by Sara Ella
“I would play my harmonica on corners,” Drew continued, “hoping to earn a few bucks, maybe even land a gig with a band.”
“You play harmonica?”
Drew blinked as if it hit him Merrick still stood there. He stepped inside the apartment and returned with a brass instrument. It was a little beat up but still much newer than Merrick’s hand-me-down one.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Drew handed the harmonica over.
Merrick wiped it with his shirt, then pressed the instrument to his lips and played a few simple chords. It produced a clearer sound than his grandfather’s, but the latter was more authentic. Or maybe it made him nostalgic. He handed the harmonica back to Drew and waited for him to say more.
“Anyway,” Drew said, “River found me on whatever corner I chose. This bracelet ended up in my tip hat around mid-July. I figured some tourist had dropped it by mistake, so I held on to it. Played at that same corner for a week straight, waiting for the owner to claim it. But no one ever did.”
“So you gave it to River?”
“She called me her ‘Prince Charming.’ Can you believe that? I wanted to sell it, see if it was worth anything. But she was so sweet. It was almost like she needed me. So, yeah, I gave it to her. To be honest, I felt bad for her. She seemed so . . .”
“Sad?”
“Yeah. And lonely. Being around her started to get depressing. Cramped my style.”
The tone in which Drew said it, like it was no big deal, told Merrick more than his words had. “What happened between you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Drew cast his gaze to the concrete floor. He didn’t have to say anything else for Merrick to get the gist. Typical. “Another girl?”
“River lived across the country.” Defense coated his words. “I thought it was a fling, you know? When she showed up on my doorstep in the fall with her bags packed, I wasn’t prepared. You have to warn a guy. You don’t show up at his apartment unannounced.”
“You told her you loved her.” Merrick knew this much from what Brooke had told him.
“You know how it is. I’ve probably told at least a dozen girls the same thing. Who hasn’t?”
Merrick hadn’t. He pocketed his fists and worked his jaw. This guy had “player” written all over him in scarlet ink. If only River had waited. If she could have seen what true love looked like. Maybe things would have turned out differently.
Even so, how could he blame this loser who clearly needed a shower and a shave and probably didn’t have more than five bucks to his name?
“Depression is an illness,” his dad had said. “It is a disease . . . You are not to blame for Amaya’s death.”
Merrick sighed. He hated Drew on principle. But there was more to River’s suicide than her broken heart. Of course this piece of work had made things worse, poured acid into an already open wound, but she was sick, same as Amaya had been.
“Thanks,” Merrick said. “I think I have what I need.” He held out his hand for the pearls. They were done here.
“She was a sweet girl,” Drew said, as if that was any consolation. “I’m real sorry she died.” He placed the bracelet in Merrick’s hand and closed the door, taking his old-sock scent with him.
“Yeah,” Merrick said to the peeling maroon paint. “Me too.”
After taking a moment to collect himself, he made his way back outside. The day was uncharacteristically warm for the first of November, and his light jacket suddenly stifled him. After shrugging it off, he sat on the curb across from the apartment steps. Dead leaves littered the gutter and the barren branches above him offered little shade.
“So that’s your story, huh?” He turned the bracelet over in his hand. “That was the prince River fell for?” A dark laugh escaped. “Some prince.”
His phone buzzed. He answered without checking the caller ID. “Hey.”
“Did you find him, compadre?” Grim’s voice provided the grounding Merrick needed.
“Unfortunately.”
“Bad news, my friend?”
“I wanted to punch the guy.”
“Ouch.” He pictured Grim’s wince. “I knew I should’ve come with you.”
“Nah,” Merrick said. “This was something I had to do on my own.”
“I’m proud of you, man.”
“Thanks. I’m kind of proud of me too.”
They made plans to grab burgers and shakes later that night for their final exam study session, then Merrick hit End and tucked both the phone and the pearls inside his pants pocket. He exhaled and hung his head between his knees.
What would he say to Brooke? How could he explain that the epic and tragic love story she’d imagined for River was nothing more than a case of deadbeat-itis?
Merrick made a silent promise to himself then. He would live up to the name he bore. A name he’d once hated, but now found described exactly who he needed to be.
A prince.
Did she still want him? Their texts reeked of small talk. The moment they’d shared in the tea shop last month never came up. After all this time, after all the heartbreak and hurt, could the damage that had created a chasm between them be undone? Could they rebuild and find their way back to one another? Brooke was still healing.
But so was he.
Even if they couldn’t make it work, Merrick would be the prince Brooke deserved. And if it turned out she didn’t want him as part of her world?
He would still be a Prince.
Merrick would stand by her side until the very end.
Fifty
Brooke
Thanksgiving break brings with it the final phase of changing leaves and all things pumpkin and pecan and cinnamon.
Nikki and I stroll side by side past the charming shops and quaint businesses you’d only ever find in this town. We’ve found our way back once again. To this enchanting corner of the West Coast where time slows and life pauses. We can’t keep ourselves away, it seems. Nikki for Grim, of course. And me?
Mee-Maw is here, the life of the party at Ocean Gardens Assisted Living. Or so she claims. She never fails to work her magic, casting a spell on everyone she meets. There’s never been a soul who’s met her who didn’t immediately fall in love.
I drink in the cider-tinged air as a breeze swirls around me, lifting the hem of my skirt, reminding me why I wear leggings. I feel River here too. This is where she died. Though a stirring inside my heart says she’ll never really leave this place.
“I’m here,” I sense her whisper through the wind. “I’ll always be here.”
I take a moment to remember her voice. I picture her and Amaya Hope off on an adventure somewhere. Splashing in the waves, pretending to be mermaids for a day.
“Take care of each other,” I want to tell them.
I can almost hear Hope’s response. “You guys take care of each other too.”
A shiver runs through me as her brother’s smile takes up every inch of my thoughts. My heart twists. I check my messages. Nothing from Merrick, but my eyes widen when Jordan’s name lights the screen.
Happy Thanksgiving.
I shoot her a quick reply and include all the turkey and pie emojis I can fit. Jordan’s words are few, but they’re real. For now, that’s enough.
Nikki and I stop at a cart and order three spiced chai lattes. I treat her since she drove, then we head across the street where my grandmother waits at a table on the patio of a crepe shop.
“Thank you, dears,” she says as she takes her cup. Her gloved hands tremble but still when she rests them on her knees. “This is my favorite time of year. I love the fall festival. Thank you for coming to see me.”
Nikki squeezes her arm. “I’ve been so excited to meet you, Mrs. King.”
“Please, call me Vivi. Or even Mee-Maw, if you like. As far as I’m concerned, you’re family now.”
Anyone else might be put off by Mee-Maw’s immediate outpouring of love. But not Nikki. “All right, Mee-Maw. I guess this me
ans I’ll need to introduce you to Nigel soon. The fall festival is his favorite too. You two would get along nicely, I think.” She blushes. “Speaking of which, I promised to meet up with him. See you both later?”
Mee-Maw and I both nod. We watch my unlikely best friend wrap a scarf around her neck and round a corner in her high-heeled designer boots.
“Nice girl,” Mee-Maw says after a steadied sip of her chai. “I’m glad you’re friends.”
“So am I.” A glance down at my flat but cozy UGG knockoffs stirs new emotions. I contrast Nikki in so many ways on the outside. In another life, another world, I never would have been friends with her. Or rather, I never would have believed she wanted to be friends with me.
If I hadn’t been so quick to judge others before they had a chance to judge me, some things may have turned out differently. On the inside, Nikki and I aren’t so opposite. Inside we’re two human souls who value friendship. Authenticity. Love.
“I was horrible to you last year, Mee-Maw.” Each wave of emotion ripples into a new one. All at once I can’t stop from speaking what’s weighed heavily on my heart since Hope died. “I’m sorry. I saw you as a villain when all you tried to do was help me survive.”
“You don’t worry about me.” My grandmother winks, as is her way. “I’m no worse for the wear. I wouldn’t have brought you here unless I was ready to face everything with you, Brooke. Sometimes you have to swim through a bit of darkness . . .”
“If you’re ever going to surface in the light.” I finish her coined phrase that belongs on a mug and sip my chai, careful not to let it burn my tongue. “How are you liking Ocean Gardens? You’ve been there almost a year now.”
She shrugs. “Well, it’s no beachfront cottage, but I can still see the ocean from my window.” Mee-Maw pats my hand.
I cover it with my own and hold tight.
Her forehead wrinkles soften as she gazes out over the busy street. She looks older, weathered, more fragile than the last time I saw her about a month ago. Did a time truly exist when I didn’t want to be anywhere near her? A time when everything seemed black or white or stained in shades of gray?
A leaf flutters to my lap. I examine its gradient hues—a sunset of oranges, yellows, and reds bursting between each vein. Winter nears and colder days lie ahead. The world will dull, and the days will seem bleak. But I won’t forget the warmth of summer.
And if I do?
Then Nikki will tell me about her latest date with Grim, or Mee-Maw will call to gush about the strapping young physical therapist she insists has a crush on her. I’ll have those I love to remind me that even the slightest bit of good holds more weight than any of the bad.
My drink warms my throat. Soothes my anxiety. Maybe it will never fully go away, but I am learning how to face it. Finding new ways to cope every day. Things do get better. And sometimes they get worse. But that’s okay. One day at a time is all anyone can be expected to give.
“Shall we walk?” Mee-Maw asks.
I want to tell her she’s already walked me through so much and I’d rather sit here and enjoy her presence as long as I can. I know there’s a day all too soon when she’ll leave me behind. But I also know she will have spent every last twinkle in her eye loving me. Real love. The kind that heals even the deepest wounds.
So I say, “We shall,” and I link my arm with hers.
We bask in the atmosphere of the beachside town I’ve grown to love. Pumpkin wreaths, leaf garlands, and paper turkeys with pilgrim hats hang from every shop window. The streets burst with life. People from near and far graze the sidewalks, doing some early Christmas shopping or pausing to chat with a familiar face or two or three.
Mee-Maw is one of those familiar faces. We can’t walk a few yards before someone else taps her shoulder, asking about my dad or turning to tell me how much I look like my mom. Mee-Maw gives them the novella instead of the whole novel and we continue on.
“You must have better things to do than hang out with your old grandmother all day.”
I pat her arm. “Not at all.” I mean each word. I’ve wasted too much time away from her already. And I’m making up for it every minute I can.
We move to the next storefront and sweet smells bombard my senses. A candy shop owner passes out goody bags filled with candy corn and business cards and coupons. Hand-dipped caramel apples line display tables and local artists create caricatures on the next corner. Face painters, acrobats, street dancers, and musicians have all come to celebrate. Summer of Lights comes to mind.
Part of me wishes it didn’t.
My heart squeezes. I allow myself to think of Merrick and how he helped me believe in after. The more days that pass since the last time I saw him, the more I wonder . . . do I need to let him go?
Mee-Maw’s walk slows as we pass an Italian restaurant. I can almost taste the meatballs and four-cheese lasagna and tiramisu. But Mee-Maw doesn’t appear to be thinking about food. She peers down a brick alleyway lined with ivy and vine. “Goodness, I haven’t seen this place in ages. I’d almost forgotten it was here.” She releases my arm and ambles down the narrow path.
When we reach the end, a hidden garden surrounds us, a paved brick path curving toward a quaint-looking shop that appears to have once been a cottage. A few easels out front display magnificent paintings depicting the most beautiful settings. Landscapes and sunsets and valleys and oceans. Beyond the windows waits a small art gallery, colors bursting to life, singing a melody of their own.
My heart swells. Today is a color-song day. I couldn’t ask for more.
Out of the shop walks a woman with strawberry hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Even if I hadn’t seen her at the funeral, I would know her in an instant.
She’s the spitting image of Hope and my lids brim with tears.
The woman doesn’t notice us at first. She’s too busy watering the golden poppies in the window boxes. The way the light hits her hair just so and the manner in which her blouse rests across her delicate shoulders makes her fit perfectly within this scene. She is as timeless as the paintings on display.
I step close enough to smell her perfume. As floral as her surroundings.
She doesn’t startle when she notices me. She straightens and smiles.
“You’re Amaya and Merrick’s mom,” I say without pretense.
“I am.” Why doesn’t she seem surprised to see me?
“I’m Brooke. Hope—Amaya—and I were at Fathoms Ranch together.” Did she know Hope was at Fathoms? She must have, right?
“Yes. I saw y’all at my daughter’s funeral,” the woman says, southern accent subtle but present all the same. “I’m Lyn.”
I don’t tell Lyn I sort of met Hope before our time at Fathoms. The second time she tried to take her life in the bathtub of Nigel’s beach house. Instead, I tell her what a good friend her daughter was and how she impacted my life. I say everything I didn’t say the day of the memorial. All the things I should have said and more.
“Bless your heart.” Lyn turns her attention to Mee-Maw. “I don’t know if you remember me, Vivi.”
“Of course I do. How are you, Lyn?”
“Wait . . . You two . . . know each other?” I’m flabbergasted but somehow not surprised. My grandmother has been in this town longer than a few spells and knows almost everyone.
“Vivi gave me my first job in high school.” Lyn closes her eyes a moment as if pausing in reminiscence. “Do you still have an attic full of everyone’s junk?”
“I like to refer to my things as treasures, thank you. When did you move back to town?”
Lyn studies a painting by the door, avoiding the question in my grandmother’s eyes. “Almost two years now.” She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t explain about the husband and two children she left behind. She waves us toward the cottage gallery. “Come on in. We have some wonderful pieces on display.”
Her purposeful change of subject does not elude me.
Still, we follow her
lead. Inside the gallery, rich mahogany walls make the space feel grander than it is. Individual lamps cast a warm glow over each painting, bringing out the lively hues and playing on the use of positive and negative space.
“This one’s a favorite.” Lyn pauses beside a scene depicting a lighthouse on a hill. “It’s a duplicate, but as lovely as the first the artist painted.”
The lighthouse reminds me of the one Merrick found in the coffee table book. The one that led him to the woman standing before me now.
She moves on, giving us brief spiels about each painting in turn. When she rounds the last corner of the miniature gallery, time slows. The painting ahead is a rendering of a mermaid sitting on a rock, human prince at her side. The scene is one I’ve imagined in my mind—my heart—oh so many times before.
“Here we have one of the artist’s final creations prior to his death. He loved the Danish author’s tragic fairy tale but was also partial to the more modern, animated retelling.” Lyn’s fingers linger on the painting’s frame. “He believed in the innocence that comes with first love and how true love overcomes even the most impossible things.”
She couldn’t possibly know how deeply those words sink. How hard they hit home. I spent so much time looking for the worst. The deceptive Sorceress I saw in my grandmother. And Lyn—the witch who left Hope and Merrick behind. Even Jake and Miss Brandes played villains for a time, only to be revealed later as heroes. Mentors. Friends.
Now I see them for who they are.
Mee-Maw who loves me so much, she walked with me through darkness.
And Lyn. A lonely and lost woman who still searches for the best way to stand on her own two legs.
Jake, who checks in every week, and Miss Brandes, who still encourages me to write an ending to the story I never finished.
Hope and River, who live on in my memory.
And Merrick. Does he understand the change he induced by accepting me as I am?
When I look at Lyn again, I watch as a single tear travels from the corner of her right eye to the tip of her chin. In that tear every preconceived judgment I have harbored falls away. It’s in this tear I am reminded she is human.