gonna be happy with a million dollars. You're gonna waste it on cars and football games and parties and buying rounds at the bar and being the big man around town and none of that's gonna change your life. It's not gonna make you a better person. It won't erase what happened to you when you were little. And you're gonna want more because that's what you do, Dave. You take and you take and you don't give a shit that it leaves a person empty."

"That's a fucking nasty thing to say." He shook his head as he started to walk away, but then he circled back, demanding, "You tell me a time I raised a hand to that boy."

"You don't have to hit him. You just wear him down. You can't help it. It's who you are. You're still trying to do it to that poor man in cottage ten. All your life, you make everybody feel so goddam little cause that's the only way you can make yourself feel big."

"You shut your fucking mouth." His hands snaked out, clamping around her throat. Her back was jammed against the tree. The breath was knocked out of her chest. This was what happened when Mercy's pity ran out. Dave found other ways to make her care.

"You listen to me, you goddam bitch."

Mercy had learned long ago not to leave marks on his face or hands. She clawed at his chest, digging her fingernails into the flesh, desperate for release.

"You listening?" He tightened his grip. "You think you're so goddam smart? You got me all figured out?"

Mercy's feet kicked out. She saw literal stars.

Dave said, "You need to think about who gets Jon's proxy if you die. How're you gonna stop the sale going through lying dead in your grave?"

Mercy's lungs started to shake. His angry, bloated face was swimming in front of her eyes. She was going to lose consciousness. Maybe die. For just a moment, she wanted to. It would be so easy to give in this final time. To let Dave have his money. To let Jon ruin his life. To let Fish find his way off the mountain. Papa and Bitty would be relieved. Delilah would be ecstatic. No one would miss Mercy. There wouldn't even be a faded photo on the family wall.

"Fucking bitch." Dave loosened his grip before she passed out. The look of disgust on his face said it all. He was already blaming Mercy for making it get this bad. "I ain't never stole from nobody I love. Never. And fuck you for saying that."

Mercy sank to the ground as he stomped through the forest. She listened to his angry rantings, waiting for them to fade away before she dared move again. She touched underneath her eyes, but she felt no tears. She leaned her head back against the tree. Looked up at the trees. Sunlight strobed through the leaves.

There were times early on when Dave would apologize for hurting her. Then he'd transitioned into his half-ass apology stage, where he mouthed the words, yet somehow ended up blameless. Now, he was unwavering in his confidence that it was Mercy who brought out the meanness in him. Mr. Laid-Back Dave. Mr. Easy-Going Dave. Mr. Life-of-the-Party Dave. No one realized that the Dave they saw was the show. The real Dave, the true Dave, was the one who'd just tried to strangle the life out of her.

And the real Mercy was the one who'd wanted him to.

She touched her neck, checking for tender spots. That was definitely going to bruise. Excuses flooded her brain. Maybe a horse-roping accident. Fell on the handlebars of a bike. Slipped getting out of a canoe. Got caught up in fishing line. There were dozens of explanations at her fingertips. All she had to do was look in the mirror tomorrow morning and pick the one that matched the angry blue marks.

Mercy struggled to get to her feet. She coughed into her hand. Blood dotted her palm. Dave had really done a number on her. She picked her way back to the path, playing a sort of game where she thought back through all of the times he'd hurt her. There were countless slaps and punches. Mostly he was quick about it. He'd strike out, then retreat. Rarely, he would keep on her like a boxer refusing to hear the bell. There had only been two times he'd choked her completely out, both within a month of each other, both because of the divorce.

She'd caught Dave cheating on her. Then cheating on her again. Then cheating on her again, because the thing with Dave was, he took getting away with something once as permission to do it more. Looking back, Mercy didn't even believe that he was in love with any of the women. Or even attracted to them. Some were way older. Some were out of shape or had half a dozen kids or were incredibly unpleasant people. One wrecked his truck. The truck that Bitty had paid for. One stole from him. Another left him holding a bag of weed when the cops knocked on the door of his trailer.

What Dave liked about cheating wasn't the sex. God knew his pecker was hit or miss. What he loved was the act of cheating. Skulking around. Texting secret messages into his burner phone. Swiping through dating apps. Lying about where he was going, when he would be back, who he was with. Knowing that Mercy would be humiliated. Knowing the women he'd roped in were dumb enough to think Dave would leave Mercy and marry them. Knowing that he could fuck around and let everybody find out.

Knowing that Mercy would still take him back.

Sure, she always made him work for it, but Dave got off on that part, too. Pretending that he had changed. Crying his crocodile tears. The drama of all the late-night calls. The constant texting. Showing up with flowers and a romantic playlist and a poem he'd written on the back of a bar napkin. Begging and pleading and scraping and bowing and cooking and cleaning and showing a sudden interest in parenting Jon and being saccharine sweet until Mercy took him back.

Then a month later, beating the shit out of her for dropping her keys too loudly on the kitchen table.

Strangulation was a giant red flag. At least that was what Mercy had read online. When a man put his hands around a woman's neck, that woman was six times more likely to suffer serious violence or die by homicide.

The first time he'd strangled her was the first time Mercy had asked him for a divorce. Asked him, not told him, like she needed his permission. Dave had exploded. Squeezed her neck so hard she'd felt the cartilage move. She'd passed out cold in their trailer, woken up covered in her own piss.

The second time was when she'd told him she'd found a little apartment for her and Jon in town. Mercy couldn't remember what happened next, other than that she'd really thought she was going to die. Time had been lost. She didn't know where she was. How she'd gotten there. Then she'd realized she was in the tiny apartment. Jon was sobbing in the next room. Mercy had rushed to his crib. He was red-faced, covered in snot. His diaper was full. He was terrified.

Sometimes, Mercy could still feel his little arms desperately clinging to her. His tiny body shaking as he wailed. Mercy had soothed him, held him all night, made everything okay. Jon's helplessness had motivated her to finally break away from Dave. She had filed for divorce the next morning. Left the apartment and moved back into the lodge. She hadn't done it for herself. She hadn't snapped because of Dave's constant humiliations or the fear of broken bones or even death, but because she finally understood that if she died, Jon would have no one.

Mercy had to break the pattern for real this time. She would block the sale. She would do whatever it took to keep Dave from wearing down her son. Papa would die eventually. Bitty hopefully didn't have much longer. Mercy would not doom Jon to a lifetime of drowning in quicksand.

As if on cue, Mercy heard Jon's loping walk around the Loop. His arms were out, hands floating along the tops of bushes like an airplane's wings. She watched him in silence. He used to walk the same way when he was little. Mercy could remember how excited he used to get seeing her on the path. He would run into her arms and she would lift him into the air, and now she was lucky if he acknowledged her existence.

He dropped his arms to his sides when she stepped onto the path. He said, "I went down to the shed to help Fish with the canoes, but he told me he's got it. Cottage ten is checked in."

Mercy's brain immediately went to another task she could assign him, but she stopped herself. "What're they like?"

"The woman's nice," Jon said. "The guy's kind of scary."

"Maybe don't flirt with his wife."

Jon flashed a sheepish smile. "She had a lot of questions about the property."

"You answered them all?"

"Yep." Jon crossed his arms. "I told her to look for Bitty at supper if she wanted to know more."

Mercy felt herself nodding. There were a lot of things she had changed from Papa's time, but no son of hers was going to sound ignorant about the land they were standing on.

He asked, "Anything else?"

Mercy thought about Dave again. He had a pattern after their fights. He'd go to the bar, drink up his anger. It was tomorrow she had to worry about. There was no way he wouldn't find Jon and tell him about the investors. No doubt Mercy would be the villain of his story.

She said, "Let's go down to the lookout bench. I want you to sit down with me for a minute."

"Don't you got work to do?"

"We both do," she told him, but she walked down the trail toward the lookout bench anyway. Jon followed from a distance. Mercy touched her fingers to her neck. She hoped that he couldn't see any marks. She hated the look Jon gave her when Dave snapped. Part recrimination, part pity. Any concern had left long ago. She guessed it was like watching someone run head-first into a wall, get up, then run head-first into the wall again.

He wasn't wrong.

"Okay." Mercy sat on the bench. She patted the space beside her. "Let's do this."

Jon slumped down at the opposite end, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts. He'd turned sixteen last month, and almost overnight, puberty had finally caught up with him. The sudden hit of hormones acted like a pendulum. One minute he was full of swagger and flirting with a guest's wife, the next minute he looked like a lost little boy. He reminded Mercy so much of Dave that she was momentarily at a loss for words.

Then the surly teenager reared his head. "Why are you looking at me all weird?"

Mercy opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted more time. There was an uneasy peace between them right now. Instead of ruining it by lecturing Jon about vaping or not cleaning his room or all the usual stuff she nagged him about, she looked out at the view. The parade of greens, the surface of the Shallows gently rippling from the wind. In the fall, you could sit in this same spot and watch the leaves turn, all the color draining down from the peaks. She had to save this place for Jon. It wasn't just his future that would be secured here. It was his life.

She said, "I forget sometimes how pretty it all is."

Jon didn't offer an opinion. They both knew he would be perfectly happy living in a windowless box in town. He had Dave's habit of blaming other people for his sense of isolation. Both of them could be in a room full of people and still feel alone. Being honest, Mercy often felt the same way.

She told Jon, "Aunt Delilah is at the house."

He looked at her, but he didn't say anything.

"I want you to remember, no matter what happened when you were a baby, Delilah loves you. That's why she went to court. She wanted to keep you for herself."

Jon stared into the distance. Mercy had never spoken a bad word about Delilah. The only good lesson she had learned from Dave was that the person yapping all the time and being an asshole rarely got sympathy. Which was why Dave only showed his monster side to Mercy.

Jon asked, "That's her Subaru on the parking pad?"

Mercy felt like a fool. Obviously, Jon had seen Delilah's car. You couldn't keep a secret around here. "I think Papa and Bitty have been talking to her. That's why she drove up."

"I don't want to live with her." Jon glanced at Mercy before looking away again. "If she's here for that—I'm not leaving. Not for her, anyway."

Mercy had used up all of her tears a long time ago, but she felt a profound sadness at the certainty in his voice. He was trying to take care of his mother. This might be the last time he did that for a while. Maybe ever.

He asked, "What does she want?"

Mercy's throat hurt so bad she felt like she was swallowing nails. "You need to find Papa. He's going to tell you what's going on."

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Because—" Mercy struggled to explain herself. This wasn't cowardice. It would be so easy to shape Jon's view to her own thinking. But Mercy knew that she would be as bad as Dave if she manipulated her son. God knew she could do it. Even at sixteen, Jon was still too pliable. He was full of hormones and gullible as hell. She could talk him into walking off a cliff if she put her mind to it. Dave would absolutely destroy him.

"Mom?" Jon said. "Why won't you tell me yourself?"

"Because you need to hear the other side from somebody who wants it."

He smirked. "You're talking weird."

"Let me know when you wanna hear my side, okay? I'll be as honest with you as I can. But you need to hear it from Papa first. All right?"

Mercy waited for his nod. Then she looked into his clear blue eyes and felt like somebody had reached their hands inside of her chest and ripped her heart into two pieces.

That was Dave's doing. He was going to take another part of Mercy, the most precious part, and she would never get it back.

Jon was staring at her. "You okay?"

"Yep," she said. "The woman in cottage seven wants a bottle of whiskey. Can you get that for her?"

"Sure." Jon stood up. "Which kind?"

"The most expensive kind. And ask her if she wants more tomorrow." Mercy stood up, too. "Then I want you to take the rest of the night off. I'll handle the clean-up after supper."

The toothy smile returned, and he was like her little boy again. "For real?"

"For real." Mercy drank in his excitement. She wanted to hold on to this moment as long as she could. "You've been doing a really good job around here, baby. I'm proud of you."

His smile was better than any drug she'd ever injected. Mercy had to compliment him more, to give him a chance to be a kid more. She was about to destroy her entire family. She had to break the asshole McAlpine cycle, too.

She said, "No matter what happens, remember that I love you, baby. Never forget that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I just fucking love you so much."

"Mom," he groaned.

But then he wrapped his arms around her, and Mercy felt like she was walking on air.

It lasted about two seconds before Jon broke away. She watched him trot up the trail, resisting the urge to call him back.

Mercy turned around before he disappeared. She let herself take a few seconds to collect herself before she got back to work. She went left at the split and walked along the curve of the lake. She could smell the fresh scent of the water alongside a musty, woodsy undertone.

They did a campfire every Saturday night by the Shallows to give the guests one last hurrah. S'mores and hot chocolate and Fish strumming his mandolin because obviously Fish was the type of sensitive soul who played the mandolin. Guests loved it. Honestly, Mercy did, too. She liked seeing the smiles on their faces and knowing that she was part of the reason they were happy. As the mother of a teenage son, as the ex-wife of an abusive alcoholic, as the daughter of a cruel son-of-a-bitch and a cold and distant mother, she had to take her wins where she could find them.

Mercy looked out over the water. She wondered how Papa would explain the investors to Jon. Would he paint Mercy in a bad light? Would he scream and curse her name? Had she unwittingly done some stealthy manipulation? The person being an asshole rarely got sympathy. Jon would want to protect her, even if he didn't agree with her.

There was nothing she could do now but wait for him to find her.

Working would make that time go by faster. She took out her notepad. She would check on the honeymooners on her way back up the hill. She would fix the toilet herself. She would have to talk to the kitchen. She made a mark in the back for the bottle of whiskey Jon was delivering to cottage seven. She had a feeling the dentist would drop some serious dough before she checked out on Sunday. No reason Monica shouldn't have the top shelf bottles with her platinum Amex. Papa was a teetotaler. He had never pushed liquor sales. The small batch whiskeys Mercy had promoted in the last year were almost solely responsible for the jump in profit.

Mercy tucked her pad back in her pocket as she walked down the terraced path. She saw Fish by the equipment shed. He was hosing out the canoes. Mercy's heart was pained at the sight of her brother on his knees. Fish was so earnest and true. He was the oldest child, but Papa had always treated him like an afterthought. Then Dave had come along and Bitty had made it clear who she really thought of as her son. It was no wonder he'd chosen to basically disappear.

She was about to call his name when Chuck came out of the equipment shed. His shirt was off. His face and chest were so red that they looked sunburned. He was carrying a piece of flattened out aluminum foil in one hand and a lighter in the other. The flame sparked. Smoke wafted off the foil. As Mercy watched, he held it up to Fish. Fish fanned the smoke toward his face, taking a deep breath.

"Mercy?" Chuck said.

"Dumbasses," she hissed, turning back around.

"Mercy?" Fish called. "Mercy, please don't—"

The sound of her feet running up the trail drowned out whatever else he had to say. She couldn't believe her stupid brother. This was exactly what she'd warned him about during the family meeting. He wasn't even bothering to hide it anymore. What if she'd been a guest? Jon had just been down at the shed. What if he'd come over the trail and seen the two of them cooking like that? How the hell would they explain that away?

Mercy kept going straight, bypassing the fork in toward the Loop. She didn't slow her pace until she was on the other side of the boathouse. She wiped the sweat off her face. Wondered how the day could get any worse. She looked at her watch. She had an hour before she had to help with dinner prep. She still hadn't talked to the kitchen about Chuck's stupid peanut allergy.

"Christ," she whispered. It was too much. Instead of heading back up the slope, she sank down onto the rocky shore. She forced out a long breath. Her senses keyed into nature on every side. The rustling leaves. The gentle waves. The smell of last night's campfire. The warmth of the sun overhead.

She shushed out another breath.

This was her place of peace. The Shallows was like an invisible anchor that kept her tethered to the land. She couldn't give this up. No one would ever love it the way she did.

Mercy watched the floating dock shift back and forth. She had also sought refuge here so many times. Papa hated the water, refused to learn how to swim. When he was on one of his tears, Mercy would swim out to the floating dock to get away from him. Sometimes, she would fall asleep under the stars. Sometimes, Fish would join her. Later, Dave did, too, but for different reasons.

Mercy felt her head shaking. She didn't want to think about the bad stuff. Her brother had taught her how to swim here. He'd taught Dave how to tread water because Dave was too scared to stick his head below the surface. Mercy had shown Jon the best place to dive off the floating dock, the spot where the water was deepest, the spot where you could quietly slip away if guests showed up. When Jon was younger, they would come here on Sunday mornings. He would talk to her about school or girls or things he wanted to do with his life.

God knew he never opened up to her like that anymore, but Jon was a good kid. He wasn't setting the world on fire at school, and he wasn't popular by any stretch, but compared to his parents, he was pretty much thriving. All Mercy wanted was for him to be happy.

She wanted that more than anything in the world.

Jon would eventually find his people. It might take some time, but it would happen. He was kind. Mercy had no idea where he'd gotten that from. Sure, he had a quick temper like Dave. He made bad decisions like Mercy. But he doted on his grandmother. He only complained a little when Mercy put him to work. Of course he was bored up here. Every kid was bored up here. Twelve-year-old Mercy hadn't started skimming from the liquor bottles because her life was so damn exciting.

"Fuck," she breathed. Her brain wouldn't stop going to the bad places.

She forced the switch to come on, mindlessly staring up at the impossibly blue sky until the sun shifted toward the range. She closed her eyelids against the burning light. The white dot left its memory in her retinas. She watched the color turn darker, almost navy. Then it scrolled into a word. Looping cursive. Arcing across Landry Peterson's heart.

Gabbie.

The guests in cottage five had made their reservation under the name Gordon Wylie. A copy of Gordon's driver's license was on file for the booking. Gordon's credit card had pre-paid the deposit, was used to secure the bill. Gordon's license plate was on the Lexus at the trailhead. Gordon's home address was on the shipping labels for their suitcases.

Landry's name only appeared once on the registration, as the second guest. His employer was the same as Gordon's: Wylie App Co. In retrospect, it sounded like something out of Looney Toons. For all Mercy knew, the name Landry was fake. The lodge only verified the person who was responsible for the bill. They took it on faith that people were honest about their jobs, their interests, their experience with horses and rock climbing and rafting.

Which meant that Landry Peterson could be anybody. He could be a covert lover. A longtime friend with benefits. A work colleague who was looking for something more. Or he could be related to the young woman that Mercy had killed seventeen years ago.

Her name had been Gabriella, but her family had called her Gabbie.