Free Blackbird Fly by Lise McClendon Page A

slammed
against the defenses of her mind. Harry’s lover, Harry’s daughter.
Courtney’s tears, her sobbing explanation, her pleas for
understanding. Her pitiful voice echoed in Merle’s ears, making it
hard to hear Lillian and her small talk.
    Merle pushed the voices aside. No matter what sort of
messes Harry left behind, she had to support herself and her son.
Lillian represented the stable, secure future, for which Merle had
just enough concentration to play the game. Stability, security:
that was all she could ask for now. Now that she’d screwed up her
own life.
    The older woman crossed her legs. “How is it going
with you and your son — since your husband’s death?”
    Had she been talking to Jeff about her? Everyone was
always hoping they could stop pussyfooting around you. That you
will bounce back, smile, carry on. So they can forget that people
die. Even you, Lillian, so in charge of your life, will give up the
ghost, buy the ranch, sleep the big sleep. Even me .
    “ We’re, well — we’re
coping.”
    Lillian's eyes blazed. “You look tired.”
    “ That’s a frequent observation.”
Merle straightened, pulling herself together. “Look, Ms. Wachowski,
this isn’t an assignment I asked for. I was told you wanted me
here, that you could use me, and that’s very flattering. But I’d
rather be on the front lines. I don’t mean to be rude. I am
grateful,” she added.
    Lillian's face hardened — further — and she walked
around her desk. “Would you like to go back to Harlem? Or the Bronx
maybe?”
    Merle may have flinched. “Ah. Is that an option?”
    Lillian squinted. “I’ll be blunt. You need a lot of
energy to do fundraising. And a very positive, balls-to-the-wall
mentality. You’re our cheerleader, our frontline. You can’t have
bad days in development. You can’t rather be somewhere
else.”
    A shiver made her twitch. Was there a job in the
Bronx? She couldn’t go back to Harlem now, no matter what Lillian
said. Jeff had cast her off without a backward glance. Did she want
to go to the Bronx, start over in another office? Or was this some
kind of test?
    Merle sat taller. She wasn’t going to get fired
because of bags under her eyes. “I'm sorry, Lillian. May I call you
Lillian?" The older woman gave a curt nod. "The job sounded good to
me when Jeff described it. It still does. I didn’t mean to give the
impression that I wanted to go back.”
    “ Yes, well. It’s a struggle raising
money. It's never easy. It’s like getting blood from a stone. You
have to pound, pound, pound, until finally somebody
cracks.”
    She tried to look bright and eager. “I love the sound
of cracking.”
    Lillian looked her over with sharp eyes. “So you’re
taking a couple weeks off? Rest and recover from all your
changes?”
    “ I — I could. Sure.”
    Lillian flipped through her desk calendar. “Most of
the big firms have mass holidays in July and August. Partners come
and go like lemmings. Not to mention this building’s air
conditioning is ancient and the caterers are all busy with
weddings. So, what do you say — September one?”
    The afternoon sun blinded her on the sidewalk.
Merle’s arms ached, her head hurt, her stomach had clenched into a
ball. All this new information was too much: rejection by Jeff,
Harry’s daughter and mistress, scary Lillian, the summer off with
no income, and the obvious glee her new boss took in employing her.
She felt like a punching bag. Could she take a few more body blows
please?
    She stumbled down the steps of the Legal Aid Society,
straightened her shoulders, and headed west into the sun. The
Hudson River lay ahead, wide and gray all the way to Jersey but
sparkling in the light. Where was that river going? Where did any
river go? She’d never thought about going anywhere. She stayed and
persevered, that was who she was. She took the safe path. Kept the
calendar full. No sudden moves. It had always seemed the sensible
way to live. She wasn’t