The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel

  “We’ll leave the island.”

  “Hold up! Listen. Are you sure this dude recognized you?”

  “Actually, I don’t think he did. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Good.” Hal made his humming sound again, and Evelyn knew he was thinking. “Listen, Evie. If your hair turned out anything like the Photoshopped ID, then you look nothing like you did when you were a teenager, right?”

  “God, no. I had wavy brown hair past my shoulder blades back then, and I hadn’t yet discovered the magic of eyebrow tweezers.”

  He snickered.

  “And now I look like that eighties chick, what’s-her-name, the one who used to hang out with Sylvester Stallone.”

  “Brigitte Nielsen?”

  “Yeah. Her.”

  Hal laughed hard. “Sweetie, don’t panic quite yet. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll keep monitoring FBI and state police activity and let you know if there’s any indication they have a lead. I’ll also keep an eye on your hottie police chief. If I see him doing any online snooping on Evelyn McGuinness or the so-called kidnapping, I’ll get in touch with you immediately. Even if he searches for Cricket Dickinson, you should be okay—unless he decides to dig deeper than the first couple levels. Let’s hope he’s satisfied with what I had time to throw together. Keep your phone with you.”

  “I will.”

  “In the meantime, don’t make any rash decisions. Do you promise me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Wear your sunglasses and hat or get yourself a costume. Put Chrissy in her pirate getup and just blend in at the parade. Hide in plain sight. Try to avoid talking with the cop. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.”

  “Hey, wait, Hal. How do you know he’s a hottie? I never told you what he looked like.”

  Hal snorted. “I’m staring at his BPD photo right now. Dude’s got a penetrating gaze and a set of guns on him.”

  “Sheesh.”

  “Do you want to know if he’s married?”

  Evie clicked her tongue. “I can’t believe you asked me that! It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Why would it?”

  “Right. Well, just as an FYI—he’s divorced.”

  Thank God. “Good night, Hal.”

  “’Nite, Evie. Sweet dreams.”

  * * *

  No, no, no. He would not. He could not. He refused to touch the hand of the bronze sea goddess and say the words. He hated the words. He knew that anyone who believed this shit—including his own mother—had a screw loose.

  A sane, rational man had no business here. He decided to go.

  So odd . . . his feet made no contact with the ground. They pedaled along as if treading water. No matter how hard he willed his legs to churn, he didn’t move an inch. He was trapped in Fountain Square, staring directly at the mermaid, the one place he swore he would never be.

  Suddenly his feet hit solid ground, but they froze in place. When the wind picked up, fountain spray misted his face and chest.

  She beckoned to him again.

  No!

  She didn’t seem offended by his refusal. The metal maiden smiled down upon him as if she knew every doubt in his head, every regret in his heart.

  He heard her speak, which was impossible, of course, since her lips remained welded shut, cold, and lifeless. He would not believe. He refused.

  “Enough, Clancy Flynn. It is time for you to see that I am not your enemy.”

  Oh, hell no. Of course he was dreaming.

  “There is only love. And now you are ready for it.”

  Okay. Since this was his nightmare, he would simply make himself wake up and be done with the whole hideous hallucination.

  Wake up.

  Wake up!

  Wake the fuck up!

  “You are a son of the island, part of a story far bigger than you realize. You now face the most important decision of your life, Clancy. Soften your gaze. Calm your mind. Follow your heart, and the choice will be clear.”

  Suddenly, he was no longer at the square. He stood on the dock instead, watching the girl go. Her soft hair lifted in the breeze, her long and tanned legs carried her away from him. But wait. What was happening? Someone—or something—grabbed her and began dragging her toward the ferry. She struggled, freeing one arm enough to turn and reach out to him, eyes sharp with terror. “Clancy! Help me! Please!”

  Time to wake up. Now.

  He gasped, a desperate rush of air slamming into his lungs as he shot upright. Clancy was in his own bed, in the dark, the sound of the sea crashing nearby and the ceiling fan whirring above. He touched his chest, neck, and face, finding his bare skin dripping with sweat. Or was it fountain spray? His heart thudded behind his ribs.

  Clancy threw off the sheet and stumbled into the bathroom, where he flipped on the light and threw cold water on his face. He tried to shake the dream, the vision of the metallic mermaid towering over him, alive but unmoving. And all that crap she’d said! Enemy? She was a statue, not an enemy. He was facing the most important decision of his life? Please.

  And what about the girl calling out for help? How bizarre. He almost felt guilty, like he’d let her down somehow.

  Shit. Once festival week was over, he would be going back to decaf.

  Clancy stood in front of his mirror, hands on the edge of the sink, trying to catch his breath. He heard the brisk clicking of dog paws on hardwood and a rhythmic panting—which turned out to be his, not the dogs’.

  “It’s okay, boys. Go back to sleep.”

  They sat in the open doorway. Tripod yawned first, then Earl. They blinked at him like he was nuts for being up so early. And, hey, since it was only five a.m., they had a point. And as far as him being nuts was concerned? Maybe they nailed that one, too, because normal men don’t have nightmares about talking mermaid statues.

  “Go to your bed, fellas.”

  They did, tails swinging wildly, excited to be alive—like every Lab Clancy ever had the pleasure to know.

  Just then, his police radio crackled to life on the bedroom nightstand. Within ten minutes, he was behind the wheel of his Jeep, chugging coffee, driving through the dark toward a rental house on the north shore. Doug Lukovich had called for his assistance with a domestic dispute with minor injuries. Was that the perfect kickoff to festival week, or what?

  Clancy raised his mug for a mock toast. “Here’s to true love,” he said. “Here’s to the magical mermaid of Bayberry Island!”

  Eighteen years ago . . .

  Mickey usually did a halfway decent job picking out the tourist cuties, and the new crop was no exception. Clancy spotted four girls off to one side and two guys standing around looking lost. Somebody’s brother always seemed to tag along, unfortunately. He did the math. Clancy and five of his friends had to divvy up four girls. The ratio didn’t bother him too much. If nobody seemed worth spending time with, he’d just head back to Haven Beach and get something to eat.

  His eyes made a quick sweep over the options. He saw her right away. His stomach got all nervous and tingly. Clancy decided to save her for last after he’d checked out the other girls. One was blond and smiley and looked like trouble but he had a feeling she was way too young. The girl with pale skin and red hair was gorgeous, but Clancy figured she’d be burned to a crisp by tomorrow and wouldn’t be much fun for the rest of the week. Another girl had long blond hair and a perfect body, and he could already tell by the way she stood there looking bored that she thought she was too good for anyone. He’d pass.

  Clancy went back to the one who had first caught his attention. She was about his height, fairly thin, but athletic. She probably played volleyball, or maybe lacrosse. She wore a pink and orange Hawaiian print bikini that showed off her shape but didn’t make her look like she was trying too hard. She had long
and curly light brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. He decided he liked the curve of her neck—it was really graceful looking. And then she turned to face him.

  Oh, man. What a face! She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life. And those eyes . . . he’d have to be standing right in front of her to decide what color they were, but from his position halfway down the dune they looked see-through green, like an old-fashioned soda bottle, no, wait . . . he’d just come within about three feet of her, and decided she had eyes the color of sea glass.

  Since he didn’t want to be an uncool dweeb and just stare at her, Clancy gave a quick nod of his chin and said, “Hey,” then headed over to Mickey. Clancy didn’t speak to her while the group walked to the lighthouse ruins, but he felt her nearby and knew her eyes were on him. It was kind of a weird sensation, not one he’d ever had before with a girl. He felt her even when he couldn’t see her.

  The ruins were Mickey’s favorite forbidden spot. Technically, it was on the outer edge of the wildlife refuge, and it was known for its heavy surf and wicked dangerous rocks. Duncan always said only serious athletes should even try to swim near the ruins, but Clancy ignored him. His brother was now training for triathlons and distance swimming events and thought he was some hot-shit superhero or something.

  Kids who had towels or sunglasses tossed them onto the dune before they got in the water. Clancy kicked off his sandals and followed close behind. He swam out toward Mickey and immediately started messing with him. “That blond girl is jailbait.”

  “Yeah? Well, she told me she’s thirteen, asshole.” Mickey smacked him in the face with a decent amount of seawater.

  “She’s bullshitting you.” Clancy returned the favor.

  He let it slide, and swam away. He needed to clear his head. His parents were fighting about money again and he couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting somebody dressed like a mermaid, and he just wanted to hide until festival week was over. It had been a good three years since he actually had any fun during the Mermaid Festival. Now it was just work—his parents called it doing them favors . . . do stuff for his mom’s goofy group or to help his dad with city and festival duties. Help me real quick with the copying. Do the dishes for me—we’re having an emergency meeting. Give me a hand with the clambake setup, would you? And could you run down to the warehouse and get . . .

  Clancy suddenly became aware that the current had carried him pretty far offshore while he wasn’t paying attention. It didn’t worry him—he’d been swimming in the Atlantic since before he was out of diapers, and knew exactly how to handle the situation. He began a leisurely, but steady, freestyle stroke parallel to the shore. Once he passed the rocks he knew he could make a direct turn toward land and encounter no resistance from the current.

  He heard the kids shouting but didn’t pay much attention to them. Mickey was fun, but he could be loud and obnoxious sometimes and he just wore Clancy out. His mom had once commented that the three friends were like the Three Little Bears—Chip was too soft, Mickey too hard, and Clancy just right.

  Yeah, well, all moms said shit like that about their own kids.

  In a watery distortion of sound, he thought he heard his name being called. Clancy lifted his head and saw almost all the group standing on the beach waving their arms and yelling. Something was wrong. He stopped swimming.

  “My sister!” The little jailbait girl was hysterical. “She’s caught in the riptide!”

  Clancy saw the girl’s head bobbing along with the waves and knew she was on a collision course with the rocks. She’d get smacked around good if nobody helped her.

  Ah, shit.

  He resumed his freestyle but put on the afterburners. Clancy calculated in his head how many minutes he had before she’d start banging against the rocks. He’d seen kids get mangled up pretty bad by those things, and couldn’t even imagine that pretty face and body of hers covered with gashes and bruises.

  Clancy made his cut toward shore. He started flying through the water, the screaming and yelling intensifying. Above all the voices and the roar of the water, he heard a girl’s solo plea.

  “I’m in a little trouble over here!”

  Clancy nearly laughed at how casual she sounded. She was pretty tough for a girl. Most girls he knew would be buggin’ out the way her little sister was. Clancy reached the girl with only inches to spare before she hit the boulders, immediately flipping her on her back, slipping his arm across her chest and gripping her side. He shoved off from one of the rocks and began a hard-core rescue sidestroke, hauling her skinny little ass out of the rip current. And while he did it, even though this was an actual emergency, he couldn’t help but think about how close his right hand was to her left boob. He considered “accidentally” slipping so he could get a feel, but he thought better of it. The first time he put his hand on a pretty girl’s breast, he wanted it to be because she invited him—or at least at a time when she could tell him to stop if she wanted. Would it be wrong to cop a feel during a crisis? He wasn’t even sure it would count.

  Clancy loosened his cross-body carry, only because it was obvious they were out of danger. She slipped from his grasp and floated a few feet away. They stayed there, bobbing together in the sea, staring at each other and gasping for breath.

  “Thank you. I owe you one.”

  “Na. It was nothing. I do it all the time.”

  They both laughed at that.

  It got a little awkward after they finished laughing. Clancy didn’t even know her name and he suddenly found that he’d lost his ability to speak.

  “I’m Evie,” she said, sticking her hand out above the waves.

  “I’m Clancy.” He shook it. Funny how just shaking her hand made him want more—a lot more.

  “Awesome,” she said.

  “Cool. Let’s swim in.”

  It took a few minutes to make it back to shore. It was a high-drama situation, with Evie’s sister in tears and the other girls in a general state of freaking out. Clancy wasn’t into that sort of thing, so he slipped on his sandals and began to walk up the dune. It was so weird, but he knew the exact second Evie started following him. He felt her.

  “I’m staying at the Sand Dollar.”

  “I live here on Bayberry.”

  “I kind of figured you did. So maybe we’ll see each other around this week?”

  “I hope so. Later, Evie.”

  Clancy walked along Shore Road about a mile until he reached the Safe Haven. The whole way back he couldn’t decide—was the buzz he felt from saving someone’s life, or was it from meeting Evie—touching her skin, talking to her, looking into her eyes, and feeling her even when he couldn’t see her?

  He had no friggin’ idea. He’d never saved anyone’s life for real like that, the way Duncan had shown him. And he’d never met anyone quite like her.

  God, he wished he knew what to say to a girl as cool and as pretty as Evie.

  Chapter Five

  “I can’t see her! I can’t see the pretty mermaid!” Chrissy began to jump up and down on the sidewalk. “I want up! Put me on your shoulders, Aunt Cricket!”

  Evelyn made a hasty calculation. Rationally, she knew that there were so many kids balanced on so many adult shoulders along the parade route that one little pirate boy wouldn’t draw attention. Besides, she hadn’t seen Clancy Flynn at all.

  But she’d taken a quick peek at the morning cable news shows while Christina slept. Though the volume was off, she’d seen all she needed to. As expected, Evelyn’s and Chrissy’s faces and names were now all over the place. So if she put Chrissy on her shoulders she’d be taking a risk.

  “I want to do shoulders! Please, Aunt Cricket! I only want to see the mermaid!”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  She turned around, crouched down, and felt Christina climb on board. They had done this so many times back home—at the beach, a
t the farm, and hiking in the mountains around Moose Lake—that it was second nature to both of them. With Christina’s hands gripped in hers, Evelyn stood up.

  “There she is! There’s the pretty mermaid!”

  Evelyn began to move farther back from the street but toward the parade float that had captivated her niece’s attention. At least that way, she’d have several rows of people in front of her along the route.

  “What does it say? What are the letters?”

  Evelyn smiled at Christina’s question. She was so smart. She loved this little person so much. Without warning, her throat tightened and her chest became overwhelmed with the crush of sadness. Amanda, her beautiful sister, was gone forever, and she would never see her funny, spirited, and intelligent daughter grow up. That was now all Evelyn’s responsibility—and her privilege.

  Oh, God! What had she done? If they were caught, she’d never be allowed to see Chrissy again! And that was the exact opposite of what Amanda had asked of her!

  Evelyn knew she had to keep it together. She pushed down the sadness and doubt and focused her eyes on the parade float sign. “The letters say that she is the Mermaid Queen of the Safe Haven Bed and Breakfast.”

  “What’s that? Is that a castle under the sea? Can we go see her there?”

  Evelyn smiled a little, thinking that the bed and breakfast’s owners had such a fearless sense of parade- float design that God knew what the inside of the place would look like. The Safe Haven float was a flatbed version of a Johnny Weir figure-skating costume. It was blinged-out with glitter, rhinestones, and even a few oversized feathers adding pizzazz to the display of sea grass and giant fake shells. She answered Christina. “Bed- and-breakfasts are like hotels. Maybe we can visit there.”

  “She’s so pretty! Is she Ariel?”

  The woman sitting in the huge, sparkly clamshell waved like a princess, smiled like a beauty queen, and tossed candy to the kids lining the Main Street curb. Christina was right—she was very pretty, even in the shell bikini top, skintight mermaid tail, and overly long wig.