No More Nonsense
Mercy Chapter 26
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Previous Chapter: On the Books
No texts again this morning. Damn. Isla heard Dad rattling the wood stove downstairs. Time to get ready for work.
She had become a compulsive text message checker, and she always came away irritated with who hadn’t responded (Dave) and who hadn’t texted her first (Danny). Even Kim was not communicating well and Isla felt out of the loop.
As for Danny, she had no right to complain. She hadn’t texted either and she didn’t know why she wanted him to or what she thought he might say. Their outing—ok, date—had gone ok, but there was no reason to think it would lead to more. She saw him around town occasionally and always ducked out of sight, if possible. It wasn’t like her. She wasn’t intimidated by someone like Danny, but he was a big question mark on both a personal and professional level, and Isla didn’t know what to do with unknowns. Once she figured that out, once she’d mastered the situation, she was sure her boldness would return.
“What’s on the agenda today?” Dad asked as she wolfed down some eggs she had hastily scrambled.
“Busywork and paperwork, sometimes both at once, same as always.”
“Well, good luck. I saw you got someone in the storefront down to the corner.” Dad sipped his coffee and looked at her with interest.
“Yup. Hopefully they do well.” There was a rattling outside as a car pulled up. The car door creaked open and shut, and then slow, heavy steps approached. Isla went to open it. “Aunt Dot, hi. You’re here early.” She kissed Dottie’s cheek. “What’s with the car?”
“Oh, I dunno, always something. Maybe I better take it back to that garage. Not that I mind. That Fisher man . . . whew.” Dottie fanned herself with a sales flyer that was sitting on the desk by the door. “You met him?”
Isla didn’t feel like banter and took her dishes to the sink. “Uh, yeah . . . can’t stay to talk, though. I need to get down to Town Hall.”
“City Hall, deah! We’re moving up in the world, remember.”
“Right, right. So they tell me every day.”
Although she wasn’t late, Isla found that an underlying anxiety was making her hurry everywhere these days, and she hurried down the hallway towards her desk.
“Oh,” she said abruptly to Danny Fisher, who was exiting an office, looking at some papers in his hand, “hi.”
“Hi,” he smiled at her.
“What, uh . . . what brings you here?”
“The boys in Public Works have asked me to be a fill-in mechanic occasionally when they’re short staffed. I was turning in my tax info.”
“Nice, nice.” Things were becoming awkward quickly, as usual. “Um, hey! I’ve been meaning to get in touch.”
“Oh?” Did he look somewhat hopeful?
“Yes, we uh . . . oh, we have a series of small business workshops coming up, to sort of help people along, help them succeed, tell them what resources we can offer.” Isla had propped her backpack on the very slim chair rail that ran the length of the hallway. It kept falling so she wedged her hip against it, twisting to pull out a brochure and spilling several pens and erasers. She dropped the somewhat crumpled brochure into his hand. “It’s free and, you know, might be good. Anyway . . . it would help me out, you know, if there’s good attendance.”
“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll take a look.”
“Well, I’d better get to work, I, uh, I think I’m late.” They both instinctively checked the clock above the office door and saw that she wasn’t. “Nice to see you.”
“You too.”
Isla shouldered her backpack again and wondered if he was still looking at her. A grotesquely inaccurate image of what she looked like from behind flashed through her mind. This damn sweater was too damn short because it was too damn small and it was too damn hot for a sweater anyway. Damn it, why was she so hot this early on a spring morning? Her ankle gave out just a little bit and she bumped into the wall and she prayed very earnestly that he was not still in the hallway. She looked back before opening her office door, relieved and disappointed to see that he was not.
But when Doreen handed her the registration slips that afternoon for those who had registered in person, his name was on one of them.
There were four business meetings, every Wednesday for a month. Her routine was consistent: She checked her hair nervously in the City Hall bathroom before she went in, glancing over her shoulder time and again to make sure no one came in and caught her at it, picking imaginary specks off the outfit she’d carefully chosen when she left for work. Right before she went in, she’d look over the evening’s presentation. This had a soothing effect on her; she liked presenting and was good at it. Her notes were well researched and organized. Standing in front of the group put her in the driver’s seat, and she was always more comfortable with that than with being taken for a ride. She’d feel good . . . until she put her hand on the door to go in, and her heart started pounding against her will. She did not like her heart acting on its own volition like that. Her heart needed to understand that her head was in charge.
Danny typically got there pretty early for the cheese and crackers, and he took awhile finishing off his coffee at the end. He always showed up in his work clothes and smelling of motor grease. She liked it; she liked what it said about his work ethic and she found it masculine and attractive. He fit in fine with this group of hairdressers and diner owners. She supposed the white-collar workers of Scottsville didn’t think she had anything to teach them, and maybe that was true. They’d always succeed because the need for doctors and lawyers would never dry up. But then . . . neither would the need for mechanics, not in a place with harsh winters. Interesting, interesting.
He asked intelligent questions during her presentations. They didn’t talk together much, although he always managed to be with her in the same knot of chit chatters afterwards, saying little but looking up when she spoke, meeting her eye briefly, sometimes interjecting a comment here or there.
Somewhere along the line, she decided it was ridiculous.
He clearly was interested in her, but was just shy. It wasn’t even the only time she was seeing him; some business or other seemed to be bringing him into City Hall fairly regularly. And she was clearly interested in him. She had to admit this to herself. It was time to cut this agony short. No more nonsense.
Following the last meeting, as the group was breaking up, she said, “Danny, can I talk to you a sec about your . . . your comment sheet?” She was in a minefield, she knew it, because she hadn’t even read his comment sheet. Luckily, it was in her hand and she glanced desperately at it as they drew apart from the others, zeroing in on the “What could be improved?” section.
“You say you’d like more interaction as a group and less lecture. More chance to benefit from the experiences of other business people Tell me more about what you think that might look like.” She had neared another mine, as criticism was not something she enjoyed.
Danny looked at the white board over her shoulder a little longer than was comfortable, not speaking, then said, “Well, maybe before going into a topic, you could put it out there for people to talk about in small groups of three or four, then have a group discussion about what was said?”
Even her hair-trigger defensiveness was not set off by this mild suggestion; she had to admit it was a good one. Now was her moment, and she’d thought of a smooth entry: “Are you doing anything now? How about a small group interaction at the tavern? I’d like to learn from your experiences,” but just before she said it, she realized it was more icky than appealing. Naturally, she tripped over its rejected bulk, instead saying awkwardly, “Hey, we could go over to the tavern for a bit and talk about this more.” Oh, how she hated stumbling.
She’d been pretty sure of his reaction; he was putting out every sign that this would be a welcome invitation. But instead, he clenched his jaw, crossed his arms, and said, “I think it’s pretty much all there. It’s nothing complex. Thanks for the invite.” He turned and left the room.
Isla was angry. She had put her dignity on the line for this? She channeled her fury into jamming her things into her bag. Was he a “the man has to do the asking” type? Ugh. She hated him. After her bag was packed, she unjustly stared icy needles into the back of the head of a hairdresser that she suddenly realized was much younger and prettier and thinner than her, and better groomed and more graceful. A hairdresser for heaven’s sake! Had Danny been sitting next to her, she suddenly wondered? She couldn’t remember. No, perhaps she was manufacturing a situation to be upset about. As if the real situation weren’t bad enough. This whole game was so stupid and she regretted becoming a part of it.
She was looking at Danny’s comment paper—all of it brief yet complimentary feedback that now seemed to add insult to injury, though some tiny part of her was pleased with it, which she resented as a potential vulnerability—when Bill sidled up beside her.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he chuckled. She jammed the paper into her bag, blushing as though caught at something. “Hey, great idea getting Danny Fisher in here. I just saw him in the hall. Were you able to maybe bring up some of the things we were going to address, like making the facade a little neater? Really good, non-confrontational way to tackle it, I’m super proud of you.” Bill beamed with his super pride.
“We talked about that on my visit months ago, and he has cleaned it up. Didn’t you notice?” Isla’s anger at Danny was now augmented and confused with a surge of defensiveness, and a hint of possessiveness and affiliation she had no right to claim, making her even more upset. “Why are you still here, anyway?”
Bill was never crabby in this way and didn’t pick up on Isla’s animosity. “Oh, you know, finishing up some work. But hey, since we’re both done, want to get a drink?”
He’d been waiting around for her. It had been months since she turned him down; was he somehow still hopeful? He was nodding at her with a beaming, cherry red face and the words came out of her mouth without thought, “Oh, why the hell not?” Maybe throwing him a bone would get him off her case. Of course, in reality it could only make him more obsequious, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. She wasn’t really thinking about Bill at all.
He stuck out an arm, “Mi-lady?” She ignored it and shouldered her backpack. In the parking lot, there was a debate about the quarter-mile drive. She wanted to take her own car. He insisted on riding together. I could have walked there by now, she thought. Finally, she got into his just to put an end to his tenacious gallantry. What was he hoping would come of this? She, for one, was hoping for a half hour of office chit chat and then ducking out to go home. At least, it seemed the best she could hope for.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Probably spam, another new iPad offer, lottery win, Amazon credit, or car warranty. She’d delete it later.
When they entered the tavern, her foul mood went absolutely black, because there at the bar, back to her, legs wrapped around the bar stool, looking at his phone, and nursing a beer, was Danny Fisher.
She tried to steer Bill to a far corner of the room, behind a beam, where Danny would be least likely to see her, but he began to protest and she quelled him quickly because a ruckus was even more likely to draw Danny’s attention.
They ordered. Isla couldn’t pay attention to Bill’s inanities, nodding now and then, expressionless. Bill didn’t seem to care. Danny never turned around, but his presence burned in her peripheral vision. Isla was counting down until the first moment she could possibly excuse herself, and when it finally, by her reckoning, came, she yawned and said, “Well, tomorrow is a work day, Bill.” He looked a bit startled, but, as her boss, could hardly urge her to be less responsible.
“Ok.” He reached for his wallet but Isla quickly laid some bills on the table.
Outside, she insisted on walking back to her car. “I need to clear my head,” she said, and Bill reluctantly drove off alone.
Her anger had burnt out and just the messy ashes remained. She looked at her phone. <<I’m sorry, >> the message she’d received earlier read, <<I wanted to go out with you. I just didn’t want it to be about work. Meet you there? >> This was a punch to the gut. Still, that tiny, vulnerable part of her took a few steps forward. He had said he was sorry. She was impressed.
She had an absolutely unacceptable urge to cry just a little bit. Isla did not cry, ever; she simply didn’t allow it. What could she do with this pungent mix of confusion and relief, despair and hope, frustration? She could go back in . . . but it had been too long, hadn’t it? It would seem she had toyed with him, wouldn’t it?
Before she could decide, the tavern door opened. She looked up, heart pounding . . . and it was Danny. Had he known she was there all along? Yes. Because he walked up and said to her, “So it was about work, after all?” But if he believed that, why ask? He was really asking what was up with Bill.
“I just got your message,” she said, raising the phone in her hand, letting out a ragged sigh.
“What if you had gotten it sooner?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I was angry that you turned me down.”
“I was angry that you had to pretend it was just about work. Isla . . . let’s be honest with each other. We’re not in high school. We don’t need to play these games. I’d like to get to know you better, and I think . . . I’ve started to hope that maybe you would, too.” He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his work jeans, staring at the sidewalk and glancing at her occasionally.
“I would,” she said decisively. He looked her full in the face then and smiled as big as he’d ever smiled around her.
“Really?” He kept smiling but didn’t know what to say.
“Really.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
“Damn,” he said, “I actually feel like I am still in high school.”
“Maybe age has nothing to do with it,” Isla said lightly. “Walk me to my car? I left it at City Hall.”
They didn’t talk much, hearts too full. When they were almost to the car, Danny stopped and said, “But what about that guy?”
Isla sighed. “He’s my boss. He’s asked me out a couple of times. I was just so angry at you. I said yes without thinking.” Isla could see Bill’s apartment from where she was standing.
Danny looked troubled for a moment but nodded. “I see.”
“It was stupid. Sometimes people are stupid.”
“That’s true enough,” Danny said, “I guess I had my own part in the whole stupid scenario.” He smiled again and they resumed walking.
“This is me,” she said, stopping.
“Oh yes, I remember. I never forget a ‘face’.”
“We’re old friends.”
“Very old . . .”
“You have a problem with my car?” she said, teasing him.
“Not at all. I like it.” He turned to face her, and seemed a bit nervous again. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes. Definitely.” She looked up at him with a swish of her hair and he kissed her and she felt like a girl in a movie.
The light in Bill’s apartment switched off.
Next Chapter June 20, 2025
Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson