Start Here

by Trish Doller

  Taylor puts down her bowl of cereal and climbs out on deck. Captain Norm is standing on the dock beside Whiskey Tango Foxtrot with a bucket and a long-handled brush. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have time for questions. Just come on.”

  “Um . . . okay,” she says, scratching the back of her head in confusion. “Let me get my shoes.”

  Taylor returns to the cabin and slips on her flip-flops. “Apparently I’m going to help Norm wash his boat.”

  Willa’s eyebrows pull together. “Why?”

  Taylor lifts her shoulders in an I-have-no-idea shrug. “But they’ve been so nice to us. How can I say no?”

  After dinner, Amy invited Taylor and Willa to stay for a movie and made a giant batch of her special rosemary Parmesan popcorn with garlic and lots of butter. The large television and country decorations were a little slice of home, and it had been hard for Taylor to leave. If Amy had suggested a sleepover, Taylor would have said yes in a heartbeat. So even though she’s not sure why Norm needs her to help him scrub the hull of his boat, there is no other answer but yes.

  “Have fun with that.” Willa yawns. “I’m going back to bed.”

  Taylor scratches her nose with her middle finger, then goes out to meet Captain Norm. He has her climb down into his dinghy, then hands her the scrub brush and the bucket of soapy water.

  “Just do along the waterline,” he instructs. “Call me when you finish this side and I’ll come loosen the dock lines so you can get the other.”

  Taylor wonders if doing all the work is still considered helping, but she doesn’t say it out loud. She snaps a picture of the brush and bucket, posting them to Instagram as she mutters, “Happy birthday to me.”

  She’s cleaning an area near the back of the boat when Willa comes off the sailboat wearing shorts and a cute floral tank top. Her hair is twisted up in two little buns on the back of her head. “Amy invited me to go to town with her,” she says. “Since you’re stuck scrubbing, I’ll pick up some groceries. Is there anything special you want?”

  A German chocolate birthday cake with coconut-pecan frosting, Taylor says in her head, but in real life she splashes the brush into the bucket and says, “No.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll see you later.”

  Finley would have done something special for Taylor’s birthday. Finley would have at least remembered. Taylor scrubs ferociously until Norm comes out on the back deck. “You don’t need to take off the paint job.”

  “Sorry,” she says. “I’m just frustrated because it’s my birthday and Willa didn’t remember.”

  Norm crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course she did. Why do you think you’re washing my boat?”

  “Wait.” The brush goes still against the side of the boat. “Seriously?”

  “You better act surprised or Amy will have my hide.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised,” Taylor says. “But do I have to keep scrubbing?”

  He chuckles. “Nah. But I’m s’posed to keep you busy, so you can come with me to the service department up at the marina.”

  As they walk, Taylor finds herself telling Norm the real story of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. She talks about Finley. She talks about everything, even the part about Vanessa, even though she’s not sure how open-minded he is about girls kissing girls.

  “I’m really sorry to hear about your friend,” he says, when she finishes. “But this is a good thing you’re doing. I don’t know that I believe in magic, but out here in the loop . . . Well, I think it’s about as close as you can get.”

  She smiles. “Thanks.”

  Norm nods, but he doesn’t speak, and Taylor thinks maybe he’s used up all his words for the day. They walk in comfortable silence the rest of the distance to the marina. Taylor and Willa have put so much faith into his book—into his words—that she has to believe that what Captain Norm says is true.

  “Good morning, Captain,” the service manager says as Norm leads Taylor into the service department. The name tag on his blue polo shirt says DOUG. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Looking for a small outboard. Four-horse or less. And I don’t want to spend more than two hundred bucks.”

  “You’re not going to find anything that cheap,” Doug says. “Least not that runs.”

  “Then sell me one that doesn’t run.”

  “I’ve got an old Johnson that needs a carburetor gasket.”

  Norm scratches his beard. “Okay. So throw in a carburetor gasket and we’ve got a deal.”

  Doug looks a little dazed, as though he’s not sure how he ended up on the losing end of this negotiation, but as Taylor and Norm follow him into the service bay—toward a row of used outboard motors on stands—Taylor leans over and in a low voice says, “That was pretty Jedi.”

  Norm winks at her. “Damn straight.”

  He installs the new carburetor gasket right there in the service bay, working slowly and methodically, as Taylor watches. When he finishes, Norm carries the engine down to the dock.

  “I’m going to need you to inflate your dinghy,” he says.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because this outboard ain’t going to mount itself.”

  “Wait. Did you buy that motor for . . . us?”

  “Consider it a birthday gift.”

  “But why would you do that? You don’t even know us.”

  “I’ve met just about every kind of person there is,” Norm says. “I know you and Spitfire are good girls, and I want you to make it to Key West. A sturdy outboard’ll help.”

  “I just—” Tears prickle in Taylor’s eyes. She never expected so much generosity from strangers, least of all a gruff old salt like Captain Norm. “It’s too much.”

  He waves her off. “Just go inflate the dinghy, will ya?”

  When the outboard is in place, Norm tells Taylor he’ll be right back. He goes aboard his own boat for a couple of minutes and returns with a pair of fishing rods and a small bait bucket. “You like to fish?”

  Taylor’s granddad would try to take her and her brothers fishing when they were little, but Granddad liked to go out before the sun was even up. Carter would complain that the fish didn’t start biting until sunrise and Campbell would fall asleep on the ride out to Granddad’s favorite fishing spot, but Taylor loved zipping across the quiet bay in the dark. She didn’t mind waiting for the fish to bite. And she loved how Granddad would let her reel her catches all the way to the boat on her own, without taking over. “I do.”

  “Let’s take your dinghy out for a spin.”

  Later, as Taylor and Norm step aboard What’s Next, he shoots her a warning glance. “Remember what I said. Surprised.”

  Except when he slides open the door, Taylor’s surprise is authentic. She has to duck beneath a garland of blue pom-poms to enter the cabin, where a cluster of multicolored helium balloons sits in the middle of the table with a birthday cake—German chocolate—and a couple of small gift bags with tissue paper poking out.

  “Happy Birthday, Taylor!” Willa shouts, as Amy begins singing the birthday song. For the second time in a day, Taylor feels tears welling up. She laughs at Amy’s off-key delivery—to be fair, no one ever sings the birthday song well—and sniffles as Willa pulls her into a hug.

  “I know it’s not what Finley would do,” Willa says.

  “No,” Taylor says. “But it’s still pretty perfect.”

  In true Amy fashion, dinner is not simply tacos, but a smorgasbord of taco fixings, including chicken and beef, black and pinto beans, and homemade guacamole that’s better than Taylor’s mom’s recipe. Taylor is touched that Willa remembered her favorite kind of cake and baked it for her. And she laughs when Willa presents her with a black gift bag that says OVER THE HILL on it. Inside, is a snow globe from Atlantic City—featuring the Ferris wheel and grand carousel from the Steel Pier—and a couple of scratch-off lottery tickets.

  Taylor rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “
This is a terrible gift.”

  Willa grins. “I know, right?”

  “I love it. Thanks . . . for all of this.”

  “It’s probably weird to be here with me instead of home with your family on a milestone birthday,” Willa says. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  Amy’s gift is a silver bracelet with a dangling compass charm. “A friend gave me this after my husband walked out on me and the kids. You know what she said to me? She said, ‘Amy, it’s okay to feel lost for a while, but this is to remind you that you don’t have to stay lost.’ And . . . well, I just think it’s time to pass it on.”

  “You’ve both been so kind to us.” Taylor looks to Norm and back to Amy. “I don’t know what to say, other than thank you.”

  “That’s plenty, Twigs,” Norm says.

  “Wait . . . Twigs? You call her Spitfire and me Twigs?”

  Norm shrugs. “Suits you.”

  “Because I’m tall,” she says flatly.

  “Because one day you’ll be so strong and deep-rooted that nothing will knock you down.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Now. As pleasant as this has been, if you two are not away from the dock at first light tomorrow, I’m cutting your lines.”

  This birthday was not one Taylor could have ever anticipated, but it might just go down as one of the best. She smiles at Norm. “Yes, Captain.”

  36.8508° N, 76.2859° W

  Give a “ship.”

  Willa

  IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG FOR them to understand what Finley might have been thinking when she created the “Give a ‘ship’ ” clue. Entering the harbor at Norfolk, they pass a massive naval base filled with aircraft carriers and destroyers. A three-masted schooner sails past Whiskey Tango Foxtrot as the sun dips toward the horizon. And not far from their marina is the USS Wisconsin, a huge World War II battleship. There are ships everywhere.

  “What do you think she meant for us to do?” Taylor asks as they sit in the cockpit eating bowls of macaroni and cheese. “Take a tour? Join the navy? Become pirates?”

  “I thought we were going to stop worrying about what Finley would do.”

  “We can still try to decipher the clues.”

  “Okay, so—” Willa sits back down and takes up her bowl. “I think what’s significant about this clue is that the word ‘ship’ is in quotes, which turns it into a pun. A bad pun, but this is Finley we’re talking about. Maybe she meant for us to do something that would make a difference. Maybe she wants us to give a shit.”

  “About what?”

  “Not sure,” Willa says. “Do you mind if I use your computer to do a little research?”

  “Go for it.”

  Before she begins looking for answers to Finley’s clue, Willa logs into her e-mail account, where she finds a note from her mom, her official dorm assignment from Case Western, and an e-mail with the subject line: “Roommates!” Willa opens that one first.

  To: Willa Ryan

  From: Olivia Szymanski

  Subject: Roommates!

  Hi Willa,

  My name is Olivia Szymanski and I’m your new roommate. I just sat here for 15 minutes trying to think of something to say that was clever and cool, so I guess I’ll give you the quick facts instead. I live in Niles, Ohio (near Youngstown), and I’m planning to major in genetics. I’m also the middle kid of three, which means I’m good at sharing. My sister handed down her microwave and dorm fridge when she moved off-campus, so you don’t have to worry about getting those things. If you’re interested in coordinating our bedding and stuff, I made a pinboard of my dream dorm, but if you’d rather do your own thing, that’s fine too. I hope you don’t mind that I already google-stalked you and I’m totally in awe of your sailing trip. I can’t wait to meet you in person and hear all about it!

  —Olivia

  Willa clicks the link leading to Olivia’s pinboard, which is filled with images of matching headboards, wall monograms, and lilac-colored bedding sets in mixes of florals and stripes. One picture has a chandelier and another has a flokati rug. It’s all very pretty, but Willa’s heart feels heavy because it reminds her of how Finley’s bedroom looked before the hospital bed and round-the-clock nursing care. Before her leukemia returned, Finley had dared to dream about going to college.

  “I don’t think I’m smart enough to get into Case Western,” she said once when they were sophomores. “But if I get into Ursuline and you’re at Case, maybe we could get an apartment together in Cleveland.”

  Back then, college had seemed so far away, but now the weeks are passing fast and Willa feels a fish of anxiety swimming in her chest.

  She closes the window on Olivia’s dream dorm and looks her up on social media, where Willa discovers Olivia was a cheerleader, honors student, and state champion in singles tennis. There are pictures of Olivia with her friends at parties, church, football games, school dances, and even building a Habitat for Humanity home. There are pictures of her boyfriend, Jack. Of Olivia with her sisters, Chloe and Sophia—all three of them were adopted from China, according to one of the photo captions. Hashtag “blessed.” Of Olivia at her high school graduation with her white parents, Craig and Robyn.

  By most metrics Olivia Szymanski seems like the ideal roommate. But Willa would rather live with someone who secretly smokes or listens to death metal or keeps her toenails in a jar than one who reminds her so much—too much—of Finley Donoghue. Willa is not ready for that kind of friend again.

  She’s not ready for any of it.

  Leaving Olivia’s e-mail unanswered, she returns to her in-box to read the response from her mother.

  To: Willa

  From: Mom

  Subject: Re: Re: I’m worried about you.

  I love you very much, but my personal life is not up for debate. I hope you can respect that.

  The fish in Willa’s chest gets bigger, and she wishes her mom could understand that it’s not just about her personal life. Colleen Ryan is a smart woman who is quick to learn new things, and Willa knows her mother could do anything she set her mind to do. If only she would set her mind.

  To: Mom

  From: Willa

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: I’m worried about you.

  I didn’t drop my phone in the lake. I threw it, because I was angry and frustrated and so, so tired of constantly worrying about you. You deserve better—and I’m not just talking about Steve. I want you to have a secure job, a car that doesn’t come with a laundry list of problems, and, yeah, someone who wants you to be his one and only. I can’t force you to do any of these things, but I hope you’ll at least think about it. I love you, do you love me?

  Willa hits the send button before she loses her nerve. She doesn’t feel like trying to answer Finley’s clue anymore, so she does a generic Internet search for things to do in Norfolk. They could tour the naval base or the USS Wisconsin, but Willa is no more interested in warships than Taylor would be. As she scrolls through the list of suggestions, Willa comes across an art studio called the Mermaid Factory.

  “I found something we could do,” she tells Taylor, who comes down into the cabin. “You know how Sandusky had those lighthouses all over downtown that were painted by different local artists?”

  “My grandma bought one at an auction,” Taylor says. “The artist painted it in kind of a van Gogh style.”

  “Norfolk’s thing is mermaids, and there’s this place where you can buy and decorate your own mermaid on a smaller scale,” Willa explains. “And part of the money they make goes to benefit the arts in the Norfolk area.”

  She clicks on the gallery pages so Taylor can see sample photos of Red Hat Society mermaids, military-themed mermaids, seasonal mermaids, and even Disney princess mermaids.

  “This is it,” Taylor say, excitement building in her voice. “This is the answer to t
he clue.”

  “Wait. Really?”

  “When we were little, like five or six, we would spend hours pretending to be mythical creatures,” Taylor says. “Most of the time I would be a fairy, but Finley always wanted to be a mermaid.”

  Willa is stabbed with jealousy that Taylor’s history with Finley goes back farther than her own. She feels left out of this clue—the way she’d felt left out with Captain Norm—even though Finley never promised that every clue was meant for both of them. Her smile is forced as she says, “Then we should make Finley a mermaid.”

  The next day, they ride their bikes to the Mermaid Factory, where they join a group decorating session. Along with Willa and Taylor, there are three elderly women in town for their upcoming sixtieth class reunion. They joke and laugh a lot, and Willa can’t help wondering if she and Taylor and Finley would have been like that when they were old. Would they have forgiven old hurts? Would they have remained friends?

  “I’m going to paint a mermaid that looks like Queen Elsa,” says a little voice beside Willa, snapping her out of her thoughts.

  “No, I am,” a second voice says. “Mommy, tell her I get to paint Queen Elsa.”

  The two little girls are sisters on vacation from Michigan with their parents, and their mother looks frazzled before the actual decorating has even begun. “You both can paint Elsa.”

  The last of their group is a young newlywed couple from Florida, who are taking a honeymoon road trip up the East Coast. He doesn’t seem super thrilled about decorating a mermaid, but he watches his wife choose paint and glitter with a raw, unguarded expression Willa has never seen. The kind of love her mother deserves.

  Most of the members of the group choose to decorate small ceramic figures mounted on stands, but Willa and Taylor opt for a larger wooden mermaid they can hang on the wall of the boat.

  “We could paint the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot flags on her tail,” Taylor suggests, as they stand before a cabinet filled with decorating supplies. There are paints in every shade imaginable. A rainbow of glitter-filled jars. Shells. Rhinestones, Decals. Raffia. Flowers. Feathers. Mosaic tiles. Bits of fabric. The possibilities are endless. “Or, maybe we could paint her wearing Finley’s cheerleading uniform with some blue and gold fabric.”