The Summer of Chasing Mermaids (15 page)

Chapter 19

“Tears mean the tarot
cards are doing their job,” Lemon said gently. The group of women gathered in the gallery were enraptured. “There's no weakness in crying, Meredith. Only illumination.”

As quietly as possible, I crept into the kitchen. It was dark by the time Christian and Sebastian had dropped me off, and now the gallery was lit with candles, golden light mingling with the full moon outside, dancing through the leaves of the sea glass tree.

Witchcraft afoot.

Lemon's coven met here monthly—the ladies liked working with the power of the sea, and Lemon had the closest access—but this time Mrs. Kane had joined them, along with another woman I recognized immediately as Mrs. James. She looked exactly like Vanessa, only blond instead of brunette, and older. The same warmth and confidence emanated from her smile.

“I should've been honest with him,” Mrs. Kane said, drawing my attention back to the card reading.

“Maybe,” Lemon said. “But there are a lot of layers there, a lot to sift through with your marriage. Right now it's more important to be honest with yourself. Honest about what you want, what you need, and where there's room for compromise.”

“Can we ask the cards for specific instructions on that? A manual, maybe?” Mrs. Kane ran her fingers under her eyes, laughing through her tears. It reminded me of what Lemon had said about her soul, ­hiding there beneath the surface.

“There you are,” Kirby called out from the hallway, scattering my thoughts. She and Vanessa crossed into the kitchen. “We've been ­texting you forever. It's ladies' night. Where were you?”

“And we know y'all weren't working today,” Vanessa said, “since I ended up having a picnic lunch with an electrician. A cute one, but still. Spill it.”

“What happened to your pants?” Kirby's eyes widened when she finally noticed the mud caked to my cargos. I'd rinsed what I could at the water pump and park restroom, but my clothes needed serious laundering, and the mud was hardening into the ends of my loopy hair like putty.

I took out my notebook.

Hike at Devils Elbow. Sebastian started a mud fight.

Kirby squinted at me, one hand on her hip. “What's with all the extracurriculars?”

Vanessa laughed. “Give the girl a break, Nosey Nelly.”

“Me? You just told her to spill it.”

“Because I relish the details, whereas you get all judgy.”

“I'm just looking out for her. You know that boy is bad news. And now they're hiking? Mud fights? That's, like, the gateway drug to making out.”

Hello!
I waved my hands in front of her.
I'm right here.

“Kirby, seriously. Loosen up!” Vanessa winked at me and said, “Anyway, you're here, mud queen, so come meet my mom—she's been bugging me all night. Gotta warn you, she's a little over the top. But she means well.”

Ambushed by Vanessa and Kirby, official social committee of Atargatis Cove, I was powerless to resist. I let them lead me into the gallery, where Lemon's friends were consoling Mrs. Kane, offering further analysis on the tarot reading Lemon had just completed.

I wondered what the cards had told her. Hopefully something about sticking up for Sebastian. Or sticking up for herself, putting her husband in his place.

“Mom,” Vanessa said. “Come meet Elyse.”

Mrs. James turned away from the cards, her smile widening when she saw us. She approached with quick, intentional steps, and I could tell immediately that this was a woman who

spoke!

In!

Exclamation points!

“Elyse!” she said. “I've heard so much about you!” In one warm hand she crushed my fingers, gripping my arm with the other. “I'm so sorry we didn't get a chance to connect before now! Gosh, I hope you don't mind me sayin', but you're a real inspiration to us here at the Cove!”

I held my smile in place, but my shoulders sank. Once upon a time my voice had the power to bring people to tears. Now I was “a real inspiration” just . . . what? Standing here in muddy cargo pants? Breathing?

Much like my tight-lipped smile, Mrs. James's grip hadn't loosened, and she continued to ogle me with a mix of sympathy and awe. “You've just overcome so much! And—”

“Mom.” Vanessa finally stepped in, disconnecting her mother's grasp from my arm and replacing it with her own. “Let's not make her a cause, okay?”

“Oh, don't exaggerate.” Mrs. James's smile didn't dim a bit. “I'm just so pleased to meet you, Elyse. Vanessa speaks very highly of you, and I know Kirby thinks the world of you!”

Next to me, Kirby fidgeted. I felt a surge of affection for her, of appreciation. Yes, she had her judgments, made her assumptions, spoke for me more often than she let me try. But she was never ­disingenuous, never hid ill intent behind a fake smile or too-polished words. Despite my hot-and-cold routine, she never gave up on me. She looked out for me. Texted me. Included me. Tried.

In my time at the Cove, I'd spent many nights scribbling in my journal, attempting to write my way into a solution, into some kind of clarity and acceptance about what I'd lost and where I'd go from here. But maybe clarity was like love, shooting through you when you least expected it, when you'd finally stopped seeking it. Standing there in my mud-caked pants between Kirby and Vanessa, bathed in the glow of Mrs. James's overadoring but sincere smile, I suddenly remembered what it was like to
not
be shy and fragile and closed off. I remembered, because I
wasn't
those things, even now. But I'd been acting like it, like I needed Kirby to speak for me. Like I needed her protecting me.

I hadn't given her a reason to treat me otherwise.

All our time together, our close quarters and cohabitating toothbrushes, and I still hadn't let Kirby know the real me. Only the damaged one, the one who hid behind a scar and a whisper, the one who acted like there were no other options. Maybe that's what Mrs. James saw too.

I looked at my cousin, gave her my real smile. And when Lemon called out across the gallery, asking for the next woman who needed a little guidance from the universe, something sparked inside.

Kirby gave me an encouraging nod, and before anyone else could volunteer, I sat down across from Lemon, inhaled the spicy incense that floated in the air around her.

Lemon's baker friends, Kat and Ava, shifted over to make room, everyone's eyes on me and the cards that were soon to come.

Granna occasionally hired tarot readers from Trinidad, a bit of overplayed folklore to entertain the resort guests when Natalie and I needed a break from our song-and-dance routine. But late at night, long after the paying customers had turned in, the good rum came out, tongues and hearts loosened, and the women read—honestly, no gimmicks—for my sisters and the people who'd worked the harvest.

I'd never let them read my cards, though.

I'd smile, tell them I didn't want to know too much about my future. But I knew the cards weren't fortune-tellers. They were clarifiers, magnifiers. Illuminators. They dove into your heart, into your soul, and brought forth the things you were often so afraid to face. The things you most needed to face.

I'd gotten away with it so many times, my dismissive excuses. But the truth was as clear on those Tobago nights as it was now: I was afraid. Afraid they'd dig too deep.

Here at the edge of the Pacific, after hiding away for too long, maybe digging too deep was just what I needed.

Lemon smiled warmly, raised an eyebrow. “Remember, the cards never lie. Even when you want them to.”

Heat shot through all the places that were suddenly—thanks in part to Christian—coming alive again. My lips especially burned, twin beacons that I was certain told the story.

I nodded anyway.

Lemon shuffled the deck. The cards were black, longer and narrower than regular playing cards, etched with gold crescent moons.
“This deck takes energy and inspiration from the moon. The images are a bit on the dark side, but sometimes we have to face our own darkness before we can find the light.”

I gestured for her to continue.

“You may want some paper, so we can communicate about the card meanings,” she said.

“On it.” Kirby rose from her chair, retrieved my notebook and pen from the kitchen.

Around me the women in the gallery went silent.

“This card represents your recent past.” Lemon drew the first card, laid it on the black cloth spread between us. “The Moon.”

A huge silver moon dominated the face of the card, and from it an elderly couple dangled by puppet strings, marionettes dancing.

“The moon relates to our intuition, our deep feminine knowledge,” Lemon said. “It's turned up a few times tonight, unsurprisingly, given the full moon. But here it may be warning of self-deception. Of a time when you ignored your intuition.”

I met her eyes, uncertain.

“Things are not always what they seem by the light of the moon. You have to be careful, and most importantly, honest with yourself. Trust your intuition, and don't lie to yourself.” Lemon smiled gently. “This card is in your past, Elyse. It represents forces that are moving out of influence. It's important to consider, though, because it points to how the present situation came to be.”

“The moon is speaking to all of us tonight,” Mrs. Kane said. She
smiled gently at me, the first genuine warmth I'd ever seen from her. If she brought her devices tonight, they were stowed in her purse. “Turned up in my present position.”

“It was my future card,” Mrs. James said. “I keep thinking it has to do with the house. There's something sleazy about these developers.”

“I was hoping Terra would be here tonight to shed some light on Wes's plans,” Mrs. Kane said. “Has anyone heard from her?”

“Not about this.” Lemon shook her head. “If Wes is keeping secrets, she's as in the dark as we are.”

Lemon and Kirby exchanged a glance weighted with sorrow, and Mrs. Kane sighed.

“It doesn't matter,” Vanessa said in her easy-breezy way. “Elyse and Christian will win the regatta. The boat is lookin' good, too. Christian had an electrician fix up all the wiring.”

“Really?” Mrs. Kane brightened. “I hadn't realized he'd hired someone. That's great news.”

“I think it's wonderful that you're sailing, Elyse!” Mrs. James turned her big smile my way. “This town could use some shaking up.”

The women laughed, and I wondered what they'd think about Sebastian marching in the mermaid parade. Seemed like all of us were on a mission to disturb the peace this summer.

“The moon is certainly powerful tonight,” Lemon said, bringing everyone back on topic. “None of us is immune to its energy, especially so close to the sea.” Lemon tapped the card. “Elyse, the moon can be illuminating, but only if you're willing to look beneath the surface. To
look deep within, and be honest with yourself about your limitations as well as your abilities.”

She flipped the next card, placing it to the right of the Moon. “This card represents you. The present. Where you are right now.”

The card had no printed name, but I knew instinctively it was Death. On its face a pitch-black woman with a horse skull for a head stepped on a small child who looked as if he'd planned to climb between her legs, to crawl back into the womb. Dead things surrounded her, in the burned grass beneath her feet, the factory-­polluted ocean behind. In the distance a tattered ship sank into the muck.

But in her rounded belly, new life grew. Was imminent.

“You're resisting,” Lemon said. “A change has come upon you, yet, like the child at Death's feet, you're clinging to old ways, trying to go back.” She met my eyes, silently asking permission to continue. She knew we were getting into personal territory here, and I appreciated her thoughtfulness. But I was in it, enraptured by the cards and whatever message they might unearth, and from the collection of witches and neighbors that surrounded me, I felt only support. Imperfect maybe, but real.

I nodded for her to go on.

“You cannot go back to the past, or resist this change. It's already come. But you can't move forward unless you acknowledge and accept it. Again, the Moon reminds you of the importance of self-reflection and self-honesty.” Across from me, Lemon touched
her throat, lingering on the place where, on my own skin, the silver scar burned. “The changes you endured back home were in many ways a death for you. Death of your old life, your old self. But death isn't an ending, Elyse. Just part of a longer journey. Death begets life, remember. One does not exist without the other.”

I took a shuddering breath. The cards were so obvious, so right. I'd been holding on to the past, clinging to something that had long ago died. I'd been lying to myself about it. Trying to fill up my sea glass jar as if that accomplishment could reverse the clock, could make everything okay again. I wasn't simply trying to fool myself about the past—I was trying to go back there.

Lemon laid the next card sideways on top of the Death card, forming a small cross.

“This is the energy crossing you. It's the nature of what's preventing you from moving forward from Death, an obstacle in which both challenges and opportunities lie.” She looked at the card. “The Two of Cups.”

Even more so than Death, this card was captivating and bone-­chilling. A naked woman, half-black and half-blue, leaned against the wall. She wore long black braids tipped in starlight, her breasts adorned with golden crescent moons. One hand held a glass of red wine, and the other spanned protectively across her abdomen. A ­skeleton, pale and gruesome and wrapped in bandages, leaned into her, one arm blocking her exit as he touched his wine glass to hers. Unlike the woman, whose nakedness left her vulnerable, the skeleton wore a fine red coat with gold
buttons. At their feet, his bandages twined around her ankle.