The Summer of Chasing Mermaids

by Sarah Ockler

  I nodded.

  “Rule number two,” Sebastian said. He was sandwiched between Kirby and Vanessa in the backseat, his white-blond hair blowing all around. “Pirates don’t need baths. Pirates are stinky on purpose.”

  Christian met his eyes in the rearview. “Overruled. If you want to camp out tonight, you’re getting hosed down first. I’m not sharing a tent with a skunk.”

  Sebastian giggled. “You’re the skunk!”

  Christian navigated us into the pet store lot. He winked at me and got out of the truck, leaving it running with the rest of us inside. Ten minutes later he was back with the crickets. Boxes and boxes of them.

  “I grabbed whatever they had,” he said, securing them in the trunk. “Told them it was for Sebastian’s pet python.”

  “I don’t have a python.” Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “Can I get a python?”

  Christian laughed. “Dude. We’re definitely not sharing a tent with a snake.”

  Back at the marina we all gave the boat another scrubdown—the fish smell had yet to vacate, despite copious amounts of bleach—and then Vanessa went to pick up lunch for us at the Black Pearl, just to confirm Noah would be tied up at work for the next few hours. Coast clear, Christian and I snuck onto the Never Flounder, crickets in hand.

  We opened the boxes, shook out the bugs.

  With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Christian said, “Welcome to the apocalypse, Katz.”

  Now, hours after our cricket adventures, the girls and I were hanging out in my room, listening to a country mix Vanessa insisted was all the rage in her Lone Star State. I’d intended to curl up alone, finish Moby Dick, but they’d followed me in as though we’d always been friends, as though my bedroom had always been our hangout.

  “Crickets won’t totally mess up Noah’s boat, right?” Kirby asked. “I know he deserves it after the fish thing, but he’s under a lot of pressure with his dad, and he’s trying to—”

  “Kirby.” Vanessa released the cricket out my window and reclaimed her spot on the fluffy carpet. “Don’t fall apart on us now. We did the right thing.”

  “But . . . you guys. It’s Noah.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “Yeah, and it’s the Pirate Regatta,” Vanessa said. “Your house is on the line, Kirbs. Get in the game!”

  Kirby nodded reluctantly. “I know. It’s just . . . What can we really do? Even if Elyse and Christian win—”

  “When they win,” Vanessa said.

  “If, when. The mayor will just come up with some other stupid bet. If Mr. Kane really wanted to keep the house, he would’ve said no from the start. All this boat stuff, the pirate games? We’re just prolonging the inevitable. Face it.” Kirby brushed tears from her eyes. “The tides, as they say, are a-changin’.”

  “Times,” Vanessa said. “The song is times, not tides.”

  Kirby rolled her eyes. “Everything is a-changin’.”

  The girls fell silent. Kirby was right. Everything was a-changin’, and not just this business with the Cove. Regardless of what happened with the house, after this summer Kirby would finish out her senior year, then head off to college. Vanessa was spending next year in South America, eager for a few backpacking adventures before making any decisions on college and career tracks. Noah had dreams of buying the Black Pearl, but who knew if that place would even exist after P&D got done. And in a couple of months Christian would be back at Stanford, then on to some big, bright future, the map of his life created, curated, and perpetually sponsored by his father.

  Me? Maybe I’d linger here with Lemon. Maybe my visa would expire, and I’d be forced to return to Tobago, forced to serve drinks to the resort tourists who didn’t require friendly local conversation. But no matter what I did, where the tides swept me next, all of it would change again. Even if I stayed exactly right here, right on this bed in this room in this big house by the sea, the tide would carry in the sands, one grain at a time, until the house and I were swallowed up, sucked back out to sea.

  “Well, this is pathetic.” Vanessa blew a breath into her bangs. She switched up the mix on the iPod, picked out some old-school British rock to amp up the mood. “New topic? Anyone got any juicy gossip, particularly about cute boys named Noah?”

  Kirby shot her a scolding glare. “Speaking of cute boys, whatever happened to that guy you were kissing at the bonfire? You two totally took off. And then you never said another word.”

  Vanessa laughed. “I’m shocked it took you this long to bring it up. Over a week? New record for you, Kirbs.”

  “So what’s the deal? Fourth of July weekender, trolling the beach for kisses from beautiful girls?”

  “Oh, there was more than kissin’, sugar.” Vanessa wiggled her eyebrows.

  Kirby looked scandalized. “You didn’t even know the guy!”

  “His name was Vince. Or . . .” She wrinkled her nose, concentrating. “Vance? Vaughn? Definitely something with a V.”

  “Like you know anything about a V.” Kirby shook her head. “Vanessa, God knows I love you, but you can’t just have sex with every guy you meet. What about, like, consequences?”

  “Kirby. Not everyone ends up pregnant or with some disease. You just . . . you take precautions. You know?”

  Kirby frowned. “You can’t put a condom on your heart.”

  Vanessa exploded into laughter. “Okay, that needs to be on a T-shirt.”

  Kirby was laughing too, but she was still doing her mom thing. “You guys know that saying, though, right? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

  “Who says the cow is even for sale?” Vanessa looked at her breasts and smiled. “Why sell the cow when you can go get milked for free?”

  “Oh. My. God.” Kirby was genuinely concerned about this milk situation. When she saw me grinning, her eyes got even wider. “You too?”

  I shrugged. Ex-boyfriend.

  “She tell you about the candy box?” Vanessa asked me.

  “Vanessa!” Kirby turned purple.

  I nudged her foot with mine. I know, I mouthed. Lemon had shown it to me my first night here, a box tucked into the linen closet of the bathroom Kirby and I shared, once made for a sampler of cheap American chocolates, now holding only condoms. “I never count them,” Lemon had said. “They’re just in there, whenever anyone needs them. If I notice it’s getting low, I’ll refill it. No questions.”

  “Candy boxes, ex-boyfriends, friends with benefits.” Kirby sighed. “Am I the only one around here who’s still—”

  “Yes,” Vanessa said playfully. To me, she said, “Now I wanna know the story about the ex-boyfriend. Cute? Or jerk-off?”

  “Jerk-off,” Kirby said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be an ex. Right?”

  For once, Kirby’s answer on my behalf was correct. I flung a pillow at her anyway.

  “Girls!” Lemon appeared in the doorway, saving me from miming my way through that particular tale. She was lugging a large box, which she set on the floor with a grunt. “Each of you is free to make your own decisions with boys, as long as the cow and the farmer and everyone involved is consenting. But please try to keep the squealing to a minimum. I’m sketching a new sculpture for commission and I need to concentrate.” She toed the box, smiling at me. “Elyse, package from Granna. Careful opening it, though—I think there may be a few stowaways. Suddenly I’m finding crickets everywhere.”

  In the wake of another wave of giggles from Kirby and Vanessa, Lemon padded back to her reading nook, the spot where she liked to do her sketching. Kirby helped me drag the box closer to the bed, where we sat down together and yanked off the packing tape, express from Trinidad and Tobago.

  Vanessa peered inside.

  Granna had sent a case of d’Abreau Estates fine chocolate in every variety—dark, milk, cinnamon, and a new blend they’d just released with orange peel and hibiscus. There was another postc
ard from Dad and the few sweaters I’d owned on the island, most of which were thin or crocheted, ill suited for chilly Pacific Northwest nights.

  “Is that from your farm?” Vanessa eyed the chocolate stash.

  Dig in, I mouthed. She tore into the case, fanned out the rainbow-wrapped bars on the bed. She decided on the cinnamon ­flavor, and I watched with breathless anticipation as she took her first bite.

  Her nose crinkled, then smoothed, eyes wide as the chocolate melted on her tongue.

  “Oh, holy orgasmic hell!” She took another bite. “I get it. I totally get it. Consider me a convert.”

  Kirby picked out an milk chocolate bar, and I took a dark one, settling back on the floor with Vanessa. There were still a few more items in the box—the fairy-tale books I’d asked Granna to send for Sebastian, more clothes—but good chocolate took priority.

  “What’s it like there?” Vanessa wanted to know, her mouth full of chocolate bliss.

  I opened one of the books, showed her some of the illustrations. An island of lush, green trees. Dark, green-blue seas. Generations of families fishing in the villages, grilling the day’s catch as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was the idealized tourist version, but the truth nevertheless, and my heart ached with homesickness.

  “I want to go back,” Kirby said. “I’ve only been once, and I was mostly too cool for school to hang out with Mom back then. I didn’t really appreciate it.”

  I smiled, imagining what it would be like to show her around now that we were old enough to do it on our own. The Heritage Festival was coming up soon in Tobago, with all kinds of celebrating and dancing and food. I’d take her to the Ole Time Wedding in Moriah, or treasure hunting in Pirate’s Bay. Definitely the Sea Festival in Black Rock—we’d fill up on bake and shark, saltfish buljol, kingfish in coconut sauce, peas and rice, all the chocolate tea we could drink.

  We’ll go, I told her, the words out before I could stop them. Someday.

  I closed the book, tossed it back on the bed with the chocolate wrappers. For a moment no one spoke, and I thought maybe she’d ask me more about the islands. About what it was like growing up there. About how my parents met in Trinidad, like hers had, and how Dad had moved us to Tobago after my mother died. I thought she’d ask about my sisters. About all the rehearsals, the competitions Natalie and I sang in. The music we’d made.

  But Kirby, ever worried that too much talk of home would churn up bad memories for me, didn’t ask. Maybe talk of the islands churned up bad things for her, too. Like the father she never knew. Kirby hadn’t mentioned him again, not since her last visit, and I hadn’t asked.

  I smiled at her now. We were still getting to know each other. New friends. Closer than friends. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “Speaking of holy orgasmic hell,” Kirby said to Vanessa, smoothly changing the subject. “What does Christian say about Bonfire Guy?”

  “Christian?” Vanessa said. “He knows better than to get in my business. He’s got his own business to mind.”

  My insides twisted. I still didn’t know the exact nature of Christian and Vanessa’s relationship, but they were definitely tight, definitely had a history. Whenever we were hanging out in a group where other guys were around, like at the bonfire that night, Christian was protective of her. They shared inside jokes, casual hugs, glances loaded with meaning that only the two of them could decipher. She hadn’t seemed bothered by the fact that Christian and I were getting physically close—in fact, she acted like she was all for it—but she hadn’t offered up any details on their past, either.

  Not that I’d asked her.

  I still had a lot to learn about this new friends thing.

  Vanessa swallowed the last of her chocolate, licked her fingers clean. “You guys, Christian and I . . . we made out a few times. But it’s not like we ever did it. Not even close.”

  Kirby rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious,” Vanessa said. “We’re just friends. Capital-F friends.”

  Kirby shook her head. “But you two are supergood friends. Like, communicating-with-just-a-look good friends. And you have a physical thing going on.”

  “Had. We had a physical thing. But no. It wasn’t even a thing. It was just kissing. Just . . . something to do sometimes? It never meant anything more than fun.”

  “Then why aren’t you together?” Kirby asked. “You have fun fooling around. You’re great friends. What’s missing? Why is he such a player?”

  I bit into my chocolate, tried not to squirm, tried not to think of all the kisses he’d left on my lips, burning a trail to my heart. As passionate as they were, as blazing hot, they still hadn’t been enough to make me presume anything between us. To make me think he wanted anything more than fun. We hadn’t even been alone since discovering Noah’s fish prank—Vanessa and Sebastian had shown up every day after that to help, and we worked so hard on those days that the nights left little energy for socializing. Even his texts were mysterious; morning messages were usually just boat details, but nightly for weeks he’d messaged me those two simple words: “sweet dreams.”

  For all I knew, Christian was just biding his time until I was ready for the “grand tour.” Or maybe he’d been spending his nights grand-touring with other girls. Calla. Gracie. Jessica Boltz. The endless tide of summer girls who’d watched him at the marina, at the café, on the beach, dancing at the club.

  I closed my eyes, tried to picture something else. Starfish. Seagulls. Mermaids. Boats. Tattoos. Christian.

  All roads lead back to Christian Kane.

  I opened my eyes, inhaled some more chocolate.

  “We talked about it,” Vanessa said. “But we both agree we’re strictly friend zone. I mean, we’re so different, we want different things out of life, all that. Like, I’ve always been more . . . some might call it opinionated.”

  Kirby cracked up, pointing at Vanessa with half a chocolate bar. “Understatement.”

  “I blaze my own trail, Mom says. And Christian’s just . . . well, all that stuff with his daddy.” She waved her words away, clearly not wanting to air the Kane family secrets. “We’re just different that way.”

  I thought about what Christian had said that night of our first kiss, about not having a plan A. He’d told me he’d always followed the path his father had set out for him, and maybe Vanessa was right—he hadn’t blazed his own trail. But like so many other things, that, too, was changing. I sensed it that night after the bonfire, the way he’d looked at me after reading my “Plan B” poem. The way his eyes smoldered when I’d asked him what he wanted.

  Maybe there was something about Christian that Vanessa didn’t know. Something new and young, just breaking out from the darkness into the light. And I’d been there to see it. The first one. The only one.

  I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped myself in a hug.

  I thought of Christian’s strong arms around me in Devils Elbow. His lips skimming my jaw, my neck. . . .

  “We’re close, definitely,” Vanessa said. “But we don’t have that spark, you know?”

  “What spark?” Kirby asked.

  Vanessa pressed her hand to Kirby’s abdomen. “You know that gooey, falling-down feeling you get, right about here, when you’re dancin’ with Noah?”

  Kirby pushed Vanessa’s hand away, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

  “That spark,” Vanessa said.

  “So you don’t get jealous about the other girls?” Kirby asked. “I get crazy jealous when Noah even smiles at a customer. And he’s just doing his job!”

  “Told you.” Vanessa shrugged. “Nothin’ to be jealous of.”

  Kirby considered this, then looked at me. “What if he hooked up with Elyse?”

  Vanessa caught my eyes. I recognized the look instantly; it would pass between my sisters whenever they were talking about something Dad or Granna w
asn’t supposed to know.

  Slowly I shook my head. No, I hadn’t told Kirby anything about what was going on between me and Christian. I didn’t even know if there was anything, really, and I didn’t want to get her worked up over something that might not even exist.

  With her eyes still locked on mine, Vanessa said, “Maybe a ­little.” It surprised me—both the admission itself, and the matter-of-­factness of her tone. “She’s the only one who makes him smile that for-real smile of his. I haven’t seen it so much since we were kids. And now, every time he says her name, it’s like the damn sun is risin’.”

  This time it was my smile that wouldn’t hide.

  “Just remember, Elyse.” Vanessa grabbed my hands, her face etched with concern. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You can’t put a condom on your heart.”

  This set everyone to laughing again, and inside, I felt something loosen. Warm. It was another ember, small but sparking to life again, and I held on to it, made it glow.

  “What else did you get?” Vanessa crawled back over to Granna’s box, took out the rest of the fairy-tale books. There was a letter from Granna too; Vanessa handed me a thick, white envelope. I tossed it on the bed to read later, in private.

  “Oh. My. Silky. Stars.” Vanessa’s mouth hung open as she pulled a length of fabric from the box and stripped off its plastic dry-cleaning bag.

  She rose to her feet, let the silk flow down the length of her, swirled with gossamer silver thread and delicate beading. It shimmered like moonlight on the water.

  The dress.

  It was the deep, midnight blue of the far-off ocean, the blue that lured explorers to seek out the world’s oldest secrets, the blue that turned black in the shadows and bright as the Caribbean Sea in the sun.

  There was only one other like it in the world. It belonged to my sister Natalie.

  Granna had ordered them, custom-made for Carnival last March. She’d been waiting for us in the dressing room that day, smile as proud and excited as I’d ever seen it.

  “This is it,” she’d told us. “A shot at your dreams.” Behind her a sheet like a white sail billowed over a clothing rack. She untied the ropes; the sail slipped to the floor. And the dresses, twin mermaids, shone before us.