A Tangled Mercy

by Joy Jordan-Lake

“I like things that sound alltime the same,” said the boy. “A beat you can count on. Like hammers. And waves. And heartbeats. Only . . . only you can’t always count on the heartbeats, can you?” His head fell against her side.

How the good and the hurt of last year and all the years past didn’t go away ever, not really: they’re just what you got to build on top of.

‘The only thing new in the world is the history you don’t know.’ Dr. Ammons, you—and Harry Truman—were right.

“And yeah, we’re healing, too.” He set down his hammer. “Only for some of us, maybe forgiveness is more a journey than a moment in time. Me, I won’t be getting there fast.”