The Unraveling of Mercy Louis by Keija Parssinen Page A

I guess? Which would’ve been Charmaine’s sophomore year. Me and some of the other kids, we were kind of beach bums. That’s where Char and I first met, at the beach. She saw us and came over and started talking about what we’d seen that morning, if there had been any dolphin sightings, and when the tide had gone out. The surfers in the group were real in tune with the water, so they got into it with her, talking about the weather, full moons and the tide, how it affected the chop. She knew a lot. God, I remember that day so clear. Someone offered her a cigarette and she shook her head at the same time as she reached for it, which made all of us laugh.” Her face hardens. “I knew she was Evelia’s girl, but I didn’t really know what that meant, not then. I took her to a couple parties. We’d get to talking, and pretty soon she was telling me all kinds of stuff, the way girls do, I suppose.”
    â€œLike what, Mama?” Illa asks, greedy for Charmaine’s secrets.
    Mama tenses again. “It wasn’t fair, her going away all of a sudden like that,” she says, voice rising. Putting a hand to her mouth, she turns away, shoulders moving with silent sobs.
    Surprised by the violence of her mother’s reaction, Illa says gently, “It’s okay,” even though she has no idea what’s wrong. She wants to continue probing about Charmaine, but she understands that would be cruel. She vows to bring up the subject in the future, once her mother has gotten over this fit of nostalgia, or whatever it is.
    After a couple minutes, Mama collects herself, but her bottom lip quivers. Her expression, previously wistful, is now opaque. “I thank you kindly for your help,” she says. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” She motions Illa out of the way, then wheels herself out of the bathroom and down the hall.

M ERCY

    I ’M KIDNAPPING YOU,” Annie says when I answer the door Monday morning. She’s wearing oversize red heart-shaped sunglasses, the halter strings of a turquoise bikini pulled tight behind her neck. Her skin gleams with suntan oil and smells of coconut. A red hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear brings some order to her muss of blond hair, frizzy from humidity. Crowned by the fan of banana plants growing by the stairs, she is summer incarnate. Looking at her, I can practically taste the salt of the Gulf.
    â€œWe’re going to Crystal Beach. Grab your suit.”
    â€œAll right, all right,” I say, deciding to forsake the day’s workout. Maybe the beach will shake me from this haze I’m in. “Wait here.” She pulls out a menthol cigarette, puts it between her glossed lips, and makes to light it. “ Annie, ” I hiss.
    She grins at me. “Just trying to keep you sharp.”

    She claps her hands, motioning me off the gallery and back inside the cool dark of the house. I scurry to the bedroom, where I throw my suit and a towel into a canvas bag. Maw Maw’s still asleep, so I leave a note for her on the kitchen table. Ripping down the road in Annie’s Mustang, radio blasting, I feel better. There’s something healing about the beach. Dipping your head below the surf, listening to the waves whisper promises carried from other shores, letting the sun burn away the skin of who you were yesterday to make you new.
    Since Friday I’ve been grinding my teeth over the message I delivered in church: Find the one who did this. I can’t stop thinking of Charmaine, as if she’s the one responsible for the baby, her letter and apology meant for that little one and not me. For some reason, this makes it easier to think about her.
    I peer out my window at the sky unfolding to the horizon. It’s shimmering blue like glazed china. Later there will be storms, thunder bouldering down from quick-forming cloud banks, sheets of sudden rain that will scatter swimmers and picnickers. I love