A Ship Made of Paper

world where a little spilled water is just an accident, not an incident.”

Inside, Mercy Crane is on the phone, which she hangs up without a word ofgood-bye as soon as Kate and Daniel come in.

Kate goes up to check on Ruby.Daniel pays Mercy and locks the door.

He goes back into the living room to gather up the half-eaten bowl ofra-men noodles and the can ofSprite she has left behind.He sees something poking out between the sofa cushions—a half-full pack ofCamel Lights, with a book ofmatches squeezed beneath the cellophane.He tosses them onto the table, hoping for Mercy’s sake her parents don’t smell the smoke in her hair.Her father’s a cop and her mother teaches at a Christian ele-mentary school;both are known to be strict and unforgiving.

After clearing Mercy’s little mess, he falls back onto the sofa and lights one ofher cigarettes.When he moved in with Kate, she asked him not to smoke around the baby, and he went with the program and quit al-together.But now he would like to taste tobacco and inhales deeply, blows a smoke ring, and watches it make its way like a jellyfish through a shaft oflamplight.Then he hears Kate’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“I don’t have a temperature,”she announces.She’s already in her nightgown.

“You’re probably just tired.You should go to bed.I’ll bring you up some orange juice.”

“You’re smoking?”she asks.“You’re actually smoking in the house?”

Just then, the doorbell rings.Daniel flicks the cigarette into the fireplace and goes toward the door, his heart racing, as ifthis might really be Iris.Kate stops midway down the staircase.Daniel shrugs at her and opens the door.

“My car won’t start, Mr.Emerson,”says Mercy.

”Oh no, poor you!”His voice is booming, as would be expected in a man who has just, against all odds, been offered a means ofescape.“I’ll drive you home.”He realizes how eager this sounds, and so he adds,“I’m just no good at automobile repair.Ifit doesn’t involve a gas can or a jumper cable, it’s out ofmy league.”

“I could stay here, ifthat would be easier,”she says.Her voice is plaintive.“I could sleep on the couch.Ifyou wanted, I could make Ruby breakfast in the morning and you and Kate could sleep late.”

“It’s okay,”he says.“It’s really okay.”

For the first couple minutes ofthe drive back to town, Daniel and Mercy don’t exchange a word.Daniel rolls the window down.There’s a faint smell ofskunk in the air.

“I’m really sorry about the car,”Mercy says.

”I hope you can get it running again.”

“My brother’s home from theArmy.He can fix it, for sure.Is it okay ifwe come over in the morning?”

“Ofcourse.”He slows down.There are dark, luminous eyes peering from beneath the trees at the side ofthe road.Deer.You never know if they’ll come leaping into the path ofyour car.

“Both my brothers are in theArmy,”says Mercy.

”So, are you the youngest in the family?”

“Yeah.”She sighs, fidgets in her seat.He can tell:she is getting ready to ask a question.She circles it like one ofthe deer tramping down the tall grass.“What rights does a teenager have?”she says.

“About what?”

“What ifa teenager wanted to move out or something? Do you ever do that?As a lawyer? Sheri Nack said I should ask you.”

“Does Sheri want to leave home?”Sheri is a doughy, dog-collared girl who looked after Ruby a couple oftimes —until Kate started noticing liquor was disappearing.

“Not really.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah.”

They are almost in town now.The houses are closer together.A gas station.A plant nursery.The Riverside Convalescent Home.A little empty vine-covered cottage that once was a real estate office—Farms and Fantasies— run by a guy fromYonkers who turned out to be a drug dealer.And then, the blinking yellow light that hangs on a low drooping cable a few hundred yards from the village itself.A soft rain is falling and the wind is picking up, swinging the yellow light back and forth like a lantern held in the hand ofa night watchman.

“There are lawyers who specialize in family law,”Daniel says.

”I don’t know any lawyers, except you.”

“What is it you want, Mercy?”

“I want to move out.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.I’ve got to get out ofthere, Mr.Emerson.I’ve got to get away from them.Maybe get my own place.Maybe I could be a nanny orsomething.”

“Seventeen’s a little young.Can’t you wait a year?”

“Ayear?”The cold light ofthe streetlamps leaps in and out ofthe car, flashing on her face, with its furious, hopeless expression.

Before he can think ofwhat to tell her, they arrive at her house.It’s a small yellow one-story house, with a steep set ofwooden stairs leading to the front door.The porch light is on and two moths fly around and around it, as ifswirling around a drain oflight.

“Are you all right, Mercy?Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m all right.”

“Are you safe?”

“I’m okay.”

“Ifyou want to come in to my office, and talk about it, you can—anytime.You don’t need an appointment, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.

You can just come in and we can talk.”

“Is there any kind oflaw for me?”

“There’s something called the Emancipated MinorAct.”

She’s silent for the moment.Daniel has for the most part suppressed his own adolescence, and he finds it difficult to project himself into what exactly it feels like to be Mercy’s age, to be in that jumble ofmisery and helplessness, hormonal energy and sheer lassitude.

“There’s case law,”he says,“in which the court has required parents to pay for rent and food for emancipated minors.”

“You mean they’d have to pay for me even ifI moved out?”

“It’s not really my specialty.I’d have to look it up.”

“I guess I’d feel really guilty,”she says, smiling for the first time.

”Guilty? Why?”

“Well, they’re my parents.I don’t want to hurt them.”But the smileremains.

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.You have a right to make yourselfhappy.You’re not obliged to stay where you’re miserable.No-body does.”

She nods quickly.She’s heard enough.She opens the door on her side.The light comes on in the car and she glances back at Daniel.

”Thanks, Mr.Emerson,”she says,“really, thank you.”And then, right be-fore she slips out ofthe car she puts her arms around him and touches her forehead against his chest.

Daniel waits until she is safely in her house, though he wonders ifher house is really safe.She opens the front door and waves good-bye, and a moment later the door is closed and the porch light goes offand every window in her house is opaque.

He backs away from Mercy’s house and onto Culbertson Street, the beams ofhis headlights filled with fluttering moths.He turns on the ra-dio, as ifthe voice ofreason might be broadcasting from somewhere on the dial, but there are only love songs, urging him on.

He tries to pretend to himself that he has no idea where he is going next.But after a minute or two, he must admit that he’s heading toward Juniper Street, where Iris lives.All he wants is to look at her house— once—and then he’ll be able to return to his own, he’ll be able to walk up the stairs to the second floor, tiptoe into the bedroom, disrobe, slip into bed next to Kate, close his eyes.

A few moments later, he’s in front ofIris’s house.TheVolvo station wagon is in the driveway;every window in