When We Believed in Mermaids

by O'Neal, Barbara

  The fog eddied and moved, and between tufts I thought I saw Cinder, sitting with somebody. “Number two, you taught me to surf, which you know I love as much as you do.” Meditatively, I took another bite and a sip of the milk. “I sorta thought surfing might save you, really. Like maybe it could have if—I don’t know, maybe if people hadn’t been so mean to you when you were little.

  “Number three.” My voice broke. His hands were flung out beside him, and I thought of those hands on books, reading to us. I thought of them on knives, flying through a zucchini. I thought of them in my hair, braiding it every day so I didn’t look like a crazy girl.

  “I’m so sad. I’m as sad as I’ve ever been in my whole life, and I really don’t want to get up and go tell them that you’re dead because then it will be real and I will never, ever see you again.”

  I bent over and tried to breathe against the pure, searing pain that washed through me, as violent as a riptide sucking me under. I didn’t know how I could live with a pain like that, which made me think of how many things he’d lived through, and I sat up. Swallowed.

  The fog was beginning to thin. I ate the last of my pastry, then reached over and untied the leather bracelet on his arm. It was old, and it took me a long time to get the knot undone. It bothered me that his skin was so cold, but I knew dead things couldn’t feel. He wouldn’t care.

  When I got it free, I tucked it into my pocket. Over by the cave where I’d found the pirate booty that morning ages ago, I saw them, Dylan and Cinder.

  I lifted a hand and waved.

  They disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mari

  I’m in Helen’s room that evening, going through the stacks of magazines she’s kept, looking for clues or maybe a stashed diary. Something. It’s still raining, and to keep the ghostly sounds from bugging me too much, I’m playing music on my phone. The sound is tinny, but honestly, I’ll take what I can get.

  The tedious work is good for me. I have to engage my brain just enough that I’m not fretting incessantly about everything, but somewhere the information is being processed in the background. This goes there, and that goes here, and eventually it will all make sense. My mother. Simon.

  Kit.

  God, the hatred on her face when she left me! Maybe I shouldn’t have confessed everything. Maybe she didn’t need to know right now. But honestly, if we’re going to have a relationship at all, there can’t be any more lies. I’ve had enough lies to last me a millennium.

  Because of the phone music, I don’t hear Simon until he’s standing in the doorway. At the sight of him, my heart stops momentarily. I really do love him like a being created just for me. His eyes are shadowed, his shoulders slightly bowed like Atlas’s, carrying the world. “Is this a good time to talk?”

  I can’t read his tone, but I leap to my feet. “Of course. Shall we go down and have a cup of tea?”

  “Sure.” He doesn’t come in the room to kiss me, and he’s careful not to touch me as we head downstairs.

  “Are the kids okay?”

  “Fine. They think you just went to be with your friend. Did you surf?”

  “Yes. Piha Beach. It was great.”

  The conversation feels as stiff as corsets. I busy myself with the kettle and cups, while Simon sits down heavily at the small table. “This is a strange room, isn’t it?”

  “I know. Why did Helen do it over like this? When she had the money to do whatever she wanted. Why this grim green room?” He shakes his head, and I see the weariness in it. “Are you all right?”

  “No, Mari, I’m not. I’m gutted.”

  I bow my head. “I’m so sorry. It was stupid, but I really thought it would never come up.”

  “Christ.”

  “Are you ready to hear the story?” I hope it will go better with him than it did with Kit.

  “I reckon I am.”

  So I tell him. Everything, starting with Eden and Kit and Dylan on the beach. I tell him about the neglect and about the molestation. I tell him how wild I was and how early I became an alcoholic. I tell him about the abortion, and Dylan, and the strange relationship we shared, part lovers, part siblings, part mentor and mentee, entirely, completely screwed up.

  And yet.

  “We both loved him so much, me and Kit. He just fell into our lives and then fell out again.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? At some point, somewhere?”

  I can’t look at him. “I don’t know. I guess . . . I thought if you knew everything, you wouldn’t love me.”

  He shakes his head. “Why? What about me made you think I would love you less if you told that story?”

  I’m struggling to keep myself from crying. “Nothing about you, Simon. It was all my own shame. Dylan killed himself because of me. I ripped off my sister. I faked my own death.” I pause, my hands tight on my thighs. “The person I left behind was not someone I was proud of.”

  “Oh, Mari. How shallow you think I am.” He still looks bowed. He sips his tea, then pushes it away. “I’m sorry that all happened to you, Mari. I am. No one should live like that.”

  I lean back in my chair, waiting.

  “But I can’t forgive you for lying to me for so long. You had so many opportunities to tell me the truth, and you didn’t take any of them.”

  My heart sinks.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up an agreement. We’ll split custody and figure out the best way to do that. I’ll keep the Devonport house, and you can have this one.”

  For a long, long moment, I stare at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Simon.”

  “I assure you that I’m not.”

  “More fool you, then.” I stand up, round the table, and push him upright. When there’s space, I slide into his lap, face-to-face, and put my arms around him. “What we have is great.”

  “Was great.” He looks surly and sad, but he’s not shoving me away, and that’s a good sign.

  My hands are on his shoulders. I move them to his face. “I’ve paid for everything I did, Simon, and then some. When life gave me a chance, I figured out a way to turn it all around. And look at us, Simon! What kind of idiot takes such a hard stand on the moral road that he throws away his wife and his entire family?”

  “I’m not throwing you away.”

  “Uh, yeah, you are. If you stay with this hard-ass stand, all of us suffer. All of us—you, me, the kids. That would be stupid.”

  He pulls my hands off his face. “Trust is everything, Mari. If everything you’ve told me is a lie, how can I believe anything you say going forward?”

  I sigh, fear starting to dig its claws into my heart. But I have also become someone who can fight for the good in her life. A woman who doesn’t run from things. “I didn’t lie about anything in our lives from the time we met, only about the past.”

  He starts to shake his head again, shift me off his lap.

  “No.” I tighten my grip, hands and legs. “We’re not going to wreck our family over this. We will not do that.” My hands are in the hair over his ears, in fists. “This is not some depressing Victorian novel where a woman who makes bad choices inevitably dies a terrible death. I’m not Veronica Parker, paying for the sin of having the life she wanted. This is me and you. We fell in love the minute we met, and it’s been good ever since.”

  Tears are gathering in his eyes again. “I’m so angry with you.”

  “I know. And you have every right to be. Be mad. We can work through that.”

  He only holds me close, and I know he’s crying, trying to be manly about it. “You can come home, but this is not over.”

  “Okay. I’m okay with that.”

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he says raggedly.

  “Me neither.” I allow for the reality of everything that has happened. “Maybe, in the end, you won’t be able to forgive me.”

  “I’m afraid that may be true.”

  I close my eyes. “I love you so much, Simon. More than I’ve ever
loved anyone until our children were born. You are the sun in my world, the most normal thing that ever happened to me.”

  He closes his eyes, and the tears spill out below his lids. “I just love you so much,” he whispers. “And it was all so perfect.”

  “If this is the worst thing that happens to our family, we will be lucky people indeed.”

  He sighs, his hands on my waist. “You’re my Achilles’ heel.”

  With my thumb, I brush away one of the tears, and I bend in to kiss each eyelid. “No. I’m your sunshine in the morning, your moonlight at night.”

  He lets go of a choked laugh, and then his arms are around me, so tight, and it’s my turn to make a hushed, grateful sound. “I need you,” he says.

  “I know. And I need you.” Into his neck, I whisper, “It’s all a big mess, but we’ll work it out over time.”

  We sit, exhausted, together for a long time. “I talked to my mom on FaceTime,” I say quietly. “I told her to come see us.”

  “Will she?”

  “I hope so,” I say, and I mean it.

  Now, if only Kit will forgive me, everything will be all right.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kit

  I head straight up the elevator to Javier’s floor. My hair is wet from the rain, and I’m trembling in every inch of my body, and I’m having trouble catching my breath. I keep thinking that if I can find him, talk to him, some of this will make sense. Dylan and Josie.

  Josie.

  Javier is not home. I pull out my phone to call him, and then I just tuck it back into my bag, feeling airless, as if I will fly apart, dissolve into the universe. Standing in the hallway, shaking, I can’t think what to do. What my next step should be.

  I can’t do this. Can’t sort this out. I can’t breathe or think or even settle on a single thought. Josie and Billy. Dylan and Josie. My poor, poor sister, carrying it all for so long. Finally killing herself off rather than deal with it anymore.

  Dylan.

  Images of him spill through my mind. So beautiful, so lost, so tortured.

  How could he have had sex with Josie? How could he have kept a secret about her abuse like that? Knowing she needed counseling. Needed help. He saw her spiraling, drinking, drugging, and he didn’t just not stop it; he encouraged it. How could I have missed all this?

  Overwhelmed, I spin around and head for the elevator.

  Home. I just want to go home. Lie in my own bed. Sit on my patio.

  I want it so desperately, all of a sudden, that it’s all I can think about. I return to my rooms and start throwing everything into my suitcase, willy-nilly, not folded. Bras and dirty underwear and new T-shirts. It feels like I’ve been on a very long, challenging journey, as if I have traveled around the world and taken part in a million festivals and now I’m leaving, a changed person.

  The view this afternoon is moody and soft, the water roiling, turned a steely gray by the rain, and it makes me ache. I haven’t known it as well as I’d like. I wanted to learn more, but it’s just impossible to stay right now. I have to get back home, to my refuge, to the world I’ve built.

  From my laptop, I make reservations on a plane for this very evening. It costs a fortune, but I don’t care. I kick it up another notch and go first-class. It leaves at 11:45 p.m., and I’ll be home in the morning. I’m already packed. Maybe I should just go to the airport.

  A knock sounds at my door, and for a moment I consider not answering. The only person who comes here is Javier.

  But it would be deeply unkind to leave without letting him know. Taking a moment to center myself, I open the door. He’s wearing soft jeans and the long-sleeve heathery T-shirt that fits him perfectly. His feet are bare, which awakens that physical part of me that still wants him.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal. “I just knocked on your door.”

  “I was practicing guitar,” he says, and his eyes sparkle. “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Come in.”

  He sees the suitcase on the bed. “What is this?”

  “My sister—Dylan—There is . . .” I shake my head. “I just can’t do this. I need to get home.”

  “You’re leaving? Now? Today?”

  I throw another shirt into the suitcase. “Yes. It’s time. I have to go.”

  He frowns slightly. “Did something happen?”

  “Yes. Confessions of all kinds. Things I didn’t know. Things I didn’t want to know.”

  “Are you all right? You look—” He reaches for my arms, kindly, and I dodge him, unsure what will happen if he touches me. “Distraught.”

  “I’ll be fine once I get out of here and back to everything normal.” I swallow. “I’m sorry, though, about leaving so abruptly. I really have enjoyed your company.”

  He licks his lower lip, and there’s something in his eye that I haven’t seen before, something darker. “Enjoyed?” He steps closer to me, and I step around, and he follows, as if we’re dancing.

  “Stop it,” I say. “I’m not that woman.”

  “What woman is that, Kit? The one who falls in love, who lets her emotions come to the surface?” He brushes the very back of my nape with light fingers, and I shudder. It freezes me, and I can’t seem to move away as he closes the distance between us and kisses the place he touched, lingering and light. His hands slide around my waist, and I can feel my heartbeat in every part of my body—my palms and the soles of my feet, my thighs and breasts and throat.

  He turns me in his embrace and firmly backs me into the wall behind me. I hear myself gasp as our bodies connect, and he smiles faintly. “Enjoy is a little thing, like olives.” He runs his hands up the backs of my thighs, under the skirt I’m wearing, and hauls me closer. “This is much, much more than that, and you know it.”

  He bends to take my mouth in an insistent kiss, his whiskers abrading my chin. I find myself making a soft mewling noise, and my hands are on his body, pulling him into me. He kisses me, and kisses me, and kisses me, his hands roving, rousing. There are tears on my face, and I don’t know why—I don’t think that’s ever happened before—but all I can think is that I need his body, all of it.

  Our joining is nearly violent. No exploration. No ease. Just lips bruising and clothes ripped away, my shirt and my swimsuit top and panties, his jeans. Then we’re rocking hard against each other on the bed I will never sleep in again. We’re both lost in it, lost, lost, lost, dissolving and melting and reassembling, me in him, him in me, my molecules lost in his skin, his lost in my bones.

  When it’s over and we’re panting, he doesn’t move but cups my face in his hands. “That is not enjoy, mi sirenita. That is passion.” We’re both breathing hard. He holds my gaze, bends to sup my lower lip. “That’s love.”

  Tears are running from my eyes onto my temples. I slide my hands into his hair and feel his skull. “How can I trust that, Javier? Insta-passion?”

  “Is that what it is?”

  “I don’t know. I’m terrible at all this.”

  “Don’t trust me,” he whispers, running his index finger along my jaw. “Trust us. This.”

  For a long, long moment, I wish I were someone else, that I had some tiny bit of the heedlessness that marks my mother and sister. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.”

  He gazes down at me, touches the tears. “The ice is melting.” Gently, he kisses me. “You go. But I want your email. I have been writing all day. I want to send you a song.”

  “Oh, don’t.” I close my eyes. It’s weird that we’re having this conversation this way, half-dressed, messy from sex. “I can’t bear it.”

  He laughs softly. Kisses my chin. My throat. “You will like it, gatita. I promise.”

  In the end, I relent. He stays with me until it’s time for me to go to the airport, but we don’t talk a lot. Just sit in the quiet and look out at the rain, his hands in my hair.

  I’m fine until the plane lifts off and circles, and I see the city spread out in yellow lights and c
arved bays below me, and it feels like my ribs are breaking, as if I grew long roots there in that place, like one of the Moreton Bay fig trees, and now I’m ripping them violently out, all at once. Why am I leaving?

  What’s wrong with me?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Kit

  One month later

  It’s been a brutal night at the ER, a teenager killed when he crashed his car through a barrier wall and landed in the river; a fentanyl overdose we couldn’t revive; an old woman who broke her leg in two places falling down the stairs, a hideous injury with bones protruding.

  Which sets me off on some weird level. I am furious with the world in general for the rest of the night.

  It’s busy. All the usual things. Broken wrists and knocked-out teeth and food poisoning. The human body is a delicate, amazing creation. It takes almost nothing to completely destroy it, and yet it takes a lot. Most of us manage to stay on the planet, in our bodies, for seventy or eighty years, all of us amassing scars along the way, each one with a story. The chunk of plaster that marks your face forever, that belt buckle, those cigarette burns.

  My mom texts me: Want breakfast this morning? Blueberry pancakes.

  She’s worried about me. I know she is. And I’m trying to be at least somewhat normal so she doesn’t have to be afraid to leave and go see her grandchildren, a trip that is arranged for the middle of next month. I’m happy for her. She’s done the work. She’s earned it. I text back, Sure. I’m surfing. Will come after.

  I haven’t been able to settle into anything since I got home. Work makes me restless. I can’t sit for more than five minutes with my mother. Can’t read. Hobo is fine, just as my mother said, and she thinks he might want a companion.

  All I do is surf, whenever I can get out there. This morning, the surf forecast is not particularly brilliant, but I don’t care. I load up my board and, on a whim, head for the cove. I haven’t been there since I’ve been home. Maybe I’m looking for answers.

  To what, though? Everything that ever happened to anyone, ever? Life is sometimes just wretched; that’s all. I was lucky to have the good years at Eden with Dylan, and Josie, and Cinder. All of us happy, on the beach, before everything that happened. Some people don’t even get that.