The Turning Tides (Marina's Tales) (26 page)

Without Ethan by my side, my resolve would
surely
weaken. I would be lured into the sea
and eventually disappear, finally rendered unable to resist the moon and the tide. I would forget my life on land, as well as all of my friends and family.

I would lose myself, and the passage of time would erase all memories and traces of everything I’d ever known
or loved.
My eyes welled up and spilled over.

I clenched my fists and rubbed my eyes with them. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and focus on the task at hand. The mermaids were in danger, it was because of me, and I needed to set things right. If I was doomed to spend my life in blissful oblivion I was going to make sure that they were safe before I could allow it to happen.

Fate and destiny could wait. I had a laboratory to break into.

I remembered the prophecy that Fatima-slash-Rosa had revealed to me. She had warned of two men and two women arriving on the scene; dark and light, good and evil. Given her track record, I’d be foolish not to heed her warning– if I could only figure out what it meant.

I thought about Amrita’s dark eyes and mahogany skin, her glossy black hair contrasting starkly with Ruby’s
bleached blonde
pouf. There literally
was
a dark woman and a light woman… and they had each rubbed me the wrong way. Both women came from deprivation, and bore enormous chips on their shoulders. They also had power over the two most important men in my life, and there didn’t seem to be much I could do about it.

An enemy in my own home, Rosa had said, as well as one under Evie’s protection.

Tired, sad, and confused, I crawled into bed, pulling the covers over my head. I tried my best to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Tossing and turning, I was as restless as the churning sea. Without Ethan’s calming influence, I could feel my surfing addiction kicking back in, with all of its justifications and bargaining.

“If I go now,” I thought
to myself
, “I’ll be okay for the next few days.” My restless legs started twitching, and I was anxious to be out on my board, facing down a monster wave. It was the only way I knew for certain I could get relief, but I realized that more and more danger would never be enough to fill the empty black hole in my chest. I wanted to cry, but just when things seemed to be their very
dar
kest, I was set upon through the blanket by a curious kitten.

Stumpy jumped off the bed and bounded around the room wildly, full of playful energy. He attacked imaginary mice and climbed the drapes, picking his way across the curtain rod like a tightrope walker despite his disability. He looked down at me with a face full of mischief, making me giggle despite my black mood.

I remembered
what Evie
often
said
whenever Pierre and Fifi’s antics lightened up an otherwise dull day
,
“Where would we all be without a little comic relief?”

~

C
hapter
S
eventeen

LOVE

~

I rose to pull open the drapes, greeted by the Golden Gate Bridge glowing like Nixie’s hair in the early morning light. It reminded me that I had more important things to worry about than my petty relationship troubles. I stretched my arms over my head, dressed, and headed out to face the new day.

“There you are!” my father called to me from the couch, “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
He struggled to his feet with a grin, using his walker to slowly haul himself to sit at the kitchen table. It was the first time I’d seen him walk since the accident.

“That’s okay. I’m not really hungry,” I replied with a pleased smile, rummaging around the kitchen for coffee. The cabinets were freshly stocked with all kinds of teas and spices, and the once sterile countertops held several bowls of fresh fruit. It reminded me of Abby’s kitchen. I finally found what I needed and started a pot, slipping into a chair alongside my dad. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Ahhh,” he sighed.
“I miss that smell.”

“She still anti-coffee?” I asked with sympathy.

“I’m okay without it.” 

When I got up to serve myself I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Do you want me to sneak you a cup?”

He shook his head no, “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, returning to the table with a steaming mug.

He watched with amused eyes
as I sipped my coffee defiantly, “How about
I beat you in a game of
chess?”

I smi
rked
, getting up to retrieve the board, “
You’re
on.”

My father had taught me to play many years ago, and we’d taken our battered old chess set all over the world. He never condescended to let me win, attacking mercilessly and pointing out where I made my mistakes. He was a good strategist, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of me. As a result, I’d become an excellent defensive player, and though I’d never won a match with him, I’d managed to play him to a stalemate more than once.

I realized the game
was
a metaphor for my struggles with Edwards, and I studied the board closely, trying hard to be pro
active. I needed to think ahead and
lash out boldly,
attacking my opponent
while at the same time defending my flanks. It was much easier said than done.

We were engrossed in the game, hunched over the board when I felt eyes on me. I looked up to see Amrita watching us play.

My father smiled up at her
.
“She’s giving me a hard time today,” he complained.

“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” she announced, “Will you like me to tell the chef to delay it?”

“We should be done by then,” he said, turning back to me smugly
.
“Check.”

I moved to protect my king, sacrificing my queen.

“Are you hungry?” he asked me, taking my queen nonchalantly.

“I don’t know…” I said, looking at Amrita bustling around the kitchen and suddenly feeling terribly out of place.

“Oh, come on, you need to eat. The food’s not half bad, and there’s always plenty to go around. We have lots of catching up to do.”

“Alright,” I said, moving another piece
.
“Checkmate.”

Dad reeled back in his chair, bemused, “How did you manage that?”

Amrita stifled a smile, bringing some place settings to the table. She excused herself, and left to
supervise the
food
coming
from Evie’s kitchen. We sat and talked about the game for a few minutes, mostly just getting re-acquainted. We
purposefully
kept our topics benign
:
my
classes at
school, Abby’s new baby, and his plans to return to lecturing. We were both careful to speak only of the future, delicately avoiding any mention of the disturbing past and unresolved present.

Amrita burst into the door bearing a huge tray of cloche covered dishes. She smiled nervously, setting the food on the table and trying to make excuses to leave us to eat without her. My father wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that we all sit down together. When she took a chair he looked pleased, happily glancing back and forth between the two of us. He seemed anxious for us to get along.

She picked a steaming teapot, pouring us all a cup of Chai latte that was so delicious I
could imagine giving up coffee for it. She went on to describe each of the dishes in her lilting accent, charming me. The food was
surprisingly
good
,
buckwheat pancakes with stewed apples and raisins,
served with
bowls of thick yogurt spiced with cinnamon and drizzled with honey.

Dad studied the food on his plate, “So… what are the miraculous restorative properties here?” he asked her teasingly, a twinkle in his eye.

Amrita narrowed her eyes at him playfully, turning to me, “Are you as cheeky as your father when it comes to dismissing the health benefits of a proper diet?”

I looked across the table knowingly, “He needs to spend some time eating my Aunt Abby’s cooking.”

She looked puzzled when my father burst out laughing, and he turned to explain how his sister had been a strict vegan the past few years.

“
And w
hat’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” he replied, winking at me
.
“
If
she could cook.”

“She tries,” I defended Abby, chiding him good naturedly, “Which is better than either one of us can say.”

“Indeed. I found all of your take-out menus,” Amrita told my father with a sideways glance. She passed him a plate and his hand brushed hers when he took it, lingering a split second longer than necessary.

“At any rate, the food at Abby’s is much better now,” I
informed
him
.
“You really need to meet Dutch.”

“I know I do,” he nodded, “I was thinking about taking a trip to Aptos… maybe next week?” he looked to Amrita like he wanted her permission. “But only if the doctor here will accompany me.”

She looked
unnerved, and turned to focus on me. “How is Stumpy doing this morning?” she asked, changing the subject awkwardly.
Pets were clearly a safe topic of discussion.

“He was a busy boy last night,” I told them both about his antics, and my father reminisced about a cat he’d had as a boy. We laughed at his stories, and I was happy to see his sense of humor had survived the past few traumatic weeks.

Amrita smiled happily, and for a moment she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. “My grandmother used to say it was impossible to keep a straight face in the presence of a kitten. May I bring him out of your room for a little visit?” she asked me.

I nodded, “He’d like that.”

My father watched her leave the room
with
a gentle smile on his face
.
“She’s a lot more soft-hearted than she acts,” he mused.

“Yes,” I agreed, “There’s definitely much more
there than meets the eye.”
I
just
hadn’t figured out if it was good or bad yet.

I cleared the plates, stacking everything neatly back on the tray. Amrita came back with Stumpy, and I excused myself to jump in the shower.

Soon Cruz was at the door, hustling me off to the photo shoot. He was far more excited than I was about it, and I tried hard to be cheerful for his sake. He chattered on through the drive, speculating about who might be in charge of hair and makeup, bolstering me with his limitless enthusiasm. He knew the photographer by reputation, and told me I should be honored to be sitting for her.

“She shoots Vogue covers and everything!” he gushed.

The studio was in an industrial district out by the rundown old piers, and when Cruz parked the Jaguar I was a little fearful we were at the wrong place. We approached a huge dilapidated warehouse and were buzzed into a ground floor door. A screeching freight elevator took us up a few floors, and the doors opened to another world entirely.

The
towering
walls were all
painted
the brightest white, and a huge bank of windows bounced the light around inside, making the room glow despite the grey San Francisco fog that swirled on the other side of the panes. House music was playing in the bac
kground, and a warmly lit stage-
set beckoned.

Jaques came running up to greet us with kisses on both cheeks, introducing us to the photographer, a tall chic woman wearing enormous round glasses. I was taken to the makeup chair, introductions were made all around, and everyone got to work.

My hair was brushed smooth, loaded with sticky products and styled until it shone. The makeup artist went to work, dishing the latest celebrity dirt with Cruz, and talking over me to the hair stylist. I tried my best to avoid blinking while he brushed on layer after layer of mascara. He reminded me of a dentist, asking me questions
while
at the same time painstakingly lin
ing
my lips
.
I could only grunt a response.

Cruz’s voice rang out behind me, exclaiming with delight as he went through the racks of wardrobe and
jewelry
. He conferred with the photographer, charming her with witty jokes and lighthearted banter. I felt like a proud parent as I sat listening to him impress her with his encyclopedic knowledge of fashion and his insightful suggestions as to the best way to set up and style the shoot.

Soon we were clicking away, and I obediently looked this way and that, tilting my chin up or down, trying my best to keep my mouth relaxed.