The Prodigal Valentine

From the doorway, Mercy softly cleared her throat. Both Ben and Jacob twisted around. “I thought I’d make root beer floats—how does that sound?”

“Cool,” Jacob said, grabbing his controller again. “Call me when they’re ready, ’kay?”

“Sure thing, your highness,” Mercy said on a soft laugh, her expression sobering when she shifted her gaze to Ben. “Come help me in the kitchen?”

Uh, boy.

“What happened to your sidekick?” Ben asked easily, warily, as he followed Mercy down the hall.

“She passed out long before they found Nemo,” Mercy said in a low voice. “No, leave her, I’ll put her to bed in a bit.”

“Brownies, popcorn, root beer floats…” Shaking his head, Ben leaned against the front of the sink, lowering his voice as well so as to not wake Mattie. “You trying to poison these kids or what?”

“It’s a party, I’m hardly going to serve them Brussels sprouts. And I overheard a lot of what you said to Jake.”

Yeah, he figured this was coming. “You’re not going to even apologize for eavesdropping, are you?”

The refrigerator’s compressor jerked awake when she opened the freezer to get out the ice cream, then the fridge itself for the bottle of root beer. “Nope.”

“And do I detect an edge to your words I should worry about?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate you trying to make the kid feel better, but…” She plunked both soda and ice cream onto the counter, frowning at him. “But giving him false hope when you don’t really know the situation seems a little, I don’t know. Presumptuous?”

“Because who the hell am I to come waltzing back into everyone’s life and try to fix things I know nothing about?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I was only following your lead.”

“I know, I know,” she said on an exhaled breath. “Reach me those goblets over the sink, would you? Only three, Mattie’s down for the count, I’m sure.” As he retrieved a trio of heavy, short stemmed glasses, she said, “Somehow, hearing the BS coming out of your mouth made me realize how ridiculous it must have sounded coming out of mine.”

Ben frowned, only half watching Mercy pour the root beer into the glasses. “What little I was around Tony and Anita the other day…things definitely seemed tense. But do you think their marriage is in that much trouble?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve tried to bring up the subject with my sister, but she won’t bite.”

“Which isn’t a good sign.”

Obvious worry deepened the faint lines already bracketing her mouth. “No. It isn’t.”

Ben released a breath. “I guess I assumed the tension was due to Tony’s breaking his leg and they hadn’t quite adjusted to how they were going to get through the next few weeks.” Not to mention how Tony was going to deal with Ben’s taking over for him during that time. That, Ben understood. Whatever was going on between his brother and Mercy’s sister though…not a clue. “Tony’s being a jerk, isn’t he?”

“Oh, no,” Mercy said, vigorously shaking her head. “There’s no way I’m taking sides in this. For Jake’s and Mattie’s sakes, if nothing else.”

“It’s okay, I do remember what Tony can be like. Especially around women. To tell you the truth…well, I was kind of surprised that ’Nita and he even got together. I always thought she was smarter than that.”

“Tell me that didn’t come out the way you meant it.”

He laughed a little. “Apparently not. And anyway, I guess I hoped either Tony’d gotten his head screwed on straight, or that ’Nita would be able to screw it on for him. But he’s always had this weird attitude where women were concerned.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is throwback.”

“Not that you’re putting yourself in the middle or anything.” When she smirked, he added, “And our folks have no clue, do they?”

“Are you kidding? God knows, Anita wouldn’t say anything, she’d feel like a failure. Especially considering how thrilled they all were that the two of them got together. You’d have thought they’d made the perfect royal match. And in any case, I’m sure she really loves your brother.”

“And you have no idea why.”

“Please. I’m the last person to try explaining the workings of the human heart. Although, to give credit where it’s due, he’s definitely not a slacker—your father wouldn’t get half the jobs he does if it weren’t for Tony’s getting out there and beating the bushes. And he loves his kids. Even if he does seem to think it’s mainly ’Nita’s job to keep them alive. Still…” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure which is worse—having our parents watch the slow, painful death of their kids’ marriage, or getting blindsided by a possible divorce announcement.”

Mercy scooped out the ice cream, carefully dropping it into the first glass of root beer. “Can I ask you something?” she asked softly.

“Like my saying ‘no’ would stop you.”

“True,” she said, a smile making a brief appearance. Another scoop of ice cream tumbled into the second glass. “Given everything you said yesterday…” Her gaze veered to his. “Why’d you come over tonight? Assuming you didn’t know the kids were here, I mean.”

She had him there. “I’m not sure. It just seemed like the thing to do.”

Again, she dipped the scoop into the carton. A glob caught on her knuckle when she drew it out; she licked it off and said, “Should I leave it at that?”

“I’d be immensely grateful if you would.”

A low laugh rumbled from her throat. “Oh, admit it—” Her eyes sparkling with laughter, she leaned close and whispered, “I’m the flame and you’re nothin’ but a big old horny moth.”

He met her gaze steadily, fearlessly. “You’re dripping.”

She flinched. “What?”

“The ice cream. It’s dripping.”

Swearing under her breath, she finished off the last float, then asked him to call Jacob.

A few minutes later, they woke a very drowsy Mattie to welcome in the New Year, after which Ben scooped the boneless little girl off the sofa and carried her to the twin-bedded room next to Mercy’s. A dead weight against his chest, she smelled of popcorn, chocolate, girly shampoo and Mercy’s perfume.

Mercy peeled back the covers so Ben could lay her down; she grabbed that disreputable stuffed kitty and curled onto her side, mumbling, “Love you, Uncle Ben,” and almost instantly drifted back to sleep. With a squeaked meow, Homer hopped onto the bed, forming a tight, furry knot at the small of her back.

Ben straightened, his throat constricting as he watched Mercy draw the covers up over those defenseless little shoulders, reveling in a sense of belonging he’d deliberately ignored for far too long in the name of the “bigger” picture.

Jake begged to stay up a little longer to finish his game. “Fifteen minutes,” Mercy said at her bedroom door, then continued to the living room, where she collapsed on the sofa, her toes curled on the edge of the trunk, her eyes closed.

“I should go,” Ben said. “Let you get to sleep.”

“We never got to the Baileys,” she mumbled, her eyes still shut, then yawned.

“Maybe we should save it for another time.”

Slowly—reluctantly—her eyes opened. “Another time?”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughed. “Not only do I not know what you mean, I seriously doubt you do, either. No, it’s okay,” she said, vaguely waving one hand. “No explanation necessary.” Her forehead crimped. “Bet you hadn’t banked on walking into the middle of a domestic crisis.”

“Can’t say that I did. But—” he shrugged “—that’s just part of being a family, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Her eyes lowered to her knee; she stretched forward to pick off a piece of popcorn stuck to the glittery fabric, then looked back up at him. “Actually, I’m glad you came over. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk to somebody about all this stuff until there was somebody to talk to. Somebody not totally crazy, anyway. Okay, a different brand of crazy, maybe,” she said when he chuckled. Again, she leaned back, her expression speculative. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Even if we don’t…you know.”

“Yeah,” she said drowsily. “Because it was always more than that with you, too.”

Over the sudden buzzing inside his skull, Ben quickly leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “It’s good to be here,” he whispered, then let himself out.

And it was good to be back, he thought later, as he lay in the far-too-small twin bed in his old room, scratching a snoring rat-dog’s upturned belly. Even though, if it had been sanctuary he’d sought, the joke was on him. Between leftover issues from the past and a heap of fresh ones from the present, he hadn’t exactly walked back into a fifties sitcom.

Nor would he have ever believed how quickly a couple of kisses, and a conversation or two could bring the past rear-ending into the present. But apparently he’d carried Mercy’s scent and feel and offbeat sense of humor with him, inside him, all these years like an old photograph. And worn and faded and cracked though it might be, all it took was a single glance to turn memories back into reality.

To turn “What if?” into “What now?”

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