by A. L. Knorr
A few families enjoyed the beach along with us - throwing a frisbee around, having a picnic. The occasional jogger ran through the spray in bare feet.
"Nice country you have here," he said.
"I guess this is your first visit to Canada?"
He nodded. "Yes, it's a shame I can't make a holiday out of it but I really have to get back. I have a meeting with the executives tomorrow and I've been asked to report on the status of the will and present all the signed documents to the lawyers for review. I have never seen the company in such an uproar.”
We stopped and faced the ocean, burying our toes in the sand. The surf washed over our feet and my body thrilled to sense the presence of salt.
"What are you going to tell them?"
"The truth, I suppose. That you did sign, albeit reluctantly."
"And the part about not being related to Martinius? Will you tell them that, too?"
"I've been thinking on that. I think it would be best to leave that quiet for now, after all there is always a chance that you are mistaken. Your lack of family records doesn't assist you in proving that you're not related, so..." he trailed off. And then, "Let me ask you this, Targa..."
"Might you be better off asking my mom if it's about my family?" I interrupted him.
"I did ask her," he replied. "Now I need to ask you."
"Okay, go ahead."
"Can you say beyond a shadow of a doubt, with 100% surety that you're NOT related to Martinius?" he asked, squinting over at me in the sunlight. He'd left his sunglasses off even though it was bright out.
I was quiet. My instinct was to keep denying it but that wouldn't be the truth. I was also hesitant because it was important that my answer matched my mom's. What would she have said? I thought about the face on the masthead, the curves and features of it so unmistakeably matching hers. Sybellen had without a doubt been a siren. How many mermaids were there in the world? "Truthfully? No," I answered, finally.
His eyebrows shot up. "See, there you have it. In the mouth of two witnesses let everything be established."
"I guess my mom said the same?”
"She did, but she was still adamant that the two of you should not inherit the company."
"And she's right. What do we know about running a company of any kind? Let alone one in Europe that functions in another language and in an industry we know nothing about.” We started walking down the beach again.
"It's clear from Martinius' actions that it was more important to him that the company stay in the hands of a blood relative, even one with no business experience, than to be passed to an outsider. He always said to me 'hire for attitude, train for aptitude.' He believed everyone was trainable as long as they had the desire to learn."
I blanched and he added hastily, "I keep telling you not to worry about that anyway. Nothing has to change. Martinius is gone but we've been preparing for that eventuality for years. Mrs. Krulikoski will be stepping in as CEO for now."
I remembered the woman with the deep voice. "The CFO? From the party?"
"That's the one." He put his hands in the pockets of his shorts, kicking up tiny clumps of sand with his bare toes as we walked.
"Do you think she'll do a good job?" I had thought she seemed capable but what did I know? I'd never said two words to the woman.
"She will. She's been in the company for years and knows it inside and out. I'd be happy to report back to you regularly if you'd like to be kept informed?"
"I don't know what good that would do," I said.
"Wouldn't you rather know than not?"
"I suppose so," I replied doubtfully. I felt like I was walking on a moving sidewalk. Soon I'd find myself at an unintended destination in spite of my best efforts.
I'm not sure why I did what I did next. Maybe it was the control I finally had of myself around him that made me trust myself again. Maybe it was the sudden change in my life that I knew would eventually bring me back to Poland and The Baltic Sea. Maybe it was letting go of denying myself what I had wanted all summer.
A collection of boulders sat in the sand at the edge of the surf and instead of walking around them I stepped up onto one and faced Antoni. We were eye to eye. He blinked at me. I took a breath. "I have a question for you, and I need an honest answer," I began.
"Always, Targa. I hope you know that.” He stepped in front of me.
"At the airfield, in Poland, I heard you," I said, looking at him, unabashedly.
"Heard me..." he said, cocking his head slightly.
"When you said you loved me."
The smallest smile played about his lips. "Did you now?"
"Are you denying it?" My heart began to pound, but it was steady and slow.
"Absolutely not," he said, setting his jaw like he was ready to take one on the chin.
We were less than a foot from one another, not touching. The space between us was nothing and everything.
"What I need to know was when. When did you know that you loved me?" I asked. My voice was soft but my heart fiercely prepared for the worst. If he answered that it had been after my re-birth as a siren, I'd know that his love wasn't authentic.
"That's what you need to know so badly?"
I nodded. "More than anything."
"All right," he said, smiling. "As much as anyone can put their finger on the moment they realize they love someone, I would have to say it was the day we visited Malbork Castle together. The day you snapped a photo of me when you thought I wasn't looking."
My jaw dropped and then I threw my head back and laughed, I couldn't help it. The old Targa would have been horrified to learn that he'd known that I'd taken a picture of him without his permission. The new Targa couldn't care less and was thrilled that his answer proved that he'd loved me before I got supercharged with seduction skills.
I put my fingers on his shoulders, drawing him closer. He took his hands out of his pockets and put his palms on my hips. I put my forehead to his. "I'm sorry, Antoni."
"What for?" he said, his hands squeezing me, pulling my pelvis against his warm stomach.
"For lying. For hurting you. There was never a bet with my friends," I said, putting my palms to the sides of his neck.
It was his turn to laugh, he pulled his forehead back and looked at me with a lopsided grin. "I know that, Targa. You're not the kind of girl to do something like that. You were just scared."
My gaze dropped to his lips. "I'm not scared anymore." I kissed his cheekbone, then his cheek, then the stubble next to his mouth.
He cleared his throat, his hands slid from my hips to my lower back and found the skin underneath my shirt. "No?" he whispered. I closed my eyes with pleasure at the feeling of skin on skin.
"No," I whispered back and my lips found his. The kiss began softly, gently, but as we melted together the barriers I had built up to keep him at a safe distance crumbled. The kiss deepened and his hands moved under my shirt to my ribcage, his fingers splayed across my ribs and curled around the corral of my heart.
Suddenly his arms were around me, picking me up off the rock, his body as sure and hard as the knowledge that I loved him too. My heart cried truth with every slow and powerful beat. The yielding of my entire body to him made my nerves sing. He had me completely. I clamped my legs around his waist, pulling him tighter as I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with all the passion I had denied all summer. As his lips parted mine my body came alive in a way it hadn't before and I finally let it, drowning in the smell and taste of him. The kiss was not just a kiss, it was a promise, made as clearly as though it had been spoken.
The squealing laughter of a child somewhere down the beach penetrated our passion and we broke the kiss, both of us smiling and breathless. He planted a hundred little kisses across my cheeks, on my lips, and down my neck as I tilted my head back and laughed. I found the rock with my bare feet again and took his face in my hands, my eyes closed, drinking in the moment.
His hands cupped my ears gently, his thumbs
softly brushing the curve of my cheeks. "Targa."
I smiled and opened my eyes, devouring his face like I was seeing it for the first time. "Antoni," I said.
"Now what?" he whispered. He stroked my hair.
"You have to get on a plane, I guess," I said. I quivered a little inside at the thought of saying good-bye but the promise was there, too, comforting me.
"I do," he agreed. "And you and your mom have a lot to discuss. But, you know you can send for Ivan anytime you want. Whenever you're ready, whatever you decide."
I nodded and pulled him into a hug, savouring our last moments alone together. I stepped down off the rock and took his hand as we walked back the way we'd come.
We got to the parking lot as Mom arrived in her work truck to pick us up. We took Antoni for lunch at our favourite little Mexican place along the beach. Mom and I wanted to talk about the company and what to do next but Antoni suggested we leave it for now. He told us to sleep on things, take as long as we needed, and then get back to him when we were ready. I was amazed at his maturity, his calm acceptance that we couldn't be together just yet. It made me love him even more.
"I guess the odds of you returning to Poland sometime in the future are a little higher than they were when you left?" Antoni said to my mother while the three of us were heading back to the truck after our meal.
She knew nothing about our kiss, our promise. But I wondered if she could sense the change between Antoni and I. "You could say that," she answered.
I tried to imagine what she was thinking. How could her daughter swim off into the deep blue sea with her if we were responsible for a big shipping company? She was now the owner of the salvage portion of Novak so what did that mean for her? Would she prioritize honouring Martinius' wishes over her desire to go to sea? She'd been so happy to think that we could disentangle ourselves from our current life. I would guess that she felt like she'd just escaped from a trap only to get caught in a bigger one.
Looking at my mother and trying to find some crack of emotion that would tell me how she was feeling, I suddenly remembered the man at the airfield in Poland, the one she'd hugged goodbye. With everything that had happened, I had forgotten all about him. As soon as we had a private moment, I promised myself to ask her about him.
I knew that I wanted to be with Antoni, but now the question was: when would be the right time to go? After I'd finished my final year of high school? Now? My mom had said that once a siren had found her mate, nothing mattered but him. I felt like I'd found mine, but that didn't automatically mean I'd drop everything right this instant. I guess I broke the mermaid mould in this way, too. What if I wanted kids but couldn't have them until I'd spent a few years in the briny ocean to trigger my fertility? That was how it worked with other sirens according to my mom. How would I explain the need to disappear to Antoni without explaining what I was? Should I just go ahead and explain what I was to him? I loved the idea of him knowing everything about me, but what if that meant he didn't want me anymore? I'm not sure how I would feel about marrying a mermaid if I was him. Probably not very good. But then, if I didn't tell him, wasn't that basically lying? I swallowed all these worries and questions. I wasn't going to solve them all in one day.
My thoughts turned to my friends. I missed them and I needed to talk to someone other than my mom. I needed people who knew me and cared about me but could be objective. Of course, they only knew me as Targa the human, they didn't know Targa the mermaid. And they weren't any older or more experienced than I was, but they were smart and I knew they wanted me to be happy.
I thought back to the beginning of the summer and how different my life had been. In a span of less than three months I had become a mermaid, fallen in love, experienced life in Europe, became an elemental, and inherited a multibillion dollar multinational. Two months ago I hadn't a clue what I wanted to do with my life. Was this destiny in action? Some guiding force shaping the direction my life was supposed to take? How was I going to decide what should be the priority?
How I was going to explain only part of the story to my friends and leave the rest a secret? I wasn't sure, but I had to try.
Epilogue
Georjayna: I'm back! Just got in last night. I'm dragging my ass today. How are you guys? I have so much to tell you! Like. Seriously.
Akiko: I'll be back Friday. Are you all around this weekend? Sorry I've been so MIA. It's been...uh...where do I start...
Saxony: I'm here! Me too. Nuttiest. Summer. Ever. Targa? You around?
Me: I'm around. Can't wait to see you guys. I missed your faces. Summer was mind-blowing. Still can't believe everything that's happened. I def have news.
Saxony: Sleep over? Georgie, your mom still away?
Georjayna: Yup, come on over. Saturday afternoon, anytime. Just shoot me a text. I'll get stuff for a wiener roast. Bring your bathing suits.
Akiko: Werd.
Me: I'll be there.
I closed my phone and smiled. I rolled over onto my back in my bed. I grabbed the pages of the diary excerpt and took them out of the envelope. I'd been looking forward to this since I'd gotten home. I took a sip of water, unfolded the document and began to read.
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Read Targa and Antoni's goodbye words, learn more about the man Mira hugged at the airport in Poland, and learn why Mira didn't use her voice to make Martinius forget that she and Targa are mermaids.
Turn the page to read the companion novelette: The Wreck of Sybellen. An Excerpt From the Diary of Aleksandra Iga Novak…
The Wreck of Sybellen. Excerpt From the Diary of Aleksandra Iga Novak
Dec 25, 1861
It is Christmas and my enterprising son has taken it upon himself to gift me with a beautiful leather book full of empty pages. It also came with a red satin ribbon with which to wrap it closed. I am not certain what to do with it as I am no artist or poet. What a laundry-woman can hope to render into these pages that may be worthy of viewing when she has long since passed, I lack the imagination to know. "Fill it with your thoughts, Mama," said Mattis when I asked him what his intention was by giving me such a pretty thing.
So as not to disappoint my son who patiently taught me to read and to write when he was young himself, I shall resolve to document a simple woman’s hopes and thoughts. I have no delusions that a diary can ever remain private and so I shall write to you, dear reader, and imagine that you may be a distant descendant of mine or perhaps have come across this diary by happenstance a century after I have turned to dust.
By way of introduction, you may know me as Aleksandra Iga Novak. Wife to Emun Mattis Novak and mother to Mattis, whom I shall write more of in a moment. Iga for my mother, may God rest her soul, and Aleksandra as many a woman before me have been called in these parts. I shall not admit that for years I detested my name because it was so common, for I am a good Christian woman with much to be grateful for.
My husband and I have one child, and we have now arrived at my favourite subject. I had to stop myself from saying 'only one child' lest you think me greedy, but in the spirit of honesty I can admit to you, a stranger, that in my secret heart I had wished for a house bursting with children. But such things were not to be and I was told by good Doctor Woznick after a thorough inspection of my person that Mattis alone was a miracle. And so we have Mattis, our son. And what a son to have been given.
I can hardly understand that he has come from myself and Emun. Even as a boy he showed superior intellect and understanding (forgive me my boastful words. but I will be honest within these pages or write not at all). Perhaps all mothers feel such a way, but truly, even if I were an outsider looking in, I should be in awe of the young man Mattis. For at the tender age of seventeen he displayed a faculty for business unlike any in his family before him. He began his own newspaper before even finishing his studies and saved every penny he earned to pour into the shipping business he now runs.
When Mattis returned from his last shipping commission—a job that took him all the way to a place called the West Indies, where the spice trade is booming (it was the longest journey he had ever made and we missed him horribly)—he shocked both Emun and me by returning with a wife.
In Sybellen, my son could not have found a wife with stranger habits or a more secretive past. The girl is beautiful, to be sure, but has failed to provide a history for herself and seems hesitant to speak more than a few sentences to anyone but Mattis himself. I'm thankful that in the least she seems to be as eager for a baby as I am for a grandchild.
Mattis had not so much as written to warn us of her existence before he arrived with her by his side, but what could we do but welcome her into our home and our family? Sometimes the decisions that shape our lives are stolen away from us by our own loved ones. I imagine that had I a diary at the time of her arrival, my entry regarding her appearance in our lives would not have read so serenely. However, I have moved into acceptance and the four of us live relatively peaceably together in our small house by the sea. Perhaps, given our close quarters, I should be grateful for a daughter-in-law who rarely speaks instead of one who does not know how to be silent.
But this is the closing of our Christmas day and the light grows dim. Although Mattis tells me we are to no longer worry about wasting candles, old habits remain alive in me and I hesitate to light one. So for now, I shall say goodnight and Happy Christmas. I shall meet you here again when something is worth writing about.