by Sarah Ockler
Cozy. That’s the word that came to me. Cozy and . . . safe.
Christian reached up and touched the first words I’d written on his boat, a poem called “Plan B.” It wasn’t my best, but it was honest, exactly what I’d been feeling that night.
“This one,” he said, keeping his voice low, “says a lot.”
plan B
plan Battered and Broken
plan Boxed in
plan Bailed on and Back from the dead
plan Better luck next time
plan Balled up
plan Backtracked
plan Backhanded
plan Backward steps
plan Blackballed, Black-marked, and Blacklisted
plan B-side, Bye-Bye Baby
plan Belly up and Beat down
plan Bad days ahead and the Best are far Behind
“I take it crashing at the Cove wasn’t part of your master plan?” He looked at me so he could capture my answer, something I suddenly realized he’d always done.
So many people glanced but never saw, their eyes skimming the surface, then settling on some other distraction, something easier to understand. I didn’t blame them, really—often it was automatic, our brains wired to seek the path of least resistance. But with Christian, whenever we were together, whether it was working on the boat, breaking for lunch, inside Lemon’s store, or anywhere else our paths crossed, he looked at me. He focused on my lips as I tried to form words, he repeated them to ensure he’d understood. He read the words I’d written for him in my notebook, on his hands, on mine. He noticed me.
He saw me.
This time, when I didn’t answer, he reached across the sliver of space between us and grabbed my hand, squeezed. He traced my wrist with his thumb, a gesture that somehow managed to both frighten and soothe, barely navigating the line between friends and . . . something else.
I waited until his eyes met mine again, then I nodded toward him. You?
“Plan B?” he said. “I never even had a plan A.”
Not college?
“That’s not the issue.” His sigh was heavy with regret. He released my hand, rolled over on his side to face me fully. We were so close I could feel his breath on my skin, warm as the Caribbean air. He lowered his voice even more. “I’m about to sound like an ungrateful shit here, and I’m not. I love school—totally thankful I have the opportunity to go.”
So?
“I thought I was cool with the business track, like my dad, you know? He has all the connections, helped me get in, his buddies already promising to hook up a job after grad. But the more time I spend away from him, the more it seems like I’m just . . . going through the motions.” He sliced the air with his hand. “Following the path, like he always wanted.”
The tide was coming in; a wave caught us on the side, rocking the boat beneath us. When she settled again, I reached for the Sharpie in my pocket. I uncapped it, pressed the tip to the ceiling. The words were a revision, a new last line on my old poem that only now needed to be said.
Christian watched as the letters appeared.
plan But what do YOU want, Christian Kane?
Christian stared at the words a long time, and when he finally looked at me again, his eyes were blank. Unreadable.
“No idea,” he whispered. “No one ever asked.”
I thumbed my chest. I’m asking. Gently, I tapped the words out against his heart. What . . . do . . . you . . . want?
His eyes changed then, from blank and unreadable to a red-hot smolder, simultaneously vulnerable and certain. Behind the seashell necklace, my pulse pounded, blood rushing to my head. I was dizzy in the best kind of way, floating on the sea and the moonlight and all the unsaid things, the fragile silver hopes yet unspoken, yet unbroken.
Christian slipped his hand behind my neck, leaned in close, looked again in my eyes for an answer.
Yes.
Our lips brushed, gently as they had at our mermaid wedding, and the length of our bodies aligned, warmth seeking warmth.
I closed my eyes, welcomed the heat of his mouth as our kiss deepened, the heartbeat in my ears drowned by the Pacific’s endless howl and a single word, whispering inside me again and again.
Safe.
Chapter 18
“How do you feel about trees?” Christian asked the next morning. I’d just arrived at the docks, and he hopped off the boat wearing a grin that held both mischief and hope. Please say yes, it seemed to say. “We’re taking the day off—”
“We’re going explorin’.” Sebastian popped out of the saloon like a curly-haired gopher. He was laden with his explorer’s gear. “I hope you brought your land legs, lady.”
Christian laughed. “What this presumptuous little beast means is, we’re planning a hike near Devils Elbow. You up for an adventure?”
“What’s a prumptious little beast?” Sebastian stretched out his arms for a lift off the boat.
Effortlessly Christian scooped him up, set him on the dock. “You are. That’s what the dictionary said. Your picture was in there and everything.”
Sebastian giggled. To me, he said, “So, are you coming?”
Next to us, the boat bobbed in the water, creaking and clanking as always. It didn’t seem like a day off was the most prudent course of action.
At my hesitation Christian said, “Relax, Stowaway. We’re off boat duty today anyway. I’ve got an electrician coming in, courtesy of our mystery benefactor. Hired him from Coos Bay. Figured we could use someone who actually knows what he’s doing. Cuts down on . . . electrocutions!”
He grabbed Sebastian, tickling him until the kid squealed with glee.
“Don’t electrocute me!” Sebastian cried.
I’m in. I gave them the trademark salute, and off we went, piling into Christian’s truck and setting out for uncharted lands.
Just over an hour and twenty-five consecutive games of I Spy later, we reached Devils Elbow State Park, hidden from the shore in the Siuslaw National Forest. Sebastian was the first out of the truck, tumbling into the lot with boundless excitement, then bolting back to us with sudden urgency.
“I forgot something important!” Sebastian opened the passenger door, fished an envelope out of the glove compartment. He handed it to me, beaming. “I made this for you.”
It was a card, stamped with a mermaid in the center, colored and adorned with glittery starfish stickers and hand-drawn reeds in green and yellow. Inside, edged along the bottom with blue-green waves and encircled with a heart, he’d written a note:
Dear Elyse,
Thank you for being my new friend.
And liking mermaids.
And marrying my brother.
Your new friend,
Sebastian Kane
P.S. Are you a mermaid? Yes or No.
He scrutinized my face for the answer, but I only shrugged, offering a devious smile.
“I already know you are,” he said, and then he zoomed away, heading down the hiking trail for the dark, dank forest beyond.
Christian and I followed. It was a holiday weekend, and the parking lot was crowded, but most of the visitors headed down toward the beach trail and the Heceta Head Lighthouse. Christian and Sebastian preferred to go off the beaten path, and once we entered the forest, it wasn’t long before we’d lost the masses.
With every step the trees grew more immense, the forest more dense. Enshrouded in mist, spruces stretched into the sky, impossibly tall and lush. Swaths of hanging moss draped the boughs, and tiny green clover crept up every trunk from the forest floor. The air was cool, scented with the endless cycle of decay and green growing things. Much like the rain forest reserve on Tobago, it felt ancient and sacred, an impossible otherworld where precious secrets drifted on every breeze and the most wondrous magic was real.
Ahead on the
trail Sebastian turned around a bend. When the last of his golden curls vanished behind a cluster of trees, Christian stopped.
His arms slid around me as he backed me up against a tree, his eyes full of fire, bright in the hazy mist that surrounded us.
Everything in me turned hot and gooey. After last night I wanted to kiss him again. To keep kissing him. But he’d made no promises.
Neither had I.
“It’s taken a lot of restraint on my part,” he said in a low growl, hot and close to my ear, “to wait this long.”
He kissed me, slow and soft, his lips tender and full, fingers twisting in my hair.
I let my knees go slack as Christian pressed against me, pinning me to the tree, holding me up.
It felt like a dream.
Farther down the path Sebastian’s voice floated on the breeze, broke our kiss. “Come on, slowpokes!”
Christian sighed, still so close and warm. “Until the next bend in the road, then,” he said, holding out his hand.
I took it gladly, my body buzzing.
Once we had Sebastian in our sights again, a few dozen paces ahead, Christian said, “Thanks for coming with us today. Doesn’t seem like it now, but this morning? Kid was a mess.”
I looked at him with concern. What happened?
“Ah, usual bullshit.” He shook his head, tipped his face toward the treetops. “You know how he’s obsessed with mermaids, right? This morning he comes down with a bow in his hair and lipstick and one of Mom’s old swimsuits, stuffed with . . . stuff.” Christian held his free hand in front of his chest. “Mom and I crack up, because it’s adorable and hilarious. Dad just grunts, goes back to his iPad. But then Sebastian announces he’s working on his costume for the mermaid parade.”
I nodded. Kirby and Vanessa were still pressing me to sign up.
“I figure, okay. Mermaids are his thing,” Christian said. “I tell him I’ll take him down to Main Street as soon as registration’s open.” Christian shook his head again, every gesture weighted with sadness and frustration. “Dad goes, ‘I don’t think so. Boys never march in the mermaid parade,’ yada yada. I fist-bump Sebastian anyway, tell him he’ll be setting a new trend. Dad blows a gasket. The kid leaves the table with his dreams crushed, and the whole time, Mom doesn’t say shit. He only stopped crying because I suggested the hike.”
His hand tightened around mine, tension radiating in waves. I squeezed him back, held on tighter, fury rising as I thought of Sebastian at breakfast the other day. I’d hated the way his father had dismissed him so coldly, so flippantly. I never knew my mother, but Dad always reminded us how much she loved us, how much she wanted her six baby girls. He and Granna had gotten into some pretty knockdown battles over the years—how much freedom we should have, how much responsibility, how to teach us to be independent but not stubborn—but they never treated us like an afterthought. Like a burden. Like an interruption of their otherwise perfectly busy lives.
“My parents acted like nothing happened,” Christian said. “On our way out, Dad was all, ‘Have fun today, boys. Enjoy the great outdoors for us.’ ”
Sebastian wasn’t my child; he wasn’t my brother. But I felt protective of him, of his innocence, his sweet intensity. I wanted to look out for him. To speak up for him when his own parents wouldn’t.
I released Christian’s hand, slipped the notebook and pen from my pocket. I wrote:
Not my business. But I’m saying it anyway.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said.
Why do people have kids if that’s how they’re going to treat them?
Christian sighed. “Yeah. That’s a sob story for another day.” With a soft smile Christian leaned close again, brushed my lips with a gentle kiss. “I’m—”
“Bombs away!” Sebastian stood on the path before us, hands covered in goop. Before either of us could react, he lobbed a giant mud ball, hitting Christian squarely on the side of his head. “Ten points!”
Sebastian vanished around the bend in a fit of devious giggles.
Next to me, Christian wiped mud from the corner of his mouth, his expression unreadable. It was the first time I’d seen him bested. I could barely hold back my laughter.
“Don’t even laugh, Elyse, or I swear to God . . .” He turned on me, wrapping me in his arms. “You two conspiring against me?”
Before I could mouth a denial, his lips covered mine, smearing mud on my cheek, rubbing it in with extra enthusiasm. I finally squirmed out of his grasp, and together we took off in search of our little mud warmonger.
We found him hiding behind a tree, both hands locked and loaded. Christian and I dropped to the ground, narrowly escaping Sebastian’s assault. Our victory was short-lived; we’d unknowingly crouched into a muddy trough, painting our pants with muck.
Christian gave me the side-eye. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Without hesitating, we scooped up as much mud as we could, then launched ourselves at Sebastian, tackling him to the ground. Soon the three of us were covered in mud and leaves and sticks and probably bugs. The Kane brothers rolled around next to me, both still trying to win, and I thought of my sisters, the trouble we’d get into on the farm when we were little, ducking through the trees as the workers shooed us away, making mud pies inside the discarded pods and pretending they were the latest and greatest chocolate creations from Tobago’s world-renowned d’Abreau Cocoa Estates.
After the boys and I had soaked up all the mud in Oregon, we rinsed off as best we could at a water pump near the trail marker, and climbed up onto a large, flat boulder for a lunch of string cheese, apples, baby carrots, and trail mix. Sebastian ate all of the M&M’s.
“I was thinking,” Christian said. We were lying alone on the boulder with our eyes closed, drying out beneath a rare stretch of sunlight while Sebastian explored a grove up ahead. “That whole mud-wrestling thing? Maybe we could try it again later. Alone. Without clothes.”
I rolled over to face him, smacked his shoulder playfully. Keep dreaming, dirty boy.
“Don’t worry. I will.” He tugged my arm lightly, pulling me against his chest. We stayed like that for a year, or maybe just a few minutes, and he played with the tangled curls in my hair, stroked my cheek while I pressed my ear to his damp shirt and listened to the steady, even beat of his heart.
“Christian! Elyse!” Sebastian called from the grove, excited. “Hurry!”
“Bad timing, squirt,” Christian grumbled. But his smile was carefree and relaxed, and his body showed none of the tension I’d so often noticed when his parents were around.
We slid off the boulder and followed the sound of Sebastian’s laughter, found him standing in the center of the grove. A single beam of sunlight penetrated the thick canopy above, and Sebastian was bathed in it, his arms stretched out in front of him.
On the chubby part of his forearm, two monarch butterflies perched, a pause on their journey through time.
Sebastian was trying to hold as still as possible, his face alight with wonder and pure, untarnished joy.
Time came to a standstill as Christian and I watched the monarchs in their tiny dance, lost in the music of Sebastian’s laughter.
I tried desperately to grab on to the moment, to the feeling, to hold it in my heart. But beauty is by its very nature elusive, slippery.
A fragment, a flash.
Here and gone again.
The trees shuddered with my heart, and the clouds shifted, returning the forest to its misty gray.
The butterflies took flight.
One.
Then the other.
Sebastian remained still, his only word a whisper on the breeze. “Wow.”
When I looked over at Christian, his mouth was open. By this rare moment, he’d been so captured, he’d forgotten to cover with a joke, a smirk.
There
were tears in his eyes. The ocean rose inside him, and I looked away, before it got me, too.
Chapter 19
“Tears mean the tarot cards are doing their job,” Lemon said gently. The group of women gathered in the gallery were enraptured. “There’s no weakness in crying, Meredith. Only illumination.”
As quietly as possible, I crept into the kitchen. It was dark by the time Christian and Sebastian had dropped me off, and now the gallery was lit with candles, golden light mingling with the full moon outside, dancing through the leaves of the sea glass tree.
Witchcraft afoot.
Lemon’s coven met here monthly—the ladies liked working with the power of the sea, and Lemon had the closest access—but this time Mrs. Kane had joined them, along with another woman I recognized immediately as Mrs. James. She looked exactly like Vanessa, only blond instead of brunette, and older. The same warmth and confidence emanated from her smile.
“I should’ve been honest with him,” Mrs. Kane said, drawing my attention back to the card reading.
“Maybe,” Lemon said. “But there are a lot of layers there, a lot to sift through with your marriage. Right now it’s more important to be honest with yourself. Honest about what you want, what you need, and where there’s room for compromise.”
“Can we ask the cards for specific instructions on that? A manual, maybe?” Mrs. Kane ran her fingers under her eyes, laughing through her tears. It reminded me of what Lemon had said about her soul, hiding there beneath the surface.
“There you are,” Kirby called out from the hallway, scattering my thoughts. She and Vanessa crossed into the kitchen. “We’ve been texting you forever. It’s ladies’ night. Where were you?”
“And we know y’all weren’t working today,” Vanessa said, “since I ended up having a picnic lunch with an electrician. A cute one, but still. Spill it.”
“What happened to your pants?” Kirby’s eyes widened when she finally noticed the mud caked to my cargos. I’d rinsed what I could at the water pump and park restroom, but my clothes needed serious laundering, and the mud was hardening into the ends of my loopy hair like putty.