When We Believed in Mermaids(106)

Maybe.

My stomach growls, and I hop in the Jeep, drive to my mom’s place. The sun is starting to peek out through the clouds, and it lifts my mood slightly. Maybe I just need a long vacation in a sunny place. I climb the stairs, sorting through the possibilities—Tahiti, Bali, the Maldives.

Spain.

Even the word makes all the hairs on my body hurt. I have to stop on the stairs and breathe through it, stuffing all those things back where they belong. Did I really fall in love with Javier?

Not in less than a week. That’s just ridiculous.

But then why do I miss him so much? It feels like the stars have fallen from the sky. Quite apart from everything else, I miss Javier specifically. I miss talking to him. Being myself with him.

I stomp the rest of the way up the stairs, yank open the door, and halt, uncomprehending.

“What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” says my mom.

“Surprise!” says Sarah, and she bolts across the room to fling her body at me. “We all came to see you!”

Her body feels so solid and strong. My hands fall on her back, and I’m so glad to see her, so very, very glad that I’m afraid all my emotions are going to split their seams and rush out onto the floor, so I take some deep breaths. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Mari is standing with my mother, and Simon is behind them, and Leo is trying to look engaged.

And there, as if I conjured him, is Javier. He’s standing in the middle of my mother’s living room, looking elegant and European in a fine pale-lavender shirt with darker purple stripes, and tailored slacks, and good shoes, and he is wearing cologne and looks like everything good that ever was. “Hola, gatita,” he says, and smiles.

I look from one person to the next. “I don’t understand. What—”

“Sweetheart,” my mom says, “this is an intervention.”

Sarah is still leaning on me, hard, and I clasp her back. “Intervention? But I—”

My sister says, “Mom has been worried about you. She asked us to come.”

“Why? I’m fine.”

Simon shakes his head. It surprises me, and I say, “I was just out surfing, that’s all.”

“It’s a love intervention,” Mari says.

“Love?” The lava of emotions that I’ve been safeguarding, keeping carefully in place, starts to gurgle.

“Yeah,” Mari says, and comes forward, joining her daughter by putting her arms around me. The scent of her hair washes over me, making me dizzy, and then Simon joins, and my mother, and Javier. Even Leo, though I don’t think he really wants to. “We wanted you to know,” my sister says, “that you aren’t alone anymore.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say. “I’m—”

“We abandoned you,” my mother says. “All of us, in one way or another. Me and Josie and Dylan and your dad.”

“Not me,” Sarah says, and holds me closer.

“Nor me,” Javier says in his deep voice.

Simon chimes in, “You’re not alone anymore. We are all your family, and you can count on us.”

“And me,” says Sarah.

And there’s no holding back that lava flow. Like Mount Vesuvius, I blow. All the tears I’ve never cried, all the grief I never expressed, all the fury and the sorrow come pouring out until I’m sobbing like a very small girl, wailing while their hands stroke me and pet my head, while arms hold me solid and voices whisper, “Go ahead and cry; we’ve got you.”

I’ve been so lonely for such a very long time.

We’ve got you.

When I’m finally finished, and poor Leo has escaped to the beach outside, and my mother has led me to have a shower and wash my hot face, we all sit down to breakfast. She has only the two chairs at the table, so we hold our pancakes on our knees as we sit on the couch. Josie/Mari sits next to me.

“This has your fingerprint all over it,” I say. “You planned it, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” She smiles at me. “Not quite as good as the unicorn cake but not bad.”

My throat gets tight. “Way better than the cake.”

“Dude, there were at least two bottles of sprinkles on that cake.”

I laugh. “True.” I look at her. “Still. This is better.”

“I’m glad.”

Simon joins us. “Did Mari tell you that she solved the great mystery of the murder of Veronica Parker?”

“No! Who was it?”

She sighs deeply. “Sadly, it was George after all. He caught her having an affair with the carpenter and attacked her. He probably didn’t mean to do it, but that was that.”

“How did you find out?”

“Helen’s journals,” Simon puts in. “They were buried in about a thousand pounds of magazines, but she clearly couldn’t part with them.”

“She was in love with George too,” Josie continues, “and she’s the one who leaked the affair, maybe hoping he’d turn to her in his grief. Instead, he killed Veronica, and Helen covered for him.”

“That’s a very sad story.”

“It explains why she only lived in that tiny corner all those decades.”

I nod. Across the room, Javier is listening intently to my mother, but as if he feels my gaze, he looks up. He tilts his head toward the door, and I nod. “Excuse me.”