When We Believed in Mermaids(93)

“Yes,” Javier says.

A cocoon of quiet muffles my feelings, my thoughts, my words. I have nothing to say as we board the ferry and sit down inside, watching the dark water move by. He never pushes. He doesn’t hold my hand, which I couldn’t bear right now. He only sits quietly beside me.

As we dock, I ask, “Are you singing tonight?”

“I could.”

I nod. “I’d like that.”

“All right.” For a moment, his eyes search my face, but instead of asking if I’m okay, he simply brushes a lock of my hair back from my temple. “She is a lovely child. It makes me wish I could have known you then.”

I think of myself on the beach, digging my feet deep into the sand while Dylan built a fire for all of us, and the lava in my belly gurgles. Urgently, I push the image away. I can’t bear even one more teaspoon of emotion. “Her experiments are wonderful.” I touch my heart. “I was just like that. A little odd. So passionate about the things I cared about. It makes me feel protective of her.”

I’m sick that my pursuit of the truth might lead to disaster for my sister. After so much time, so much effort, it seems wretchedly unfair. It’s still awful that she faked her own death, but— I don’t know.

In my purse, my phone buzzes, and I yank it out urgently, worried about what transpired once we left. It’s from Mari. Be ready to go surfing at 6 am. We’ll be gone all day.

“Sorry,” I say to Javier. “It’s my sister.” I type, I don’t have the gear, so I need to rent.

I have access to everything. What’s your board these days?

Short board, doesn’t matter.

See you at six, in front of the Metropolitan.



Cool. I pause, then type, Are you ok?

No. But none of this is your fault. See you in the am.



I look at Javier. “We’re going surfing in the morning.”

“Good.” As the ferry comes to a stop, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. I take comfort in his grip, which feels like it will keep me from flying away into my thoughts or falling into the bubbling power of my tangled emotions, where I might be burned to cinders.

Cinders. I smile, thinking of my old dog. “I had a dog named Cinder when I was a child,” I say. “He was a black retriever, and he was with us every minute of every day. Did you have pets?”

“Yes. Many. Dogs, cats, reptiles. A snake once, for a little while, but he escaped, and I never saw him again.”

“What kind of snake?”

“Ordinary. He probably lived in the garden till the end of his days.”

We walk up the hill toward the Spanish restaurant where Miguel plays, and I realize I’ve mapped out some of the routes, from ferry to apartment, apartment to market. I’d like to expand my reach, see what lies beyond the park full of magic trees. Go to the other side of the bridge, see what the lights to the north are, but I suppose I’m out of time. “I guess I have to get back to my real life.”

“So soon?”

I twitch a shoulder. “My mother is staying in my house, taking care of things. I left my job without a lot of notice. And I’ve done what I came to do.”

He nods. His hand is still holding mine. Ordinarily it feels sweaty and claustrophobic to hold hands with someone, but his fits mine better than most. I almost pull away as I think that, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving.

Before we go into the restaurant, he stops and faces me. “If you stay a few more days, we could explore a bit together. You could have a true holiday, enjoy getting to know your family.”

Light from the doorway cascades down the center of his nose, catches on the curves of his mouth, illuminates the column of his throat. “Maybe.”

“Think about it.”

“Okay.”

When we go in, Miguel spies us and hurries over. He’s wearing a turquoise shirt this time, the color making the most of his dark hair and warm skin. “Hola, hermano!” They give their man hugs, slaps on the back and then away. “You must be Kit,” he says, offering me his hand.

I accept his handshake. “I’m happy to meet you.” In my mind are the eyes of a little girl, haunting me, making me ache. “Javier has told me a lot about you.”

He closes my hand between his own. “As he has told me about you, though he could never have fully expressed your beauty.”

I laugh at the extravagant compliment. Javier tsks good-naturedly.

“Are you going to sing?” Miguel asks. “We have missed you. But of course, we do not wish for your date to run away. Was it so terrible you couldn’t bear it?”

“Pay him no attention,” Javier says, his hand at my back. “He thinks he’s clever.”

“I had pressing business last time,” I say. “So rude. This time I look forward to hearing every word.”

Javier swings his arm around my shoulders, kisses my temple. “It will be my pleasure to serenade you.”

“Is that what it will be, a serenade?”

His eyes go sleepy. “Every word will be words of love,” he murmurs close to my neck. “And they will all be for you.”

Again it’s extravagant, but our little idyll is nearly over, so I let it slide past my barriers and settle in my blood, warming me. I lean into him and let him kiss my forehead, and only when I am settled at the small cocktail table near the stage do I see the eyes on us, envy and curiosity and eagerness. “Everyone is staring,” I murmur.