The Summer of Chasing Mermaids (23 page)

I shook my head again.
Sail.

“Sell?”

Sail.

Christian squinted, brow creased with fresh concern.

I looked at him, mute, willing him to fish the words from my heart, to speak them aloud where I could only mutter and hiss. But he didn't.
He couldn't, of course, and here I stood, cursing again the star at my throat, the gash it had covered.

We went back inside the saloon. I grabbed the nautical chart, found a clean spot where we hadn't written our secrets.

With the Sharpie, I wrote furiously.

I wish I had the words to say this out loud, because I owe you that much.

I've loved our time together this summer, all the work we put into the boat.

I want you to win the regatta. Not just because of the house, or to prove your dad wrong.

But because you love this boat, and the sea, and you deserve it.

I know you'll do it, you'll beat Noah and you'll race through the finish first.

But you won't be doing it with me.

I can't sail.

I can't face the open sea again.

I'm so sorry.

As Christian read the words, I looked out through the hatch at Vega, patron star, and outside, the gray-blue Pacific swirled and sputtered against the boat, as if to taunt me.

“Elyse,” he said gently, reaching for my shoulder.

I turned to face him, shame burning my skin, a painful heat made worse by the compassion in his eyes. I dropped my gaze to his shoulders, the collarbone I'd only moments ago tattooed with my lips, the heart I'd tattooed with my words.

“What the hell happened to you out there?” His eyes were blazing again, belying the gentleness in his voice. I didn't know if he'd meant out there, on the deck of the
Queen of Cups
. Or out there, in the Caribbean. Or maybe some other out there that had scarred me this way, inside and out.

Still, I could only shake my head, lower my eyes in a weak ­apology.

“We'll figure this out. But you need to trust me,” he said.

Understanding. Hope. Encouragement. His voice was thick with all three, and if I'd had the courage to look him in the eyes, I knew I would've seen it there, too.

But it wasn't enough.

Not with my sister, my Granna. Not with my father. Not with all the well-meaning friends and neighbors who'd sent their endless cards and flowers.

And now, it wasn't enough with Christian Kane.

I closed my eyes.

Shook my head.

Slipped his gentle caress.

Reached for my bra and panties and clothes.

“Elyse, look at me. Please.”

I finally did.

His eyes seared me. “You can do this.”

I've been waiting for you. . . .

Her voice was in my head again, and I shook it to silence her.

“You can,” Christian said. Firm. Final. Definite. Uncompromising.

No.
I met his eyes again, set my shoulders. Firm. Final. Definite. Uncompromising.

I'm not ready, Christian. I'm just not ready.

Chapter 30

Lemon once told me
that a woman's heart was infinite, that there was room for light and dark and everything in between. Now my heart took on a new weight, haunted endlessly by the look in Christian's eyes, the last I'd seen as I'd walked away.

Disappointment.

I knew I'd carry it always, for I was the one who put it there. I let him down, doused the fire in his sea-storm eyes.

I stood in the bathroom at Lemon's, naked before the mirror. Over my shoulder, I turned to read Christian's words.

beautiful soul

He'd written it backward, knowing I'd look in the mirror the moment I could. Wanting me to see it straight. To believe it.

For a moment I almost did.

A curtain of steam parted as I stepped into the shower, and slowly, agonizingly, the searing hot water captured the words he'd written on my bare skin, dragged them down my body to my feet. They swirled for only a second before the tide pulled them under, sucked them back out to the sea where all my stories seemed to end.

Wrapped in a towel, barefoot and dripping on the hardwood floor, I froze in the hallway before my bedroom.

The light was on, spilling out through the doorway.

Vanessa and Kirby were inside.

Kirby was wearing it.

The dress.

My dress.

“That dress is amazing,” Vanessa said. “I can't believe she keeps it locked up in here.”

“Imagine it in the parade tomorrow? I could so rock this thing.” Kirby smoothed her hands over the fabric, her touch delicate. It was all wrong on her; the silky curves sagged against the narrower lines of her hips; her ankles peeked out awkwardly from the bottom.

Maybe if it fit her properly—if I'd walked in and seen her lit up like a runway model, stunning in the gown I could no longer wear—maybe then I would've been able to let it go.

But the dress was custom-made for me. Not just my physical measurements, but everything in me too. My passions, my dreams. All the songs I ever sang, and the dance steps Natalie and I practiced. The dress was cut for the way I moved. The way I breathed.

Fucking breathe, Elyse. . . .

“I should take it off,” Kirby said, suddenly deflated. “Before she comes back.” She turned to reach for the zipper at the back, saw me standing in the hallway.

“Elyse!” Kirby folded her arms over her chest. “I didn't . . . sorry. I was just looking for a skirt to borrow . . . you know, the red one? Because Noah wanted to go out and I don't have anything cute, and I thought maybe—”

“It's my fault,” Vanessa said gently. “I saw the dress hangin' there and told her to try it on. I wanted to see it again. I'm sorry, Elyse.”

I nodded quickly, swiping at invisible tears that still wouldn't fall. How long before I could look at a simple blue dress without my heart seizing up?

“Are you okay?” Vanessa asked. “Seriously, I'm really sorry. I didn't think—”

“Stop,” Kirby snapped. “Stop apologizing right now.” She'd slipped off the dress and was already hanging it back in the closet, burying it once again. She hastily tugged on her shorts and T-shirt and crossed the room to face me. I'd never seen her so enraged.

I took a step back.

“Why are you here, Elyse? What do you want?”

Beneath my bath towel I was naked, and that's exactly how I felt at her words, stripping me down to the bone.

“Sometimes I think you want to be totally alone,” she said. “Fine, I try to give you space. Then I think maybe you need a friend, someone to talk to. Or just to hang out with, forget all the bad stuff. I've
tried it both ways.
Every
way. Everything I could think of. Invited you out, tried to get to know you, introduced you to my friends. Sometimes you hang out, but it's like you're on the edge, always pulling away again. So I think, okay, I'm coming on too strong, too fast. I do that. But when you're alone, you're just . . . you're sitting here stewing. And what I don't get is if you really want to be alone, why come to the Cove at all? Why come to a place where you have people who are practically family—people who care about you and want to help you? Why spend all that time with Christian and Sebastian? And don't say it's the boat, because we know you told Christian you aren't sailing. He texted us.”

“Hey,” Vanessa said. “He texted
me
. That wasn't for us to repeat.”

“Someone has to say it,” Kirby said. “I know I have a big mouth, okay? And sometimes I stick my foot right in it. But not this time. I'm sick of all the tiptoeing. Someone has to speak up around here.” She turned her eyes on me again. “Don't just stand here making excuses and pretending everything's okay, when it's so obviously not. You can cry and freak out, you know.”

I shrugged, mute and stunted as ever.

“Hey.” Kirby grabbed my hand, her voice and eyes suddenly tender. “Elyse, I'm telling you all this because I care. You're like a sister to me.”

I shook my head, pulling away from her kindness.
No, thanks. I've got plenty.

She shrugged. “I don't.”

She'd said it plainly, without drama, without heat. It was utterly honest.

My heart throbbed with guilt.

How many more people could I possibly hurt tonight? How many more could I push away?

I glanced from Kirby to Vanessa, expecting downcast eyes, pity. Maybe confusion. But this time, both met me head on. They weren't letting me off the hook.

I loved and resented them for it. The part of me that loved them wanted to grab their hands, to tell them how grateful I was for their friendship, even when I didn't return it in any of the obvious ways. I wanted to tell them that along with Lemon and Christian and Sebastian, they were the first people since the accident who didn't pity me, who didn't have all these expectations for me to move on with my life, make other plans, figure it all out on some arbitrary timetable.

The part that resented them wanted them to know how much it hurt to be with them, how the simplest things like hearing them laugh or sing in the shower shot knives through my heart. How a little thing like watching Vanessa whisper a joke into Christian's ear sent me reeling; not because I was jealous of their relationship, but because it was one more thing I'd never, ever be able to do. How walking in here like this, catching Kirby in the dress had almost stopped my heart. That the gown once held the promise of my entire future but now was nothing but a cruel memory.

I wanted to tell them that I'd fallen in love with the ocean, and now it was my deepest fear. It haunted me, stalked me, filled my nightmares.

I wanted to tell them that I was terrified I'd always feel that way, the warring emotions of love and resentment, trust and fear. That I was so scared I'd never find peace, never move forward. Never live. Never love. That when I lost my voice, I lost everything else, too. And I didn't know how to get it back. Get
me
back. Maybe I never would, and I'd be cursed to remain invisible, inferior because that's how I let others see me.

I wanted them to know it all, the good and the bad. They were, after all, my friends. The best ones, though I never could've predicted it.

But when Kirby finally looked at me with tears in her eyes, and she whispered again, her head shaking, “What do you want, Elyse?” I had nothing for her.

“Fine,” she said, wiping away her tears. “If you want to be alone with your dress and your old videos and stuff from the past, go ahead. When you're ready for real friends, right here, right now, you let us know.”

“Elyse, I really am sorry,” Vanessa whispered. She reached for my hand, but changed her mind, pulled away before touching me.

I closed my eyes, let their words settle on my shoulders like a cold rain.

I don't know how much time passed before I spoke, silent as always.

I'm sorry. I'm not ready. I'm just not ready.

The same insufficient words I'd said to Christian at the marina.

I opened my eyes.

Kirby and Vanessa were gone.

Chapter 31

Even with my eyes
closed, my hands found the dress in the back of the closet easily; I knew the weight and feel of it like I knew the smoothness of my skin, the kinks and curls in my hair. Sometimes the dress felt as if it were just as equal a part of me. Just as real.

Kirby hadn't returned to my bedroom since our fight last night, and I hadn't ventured out to look for her. After a restless night I'd spent this morning in a trance, twisting my hair into a cascade of braids secured with jeweled starfish, painting my face to look like a beautiful, dangerous creature from the sea. It was the mask I'd worn on the last best day of my life, and I'd seen so many pictures and videos that I'd memorized it. Recreating it was, like finding the dress, instinctual, a known thing that since that day back in Trinidad had lain dormant within me but not forgotten.

It was an old trick. Sometimes, after a stupid fight with Natalie or Granna, I'd don a different mask, the hair and full makeup and jewels,
and pretend I really was a mermaid queen, or an angel, or a butterfly. And when I'd done it for Carnival, it was both relaxing and exciting, watching myself transform before the mirror, waiting to see the costumes Granna had picked out for each performance. She always liked to surprise us, and each one was more beautiful than the last. All the way up to the mermaid dress.

Now, hanging on a hook on the back of the bedroom door and absent its twin, the dress seemed sad in a way that clothing couldn't possibly be. It was as if the fabric carried with it my own shame and fear, prickly guilt about hiding from Natalie, all of it weighing unfairly on its delicate embellishments. Still, time and neglect had stolen none of its elegance. It took my breath away. It was everything I was supposed to be, everything I used to be. Each tiny sequin, every glittering rhinestone, the slip of deep blue silk, all of it held magic.

It was the most beautiful dress in the world.

It was the dress I'd sworn I'd never wear again. The dress that belonged only to the past.

I slipped it from the hook, gathered the fabric in my fists. It would've been so easy to put it back. To stuff it into a plastic bag and bury it in the bottom of the closet under the shoes and Lemon's old books and too many umbrellas. Or better, to shove it into the box with the letter Granna had sent and the chocolates and everything else from my old life, taped up and forgotten.

Kirby was right. I was living in the past. Part of me, anyway. Still locked up with my old videos and music and faults and regrets. I didn't
want to live there anymore. I didn't want to live in the dark. Afraid. Alone.

I stepped into the pool of silk, gliding it gently over my thighs. It pulled across my hips a bit more snugly than I remembered, but it still felt familiar, as if it had been waiting for me, for this moment, when we'd be reunited. It hugged me, cool and smooth as water, and though I'd assembled my hair and makeup before the mirror in my bedroom, I couldn't bring myself to look at the reflection of the dress.

I had to go on instinct now, to trust that it looked right, despite its new tightness. I took a deep breath—as much as the dress would allow—and opened the bedroom door, took small steps to the kitchen.

When she saw me standing before the windows that looked out across the sea, Kirby gasped and dropped her lip gloss. “Holy. Fuck.”

For the first time since the accident, I really, truly laughed.

Not just a fading smile, a quick breath puffed through my cheeks, but a deep-from-the-belly laugh. It didn't sound like much—a series of wheezes and squawks that reminded me of the gulls fighting over stale bread, and it felt raw and edgy in my throat. But it was mine, a real laugh, a warm laugh, the kind that folded me in half and had me pinching my eyes closed to avoid makeup-ruining tears.

Kirby echoed my hysterics, and when we finally recomposed ourselves, my face turned serious.

You were right,
I mouthed.

“I was harsh,” she said softly.

Harsh and right. I'm sorry.

I closed the distance between us and grabbed her hands, pulled
her into a long hug. A sister kind of hug. When we finally released each other, she gave my dress another once-over, top to bottom.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” she asked. At my nod, her face broke into a triumphant grin. She pulled out her phone. “You're marching with us! Vanessa's going to flip! Mom too! She's already down on Main, setting up the Mermaid Tears booth. The parade goes right past it—she's gonna scream! Elyse, ohmygod, this is so amazing!”

My fingers closed delicately around her wrist, stopping her mid-text.
Wait.

I rummaged through the junk drawer for the crab stickies, scribbled an explanation.

They still won't let Sebastian march. He's heartbroken.

Kirby tapped her chin. She looked beautiful in her cream-colored gown, a mermaid-style prom dress Vanessa had helped her repurpose with delicate silver sequins, starfish ornaments, and a sheer wrap the color of the sea.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Granna's voice floated through my memory, something she used to tell us whenever we were nervous before a tough competition.
Some days you win the battle just by showing up.

We weren't going to fight the parade rule makers, to argue in vain to convince them to do the right thing. I wrote:

We're going to show up. And we're going to make sure Sebastian is the best-looking mermaid there.

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, I'm
so
in. What do you need?”

Sebastian had a lot of mermaid gear at home, but pulling this off would require more than a coconut bra and an old bathing suit. He needed something special. Something so amazing it would take the judges' breath away. After everything they'd put him through, it wasn't enough for him to simply march in the parade like a shadow, slipping in behind us.

Fear may have kept me from sailing with Christian today, but there was one Kane brother I could still help.

Sebastian was going to march, loud and proud.

And Sebastian was going to win the crown.

Fifteen minutes later Kirby and I had sufficiently ransacked our closets as well as Lemon's, followed by the gift shop and store room, unearthing every sea-themed accessory and sparkly, sheer, and sea-colored piece of clothing we could find. Individually the items were impossibly ragtag, an explosion of fabric from which we couldn't possibly string together an outfit.

But Vanessa could.

Kirby texted her pictures of everything, along with a rushed explanation of the plan. Vanessa sent back her ideas immediately.

Somehow, with help from the magic of the sea and Vanessa's
devotion to
Project Runway
, we pulled it together. Kirby stood back and surveyed the final assembly laid out on my bed, giddy with pride. “He's going to be amazing.”

I nodded, truly impressed. I knew the crowd would fall in love with him as soon as they saw him march, and their applause would likely win over the judges. But I was worried about getting him into the starting lineup in the first place. I wrote:

I can register on-site, but they won't let him. We have to sneak him in, get him a number.

“We'll figure something out. Just . . . you get Sebastian ready,” she said, heading for the front door. “I'll get Vanessa and we'll meet you there in . . .” She checked her phone, eyes widening. “We've got less than an hour. Hurry!”

The Kane house shone through the gray morning mist. The front door was open, and when Mrs. Kane saw me from her perch at the kitchen table, she waved me inside.

It was the first I'd seen her since Christian's confessions last night, and though I knew in my heart his story about her affair was true, it was still so hard to reconcile. I wanted to hate her for what she'd done, for the seeds of doubt she'd planted all those years ago that blossomed into Mr. Kane's anger, his cruelty toward Christian. His dismissiveness of Sebastian.

Instead, my heart ached for her, for all the secrets that must've lived inside, hollowing her out.

“Elyse!” she said as I entered. “Are you marching in the parade? You're stunning!” She grabbed my hands, twirled me around for a complete view. Kirby had had the same shocked reaction, but when I saw it on Mrs. Kane's face—a woman who was a stranger to me, and more cold than hot—my breath caught.

She gestured for me to sit down, and I took the chair across from her at the table, careful not to mess up the stacks of files and devices she'd spread out.

“Sebastian's in his room,” she said softly. “I thought he might want to at least
watch
the parade, but he hasn't come out all day. Poor kid.”

Mr. Kane?
I mouthed.

“Down at the marina. He's still trying to talk Christian out of the race, especially now that he's out a first—Well, you know those two don't exactly see eye to eye.”

She looked down at her papers, and an awkward silence settled between us. She finally broke it with a sigh.

“Elyse,” she said, “I know it may not seem so from the outside, but Andy and I love our boys.”

I wanted to tell her that sometimes it wasn't enough. That love wasn't just a word you used when describing the kids to the neighbors. It wasn't just an obligation.

But instead I only nodded.

“I wanted you and Christian to win,” she said. “I knew you could. I would put money on it.”

I smiled, not knowing what to say.

“In fact,” Mrs. Kane went on, “I
did
put money on it. Fifteen hundred dollars, to be precise.”

My eyes snapped to hers across the table.

“We'll keep that between us,” she said. “I just thought you should know that I believe in you guys. Just in case you were thinking of changing your mind.”

My skin was hot with guilt. She'd been the one to sneak onto the boat, to leave us the money we needed to get the Vega sea­worthy when her husband had pulled the plug. I felt the twin shame of ­disappointing both of them, Christian and his mother.

I took a deep breath, met her eyes again. There was still a chance he could win, could save this property for all of us.

But I couldn't help him. I shook my head sadly, mouthed another apology.

Before she could ask me to reconsider, I grabbed the sticky notes from her pile and told her about our parade plan, asked if I could try to convince Sebastian to come.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” she said warmly. “I think he'd like that.”

I rose from the table, turned to head upstairs.

“Elyse,” she said, and I stopped, looked at her over my shoulder. “Thank you. For both of them.”

I left Mrs. Kane to try my luck with Sebastian, hoping that at least one of the Kane boys would be happy to see me today. I had to knock twice before I heard the doorknob twist. The door creaked
open slowly; Sebastian had already darted back to his bed, lost within the pages of my island fairy tales.

I set my bags on the floor and sat in the chair across from him, waiting patiently for him to glance up. I knew it the instant his eyes caught the sea-blue glint of my dress—the air in the room stilled, the book slid down his chest.

“Atargatis,” he whispered.

I stood then, twirled in front of him until the dress fanned out at the bottom, and from the depths of his despair, I fished out a smile.

Now
there's
my favorite mermaid,
I mouthed.

“But I'm not a mermaid, remember?” His smile slipped back under. “Boys aren't allowed.”

I grabbed his chin, tilted his face toward mine.
That's bull.

“Yeah, but the mayor and the parade ladies and—”

“Sebastian,” I scratched out, a ragged whisper. It shocked him, the hiss passing from my lips to his ears, and his smile returned. I grabbed a marker and paper from his desk.

You are the best mermaid to come to the Cove since Atargatis herself. Now come on, we've got a parade to get to.

“But I don't even have a costume.”

I rummaged through my bags and showed him the outfit Vanessa, Kirby, and I had put together: a silver-sequin halter that tied at the neck, a pale blue taffeta skirt cut from Kirby's freshman
homecoming dress, a sheer white altar cloth edged with gold and silver beading that we'd use as a cape, and a delicate tiara studded with sea glass. Kirby had texted Lemon about the latter two items, and my aunt gladly donated them to the cause.

Sebastian looked over the shimmering clothes, the seashell hair clips and starfish pins we'd use to make it all fit. He flung himself at me, hugged me so tightly I worried he'd rip my dress.

I untangled his arms and urged him to get ready quickly.
I'll wait outside,
I mouthed. I held up three fingers.
Knock three times when you're ready.

He dressed himself in record speed, banging excitedly on the door for me to return. The clothes hung off his body, but I'd been expecting as much and immediately set to work wrapping and tucking, folding and fastening in artful, flowing swaths, everything pinned in place with starfish in a way that looked purposeful.