Except When Crisis Prevents
Mercy Chapter 6
New to Mercy? Start here with the first chapter
<<So how did it go?>> Isla read the text from Kim while she had her feet up on the coffee table next to Mum that evening, watching Father Brown on TV.
<<Really good. I think we found him a place.>>
<<I’m glad. Dave’s a nice boy.>> Kim couldn’t resist a maternal tone.
<<Yeah, he seems all right.>>
<<I don’t know him that well yet, but he seems unattached.>>
<<Hey now. Watch it.>> Isla made a playfully irritated face at her phone.
<<I know, I know. But you’d like to find someone.>>
<<What makes you think so?>>
<<You’ve said so.>>
<<Oh yeah.>> Mum glanced over at Isla and Isla quickly laid the phone face down on her lap, then picked it up when she looked away. Silly. As if she were a fourteen-year-old making plans to sneak out. <<It’s strange, the strength of these animal instincts.>>
<<Good grief, Isla. You’re a true romantic.>>
<<You could make a case for Phil being a soulmate to you, but that doesn’t mean everyone has one.>>
<<What about you parents?>>
Isla glanced over at them. Dad was in his recliner and Mum on the couch, holding hands in the space between. <<Damn lucky fools the lot of ya.>>
<<It isn’t luck. It’s commitment.>>
<<Well, that could very well be my problem. That and nearing my expiration date.>>
<<Nonsense.>> Isla imagined Kim’s chiding tone.
<<I don’t want to talk about it.>>
<<Ok. But you think Dave will make a go of it?>>
<<I said I didn’t want to talk about it.>>
<<No, no. I mean the business.>>
Isla chuckled at her misunderstanding and typed, <<Oh. It would take a miracle.>>
<<Great, I love miracles.>>
<<How am I surrounded by these people?>>
Kim sent a grinning emoji. Isla ignored it. <<Well, I think I’ll hit the hay.>>
<<At 8:30?>>
<<I said hit it. Not sleep in it. Definitely not roll in it.>>
<<Oh, Isla.>>
<<Oh, Kim.>>
<<Ok. Good night. Come by tomorrow for coffee before work, ok?>>
<<Don’t I always?>>
<<Not really.>>
<<Ok, well, I will though. If I’m not running late.>>
<<You go to bed now you’ll be up at 4:30.>>
<<Coffee it is.>> Isla stood up and stretched, put her empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table where her feet had been.
“Guess I’ll hit the hay.”
“You don’t want to see who did it?” Mum paused the show.
“No, I do want to. I’m just tired.”
“Ok, sweetie. You work so hard.”
“Not as hard as you give me credit for.” Isla kissed Mum’s cheek, then walked over to Dad’s chair and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Goodnight, Dad.”
Isla brushed her teeth in the downstairs bathroom, the only bathroom. Mum had decorated it 40 years ago and there were little shag carpets everywhere, including on the toilet seat cover. Uncle Mike had put down the green linoleum with rose flowers and, because he accidentally cut it upside down, there were a few curling seams where he’d had to reconfigure it to make it fit. The tub was green, the sink was pink in a cream vanity. The shower curtain had started life a creamy white. The room smelled pleasantly of baby powder, plenty of which had accumulated in seams and crevices and shag carpets.
Isla climbed the narrow, painted wooden staircase to her bedroom. She kicked her shoes under the high cast iron bedstead and skated across the shiny pine floor in her socks to the mirror, just to grimace at herself and skate back. She put on pajamas—ah, the best part of the day—got into the cold bed, and switched off the lamp. Ah, sweet solitude, sweet autonomy, she told herself. Sure, Kim and Phil were happy; sure, her parents needed each other. It might be great to be someone’s favorite, to be understood, to have a champion and comforter. But then, that’s what everyone wanted. What she’d really get was someone who wanted all her attention and affection and support, who would drain her personal resources dry. She’d come to bed at night and instead of finding comfort she’d find neediness. No thanks. She was all set.
Isla woke up cozy under the blankets in a cool room, which was what she liked. She wasn’t a lingerer. It was early, like Kim had said, not 4:30 a.m., but maybe 6:00 or 6:30 a.m. She threw back the covers and let the fresh air invigorate her.
Her room was light blue and white, almost frosty looking, her furnishings rather austere: a wicker chair by the window, a white bureau against the wall. It was old, her grandmother’s; the drawer pulls were apple blossoms carved from wood, and over it hung a large round mirror with a frosted edge but no frame. The white nightstand by her bed had been made by her great-grandfather.
There was a timid knock on the door. “Isla?” Mum whispered, “Are you up?”
“Yup.”
“Aunt Dottie needs a ride to work, can you take her when you go in?”
“Yeah, I’m leaving early to have coffee with Kim though, maybe 7:30ish?” Dottie was Mum’s aunt, 15 years older than her, and still working at Dollar General. She claimed didn’t want to retire and just rot in her house, which was probably true, but the money didn’t hurt either, such as it was.
“She says fine,” Isla heard Mum speak into the phone, “she’ll be there at 7:30.”
Isla had a bowl of oatmeal at the kitchen table while Mum nursed a weak tea. “Austin’s going to trim up that brush by the road today.”
“Good. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to do it.”
“It’s ok. Austin needs the work.”
“You’re paying him?” Mum nodded. “Austin needs a better plan, that’s what he needs.” Her cousin, Mike and Pam’s son, was in his second year post-high school. He was building a steady career of odd-jobbing for his family members but there wasn’t much room for advancement.
“He’s young, Isla. He’ll get there.”
“I hope so.” Robbie didn’t, she added silently. But the topic was too painful to mention out loud. Isla finished a glass of milk, grabbed her backpack and kissed Mum’s cheek. “See you tonight. Don’t worry about supper. I’ll make it when I get home.”
Isla pulled her car up into the dirt driveway of a small square ranch. Its cedar shakes had long ago been painted green but had gone back to gray in many places now. Through the specked glass on the garage door, Isla could see trash bags piled up. Another job for Austin, maybe.
The side door opened and Aunt Dottie stood on the steps fiddling with the lock. The steps were fairly new, still fresh yellow wood. Isla hoped they had some kind of finish on them. Dottie’s cropped pastel striped pants showed the thick ropey veins in her swollen ankles. She walked towards Isla with a pained, rolling gate. She wore an unseasonable fleece vest unzipped—perhaps it couldn’t zip—over her baggy pink t-shirt that had maybe been washed too many times. The neckline was stretched out a bit. She heaved into the passenger seat.
“Morning, Aunt Dot.”
“Morning, deah.” Dottie’s voice was raspy with age and cigarette smoke.
“You feeling all right?”
“Much as I ever do . . . gawd, what’s that crap?” She pointed to the radio.
“NPR.”
“Freaking liberals. You listen to that?”
“It’s interesting.”
“Don’t you believe a word they say, you understand. I say that as your aunt that loves you.” She added a brisk nod for emphasis.
Isla chuckled. “Ok, Dottie. Hey, where’s your car?”
“Down to the garage.”
“Buddy’s?”
“No, no, this guy down the road. You seen him? Big guy. Big, big guy. Nice guy, awful nice. You know him?”
Isla laughed. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Danny Fisher. Awful nice guy.”
“Is that why you’re not going to Bud? Some beefcake?”
“Isla! I am 80 years old! For heaven’s sake . . . he’s a neighbor.” Dot flipped down the mirror and opened one eye wide. “Think I’m getting a stye. Always something.” Her gray skin was slightly bumpy, like a basketball but less pronounced. She’d never worn a speck of makeup and was proud of it. She patted her gray hair that was in a ponytail and put the mirror back. “It’ll do.”
“Dot, do you want me to see if Austin can haul those bags away from the garage for you?”
“That’s Vick’s stuff.” Aunt Dot’s husband had died seven years ago.
“You plan on using it?”
“I dunno, maybe I’ll sell it sometime.”
“How?”
“Maybe I’ll have a yard sale sometime. I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you what I could use Austin’s help with, though; I’d like to get my new tarps on this weekend. Lots of rain coming next week.” The roof of the ranch had only a very slight slope and years of heavy snow and ice damming had caused multiple leaks. Every year, Mike or Austin or one of his brothers would come over and put several fresh tarps on it. Isla wished she could get it fixed once and for all, but the old farmhouse gobbled up any repair funds that she could come up with. Every year after the men finished with the tarps, Dottie would make them a mug of instant coffee, feed them cookies out of a blue tin with an orange price tag, and affirm that she was now “snug as a bug in a rug.”
“Call him up, they’ll get it done.”
“I will, I will. Listen Lala,” Dottie fell back on her childhood nickname, “I’d like to do something nice for your mother.” Dottie softly slurred the r’s and shortened some of the vowels. “What could she use? Maybe a nice summer nightie? You think she’d like that? We got some pretty ones in at work.”
“Yeah, she’d like that.”
“Ok, maybe I’ll get her that and maybe a magazine. Oh, maybe a crossword, she likes those.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Oh I just worry about her, I just thought maybe I’d do something nice for her. I know she doesn’t sleep well. I try to do something nice for the kids sometimes.” Isla smiled. The “kid” was 65.
“That’s sweet, Aunt Dot. I’m sure she’d love it.”
“Ok good, good.” Isla was pulling up to the big brown and yellow building.
“It’s ok for you to be this early?”
“I’m on at 8, it’s not that early.”
“Oh, ok, good. How you getting home?”
“Mike’ll be by for me.”
“Ok, have a good one.”
“You too, deah.” Aunt Dot kissed her cheek and then gripped the top of the car to pull herself up.
“You all set?”
“I’m set!” Dottie grabbed her lunch bag and rocked painfully across the sidewalk to the door, disappearing inside.
The school bus was pulling away just as she got to Kim’s. Isla waved to the kids in the window and let herself in by the kitchen door.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily, “how many days until school’s out?” Kim was in flowery pajama pants and a t-shirt, wiping spills off the table. Her kitchen was bright and cheerful, despite a generous amount of toys and books, shoes by the door, and cast-off items of clothing on the bench.
Kim rolled her eyes. “Typical morning. Anyway, two more days. Whew. I could use that coffee.” The pot was still noisily brewing.
“Phil off already?”
Kim nodded. “Oh, he’s long gone. Going up Maine to look at a heap. Some extra special heap, I gather. Parts he can’t get anywhere else, or, I don’t know, something like that . . .”
“You didn’t pay attention.”
“I tried. It was a long explanation.” Isla nodded knowingly. There was a scuffing above their heads. “There’s Dave.”
“I guess you learn a lot about a person living this close.”
“Well, I know when he gets up and when it gets quiet at night. I hear him on the phone . . . not what he’s saying, you know, just that he’s talking. But I don’t know him very well.”
About 15 minutes later, there was one brisk knock on the kitchen door. “Come in!” Isla yelled as Kim stood to get it, then sat back down to her steaming mug.
“It’s rent day,” Kim said, “Dave must be down with his check already.”
“We don’t stand on ceremony,” Isla explained as Dave peeked inside the door.
“Oh, hello,” he said, surprised to see her. He handed Kim the check, as expected.
“Care for a mug?” Isla asked.
“Well, I . . .”
“The coffee is there,” Isla said, continuing to take charge, which Kim was more than happy to let her do. “Mugs in the cupboard above it, sugar in the canister, creamer in the fridge.”
“Is there hot water? I have some tea in my wallet,” he said as he pulled it out.
“Picky customer,” Isla said, as Kim rose to fill a mug with water, then put it in the microwave.
“I’m sorry,” Dave grimaced sheepishly.
“Don’t mind her,” Kim said. “She’s the picky one . . . I buy hazelnut creamer just for her. One brand only.” Kim shook her head.
“Thank you for that,” Isla sat straighter in her seat and did a pleased little wiggle.
“She’s some sort of feminist princess,” joked Kim.
Isla scowled, but then smiled again. “I accept the crown.” She flourished her hand.
Dave sat down at the little round kitchen table with them. He looked at the mug in his hand. “Nevada,” he said. “You been there?”
“I’ve been to the thrift store,” Kim explained.
“Oh, haha,” Dave laughed, not yet quite at ease.
“Have you been there?” Isla asked.
“Not yet, where is it?”
“I mean Nevada!” Isla exclaimed.
“Ah . . . no.”
“Isla’s been lots of places,” Kim said admiringly.
“Oh? Where?”
“Connecticut,” Isla said drily.
“Japan,” said Kim. “Prague. India.”
“Wow, what took you there?” Dave looked at her with interest.
“I didn’t want to sow my wild oats where anyone I knew might witness it.”
“She was teaching English,” Kim explained, rolling her eyes.
“It was a solid gig for a while. But I lack the good nature to be a really successful teacher. I’m a taskmaster.”
“Her parents needed her to come back.”
Isla shrugged. “Mike would be there for them.”
“When he could be.” They exchanged knowing glances.
Isla glanced at Dave. “My uncle,” she explained, “he’s the best man he knows how to be. But he’s . . . perpetually underemployed. When my cousins and I were little, they showed up on our doorstep one cold night because they’d been evicted. We didn’t even know there were problems. Well . . .” she reflected, “I didn’t know anyway. But I was only 8 or so. Austin wasn’t even born yet.” She remembered that night, her cousins walking through the wet dooryard in their footed pajamas, sleepy and dejected. Mum gave Uncle Mike and Aunt Pam their bedroom and made beds for the little boys on the floor in Isla’s room. If it irritated Mum that her brother couldn’t get his act together, she never said. Not outright, anyway. At 4:00 the next morning, Robbie, 7, woke Isla up. They snuck downstairs and ate ice cream while watching aerobics on public television because all the other screens were just test patterns. It was a favorite memory, despite the circumstances. Robbie was her best friend back then. Where was he now?
The conversation was lagging without Isla holding it up. “Sorry,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t talk about it. What will you think of us? Anyway, it’s their business. I guess they’re all right now, anyway. How about . . . how about you, Dave? Do you like to travel?”
“I liked coming to Maine during the summer.”
“Yeah, you and all your neighbors in Mass. Kidding!” Isla teased him. “Only kidding!” But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
“I went to Virginia once, and DC. Saw the Smithsonian. That was when my mom was still alive.”
“Now that’s one place I’ve never been,” Isla said.
“Road trip!” said Kim. “That would be great for the kids.”
“Hmm, maybe next summer.” Isla started collecting the empty mugs.
“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” said Kim. “You’d better get to work.”
“Does the coffee club have regular meetings?” Dave asked.
“Every day that some crisis doesn’t prevent it,” Kim said. “So about once a month.”
“I hereby proclaim,” said Isla, resuming her regal demeanor, “that every Monday we shall suspend both our ‘no boys allowed’ clause and our ‘no Massholes allowed’ clause and provide Dave with all the hot water he wants.”
“Except when crisis prevents . . .” Kim warned.
“Except when crisis prevents,” Isla echoed.
Dave rose and cleared his throat. “I, a friendless male and humble former resident of the Commonwealth, accept this honor.”
“8:00 a.m. Don’t make me late to work.”
“On that note, you’d better scoot.” Kim moved to swat her with a towel.
“Going! Some Dave from out of state is trying to open a business, I gotta see if he’s turned in his paperwork.” Isla left without closing the door behind her as Dave bit his lip and shook his head.
“Guess it’s to work for me, too,” he said to Kim.
“Guess so. She warned you; she’s a taskmaster.”
“Thanks for the excellent water.”
“Anytime!”
Isla’s phone vibrated. <<See, he is nice.>>
<<Yeah, I guess he is.>>
Next Chapter: Frickin' Project Graduation (available Jan. 10 to paid subscribers and Feb. 14 for free!)
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