Christmas on Main Street (15 page)

Nat frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, please go on. This is great. I clearly picked the right person to tell me this story.”

She smiled. “Anyway, Rutherford watched in awe as the mermaid pulled his boat to the cove, and the other boats followed, saving most of the male population of the island and its future generations in the process. Now, this is where things get good.”

“I can’t wait.”

“According to the legend, poor Rutherford was so overcome with emotion that the instant his ship was secured, he dove into the frigid Atlantic in search of the divine creature who had saved them, attempting to pledge his undying love and devotion to her. The fool nearly drowned, of course, but his men managed to pull him from the crashing ice-cold sea. They dragged him to the inn, where he slipped into a fevered illness for days.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“When he awoke, his eyes landed on the beautiful innkeeper’s daughter, who had been nursing him back to health. And what did he see? The same shiny raven black hair and dark, beautiful eyes that he’d seen in the mermaid! Despite the girl’s protests, Rutherford swore the women were one and the same, and he rolled off his sickbed to one knee and pledged to cherish her and love her until the end of time.”

Nat’s eyes went wide.

“According to the legend, they ended up insanely happy together, and Rutherford’s business boomed and his family grew. He built a luxurious mansion for his wife, which is now the Safe Haven B and B.”

“Ah, okay. Makes perfect sense.”

“Now, ol’ Rutherford, who some believed had lost his entire pack of marbles by that time, commissioned a bronze mermaid statue and fountain for the center of town to be made in his wife’s likeness. You have to remember that this was during the Victorian era and this was New England, right? So when the huge, nearly naked mermaid was unveiled, the locals freaked. But what could they do? By that time, Rutherford was not just the biggest employer on the island, he was the mayor.”

“Sounds like Chicago.”

Annie laughed. “So, soon after the statue was unveiled, stories began to circulate about her special powers. Overemotional girls swore the mermaid could reveal to them their true loves. But only if they asked with a pure heart.”

“You mean they had to be virgins?”

“No. I mean they had to have good intentions. I’ll get to more of the rules in a minute.”

“This story sure has a lot of damn rules.”

Annie grinned. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”

Ezra chose that moment to thud onto the bed again. He tried to shove his fat cat body between them, but Annie and Nat guided him toward their feet, smiling at each other the whole time.

“I lost my train of thought.”

“The mermaid rules.”

“Oh, right. So young women swore the mermaid could deliver their true loves. The men who kissed the mermaid’s hand claimed to fall under a magical spell. They said they suddenly were consumed with a passion beyond reason for one particular girl they envisioned in their mind’s eye—often one they’d never met and had no name for! As the years went by, this basic legend evolved into its expanded, modern-day form.”

Nat looked slightly upset.

Annie thought maybe the story was too long. “I can stop here if you want me to.”

“Hell no. Don’t you dare!”

She laughed. “Okay, so here’s the legend as it stands today: True love is like the sea—beautiful, deep, and life-giving but unpredictable, powerful, and even dangerous. To succeed at love, you must set out on your journey with a true heart and be prepared to be tossed by waves of passion, be willing to drown in love’s undertow. The legend claims that anyone who comes to the mermaid, kisses her hand, and pledges to go wherever love leads will find happiness. But beware.” Annie wiggled her eyebrows for effect. “Anyone who comes to the Great Mermaid with preconceived notions about the ‘who-what-wheres’ of true love will find heartache instead.”

Nat’s face blanched white. He looked almost seasick.

“Are you all right?”

He blinked at Annie. “Yeah. But I need some clarification on something you just said.”

“Sure.”

“All this stuff that’s supposed to happen—you know, the passion beyond reason thing and the magical spell and undertow shit—that can happen only if you go to the mermaid personally, right? I mean, someone else can’t go to the mermaid and plead your case without your knowledge, right? The mermaid just can’t throw something like that on an unsuspecting passerby, right?”

“No. You have to go to her yourself and make your request—if you believe in any of this crap, that is.”

Nat nodded and thanked her for telling the story, but she could tell something still troubled him.

And then she remembered . . .

“Hold up,” she said. “I take back that last part. There’s supposed to be another way the mermaid juju can get you, but it’s just as goofy as everything else about the legend.”

Nat’s eyes got big again. “What’s the other way?”

“Well, back when we were teenagers, Rowan told me that Mona and her minions have a bunch of secret rituals that no one’s supposed to know about—pledges and chanting and handshakes and stupid stuff like that. But one night, Rowan eavesdropped on them.

“She overheard them talking about performing a ritual—I think they even called it an ‘intervention.’ It was for a woman who refused to believe in the power of the Great Mermaid. Apparently, they were waiting for a solstice or special moon phase or some ridiculous thing, and when it came, they planned to put on their wigs and scales—”

Annie stopped. They jolted up at the same time, startling Ezra so much that he hissed before he thumped off the bed. Annie and Nat stared at each other in silence for a very long moment.

Then Nat said, “I think yesterday was the winter solstice.”

“What a charming house you have, Miss Parker.” The doctor stomped her boots on the rug by the front door. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m very glad you got here safe. Please, come in.” Annie took her coat and gestured toward the bedroom. “Is the weather letting up at all?”

The doctor shook her head. “It’s still a mess out there, but the temperature’s rising. How’s the patient?” She walked alongside Annie toward the bedroom.

“He’s wonderful. Very alert. His appetite has been good. He says his pain is much better, too.”

The doctor gave her a sideways glance, then smiled a little. “This is all great news. Were you able to wake him every couple hours, as I suggested?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, we were up most of the night.”

“You don’t say?”

Annie realized her choice of words might be giving the doctor the wrong impression. Or the right impression. Which would be the wrong thing to give her. “Talking,” she said. “We were up talking. Nat is an interesting man. After you.” She gestured for the doctor to enter the bedroom.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Annie said, walking away. The instant the kitchen door shut behind her, Annie was on the phone with Rowan. It was the sixth time that morning.

“Well? What did you find out?”

•   •   •

The doctor was an older woman with a kind face and a quiet touch. She’d checked his pulse, his blood pressure, the dilation of his pupils, and his reflexes. Then she began to gently nudge and tug on his limbs, asking if anything hurt.

“My concern is that you lost consciousness for a rather long period of time,” she said, patting his arm. “You seem fine, and I’m not overly worried, but concussions can be tricky to diagnose without a CT scan, so you should have one after the holidays. I will write you a prescription.” She returned her stethoscope to her doctor bag and sat down in Annie’s writing chair.

“Any headaches, Mr. Ravelle?”

“Just at first. Nothing now.”

“Nausea or vomiting?”

“No.”

“Are you seeing flashing lights?”

“Aside from the ones on Annie’s Christmas tree?”

The doctor grinned. “Those don’t count.”

“Then no.”

“Persistent confusion?”

“No.”

“A noticeable change in your usual thought process, emotions, or behavior?”

Nat scrunched up his mouth.

“Mr. Ravelle?”

“Uh . . .”

•   •   •

“Absolutely nothing,” was Rowan’s answer. “My mom denies they did any kind of ritual.”

“Of course she does.”

“I was on the phone with her for a half hour, trying to get her to crack, and then I went over there to see her in person. But she just keeps telling me the same thing—she has no idea what I’m talking about, and there is no such thing as a love intervention anyway.”

“Whatever.”

“She thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time alone, writing about captains and mermaids gettin’ it on in the sea of love.”

Annie nodded. “Right.”

“So after I was done with my mom, I marched over to Abby’s, Izzy’s, and even Polly’s, and they all said the same thing—they have no idea what I’m talking about. I will say this, though—Abby seemed real nervous and even shut the door in my face.”

Annie sighed. “Well, I really appreciate you going out and doing the Sherlock Holmes thing for me. You’re the best friend I could ever hope for.”

Rowan laughed. “Oh, come on now, Annie. You and I both know there’s nothing to the mermaid crap.”

“Of course.” Annie leaned against the counter, hearing the doctor’s soft murmur from the bedroom and the sound of Nat’s laughter. They seemed to be getting along great.

“Look, I did tell my mom that they needed to mind their own damn business. But even if they did have one of their pagan parties in your honor, they did it because they love you and just want you to be happy.”

Annie smiled. “I know.”

“Annie?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What do you mean?” Annie began rinsing out cups in the sink, thinking that keeping her hands busy would somehow magically stop this conversation.

“Well, you called me last night completely freaked out because you were a nervous wreck around this guy. Then this morning you call me completely freaked out because you’re suddenly convinced the mermaids are messing with your love life. And, since I’m Sherlock Holmes and all, what it looks like to me is you suddenly
have
a love life.”

Annie froze. “You know, I should probably go. The doctor’s here and—”

“Oh my God! You’re in love with him!”

“Oh please, Rowan.” Annie stepped out onto the small back porch to finish the conversation. “I don’t even know him. How could I be in love with him? Don’t go getting all crazy on me, all right?”

“You’re lying to me, Annabeth Parker. Liar, liar, liar.”

“I really need to go.”

“You love him and you’ve never let yourself love someone before, so you’re worried that the Great Mermaid had something to do with this, that she used her tractor beam of love to deliver him to your door. Am I right?”

“The mermaid story is ridiculous. I don’t believe in the mermaid.”

Rowan giggled. “That’s great, sweetie. But what if she believes in you?”

•   •   •

The doctor waited patiently for Nat to answer. This was a dilemma. He knew it was important to share everything with a doctor. Your life could depend on it. He also knew that if he told her the truth—that his thinking process and consciousness had been radically altered, that his emotions were on kamikaze autopilot, and that he’d even entertained the possibility that a bronze mermaid fountain might have directed him to his one true love—she’d order a psychiatrist to go with that CT scan.

Nat stared at her. All he could manage was a laugh.

“You know, Mr. Ravelle,” she said, “I live in the world of science, but science isn’t the be-all and end-all. Working as a physician, I’ve seen things I have no explanation for, and I’ve reached the conclusion that there’s more to life than we can prove with empirical data.”

Nat really liked this woman. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I grew up on Nantucket,” she said. “I’ve been coming to Bayberry Island all my life. I’ve always known there’s something extraordinary about this place.” She raised her eyebrows. “I met my husband here.”

“No kidding?”

The doctor’s expression seemed to glaze over for a moment. “Yes. At a totally kick-ass beach party during the 1980 Mermaid Festival.”

“So I need a CT scan, huh?”

She chuckled and reached for a prescription pad. “I understand that your reason for being here is job related, but if I may ask, what were your holiday plans, Mr. Ravelle?”

He noticed she’d just used the past tense. “My whole family is in Boston for Christmas. My plan was to spend a couple days on this godforsaken piece of rock and take the first thing smokin’ back to Boston.”

The doctor smiled as she wrote out something on her pad. “Well, those plans have changed. I’ve just written you a note excusing you from your job for two weeks. Have them call me if they have any questions. And here’s a referral for a CT scan.”

“But . . .” Nat was bewildered.

“I want you to stay put for a while. For the next few days, don’t leave this bed unless it’s for meals, showers, and maybe some slow dancing in front of the fireplace, but only if you feel up to it. And I think you should consider inviting your family to Bayberry for Christmas, since it’s better that you don’t travel. You can get your CT scan on the Cape.” She tore off both slips of paper and handed them to him.

Nat knew his mouth was hanging open. He looked from the piece of paper to the doctor and back again. “What’s my diagnosis? Is it serious? What do you think is wrong with me?”

She grabbed her bag and stood by the side of the bed. “Nothing that a couple weeks on this island with Miss Parker won’t cure. Merry Christmas.”

•   •   •

Now it was official. There had never been so many people crammed into her tiny house at one time. And the walls had never tried to contain so much chatter, laughter, music, and the sound of kids playing. Annie loved it. She couldn’t stop smiling at the idea that all these people—the ones she’d just met yesterday and the ones she’d known all her life—had come together to celebrate Christmas Eve. And they were here in her house, which she had expected to be cold and empty over the holidays.

The only one who wasn’t enjoying himself was Ezra, now with a bow on his head and being carried around by Nat’s six-year-old niece.

“What an adorable place you have, Annie.” Nat’s mother had followed her into the kitchen. “Has this property been in your family a long time?”

“Only for about the last one hundred fifty years, give or take.” Annie smiled at her. She was a lovely woman who seemed enamored with the island and deliriously happy that her family could be together over the holidays. She also seemed just the teeniest bit curious about Annie and her life—and probably her shop’s dessert menu. It was obvious that Mrs. Ravelle hadn’t followed her into the kitchen only to help carry out more bacon-wrapped scallops.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Ravelle had donned a pair of mitts to remove another tray of appetizers from the oven. “Well, Nat has told us a bit about you, and I have to say I’m a little surprised by the situation.”

Annie turned to face her, puzzled. “You’re surprised he would be interested in me?”

“That’s not what I meant at all!” Mrs. Ravelle laughed. “There’s no surprise there. Any red-blooded man would be interested in you. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and I’m just glad you seem as smitten with Nat as he is with you.”

“Scared me there for a minute,” Annie said.

“I’m sorry. What I meant was . . . well, dammit, I’m just going to come right out and say it.” She took a breath and rested the oven mitts on her hips. “Nat has never brought a girl home for us to meet, not once since he moved to California for college. He had a girlfriend in high school, and I really thought he was in love with her, but that was it. We were starting to think, well, you know. He’s in his thirties now. He lives in LA.”

Annie laughed out loud. “Nat is definitely not gay.”

“Oh, thank God! Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. We just weren’t sure, and it’s such a relief to know one way or the other.” With that, Mrs. Ravelle grabbed Annie and squeezed her tight. “Thank you, my dear girl.”

“That was your question?”

“Oh no. I just had to get that out of the way before I asked what I really wanted to ask.”

Annie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. “Fire away.”

“Would you consider—and you don’t have to if you are sick of doing it at this point—but would you consider telling us the story of the mermaid legend after dinner? I think the girls would love to hear it. They’re in that phase, you know.”

“Which phase is that?”

“The true love stuff. Fairy tales and princesses. Magical powers. Knights in shining armor.”

“Ah, that phase,” Annie said, grinning. “I think I remember it.”

Many hours later, Annie’s friends and neighbors had returned to their homes and the Ravelles had settled in at the Safe Haven B and B. She and Nat were in the kitchen washing dishes and listening to Christmas music.

“Let’s take a break,” Nat said.

“Is your back bothering you?”

“Nope, but this is my favorite carol.” He grabbed Annie by the hand and led her into the sitting room. He flipped off all the lights, leaving only the Christmas tree and the fire to cast a warm glow.

“What are you—?”

“Shh. This requires ambience.”

She giggled as he pulled her to the front of his body and began to sway to a slow and jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Since the room had already been rearranged for maximum party space, there was plenty of room for dancing.

Nat gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling with the lights. “Annie Parker, before this night ends, I wanted to be sure to thank you.”

“For?”

“Saving me. Bringing me to shore.”