The Summer of Chasing Mermaids (7 page)

With my free hand I gave him a quick salute, sealing the deal.

He returned the gesture. “Later, Stowaway.”

The cut on my foot throbbed anew.

Thunder roared in the distance.

Lemon would probably call it a bad omen.

I pretended I hadn't heard it, but a shiver rolled through me.

As if he'd read my mind, Sebastian tightened his grip on my hand and said, “Don't be afraid. That's probably just Atargatis. She knows we're coming.”

Chapter 8

Sebastian and I gathered
an impressive haul of sea glass, two intact sand dollars, and a bald, one-eyed doll head. But we didn't spot any mermaids, and soon the deluge came, chasing us into the Black Pearl for cover.

“See anything out there today?” Noah wanted to know once we'd settled into our booth. There were only two other occupied tables—a pair of men in suits who were clearly out-of-towners, and a group of girls about my age, whispering and giggling over milkshakes. Noah sat down with us.

“No mermaids,” Sebastian said, shivering beneath his wet shirt. “But we did find this.” He set the doll head on the table, making Noah jump clear out of his seat.

“That's creepy, little dude.”

Sebastian smiled.

“So what am I making for you guys?” Noah asked. The Black Pearl didn't have a fixed menu—they brought in fresh meat, seafood, and produce each morning, and whatever concoction you could imagine from the available goods, they'd whip it up for you. “Bacon burgers are hot today. I'm also experimenting with chickpea salad. Nontraditional, but pretty good on a pita with some red onion and celery. Feeling adventurous?”

When I nodded, he said, “Did you bring your hot pepper sauce?”

I patted my pockets, realizing my error. I'd made a batch at Lemon's and carried a bottle with me whenever I planned to eat here.

“I'll bring out the store-bought stuff,” Noah said. “Won't be the same, but it might spice things up a little.”

I offered a grateful smile.

“I want chicken peas too,” Sebastian said. “But I also want curly fries. And a root beer float.”

I held up two fingers at that.

When Noah came back with the floats, he said, “No Kirby today?”

Library,
I mouthed. It was inventory season, and there was a lot of work to do, culling the collection, cataloging new books for the summer. She told me she'd be spending practically every Sunday afternoon deep in the stacks.

“Right on,” Noah said. His smile slipped, just a little, before he ducked back behind the counter.

I texted Kirby with this latest development.

Her response was immediate:
screw the stacks. lunch break—on
my way!

While we waited for Kirby, Sebastian dried his gear with napkins and continued to fill me in on the lore of his beloved mermaids, a subject on which he was a living encyclopedia. He knew everything about them—mythological origins, the difference between mermaids and sirens, all the ways in which the recent string of so-called mermaid documentaries were fraudulent and even detrimental to genuine ocean conservation efforts.

He was cleaning the lenses on a pair of binoculars that covered most of his face when he stopped suddenly, looked at me seriously across the table. “Atargatis is real, you know. I saw her once, but only for a second.”

For weeks now I'd walked the shore day and night, and I'd yet to see her myself. But I believed him; the legend was tragic and beautiful enough to be real.

“We were on Noah's boat last year,” he said, “and all of a sudden, she was just
there
. Sitting on these rocks, like nothing.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and his eyes were twin moons, round and glittering with awe. “Noah said it was probably a sea lion. But Christian believed me. I knew it was her because of the starfish tattoo.” He touched his throat, and my scar tingled beneath the shell necklace.

I scribbled on a napkin and slid it across the table.

Is she evil?

Sebastian shrugged. “No one knows.” He dunked the ice cream in his root beer, pondering as it bobbed up to the surface. “Probably she's so sad, she doesn't even remember how she got there.”

When Kirby arrived, she was surprised to see my lunch companion.

“Last I saw you,” she said to me, squeezing water out of her hair, “you were heading out for a beach walk after church. How'd you snag such a cute date?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “It's not a date. We were looking for mermaids.” He crawled under the table, popped up on my side of the booth, then announced randomly, “Elyse is gonna help Christian win the regatta.”

Kirby's eyebrows shot straight up into her hair as she sat down across from us. “You're gonna who with the what now?”

“Two chickpea surprises, two orders of fries-es.” Noah arrived with our lunch, set the plates before us. Kirby immediately ­quieted, but her smile was impossible to hide. Noah mirrored her joy and, without words, returned minutes later with a vanilla latte, her favorite.

When he left us again, I drew a heart on a napkin, encircling their initials:
NK + KL
.

Kirby snatched it off the table and shoved it into her bag, lasering me with a pointed glare. “Anyway, about this regatta business . . . you can't just sign up for that, Elyse! What were you thinking?”

On another napkin, I wrote:

He asked. And I want to help save the houses.

Kirby sighed, but if she was worried about losing her home, she didn't let on. “Why would Christian ask you for help? He's obviously just trying to get in your . . . your you-know-whats.” Her gaze drifted to Sebastian, then back to me. “You need to be c-a-r-e-f-u-l, that's all I'm saying.”

“Christian's a good sailor,” Sebastian said. “He's always careful.”

Kirby smiled, brow furrowed as she tried to find a more cryptic way to warn me about the elder Kane. But before she figured it out, the door swung open, bringing with it a stiff breeze and a pair of beautiful fish caught in a net.

Vanessa and Christian.

They tumbled in through the doorway, rain soaked. Christian had his arm over Vanessa's shoulder, hers was looped around his waist, and he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.

They looked for all the world like a couple who'd sooner drown than be separated, the kind that could finish each other's sentences and share inside jokes with just a look. More than lovers, they were friends. The closest kind.

I wondered how they survived the off-seasons.

Across the café, one of the milkshake girls waved. “Hey, Christian!” Her friends elbowed one another, all smiling.

“Hey there . . . um . . . you!” Christian said. “Good to see you again.”

Kirby raised an eyebrow. “Case in point,” she whispered. “Calla
Loretti, the one who just said hi? They hooked up last summer. He doesn't even remember her name.”

“Whose name?” Christian said, suddenly in my space. Without asking me to move over, he slid into the booth. I was a Kane sandwich, and he smiled at his brother on my other side and leaned in close, breath hot in my ear. “Looks like you've got a new fan,” he whispered, nodding toward Sebastian.

Across from us, Vanessa sat next to Kirby and laughed. “Eww. Get a room, y'all.”

Her words held not a hint of jealousy.

I couldn't figure that girl out.

“Don't encourage her,” Kirby said, talking about me, and if I wasn't so perfectly sandwiched between the Kane brothers, I would've kicked her under the table. Vanessa might've claimed an open mind about Christian's female companions, but that didn't mean I wanted her thinking I was one of them.

No matter what Vanessa said, the green-eyed devil could rise any time. I had five beautiful sisters. Jealousy trailed us so often she may as well have been the sixth.

“What the hell is that?” Christian poked the doll head on the table.

“Elyse found it,” Sebastian said.

Before I could defend myself, Christian was leaning in again. “Elyse, if you need something to cuddle up with at night, there are much better options around here.”

“Hello!” Vanessa said. “Room! Get one!”

Christian gave me a wink, then waved to Noah at the counter.
“Bring us two of whatever's good today, Katz. Preferably heavy on the dead animal and vitamin G.”

“Greasy specials on the double,” Noah called out from the grill. “Ten minutes.”

“So, ya scalawags, how's tricks on the ol'
Queen of
?” Vanessa wanted to know. To me, she said, “Don't know what kinda trouble y'all got into with your aunt, but if someone made
me
work on that ­floating piece a' sh—”

“Watch it,” Christian said. “You're talking about my girl right there.”

Vanessa laughed. “SS
POS
ain't nobody's girl.”

“What's POS?” Sebastian asked.

“Piece of . . . stupid,” Christian said.

“Mom isn't making her do anything,” Kirby said. “My cousin drives her
own
crazy train. But she's probably more qualified than most of the sailors at the Cove.” As if I weren't there, Kirby launched into an overview of my boating skills, told them all about the resort, about how I'd been born in the sea. Short version, anyway. “Elyse pretty much belongs to the water.”

She'd probably meant
in
the water, but I didn't correct her. No one knew the whole story—not even Lemon. Not even Natalie, and she was there the last time the sea tried to take me.

She was the one who'd fished me out.

Dead, mostly.

I closed my eyes, tried to hold back the shiver I knew would come
anyway. It started in my feet, rolled up through my insides until even my scalp was covered in gooseflesh.

Next to me, Christian stirred, whispered in my ear. “Sorry. Didn't mean to drip on you.” He shifted over, putting some space between us. His eyes were full of concern, a softness that clashed with his usual cockiness. “Better?”

It wasn't. I nodded anyway.

“So how bad is it?” Kirby asked Christian. “Like,
Extreme Makeover:
Boat Edition
bad?”

“Piece of stupid bad?” Sebastian giggled.

Christian took out his phone, set it on the table where everyone could see. He scrolled through some pictures he must've taken today, soon after I'd left the ship. My boxes were still on the deck, but Christian had covered them to keep out the rain; the tattered blue tarps enhanced the fixer-upper vibe considerably.

“Gross,” Vanessa said. “Looks like patchin' up that ol' girl is gonna take a lot more than an eighties music montage.”

“Do I even know you?” Christian said. “It's like you're speaking another language.”

“Back me up, girls,” she said to me and Kirby. “The rah-rah, we-can-fix-it-up montage is essential to any romantic comedy.”

“You see me laughing?” Christian's face was all angles, stone cold. The phone buzzed on the table, and he picked it up to check the incoming text. He looked up immediately, waved again at the girl across the way. “Calla,” he whispered to us. “
That's
her name.”

“You might need to change your phone number,” Vanessa said.

He stowed the phone in his sweatshirt pocket. “Again?”

“Your ninety-nine girl problems are fascinating,” Kirby said, keeping her eyes on me, “but back on point. Is the boat that dicey?”

“Piece of stupid dicey?” Sebastian laughed again.

“In a word, yes.” Christian gave her an overview of the damage, ­glossing over the part about my redecorating. Just like at the docks, despite the grim report, he seemed excited about the project, getting more animated as he talked. Without breaking stride on the conversation, he leaned in front of me and grabbed the Sharpie I'd left on the table. He made a sketch on a napkin, an illustration to aid the description.

“She needs a major overhaul,” he said, capping the marker and tossing it onto the table. “But she's longer, lighter, and faster than
Never Flounder
. Plus, I've got a better first mate. We're taking this race.”

When I met his eyes, Christian winked at me, and in an instant I felt the force of his confidence, of his faith, a sudden weight around my neck.

Intentional or not, gratitude could so often turn into expectations, into hope. It was one thing to have your own kind of hope, an ember you could nurture inside, something to inspire you when things got dark. If it died, it was on you; no one else even had to know about it, and you were free to reignite it, or to give up and walk away. But when you were carrying it with another person,
for
another person, it was a dangerous dream. Treacherous as the sea, yet fragile as a bubble.

Faith was a funny thing.

He was seriously counting on me, I realized then. It was more than his desperate need for a partner, for someone to help fix up the boat. He really believed in me.

I gave in to another shiver.

Christian nudged me with his elbow, then raised his voice, called out across the restaurant again. “Hear that, Katz?
Never Flounder
's going down this year, dude.”

I guess the piracy had started.

“Keep talking, sailor boy.” Noah laughed as he flipped two burgers off the grill and assembled them on plates, topped with cheese and bacon and mountains of fries. “Anyone ever tell you not to threaten the dude cooking your food?”