“I must admit, I was astonished—not only to see you, but to see my own people coming out of the sea. Astonishing. Truly.” He shook his head. “After centuries of hiding . . .”
“But what’s your plan? I mean, Fred says you got kicked out—banished or whatever—after, uh . . . So what’s your plan?”
“I was intemperate and willful in my youth,” Farrem said evenly, “and reached too high. I was deservedly slapped down and have been paying the price for over three decades. I earned my banishment. But the king cannot keep me from the surface, and now that my people are out here . . .” He shrugged. “My plan is atonement. I wish to show the royal family I am no threat . . . Not that, after defeating me, they need such assurances! And eventually . . . maybe . . . acceptance.”
Fred thought about the twins and didn’t think dear old Dad should hold his breath on that one.
“It will take time,” he said, practically reading her mind. “But then, if you know our people, Fredrika, you know that time, at least, is something most of us have much of. Comparatively speaking,” he added with an apologetic glance at Thomas and Jonas.
“You should stay here while you put Operation Atonement into action,” Jonas said. “Fred has tons of room.”
Fred, who had raised the can of Coke to her mouth, nearly crushed it. “What?” Oh, this was too much!
“Of course, I would never impose,” her father said hastily, which made Fred feel bad, which made her mad.
Which made her furious at Jonas. Tons of room, her scaled ass! If her math was correct, there was exactly one empty bedroom left . . . which she was about to offer to her long-lost father. She knew, knew, knew renting a four-bedroom house was an exercise in madness.
On the upside, with no more bedrooms to offer, that’d be the end of drop-in guests. Probably. Maybe.
“It’s no imposition,” she lied, wishing she dared toss Jonas into the pool. “We can—uh—” What did fathers and daughters do, exactly? Go to father/daughter picnics? Was he going to teach her to drive? Would she share her dating debacles with him? God, he wouldn’t think he had to tell her about the birds and the bees, would he? “Upstairs, last door on the left.”
“Then if you will excuse me, I will get settled.” He stood so quickly they hardly saw him move, and bowed to them. “My thanks for the welcome, the meal, the conversation, and the very fine hospitality.”
They watched him climb the stairs, and then Thomas leaned in and murmured, “Your old man’s got style to spare.”
“I wonder if he was so polite when he tried to kill the king.”
“C’mon, Fred.” Jonas snatched her Coke and took a healthy guzzle. “He said it himself—he was a jerk when he was young. Seems to run in the family.”
“How’d you like to hit the pool? From the second story? Through a closed window?”
He ignored her threats, as he had for decades. “It was thirty years ago. He’s sorry now, I bet. But that’s not even the important thing.”
“Oh, do tell, Jonas.” She grabbed her Coke back. “What’s the important thing?”
“Deciding whether or not to call Moon.”
Her mother! Ack. Jonas was right, curse his eyes. She cringed, picturing the call.
And then the visit.
Better get it over with.
Eighteen
“Now!” Moon Bimm said briskly. She and her husband, Sam, had taken a cab from the airport and had only now arrived at Fred’s house. “What’s this all about, Fred? Why so mysterious on the phone? If you’re trying to get out of helping Jonas plan his wedding, you can just stop it right now.”
“But how’d you even know Jonas—”
“He called me.”
“What?”
Moon blinked. “He calls almost every week.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“Do you have any herbal tea?”
“No, I have beer and soda.”
“Fred, how can you treat your body so badly? It is a sacred temple, a gift—particularly yours! Vitamin water and salads, that’s how you could best show your body how grateful you are for the gift of such a hallowed vessel.”
Fred ground her teeth. Moon had never quite let go of the hippie thing, and it was maddening. Also, she was a rich hippie, like that wasn’t a weird-ass paradox. Sam came from tons of money.
And, though she wasn’t about to admit it to Jonas, her mother was in damned fine shape for a woman in her fifties. A short, good-looking blonde with silver streaks running through her shoulder-length hair, Moon was plump where women are supposed to be plump, with laugh lines and a near-permanent smile. She didn’t dress like the wife of a millionaire, preferring faded T-shirts and jeans.
Sam, Fred’s stepfather, was as mild-mannered as Fred was not. Tall, balding, with a gray-streaked ponytail, he, also, didn’t dress like a millionaire. More like a struggling artist.
Although she could never tell him so, she loved him and honored him for not fleeing when he realized his new wife had popped out a mermaid. He had even, memorably, tried to teach her how to swim.
It had gone badly. He’d had to be rescued from the YMCA pool. But that wasn’t the point.
“Mom, I didn’t call you guys down here so you could lecture me about my Coke habit. The thing is—”
“Are you nervous about 60 Minutes? Because you’ll be fine,” Sam said, opening the fridge and peering inside. “You’ve been doing fine in all your interviews.”
“Thank goodness for TiVo,” Moon added. “Otherwise we couldn’t keep up with all your appearances.”
“Your mother is keeping a scrapbook,” Sam said, popping a beer. He, unlike Moon, didn’t mind polluting his sacred temple with the occasional can of Bud.
“Don’t even tell me.”
“It’s getting huge.”
“Sam, seriously! Don’t tell me. Listen. Mom. And, uh, Sam. Now don’t freak out.”
“Oh, my God!” Moon darted forward and seized Fred’s cold hands (they were always cold) in her warm ones. “You’re pregnant!”
Fred, a full head taller than her petite, sweetly plump mother, blanched and tried to pull away. Weirdly, it was difficult—Moon had quite a grip when she wanted. “Mom, I’m not—Jeez, ease up, will you? My fingers are going numb. I’m not pregnant. You have to have sex to get pregnant and I’m in the middle of a three-year dry spell.”
“Oh, now that’s just ridiculous! Prince Artur would have sex with you in half a second, and I’ll bet that nice Dr. Pearson would, t—”
“Mom, we are not. Discussing. My arid. Sex life.”
“But it’s not wrong to share what God has given you with a man you—”
“Mom!” Fred nearly howled.
“Try not to scream, hon,” Sam said, sipping contentedly at his Bud. “It’s not even noon.”
Fred extracted herself from her mother’s grip with no small difficulty, took a swig of Sam’s beer, then sucked in a breath and tried again.
“Thanks for coming so fast. I’ve got some news and I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Well,” Sam said reasonably, “don’t keep us in suspense.”
The front door opened and Jonas called, “Hey, new rental car in the driveway—is your hot mom here?”
Fred moaned. Sam grinned, got up, pulled out another beer, and handed it to her. Moon turned to greet Fred’s unbelievably irritating friend.
“Jonas, you bad boy, like I don’t know you’re in love with a perfectly beautiful woman.”
“Ah, Moon.” He hugged her mother so hard, the woman’s feet left the floor. “You never forget your first crush. So, what d’you think of the news?”
“We were just—”
“I think she should say yes. Don’t you want to have a princess in the family?”
Fred finished her beer in four gulps.
“What? You mean Prince Artur finally asked you to marry him?”
“Mom . . .”
“But that’s wonderful! You can settle down and h
ave children and help the Undersea Folk and—and—”
Shocking everyone in the room, Moon burst into tears.
Nineteen
Pandemonium. Shouts. Threats. Tears. Kleenex. More shouts. More tears.
“Mom, what is it?”
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m happy for you, I swear I am.”
“I can tell,” Fred replied, moderately horrified.
“Only . . . you’ll have to go live with him. In the castle under the Black Sea. And I’ll never see you. Not like I do now. How can I?”
“But I hardly ever visit unless—”
“I can’t even visit . . . Dr. Pearson told me the pressure alone would kill a surface dweller; that’s why they built their home base there. This—” She waved a hand, vaguely indicating Sanibel Island. “This isn’t real. It’s a fake castle; the king’s playing it safe, you explained it to me. And I understand. I truly do.”
“You don’t look like you understand,” Fred said doubtfully.
“But if you got married—if you were a member of the royal family—you’d have to move. To the other side of the planet. Beneath the other side of the planet. And I don’t want—you’re my only—”
“Mom, for God’s sake.” Fred could count on one hand how many times she’d seen her mother cry. It was frightening and frustrating and weird, all at once. “That’s not even my news, thank you very much, Jonas.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t mention, oh, I dunno, a royal marriage proposal to your mom?”
Moon sniffed and blinked up at her daughter. “You mean he didn’t propose?”
“Oh, he proposed. I just haven’t made up my mind.”
Moon looked horrified even as Jonas was busily blotting her cheeks with Kleenex. “But then I’ve messed it up! You’ll factor my reaction into your decision-making!”
“When has she ever, Moon?” Sam asked mildly, which was just the right thing to say. Everyone calmed down.
She sniffled again. “But then what is your news?”
“Well. It’s like this. My father—my biological, Undersea Folk father—is alive.”
Moon and Sam stared at her.
“Blow,” Jonas ordered, and Moon blew into the Kleenex.
“And staying here. With me.”
More staring.
“And he was hoping to see you again. If your—uh—” She turned to Jonas. “How’d he put it?”
“ ‘If he who is her mate in no way objects,’ ” Jonas parroted. “Guy talks like a book. A good book,” he added hastily, “but still. A book. I mean, I’ve got a degree in chemical engineering and I don’t talk like a book.”
“More like a comic. Anyway, ‘he who is her mate’ . . . that’d be you,” she told Sam. “He’d like to see her again if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Sam said. “I’d like to meet him myself.”
“Awww. Just like a family reunion,” Jonas said. “Actually, it is a family reunion. Here,” he added, handing Moon more Kleenex. “Keep the box.”
Twenty
Before things could settle down, the front door opened and Farrem walked in. Limped in, actually, and he had the beginning of a gorgeous black eye.
Fred was on her feet before she knew she was going to stand. “Jesus Christ! What happened to you?”
“Ran into three or four of the old guard,” he said with dry good humor. “They reminded me that the rash actions of my youth have not been forgotten.” He touched his swelling eye and grinned, showing the exceedingly sharp teeth common to Undersea Folk. Sam nearly choked on his beer—Fred had inherited her mother’s teeth. “Forcefully. But who is this? Not Fred’s lady mother and he who is her mate?”
“H-hello,” Moon said, wiping her face. Then she got a closer look as Farrem closed the distance between them and gasped. “My God! You haven’t aged a day!”
He laughed and took her small hands in his. “If only that were true, Madame Bimm.”
“Please.” She smiled wryly. “I think you can call me Moon.”
“With your mate’s kind permission,” Farrem said, bowing slightly in Sam’s direction. Sam looked non-plussed for a moment, then nodded back.
Moon cleared her throat. “Are you—are you in trouble? Because you’ve come back?”
“Of course,” he replied easily. “Deservedly so. I hope to win my people over in another decade or so.”
Fred was struck, once again, at how Undersea Folk thought nothing of a task that might take twenty or thirty years. By comparison, surface dwellers were fruit flies running around trying to accomplish everything in a nine-day life span.
Did I just refer to my mother’s people as flies?
Eesh.
“—enough of my nonsense. What have you been doing these past decades?”
“Well, raising your daughter, of course.” Moon laughed. “Though once she was about thirteen or so she stopped listening to me.”
“Yes, that is typical among our kind.”
“Our kind, too,” Sam said, smiling a little.
“And it is on just this basis that King Mekkam decided to let his people reveal themselves, I suspect. In many ways, we are not so different.”
“If you say so, pal,” Jonas said, sounding fairly unconvinced. Fred jumped; he’d been so uncharacteristically quiet she’d forgotten he was there. “I guess anyone can get past the tail. And the teeth. And the breathing underwater thing. And the—”
“Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”
“As a matter of fact,” Jonas said with stiff dignity, “I’m late for a tux fitting right this minute.”
“So run along.”
“I will. See you guys later.” And right before he went out the door he said, “Also my fiancée will be here tonight and I don’t want to hear any bitching about it, good-bye!”
“Wait!” Fred yelled, and the door slammed.
She cursed vividly enough to make Farrem raise his eyebrows.
Twenty-one
“Well, that’s just great,” Fred fumed. “I knew I should have just gotten a room at the Super 8.”
“You remind me of my mother,” Farrem commented. “She often complained about events that did not truly upset her.”
“You stay out of this. Dr. Barb. Great! Well, I guess I can try to quit again.”
“Pardon, what?”
“Never mind, Farrem.”
“She keeps trying to quit her job in Boston, and her boss keeps not letting her,” Moon offered.
“Never mind. Suffice it to say I lead a stupidly complicated life.”
The front door slammed open hard enough to shake part of the house, and a furious Prince Artur stood in the doorway.
“Case in point.” Fred sighed as the prince stomped toward them. “You know, surface dwellers do this thing called knocking. If you’re going to hang out on top of the planet as opposed to beneath the waves, you might want to—”
“So it is true,” Artur hissed, eyeing Farrem the way you’d look at a cockroach in your cereal bowl. “I would never have believed it to be had I not seen it myself.”
Farrem turned slowly. “My prince,” he said calmly.
“You will remove yourself from the home of she-who-will-be-my-mate at once.”
“How can he?” Fred asked. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms upstairs. His stuff’s probably all over the bathroom.”
Artur actually clutched his head. “I had heard that as well, but put it down to uninformed rumor.”
“And that’s quite enough of telling my houseguests what to do. That’s my job.”
“Fredrika, I insist this man leave your home at once.”
“This man is my father, so tough nuts.”
“I do not wish to be the cause of strife between you and the prince,” Farrem said. “I shall go.”
“Sit your ass back down,” Fred ordered. Farrem arched his eyebrows but obeyed.
Then she turned to Artur. “And you! Don’t come barging into
my house without knocking and then start ordering people around. In case you haven’t noticed, Prince, this isn’t your domain. It’s mine!”
Sam cleared his throat. “Technically, that’s not—”
“You want to boss people around in the Mariana Trench, fine. Don’t pull that shit in my house.”
Artur blinked, scowled, and blinked harder. Farrem brought a hand up to cover his mouth; his eyes were wide and Fred suspected he was hiding a smile.
“Rika, this man is—”
“My father. Whom I’ve never met. Whom I’m getting to know. Who is a guest in my house.”
“I think you might like him,” Moon piped up, “if you gave him a chance, Artur.”
“He tried to kill my father, good lady.”
“Oh. Well, that’s harder to forgive,” Moon admitted. “But he said himself, he was just a kid when—”
“—he committed treason.”
“I will go,” Farrem said.
“Freeze,” Fred ordered. Thinking, Why am I fighting so hard for this? Because it’s going to stick in Artur’s craw? So my mom can get to know my dad? So I can? Why? “I suppose Tennian practically broke a leg getting to you to blab.”
“Tennian did her duty.”
“Yeah, she’s not biased or anything.”
“Fredrika,” Farrem said quietly. “The royal family has every reason to distrust my motivations.”
“I get it, I get it. Listen, Artur, it was thirty years ago, okay? He was just a kid. Your dad banished him. Banished him. For three decades he hasn’t seen another member of his own species. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Scowling silence.
“Besides, all this high-handed stuff is no way to get me to agree to marry you,” she teased, hoping he’d lighten up.
Farrem’s green eyes opened wide. “Marry? By the king, of course!” He literally slapped himself on the forehead. “When you came in, you called her she-who—but I admit I was much more occupied watching your hands than listening—so you’ll be my princess, and one day my queen?” He shook his head so hard, green strands flew. “Astonishing! O irony, how she makes slaves of us all!”