Page 6 of This is Why We Lied
“Come on now, Mercy Mac.”
Mercy gave an audible sigh as she checked her reflection in the mirror. The scar that sliced down her face was an angry red against her pale skin. Her hair was still tightly pulled back. Her shirt wasn’t even wrinkled. She looked like she’d had the least satisfying orgasm given to her by the world’s most disappointing man.
Dave asked, “What do you think about this investment thing?”
“I think Papa’s gonna do whatever he wants to do.”
“It’s not him I’m asking.”
She looked at Dave in the mirror. Her father had sprung the news about the wealthy investors over breakfast. Mercy hadn’t been consulted, so she assumed this was Papa’s way of reminding her that he was still in control. The lodge had been handed down through the McAlpine family for seven generations. In the past, there had been small loans, usually from long-time guests who wanted to keep the place going. They helped get roofs repaired or buy new water heaters, or once, replace the power line from the road. This sounded a hell of a lot bigger. Papa had said the money from the investors was enough to build an annex to the main compound.
Mercy said, “I think it’s a good idea. That section of old campsite sits on the best part of the property. We can build some bigger cottages, maybe start marketing to weddings and family reunions.”
“Still gonna call it Camp A-Wanna-Pedo?”
Mercy didn’t want to laugh, but she did. Camp Awinita was a one-hundred-acre campground with access to the lake, a stream full of trout, and a magnificent long-range mountain view. The land had also been a reliable cash cow until fifteen years ago, when every organization that rented it out, from the Boy Scouts to the Southern Baptists, experienced some kind of pedophile scandal. There was no telling how many kids had suffered over there. The only option had been to close it down before the taint spread to the lodge.
“I dunno,” Dave said. “Most of that land’s in a conservation easement. You can’t really build out past where the creek hits the lake. Plus, I don’t see Papa giving anybody any input on how that money’s spent.”
Mercy quoted her father, “‘There’s only one name on that sign by the road.’”
“Your name’s on that sign, too,” Dave said. “You’re doing a great job running this place. You were right about upgrading the bathrooms. That marble was a pain hauling in, but it’s sure impressive. The faucets and bathtubs look like they came out of a magazine. Guests are spending more for extras. Coming back for repeats. Those investors wouldn’t be offering any money except for what you’ve done here.”
Mercy resisted the urge to preen. Compliments were not handed out lightly in her family. No one had said a word about the accent walls in the cottages, the addition of coffee bars and window boxes overflowing with flowers so that guests felt like they were walking into a fairy tale.
She said, “If we spend this money right, people will pay twice, maybe even three times, what they’re paying now. Especially if we give them road access instead of making them hike in. We could even do some of those UTVs to get to the bottom of the lake. It’s beautiful down there.”
“It surely is beautiful, I’ll give you that.” Dave spent most of his days on the site, ostensibly remodeling the three ancient cottages. He asked, “Bitty have anything to say about the money?”
Her mother always sided with her father, but Mercy said, “She’d talk to you before she talked to me.”
“Haven’t heard a peep.” Dave shrugged. Bitty would confide in him eventually. She loved Dave more than her own children. “You ask me, bigger ain’t always better.”
Bigger was exactly what Mercy was hoping for. After the shock from hearing the news had worn off, she’d come around to the idea. The influx of cash could shake things up. She was tired of running in quicksand.
Dave said, “It’s a lot of change.”
She leaned her back against the dresser, looking at him. “Would it be so bad if things were different?”
They stared at each other. There was a lot of weight to the question. She looked past the rheumy eyes and the red nose and saw the eighteen-year-old boy who had promised to take her away from here. Then she saw the car accident that had split open her face. The rehab. The rehab again. The custody battle for Jon. The threat of falling off the wagon. And always the constant, unrelenting disappointment.
Her phone pinged from the bedside table. Dave looked down at the notification. “You got somebody at the trailhead.”
Mercy unlocked the screen. The camera was at the parking pad, which meant she had around two hours before the first guests completed the five-mile hike to the lodge. Or maybe less. They looked like they could easily handle the trail. The man was tall and lanky with a runner’s build. The woman had long, curly red hair and was carrying a backpack that looked like it had been used before.
The couple shared a deep kiss before they headed toward the trailhead. Mercy felt a pang of jealousy to see them holding hands. The man kept looking down at the woman. She kept looking up at him. Then they both laughed, like they realized how ridiculously in love they were acting.
“Dude looks dick drunk,” Dave said.
Mercy’s jealousy intensified. “She looks pretty tipsy herself.”
“BMW,” Dave noticed. “Those the investors?”
“Rich people aren’t that happy. Has to be the honeymooners. Will and Sara.”
Dave took a closer look, though the couple’s back was to the camera now. “You know what they do for a living?”
“He’s a mechanic. She’s a chemistry teacher.”