A Ship Made of Paper by Scott Spencer

jellyfish through a shaft of lamplight.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 if this 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 of escape. “I’ll a s h i p m a d e o f pa p e r
    drive you home.” He realizes how eager this sounds, and so he adds, “I’m just no good at automobile repair. If it doesn’t involve a gas can or a jumper cable, it’s out of my league.”
    “I could stay here, if that would be easier,” she says. Her voice is plaintive. “I could sleep on the couch. If you 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 of the drive back to town, Daniel and Mercy don’t exchange a word. Daniel rolls the window down. There’s a faint smell of skunk 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 the Army. He can fix it, for sure. Is it okay if we come over in the morning?”
    “Of course.” He slows down. There are dark, luminous eyes peering from beneath the trees at the side of the road. Deer.You never know if they’ll come leaping into the path of your car.
    “Both my brothers are in the Army,” 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 of the deer tramping down the tall grass. “What rights does a teenager have?” she says.
    “About what?”
    “What if a 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 of times—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
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    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 from Yonkers 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 of a 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 of there, Mr. Emerson. I’ve got to get away from them. Maybe get my own place. Maybe I could be a nanny or something.”
    “Seventeen’s a little young. Can’t you wait a year?”
    “A year? ” The cold light of the streetlamps leaps in and out of the car, flashing on her face, with its furious, hopeless expression.
    Before he can think of what to tell her, they arrive at her house. It’s a small yellow one-story house, with a steep set of wooden stairs leading to the front door. The porch light is on and two moths fly around and around it, as if swirling around a drain of light.
    “Are you all right, Mercy? Are you going to be