Free Running From Mercy by Terra Little

fan base is non-black and your music consistently crosses over. Did you notice that trend starting before or after your torrid love affair with Jose Marillo?”
    â€œAfter,” Pam blurted out. She immediately realized what she’d said and closed her eyes for the space of three seconds. Jose was the music producer he’d asked about earlier, the one who was also married with four children. Just as he had been ten years ago, when he and Pam began working together.
    Pam concentrated on eating her food, taking reasonably sized bites and chewing thoroughly before swallowing. “I didn’t mean for that to come out,” she said after a while.
    â€œIt’s not like the press didn’t have an inkling,” Miles said, wanting to put her at ease. Besides the fact that he needed to keep her talking, the haunted look in her eyes made him uneasy. “You haven’t scandalized me.”
    â€œIf you know anything about me, you know I neither confirm nor deny any of the silly rumors that circulate from time to time about me.”
    â€œYou hardly talk to the press at all.”
    â€œExactly, and there’s a reason for that.”
    â€œWhich is?” He looked at her steadily.
    â€œI don’t have anything to say to them. My life is my own, and I’d just as soon not have the world know everything there is to know. Just because I sing a song and you like it enough to buy it, does that mean you have the right to know everything about me?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say so, no.”
    He wiped his mouth with a napkin and processed what he’d confirmed so far. The affair with Jose Marillo was true, and he knew he could pull together at least a chapter’s worth of information on that subject alone. Marillo was a hit maker, savvy and powerful, and he recalled the man’s vehement denials of an affair with Pam, saying that they were just good friends and industry associates. Miles hadn’t believed it for a minute, and he was more than a little satisfied that his instincts were on the mark. Marillo and Pam had worked together on three of her albums over a six-year period, and Miles was willing to bet their affair had lasted just as long.
    â€œI read somewhere that your favorite dessert is banana pudding,” he teased her. Something in the set of her shoulders warned him not to ask any more questions.
    â€œThat’s probably one of the few things you read about me that’s actually true. Willie makes the best banana pudding this side of the Mason Dixon.”
    â€œThat’s what I know. You want to split some with me?”
    â€œNo, but you can order your own,” Pam said, pushing her plate away and smiling at him. “Some things I won’t share, and banana pudding is one of them.”

SEVEN
    Pam parted ways with Miles outside the diner and set off on foot toward Holmes Funeral Home. She hadn’t seen or talked to Jasper since the night before Paris’s funeral, and she had a sudden inspiration to visit him. A few times over the years she had called him. Other times she’d written him short notes and mailed them or sent him a postcard from wherever she was vacationing at the time. He’d never written back, but she hadn’t needed him to. It was enough that he knew she was thinking of him, which was usually the extent of her notes. Doing okay. Thinking of you. Love, Pam.
    A blast of cool air greeted her as she walked into the home and she lifted her hair off the back of her neck to cool the skin there as she made her way to his office. She found him sitting behind his desk, feet propped up on a corner and a newspaper spread open in front of his face. A smile curved her lips.
    â€œDon’t you have some work to do, old man?”
    The paper lowered slowly and his eyebrows shot up.
    â€œJust got done tussling with Wilma Thomas. Even in death that woman won’t cooperate. Got her in the back. You want to take a look at