Adrift

by Micki Browning

  So many emotions thrummed through Mer’s veins. She feared going down into the depths and confronting the unknown, even as she wanted to do exactly that. She wasn’t ready to adopt a new paradigm where spirits floated among facts. But, by nature, scientists were explorers. Maybe something else was going on, something that no one had yet explained. She didn’t know what it was, but she wanted to learn.

  Amber drew her knees closer to her chest. “We’re getting married next month.”

  Mer watched the preparations going on around her. Lindsey and Rabbit fairly levitated with excitement. Even Echo’s earlier fear had been replaced by muted enthusiasm. By contrast, Amber’s motivation was driven by a need to know whether her fiancé was dead or alive. Leroy straddled the extremes, his expression hidden behind a thatch of beard.

  Mer stood. “We have another forty minutes before we can get back in. I’ll help you set up your gear.”

  —

  Mer pounded on Selkie’s door. Pounded until he answered, groggy and disheveled. She pushed past him. Entered the house uninvited. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  He closed the door and led her into the living room. “It’s after two in the morning. That doesn’t really help your argument. Are you okay?” Selkie drew her down onto the couch, but she sprang right back up. The same moonlight that had comforted her earlier poured through the front windows. Created shadows that hid unknown dangers.

  “I may have seen a ghost tonight.”

  “May have?”

  She wrung her hands. “I’m searching for alternative explanations.”

  “I see.”

  Two club chairs delineated the opposite sides of the space and she paced between them, her sandals flapping rhythmically against her heels. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  “Do I have to mean it?”

  She paused. “It’d be nice, but not mandatory.”

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  His head pivoted as he watched her. “No.”

  Her brown curls looked black in the low light as they fell around her face. “I saw Ishmael.” She raked her hand through her bangs, holding them off her forehead.

  “Where?”

  She resumed pacing. “On the Spiegel Grove.”

  “How deep were you?”

  “I wasn’t narc’d. Lindsey and Rabbit saw him, too.”

  “Sit. It’s like I’m watching a one-woman tennis match.”

  She perched on the edge of the leather chair, leaned over, and buried her face in her hands. The second dive had been anticlimactic. Groupers, barracudas—all the things Mer expected to see. And nothing that resembled Ishmael.

  “What was he doing?” Selkie asked.

  “Floating. And then he pointed his finger at me.” Raising her arm, she aimed her finger at Selkie.

  “Very Ghost of Christmas Past.”

  Her arm dropped. “I’m not crazy.”

  “So you say.”

  Her chest tightened. “I’m scared.” The admission broke something loose inside her. Tears blurred her vision. “I’m going to cry now.” She slid to the back of the roomy chair and drew her legs to her chest.

  Selkie got up and returned with a box of tissues.

  “I hate crying,” she said as she plucked a couple of squares from the box. “And I only seem to do it around you.”

  “I have that effect on women.”

  She mustered a tremulous smile.

  “Tears aren’t a sign of weakness. And I’ve seen you handle fear.” He settled on the arm of her chair. “Are you familiar with the legend of the selkies?”

  She shook her head and wiped her nose against the shoulder of her T-shirt before remembering the tissues. “I thought Vito’d made up that name.”

  “Selkies are beautiful sea creatures that closely resemble a seal when they’re in the water. Occasionally they fall in love with someone on land. When that happens, they shed their sealskin and take on human form. It’s said that you can tell a female selkie by the wistful way she looks at the sea. A man lucky enough to capture one must hide her skin, because, no matter how much she loves her human mate and their children, the lure of the sea will always pull at her to go home. If she finds and dons her sealskin, she’ll disappear beneath the waves, never again to return.”

  “Are there male selkies?” Mer asked.

  “Well, of course. How do you think they get little selkies?”

  Her smile gained warmth. “In vitro?”

  A pained expression twisted his face. “You really need to get out of the laboratory more.”

  In the moonlight, Selkie’s short hair bristled with silver tips. She imagined it to be as soft as a seal pelt, and she wanted to reach out and stroke it. “Did you get your name from the legends?”

  “More or less.” He shrugged. “Male selkies are renowned for their handsomeness.”

  “Of course,” she deadpanned.

  He relaxed against the back of the chair. “But they must be coaxed from the sea by the right woman, in just the right way.”

  “You mean something more elaborate than a six-pack?”

  His laughter chased away her dark thoughts. “I suppose they might make an exception for Guinness.” He turned serious again. “Usually they seek dissatisfied women, but only after the woman sheds seven tears in the sea at high tide.”

  Mer peered out the window but couldn’t gauge its level against the rocks.

  “Don’t worry, you’re on land,” Selkie said. “Besides, it’s just a legend.”

  “My whole worldview has taken a hit tonight. Let’s not throw legends into the mix, too.”

  “Legends are off the table.”

  “I’ve never believed in ghosts, but I don’t know how to describe what I saw on the Spiegel as anything else. It looked like Ishmael,” she said.

  “Could it have been?” he asked.

  “You mean living? I thought about that, but we were the only boat out there. Plus, he wasn’t wearing a tank.”

  Selkie pursed his lips. “Gills?”

  “Isn’t being a ghost enough? Now you want him to have gills?”

  “How close did you get to him?”

  Mer calculated her distance from the hatch. “A couple meters, maybe three?”

  “What kind of lighting?”

  “Well, there’s another interesting snippet,” she said. “All the lights went out.”

  “All of them?”

  “Just about at the same time. By the time I dug out my other light, poof. Gone.”

  “Again,” Selkie said.

  “Again,” Mer echoed. “I’m at a loss.”

  “No pun intended.”

  Mer rolled her eyes so hard that she expected to see behind her. “Are you ever actually helpful?”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he reminded her. “You only get helpful before midnight.”

  Two o’clock. No wonder she felt drained—and she had planned to work a night shift on the boat. Selkie hadn’t. He was only awake because she needed him. “I’m sorry.” She unfolded and slid to the edge of the chair. “I’m keeping you from bed.”

  “You can always join me.”

  She considered rolling her eyes again, but she was still dizzy from the last time. “Does that line ever work?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “First time I’ve used it.”

  “I’d try something else.”

  She stood, and he slid into the area she’d just vacated.

  “Could it be a hoax?”

  A yawn sneaked up on her. “I don’t see how. I mean, we were nearly a hundred feet underwater. How could someone make our gear malfunction at the same time? I was holding my light. No one messed with it.” She held out her hand and helped him up from the chair. “And I saw Ishmael. He was green, but it was him. I keep telling myself there’s a rational explanation, but I haven’t been able to find it yet.”

  “Ghosts are hard to see, being vapory and all.”

 
She contemplated pushing him back into the chair; instead, she placed both of her hands on his chest, palms flat against his shirt. She felt the strong, steady beat of his heart and it comforted her. Grounded her even as her personal foundation split beneath her.

  “All my life I’ve based my decisions on data,” she said. “I find comfort in absolutes. There’s nothing better than when the results of an experiment align with a hypothesis. But even failure has value, because it creates an improved hypothesis. Gets a step closer to the truth.”

  Selkie covered her hand with his. “So what now?”

  “People often find what they look for; it’s called confirmation bias. Cops do it all the time. If they think someone is guilty, they tend to interpret the evidence so that it supports their belief and then discount anything that contradicts it. What if I’m doing that, too?”

  “So broaden your thinking.”

  “If only it was that easy. The data that ghost hunters collect can’t be proved. It collapses when rigorously refuted. I didn’t believe in ghosts because I’d never seen one. Yet if you were to ask me if I think there are creatures at the bottom of the ocean that we know nothing about, I’d say absolutely.”

  “Are you saying you believe in ghosts now?” he asked.

  Something besides fatigue muddled her thoughts. “Maybe it’s time to explore other options.” She yawned again.

  “Come here.” Selkie still grasped her hand. “No more ghosts. Not tonight.”

  “I doubt it will be that easy.”

  He tossed a throw pillow next to one perched at the end of the sofa. Settling sideways, he drew her down in front him until they both stretched lengthwise.

  “I should go home.” Her words lacked conviction.

  “It’s too far away,” he countered. They faced the same direction, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Go to sleep. You’re safe.”

  The window reflected their entwined bodies. The warmth of his skin comforted her, and her breaths slowed to match his.

  “Selkie?” she whispered.

  “Hmmm.”

  “Do you ever wonder what might have happened?”

  He drew her closer. “I thought we agreed there’d be no more ghosts.”

  But she wasn’t talking about ghosts. Not anymore. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant.” He nuzzled her hair. “But I’d rather make new memories than revisit old ones.”

  The admission surprised her. Gave her something new, something better, to ponder. His fingers twitched as sleep overtook him and she brought his hand up and pressed it against her heart. Breathed in a new possibility. One that had nothing to do with ghosts.

  Slept.

  Safe.

  Chapter 21

  The blush of day barely brightened the sky when she untangled herself from Selkie’s embrace and left his side. In sleep he appeared younger. Carefree. It was a good look for him. She gathered her flip-flops and keys and tiptoed to the door, quietly closing it behind her.

  Daylight eliminated some of the dread she’d experienced the night before, but the mere thought of ghosts quickened her pulse. The questions that pounded at the boundaries of her beliefs drew her into a nonscientific realm she didn’t know how to negotiate, but she knew someone who did. Provided he took her call.

  Dew-soaked grass dampened her bare feet as she cut across the lawn, but the concrete in front of her door already hoarded heat. She let herself in and tossed the keys on her desk. For a moment she held onto the bright hope that despite all the confusion of late, she’d somehow found the time to replenish her coffee supply and purchase a coffee maker. A quick search of the cabinet brought her back to a bleak, caffeine-free reality.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined Franky’s office at St. Mary’s in New York. Morning Mass complete, he’d be sitting in his leather chair, surrounded by walnut furniture, books spilling from shelves and towering on the floor. The only thing that kept it from being the best office ever was that it lacked the scent of pipe tobacco. But her brother didn’t smoke.

  The phone rang three times before he picked up.

  “I’m having a crisis of faith,” Mer said without preamble.

  “You have to have faith before you can have a crisis of it.”

  Good point, but she wasn’t about to be deterred by a technicality. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked. “I mean, you must. You’re able to cast them out.”

  “Technically, that’s demons.”

  Great, now she had to navigate semantics, too. “You’re not making this any easier.”

  “Oh, I have no intention of making this easy. In fact, I’ve been anticipating this day for years.”

  “So?” she prompted.

  “Do I believe in ghosts?”

  Mer held her breath.

  “I can only assume you mean besides the obviously important spirit who comprises a third of the Holy Trinity?” He paused. She knew the hollows in his cheeks would deepen as he pursed his lips in thought. “Yes.” Franky drew out the word.

  She exhaled in a rush. “But?”

  “Spirits exist in the Bible, and they exist on earth. But they are not controlled by man. They can’t be called forth in séances, they don’t ring bells or respond to other parlor tricks. Spirits appear as God commands.”

  Mer considered this information. “Where do they come from?”

  “Don’t you remember anything from catechism class?” he chided.

  “Louie Spicolli liked to pull my hair and make fun of me.”

  He sighed. The exasperated sigh of an older brother. Or a priest. Or both. “Sinners must expiate their sins in purgatory before they can ascend to heaven.”

  “What if heaven isn’t on their itinerary?”

  “Hell is more of a ‘don’t pass Go, don’t collect two hundred dollars’ destination.”

  Mer dragged her hand across her face. “Does your bishop know how you explain things?”

  “Do you really want to hear how the Councils of Florence and Trent defined it?” he shot back.

  “Fair enough.”

  “Ever heard of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin?”

  Mer racked her brains and came up unexpectedly empty. “Medieval monk?” she guessed.

  “Close. Modern paleontologist and geologist.”

  “How is that even close?”

  “He was a Jesuit priest. And I know how you hate it when you’re wrong.”

  Hard to argue with the truth.

  “Anyway,” her brother continued, “Teilhard wrote a couple of significant works, one being The Phenomenon of Man. Your basic primordial-ooze-to-humanity tale where everything ends up reuniting with Christ at an Omega Point in the future.”

  “So still creationism.”

  “Only if you were to look at the universe through an evolutionary lens.” The leather of his chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “Imagine rings.”

  “I’m imagining Dante’s at this very moment.”

  There was that sigh again.

  “At the center is matter—concentric spheres of everything that comprises the earth and the atmosphere,” he said. “Around that is a biosphere.”

  “The parts occupied by living organisms.”

  “Gold star for the doctor.” Franky adopted his homily voice. “Expand that to include man’s consciousness and then surge beyond that to an Omega Point. A coalescence of pure consciousness—God. That’s how Teilhard reconciled his religious faith with his scientific knowledge.”

  “Oversimplified, I’m sure.”

  “Vastly. I’m dealing with a layperson.” He chuckled. “Both Saint Ambrose and Saint Augustine argued that a literal interpretation of Genesis was too narrow. They favored allegorical interpretations of creation. Teilhard was a scientist. The whole ‘God created earth in seven days’ gave him heartburn.”

  “I bet that made him popular with the Vatican hierarchy.”

  “No, it didn’t. But a mere sixty or so years after his death, Pope Francis
commended him in an encyclical, and the Episcopalians even gave him a feast day.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “You are an incredibly smart woman, but you tend to learn things as you need them. You’ve been trying to reconcile this for years. Maybe it’s time.”

  Maybe. All her life Mer had worshipped at the altar of order. Even as a child, she’d had a hard time believing that two of every creature could be crammed into a single ark. She’d done the math. Three hundred cubits measured only four hundred and fifty feet. With more than eight million species of life on earth, well, space would be an issue, and that’s not even factoring in room for food.

  She plucked at the hem of her shirt. Her problem had nothing to do with the accuracy of the Gospels. It was more personal. She’d experienced death, and there was nothing to catalog, no evidence to study, nothing to replicate. Unless she’d missed something.

  Her skin prickled as if an iced breeze drifted against her. Trapped her. What if she had missed something? How did that change the equation?

  So much to think about.

  “So tell me, Father Francis. In all our discussions about science and religion, how come you’ve never mentioned Teilhard?”

  Franky laughed. “He’s been my ace up the sleeve. How could you ignore a theologian who participated in the discovery of Peking Man, taught physics and chemistry, and was forbidden by Rome to write or teach philosophical subjects? Instant credibility.”

  “You think you have me all figured out, huh?”

  “Maybe not completely. Anyway, it took a couple of decades and some forward thinkers before the Church forgave Teilhard, but they finally came around. Faith and science don’t have to be at odds with each other. It was a radical viewpoint. He overcame the divide. I figure if he can do it so can you.”

  “Will I get my own feast day?”

  “Only if you come visit me, Seahorse.”

  She relaxed. It had been a long time since he called her by her childhood nickname. She fingered the pendant around her neck. It was a play on her first and last names—if you shortened her first name and used two languages to translate.