Click.
Compose a message to Eliza.
"Eliza, I'm so sorry to do this, but..."
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type Mercy's resignation.
Almost done.
Click.
Chapter three
Amos
Theweightofmytoolbeltis a familiar heaviness around my waist as I climb the steps to the front door, noting the wobble in the handrail, the peeling paint on the trim, and the crooked line in one of the window panes. This house has good bones; just needs a bit of work done on it. Once it's flipped, it'll be just right for a family with four or five kids. Maybe even throw in a dog or two for the yard that's definitely big enough for a neighborhood cookout.
This is one of the investment houses my dad and I own. And since I need something to occupy my brain until it's time to get my woman, how better to pass the minutes than with repairs I could probably do blindfolded? Can't allow myself to get too excited because time always drags before something big.SoI busy myself fixing the small, easy things while I let my mind wander.
Ever since I saw her, my thoughts have belonged solely to my Mercy. My dad always told me a Shay is never complete until he finds his woman and makes her his own, and I've certainly found that to be true.
It's worked for our family for all these years, so why knock tradition? My great-grandfather passed on before I was born, but I remember seeing my grandpa, father, and uncles always doting on their woman. Always making their woman's plate at family gatherings because of their "if my woman breaks her back in the kitchen for me, I sure as hell can fix a plate for her" mentality. And when the eating was over, husbands and wives worked together to clean the dishes before saying their goodbyes to the other family members.
Of course, it wasn't always like that for my father. When I was six or so, I remember being at one of those family events. Even at my tender age, I noticed things. Things like my uncles getting out of their cars, each with a woman and sometimes with a womanandkids, while my dad and I always came alone.
I tug at my dad's pants leg to get his attention as I watch one of my uncles pull up. "Daddy, why can't we have a lady with us like Uncle Oliver and 'em?" I'd noticed this before, but it was only just starting to bother me. Was something wrong with Daddy and me that no one wanted to love us?
Daddy looks at me funny. Why are his eyes wet?
"Are you sad, Daddy?"
He drops to one knee to get on my level. "No. Just...something got in my eye and made it leak a little. Do you remember what I told you about your momma?"
"'Course I do! I'm six and I 'member lots of things! You always say I got amembrylike an elephant."
"That you do, son. That you do. And what have I told you about your momma?"
I recite what I've heard time and time again. "My momma was the mostbeautifullestwoman in the whole wide world, and she loved me bigger than the moon." My arms fling out in exaggeration.
Daddy smiles down at me. "She sure did. She loved you more than anything."
"But not more than you, right?" I love him lots and don't want his feelings hurt. I could pretend that Momma loved us both the same, even if I was secretly proud that she loved me more. "You and me the same, huh?"
"Yeah, boy." He laughs and chucks my chin. "Pretty sure she loved us both equally. I was her sun and you were her moon. I kept her warm and you were the light of her life. She'd spend hours looking at you at night, just watching you sleep." His voice fades off as he stares over my shoulder.
I don't know what he's looking at. There's nothing behind me except some trees. I smush his cheeks with my dirt-stained fingers and make his lips poke out. "But then she got sick and couldn't take care of me anymore."
He tugs my hands down so he can answer. "Yep. Your momma got really sick and had to go away."
He'd told me before that she'd died, but I still don't know exactly what it means. Is it like when my cousin's cat wouldn't wake up and they buried it in the ground? I don't like to think about Momma being stuck in the ground.
And that's why I don't like it when my dad leaves me. It makes me scared that he'll go away just like Momma did. "And she can't come back, right?"
"No, Amos. She can't come back. No matter how much we want her to."
If she can't come back, does this mean I'll never have a momma? Can I only have one? I love her even though I don't remember what she looks like, but I want a momma of my own that doesn't have to go away. I kick my toes in the dirt, hesitating before asking, "Daddy, do you think Momma would be mad if I wanted another lady to be my momma? And...and maybe she could love you like she loves me. Both of us the same, just like Momma."
"He's right, Mitchell." Uncle Oliver walks up with a serious look on his face. "The boy needs a maternal influence in his life. And he'll have to learn our ways sooner or later. What better time than now to set an example for him? It'll be good for you, too. Five years is long enough of being alone."
