Brine (9 page)

“I figure anything to cool myself off in this heat,” Allen said. “Why don’t you join us, Ish?” Hector asked. “Just a quick cool-off before we eat?”

Ishmael was suddenly forced back to her dilemma. What if her body changed in broad daylight?

“Don’t have a suit,” she said. “We should probably head up. Time for dinner.”

“Supper,” Hector said. “We call it
supper
around here.” He walked down the ramp to the lower dock. “And if you’ve got on underwear, we won’t look too closely when it gets wet,” he called over his shoulder. “That is—if you’ve got on underwear!”

Hector dove off the dock; Allen cannonballed into the water after him. She envied their freedom.

Hector called from the water. “Seriously? I can’t persuade you to join us, Ish?”

Allen pulled himself up onto the dock, dripping.

“Man, that felt great,” Allen said, reclaiming his beer. He winked at Ishmael. “Promise I won’t let him push you in.”

“There are towels in a cabinet right outside my front door,”

Hector called from the creek.

Ishmael jumped at the prospect of the chore. “I’ll grab them!”

She retrieved the towels and headed back down just in time to catch Hector climbing up the ladder, resembling a Greek god rising from the depths, the glare of the afternoon sunlight on his bare chest. She exhaled and tried to erase her thoughts.

Hector nodded to Allen. “There’s an outside shower on the other side of the dock house if you want to rinse off.”

“Perfect.” Allen took a towel from Ishmael. “See you two up at the house.”

Ishmael tossed Hector a towel, but he threw it over the railing. “Hey, I’m going to swim up the creek a bit,” he said. “You want to join me?”

“Ah, you know, I—”

“Heard you could swim as fast as your mom.”

There was a suggestion in his voice. Was it possible that he knew about her mother?

“You knew my mom?” she asked.

He gave her a tantalizing smirk. “Come on. I’ll race you.”

Of course she was tempted. She imagined the two of them swimming down the creek together.

“Naw. I’m really—Rain check?”

“Sure. Okay,” he said. He took a step back and she realized how close he’d been standing. “But at some point, I want to see for myself what you got.”

He dove off the dock with a perfect splash. She watched him surface a few seconds later; his arms spun evenly, his legs kicked, and his body sliced through the water of the creek.

THE REMAINING CANDLES BARELY FLICKERED, having melted low in their glass containers. Allen, Diane, and Hector were drunk, and the conversation had remained light and casual during the meal. Everyone but Ishmael was relaxed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Maggie. Why would a grandmother make no effort to contact her, especially after both her parents had disappeared?

Lena reached over and clicked on a lamp. “Party has come to an end, folks. Getting way too long past my bedtime.”

Everyone at the table squinted and moaned at the brightness.

“I’m in charge of cleaning the kitchen,” Lena said. “You drunken clowns just take all those empty booze bottles out the house. Recycling bin out by the coop.”

There was a sudden scraping of chairs as everyone stood up, clanking the bottles and laughing. Lena lifted the heavy stack of dishes off the table, but Hector reached over and took them from her.

“Well, you’re sure good for something,” Lena said, following him into the house.

Ishmael started gathering utensils off the table. Maggie put a hand on her shoulder.

“Let them clean up. You and I will finish our wine.”

Maggie gestured to the cluster of furniture at the other end of the porch.

“Breeze dropped out. No need to pack us all in that tiny kitchen and sweat ourselves crazy,” Maggie said, settling into a chair. “Plus, selfishly, I’ll sleep better once I’ve gotten more of this off my chest.”

Ishmael chugged the last of her wine, not sure if she was prepared to hear her grandmother’s words. She was drowning in her uncertainties. Could she trust Maggie?

“You
can
trust me, Ishmael. I promise I won’t steer you wrong.” Ishmael nearly dropped her glass.

No. No way. It was the alcohol. Too much of it—or perhaps not enough. She spied a wine rack stocked with unopened bottles. “Those for decoration?” Ishmael asked.

Maggie pulled open a nearby drawer and held up a corkscrew. “Clean glasses are in the cabinet there by you,” Maggie said, twisting the tool into a bottle she had taken from the highest shelf. “This one is fine.”

“Trust me. For this,” Maggie said, pulling the cork out with finesse, “you’ll want a fresh glass.”

“To the ocean,” Maggie said, lifting her glass in a toast. She took a sip and closed her eyes.

Ishmael watched her grandmother, brows raised.

“See for yourself,” Maggie said, motioning for Ishmael to take a sip.

Ishmael tasted. A perfect blend of tart and sweet and spice. Plums, rosemary, lavender, raspberries, honey. She held the glass away and peered at it.

“What is this stuff?”

“Special wine for a special time,” Maggie said. “It’s not every day I get to meet my only granddaughter.”

“It’s
so good
.”

Ishmael picked up the bottle. There was no label. The glass was fantastically patterned and ornate, like nothing Ishmael had ever seen. It looked like it had been on the bottom of the ocean.

Ishmael looked up. “Where did you get this?”

“Someone’s got to drink all the luxuries that go down with the ship.”

“But Maggie, this is—”

“Fit for a king?” Maggie sauntered back to her chair, carrying the bottle with her. “I’m sure at one time it truly was. Tonight, it’s fit for us queens.”

Ishmael hesitated, stupefied by the glass in her hand. “Come sit down. I still have quite a bit more to tell you.”

Ishmael steered her way across the porch and plopped into a chair across from her grandmother.

“Ishmael, the day your truck went off the cliff, you proved something quite remarkable.”

Maggie paused and set the wine on the table in front of her. “You were birthed on land; your mother was in the human form when she had you, and you were raised a human child,” Maggie continued. “But still, your body seems to have maintained all its instinctual aquatic behaviors.”

“But that’s what I don’t get.” Ishmael leaned forward. “I’ve been in the ocean hundreds of times in my life. My body never changed—but my truck goes plunging off a cliff and my body suddenly transforms? Makes no sense.”

“Your body changed to protect you. Instincts kicked in, and your body converted so you would survive.”

“So you’re saying if my body hadn’t changed I would have died when my truck went off the cliff?”

“Most likely. Our aquatic bodies are more resilient to injury.”

“But I didn’t change until after my car went into the water.”

“My thought is that you were already changing before you hit the water; you just didn’t recognize the sensation.” Maggie shrugged and picked up her wine glass again. “I wish I had more of a precise answer than a theory. We’re in uncharted territory here.”

Ishmael thought for a while and then looked back toward her grandmother.

“So you’re a mermaid too?”

“Of course,” Maggie said.

“You say that so plainly.”

Maggie laughed. “How am I supposed to say it?”

Ishmael sat back and sipped.

“So why me?” she said. “How did they know to save me when my truck went off that cliff? And how was she there so quickly? How was that female there
immediately
when my truck hit the water?”

“My guess is that she must have sensed it.”

“Sensed it. How?”

“How do animals sense a hurricane coming? They don’t watch the news. Now granted, a car wreck is not an act of nature, but I still suspect that the female who rescued you must have somehow sensed your truck was going to soar off that cliff.”

“You mean—what, like a sixth sense?”

“Somewhat,” Maggie said. “It makes me think of my honey bees. If I’m nervous or in a bad mood, they can just sense it. The few times I’ve been stung are because I went to check my bees with a heavy heart.”

“Wait. Hold up.” Ishmael held her hands up. “I’ve had a few glasses of wine. I don’t know if I’m ready for all this.”

“It’s really not that hard to imagine,” Maggie said. “Aquatic humans don’t have possessions. They have less outward distractions. They’re more focused inward. They’ve cultivated ways to use higher percentages of their brain’s potential.”

“So they’re smarter than us?” Ishmael asked.

“Their focus is just different. Like the ancient yogis. They had such control of their minds that they could do the most astounding things with their physical bodies.”

“Sounds smarter to me.”

“Yes, in many ways, I agree. But some would argue that living the way they do in the ocean is uncivilized. Certainly, aquatic humans are not ‘civilized’ in the way that land humans define the word.”

Ishmael thought back to that day in the Pacific, the female at the kelp paddy.

Maggie continued. “Most people would say they live like animals—and, strictly speaking, they’d be right. But in many ways, one could also argue that the lives of aquatic humans are possibly more civilized than ours here on land. They don’t fight wars. They don’t bicker over religion or politics. Their lives in the water are simple. They take only what they need, commune with nature, and—most importantly of all—they don’t take things too seriously. Plus, there’s plenty of time in the water to play.”

Ishmael sat back and sipped her wine. “Sounds nice.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows and smiled, apparently pleased that Ishmael was agreeing with her.

The women sat for a moment in contemplation. Maggie leaned forward to refill the glasses.

“It’s just unbelievable to me that the change can happen so quickly,” Ishmael said, beginning to relax and open up to her grandmother. “One minute I’m a human, and then seconds later my legs are gone and I have a tail.”

“It’s not always like that. You’re a rarity. Most require a catalyst. Others can’t transfer between the species at all.”

The sound of a boat’s approach stopped both of them. The boat crept by, only its red and green bow lights signaling its presence in the dark water.

“I wouldn’t have thought you had neighbors for miles,” Ishmael said.

“We don’t. That’s just Dan. Retired game warden,” Maggie said. “He cuts through our creek on low tides. It’s faster to get to his son’s by boat.”

Ishmael looked out over the water, pondering more than the passing boat.

“You don’t need a catalyst because you
are
the catalyst,” Maggie said. “You’re a special breed of aquatic human. By getting in the accident—and your body changing the way it did—you proved this.”

Ishmael looked at her. “So I can change back and forth whenever I want to?”

Maggie stood, walked over to the screen, and set her wine down on a ledge.

“I warn you against taking this process lightly.” She wouldn’t look at Ishmael. “There are some that change and can never change back.”

Ishmael jerked upright.

“That’s why you’re not in the water! You can’t go back, can you?” Maggie turned. Seeing her expression, Ishmael almost wished he hadn’t asked the question.

“You’re right,” Maggie said. “I can’t.”

Maggie looked out over the creek. Her flamenco dancing oak trees were silhouetted in the darkness outside, casting dramatic shadows on the blue-black water.

“I was young when I first came to land. I dreamed of a life with cars and refrigerators and movie theaters. I was blind to the risks I was taking.”

She looked back at Ishmael.

“Like you, I could change on my own, but I took that ability for granted. Once I converted, that was it for me.”

“If you could change once, why couldn’t you change again?” Ishmael asked.

“No simple reason. Nothing I could explain.” Maggie paused briefly and then added, “Why do women struggle to get pregnant, turn to fertility drugs, have a child, and then get pregnant on their own with the second child?” She looked at Ishmael. “The body shifts. Physiology changes with time.”

“Then you must have mated with a human to have my mother?”

“I had a mate from my aquatic life. Not a good match. He hated the land and returned to the water just after I got pregnant.” Maggie looked out of the screen porch with a bittersweet smile. “Your grandfather was dreadfully handsome, but he wasn’t the paternal type.”

“So you’re stuck?”

Maggie exhaled a thoughtful sigh.

“I don’t like to call it stuck. Somehow, my body only came with the hardware to transform once. But I’ve found a way to enjoy my life here on land.”

Ishmael took a deep breath. “That must be so hard for you.”

“It was.” Maggie came back to sit down in her chair again. “But thankfully, I found Lena. And I love this old house. I don’t need much, but what I do need has been provided for me. I give myself credit for at least being wise enough to bring a little stash of gold and jewels when I came to land. I trade them for cash.” She laughed. “My one redeeming forethought in my youth—I brought treasure. I came financially prepared.”

“So—will I get stuck?” Ishmael asked.

“You’ve already changed back and forth multiple times now. You seem to have proved yourself highly capable in the process. But there’s truly no way to know for sure.”

“Great. More ambiguity.”

“Transmutation is not exactly a heavily researched process,” Maggie explained. “Outside of aquatic mammals, I’m not even sure it exists. I’ve never heard of another species that can transmutate. Sure, a starfish can grow an arm, a lizard can grow a tail. Humans can clone a sheep. But it’s basically our little secret in the ocean. And like any secret, transmutation is mysterious. There are a lot of unanswered questions as to why and how.”

Ishmael glanced across the lawn, where a warm apricot glow emanated from the windows of the dock house.

Maggie stood and downed the last of her wine.

“Well, let’s plan on talking more tomorrow. We’ll take a nice walk. I’ll show you around the property.”

Ishmael stood quickly. Maggie gave her a confused look.

“Is everything okay?” Maggie asked. “Can I get you something before bed?”

“I just—I don’t know—shouldn’t I—hug you or something?” Maggie leaned in and hugged her. She was the same height as Ishmael, and she smelled faintly of lemon balm. Ishmael wrapped her arms around her and hugged her back. Maggie’s hair was coarser than Ishmael had expected. Like the mane of a horse. Maggie squeezed her once, tightly, before letting go.

“Well—sweet dreams,” Maggie said, and retreated.

Ishmael dropped back into a chair. She rested her head back and exhaled a deep breath. She needed to talk to someone. She thought about waking Allen, but she remembered how drunk he’d been.

She felt something wedged between the cushions of her chair. Diane’s cell phone. She pushed a button to check the time, and her eyes squinted in the blue glow. A twinge of a headache cramped her forehead in the brightness. It was almost one in the morning. She exhaled and felt the heat of the wine in her breath. She should go to bed.

But she wasn’t tired.

On the West Coast, it was three hours earlier.

On the West Coast, Nicholas was awake.

He had such a
great
voice. And his laugh. It was—perfect. Because Nicholas was fun. So
much
fun. Always up for something spontaneous—last-minute plane flights, breakfast in another city, opening four-hundred dollar bottles of wine at two in the morning.

Yes, Nicholas was fun. He was
great
.

Was this the wine talking? Probably—
not
.

She could just call him. He probably wouldn’t answer, but she’d hear his great voice on the greeting. Tell him she was sorry and she was all right. Just—real quick.

She poured herself more wine and took a nice gulp, then sat back and stared at the shiny device until she couldn’t take it anymore. Leaning forward, she dialed the number, holding the phone to her ear, breathing and waiting. One ring. Two rings. Holy shit. Her heart pounded. After four rings, his voice came on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Nicholas Santorini.”

She waited for her heart to swoon.

“I’m with a client or away from my phone. Please feel free to leave a detailed message.”
Beep
.

She clicked the phone shut.

She wasn’t swooning.

Damnit. Was she crazy?
Yes. Shit!
She didn’t want to talk to Nicholas! What would she have said to him? She was an idiot to have called. A drunk idiot. She quickly powered off Diane’s cell phone. If Nicholas called back, at least it wouldn’t ring. She chugged the remainder of her wine and stumbled into the house. Falling into bed, she pulled the sheets over her body. She wanted to ponder the answers to all her questions, but the wine and fatigue had caught up to her. In no time, she was sound asleep.