Mercy We’d forgotten the pictures. The realization struck after Scary Grandma left to go back to her hotel for the evening, and Caroline and Rose excused themselves for an early bedtime. Even though neither of us were tired, Grant was in our room getting ready for bed, and because I was a giant chickenshit who wasn’t ready to face all that, I found myself lingering in the family room, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened. In the kitchen, wiping down counters that didn’t need to be wiped. And when I ran the wet, soapy rag over the stretch of counter above the junk drawer, I paused, recognition hitting me full force. He’d hidden all the pictures for me. I tossed the dishcloth into the sink and set my hands on my hips, squinting at the expensive-looking handle of the drawer before pulling it open. The first framed photo of our wedding was easy, I’d already looked at that one. My pulse was tripping over itself as I picked up the second. Someone must have snapped it without our knowledge, which somehow made it even worse. We were in what looked like a classroom, but it wasn’t mine. Grant was leaning up against an ancient-looking desk that had seen better days— battered metal, chips in the hard surface along the edges, and old stickers on the legs that someone must have tried to remove and failed. Grant’s hands were braced on the edge, long legs stretched out with one crossed over the top. I sat next to him, perched on top of the desk, my legs crossed and angled in his direction. Whatever he’d said, it had made me laugh—a big laugh, too, based on my facial expression—and he was staring at me with a ghost of a smile on his face, the damnable glasses perched on his nose. He’d made me laugh. Really laugh. He was smiling at me like he liked me. Really liked me. These little breadcrumbs about our past weren’t enough. I wanted to plug myself into a hard drive somewhere, press a button, and download all the things I was missing, but I couldn’t. With his family here, it was the last thing that I could ask of him. Too risky. But in the moment, the gaps in my memory felt like an unbearable assault. No, not felt like—they were. An attack on who I was as a person. What made me me was the collection of my experiences over the last twenty-five years. It was the hard things from my youth that I didn’t like thinking about. It was the struggles that Connor and I faced when he took in a teenager who’d been abandoned by the people who were supposed to love her, just so that she couldn’t grow past them like her brother had.
It was working three part-time jobs to get through school. Long nights studying because what I wanted more than anything was to help kids like me, make sure that they had a voice in their ear telling them they were enough and they could work for any dream, even if the people around them said it was stupid. Who would I be if those things were just . . . gone? Would I still be Mercy? My knees wobbled under the weight of these existential, unanswerable questions, and I sank onto one of the stools, spearing my hands into my hair as I stared at the other face down frame. There was no stopping the pitch and roll of my stomach, the unsteadiness that rang through my entire body like I’d been stuck on a boat for too long. “Are you all right, dear?” At the sound of Caroline’s voice, I snapped upright. “Oh yeah. Just cleaning up.” She joined me at the island, and no wonder I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs—her st eps were completely soundless. I wondered whether they trained them how to do that as rich little children. Her face was free of makeup, a navy satin robe tied around her willowy frame, and she was still so beautiful that I couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?” she asked. “Just wondering what it feels like to be God’s favorite.” Her eyebrows arched gracefully. “Beg your pardon?” “You’re jet-lagged—exhausted, no doubt—and you’re still one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I look like a swamp monster when I miss one night of sle ep.” She pursed her lips, eyes sparkling. “One, I find that hard to believe. And two, you’re very kind, but you and I both know that this comes at great cost and with a little help from experts.” I smiled. “Of course.” Caroline’s eyes landed on the stack of framed photos. “Where were these hiding?” “The top drawer,” I said, mind racing for an excuse. “We had, um, cleaners come before you arrived. I think they moved them to wipe down the counter.” It wasn’t total bullshit. We’d had a brisk, efficient crew of four come in that morning while Grant took me to another pointless You’re doing great, rest, don’t push yourself, come back in two weeks doctor’s appointment. Caroline turned over the third photo, her expression softening. “Lovely. I haven’t seen this one.” Join the fucking club. She set it on the counter, angling it just in front of the other two, and I forced myself not to look, terrified of what she’d see in my face. “I’m surprised you’re not sle eping.”
Caroline sighed. “Yes, well, it turns out that one can worry about your children even when they’re grown and you’re under the same roof. I thought being here would temporarily quiet those thoughts. I thought he might still be awake, but . . .” Her eyes were full of questions when they met mine. “Speaking of quiet, you hardly said a word during the meal. Have we pushed too hard by being here? Rose and I can join Lady Hastings at her hotel.” “No, please don’t. I feel fine.” Based on the look on her face, she didn’t believe me. I set my hand on hers. “I promise. We saw the doctor again this morning, and she wasn’t worried about your visit at all.” Now that was about 50 percent bullshit. I’m not sure how I feel about this, she’d said. If you feel an increase in headaches or pain, or find yourself worrying excessively, remove yourself from the group and take a break. But she hadn’t explicitly said they had to cancel, so Grant and I decided together to allow them to stay since it was only a few days. Her eyes searched mine. “I’m quite glad to hear that. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be missing pieces of your life.” Her voice softened even further. “I’d be terrified, so I find you to be incredibly brave, Mercy.” There was an ominous burning at the bridge of my nose, a thickening wedge in my throat, and I stared down at the counter, desperately trying to swallow it down. It simply wouldn’t do to cry in front of this very lovely woman. Slipping on a mask of flippancy might not solve the world’s problems, but it was comfortable if nothing else. “I’m not sure I’m all that brave. I do get pissed off if I think about it too long.” I smiled a little. “It’s almost like there’s someone pulling strings behind a curtain and I can’t quite cut them loose.” She hummed. “My son has a problem not being in control, so I imagine he feels much the same.” A problem not being in control. My neck flushed hot, and I cursed my pervy little brain at where it instantly traveled at her innocently spoken words. Probably because that control freak son and his glasses were waiting in the bedroom for me, and I still had to pluck up the courage to join him. “He’s been very patient.” “Yes,” she said, eyeing me briefly. “He’s being quite careful with you. It’s different from the couple we saw last year in London.” Her smile was full of affection. “You both seemed hell-bent on eliciting a reaction from the other. And us,” she said ruefully. A warning blared in the back of my mind, a lightning-fast pulse of caution that I shouldn’t be having this conversation without Grant. I let out a short laugh. “Trust me, we’ve been like that here too. I think the presence of Lady Hastings has me thrown more than anything. She’s terrifying.”
The entire dinner had been spent listening to her talk about people I didn’t know, events with the elite that I didn’t understand, all of it quite obviously done to make me feel excluded. Grant and Rose, for their part, tried r epeatedly to change the subject, but the Iron Lady 2.0 wasn’t having it, steering them right back where she wanted. All in all, super fun night. “You weren’t intimidated by her the first time you met,” she pointed out. “It was quite entertaining, my dear.” Now my cheeks were warm for a very different reason. “Yes, Grant said as much.” She laughed quietly, patting my hand in an easy, motherly way that made my chest hurt. “You’re good for him. Good for each other.” Her eyes were so sincere it broke my heart. “As long as you don’t forget that, you’ll be just fine.” Her hand squeezed gently, then slid over mine as she glided back through the family room and down the stairs without making a sound. She’d make a killing as a criminal. I rubbed my hands over my face and sighed, dropping them into my lap and finally daring to look at the third photo. My hands were shaking as I picked it up. It was another candid, this time taken at a party. New Year’s Eve, based on the silly hats and balloons and confetti. Grant and I were oblivious to the people around us, completely wrapped up in each other. One of his big hands held my face, the other was anchored in my hair, and he was kissing me. Kissing me well too. My own grip was tight, one hand on his wrist, the other fisted in his cream cable-knit sweater. There was a flash of his tongue in my mouth, his brow knitted tight in a tortured sort of expression that made my belly flip. The fact that we wanted this on display in our home said things I wasn’t sure I was ready to face, despite my earlier frantic need to know it all. First, we hadn’t just had sex once. Based on this photo, we were clearly having a whole bunch of it. If I saw a shot like this of someone else, I’d assume they were thirty seconds away from a public indecency charge. Second, we were willing to show everyone this side of us. It wasn’t hidden. It wasn’t a secret. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to conjure something. Anything. I’d take the slightest bit of memory, even a fleeting sensation that anchored these images in reality. A foothold that I could use to boost myself a st ep higher. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. That same hot, helpless sensation sw ept over my cheekbones and down my throat, and I willed it away with a ruthless swallow. After I’d checked the locks on the front and back doors, I stopped to study the sky as the last remnants of the sun turned wispy lines of clouds into a stunning light show. The days were getting longer now as we steered closer to summer, and the vivid reds and glowing oranges made me think of something my dad used to say.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Tomorrow would be a beautiful day, if that was to believed—full of warmth and sunshine. He loved those days. Then he could sit outside and drink until the sun went down, instead of staying cooped up inside. I liked them, too, because I had more freedom. I’d be able to wander the neighborhood until the sky went dark, and no one would notice I was gone. I turned away from the window, sadness pulling my shoulders tight as I turned off lights and walked down the hallway toward our bedroom. Before entering, I paused, resting my forehead against the door. “You can do this,” I whispered. “It’s just a bed, and he’s just a man.” The words were simple enough to give me the courage to turn the knob and walk in. Grant was already in bed, his back against the headboard and his leather-bound journal in his lap, glasses still perched on his nose as he wrote something down. He was wearing a black T-shirt that probably cost a thousand dollars, and I was thankful for it. If he’d been shirtless, I might have had an aneurysm. I looked away just as he raised his head. I wasn’t ready for meaningful eye contact just yet. “You were quiet at dinner,” he said, his gaze heavy on me as I walked into the closet and kicked off my shoes. The drawer holding my jewelry was still within view, but I k ept my focus in front of me as I removed my necklaces and earrings. I left the ring on. “Just trying not to screw anything up.” The drawer closed soundlessly, and I turned around, ducking out of eyesight, undoing the top button on my jeans and shimmying them down my hips. I left them on the floor, my silk blouse joining them a moment later. I st epped into a pair of the black pajamas, choosing a pair of shorts instead of the pants because I was already warm. Before adding the matching shirt, I found a soft bralette and slipped that on, then buttoned up the shirt with trembling fingers. Being braless in bed with Grant was just . . . a giant, screaming no. I could only ask so much of myself, and that crossed an invisible line. We stayed quiet while I brushed my teeth and washed my face. When I exited the bathroom, I was pulling my hair up into a knot on the top of my head with a satin scrunchie. I finally dredged up the nerve to look in his direction. The glasses and journal were gone, and the removal of the former allowed me to breathe a bit easier. “Your mother and I had a little visit.” “Just now?” I nodded, pulling back the corner of the blanket on my side of the bed but not getting in just yet. “She was worried about you. Thought you might still be up.” “Worried? Did she say why?” I took a fortifying breath and slid under the covers, lying in a straight line with my head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “She noticed the same thing you did.” My
eyes cut briefly to his. “About me being quiet.” “Ah.” “And that you’re being careful with me.” The blankets felt different tonight, with another body underneath. My palms smoothed over the woven pattern as Grant shifted down to his back as well. The heat of his body was shockingly close, considering the size of the bed. “Apparently that was enough to send up the warning flares.” “Yes, I imagine it would.” He sounded so tired. I turned onto my side and studied his profile as he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What if I can’t do this?” I whispered. “Do we tell them the truth?” Grant’s hand fell away from his face, but he didn’t turn in my direction. Not for a long moment. Behind his eyes, I could see the wheels turning. Could see when they stopped and he arrived at a decision. He turned onto his side as well, his gaze boring into mine. “The truth is tricky, isn’t it? We’ve already learned that the hard way. Handled incorrectly, we may not like the consequences.” What struck me most as he spoke was that I could already feel the stress leaching from my frame. The silence stretched between us, his eyes searching mine like they did every so often, like he was looking for a hint of something that wasn’t quite there yet. Lying this close, even though I was surrounded by that addicting scent of his, just a lingering hint of it at the end of the day, I felt calmer than I had since I woke that morning. More grounded than I had since his family arrived. Grounded. That was a lofty conc ept, wasn’t it? A connection point that k ept you safe. It made me think about my kids learning about grounding wires in science and how important they were. In case of a sudden surge of electricity, a ground ensured that the flow of excess energy wouldn’t cause any further damage. It was a safety measure. A shield of sorts. When had Grant become mine? From the moment I woke up, he’d been there to direct the flow of the blast, something meant for me but not necessarily the best thing for my recovery. He’d absorbed all of it. It made me wonder what was crackling under his surface. What he held back just to ensure that I was safe. “She said I was good for you,” I whispered. His eyes flickered, dipping down to my mouth. “Did she?” His voice was hardly audible, so low and charged. I nodded, wetting my lips with a brief flick of my tongue. “That we were good for each other.” “My mother has always been very astute.”
“So you agree with her?” Grant’s frame expanded on a de ep breath, and when he exhaled, I smelled mint. His toothpaste. He’d taste of it. So would I. There was a raw, pained scream beating at my subconscious to know what his tongue felt like, if it was as good as it looked in that picture. It would be, I knew it would. Maybe, just for a moment, we could lose ourselves in it and find a r eprieve from the hard. I could lose myself in him easily. I could pretend. Pretend it was all okay, and we’d come out of this fine. Pretend like I remembered. “Don’t look at me like that,” he begged in a rough voice. I closed my eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry.” “No, you bloody well aren’t.” The rueful tone of his voice made me exhale a quiet laugh. “No, I’m not.” When I opened my eyes, he was turning onto his back again, his eyes trained on the ceiling. If it weren’t for the color high in his cheeks, he’d be the picture of restraint. “Go to sle ep. Tomorrow’s another big day.” Rest felt impossible, with my blood buzzing and my pulse thrashing in my ears. But I respected the invisible line he’d drawn. As I faded into sle ep, I couldn’t help but wonder when that line would snap, and which of us would be the one to leap past it once it did.