Free Mercy by Sarah L. Thomson Page B

got lost—shoes, gloves,
everything
. Everything she ever cared about vanished.
    At last Haley found her sneakers and was bent over, lacing them up, when her dad came into the hallway, bringing the earthy scent of clay with him, buried deep in the threads of his old corduroy shirt, once green, now gray. He’d washed up at the studio but he’d missed the smudge of clay that had dried in his left eyebrow.
    â€œTaking Sunny out?”
    Haley nodded. Her throat ached fiercely. She yanked a shoelace tight.
    â€œWell. She could use a break, I think. Maybe she’s not the only one?”
    Haley straightened up and gave him a blank stare, as if she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.
    â€œHoney. I know Eddie can be a handful, but this is temporary, you know? He’s not going to be two forever. You just need to be patient.”
    â€œSure.” Gloves in her pockets. Scarf. Sunny came over, her claws clicking on the tile of the kitchen floor.
Why are you putting on your jacket? What’s going on? Does it involve me?
She poked her nose under Haley’s hands.
    â€œYou went to see Jake today? How’s he doing?”
    â€œFine—”
    The word barely got out of her mouth before her throat clenched tight. The hot, prickly pressure of tears stung behind her eyes.
    An arm in soft, dusty corduroy came around Haley’s shoulders, hugging her close. But Haley couldn’t relax into the warmth. She couldn’t let herself slip. There was that bomb inside her, ticking away.
    â€œHoney.” Her father’s voice was low and rough. “I know it’s hard, but think about everything Jake’s gone through. Death’s really going to be a mercy for him, when it comes.”
    â€œIt’s
not
!”
    Haley yelled it, flinging off her father’s arm. Now there was no danger of crying, even though her eyes still stung and her throat hurt so badly it felt like her words were shredding it on their way out.
    â€œSo it’s
okay
?” she demanded, glaring at her father. “It’s just fine that, that—”
    â€œHaley.” Now her dad was frowning, and his voice was a warning. “I care about Jake too. You’re not the only one who—”
    Haley snatched Sunny’s leash from the hook by the door and the dog began to fling herself from side to side in the narrow hallway, thumping into Haley’s father’s knees, nearly knocking him down.
    â€œI better take her out,” she muttered, and bent down to grab the scruff of Sunny’s neck, clip the leash on her collar as she stood still for a microsecond of quivering impatience, and let the dog drag her out the door.
    How could he say that? Haley didn’t bother to zip up her coat; her fury was warming enough. She yanked Sunny away from a fascinating stop sign. A mercy? That was just one of those stupid things people said when they didn’t want to admit that things were awful. It’s God’s will. A blessing in disguise. What
crap
.
    â€œJake’s twenty-three,” Haley said angrily to Sunny, who looked up intelligently, as if in agreement, and then buried her nose in a drift of leaves. “He’s twenty-
three
.” Jake hadn’t even gotten to finish college. He’d never gone to New York to work in a theater. He’d never traveled to India, to Spain, to all those places he used to talk about. He’d never even seen the last set he’d designed on the stage. And now he wasn’t going to do anything but die.
    It wasn’t a mercy. It wasn’t a blessing in disguise. It wasn’t anything but horrible. And it wasn’t
fair
.
    Haley pulled Sunny close by her side and stepped out from the curb. Then she flinched back, grabbing at the dog’s leash with both hands. A car swerved; a horn blared. Dirty, gritty air buffeted Haley. Her heel hit the curb and she sat down hard.
    Her heart thumped. Dead. She could have been dead.