Read Sweet Mercy for Free Online Page A

fill in. But not today.”
    â€œCyrus told us this morning that he’s opening the Island Eatery today,” Daddy explained. “Summer’s here and it’s time to get it under way. You can help us with that. Looks like the Eatery is where Mother and I will be spending mostof our time this summer, serving up hamburgers and soda pop. Sounds like fun, huh?”
    â€œSure,” I said with a nod.
    â€œThe rowboats and canoes will be coming out of storage too. We’ll be responsible for the rental of those.”
    As Daddy spoke, the romance of the island came back, and I forgot about family squabbles and my strange and previously unknown cousin named Jones. I was glad once again to be living at Marryat Island Lodge, where families came to play and life was good and surely some faint scent of Eden still lingered in the sweet clean air.

    We spent the day, along with a couple of other workers, cleaning and stocking the Island Eatery, a cinderblock building painted pale green and fronted by a breezeway, where patrons could eat at concrete tables. We polished the grill, readied the soda machine, oiled the popcorn maker, laid out condiments, filled the walk-in freezer with hamburger patties, hot dogs, and tubs of ice cream. Folks came to the counter looking for refreshments; we had to turn them away with the promise we’d be ready for business by five in the evening.
    While I was sweeping the breezeway sometime in the early afternoon, an overturned canoe passed by, carried on the shoulders of two young men. One of the men was wearing only a swimsuit, the trunks a solid black, the top a black-and-white stripe. In contrast the other fellow was fully clothed; he wore the long-sleeved gray shirt, denim pants, and black suspenders I’d seen in the ballroom the night before. When the men heaved the boat off their shoulders and onto the boat rest, I saw that Jones was also wearing dark glassesand a broad-brimmed safari hat. Other than his hands, very little of his skin was exposed to the sun, not even his feet, on which he wore a pair of white tennis shoes.
    â€œMother, come here a minute,” I hollered. She looked up from one of the tables where she sat stuffing paper napkins into aluminum holders. She put the napkins aside and joined me where I stood. “That’s Jones,” I said with a nod toward the boat rest. “The one in the hat and suspenders. He’s—” I stopped. For some reason I was finding it difficult to say the word.
    â€œHe’s what, Eve?” Mother asked.
    I let the word escape on a sigh. “He’s albino. Did you know that? His hair is completely white, and his eyes are the fieriest shade of red you could imagine. Did Uncle Cy tell you?”
    Mother shook her head slowly. “No, he didn’t. He never said a word. Then again, Cy never told us much about Jones at all.” She gazed at Jones and seemed deep in thought. Finally she said, “Pity. His eyes might have at least been blue, like some of them.”
    â€œBlue?” I echoed.
    â€œSome albinos have blue eyes,” she said absently. After another moment, she shook her head again, as though to shake away her thoughts. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s albino, I mean?”
    â€œOf course not,” I answered dutifully.
    She smiled at me. “We can look forward to getting to know him.”
    Good luck, I thought, remembering my encounter with him the night before.
    Mother stepped away, then turned back. “You know, Eve, he probably has a hard time of it, being different the way he is.”
    â€œI know, Mother. Maybe that’s why he’s so . . .”
    â€œSo what, Eve?”
    I wanted to say rude, but Mother wouldn’t like it. “Shy,” I said. “He seems rather timid.”
    â€œWell, then, we’ll make sure to let him know he’s part of the family, won’t we?”
    I nodded. Sometimes it was