Mercy “You know when you have a baby and you only get a couple days in the hospital before they send you home?” “Yes.” “There’s got to be a part of you—as a stunningly proficient health care professional—that wonders how the fuck those people are going to handle it without your help.” I paused. “Wouldn’t you want to ke ep them there until the baby isn’t so . . . breakable?” Nell laughed. “Nah. People are resilient, and they learn quickly. Why are you asking?” We both sat on the bed, and Nell was braiding my freshly washed hair. They’d removed the stitches the day before, and giving myself a normal shampoo had felt like the height of luxury. We waited for Grant to deal with the discharge paperwork. I wasn’t even entirely sure it existed, or if he was just looking for something to ke ep him out of the line of fire. All morning, I’d been on edge. So had he. His prompt arrival at the beginning of visiting hours had brought an entirely different energy from the day before. We were standing on a cliff’s edge, Grant and I, and my toes had curled into the rock face and found it crumbling beneath me before I’d made a single move. Outside my room, Grant’s voice was hardly audible, the de ep timbre sending a frisson of nervous energy up my spine. He was on the phone. Again. The buzzing had been nonstop from the moment he arrived. Texts and calls. The calls were answered, but only once he cleared the doorway. Maybe he had several girlfriends. Boyfriends. Whatever. My mind spun with so many theories I felt like the meme of the crazy-eyed guy with the red string connecting a huge whiteboard of evidence. “How am I supposed to do this?” I whispered frantically to Nell, more quietly than was necessary, but I was not chancing that he’d walk in and overhear my mental gymnastics. “Ahh,” she said knowingly. “You’re the helpless baby in this scenario? Flattering.” “Fuck off, Nell. You know what I mean.” My swearing didn’t faze her, probably because she knew I didn’t mean it like that. “More like, how are we supposed to handle this?” I said, gesturing at my head. There was nothing to see, of course. Not with my hair pulled off my face. The area where the stitches had been removed was healing nicely, and once the hair grew back, there’d be no external proof that I was glitching. “He’s just a man who wants you to get better.” She reached past me to pluck a hair tie off the bed next to my hip, twisting it around the end of my hair where it fell to my shoulder blades. “What’s scary about that?”
“Everything.” With a quiet hum, she shifted so that she was sitting in front of me. Her eyes saw everything. “He makes you nervous, doesn’t he?” I scoffed. “No.” Nell’s eyebrow rose. “A little.” The bullshit accusation in her eyes was clear as day, and I let out a petulant sigh. “Okay fine, he makes me a lot nervous. And I don’t understand, because I don’t get nervous around men. They get nervous around me.” “I believe that more now that you’re not wobbling half naked down the hallway.” “Hey . . .” She laughed. “My point, sweetheart, is that you do give off that If you piss me off, I might burn down your house energy.” I set my palm on my chest. It was a lot easier now without the needle jammed into the top of my hand. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “I’m inclined to believe you.” Her eyes skated over my face, the allseeing, all-knowing Nell. “And he never made you nervous?” “No. Scandalizing that man was my favorite hobby.” I smiled because this memory was crystal clear. “On my twenty-first birthday, Connor got sick and had to crash early. Grant was still at my brother’s place, and I whipped off my shirt and told him I was going skinny-dipping in the river behind the house.” “Oh boy.” “He followed me, convinced that something horrible was going to happen if I was out at night by myself.” “Naked,” Nell clarified. “Well, not yet.” I laughed under my breath. “He was so pissed. I turned around, completely topless, and told him he was ruining my buzz, and if he couldn’t zip it, then he needed to strip down and join me.” “I’m guessing he didn’t.” “No.” Every detail of that night was perfect in my mind. The light from the moon—it was full, or close to it—reflecting off the water like a mottled spotlight, my own audacity more potent than any drop of alcohol I’d consumed. “He leaned up against a tree—not a wrinkle in his oxford— folded his arms, and didn’t say another word. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and ran into the water.” “Why does this not surprise me?” “God, it was so cold. I was in the water for less than a minute when a fish nibbled on my foot. I screamed and ran out. That man was as silent as the grave as I pulled my shirt and underwear back on, walked behind me the entire way back to Connor’s house.”
“Tell her the rest.” My eyes snapped up at the sound of Grant’s voice. I pursed my lips and held his gaze. If he was nervous, it sure as shit didn’t show. “That’s the whole story.” “Oh, we mustn’t tell lies.” His eyebrow quirked. “What month is your birthday?” I slicked my tongue over my teeth. “March.” Nell covered her mouth to hide her laugh. “And?” he prompted smugly. I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” “She got pneumonia,” he finished, shifting his eyes to Nell. “Took her three weeks to recover.” “You can’t get pneumonia from being cold and wet. I probably already had it.” I pointed at Nell. “Ask my very smart nurse here.” Nell held up her hands, getting off the bed. “I’m not getting in volved.” But she paused next to Grant and spoke in a lowered voice. “She’s right, though.” My smile was unr epentantly smug. Grant didn’t even have the grace to roll his eyes. My smile fell on a sigh. “It’s not even fun to be right around you, because you don’t give me the reaction I want.” “That’s intentional, darling.” He tucked a manila folder of papers under his arm and reached down to grab the bag holding my pajamas and other items that had accumulated over the last couple weeks. “Shall we?” “Now?” My stomach tried to kick its way out of my skin, absolutely wild with those stupid nerves. “Already?” His jaw worked back and forth, like he was considering asking me something, but thought better of it. Trying to get a read on his facial expression was pointless, like trying to catch air in my hand, so I didn’t even try. “It’s understandable to be nervous.” I crossed my arms tightly across my waist. “I’m not nervous,” I said, sounding so fucking defensive that I winced. “If you say so.” With his free hand, he gestured toward the hallway. For the first day since I woke up, I was wearing real clothes. Clothes I didn’t recognize. The black joggers and simple white T-shirt were far nicer than anything I remembered owning, and the pants were loose around my waist. Apparently a brief coma and a hospital stay knocked some pounds off. Everything was unfathomably soft and hung off my curves quite nicely. With my hair braided off my face and no visible sign of my battle wound, I felt . . . better. Not quite like myself, but better. As I got off the bed, Grant’s brow flickered slightly, but he k ept himself at a safe distance. Since the finger-grazing phone pass-off and the unfortunate I almost keeled over
moment, we hadn’t touched. My husband, it seemed, was doing everything in his power to make me comfortable. In turn, no matter how badly I didn’t want to say it out loud, that made me really, unfortunately, terribly nervous. I didn’t want to make space for that particular feeling, because I was already at a disadvantage with Grant. Wasn’t I always, though? For as long as I could remember, something about Grant had set my teeth on edge. Almost like I needed to defend my very nature, simply because it was completely incongruent with his. But I’d married him. My ribs threatened to cave in when I thought it. I’d married him. It had been easy to ignore, to allow my marital status to remain an incorporeal being that simply floated to the corners of the room when I couldn’t be bothered to dwell on it too long. But now, it was as solid as shit, because he was taking me home. As I walked in slow, measured st eps, he stayed behind at a safe distance. Before I left the room, I braced my hand on the doorway and turned to stare at the bed. At the forgettable artwork and the walls the color of uncooked oatmeal. The nightstands that had been cleared of flowers and cards, everything that belonged to me already shipped back to a home that wouldn’t be familiar. I pinched my eyes shut and willed my brain to come to heel. Why? Why can’t you just remember? There was no sudden burst of memories when I opened my eyes, but when I walked through the door, the nurses were waiting, smiling and applauding that I could go home, Nell in the center with tears in her eyes. She sw ept me into a tight hug, and if I wasn’t so fucking terrified to leave her, I might have let a bit of emotion squeak through. But I couldn’t, because if I started . . . Oh baby, if I started crying, it would be days before I tapped out what was brewing underneath my skin. I’d need seventeen pounds of chocolate and nonstop rom-coms to have any hope of stopping. A few other nurses I’d gotten to know st epped forward for hugs when Nell finally deigned to let me go. Dr. Washington was there, too, as well as an intern who’d blushed every time I cursed in his presence. Even Fred, the elderly man in the room next door, came out and gave me a hug, hands patting just a little too low on my back before Dr. Washington cleared her throat and gave him a pointed look. He pulled back and winked, disappearing into his room with shuffling st eps. Grant waited patiently for every single goodbye, and by the time we made it through the crowd, he was closer than when we’d left the room, his hand hovering just behind my back as we began walking to the elevator. “All right?” he asked quietly.
No. Not even in the same universe as all right, but I nodded all the same. Eventually I’d have to stop lying about it, about the complete lack of allright-ness, but that was for later. The elevator ride was quiet. So was the walk out the front entrance of the hospital. I thought maybe I’d wait on a bench while he went to get the car, but he carefully touched my elbow and steered me toward a gleaming SUV parked near the valet stand. I blinked. “That’s your car?” Grant paused, waiting for the back hatch to open so he could set the bag in the trunk. “No.” My eyebrow arched. It was a de ep midnight blue, one of my favorite colors. A black grille and black rims, tinted windows, and the blocky Range Rover lettering on the hood were just about the sexiest things I’d ever seen on a vehicle. The back hatch closed on a quiet click, because this was not a car that made a single clunky noise. Grant opened the passenger door, and the sight of the camel-colored leather threatened to pull a whimper from my throat. God, I bet it felt better than sex inside that car. “It’s yours,” he said. “I beg your finest fucking pardon?” Grant’s chest, encased in crisp white cotton, moved on a de ep, intentional inhale, like he, too, was a bit unsteady. Not that he looked it. Cold as freaking ice, this man was. “You don’t believe me?” My mouth hung open, snapping shut when a couple walked past us and gave me a judgy look. “No,” I hissed. “No, I do not. What happened to my Honda?” “Well, when the transmission fell out on our street, I convinced you it was time to let her go.” My lip pushed out in the smallest of pouts. “I loved that car.” “Believe me, I know.” He tipped his head toward the open door. “You love this one, too, I promise.” “Well, sure I do. Look at it.” I sounded pissed off. Probably because I was pissed off. Being surprised by something so mundane as a car—even a car like this—was just one of a million things I’d have to get used to. The universe was hammering into me over and over and over that my own life was an unrecognizable lands cape. That its foundation was something completely outlandish. I let out a harsh breath and slid inside, hands running over the sumptuous leather. “Oh, screw you,” I muttered.
It was too perfect. Maybe if I hated the house, I could sle ep in the car. It smelled incredible—crisp and clean. Fresh laundry and sandalwood. Or, I realized after an embarrassingly large inhale to trap the scent in my lungs, it might be Grant that smelled so fucking good. He eased his long legs into the driver’s seat and gave me a quick onceover. “All right?” “Are you going to ask me that with every scenery change today?” He glanced into the rearview mirror, then pressed a button that started the car with a low, throaty growl. That was sexy too. Damn it. Grant’s big hand held the top of the steering wheel as we pulled away from the hospital, and I studied the interior of the car with a slight pinch in my brow. “What is it?” This guy. He didn’t miss a fucking thing, did he? “So I wasn’t driving my car,” I said slowly, “when I got in the accident.” His eyes flicked to mine, then back to the road. “We were in mine, actually. Haven’t had a chance to r eplace it yet. Been a bit distracted, as you can well imagine.” The breath in my lungs expelled in a quick punch of air. “You were with me?” Grant glanced down at where my hands had fisted in my lap. “I’m not sure—” “Just this one thing,” I said. He was conflicted—that much was clear. And I really couldn’t blame him. “Please.” His jaw tightened, the bunching muscle visible through the dark stubble that he still hadn’t shaved off. Eventually, he relented with a curt nod. “It was dark,” he said. His voice was crisp, the consonants sharp. “We were on our way home, and a deer darted out into the road. You’d taken off your seat belt to— It doesn’t matter.” His voice cut off, and given that I was struggling to breathe properly, I didn’t press him on it. “You weren’t in your seat. That’s why you hit your head so hard.” “Oh.” “Quite.” Maybe it would be like this for a while, where I put my life back together one puzzle piece at a time. Maybe I’d wake up tomorrow and he’d be ready to hit me with a flood of information, but that didn’t seem likely. Exhaustion hung heavy off my bones as we drove in silence. It was like a road trip to a secret destination. Exc ept it wasn’t a very long road trip in the end. The University of Michigan Hospital was on the northeast side of Ann Arbor, and instead of driving back toward the southwest side of town, where I used to live, Grant drove a bit farther east, around the arboretum and Forest Hills Cemetery, with its great tall green trees, then into the neighborhood of Ann Arbor Hills.
As we passed houses—big, beautiful houses that I’d never in a million years think I’d be able to afford—a disquieting sort of acc eptance filled my veins. This was my life now. Nice joggers. Fancy T-shirts. A car that cost more than I made in a year. A husband who’d st epped off the cover of G-fucking-Q. And as he pulled the vehicle into a hidden driveway that seemed to disappear into the trees, I knew the house would be beyond anything I could have dreamed. For a moment I was again the little girl who’d had a tiny bedroom at the back of our trailer. Thin corrugated walls, where cold air always slipped through the cracks. Threadbare carpet. The smell of cigarettes that clung to my clothes and hair, prompting the kids at school to tease me mercilessly. My hands shook as he stopped the car in front of a single-story home set among the trees. I knew enough about this neighborhood that the fact that it looked normal-size from the road didn’t mean shit. The stone facade covered the full exterior, but it wasn’t cold and it wasn’t stern. Everything about it looked warm and inviting and intentional—from the colors to the covered front entry framed by stone columns, to the pristine lands caping that followed the front of the house in curving lines, dark-brown mulch with bright-green bushes: boxwood and another, lighter-colored one I didn’t recognize. There was a tree with bright blossoms next to the front porch. Planters flanking the door filled with light-purple blooms. Pansies, maybe. I couldn’t tell from this distance. The front door was stained wood. And the land surrounding the house . . . there was a lot of it. More than I’d ever had. The canopy of trees towering over the house would create magic in the fall. He turned the car off and stared at the house, like he, too, was seeing it for the first time. Maybe he was trying to imagine what I saw. What I was feeling. But that, I had to believe, was impossible. I k ept staring at the big windows that stretched along the front of the house, wondering what waited for me on the other side of the glass and stone. After this . . . everything changed. The house I was renting before was red. Small. I’d just r epainted the door a glossy black. There was a gouge in the siding where the neighbor kids had hit the house with a baseball. A front stoop just large enough for a single planter that I’d filled with white geraniums. They were the only things I could ke ep alive. It was two bedrooms and one bathroom, with carpet that needed to be r eplaced and an irr epressible smell of garlic in the kitchen that never quite went away. It was the first home that really felt like mine. Now it was someone else’s. Filled with their furniture. Their pictures and their books and things. Connor had helped me move in. He sang show tunes at the top of his lungs and made me laugh so hard I cried. That was mine.
This wasn’t. It was nothing to me. “Take a moment, if you need one,” Grant said, like he was reading my mind. I sank down in my seat and pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, pushing until I saw stars behind my eyelids. My voice was reed thin when I was finally able to speak. “I might need a little longer than that, Hastings.”