The Summer of Chasing Mermaids

  Back then I shrugged her off. So many nights I’d stared up at the Tobago moon and wondered if she even knew what she was saying. Love and desire? Was there a difference?

  Now, here, Christian and I were on equal footing, each of us scared and vulnerable in turn, each of us strong and triumphant in our own ways. He looked at me with want, so intense it sent shockwaves through my belly, but it wasn’t desperation. Making him smile, kissing him, it didn’t feel like manipulation, like some favor I’d be cashing in on later.

  It simply felt right.

  I grabbed the Sharpie and notebook from my pocket.

  I wanted him to know me. All of me, all the things I hadn’t been able to tell him before.

  But the instant I set the tip against the paper, the mood sobered. Putting a thing to words gave it power; it pulled the maybe from the mist and gave it form, solid and black.

  I took a breath. Wrote.

  You asked about my Plan B

  And how I ended up at the Cove.

  Well, once upon a time, on an island far away,

  I used to sing with my sister.

  And we had a chance to go on tour

  To record an album

  Connections already made

  But then I lost everything

  He read it, his eyes drifting from the final word to my scar. I confirmed with a nod. Doctors say permanent. Irreversible.

  Ever since I’d heard those damning words, I’d been fighting it. But deep down, I’d always known the truth. The doctors in Port of Spain were top-notch. Dad even consulted vocal injury specialists from around the world, but the prognosis was always the same. They may, in six months or a year, be able to do another surgery, possibly restore minimum vocal function. But given the nature of the injuries, surgery could make things worse. I could end up with a marginally stronger voice, but unable to breathe. Unable to swallow food.

  And still I would be songless.

  It was, by some cruel twist, my fate.

  With the marker still pressed to the page, I went on.

  Ashes to ashes, and all the old ghosts

  Gathering on the seashore

  They waited for me with eyes on fire

  Accusing, burning, haunting.

  I thought that if I pretended I couldn’t see them,

  Maybe they’d blow away

  Remnants, lost forever to time

  But they didn’t, and I couldn’t pretend.

  I couldn’t stay in Tobago another minute.

  So Lemon brought me here on a visa.

  A place to linger, to catch my breath

  However long I needed

  It felt like an escape, a perfect hideaway

  To flee, to forget

  It wasn’t supposed to start feeling like home.

  Lemon had said I’d always have a home with her and Kirby, no matter what happened with the houses in Atargatis Cove. I knew she’d meant it, even if we lost the regatta and they had to move. But it wasn’t realistic, me following them to some new place, setting up a new life again. Trying to fit in. Trying to help her come to terms with a loss I might’ve been able to prevent. I knew, and I sensed that she did too, that if Lemon lost the house, I’d be heading back to Tobago by the end of the summer.

  But it does feel like home. It IS home.

  I capped the marker and tossed it on the bed.

  And my sister, I mouthed, unable to write her name. Natalie?

  Christian watched me in silence, the boat swaying beneath us.

  I closed my eyes, lips forming words too fast to follow.

  She saved my life.

  She made me breathe again.

  Fucking breathe.

  I never forgave her.

  Never thanked her.

  Never got over her.

  Never stopped missing her, even now, when she’s going without me.

  Behind my eyelids the image of my sister faded. I felt the familiar slice of pain at my throat, but I knew it wasn’t real. Like so many memories, it was just a ghost from that day in March, a spirit with unresolved business who refused to move on because I wouldn’t let it.

  “Elyse,” Christian whispered, his fingers gently touching the scar on my throat. I opened my eyes, lost myself in the sea of his gaze. “What happened to you in—”

  “Hope y’all are decent in there.” Vanessa’s voice cut through the somber air. She and Kirby climbed down through the companionway just as Christian and I hopped out of the berth, looking rumpled and supremely guilty.

  “This boat needs a security system,” Christian grumbled, running a hand over his hair.

  Kirby was glaring at us, eyes wide with accusation.

  Vanessa dropped onto the saloon bench, head in her hands. “Sorry, guys,” she said, “but we just got some seriously shitty news.”

  Chapter 27

  “You’re positive?” Christian asked. We were all out on the dock now, pacing.

  “Mom read the fine print,” Vanessa said. “She wouldn’t make a mistake on this.”

  According to Vanessa, Mrs. James had gone into town this morning to finalize details about the sale of their home—they’d been planning to list it all along, just as Mr. Kane had mentioned at the Solstice party. As she waited for all of the signatures, a Parrish and Dey developer had come in to pick up some paperwork, and she casually asked her lawyer about the firm’s plans. The guys had a copy of the preliminaries, some permits the firm had applied for, and easily handed them over.

  Parrish and Dey wasn’t going to raise Lemon’s rent.

  They were going to bulldoze the whole site.

  On the land occupied by the two Kane houses, they could build enough condos to house the entire summer population of Oregon. And that’s exactly what they were planning.

  “Makes sense,” Christian said after Vanessa confirmed the details. “Even if they doubled what Ursula pays now—tripled it—it’s still a drop in the bucket compared to the money they’d bring in with a new complex. They could make that monthly rent in a week, for one unit. Figure they turn this site into condos, and the sky’s the limit. Ten floors, twenty? That’s where the real money is.”

  “But what if Prop Twenty-Seven fails?” Kirby asked. “If the people vote no on the business redistricting, they won’t be able to build ­condos and hotels here, right? At least, not as far up the coast as Starfish Point. I read all the zoning details at the library.”

  “That’s true,” Vanessa said, “but then you’d better hope enough of the Cove’s residents turn out to vote this fall, and that they vote it down. Mom says a lot of people support it, guys. Plenty of folks feel the pinch, and Wes comes in with his song and dance about bringin’ wealth and prosperity to the people. . . . It sounds like a good idea.”

  “Does Wes know about P and D’s real plans?” Kirby asked.

  “Doubt it,” Vanessa said. “That man was never one for the details. Mom’s got a call in to his office, but his people keep putting her off.”

  “Wes Katzenberg has people?” Christian asked.

  Vanessa shrugged. “An intern, I think.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed, lasering in on a target approaching from the marina. “Unless you count the traitor Noah Katzenberg.”

  Noah strolled toward the dock, hands in his pockets.

  “Don’t let him know we know anything,” Christian mumbled. “Play it cool.”

  “What’s up, lovely ladies?” Noah’s eyes skimmed over me and Vanessa when he reached us, lighting up when he saw Kirby. “Damn. Team Kane’s got all the babes this year.”

  “Pirate alert,” Christian said. He tried to look casual, but his arms were crossed over his chest, shoulders tight.

  “Not here to pirate, dude.” Noah raised his hands in mock surrender. “Not my gig. Just here to see if any of you sea rats feel like hi
tting up Shipwreck tonight.”

  Christian nodded toward Kirby. “Sleeping with the Enemy’s probably game.”

  Kirby smiled, ignoring Christian’s dig. She still seemed totally in denial about what was at stake here, especially with this latest development. Her house was going to be bulldozed, yet even that couldn’t dim the stars in her eyes for Noah.

  She turned toward him, practically beaming. “Sure, I’ll go.”

  Vanessa grabbed her arm. “Kirby. You don’t fraternize with the enemy. At least not while the other enemies are watching.”

  “But, how am I supposed to—”

  “You text him later, make arrangements to meet in secret. God, have you never hooked up with a pirate?”

  “Have you?” Kirby asked, laughing.

  Vanessa grinned. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

  “You kiss and tell everyone.”

  “I think you mean, I kiss, and you tell everyone.”

  The girls left with Noah, leaving me and Christian alone with the Vega. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a half sigh, half moan. “I think you know what we have to do.” He stepped close, grabbed my hands, his thumb tracing the faded message I’d written on my palm yesterday about racing the boat.

  I raised an eyebrow, hoped for the best.

  “We have to save the houses,” he said. “The Cove. We have to win this thing. There’s no other way.”

  There was fire in his eyes again, so beautiful that there was nothing I wouldn’t have agreed to in that moment, just to keep it going. I held his gaze and hoped my eyes said everything I was feeling, everything I’d lost the words for.

  Yes, we were still in the race. Yes, we had to win. Yes, yes, yes to all of it, to anything.

  He leaned into me and kissed my neck, hot words caressing my ear.

  “All in, pirate?” he whispered, his voice ragged. He pulled back to watch my mouth, and with no more than a breath between us, I smiled, my answer crashing against his lips.

  All in.

  Chapter 28

  Mrs. James’s discovery lent speed and urgency to our final renovations, and though she’d ultimately confirmed that the mayor hadn’t realized the extent of P&D’s plans, he wasn’t interested in challenging them once he knew. After all, he wanted the same golden-paved streets as they did, regardless of how they made it happen.

  It was down to us, down to winning the bet.

  For two and a half weeks we scrambled.

  By day we worked beyond bone weariness and aching muscles and lack of sleep. We dry-docked the boat to inspect the hull, which—luck on our side—was intact, requiring only a good scrub and polish. We cleaned. Fastened and tightened. Primed and painted. Oiled and adjusted winches and tracks. Tuned. Checked and double-checked and triple-checked, prioritizing for speed and lightness, and finally getting her back in the water, where we repeated the process all over again.

  By night we kept watch.

  During the final days leading up to the big race, Christian called in reinforcements in the form of Brenda and Gracie, finally taking them up on their offer to help. Alternating with the girls and Vanessa, Christian and I stood guard on the boat, sometimes checking in at random intervals in the middle of the night. We plasticked the window, fixed it up with duct tape to keep out curious birds. Lemon had even cast a spell of protection on the boat, fitting the helm with a small stone gargoyle, all to discourage further acts of piracy.

  None came.

  Lemon believed it was her magic, which I wasn’t discounting. But ultimately, this rivalry was between the Kanes and the Katzenbergs. None of the other sailors was interested in screwing with another man’s boat. All along, Noah—and his father—had been our main concern on the pirate front. And rumor had it Never Flounder was still belching up crickets.

  Rumor also had it that Noah had yet to find a first mate. The mayor had volunteered the city hall intern for the position, a college kid named Wayne from Colorado who’d probably never sailed a boat in his life.

  The night before the regatta, as Kirby, Vanessa, Lemon, Noah, and most of the population of Atargatis Cove roamed the streets for the Mermaid Festival’s fellowship walk ’n’ feast, Christian and I slipped onto the Vega to christen the boat.

  To celebrate the accomplishment of getting her seaworthy.

  To offer some good-luck wishes for the big win on our horizon.

  And tonight, with the fate of the Cove resting squarely on our shoulders, Christian looked happy. Confident. Why shouldn’t he be? He was certain the Vega was faster than Noah’s boat, and together we’d reviewed the charts, mapped out the course, talked through all the potential trouble spots. Prepared was an understatement.

  In the warm glow of Christian’s smile, I tried to relax. I thought of my family on the islands, my neighbors, all of them in Port of Spain this weekend for the Emancipation Day celebrations. We’d always gone together to watch the Kambule, a procession through the streets to mark the day the African slaves in the British Islands were granted freedom. Even from the sidelines, Natalie and I always danced along to the drums, cheering and chanting as they passed, admiring the dance troupe in their vibrant African clothing.

  Last year Natalie bought me a handmade bracelet from one of the vendors, a delicate wooden hoop carved intricately with elephants and giraffes. For the first time since I left home, I wore it tonight.

  From the warm memories it stirred I drew strength. The smooth weight around my wrist quieted, for a moment, the war with the sea that still waged inside.

  I’ve been waiting for you. . . .

  “Took her out this morning,” Christian said excitedly, handing me a plastic cup from the spread on the saloon table. Grapes, crackers, cheese, champagne—he’d thought of everything. “Handled herself just fine with the mainsail and standard jib. One spot on the route looks a little rougher than usual, but as long as we’re careful and the wind doesn’t pull any surprises, the Queen will get us through.”

  The water was calm tonight, and I tried to follow its cue, smile through my nerves, but Christian’s words had sent a new bolt of fear through my heart.

  For weeks I’d been convincing myself that I could do it, get back out on the open sea. I’d reached an impressive level of denial, mainly by not thinking about it. It was enough to focus on getting the boat in shape, keeping it clean, preventing piracy, saving the Cove. Sailing? That was a far-off fantasy, nothing to worry my pretty little head about.

  But tonight his words made it real.

  I twisted the bracelet around my wrist.

  “With me, Stowaway?” Christian squeezed my shoulder. The gesture should have been reassuring, comforting. But it only made me feel guilty as I sank deeper into old fears.

  I nodded, smiled with extra enthusiasm.

  “Hold tight,” he said, wrapping a towel around the champagne. He’d swiped it from Mr. Kane’s stash, some expensive stuff whose absence his father wouldn’t even notice. The cork popped, leaving a trail of cool mist behind.

  He filled our cups halfway with golden bubbly, then returned the bottle to its ice bucket.

  “To my girls,” he said plainly, raising his cup. “Elyse and her Queen.”

  With our eyes locked in a heated gaze, we tipped our cups back. He offered to pour another round, but I shook my head, my heart weighted again with everything that hung in the balance. The houses—Lemon and Kirby’s, as well as Mr. Kane’s, which directly impacted Christian’s chances at coming back next summer. The Black Pearl, the little hole-in-the-wall without a regular menu, the kind of place that might not survive a big tourist boom. Kirby’s library, the ocean murals she’d gotten the summer story-time kids to paint. Shipwreck, the magical club beneath the sea. Quiet mornings on the beach, watching the dolphins in the distance with no other observers but the oystercatchers. The orange and lavender sea stars, undisturbed in t
he tide pools, moving as slow as evolution itself. Sebastian, his big eyes scanning the sea for his beloved mermaids, devoted to them even now, even when he couldn’t march in the parade.

  Christian sensed my thoughts, pulled me into a gentle hug. He kissed the top of my head, promised me we’d be okay no matter what happened tomorrow.

  “I couldn’t do this without you,” he said. “You know that, right?” I nodded, swallowing the tightness in my throat. He leaned closer then, pressed a soft kiss on my lips, salt and champagne.

  With no more words we crawled into the small space at the front of the boat, tasting each other, slow and tantalizing.

  He lifted the sweatshirt and shirt from my body, gently unwrapping me. His hands ran along the length of me, lingering on every curve, his warm touch and teasing kisses winding me tight with desire. Though I’d worn my favorite jeans, my sexiest bra and panties, suddenly I hated them. I hated the fabric between us, all that kept me from feeling him completely.

  He’d already ditched his sweatshirt, but now I reached for his T-shirt, pulled it over his head, tasted the skin of his neck and shoulder. His chest was broad and strong, warming at my every touch. When my hands fluttered down the firm ridges of his abdomen to the button on his jeans, he let out a growl. In a ragged breath as shallow as the tide pools, he said, “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  He ran his hands over my nipples, tracing agonizingly slow circles with his thumb.

  “Is that yes?” His eyes were on my mouth, waiting for confirmation.

  Yes, I mouthed. I arched upward, and from my back pocket, fished out a strip of condoms I’d taken from the candy box tonight.

  “If you change your mind,” Christian whispered, but I cut him off with a kiss, already tearing one of the packets from the strip.

  Yes, I said again, slowly forming words against his lips. I want this. I want you.

  He pulled away, saw it in my eyes and knew that I meant it, that my ache matched his. He couldn’t know, though, that I’d been wanting this for weeks, maybe even since our first kiss, maybe even since our first awkward hello. Then it was just attraction, a physical response to the sudden warmth of him, the flicker inside me that had been cold for so long.