The Summer of Chasing Mermaids (8 page)

“Poisoning the competition?” Christian said. “Kind of an obvious move. I'm unimpressed.”

“Poison? Yeah, not what I was thinking.” Noah came out from behind the counter, set the plates in front of Christian and Vanessa. Fries toppled from each, and for a moment, Christian stared, probably considering how far Noah would really go.

The door swung open again, ushering in the cold and another guy in a suit. He clomped over to the table where his two clones were waiting. “Surveying's done in sector four,” he said. “That's probably our best bet for the new boardwalk.”

“We've just secured Starbucks,” one of the others told him. “McDonald's is interested, but they're hedging. Peterson's trying to get a location scout out here next week.”

Our table went silent as we eavesdropped. I wondered if sector four was Starfish Point, but then I realized it wouldn't make sense to put a boardwalk that far up the Cove.

Of course, if they turned the houses into high-end vacation ­rentals, maybe it would.

“P and D vultures,” Christian said, his voice low.

“Starbucks?” Vanessa whispered. “I mean, I love a good half caf, triple shot, no foam, cinnamon latte as much as the next girl. But not at the Cove. That's just not right.”

Kirby nodded. “Mom will freak if they put a McDonald's here.”

Seconds passed in silence, everyone—including Sebastian—apparently lost in private worries about the Cove. About how things inevitably changed, no matter how much you wanted them to stay the same.

“That does it,” Vanessa finally said. “I'm game.”

Christian raised a flirtatious eyebrow, and she laughed.

“To help you guys fix up the boat, perv,” she said. “Vanessa James, at your service.”

Christian laughed. “Considering you hate cleaning, you've never touched a power tool, and you don't know jack about sailing, what exactly
are
your services?”

Something burned inside me, a flash and a spark, and then it was gone. Vanessa shooed him from across the table, then turned to Kirby.

“You're in, right?” Vanessa asked her. “I mean, with four of us? We got this.”

“Five,” Sebastian said. “I'm a good helper.”

“Thank you, sugar bean,” Vanessa said. “Five.”

“Four.” Kirby's eyes darted from Noah at the grill to Vanessa, back to Noah, back to Vanessa, and finally settled on Christian's fries. “Sorry. I . . . there's a lot going on at the library, and I just . . . I can't.”

“It's because she wants to marry Noah,” Sebastian said, and everyone roared.

But not Kirby, who was trying to shrink herself to fit inside her coffee mug.

And not me, whose roar died months ago.

“That's not it,” Kirby whispered. Even her hair looked embarrassed. “I'm just too busy. The inventory, and . . . and with Elyse working on the boat, I'll have to pick up the slack at Mom's store. And helping out with the art stuff. You know?” She looked up at me, eyes brightening. “But Elyse is definitely perfect for the job and I know she can do it and you won't regret it because she's amazing, and you'd better look out for her and not do anything stupid or I might have to kill you in your sleep.”

Kirby grabbed my root beer float, sucked down the rest through the straw.

“Damn.” Vanessa laughed. “So much for sisters before misters, Kirbs.”

“Christian's a mister,” she said.

“Hardly,” Vanessa said.

“It's cool.” Christian nodded toward Kirby. “Sleeping with the
Enemy here can side with Noah all she wants. Me and Stowaway? We've got it covered. Right?”

I felt his eyes on me, but didn't look up.

“Hey. We good?” Christian asked.

They were all watching me, even the creepy doll head.

So I closed my eyes and said what I said best.

Nothing.

Chapter 9

No good would ever
come from a sticky note in the shape of a crab.

Elyse,

Good morning, beautiful! No worries about treasure hunting or the shop. Kirby & I have it covered. Left coffee on for you
—
one of my magic brews, perfect for a day of new experiences. Mixed up some new lotion, too
—
it'll put some pep in your step! Have fun on the boat & be safe!

Blessed Be,

Lemon

As soon as the storm broke last night, Christian had shown up with my boxes, slightly damp but no worse for it. Between that and Kirby's not-so-subtle comments on the matter, I'd had no choice but to tell Lemon about our regatta plans.

I hadn't meant that I'd abandon everything else in my now-quiet life, but Lemon seemed to think that was the best approach. She'd left me high and dry this morning, long gone on her sea glass hunt before I'd even finished my shower.

My own sea glass jar, relocated to the windowsill in my bedroom, was about to be seriously neglected.

It was only my second day as first mate, and already I ached for the quiet beach walks I'd be missing, the meditative steps along the shoreline as Lemon shuffled ahead of me, lost in her own silent reverie. As I drank the last of the “magic” brew and turned off the coffeepot, I realized I'd even miss my shifts at Mermaid Tears.

Not my idea of heaven, maybe, but a new routine I'd begun. A new life.

Now it was changing again.

For the second time in as many months, it felt like my future was about to walk the plank, all of yesterday's bravery a show whose curtain was thin and tattered.

I shook off the feeling as I made my way to the docks. I'd made a promise that I'd do whatever I could to help save the house, and I meant it. The regatta was still almost six weeks away—long before I'd have to face the open water.

Christian was on the boat when I arrived, crouched down with a box of tools and oily rags. A pair of college-aged girls chatted him up from the dock. They looked as if they'd just breezed in from Aruba or Maui or some equally sunny place where the summers were warmer, the beaches less rocky.

Monday after Solstice. Let the official summer season at the Cove begin.

“Are you planning on sailing this thing?” one of them asked. Shimmery black hair cascaded down her back, curled but not frizzed, and her shorts would better serve as a swimsuit. Her legs were covered in goose bumps.

I was cold just watching her, but Christian had no trouble basking in her warmth.

“Rebuilding her first,” he said, his voice slightly huskier than usual. “Pirate Regatta this August.”

“Seriously?” Short-Shorts said. “Sounds dangerous.”

Christian shrugged. “They don't call it the Pirate Regatta for nothing.”

Her friend, a cute redhead in ripped jeans and a thin NYU hoodie, also trying not to shiver, rolled her eyes. “I told you about the regatta, Gracie. They do it every year.”

“Maybe I can help.” Short-Shorts casually tossed out the offer, as if she interrupted her summer vacation all the time to help wayward sailors, but I saw the smolder in her eyes. The way she held her shoulders taught, exposed her collarbone, and arched her back.

“Smooth, Gracie. God.” NYU laughed playfully at her friend.

“Shut up, Brenda.” Shorts flipped her luscious locks and looked back to Christian. “I've been on a boat before. Lots of times.”

“That so?” Christian rose to his full height, a wrench gripped in his hand. It was like the opening of a really bad movie. Not a family-friendly one.

He saw me then, standing at the end of the dock. His smile changed as I approached, flirt to friend in five seconds flat.

“Oh, hey,” NYU said, elbowing her friend when she noticed me. I nodded a hello at both of them, though Short-Shorts—Gracie—wasn't particularly welcoming.

“Do you need help or what?” Gracie asked Christian.

With his eyes on me, he shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, ladies. But we're all set.”

Their sigh was weighty and collective.

Then Brenda narrowed her eyes at me, scrutinizing. “Wait. You're Kirby Langelinie's cousin, right? From Trinidad?”

I nodded.
Tobago, actually. Twin islands.
I'd tried to mouth the words clearly, but both girls stilled.

“Lose your voice or something?” Gracie said, and Brenda elbowed her again, the gesture an obvious reminder that
I
was the girl they'd talked about. Not
to
, but about. “I mean—oh, right. I'm—sorry? Sorry.” Gracie lowered her eyes, nudging Brenda as if they'd both made this huge blunder, calling attention to my inability to speak. Her once pink cheeks were red, and Brenda clearly didn't know what to say either.

So often it fell to me to smooth things over, to make people comfortable even when I was anything but.

I shook my head like it was no big deal, forced a smile that I wanted so badly to be real.

But it wasn't.

The girls looked relieved anyway.

“Elyse is my first mate,” Christian said, and Brenda and Gracie brightened, though I couldn't tell if it was because they were impressed with me then, or just grateful for the subject change.

“Oh, cool,” Brenda said. “We'll be rooting for you guys.”

With her eyes and smile aimed at Christian, Gracie said, “Do you want to maybe hang out for lunch or something?”

Christian shook his head. “We've got a lot of work to do. But,” he said, and Gracie's renewed hope was enough to float all the boats in the docks. “I'll probably be at Shipwreck later. Stop by if you're around. It's reggae night.”

“I remember,” Brenda said.

“See you there, sailor,” Gracie said, and Christian winked.

Back home, in the vacation bungalows that bordered the resort property, we had our legendary boys too. Three, most infamously. The Maharaj brothers. My sister Juliette lost her virginity to Deo, which just about crushed Martine, who claims to this day that she kissed him first. Over the years those boys drifted like flotsam and jetsam between the d'Abreau sisters and the tourists that flocked to the island each year.

Every coastal destination had its legends, all the drama that
comes from the seasonal clash of locals and tourists, romantic sunsets over the sea, sizzling nights, the hormonal forces at work. I hadn't expected anything less at the Cove, especially after hearing Kirby's warnings.

But this boy was ridiculous.

“No need for the green-eyed monster,” he said. The girls had finally said their good-byes, and Christian held out a hand for the bucket of cleaning supplies I'd brought—Lemon's organic, nontoxic stuff, just to be sure we didn't damage any of the
Queen's
old rubber seals. “I'm spending almost every waking moment with you, after all.”

I gave him the evil eye, but the truth was, I wasn't jealous—not of Christian's momentary attention to Brenda and Gracie. It was something I could never explain to him.

I saw myself in those girls, the way Natalie and I used to wait for Julien and the boys at the steel-drum competitions, twist and wine against them during Carnival like it was all this party game, this tease that drove the boys wild and never meant anything more than that.

Until now.

Until I couldn't have it back.

I wasn't jealous. I just missed it, our carefree fun. The music and the laughter. Julien. Natalie.

Christian watched me, waiting for a smile. When I didn't offer it, he said, “Sit tight. I know what you need.”

He ducked through the companionway, returned with a cardboard holder of to-go cups and pastry bags from the Black Pearl.

“Plain latte and a cranberry-orange scone for you,” he said. “Afraid I'm not that sophisticated. Black coffee, glazed donut does me fine.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Noah,” he explained. His eyes drifted momentarily to the yellow-and-blue boat at the other end of the marina, our nemesis. When he looked at me again, he was grinning. “Apparently you and Kirby are the most regular regulars the Black Pearl has ever had. His words, not mine.”

After Christian had left the house last night, Kirby spent an hour lecturing me about him. She said I'd have to stand my ground; he'd either boss me around like a deck hand, try to hook up with me, or both. “That boy can charm the pants off pants,” she said.

She didn't mention anything about him getting breakfast. Asking Noah for my order. Waiting for me to arrive before eating his own food.

Balancing the tray on one hand, he stepped over the boat rails and climbed out, barefoot, inviting me to sit down on the dock next to him. I slipped off my shoes and dangled my feet over the edge, same as Christian. We ate in silence, side by side, cold water licking our toes. When I felt his eyes on me again, I turned to face him.

Thank you.
I took another sip of the latte. It was hot and creamy, nothing like the bitter, tree bark–flavored brew Lemon had made.

For a moment he didn't speak, just watched, like he was trying to decide what to say.

With a sigh he gathered up our trash and rose from the dock. “Last chance to bail, no judgments. But then we'd have to call this a date. I
bought breakfast, after all, and you didn't even spend the night.”

I jumped to my feet.
Here to work.

When we were back on board, he picked up his tools, ­reassembled them in the box. “I tried to open up some of the instrumentation, get a look at the electrical. Battery's got juice, but it's pretty corroded. Oil needs to be changed. Overall, she's a hot mess. Girl needs a complete scrubdown before I can really get in there. You ready?”

At my nod, he passed me a surgical mask.

“Put it on,” he said, donning his own. “Mold. Lead paint. Dust. Who knows what cancer-causing surprises await on the ol'
Queen of
.”

With a janitor's closet worth of cleaning supplies, we each took an end of the boat, Christian in the V-berth and me on the aqua-blue deck.

The filth was as old as the sea; it's possible that my scrub-scrub-scrubbing unearthed more than a few ancient fossils. Judging from the bucket of black water in the saloon, Christian's experience belowdecks was the same.

After what felt like three days, Vanessa stopped by with a picnic basket full of tiny sandwiches, grapes, carbonated waters, and what passed for chocolate bars here in the States.

“Dig in, y'all,” she said. “Can't stay—Mom came in early after all, and now she's insisting on a spa day down in Bandon. By insisting, I mean I nagged her until she caved. Elyse, wanna come?” She wriggled her fingers at me. “Matching manis?”

I shook my head, thanked her anyway.

“Poacher.” Christian laughed. “Lucky you showed up with food, otherwise I might think you were totally useless.”

“I promised to help, and I don't make idle threats,” she said. “I also brought intel from Kane HQ.”

Christian stilled.

“I stopped by,” she said. “Sebastian was outside, said your parents were havin' World War Three up on the deck. I heard them too.”

“That's not intel,” he said. “That's a snapshot.”

“Yeah, well, your mom's really pissed about this whole bet. Sebastian told me she was cryin' about it. She doesn't want your daddy to sell.”

Christian looked out at the horizon, all the way to Japan, it seemed. “She had her chance to take a stand that night.”

“Don't shoot the messenger,” Vanessa said.

Christian shivered, hard. It was as if his body had to physically shake off his thoughts. When he looked up again, the ghost smile was back. “Harm a hair on your pretty little head?” he said. “Never. Thanks for lunch.”

“Catch y'all at Shipwreck later.” She blew us each a kiss, tossed a backward wave over her shoulder as she walked away.

After the too-short lunch break, we hit the decks again for another two hours before Christian finally called it a day. I was relieved; both of us were exhausted, covered in grime and dust and a cold sweat made worse by the encroaching coastal mist.

After securing the cleaning supplies in the saloon, we climbed out
to empty the trash and dirty water at the marina dump station, and then headed for Starfish Point. The ocean was getting restless again, frothy in the distance as the waves gathered strength.

I felt Christian's hand on my arm, stopping us.

“Dolphins,” he said, pointing to a series of small white peaks in the water. “If we had Sebastian's binoculars, we could see them up close. Watch.”

It took me a moment to catch sight of them, but once I did, they were impossible to miss. We couldn't see the animals themselves, but they left a trail of white splashes as they arced through the sea.

I wanted to ask him where they were going, whether they lived here or were just migrating through, but before I could form the words, a wave leaped up from the shore, dousing us to our knees.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

The sea is going to take me. . . .

I saw her then, the mermaid queen, tail shimmering in the distance against the gray water. She laughed, piercing and hollow. Her voice rattled inside my head, scraping the walls of my heart.

I've been waiting for you, Elyse d'Abreau. . . .

I was freezing, shaking, tumbling into the waves, falling into the darkest deep
. . . .

“Elyse?”

I opened my eyes. My feet were planted on the shore, legs soaked and shivering. Christian's eyes were full of worry.

“I lost you for a minute there.” He let out an awkward laugh. “Let's go. You're freezing.”

When I didn't move, he squeezed my shoulder, gave me a gentle nudge. “Here, walk on the inside.”

I followed him, letting him take seaside as we made slow and careful steps up to Starfish Point.