27
JUDGE
Late the next morning, I check on Mercedes. I slipped out of bed with the sun, but she didn’t even stir. I know she must be exhausted. Like she said, her body is working hard to make two little humans. A boy and a girl. A bubble of something like happiness erupts in my chest at the thought. I close the door behind me, and she still doesn’t move. She’s in much the same position she was in when I left her earlier today, curled into where I was lying, her face on my pillow now, hand where my heart would be. She breathes quietly, expression relaxed, and it makes her look younger than she is.
I think about how she came to be here, in my house. In my keeping. How I took her from the compound bound and blindfolded. How I stripped her bare in every way and broke her in ways I didn’t intend to. I think about how strong she was throughout all of it. All the humiliations, the hurt, the sadness, the pain, the attacks. How strong she is. Stronger than me, I think. I don’t know if she realizes how much I learn from her as I consider how far she’s come. Who she is now. Those women at The Society wouldn’t recognize this Mercedes.
The truth be told, I’ve loved all the versions of her for a very long time. I just never realized having her was possible for me. I never considered it.
I shake my head at my own stupidity, thank the gods that she was able to overcome even that, and brush my lips over her forehead. I tuck the blanket around her shoulder, and I know it’s not just exhaustion that has her sleeping so soundly. She’s relaxing. Slowly but surely. In time, she will trust that we are meant to have a life together. To be happy. I will, too.
Quietly, I leave the bedroom. I’m on my way downstairs when my phone vibrates with a call. I slip it out of my pocket, see it’s my brother, and answer. Even that says something. There was a time I’d ignore the call and send it directly to voicemail. Another thing to be grateful for is my cocky, arrogant brother, who almost died saving our lives. He will probably lord it over me for the rest of our days, but he will eventually walk out of that hospital. Not for a while yet and not without lasting scars both inside and out, but in time.
“Theron, good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Everything okay?” He doesn’t usually call at this time.
“Yeah, fine. Everything’s fine here.” But I hear something in his tone. I’m about to ask what it is, but he continues. “Listen, I know she doesn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know.”
I stop, wait.
“Mom was here. She left about half an hour ago.”
“Our mother was there?” She has all but disappeared after her stunt of sending the bloody sheet to Santiago. Taunting him to get exactly the reaction she got.
“She didn’t want me to tell you, obviously, but I have a feeling if I don’t, she may be gone for good.”
“Maybe she should be,” I say, but I don’t mean it. I know everything we’ve done, all the hurt we’ve caused, has come out of a past that molded us. Each one of us.
“You don’t mean that, brother,” he says. He knows me better than I give him credit for. “She’s probably at the cottage by now. I doubt she’ll stay long, so I’d suggest you make haste,” he says. I hear two women’s voices then wishing him a good morning, and I remember the scene when Mercedes and I visited, two pretty nurses tending to his every need. “Ladies,” he says, his tone different when he’s talking to them. I have to smile. It’s good. It’s what I’d asked for. That he survive. That he heal. That he walk away from this still intact. Himself. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Your entourage has arrived, I take it?”
“Something like that. Passes the time. You do what you want to do, but I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.”
We disconnect, and I slip the phone back into my pocket. Downstairs, I come across Lois and let her know Mercedes is still sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed. I’m about to go into my study to carry on with business as usual, but I stop at the door and change course. I head to my mother’s cottage instead. Hers, too, allows for access from the back of the property. It’s a longer way, but if you don’t want to be seen from the main house, it does the trick. I find her car parked out front, the trunk open. One suitcase already inside.
Eyeing that, I climb the porch stairs and push open the door she’s left slightly ajar. Inside the small kitchen, I find a large plain box on the table with an envelope set against it addressed to Mercedes and myself. I don’t touch it, though, as I hear my mother’s footfalls coming down the stairs. She’s obviously carrying something heavy behind her. I hear the thud thud thud on the wooden steps.
She doesn’t see me right away as she mutters a curse, the wheel of the suitcase she’s bringing down having lodged itself between two of the rungs.
“Allow me,” I say, and she jumps. I give her a smile, reaching over her to take hold of the suitcase as my mother puts a little space between us. I dislodge the suitcase and set it on the floor beside the other smaller one and turn to her.
My mother clears her throat, and I realize how much older she is. Still slender and petite. Still attractive. But older.
“Were you going to slip out in the night?”
She has the grace to lower her lashes, a flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks as she glances at the window. “Not in the night, no,” she says, straightening to her full height of about five feet five inches and readying to face me.
I don’t know what she’s expecting. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. But I start. And I get right to it.
“What did you think to achieve sending that sheet to Santiago?” I hadn’t even known it was gone. Mercedes told me later Miriam had changed the sheets, but I hadn’t given it another thought.
She raises her chin. Aloof is always a defense she relies on. But her eyes give away the truth.
“I was just angry, Judge. So angry. I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Her shoulders slump, and she sets her hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
I pull it out for her and then sit on one of the others, trying to set her at ease. I’m twice her size, and given my resemblance to my grandfather and our past, I’m sure she’s intimidated. This is the most honest my mother has ever been with me. The most real. And I want to keep her talking.
She sits. “I knew her brother would take her away, and then maybe you and Theron could…” She trails off.
“Theron and I are going to be okay,” I tell her.
Her eyes are wet when she looks at me. “When I heard what happened to him, and I was so far away, I almost died myself.” I try not to let that sting. Theron did get the worst end of it. But she continues. “You and Mercedes too, you didn’t deserve that. And I’m glad she and you and the babies are safe.”