The Line

A group of tourists arrived, snapping pictures of themselves next to the Waving Girl. I didn’t want to be the shadow in their photos, so I slid off the statue’s base and headed up River Street, replaying the tours I’d done over the years in my mind. Mind the cobblestones and never mind the cobbled together lies. The bars lie dead ahead! Don’t forget to tip your guide.



I had to talk to Peter, and the sooner the better. I needed to get everything settled before the next rush of insanity arrived. It was less than a week before the investment ceremony, when the anchor energy would be linked to Maisie for her lifetime, and soon the Taylor house would be filled to the brim with representatives from each of the nine other families who would be there to participate. I found a new appreciation for Emmet, since he was a much more manageable way of housing nine guests at once.



Maisie would be back the day before the ceremony. I wondered how much I’d have to tell her about what had happened and how much she already knew. It was hard to believe that she’d only been gone for a week.



The story about the fire at Ginny’s house and Connor’s suicide had headlined the newspapers gracing half the doorsteps in Savannah and had also been on all the local television stations. I turned up East Broad, doing my best to evade anyone I might recognize. They’d want to talk about was what had happened, and I was in no mood. Let the people of Savannah think what they wanted, but for God’s sake, let them keep it to themselves.



I fished my cell phone out of my backpack while I walked, and turned it on. Thirty texts, mostly from Peter. A couple of voice mails from Ellen and Oliver. I opened Peter’s last message and without even reading it, responded “Meet me at home.”



He was waiting for me outside in his truck when I got there. He started to get out, but I climbed in to the passenger’s side instead. “I know you went to Jilo,” I said. “I know you had her put a spell on me.”



Shame turned his face a deeper red than his hair. “Mercy,” he started.



“And then you took me to bed,” I interrupted him. “Knowing that I was under the influence of Jilo’s magic.”



He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, and tears started streaming down his face. The guilt he felt wouldn’t let him look at me. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I was going to lose you to him.”



“Yeah, well ‘he’ is gone, and I’m still here. But you done lost me anyway,” I said, feeling more resigned than angry.



Peter buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders heaving up and down in the rhythm of his heavy sobs. “I am so sorry, Mercy. I am so sorry.” He lifted his face from his hands and looked at me. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve that. Just know that if I could take it back, I would. I even tried. I went back to Jilo a couple of days after I sought her out. She told me it was too late to take it back. I hoped that she’d fail, you being who you are.”



“And who am I?” I asked. Was he holding back more secrets? Had he, along with the rest of the western world, known who my father was all along? Irrational questions, maybe, but I was fresh out of trust.



“Well, a Taylor,” he said flustered. “I thought maybe—”



“You should have told me what you did,” I said.



“I know I should’ve, but I was so afraid,” he said. “It’s no excuse, I was a coward.”



“Damn right you were,” I said and glared at him. “You were the one person in my life I could count on to simply be what you said you were. No tricks. No lies. No magic. And what do you do? You use magic on me.” Hearing myself say the words, I realized that this was the real reason I felt betrayed. It wasn’t because Peter had had a love spell set on me. It was because I’d always believed that magic was the one weapon that he would never—could never—use against me. But then he had gone and done it.



On the other hand, there was no circumventing the fact that I too had gone to Jilo asking for the self same spell. I had been willing to use her magic to deceive myself, and by extension, Peter. My attempts at righteous indignation started to feel a little bit less righteous.



“All I can say is that I am sorry,” he said. “I’ll always love you, Mercy. And I will go to my grave regretting what I did.” He took in a ragged breath and slumped back in his seat. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to be a part of your life anymore.”



Seeing the regret written across his face, a face that had been a part of my world since I spent my days dressing like a tomboy and climbing trees, convinced me that even though I might never marry him, I’d always want him around. Dishonesty didn’t come naturally to Peter. “Well, it’s a little too late for all that, seeing as how we are having a baby.”



“I’m sorry,” he said. “What?”



“We’re having a baby, Peter. Ellen felt it in me, and she’s never wrong about these things.”



His face morphed from the red mask of guilt I’d been looking at a moment ago to the ashen white of fear and then settled into a glow of joy. “Oh, Mercy. I don’t deserve this,” he said reaching out to me, trying to pull me to him for a kiss.



I slapped his hand away, and his eyes went wide with fear and regret. “We’re having a baby together,” I said firmly. “That doesn’t mean that we’re together, or that we’re going to be.”



“I’m sorry,” he said and retreated to the far side of the truck’s cab.



“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” I said. “I will. I must. My child will not grow up without his father. Ellen says it’s a boy by the way. We’ll name him Colin after your dad, and we’ll celebrate every holiday and birthday together. But,” I concluded, “that does not mean I am going to be your wife. You hear me?”



“Yes, I hear you,” he said meekly. “It’s more than I have the right to ask for.”



My piece had been spoken, and whatever anger I was holding had been spent. I looked over at his sweet face. “It’s going take time for me to move past this, but I’ll try. For Colin’s sake.”



“Okay,” was all he said, relief written all over his face.



“That’s enough about us for now,” I said. “We have family business to attend to.”



“I should get out of here then and leave you to it,” he said and tried to smile.



“Sorry there, buddy,” I responded as I climbed out of the truck. “You are most definitely family now. Get on in here.”



When we entered the house, we found Ellen in the library, busy boxing up Connor’s phonograph albums. “Charity truck is coming for all of this tomorrow. Kind of a shame,” she said. “For a total prick, he had good taste in music.”



“We’re doing this so fast?” I asked.



“It’s what Iris wants.” She turned away from her task and took a seat on the love seat. “So you two have spoken.”



“Yes, ma’am,” Peter replied.



Before risking a faux pas, Ellen gave me a lingering look to make sure that I’d really told Peter about the child. I nodded my head. “Good,” she said. “And may I ask what you’ve decided to do about the baby?”