“I don’t like Keegan either,” Cuddy mumbled. “He’s too pretty. Like a snake.”
Mercedes wasn’t sure she would ever describe a snake as pretty, but supposed they had their own beauty, if you set aside the ick factor.
“You’re pretty too, Miss Lopez.”
“Thanks, Cuddy.”
“Not like a snake.”
“That’s good.”
“Snakes don’t have families,” he whispered.
“No . . . I wouldn’t guess they do.”
“Cora liked to talk to me.”
“Well, you’re a nice guy, Cuddy.”
“I told her about her dad.”
“You knew Cora’s dad?” Cora had never mentioned it, and Mercedes couldn’t imagine her keeping something like that to herself. Cora was obsessed with anything having to do with her father. Daddy issues mixed with abandonment, mixed with the trauma of his terrible death.
“I could see him. Been seeing him for a long time. Now that Cora’s gone, I don’t see him anymore.”
“What?” Mercedes gasped. Cuddy continued rambling as if she hadn’t spoken.
“He didn’t have any legs. He didn’t need ‘em anymore, but he still didn’t have ‘em. Ghosts don’t need legs. But he showed himself to me that way . . . maybe so Cora would recognize him.”
Mercedes turned the clippers off. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t get a clean line until they stopped.
“I’m scaring you,” he whispered.
He was.
“Why are you telling me this stuff, Cuddy?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I forget to stay quiet. You make me feel safe, Mercedes. And I say what’s in my head.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, and Mercedes heard the click and slide of rocks spilling through his fingers. “I need more rocks. I’m floating away.”
“Then you keep all your rocks today. I don’t need one.” She finished with his hair, shaky and uncomfortable, hating that she was afraid of him, hating that she might not feel safe with him again.
“I’m sorry, Mercedes,” he whispered. “All my life I’ve been scaring people away.”
She smiled at him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He had sad eyes. So deep and dark, like the ocean at midnight. So troubled. In that moment, he reminded her of Noah in the eighth grade, his hair shorn too short, his eyes too big in his thin face.
“That’s why I give you rocks, you know,” he said.
“Why?”
“If you put them in your pocket, you won’t float away either. You won’t leave us behind.”
“Ah, Cuddy. That’s sad.”
He nodded. “The sadness never floats away. It’s heavy. It’s like a huge boulder. A mountain.”
“Yeah. It is, isn’t it? Maybe we can roll it down a hill.”
He smiled and suddenly he was laughing, revealing teeth that badly needed dental work.
“Gonna roll my sadness down a hill,” he laughed.
“Gonna roll my sadness down a hill, gonna roll my sadness down a hill,” Mercedes sang, devising an impromptu tune and clapping, the way they did at Bible Camp when they sang “Dem Bones.”
The shop was empty, and she twirled around, unfastening the cape from Cuddy’s shoulders and shaking it out in time with her new song. Cuddy reached into his pocket and set a rock on her table.
“Thank you, Miss Lopez.”
“See you next time, Cuddy.”
He was almost out the door when he turned and walked back sheepishly.
“I saw you arguing with Keegan,” he said.
“When? Last night?” The thought that Cuddy had been waiting all night for a haircut made her sad.
He shrugged and rubbed at his face as though the days all ran together.
“A while back. It was dark. I was afraid you’d see me and tell me I was breakin’ the rules. I wasn’t loitering. I was just walking by.” He gulped, and Mercedes knew he wasn’t telling the truth.
“And you saw me arguing with Keegan.”
He nodded, embarrassed. “Be careful, Miss Lopez. Snakes don’t have families.”
* * *
On Friday, May twentieth, two weeks after Keegan Tate left town, Mercedes came home from work early to find Noah perched on a ladder, attaching a backboard and basketball hoop above her garage door. Mercedes parked on the street behind his Subaru, leaving the driveway clear.
“What is this?” she called, climbing out of her Corolla and shading her eyes to peer up at him. The afternoon was warm—seventy degrees—and beautiful, and Noah was in faded jeans, an old T-shirt, and a backwards ball-cap. His goal had been to have the hoop erected hours ago, but Alma had the day off for Mer’s birthday. Alma knew his schedule, knew he’d worked all night, and insisted he have a nap while she watched Gia. He’d slept for five hours, and Alma and Gia had done just fine without him. So the big, red bow around the hoop hadn’t happened, and he hadn’t showered, but maybe he and Mer could play a quick game of horse for old times’ sake.
“This is your birthday present, Mercedes Lopez,” Noah said, smiling down at her.
“You remembered!”
“Have I ever forgotten?”
She screwed up her face, considering. “Nope. I don’t think you have. But I wouldn’t mind forgetting this birthday.”
“Feeling old?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “I am. Old and depressed. I always hated that you and Cora had birthdays before mine. I hated being the youngest. Not anymore. I never thought I’d actually be thirty. I don’t even know how it happened.”
“I got you something else too. Something guaranteed to make you feel fourteen again. It’s in that bag. I wrapped it, but Gia unwrapped it when I wasn’t looking.”
Mercedes ran to the bag, pulling out the blue box with the white lettering. “You got me high tops?” she breathed, reverent.
“White, high-top Reeboks with red accents. The basketball shoes you wanted and couldn’t afford . . . in 1988.” They were about as long as the palm of his hand, but he’d checked the size three times. A woman’s size five. Mer’s feet weren’t much bigger than Gia’s.
She squealed and kicked off her obscenely high, red sandals. Not waiting for socks, she shoved her feet into the Reeboks and proceeded to lace them, giggling as she went.
“Do they fit?”
“A little loose, but with socks, they’ll be perfect.”
“A little loose,” he muttered.
“We need a ball,” she said, jumping up. Her red dress was a fitted, sleeveless number that hit just above her knees, and the new sneakers—despite the red accents—were all wrong. Yet somehow, she made it look good.
“I bought one. But you’re going to have to fight Gia for it. I tried to take it from her, and she morphed from Gizmo into a Gremlin.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s inside with Alma. She kept chucking the ball out into the street. I convinced her to practice tossing it into the toy box. So far, so good. Although . . . she has been remarkably quiet. She’s probably doing something terrible in there.”
Mercedes scampered into the duplex and was back moments later, carrying the ball.
“Gia is eating frosting, and she didn’t even notice when I took it. Mami made me a birthday cake and tamales. You’re staying for dinner, right?”
“I am definitely staying for dinner. I plan on eating half of that cake by myself. You ate half of mine.”
“I made yours. I earned it.”
“True.”
“I think that’s it,” he said, tugging on the net just to make sure. He climbed down and moved the ladder out of the way. “Take a shot, birthday girl.”
“I have to get warmed up. It’s been at least five years since I shot a basketball. How did that happen?” she moaned. “What have I been doing with my life?” She dribbled around, hiking her dress on her thighs so she could get in a better stance.
Noah played some half-hearted defense, swiping the ball out of her hands and throwing up a fade-away jump shot that managed to find its way through the net.
Mercedes huffed and rebounded his shot. Her ponytail was coming loose, and Noah reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her small ear. She was so pretty. So precious to him, and the words just slipped out, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t say anything.
“You got something going with Keegan Tate, Mer?” Noah asked, his voice gentle, his eyes pained.
She stiffened, her eyes flying to his. He’d stayed quiet about what he’d seen for two weeks, knowing Keegan Tate was no longer at Maven, knowing whatever he’d witnessed wasn’t his business, and probably wasn’t serious. But Mer was his business, and he wasn’t going to stand by while someone moved in on his girl. She was his girl. Whether they were both ready to admit it or not.
“No.” Mer shook her head, her face hardening. “Why?”
He bit his lip and studied her, noting her tight mouth and her wary gaze. “I saw you . . . kissing him . . . the other night. Outside of Maven.” He rubbed at his beard, clearly embarrassed. “I swung by, thinking I’d catch you closing up, thinking maybe you’d want to go through the McDonalds drive thru with me. Grab a Coke and a large fry, maybe an ice cream cone if we were feeling crazy. I couldn’t get Gia settled down, so I put her in her pajamas and thought I’d just drive around until she gave up. It was nine o’clock when I drove past the back lot. Neither of you even turned your heads as I slowed. I thought for a minute you were upset. But then he kissed you, and I kept driving, glad you hadn’t seen me.”
“You and Cuddy both got an eyeful, it seems.”
“Cuddy?”
She shook her head, and waved the question away. “I don’t like Keegan Tate, Noah. The kiss was not consensual. And now he’s gone, and I hope I never see him again.”
Noah felt a surge of rage. “What do you mean, not consensual?”
“I mean I didn’t want to kiss him. He got the message. He left. The end.”
Noah released his anger with a heavy exhale, and eyed his friend. He hadn’t been able to get the image out of his head—Keegan Tate bent over her, his hands on her shoulders, kissing her like she belonged to him. It had worn a hole in his gut, and he’d kept his distance for the last two weeks, noting at the same time that Mer seemed to be keeping hers, beyond Mondays and watching Gia. She’d been quiet. Subdued. And if he didn’t know better, she was worried about something.
“Is something wrong, Mer?”
She met his eyes steadily and passed him the ball, a neat bounce pass they’d performed a thousand times over the years. He did an easy lay-up and rebounded the ball before looking back at her.