Love Mercy Part 13

"Don't worry about it," Mel said, waving at her. "Dinner's on me."

"Thanks, sweetie," she said. They exchanged a look, which kind of p.i.s.sed Rett off. At the same time it kind of made her sad. It was like they could talk without actually saying words. Rett had always wanted a friend like that. She'd thought she'd had it with Dale. The synonym for Rett Johnson should be stupid girl.

She followed her grandma out without saying another word to Mel. Just as they left the restaurant, she turned back to look at the woman, thinking she would be watching Rett and Love, probably still wearing that know-it-all expression. But Mel was staring at the black hole that was Morro Rock. Her face held a look that even Rett could tell from where she stood was one of deep despair.

The next morning while Rett was eating her second English m.u.f.fin, the phone rang. Love answered the extension hanging on the wall next to the microwave.

"Yes, this is Love Johnson. Well, yes she is. May I tell her who's calling?" Love listened a few more seconds. "Just a minute. I'll see if she's available." She put her hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "It's Dale," she mouthed.

Rett froze, not certain what to do. Either Lissa had told him where she was, or Rett's mother had. It didn't matter, because the fact was, he found her. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much of a head start she had.

Love c.o.c.ked her head, waiting.

"May as well get it over with," Rett said, tossing her half-eaten m.u.f.fin on her plate. She could tell by the look on her grandma's face that she was happy Rett chose that route. She took the phone and said, "What?" She watched her grandma go into the living room, closing the kitchen door behind her, giving Rett her privacy. Thank you, Grandma, she thought.

"I'll tell you what," Dale said. "I want my friggin' banjo back."

Even though his words were angry, the sound of his throaty voice, a baritone pitched at just the perfect place, made her heart beat faster. She hated how it caused a longing that made her go all soft inside. How could she still feel like this about someone so creepy? She had to be the most pathetic girl alive.

"Yeah, well, I think I'd like my heart back, you stupid jerk." The minute she said the words, she wished she had said something else. Her line sounded so needy and lame and, worst of all, unoriginal.

"Rett," he said, his voice growing softer. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"Save it for the soaps," she interrupted. "Save it for my pregnant sister."

"Look," he said. "It's not what you think-"

"Not what I think!" she said, hearing her voice go all shrill, like her mother's did when she was mad. "You were s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my sister at the same time you were telling me you loved me! What exactly does that sound like to you? Not something that would win any prizes from Dr. Phil, that's for sure."

"I just meant-"

"I don't care what you meant. Go tell it to my sister. Maybe she gives a c.r.a.p, because I sure don't."

His voice grew cold over the phone. "Look, I've got a lot on my plate right now, Rett. All I want is my banjo back. You know how much it means to me, and I need it for this new gig. It's my big chance. We can discuss this whole mess some other time."

"Or like maybe, never." Take that, you donkey.

"I'm in San Celina. I know where your grandma lives. I can be there in a half hour."

Shocked, she slammed the phone down and ran through the living room past her openmouthed grandma. Ace followed her, barking, excited by the game. She pulled off her pajamas, threw on jeans, a sweats.h.i.+rt and her boots. Almost tripping over the still-yapping dog, she grabbed the black banjo case.

"Oh, man, sorry, Ace." She bent down and patted his head. "Gotta go." She ran past her grandma. "Dale's on his way. Stall him for me."

"Wait!" she heard her grandma call after her. But Rett was young and fast and was down the street, leaving Love standing in the front doorway. Rett felt like the rottenest person on the planet leaving her grandma to talk to Dale, but she just couldn't see him right now. Not yet. And she wasn't ready to surrender the banjo.

Five minutes of running with the heavy banjo case was all she could manage. She slowed down to a walk, wondering what she should do now. She didn't know anyone in this town. Once again, she'd been totally stupid and jumped before she thought. She knew eventually she'd have to go back to her grandma's house where, no doubt, Dale would be waiting. Still, she could hold out as long as she could and decided to keep walking.

"Okay, Mister G.o.d," she murmured. "I'm asking for some kind of sign here. I know that thieves aren't exactly your favorite kind of people, but you know I didn't steal Dale's banjo for no reason. He deserves to be worried for a while. Look what he did."

She knew, even as she said the words, that really, they wouldn't convince G.o.d any more than they convinced her. Stealing was stealing. Look at how people justify stealing music over the Internet, saying its, like, public domain or whatever. They wouldn't be so casual about it if they'd spent months writing a song, trying to get it right, and then if they were lucky enough to get someone to publish it, people downloaded it for free. No, she knew that asking G.o.d to help her right now was being the phoniest of phonies. Still, she thought, still.

She kept walking, turning back every once in a while to look at Morro Rock, a beacon that told her that she couldn't really get lost in this town, the rock that watched over the town like a sentry guard. Like how all the songs she'd sung growing up in the church called Jesus the rock. She kind of got it now. From so much of this town a person could see Morro Rock. But even if you couldn't see it, it was still there. Like, well, like G.o.d. It's not like she never thought about what she sang about as a kid, but now it was beginning to kind of get deeper; she could see where the songwriters were coming from when they compared things. It made her want to go see Morro Rock up close, see exactly what it was made of, what it felt like, how it smelled.

But first she had to figure out a way to get out of this mess. For a moment, she regretted everything: stealing Dale's banjo, running away from home, even being so p.i.s.sed at her older sister. How much simpler life would have been if she'd just pretended like she didn't care when she found out Patsy was pregnant by Dale. She could have just been cool about it, kept her face expressionless, like that lady Mel did. Though Rett didn't like her very much, she did admire her ability to stay cool. How did a person learn that? Rett sure wished someone could teach her.

She stopped, out of breath, and looked around. She'd stayed away from the main downtown street and was walking along a side street. She wasn't stupid; she knew that if Love or Dale wanted to, they could find her in two minutes if they were driving. She didn't have a watch, but she figured it had to be at least a half hour, so it was likely he was at her grandma's house right now. What would Love do? Would she stall him or help him find Rett? She didn't have a clue. Her grandma seemed like the kind of person who did the right thing. But would her right thing be to protect Rett or help a guy recover his stolen property?

To her left was the post office, busy this Sat.u.r.day morning. People were carrying in packages decorated with Christmas stickers. For a moment, Rett wondered what they were doing in Knoxville. Mom always had the coolest Christmas trees. Rett had to give her that. Their Christmas trees were always famous wherever they lived. They were a different theme every year. Last year it was soldiers and flags, honoring those serving in Iraq. The local paper even took a picture of it and put it on the front page. Mom smiled for days afterward. Christmas was always a good time in their house, though Rett doubted it would be this year.

She walked past the post office, trying to ignore the sad feeling. Next to the post office was the fire department. The yellow fire truck had a fake green Christmas bough with a fancy gold bow attached to its grill. Next to the fire department was B & E Feed. She stopped and stared at the red wooden building. A chalkboard next to the open door said, "Don't forget your feathered friends this holiday season! Wild bird-seed-half price-today only."

This was the feed store her grandpa once owned. She'd seen a picture of it in one of Love's alb.u.ms when it was called Cy's Feed and Seed. It was where Love had told Rett that her dad had worked. It occurred to Rett in that moment that these were the streets her dad, that man she remembered holding her, his laugh a deep rumble against her tiny ear, lived and played and learned to do, well, everything a person had to learn to be a grown-up. Her father. Her chest felt like someone had pumped air into it, and with one p.r.i.c.k she'd explode like a balloon. He grew up here. His father owned this feed store. Whenever she'd heard the word family, it was her mother and sisters who instantly came to mind. Maybe, if pressed, her grandfather Murphy, though he was mostly someone who was good for a check on her birthday and at Christmas. In that moment her concept of family changed. My people-she'd heard that remark hundreds of times in the little churches they sang at throughout Tennessee, Georgia, Arkansas and Alabama. Old people were always talking about "their people" and "your people." The words had never meant much to her. Until now. She kind of got it now.

She switched the banjo case to the other hand and walked into the feed store. It was warm inside and smelled nutty, like cooked oatmeal. Before she could glance around, Mel walked out of a back room behind the counter, holding a sheaf of papers. Her head was down when she asked, "May I help you?"

She glanced up before Rett could answer.

"Oh!" Mel said. Her face didn't look mad or sad, just surprised.

Rett hesitated a moment, thinking, well, Mister G.o.d, maybe this is your answer? Was it just an accident she picked this street to walk down? Or was it just some big cosmic joke? Whatever it was, right now, this woman Mel was her only hope.

"Actually," Rett said. "I kind of do need your help." She paused, then reluctantly added, "Please?"

SEVENTEEN.

Love Mercy I'm here to see Rett." The man's low, melodious voice sounded like water gliding over smooth river stones.

Love peered at him through the screen door. Though she had never been the kind of woman who looked at every man she met as a potential source of romance, she also wasn't blind to the charms of the opposite s.e.x. There was no doubt that this young man with the thick auburn hair who stood at the bottom of her porch steps was a fine-looking specimen. Yes, this man with the smoldering dark eyes and long, thick sideburns straight out of the seventies definitely exuded pheromones or whatever it was that drew good women to bad men like ants to sugar water.

She narrowed her eyes, not a bit fooled by nature's peac.o.c.k display. This man had also broken the hearts of not one, but two of her granddaughters and she was ready to let this child molester have the full brunt of her anger.

Dale came up to the second porch step, causing Ace to throw his bullet-shaped body against the screen door. The man backed down, startled by Ace's deep bark. When he looked closer and saw Ace's size, he gave a relaxed chortle.

"All bark-" he started.

"Plenty of bite," Love snapped. "Stay where you are, young man."

"Ma'am," he said, his s.e.xy voice taking on a little steel. "I don't mean to bother you, but, like I said, I'm here to see Rett, not you."

"I don't know where she is." She tried not to imagine this experienced male's voice whispering silky promises to both Rett and Patsy.

"She's got my banjo, and I want it back."

She pushed Ace gently aside with her foot and stepped out on the front porch, cradling Cy's shotgun in her arms.

"Whoa, now," the man said, holding up his hands and backing down the steps. "No need for that." He nervously touched the side of his s.h.i.+ny dark hair, combed in an Elvis-like rockabilly pompadour that reminded Love of the backwoods Kentucky boys at Redwater High who drove two-tone Chevys and ran 's.h.i.+ne for their daddies.

"I don't know where she is," Love said. "And I don't have your banjo. Now get yourself gone right now."

He hesitated, not certain if she was serious.

"I'm from Redwater, Kentucky, son," she said, exaggerating her drawl. "We don't cotton to older men taking advantage of young girls."

His eyes darted from side to side like a panicked bull.

She couldn't help feeling a tiny bit sorry for him. She had been the mother of a young man. She knew that they were often brash, unthinking and way too ruled by hormones. Look at how her Tommy had just up and left his whole life behind because he'd fallen in love and l.u.s.t.

Still and all, her son married the girl. He took responsibility for his actions. This man had wantonly used two young girls, her granddaughters . She wasn't about to let some vague motherly feelings let him off the hook.

"Rett is not here, and neither is your . . . the banjo," she repeated.

"You got it right the first time. It's my banjo."

"I told you she's not here."

"She's in town. I just talked to her. I won't leave without my banjo."

They glared at each other in a stalemate. She knew that legally he was completely in the right. But all she could think of was that she had to protect Rett, help her resolve this situation, though she didn't have a clue how. When in doubt, stall for time had always been Love's philosophy. Then hightail it to someone who knew more than you did about the subject in question.

Using her sweetest cajoling tone, Love said, "Look, Dale. Rett is real hurt and angry, and from what I understand, has a mighty good right to be. I know that takin' your instrument wasn't the wisest thing she could've done, but try to see her point of view." She drew out the try, using a long a-traah. She paused. Should she bring up Patsy's pregnancy? No, best keep things as calm as possible, at least until she found Rett and talked her into giving this boy back his instrument. The situation with Patsy could be dealt with later.

"I'll go to the police," he said, his cheeks flus.h.i.+ng pink.

She readjusted the shotgun in her arms, causing him to flinch. But he held his ground. She was tempted to smack his shoulder and tell him to grow up. Instead, she inhaled deeply and said, "There is no need to go to the police. Let me find her. I'm sure I can talk her into givin' you the banjo, and everyone can walk away . . ." She almost said happy, but that certainly wasn't an emotion that was likely going to result from any of this. "Satisfied. Just give me a little time."

His chest filled with air, reminding her of one of those lizards who tried to make themselves look bigger to intimidate an enemy.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll give you three hours before I go to the cops. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn Express in San Celina."

"I may need a little more time," she said. "Come back at six p.m. That gives me . . ." She looked at her watch. It was eleven twenty-five. "A little more than six hours. After all the trouble you've caused, you can surely give me six hours to straighten things out."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to look dangerous. "No way. I-"

She matched his look with one of her own. "Exactly how old was Rett and Patsy when you started . . ." She didn't know what they called it these days-hooking up? Doing the horizontal hula? She shook her head. "I don't know what the laws in Tennessee are, but here in California, the legal system takes a dim view of adults who take s.e.xual advantage of minors."

His smooth face changed from anger to panic in a millisecond. "Patsy was eighteen! I swear . . ."

She almost laughed at how easy he was to fool. Then she quickly sobered. It was a situation where one of her granddaughters was pregnant and the other was brokenhearted and guilty of grand theft . . . banjo. Nothing funny about either of those things. Well, the grand theft banjo part might be someday.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "I'll be back at six p.m. My banjo better be here, or else." Before she could say another word, he turned around and headed down the walkway to the rental car parked on the street. The car spewed a puff of white smoke when he drove away.

It was now eleven forty. She had a little more than six hours to figure out how to save her crazy-in-love granddaughter's hide. She looked up and down the street, wondering where Rett could have gone. She sighed and went inside to fetch her car keys. Morro Bay wasn't that big, and she knew this town as well as she did her own front teeth. Rett couldn't have made it far on foot, and she barely knew anyone in town. Someone had to have seen her in the last half hour. Why hadn't Love thought to write down her cell phone number? Then again, Rett probably wouldn't have answered.

After driving around for ten minutes, she pulled over and decided to call for reinforcements. Then she would need some legal advice. Her first call was to Magnolia.

"Oh, Lord, I wish I had a picture of that. You totin' a shotgun to the door." Magnolia's laugh echoed through the phone. "We could hang it in the cafe next to the cash register. Scare the deadbeats into paying their tabs."

"Well, it wasn't loaded," Love said. "But he didn't know that."

"I'll find that girl within the hour or I'll give up my claim to bein' a true cracker. Well, half cracker."

"Thank you, Magnolia," Love said. "You're a peach, not a cracker. I'm heading over to Clint's office to see what he can advise me about the legal mess Rett might be in for taking this young man's property."

Magnolia's deep chuckle rang through the phone lines. "Well, b.u.t.ter my lips and call me a square of corn bread, you're finding out the joys of havin' a family pretty darn quick."

For a split second, Love was annoyed at her friend. "You don't have to sound so happy about my problems."

Magnolia's voice was instantly contrite. "Oh, Love, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you. You've been to the moon and back with me and my girls. Remember when Cheyenne dyed her hair that horrible shade of purple? For heaven's sake, her head looked like a grape snow cone. I was about ready to hold her down, shave it all off and lock her in the bas.e.m.e.nt-if I had one. You made me laugh, told me if that was the worst thing she ever did, I was lucky. It was just hair, you said. Then when Jade went and started dating her college professor? That nut job with the two ex-wives and scraggly goatee? He looked like Satan come to life. You said to keep my mouth shut and act like it didn't bother me one bit, that Jade was a smart girl, and she'd find out on her own he was a loser. And she did. All I'm sayin' is, you'll figure this out and everything will be okay . . . eventually. That's just part of bein' a family, havin' crazy times like this. I promise, when all the wash has gone through the cycle and is dried and put away, you'll be glad you went through this. It's a bonding experience. Hold on a minute."

Her voice moved away from the phone, and Love heard her take money, ring it up in the cash register and wish the person a grand day. "I'm back. I'm sorry if I was bein' flippant. All I'm sayin' is that this is just what family does. They drive you nuts, and then you forgive them. Trust me, you'll eventually pay Rett back by drivin' her nuts. You've kind of forgotten that's what family's about."

Love's annoyance flew out the window. "I know you're right. I guess I was just hoping that Rett and I could have a few nice times before we dove into an emotional quagmire like this."

"This emotional quagmire is why she showed up on your doorstep," Magnolia said. "It's really a blessing when you think about it. Maybe she would have never come lookin' for you if she'd been totally happy with her life."

Love contemplated her words. "It's weird to be thankful for something like what has happened with Rett and Patsy, but you're right; if it hadn't happened, there's no telling if I'd ever have seen the girls again."

"So, just deal with this and wait for the good times that are surely coming. Now, go on and talk to Clint. It's always good to know your legal options. I'll get to working on finding our little sneak thief, bless her crooked little heart."

"I'll have my cell phone on. Ring me the minute you find her."

"You got it, baby doll."

Clint Lawhead's office was down on the Embarcadero over a longtime Morro Bay gift shop, the Missing Sh.e.l.l. The owner of the sh.e.l.l shop, Belle Lebovitz, was seventy-five years old. She moved to California from Brooklyn in 1957, the same year the Dodgers came to Los Angeles. She'd married the man who started the gift shop that specialized in all types of seash.e.l.ls and seash.e.l.l bric-a-brac. He died in a boating accident seven months after their wedding. She never remarried and never went back East.

"I'm a Dodgers fan," she'd tell people who asked why she never returned to Brooklyn despite the fact that all her family lived there. "When they go back, so will I." When Clint rented the upstairs offices from her when he started the magazine, she became his unofficial receptionist.

Love poked her head inside the store. Belle was perched on her rickety wooden stool behind the cash register, keeping one eye on her black-and-white television and the other on the three preteen girls picking through some buckets of neon-colored sand dollars.

"Hey, Belle," Love said. "The judge in?"

Belle slid off her stool and shrank four inches. She was barely four ten, though she claimed five feet. Her head of white hair was tinted a soft conch sh.e.l.l pink. "Where else does he have to go? How's things with the new grandmonster?" Her black eyes sparkled. "She give back that stolen banjo yet?"

Love wasn't a bit surprised that Belle knew the story. That was one of the things about being part of a small town you learned to live with. Since she'd always lived in one, here and in Kentucky, she couldn't even imagine having privacy. "I'm working on it. I need to ask Clint about the legal ramifications."

Belle laughed, a sharp goose honk. "That's the real reason I never went back to Brooklyn. Family's best taken once a year, like a flu shot. A quick poke, a little fever and you're set until next year."

Love smiled and didn't answer. Belle had the exact opposite view of family than Magnolia. Magnolia would have her whole family live on a big old compound, all within shouting distance, something her two girls complained about frequently. Love suspected her own comfort zone resided somewhere in between these two extremes.

"Tell Clint he's late with the rent," Belle said. "Tell him I'm thinking about talking to my lawyer." She goose honked again.