by Sonya Blake
“The memories, yeah,” Kaia answered.
Maybe it actually had something to do with what happened to me last night.
The idea made the nausea swell through her again. Kaia gulped. “Once this place is on the market, it’ll go pretty quick. Won’t it?” she asked, her words coming out too fast and nervous.
“I have no idea,” Sam said. “I don’t pay attention to real estate.”
“Where do you live?” she asked, out of a desire to change the subject to something less stress-inducing.
“Come see.” Sam motioned for her to follow him out of the kitchen and into the hall.
He walked through the living room and went to the window beside the hearth, pointing into the bay. Nearly lost in the rain and fog, a small island sat like a gem on top of the water. Coniferous trees towered over its rocky back, where a single cottage was nestled.
“Thursday Island,” Sam said, as he looked out the window. “That’s home.”
“I don’t see any other houses.” Kaia leaned against the window frame as she gazed at the island, aware of Sam’s body heat close to hers. “You have a whole island to yourself?!”
“Yep.”
“But don’t you get lonely?” She gazed up at his dark eyes.
Sam shook his head. “I’m not much of a people person.”
The scent of coffee drifted in from the kitchen, and Kaia lifted her nose toward it. Sam grabbed her hand.
“Hey. I’m—I’m shit with words, but I’m sorry, and—and thank you.” His eyes grew glossy and his voice frayed as he spoke. “You saved my life, and I shouldn’t’ve brought you out there in that storm.”
Moved by his sudden tenderness, Kaia threw her arms around Sam’s torso and hugged him, pressing her cheek to his chest. He stiffened at first, then put his arms around her slowly. His body was warm and firm, but at the same time giving to hers as he held her close. She could collapse into his strength, if she let herself. She could let go of the absolute terror she held inside—the terror that she was either utterly insane, or something not altogether human.
“We made it,” she said instead, trying to sound cheerful.
“Yep, we made it.” Sam pulled away and gave her a small, shaky smile. So he had been scared shitless, too.
“Coffee?” she said.
Back in the kitchen, she caught Sam throwing a glance at her tush in his boxer shorts, but he didn’t say anything about her thievery as he poured their coffee. She was thankful for that. How would she explain? Oh, sorry, lost my pants when I turned into a sea monster. Hell no.
“Hey, Sam, can I ask you something?”
He lifted his brows in wary permission.
“When I sang at the bar last night, you… you cried.” She feared that asking this meant treading on very personal ground. Maybe even trespassing. Still, she couldn’t help herself. Besides, he had no problem grilling her. “Why?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Sam drew in a long breath as he sat at the table with his mug cradled in his hands. “You reminded me of… of something I’d forgotten.”
“And what was that?”
Sam’s lips curved into a smile and he shook his head. The man clearly had his secrets. She sensed there were plenty of them hiding behind that calm facade.
Several moments passed, and her question disappeared into the sound of the rain pattering on the tin roof of the kitchen. Sam finished his coffee quickly, but Kaia barely sipped hers. Sweat poured off her. She felt like she might be sick at any moment and wondered if saltwater could cause a hangover.
Sam stood and went to the window over the sink. “Looks like the dingy washed up.”
Kaia stood up too fast, then sat down again as her stomach flipped.
“I’ll have your car towed to the shop near the wharf,” he said, and took his coat off the back of the chair.
Wharf. That was a word she’d prefer not to hear spoken aloud. Her guts recoiled. Oh, she knew this feeling, but typically only after a tequila-whiskey-vodka-gin-Chinese-pizza-burgers kind of night did she wake up feeling the fiesta. And even on the worst of those nights, she’d never envisioned turning into a mythical creature.
“I’ll bring your bags and stuff later today, and I’ll pick up something for you to eat, okay? Build you a fire out in the furnace first, so we can get some heat goin’ in here,” Sam muttered as he zipped up his jacket and flipped the hood over his shoulder-length black hair. His eyes caught hers, dark and deep as the ocean itself. “I keep wood stacked out by the shed for when I come to paint sunrises in your bedroom,” he admitted with a shrug.
Kaia swallowed and chewed on her tongue. She prayed her belly wouldn’t take the notion to toss up its contents at this very moment.
“Sam, wait,” she said as he went to the door. “Did you see… did you see what happened to me last night?”
Sam shook his head and frowned. He looked directly into her eyes for a second longer than was comfortable.
“Nope,” he said, and went out the door.
Chapter Six
The art gallery on Main Street had been stripped bare except for several muted watercolors of Monhegan Island, painted by an artist emulating the legendary Andrew Wyeth, that capturer of Maine life who had become the touchstone for all who followed. An indefinable sculpture stood in the center of the room, still wrapped in packaging, but other than that the Water’s Edge Gallery was quiet and empty. It was January, after all. Sam would be surprised if they had a single customer between here and June.
He hated the way his heart pounded. Why did he care what anyone thought of his paintings? He painted for himself, for his own peace of mind, and that was it. If they told him he couldn’t have a show, it wouldn’t change a thing. It wasn’t as if anybody would see his stuff in the gallery during winter, anyway.
“Hello?” he called.
The main door opened behind him and Violet Wilde came in, smiling. Her glossy dark hair hung straight and heavy to her narrow waist, and her makeup was, as always, meticulously applied. She was wearing her typical winter gear—an oversized cashmere sweater, leggings, and a pair of shearling boots. Even though she was dressed casually, she still somehow looked elegant. Wealthy. She was one of those people who dripped money, from the top of her well-groomed head to the tips of her manicured toenails. It was like a smell that hung around her.
He kind of despised all this about her, but despite that Sam felt a pang of guilt for waking in Kaia’s bed. In her arms. Naked. Nothing happened, he reminded himself, and he tried to return Violet’s happy smile.
“I thought I was meeting your sister,” he said.
“Emory told me she’d be a few minutes late and asked me to meet you here.” Violet frowned up at him. “What happened to your head?”
Sam touched just above his left eye where he had acquired a little nick the night before, a reminder that he’d nearly lost his life.
“Nothing. Got a bit rough on the water last night.”
“You were out there?” Violet’s green eyes narrowed. “That was quite a storm, Sam. Next time you’re caught on the mainland, let me know. You can stay with me.”
Violet had never asked him to stay the night at her house before. She reached up to adjust the collar of his shirt, running her thumbs along the bare skin of his neck and sending a shivering bolt of sensation straight to his crotch.
“Ah—” Sam wiggled away from Violet as her smile spread.
“Maybe when we’re done here you should come over to the apothecary and let me fix you up. I’ve got a calendula-rose solution for wound care. New batch.” She sidled closer and rested her hands on his hips, pressing her body to his.
Sam took a step back. Although he recognized that this opportunity to show his paintings at the gallery was essentially Violet pitying him and convincing her sister to give him the least desirable spot on the calendar, he wanted to appear professional. If Emory came in to see him making out with her sister—him, a local lobsterman for Christ’s sake—well, it wouldn’t look go
od. He pulled away from Violet and glanced around the place.
“Where I can set up?” he asked.
Violet drew him into the back room, where floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the wintry harbor. “Emory uses the table in here for consultations.” A broad plank table stood in the center of the oblong room. She put her hands on her hips as she smiled at him. “You know, you look really sexy in a shirt and tie.”
Sam set his portfolio on the table. “What’d you think I’d wear? Jeans and a flannel?”
Violet stroked his tie and let her fingers drift to where his shirt was tucked in, gripping the waist of his pants and yanking him closer. “Yes, or maybe your orange coveralls.”
Just as Violet’s lips were about to touch Sam’s, he heard a noise from the front and stepped aside. Emory Wilde sailed in—a tall, Scandinavian blonde, the carbon-copy of her twin sister in every aspect besides hair color.
“Sorry I’m late,” Emory said breezily. “Oh, Violet! You bad girl! Is this your hipster-fisherman?”
Sam grimaced. Hipster-fisherman?
Emory kissed Violet’s cheek, then offered Sam her hand. “Sam Lowell, please don’t look at me like that, Violet has had only the very best things to say about you,” she cooed, with a not-so-subtle glance at his crotch. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’ve seen you down at the wharf.”
Hauling lobster out of the Angeline, probably, Sam thought with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Emory sized him up as they shook hands. He knew she felt the roughness of his palm and judged him for it.
Yes, I’m a man who works with my hands. I labor to earn my living. I bet that’s something you and your kind have never known.
Moving out of her scrutinizing gaze, he unzipped the portfolio and drew out the three square-framed canvases he had brought. He set the paintings on the table in a row, putting the dark storm first, the white breaker in the middle, and then the one he called ‘Purple Sky’, for lack of anything better. He thought with sudden panic that he might have to name his work.
“So violent,” Emory observed, half-whispered, to her twin.
Sam stood back from the Wilde sisters to let them look on their own. Violet said something inaudible, and Emory glanced over at Sam and smiled. He’d never seen the fair-haired Wilde twin up so close before. It was creepy how alike Emory and Violet looked. Their similarities went deeper than just looks and mannerisms, though, Sam thought. Though they wore different clothing and seemed to have unique personalities—Emory breezy where Violet was brooding and intense—their voices were the same, the way they looked at him was the same, the way they were leaning over the table just now and eyeing his work… it was uncanny.
He crossed his arms and hoped this would be over quickly. He’d like to grab a coffee at The Better Bean, get on the Angeline, and retreat to Thursday Island. The mainland made him nervous, no matter how briefly he was there, no matter that the water was still in sight. He felt sweat prickle in his pits as he gazed out at the harbor with its scattered buoys, the pines stretching to the edge of Foley’s Point, and Kaia’s house out there, all on its own. He hoped she was doing better than she had looked when he left her.
Emory turned to him. “I’d like more of the…”
“Storms. Mm, yes,” Violet murmured, nodding, while Emory smiled.
“We like your storms, Sam,” Emory cooed. “A half-dozen maybe, in addition to these you already have. How does that sound?”
“Ah, yeah, I mean—when?” Sam stammered. “When are we doing this?”
“How about you get them to me by the last week of January, and we have the show February first?” Emory suggested.
It was a lot, but he could do it. “I’m in,” he said, and smiled.
“Wonderful. Oh! Look at those dimples,” said Emory. “Gosh, you’re easy. Wish all the artists I dealt with were so un-psycho. Hey, maybe we could even have live music for your show, what do you think? It’ll be mostly locals who come, I’d imagine. We should make a party of it!”
“I know a musician. She’d be perfect,” Sam said quickly, thinking of Kaia’s voice and the way it would complement the mood of his work.
“Oh?” Emory said lightly, and he felt Violet’s questioning glance. “That sounds great.” She reached her long, slender arm to pick her purse up off the table. “Oh, I need you to come up with a title for the show. Okay?”
“Ah… okay,” Sam replied, dazed.
Something was missing: a negotiation about prices and percentages, perhaps. He didn’t know what the protocol was, and before he could formulate a thought and turn it into something verbal, Emory tossed off a comment about needing to get to dinner in Portland and strode out the door.
“So, that’s it? I have a show?” Sam turned to Violet, who stood with her hands on the table, looking at his paintings.
“Congratulations.” She smiled slowly, one hand toying with the old-fashioned skeleton key she always wore on a long cord around her neck. “I had no idea you were so talented, Sam. These are beautiful, really. They belong in a museum.”
A sinking feeling anchored itself in his belly. “Do I have to name the show?”
Violet laughed. “Oh, stop. That’s no big deal. Come on, let’s celebrate.” She pushed him up against the table and began unbuckling his belt.
“Wait—what if your sister comes back?” Sam protested, pressing his hand over hers.
“She won’t.”
“Yeah, but—” He glanced around in panic at the wide, un-curtained windows overlooking the harbor. “Maybe we should go on a date, or something,” he blurted out.
Violet’s eyes widened. “We’ve been fucking for six months and you’re asking me to go on a date now?”
He nodded. “Dinner?”
“Okay, Sam. Tomorrow,” Violet stated, and continued yanking his belt out of its buckle. “But I need you. Now.”
She purred in approval as she stroked him. He shut his eyes and sent himself back to his first waking moments that morning. Violet climbed astride his hips, and as she lowered herself onto him, he envisioned his own boxer shorts wedged into Kaia’s butt and throbbed in response.
“Sam, look at me.”
But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to lose hold of the feeling he’d had waking up beside Kaia, spending the morning with her. He tried to imagine her face once more, but instead he only saw the immensity of the sea and himself helpless within its cold embrace. Then, as the automatic and almost painful rush of pleasure shot through every nerve in his body, he saw a flash of a gleaming tail like that of a fish, only much larger and more terrifying.
Chapter Seven
Kaia slept for a good three hours after Sam left. When she woke in the afternoon, she made another pot of coffee and looked out the window over the sink at the spot where she’d dragged Sam to land. The memory of his body floating lifeless made her feel sick. The memory of what she had seen happen to her own body made her feel even worse. Leaning over the sink, she lifted the window, needing fresh air. It creaked on chain pulleys as a gust of wind pushed the curtains back. She salivated at the tangy brine of the ocean.
Go back in the water. See what happens.
No, no. The best thing was to move on, to quit her nonsensical woolgathering and do what needed to be done so she could get back to Nashville and pull her life together.
The breeze blew in again and Kaia lifted her nose to it.
Go on. Find out if you’re crazy or not. Get in.
*
The rocks were jagged as broken ice under her bare feet. Kaia tossed her T-shirt and Sam’s boxer shorts onto a bush, along with the cotton blanket she’d had wrapped around her shoulders.
“I am not a fucking mermaid,” she said between her teeth as she tottered into the ice-cold waves. “What I am is crazy. I’d p-put my money on that.” She shivered uncontrollably as she babbled to herself. “I just hope I don’t d-d-die.”
The frigid water stung her knees and thighs. Her bones ached so intensely there was a
moment when she thought she might fall over. She stopped before the water reached her hips. She could no longer feel her feet.
“Not a mermaid,” Kaia muttered again as she squirmed away from a wave cresting up to her belly. Then, deciding it was now or never, she plunged in.
The cold knocked the breath right out of her. She remained under as long as she could, but nothing happened except maybe the cold seemed less and less terrible. When she couldn’t wait any longer to breathe, she stood up. She felt refreshed and newly centered—if a little frozen—but still completely human.
Determined, Kaia tried submerging herself again. Still, no metamorphosis. Proof she had imagined everything, that her altered perception the night before had been stress-induced. She squeezed her eyes shut and remembered the feeling of being consumed by the water as she sank away from Sam’s boat. Terror did a little dance in her chest, spreading like a hatching of arachnids disturbed from their hidden corner.
What are you really afraid of? Give yourself to the ocean; see what you get in return.
The water here was shallow enough for her to get out at any time. All she had to do was stand. This thought settled her enough to push off the rocks and drift a little farther from the shore break.
Breathe.
It went against all instinct. The very thought of it made her heart race.
Breathe. You want this.
When her body began its involuntary protest, arms and legs flailing, she opened her eyes. Her mouth released a stream of silver bubbles up past her face, toward the light of the surface.
Maybe you’ve got to let this body die if you want to be reborn as another.
The gentle movement of the tide nudged her closer to land as her feet scrabbled to push off the rocks on the bottom, resisting the current and her intentions. She shook her head back and forth, desperate for breath.
Do not fear pain. Do not fear yourself.
Empty and wanting air, wanting water—at this moment she wasn’t even sure which she wanted more—she pushed herself out farther and swam down into the dark green shadows between the weed-covered rocks. Her head felt about ready to burst. She lay on the bottom, where a frightened hermit crab skittered into a plume of bladderwrack. Madly resisting her desire for air, Kaia grabbed hold of the seaweed roots and squeezed her eyes closed as her body thrashed. The underwater sounds surged around her. Kaia felt her own heartbeat disappear within the water’s constant swell and she opened her eyes and her mouth.