“He promised he would go and leave you and Gia alone.”
“How much money did you give him?” Noah pressed, anger billowing up his charred throat.
For a moment Mercedes didn’t answer, and Noah raised her chin and made her meet his gaze. Fear and remorse warred in her eyes, and he smoothed the hair back from her face.
“How much, Mer?”
“Twenty grand.”
“Mercedes Lopez,” Noah whispered. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t let him take Gia,” she cried, her face crumpling with the confession.
Noah pulled her into his arms and held her as sobs wracked her small body. Mer cried like she’d been holding it all in for decades.
Noah wanted to cry with her, but he was too stunned. Too humbled. He’d known Mercedes for twenty-two years, and she never ceased to blow him away.
Twenty
2003
“Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk around,” Mercedes sang softly, touching the tiny newborn, lying in her arms. Her ears, her hands, her feet, her nose. She was so perfect. So peaceful. So sweet.
“The foot bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the thigh bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!
“Don’t sing that one,” Cora whispered from the bed nearby. “You’ll give her nightmares.”
“I thought you were asleep, Mama,” Mercedes crooned, still looking down at the sleeping baby. Cora had labored for almost twenty-four hours to bring Gia into the world. She needed to rest while she could.
Mercedes had been beside her for most of those twenty-four hours. She was exhausted too, but mostly she was relieved. Heather would be coming back soon to stay with Cora and the baby through the night.
“Sing something else,” Cora murmured. “Sing the one about the angels with no shoes.”
Mercedes complied, singing about the gates of heaven and the barefoot angels, asking God to bless the children who sleep and the mothers who watch over them.
“Cora, what’s wrong, honey? Why are you crying?” Mercedes asked, abandoning the lullaby when she saw her friend’s tears.
“I’m not sure. Happy. Glad it’s over. Glad she’s here,” Cora said, her lips trembling. Mercedes decided she had every right to cry. It had been a grueling nine months and an emotional delivery. Cora had weakened as the end neared, informing Mercedes that she couldn’t possibly give birth.
“I can’t do this,” Cora had groaned. “I don’t want to do this. I changed my mind.”
Mercedes had laughed, but swallowed her mirth as Cora leveled her with a look so venomous she’d checked her reflection in the mirror above the bed to make sure her eyelashes weren’t singed off.
They had walked, up and down the halls, Cora leaning on Mercedes when a bad wave hit, and it was then that Cora revealed the names she’d chosen.
“If it’s a boy, I want him to be called Noah. Noah Michael. Michael for my dad. If it’s a girl, Gia Mercedes Andelin. Gia was my dad’s mother. She was Italian and Grandpa was Irish. Dad and I got his genes, but at least Gia can have Grandma’s name,” Cora had panted.
Mercedes had been peppering Cora with names from the moment she’d heard the news, but Cora had refused to tell her what she was considering. She wanted it to be a surprise. She’d also refused to find out the baby’s sex. Mercedes had considered bribing the ultrasound technician to give her the information on the down low so she could be prepared. Unfortunately, the tech was honorable—the doctor too—and nobody would tell her what the baby’s gender was. She’d suffered and seethed for seven interminable months, culling the Goodwill for the best items in impossibly boring neutrals. She’d wheedled and begged, but Cora hadn’t budged, until now.
“I’m telling you in case something happens to me,” Cora had groaned.
“Stop. Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re in a hospital surrounded by medical personnel. You’re perfectly healthy. Your best friend is a force of nature—”
“That’s true.”
“—And you are about to have a little girl who needs her mother.”
Cora had emitted a tortured moan, clinging to Mercedes, who wobbled in her heels but planted her feet and held tight until Cora’s contraction waned.
“You said little girl,” Cora had panted. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Just a feeling. And my gut is rarely wrong. You know this. Plus . . . I need a namesake.”
Her gut hadn’t been wrong.
Two hours later, Gia Mercedes Andelin came into the world, and Mercedes had been poised to catch her and lay her on her mother’s breast. Now, washed and weighed, poked and pricked, tiny Gia Andelin was swaddled and sleeping, and Mercedes was enjoying every second.
“Duérmete niño, duérmete niño, duérmete niño, arrú arrú,” she sang while Cora listened, still silently weeping.
“Noah was happy,” Cora whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and brushed at her wet cheeks wearily.
“I’ve never seen him so happy,” Mercedes answered, touching Gia’s tiny fingers, and smiling as the infant instinctively wrapped Mer’s finger in her fist.
“I thought maybe he would want a boy,” Cora sighed.
“Noah? The man whose best friends growing up were girls? He wouldn’t know what to do with a boy.”
When the connection was made and Noah was patched through via Skype, he was indeed thrilled. He’d looked weary—almost like the wait and worry had been its own form of labor. When Mer had lifted Gia up so he could see her, he’d greeted her warmly, but his eyes were glued to his daughter’s pale hair, her round cheeks, and her rosebud mouth.
“Look what you did, Corey,” he had breathed. “Look at that beautiful little girl. Look at our baby girl.”
When they’d signed off, he’d been beaming.
“He already loves her,” Cora murmured, her voice so soft, Mercedes considered not responding. Cora was almost asleep, her tears drying on her cheeks.
“Of course he does,” Mercedes whispered, but her eyes were on Gia. “One look is all it took. One look, Gia Mercedes, and it was all over. You’ve got your daddy wrapped around your tiny finger.”
“Just pray he never lets go,” Cora murmured. “Gia needs a daddy. Every girl needs a daddy.”
* * *
They found Keegan Tate’s body amid the burned wreckage of the salon. The fire had caused significant damage and Mercedes was no longer the only stylist at Maven out of work. Gloria Maven had begged her to come back when the restoration was complete, making big promises and dangling incentives. Mercedes hadn’t agreed to anything yet. She had a new goal—or an old dream—in mind.
The police questioned Noah and Mercedes extensively, both together and separately, adding Cuddy’s scattered testimony to the picture, and they were eventually cleared of all suspicion. Two days after the fire, Doze had been apprehended, and they would all be testifying against him when his trial began. Keegan Tate had gotten involved with the wrong people. And it had gotten him killed.
Detective Zabriskie said charges would be pressed against Cuddy for the joyride in Mercedes’s car, but when Noah intervened on his behalf, he was released from police custody as well, cautioning them to keep an eye on him.
“He’s got a bad history. Don’t let your guard down.” Detective Zabriskie warned, processing Cuddy’s release with a wariness Cuddy probably deserved, but Cuddy’s countenance fell and his shoulder hunched in shame, even as Noah explained what would happen next.
“You know I work at a special hospital, right Cuddy?” Noah asked, waiting for Cuddy’s eyes to rise to his.
“Montlake,” Cuddy muttered.
“Yeah. Montlake. The authorities don’t want to let you go to wander the streets. They want you admitted or incarcerated. They’re afraid you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else . . . even if it’s unintentional.”
“I don’t hurt people, Noah.”
“I believe you, Cuddy. But the car incident, combined with your record, doesn’t make them feel very confident. And there have been some complaints from businesses around Maven.”
“No one ever said anything. I didn’t think they even saw me,” Cuddy said.
Noah nodded. It was a sad truth. But people saw the homeless and the indigent. The problem was, they didn’t want to see.
“We have some programs at Montlake—I think I could get some state funding for you to stay there for ninety days. You could get some treatment. You would be clean. Fed. Looked after. And we could talk. Every day. And we could figure out how to make you feel better.”
“At Montlake?” Cuddy asked, awestruck.
“At Montlake,” Noah replied.
“And you’ll be my doctor?”
“If that’s what you want. We have lots of good therapists and doctors at Montlake.”
“What about my rocks?”
“You can’t take your rocks to Montlake. But I’ll keep them for you. All of them. And when you’re through the treatment plan, you can have them back if you still want them.”
“Why wouldn’t I want them?” Cuddy asked, his brows lowering.
“Well . . . if you start feeling better, maybe you won’t need rocks to keep you grounded.”
“I won’t need them to keep me from floating away?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. But I love rocks. I especially love the one you gave me. Did Miss Lopez tell you? I’ll give it back if you want me to.”
“I have one just like it. You keep it,” Noah insisted.
“Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll go to your hospital.”
“Good. I think that’s a good choice. And I can take you there now.”
Cuddy shifted nervously, his backpack hanging low around his shoulders. “Now?”
“Do you have somewhere else you want to go first?”
“No. I don’t have anywhere to go,” Cuddy whispered.
Noah nodded once, and together they left the police station, side by side, eyes fixed ahead. It wasn’t until they were pulling into the parking garage of Montlake Clinic, that Cuddy spoke again.
“I’ll try hard, Noah. I’ll try hard to get better. But . . . the medicine doesn’t make the ghosts go away. I’ve tried medicine. It just makes me itch. Some of it makes me crazy. Even crazier than I am,” Cuddy said, a note of desperation coloring his words.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Cuddy.’
“You don’t?”
“No. I think you might just need a little help knowing what’s . . . spiritual and what’s real.”