Standard disclaimer goes here - blah, blah, blah
Prompt - And_There_Will_Be_Cake (wildfire280) - Chapter 4. I'm not much of a Finn/Mercedes fan but if anybody can sell that combination wildfire280 can. Why did Wildfire have to be such a good writer? This story was prompted by chapter 4 of that story – Maybe I'm Amazed – which you ought to read if you haven't yet.
He'd noticed her before, a solitary figure sitting on the stone bench under the willow tree at the top of the hill. He'd noticed her because visiting a cemetery every day was usually a sign of fresh grief, grief which hasn't scabbed over. And that was odd because there hadn't been a burial in that section for months. He'd noted that one odd thing and ignored everything else about her.
Today Evans had a different reason for noticing her, she was interrupting his schedule. Unless there was a funeral, his routine was to mow the grounds on Tuesday and Friday. He started at the pond on the bottom of the hill and worked his way up. Then a shower and lunch. That leaves most of the afternoon free until it's time to lock up. Normally she's gone by 10:30 but today she's still there at 11. There's no deadline, he can cut the grass after lunch, but he feels better when things done in a particular order.
He looked at the woman sitting on the bench, she's black he noticed for the first time, and then at the black cat sitting in the air-conditioned truck beside him. "Early lunch, Mrs. Peel?"
After a while she stopped coming every day but she seemed to be on a schedule too. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday for two weeks, then Tuesday and Thursday for two weeks, then Wednesday. She usually came early in the mornings, once she was waiting at the gate for him to open. She smiled and waved and only stayed for 10 minutes but she spoke to him for the first time, thanking him for noticing her and opening the gates early.
Funerals threw him off schedule. There's extra work to do - holes to dig, chairs to set up, mourners to deal with. Dealing with people is his least favorite thing but luckily nobody notices the groundskeeper. He was wearing a freshly laundered uniform out of respect for the deceased, standing a discreet distance away, waiting for this funeral to end so he can finish the burial. Looking around he can understand why plots up here on the hill go for more, though he prefers the pond section. The pond is quiet and secluded and he can pretend he's home. Up here on the hill there's a view which reminds him he's in LA.
He looks over at the willow tree and there's a white couple there today. The man is tall and he's placing a balloon on a grave. The woman with him is sitting where the black woman usually sits. Sam looked back at the funeral, noticing the mourners at the back of the crowd were distracted by the couple under the tree. The man is waving the balloon around, the woman is pleading with him. Sam wandered over, curious about what was going on.
"I can't believe she did this!" The man said angrily. "Yes I can. Just like her to do something this inappropriate."
"Finn," The woman stood up so he could hear her better. She was very short and very pregnant. "It's his birthday. She probably just wanted..."
"If she'd shown a little more concern at the time." He stopped at looked at the ground, mourning his lost son. "But no, she had her brilliant career to worry about." He waved the balloon, which Sam could see was attached to a small blue stuffed bear. The balloon waving around is what's distracting the mourners.
notices the groundskeeper. He was wearing a freshly laundered uniform out of respect for the deceased, standing a discrete"Finn!" The woman was angry now. "That's not true and you know it! It was a random genetic mutation. He was never meant to be. You were both young and healthy nobody knew there was anything wrong. The doctors never told her to slow down, take it easy. She did everything they told her to do. She could have spent those eight months sitting home knitting booties and the result would have been the same."
"That's why I love you Rach." He pulled her close. "You're going to be such a great mother."
"I'm going to be the best mother I can be but I refuse to play mommy wars. I can drop out of my career for a few years. I couldn't have two years ago, just like she felt she couldn't back then. That doesn't make me better, just different." She hugged the tall man. "Life doesn't come with guarantees that every thing's going to be perfect. Sometimes life can break your heart. And sometimes the second act can save your life."
"That's why I love you Rachel." He repeated.
They turned to walk to their car, noticing him for the first time.
"Get rid of this." Finn said, roughly showing the teddy bear into Sam's hands.
"Sure thing." He put the animal in his truck as he heard the mourners from the funeral start to leave.
That funeral totally screwed his timetable. Everybody loved Grandma Tinsely so much they stood around crying and consoling each other for what seemed like hours. By the time they left and he got the grave covered it was almost time to lock up. Unfortunately she was there, sitting under the tree holding the teddy bear Sam had placed back on the grave the minute the other couple was out of sight.
"We'll love you forever, we'll like you for always. As long as we're living our baby you're be." Lance Andrew Hudson, born and died the same day, two years ago today.
Sam walked up to her and coughed. She ignored him. "Excuse me?"
She looked up, her brown eyes glazed with confusion.
"Excuse me but we're about to close. I need to lock the gate?"
Besides nodding, she didn't move a muscle.
"I have to make my rounds but then..."
She nodded again and watched the tall groundskeeper drive off in his truck.
Sam locked the front gate, just to make sure nobody else came in, and drove the grounds. As he suspected, she was the only one there, still sitting under the tree.
"I'm sorry, ma'm, but you really have to leave now." He said firmly.
"What?" She looked up with a blank expression. "Oh! Right, you have to lock up. I'm so sorry for keeping you late."
"No problem." But she's not standing up. Shit! She's not standing up. "Do you need any help getting to your car?"
"Car?" she looked like she'd never heard that word before. Like she didn't recognize the gray BMW parked ten feet away. Shit, he can't let her drive around like that and he didn't want her here.
"Or I can call a friend, or a cab?" He pulled one's of the cemetery's business cards from his pocket. "Yes, I'll do that and you just call this number to get your car back. I'm here at night so don't worry if we're closed." He took her arm and led her to his truck.
The caretaker's house. She woke up on the sofa of the caretaker's house, clutching Lance's teddy bear. Mercedes Jones slowly sat up and looked around, wondering where the caretaker was. She heard the whir of a ceiling fan and the sound of a guitar coming from outside through the open French doors, the curtains blowing in the breeze. She sat in the dark room and listened to him play. She should be terrified, waking up, locked in a cemetery with a guy she doesn't know. The name on his shirt says "Evans" and that's it. He could be an escaped serial killer for all she knows, God knows he's got the perfect place to dispose of a body. She should be in a full fledged panic attack by now. And meds, she hadn't taken her meds tonight. Normally she needs a handful of pills to get to sleep. Meds and white noise generators and a bedtime ritual involving red wine. Now it's...she looked around for a clock. Finding none she declared it o-dark-thirty. Damn her stupid habit of not wearing a watch! Her purse! Her phone had a clock. There it is, on the table under the window. From this spot near the window she could tell he was singing as well as playing.
She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
"Did you write that?"
His unwanted house guest was standing in the doorway, looking at him sitting in the hammock in the backyard.
"No." he answer abruptly, putting down the guitar. "It's Brad Paisley."
Mercedes had heard the name before but had never been able to pin a particular song to it. "Oh. It's nice. Sad but life's sad, you know?"
"I know. " He stood up. "Are you feeling better?" She nodded. "You'll need a ride to your car."
"Yes, thank you." she hesitated for a moment. "Would you like a drink? I mean have a quick drink somewhere near here? As a thank you?"
"I don't drink." She looked insulted. "That's not a judgement of you. I just don't drink and have to get up early tomorrow." He started walking towards his truck. "I'll give you a ride to where you car is."
"I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble. It's just today is..."
"I understand. Believe me I understand. And it's no trouble."
"You've lost a child?"
"No, but I've lost people and anniversaries are tough. Unfortunately it doesn't necessarily get better with time." He opened the truck door, signalling her to get in. Thankfully she did.
She disappeared for a month before resuming her regular Wednesday routine, so it was odd seeing her car parked in front of the diner down the street on a Thursday afternoon. He was on his way to the laundromat, Mike could lock up for him, Sam didn't have to be on the premises 24 hours a day. His last girlfriend, Lucy hadn't found his place the least bit romantic so he'd occasionally sleep over at her place. That is until his lack of ambition, the way she saw it, put an end to that relationship. Easy come, easy go. Lucy was starting to grate on his nerves anyway.
She was sitting in the car, drinking a cup of coffee and reading papers. Odd, she's an odd person he thought, rapping on the car window.
"Yes?" she rolled the window down, just a crack.
"I just wanted to say thank you."
"For what?" How do I know you her look said.
"For the letter you sent my boss. Mr. Chang at the cemetery?"
She looked at him more carefully. She'd never noticed how green his eyes were, and how sad. Not sad exactly, but old. The eyes of an old soul as her grandma would say. Eyes burnished by experience because he wasn't very old, probably no older than she was. Mercedes smiled politely and lowered the window completely. "Evans! Sorry, I didn't recognize you because every other time I've seen you you've been in uniform." She smiled again and he noticed something strange about her smile, something he couldn't put his finger on. "No, it was no problem. You were very helpful. Thank you for being so kind when I was so upset."
"Well, thank you. People are quick to pick up a pen when they're mad about something but very few people say thanks."
"You're welcome. Well, I'll see you next week."
"Were you there today? I didn't see you."
"No." Her smile disappeared. "No, only Wednesday. Doctor's orders."
"Oh." That didn't exactly make sense but he watched her turn back to her paperwork.
He started to walk away but stopped, thinking about her sitting in her car a block away from the cemetery. He turned back.
"Are you waiting for somebody?"
"Me? No, I'm just...just...here."
"You offered to buy me a drink that time. I drink coffee."
"Ummm." She searched desperately for a plausible excuse to say no and found none. "Okay, coffee it is."
He didn't get a chance to see her well that night, he started to make a cup of tea and when he turned around again she was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. Sitting across from her in this diner he took a good look. She was dark, with a smooth milk chocolaty complexion. Her hair was short and natural, a mass of soft curls. Between her wire-rimmed glasses and lack of makeup except for a smear of lipgloss she was pretty but there was nothing glamorous about her.
"I was away on location. I'm an actress, did you know that?"
"Yes. When Mr. Chang gave me a copy of your letter he acted like the name should mean something to me so I looked it up."
"So you've never seen my show?"
"No, I don't have a TV. I know that sounds pretentious" He smiled for s split second, a smile so quick she almost missed it. "but where I live is small, you saw it, and I don't have room for one."
"Okay. Really, you haven't missed much."
"But you got an Emmy. That's something."
"How do you know that if you don't have a TV?"
"Internet." he answered.
"Oh. That Emmy is due to my writer more than anything else."
"You have your own personal writer?"
"I wish. If I had my own personal writer maybe my life wouldn't be so screwed up. I'd make him rewrite the parts I don't like. No, the show was popular the first year, then the ratings tanked. Honestly? The writing was shit. The scripts read like they just threw random sentences in a blender and the actors have to read whatever was on the page. It didn't matter that you're supposed to be Jewish. If the script says you're begging for five Christmas presents the writers would scream at you if you suggest they substitute eight Hanukkah presents, like you're the idiot. They were professionals, you see, and they figured nobody in the audience would notice the difference. Well, the audience did and switched off. So they brought a new writing team, each writer was responsible for only 4-5 characters and they worked as a team, not as individual writers producing totally unrelated scripts. My writer is a genius." She stopped talking and stared at the TV blaring on one side of the diner.
Sam glanced over his shoulder at the couple on the screen, a couple beaming over a small baby. "It's a girl!" the announcer bleated.
"You know them?"
"I used to." She dragged her eyes away from the screen and focused on the man in front of her. He wasn't tall, as in Finn tall, but average height. The proportions of his face was off, especially the mouth, but it was just enough to make his face interesting. He had longish blond hair that frequently fell in his eyes and was pulled into a short ponytail in the back. "Exs. Ex-husband. Ex-friend."
Sam looked again. He drew a blank until they showed a picture of them standing up. Seeing the husband towering over the woman made him recognize them as the couple from the cemetery.
"She was your friend?"
"Friend's a strong word. I know her." She twisted the coffee cup in her hands. "Rachel's no homewrecker, I managed that on my own. It was all over by the time she showed up."
Should he ask what happened? He choose not to, there was plenty in his life he didn't want to discuss.
"So now Finn has everything he wants." She said with a bitter laugh. "Perfect wife, perfect baby, perfect life."
"But I thought your baby died from some random genetic thing?"
At first she wondered how he knew that. Then she remembered there had been plenty of speculation at the time. Internet. "That's what they say, but the counterargument's staring you right in the face."
"Aren't you being kind of harsh on yourself?"
She stared at him with iced-over eyes, and then recovered. "You done with your coffee?" She started digging through her purse for money. "Do you need a ride or something?"
"No, I'm just on my way to the laundromat. Thank you for the coffee."
"You're welcome." She smiled and Sam could see what was strange about it. Her smile never reached her eyes.
Whiskey Lullaby – Brad Paisley
Again, check out chapter 4 of "There Will Be Cake" by Wildfire280 to see why I'm so hard on Finn.
This will be quick. Three, maybe four parts and I've already written 2.5 of them.
