Why wasn’t Susan saying these things? The words wouldn’t come.
“That’s your mistake. One of thousands, I’m sure.” Dad—Susan didn’t want to call him such a personal name right now. Mr. Rice?—didn’t back down.
Mercy’s smile looked twisted and dark. “Let’s talk about mistakes. We’ll ignore the one you’re making tonight. Why did it take so long for you to reach out to me? If you were sorry about the way things transpired between us, why did you wait until I was here for Liz’s wedding, to extend the olive branch? I begged you to talk to me, more than once. Liz has known how to find me since I left. There’s never been any mystery about my location. And then, the first time you saw me in ten years, you insulted me. Days later, you wanted to make up?”
“You’re right; reaching out to you again was a mistake. You were dating someone respectable—finally. The only reason I asked Ian to put me in touch with you was because Susan wanted it, and I hoped he’d tempered you, so you wouldn’t exacerbate her condition.”
“My condition?” Susan didn’t know what else to do.
Mercy shook her head. “That’s nice. Real loving and caring. So this was never about making amends.”
“I’m proud of what you’ve done”—his words might have carried more weight at any other time—“but not the way you got here. I hoped with Ian, you’d grown up. Your sister is making the same mistakes you did, and my hope was you could teach her not to be stupid.”
Numbness set in. Susan felt a scab forming inside—a reaction to too much of an onslaught at once. “Do you hear yourself?” she asked. “You forced your own daughter out of the house, and now you’re going to do it again? Because we don’t conform to your standards?”
He looked at her. Or through her. This was worse. “Instead of helping you mature, she introduced you to that gigolo pimp she lets follow her around like a lost puppy. At the very least, Melissa has a career. You won’t have that.”
“Don’t you—”
“Shut up.” Susan cut Mercy off. She did what he’d requested, and left her phone and car keys on the bar. She didn’t trust herself to say anything else. She walked past her sister and the man next to her, out the door and through the garage, and stopped next to Mercy’s car. Cold air permeated her lungs. She wasn’t wearing a coat. Not that she cared.
“Hey.” Mercy settled a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I never wanted this to happen to you.”
Susan used the icy night to chill her words, but she couldn’t face her sister. “I know. It was my decision, and I made it, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.” Susan couldn’t hold back the tears stinging her eyelids and burning down her face.
Mercy hugged her from behind. “I’m so sorry.”