Where Mercy Flows Read Online Free PDF

wistful longing, nor could I separate the Judge, his grandfather, from this inherited passion for the pursuit of fish. I
     couldn’t pinpoint the nucleus of our common fever if I had to. Was it the challenge of developing the perfect cast or of landing
     a fly exactly where I meant it to go? Was it the thrill of the hit, or of playing the fish, or of finally seeing it roll exhausted
     onto its side as I pulled it ashore? I don’t know. I only know that a glistening trout is a thing of beauty to me, as moving
     as standing before an original Renoir might be to some. But the trout itself is nothing without the river; nothing but seafood
     destined for a pan. The river—that rushing, gurgling ribbon of light that swirled at my ankles, its sweet breath in my nostrils—was
     essential. And as strange as this may seem, the river was nothing without my father. The two had been to me somehow one and
     the same.
    My son often interrupted our story time with questions, which as he grew older became harder to answer. Once he had asked
     only things like
Do fish have mothers?
and
What do frogs eat?
But after he deduced that my having parents meant that he had grandparents, I sometimes felt that he was a prosecuting attorney
     and I was a reluctant witness on the stand. “Why don’t we ever go there?” he would ask.
    “Because it’s too far.”
    “We could take a airplane.”
    “Plane tickets cost money.”
    “Or we could drive our Jeep. How long will it take if we drive our Jeep?”
    I explained that driving costs money too. I said I couldn’t get off work for that long and changed the subject as skillfully
     as I could, but he would always bring it up again.
    The truth was a horse pill, too big for a five-year-old to swallow. He had never known shames that caused him to avoid mirrors.
     TJ had scraped his arm and bumped his head, but so far he didn’t know the kind of pain that Band-Aids and ice packs couldn’t
     cure. And I certainly didn’t want to tell him of such things. There really was no one to tell. I had estranged my family and
     my husband, and I had no real friends. My pain was the closest thing I had to a friend. It was constant and dependable, by
     my side all day and lying on my chest like a Saint Bernard until I finally slept at night.
    It was physical pain that eventually caused me to consider TJ’s plan. Both TJ and I had caught a flu bug that winter. I took
     time off from my job to care for him, and in a few days he was back to normal, flying around the apartment making jet engine
     noises. My initial symptoms (including a fever of 104 degrees) lingered a few days longer than his. After that I had a cough
     for weeks and very little energy. I did go back to work at the Starlight Room, bartending and waiting tables, but found it
     increasingly hard to work a full eight-hour shift. There was this heaviness in my chest that just wouldn’t go away, and I’m
     not talking about sadness now. That, I had learned to live with. But this—well, some days I just couldn’t cope. I would be
     exhausted before I got TJ dressed and fed and off to day care. I have to say my boss was patient for a long time. But one
     day, when I had to ask if I could leave early, he just said to go home and don’t bother coming back.
    I didn’t have medical insurance. After paying the rent that month, I had exactly $172.58. My roommate was in about the same
     financial condition, only she still had her job.
    Hard times were not new to me. When things got tough, I just had to get tougher. But this time I didn’t have the strength.
     I worried myself into a dither. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t get any answers from my doctor until I paid my overdue
     bill. If I paid the bill, I would have nothing left. How would I feed my son? When would I be well enough to work again?
    TJ found me crying in my room one night. I had thought he was asleep until I felt his soft hand rubbing my cheek. “What happened,
     Mommy? Did you get