The Unraveling of Mercy Louis (27 page)

“Jesus Christ,” Coach says.

Maw Maw cringes. “Jodi, mind yourself,” she snaps.

I blink up at Dr. Elgin's concerned face. He's saying something, but to my ears it comes out staticky. Am I dying? For a flash, I hope the answer is yes. Maw Maw is unafraid of death; she knows she'll be secure in heaven when her time comes. She doesn't rush to me.
The Lord don't make mistakes.
If I sleep for a hundred years, wake cradled in the roots of a tree where the hospital once was, all of these people will be dead, these troubles past. I'm exhausted, my body slack against the floor except for my right arm, which pulses against the air, flexing and relaxing. I feel again that sensation of movement I haven't ordered up, gathered in the muscle just under the skin. Hands under me, but I make myself deadweight; I don't want to be lifted back into that scene.

“Edie, clear these people out,” Dr. Elgin says.
But but,
they say. Their voices grow faint. The door closes. In the quiet of the room, I hear Dr. Elgin breathing.

“Mercy,” he says after a time. “They're gone. It's just you and me now. Will you open your eyes and sit up for me?”

For minutes that stretch on like hours, I don't move, but he waits with me. Slowly, I rise to sitting, then open my eyes. On the floor across from me, he pretzels his legs in front of him like a kindergartener.

“Your coach was right about one thing,” he says. “You're clean as a whistle, according to your urine test.”
Thank God.
“Anything you want to share with me, Mercy? Anything you can think of that might help us get this figured out for you? Any questions we should be asking?” His eyes are large and chocolaty, warm as a horse's.
There's plenty to ask
, I think.
Like how can a mother abandon her baby? And why do we betray the people who have been most generous with us? How can we tell the difference between love and lust? And can we return to innocence after we've sinned?

I hope hard that on Monday, the neurologist will give me a diagnosis and prescription.
Anything you want to share with me?
Dr. Elgin asked. But I need a savior, not a doctor.

We schedule a Monday appointment with the neurologist. When I'm discharged, it's after midnight. Annie, still seething over Maw Maw's accusation, glowers at her as we make our way through the crowded waiting room. We're near the door when I see Travis seated in a far corner, his ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He spots us but doesn't get up; he knows he shouldn't be here. Though I want nothing more than to feel his arms around me, I walk faster, hoping Annie doesn't see him. But it's too late.

“There's your problem, Evelia,” Annie says, halting our group as she points to Travis. She looks triumphantly at Maw Maw. My body screams with indignation, but it comes out as pathetic grunts.
It wasn't your secret to tell, Annie!
Travis must sense what's happening, because he comes toward us.

“Who's this?” Coach says.

“Mercy's
boyfriend,
” Annie says. “See, y'all think I'm the problem, but—”

“Annie, shut your mouth,” Travis says.

But her words are bricks tossed through glass, no chance for salvage. Under the hospital lights, surrounded by Coach and Maw Maw, Travis looks boyish, and for a moment I see us as they do: naive kids fooled by our hormones into thinking what we had something real.

“Not anymore,” Coach says. “Fun and games are over, kids.” On her face is a new expression: anger edged with disgust. She continues, “Do you know until tonight I've never missed a game in twenty-two years of coaching?” She looks at me. “Mercy, I thought we had an understanding. You told me you wanted this, so I've been busting my ass on the phone with scouts hours a day, swearing by my good name you have more in you—”

“Excuse me,” Travis says, but Coach won't be stopped.

“I groveled
in the dirt
to get some of those scouts to take a second look at you, and now I learn that instead of doing
your
part, you been running around canoodling with mister here all summer?”

“There'll be none of that talk about Mercy,” Maw Maw says.

“What?” Coach turns to look at her. “You're living in the wrong century, Evelia. I made the mistake of thinking your girl was different, wanted something more for herself than a baby by eighteen.”

“Excuse us for having a
life
outside basketball—” Annie starts but Travis interrupts.

“Mercy
is
different. She's different from you, is the problem.” He waves his hand at Maw Maw and Coach. “Both of you. You love her so long as she's your little robot . . .”

Huh huh huh.
My head goes gauzy. “Well” is all Maw Maw says, looking at me impassively, as if she's expected this all along.

“We'll go now,” Coach decides.

“Is Mercy okay?” Travis asks as Coach ushers Maw Maw, Annie, and me outside.

They ignore him. Annie tries to take hold of my hand, but I move away from her. How stupid I've been, keeping her secrets all these years, and at the first opportunity, she spills mine. As we near the Explorer, I see a man leaning against the passenger door. He looks familiar, but I can't place him.

“Evening, folks,” the man says. He turns to me. “Mercy, that was quite an exit tonight.”

“You want a busted nose, Gatlin?” Coach says.

Now I know who he is—Russell Gatlin, sports reporter for the
Flare.

“Just want a quote or two, Coach.”

“I don't give a good goddamn what you want.”

“Jodi,” Maw Maw scolds.

“What's the matter, Mercy?” Russell says. “What'd the docs tell you?”

“That's none of your business,” Coach says.

Russell scribbles in a tiny notebook. “What's going on with your arm there?”

“Don't talk, Mercy,” Coach says.

Huh huh huh.

“Excuse me?” Russell says.

“Piss off,” Annie says.

“Get in the car, ladies,” Coach says, opening the back door.

“What's the diagnosis?” Russell asks.

He's looking me over as if my body might give away more clues.

“Hush now, Mercy,” Maw Maw says.

“Don't answer him,” Coach warns again.

All those hours together in the hospital, and they never realized I haven't said a word.

BACK FROM THE
hospital, Maw Maw sits at the edge of my bed.
She doesn't know everything,
I remind myself, pulling the blanket to my chin.
She still believes in me.
Even Annie, for all her jealousy, doesn't know how far I fell this summer. Nobody does, and that gives me hope that I can make things right and get back to who I was before.

Then I remember Lucille Cloud that first night in the forest. How much did she see before she knocked on the window?

My arm refuses to stay tucked, worming its way out from beneath the blanket. Maw Maw regards it like it's a snake crawled up on the porch. Still, she takes hold of my wrist, turning my hand palm up and caressing the skin there. She runs her elegant fingers carefully over the raised veins. “Let me read you, child,” she says. “We've got to know what's coming.” I think of Travis and me in the back of his truck, sweat-slick and panting.
It's the future she sees,
I remind myself. And her hand feels so good; I raise my arm and bring both of our hands to my cheek, kissing the base of her palm. I open her fingers from where they encircle my wrist and place her palm flat on my forehead. Closing my eyes, I move her hand over my temple, down my cheek to my throat. These hands that bathed me as a baby, fed me pea mush and changed me when I was wet. The love lives in her works, in all the drudgery of raising me up. She sheltered me, fed and clothed me, guided me in faith, why can't that be enough? What good are three words, anyway, when words are so slippery?

“My little one,” she says, moving her other hand up to cup my face. “My Tee Mercy.”

She kisses my eyes and promises she won't leave me behind at the end, that no matter what it is I've done, she will make sure I take my place with her in heaven. Then she's quiet, letting her hands absorb the story from my bones and blood. Several minutes pass, my body a coiled spring. Maw Maw's eyelids flutter, she moans softly, her mouth twitches as if in a dream. Finally, she opens her eyes. “Lord help us,” she says.

“What is it, Maw Maw?” My first words in hours, fear-driven.

“Protect these girls, Lord,” she says, gaze cast heavenward. “They know not what they do.”

“What do you see?” I ask.

“I understand it now, that vision I been having for so long, all those girls on the floor.” She's squeezing my wrist so hard it hurts, but when I try to wiggle free, she holds tighter. “I see it clearly, Mercy girl. You're the first to fall, but you won't be the last. The devil is walking Port Sabine, a curse on this town for the soul of an innocent.” At last she releases me, and I rub at the red skin. “Guard your heart, Mercy, a pure heart is the strongest weapon against evil. We were warned of these tribulations, that darkness would descend to test believers and strike down the sinners before Jesus returns. This sickness is a test. Is your faith strong enough, Mercy girl? Is your heart pure?”

“Yes, Maw Maw!”

She grips my hands in hers. She prays for the town, for the LeBlanc Avenue baby, for the girls. Last of all she prays for me, that God will protect me from the curse brought down on us by that baby, that He will keep my heart pure so that I can join Him in heaven soon.

When she finishes praying, she withdraws her hands. “Best keep to the house.”

“Yes, Maw Maw,” I say.

At the door, she turns and says, “Remember, no matter what the doctors say Monday, it's the Lord who heals.
The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all
.”

I don't tell her that my prayers are scattered out in my head like so many Scrabble letters, that I have only this strange unlanguage now.
Huh huh huh.
I can't help but hope that on Monday the doctors will fix my arm so I can keep playing. If I miss many more games, my chance at a scholarship will be lost.

When I can no longer hear Maw Maw's footfalls in the hall, I slip out of bed and move for the stack of letters in my desk drawer. Finally, I will do what I should have done back in May—toss Charmaine's letters and card in the trash. I draw them out and look at them. Charmaine is only paper and ink, and she slips easily through my fingers and into the trash. Maw Maw is the only family I've ever known; she is a rough mother but a good one. Outside, a car glides by, shushing the din off the bayou. My hand lingers over the photograph, the face that tells me, fair or not, what I will look like as a woman. I thrust it to the bottom of the trash, reminding myself that physical likeness is the most superficial bond.

IN THE MORNING,
Maw Maw tells me to stay in bed and rest, then goes to church. For a long while, I lie still, waiting for another spasm, but nothing happens. I decide to go to practice because I can't afford to miss it if I want to play Tuesday.

In the kitchen, the morning paper is wrapped in plastic on the counter. I unfold it to put next to Maw Maw's place setting, but the headline stops me short: M
YSTERY
I
LLNESS
D
OWNS
L
ADY
R
AYS
' T
OP
P
LAYER
. And in smaller print,
Louis rushed to hospital as team falls to St. Pete's.
I feel my cheeks flush. Now the whole town will be watching me, waiting to see what happens next.

As I walk into the gym, Coach sees me; she looks surprised but pleased.

“How you feeling this morning?” she asks.

“Fine,” I say. “Really, honestly fine.” I'm glad to notice my voice is back.

“You had any more of those fits?”