Beware the Mermaids

by Carrie Talick

  Judy looked back at Nancy with a quizzical expression. “Lit means cool,” Nancy affirmed, and gave a thumbs-up.

  A few magical minutes passed, and the dolphins finally headed out toward open water and out of sight. The entire crew was left glowing and enlightened from the experience. No one could stop smiling. Charlotte looked relaxed and, if Nancy wasn’t mistaken, also smitten by the sail. She watched her granddaughter monitor the wind vane, check speed and direction, and finally let her head hang back and take in the breeze. She got it. What it was all about.

  As they headed back into the channel, the ladies got busy bringing in the jib and dropping and folding the mainsail as they came into port. Chris sat there feeling useless but in awe, watching the girls bring Gypsea in. Charlotte stood on the side deck, holding a halyard, and looked up to see a pelican lazily hovering on the wind right above the boat. “Hey, Gran, is that our pelican?”

  “Yep, that’s Leon.”

  The pelican looked down briefly and then flapped off in the direction of their slip. Charlotte smiled at Nancy, and in that moment, as she caught a glimpse of her granddaughter in a state of sun-kissed happiness, all was right with the world.

  Nancy motored into the slip without incident while Lois hopped off the boat and tied the mooring lines to secure it in place. When everything was settled, the girls came back to the cockpit with big proud smiles. It had been a good sail, and they knew it.

  “I think we’re ready for the beer can races, ladies.”

  “Really? Do you think we’re ready?” Judy asked.

  “Judy, you’re an expert at winch handle delivery. Ruthie, aka Jib Queen, job well done. And Lois, no one handles a mainsail like you, champ. And besides, the beer can races aren’t that serious. It’s recreational. We’re ready.”

  “Beer can races?” Charlotte asked.

  “Every Tuesday night the locals race their sailboats out in the bay. It’s casual and fun. Usually someone ties beer cans to the farthest buoy, and that’s the turning point to come back home. And obviously it’s named for the beer you drink while sailing. The only thing we take seriously is safety. Just a little local race with big bragging rights.”

  “I believe one of the ten commandments of beer can racing is Thou shalt belly up at the yacht club bar afterwards,” Ruthie added.

  Chris piped up, “Well, judging by what I saw today, my money’s on the Mermaids to win.”

  “Who are the Mermaids?” Charlotte asked.

  “That’s us, kid,” Ruthie said as she nudged her. “We are the last of the wily mermaids, the free-spirited sirens of the sea that frolic and play.”

  Charlotte looked at Ruthie and then at Nancy. “Can I be a Mermaid?”

  Ruthie asked, “We don’t have an age minimum, do we, Nancy?”

  “Nope. But we all have to agree.” Nancy looked at her best friends, who all instantly nodded, and said, “You have to pull your weight with the crew.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Charlotte, with an enormous grin.

  “And you have to obey the captain.” Nancy winked at her.

  “Aye, aye, Captain!”

  “And you have to have fun,” Ruthie chimed in. “Thou shalt not worry; thou shalt be happy.”

  “I can do that!” Charlotte said.

  “Consider yourself an honorary Mermaid. First race is five thirty PM on Tuesday. Think you can do that?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Charlotte said again as she gave a formal salute. Suzanne meowed and wandered to the back of the boat toward the pelican. “Oh, hey, Leon.” Charlotte waved at the pelican who sat atop the post nearest to them. Leon shook his head and stretched out one wing.

  Ruthie was massaging her back as Chris delivered a final batch of victory margaritas. Judy was munching on some cheese and crackers and Lois was organizing the lines.

  Nancy sat down and sipped her margarita. Ruthie looked over at Otis. “I think he’s getting used to it,” she said, but Otis looked as wide-eyed and terrified as ever and then peed on the floor. Ruthie looked down at the pee and frowned. “Okay, okay, it’s a process.” Ruthie quickly got up and hosed off where Otis had done his business.

  Lois observed the little dog and said, “Some dogs are shining examples of their breed; some dogs are cautionary tales.”

  “Oh, don’t get so uppity; Otis has a weak bladder,” Ruthie said. “Come on, Otis, we’re going to stop in and see Pete for a few.” She winked at Nancy.

  “That seems to be going well,” Nancy said

  “What can I say? He’s got a thing for lady sailors.”

  “Be gentle with the poor man,” Chris added.

  “Be careful,” Judy said to Ruthie before she hopped off.

  “Of what? What could possibly happen? We’re too old to get pregnant or arrested. Hell, if we did get into trouble, the cops would chalk it up to us being Alzheimer’s patients and let us go. About the worst thing that can happen is we run away from home or get an STD.”

  “Are you planning on going AWOL?” Judy inquired.

  “I don’t know. Anything’s possible,” she said, and gave a casual shrug at the idea.

  “Have you contracted an STD?” Lois quipped.

  “Whoa, I don’t think this is appropriate conversation for a fourteen-year-old,” said the fourteen-year-old.

  “No STDs,” Ruthie said indignantly. “I use condoms.”

  Lois spit out her wine. Judy put the back of her hand to her head in a fainting motion. Charlotte plugged her ears with both fingers. Chris groaned as the too-much-information line had been thoroughly crossed.

  Finally, Nancy said, “Honey, I don’t think they make condoms for your heart.”

  “Oh, hell, don’t worry about me, you old biddies. I’m going to get my kicks before I break a hip or something.”

  “That’s true,” Lois piped up. “Break a hip and you’re a goner. Take Doris Newsom. Healthy as a horse, slipped on an avocado in her own kitchen, fell, and broke her hip. Dead as a doornail two months later.”

  “Jeez, Lois,” Chris said. “Is this why you won’t let me eat avocados anymore?”

  Lois ignored the question and took a sip of her margarita.

  Ruthie tucked Otis under her arm and headed off in the direction of Peter Ellis’s boat. Ruthie’s leaving broke the spell of their little cabal, and everyone decided to call it a night. Charlotte went down to settle into her berth to read a book on knots. Chris and Lois hopped off the boat, hand in hand, leaving Judy to pack up the numerous cheeses she had brought along.

  As Nancy watched Judy walk down the dock, she realized she didn’t know what had happened to Santiago and the ICE agents.

  “Hey Charlotte, you okay if I leave you for a few minutes? I have to check on something.”

  Charlotte nodded as she munched on a cracker with Suzanne in her lap. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’ve just got to check on a friend of mine.”

  “No worries.”

  Nancy blew her a kiss and stepped off the boat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DREDGING UP THE PAST

  Nancy headed over on foot to Santiago’s slip, texting him on the way over. Worry clouded her head as she waited for his return text. She hustled over to his slip and leaned over the side of the boat.

  “Hello? Santiago?”

  All was quiet except for the small splashes of a stand-up paddle boarder who was slowly paddling by.

  “Anyone here?”

  “They took him away,” the paddle boarder said.

  “Who took him? And where?”

  “Guys in white vans.”

  Nancy stood there for a moment, not believing it. ICE had taken Santiago? Why? Nancy then realized that she had no idea if he was a citizen, if he had a Green Card, or if he was illegal. That was the problem when one’s life was shrouded in mystery. No one knew how to help you.

  Nancy walked down the dock to the bathhouse and in the direction of the dock master’s office. Surely Chuck Roverson would k
now what had happened. But when she arrived at his office, it was locked. She peeked through the blinds and saw that his normally messy desk was neat as a pin. Weird.

  Nancy walked back to her boat with her mind reeling with the confirmed news of Santiago’s disappearance.

  When she returned, Charlotte had made them both tea—a sweet gesture—as the moon rose over the stern. Nancy took the cup of tea with a biscuit on the side and sensed a seriousness come over the girl.

  “Gran?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “What happened with Grandpa Rog?”

  Grandpa Rog was what Roger had asked to be called by his grandchild because he was under the impression it made him sound hip. He was sorely mistaken.

  Nancy took a deep breath, not quite certain of how much truth she wanted to share with her granddaughter, who was still innocent in the ways of love. Luckily, she had yet to suffer the agony of heartbreak or the slap of embarrassment that came with a cheating lover.

  “Well, it’s complicated,” Nancy began as she took a small bite of a biscuit.

  “Was he boning someone else?” Charlotte said bluntly.

  Nancy choked on her biscuit and coughed to clear her throat.

  “You can tell me. It’s not like it’s going to totally destroy my vision of Grandpa Rog.”

  Nancy hesitated, not knowing if she should confirm Charlotte’s guess or not.

  “My friend Kaylynn liked this kid named Jonas, but then she found out he was ‘Netflix and chillin’ ’ with someone else. She doesn’t like him anymore.”

  “What is Netflix and chillin’?”

  “Well, when some boy texts you and says, ‘Hey, do you want to come over and watch Netflix and chill?’ what he really means is that he wants to have sex five minutes into the movie.”

  “Charlotte, you’re fourteen.” Nancy tried to hide how appalled she was at her granddaughter’s knowledge of such things as she realized, with growing alarm, that she could not handle it if her sweet grandbaby was going to announce that she was sexually active. Charlotte must have seen Nancy’s expression.

  “Oh no, Gran, not me! Good god, no. Not Kaylynn either. Or any of my close friends. I still play trumpet—not exactly a cool factor in high school. We’re not ready for that kind of thing. Gross.”

  “Oh, thank god. But some of your friends are … er …” She paused, unsure how to ask.

  “Boning? Yes,” Charlotte confirmed. “But only two. And they’re both pretty damaged. One’s dad went to prison, and the other already has a tattoo. On her thigh. Double gross.”

  Nancy allowed herself to breathe as she rejoiced in the knowledge that Charlotte was still just a girl in many ways. Still innocent. At least for now.

  “So, that’s why you left him?”

  Nancy shifted in her seat, uncomfortable answering questions like this from her fourteen-year-old granddaughter, especially since she and her daughter hadn’t talked about it yet. “You could say that is what pushed me to leave, yes. But it turns out I had other reasons that I didn’t even know I had until I got here.” Nancy gestured at the boat and water that surrounded her.

  Charlotte nodded and stared out into the marina. “I think you’re figuring out who you are without Grandpa Rog. And it seems to me like … you like you so far.”

  It was Nancy’s turn to gaze into the distance and take in the unexpected wisdom of the girl’s words.

  Then Charlotte added, “I don’t understand why people cheat. I mean, if you don’t want to be with someone, isn’t it better to be honest and leave? Cheating is just a cheap way to hurt someone. So lame.”

  “I think people cheat because they want to live another life, but they don’t have the courage to stop the one they’re in. It can be hard to do the right thing,” Nancy softly replied.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Is there any way we can keep this between us, Char?”

  Charlotte gave Nancy a hard look. “Mom doesn’t know, does she?”

  Nancy shook her head and found herself ashamed that she couldn’t be honest with her own daughter yet.

  “I won’t tell, Gran. It’s your story. Not mine.”

  Nancy went to give Charlotte a hug, anticipating her typical pull away, but instead Charlotte grabbed her with both arms and hugged her tight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A SQUALL OF LINGERING REGRET

  That night, after she had tucked Charlotte into her berth and left her to snuggle with her orange fish pillow, Nancy went above and sat on the back of the boat. Suzanne soon wandered up and sat next to her as they both watched the lights of the beach town reflect on the water.

  Nancy felt uneasy at the whereabouts of Santiago and Chuck Roverson. But upon deeper reflection, she thought about the day with her granddaughter and the relative triumph of nature over Wi-Fi. She couldn’t wait to tell Stella how well Charlotte had done on the water. It wasn’t so long ago that Stella used to love to sail with her too. She and Roger would take Stella out on Thursday nights for sunset sails. There were plenty of good memories with Roger that she had to tuck away in her mind so she could deal with the current pain. But sometimes the memories came bubbling up anyway.

  She dialed Ruthie’s number and heard the phone ring a couple slips down. Nancy remembered that she was with Ellis. But just when she was about to hang up, Ruthie answered.

  “You okay?”

  “Ruthie, I’m sorry. I forgot you were over there.”

  “Totally okay. Pete’s making us another drink and trying to find the Tito Puente playlist on his phone. What’s up?

  Nancy launched right in. “I’m just sitting here thinking. And I’m … I’m missing Roger.”

  Momentary silence from Ruthie and then, “It’s okay to miss him, Nance.”

  Nancy could feel the hot tears in her eyes as she tried to explain where this was coming from. Even she didn’t quite know. “I just remember how he used to make me feel so safe, how he was so sure that everything was going to be okay. How he would make sure we had everything for a sail. How he would just take care of everything. Having Charlotte here, it makes me feel like I’m not doing all the right things.”

  “Nance,” Ruthie said flatly, “it was you who always made sure you guys had everything for the sail. Not Roger. You got the wine, the sandwiches, the jackets and sweaters. You took care of everything. Hell, didn’t you even change the burned-out light fixture in the boat bathroom?”

  “It’s called a head,” Nancy quietly corrected.

  “Roger had a habit of showing up late or not at all. And when he did, he mucked things up, yelled at his guests, and then blamed you for whatever went wrong. If you’re going to tell stories from the past, at least tell the truth.”

  Nancy sniffed and wiped away a tear. That confused her. She had to think.

  “Nance, it’s okay to miss Roger. Christ, he was your husband and partner for over thirty-some years. But don’t give him hero status in hindsight. His presence might have lent you some feeling of safety, but in the end, it was you who made you feel safe. Roger may have provided the means, but you provided the feeling of safety. He just stole the glory.”

  Nancy smiled and heard a trumpet pipe up in the background. Pete had successfully navigated his phone and located the Latin mood music of Tito Puente. Nancy took the hint and said, “That’s my cue to let you go. I’m okay. Love you, Ruthie.”

  “Back at you, kid,” Ruthie said, and hung up.

  Nancy meandered back through her memories with Roger, only this time she took the rose-colored lens off and tried to see the truth in those recollections. It was true that Nancy had always packed the bag for sailing, and she remembered Roger’s footsteps coming down the dock back then, always rushed, and how it always made her nervous, like a drill sergeant coming for inspection.

  “Did you remember my sunglasses? No, not those ones, the good ones,” he would bark.

  Nancy would quickly dig in her bag and find the good pair. Roger would th
en snatch them away without a thank-you.

  “All right! Let’s head out! Stella, come up here and sit with me. Get me a drink, would ya, Nance?”

  “Mom, I want a lemonade!” Stella mimicking Roger’s bark.

  Nancy would obey, and by the time she returned with refreshments, Roger and Stella would be talking in shorthand. She would try to interject with questions on what they were talking about, but they always left her out. She made drinks, got sandwiches, and pulled lines, but she couldn’t suggest what music to play without a snide joke or comment from the two of them. She felt isolated on those sunset sails, even though she tried tirelessly to fit in with her own family. When the sail was over, the mess was always left for her to clean up. She had always felt like a servant on her own boat.

  Nancy came out of her fog, it seemed, at long last, and began reconciling the Roger of her memories with the Roger of reality. The Roger she thought she knew versus the Roger everyone else knew. Chuck Roverson’s comment echoed in her head: “He’s mean, ma’am; he scares me.” A crystallization of Roger slowly began to appear as she combed through her memories. It was as if someone had gone into her mind and cleaned all the windows at once.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  PIRATE’S CODE OF DISHONOR

  It came as no surprise to Roger Hadley that he got Glenda Hibbert’s voice mail instead of a live person. No one answered their phones anymore, even when they could plainly see who was calling. Ideally, he would be calling from Nancy’s phone, thereby greatly increasing the chances that Glenda would answer, but he didn’t have that luxury. The call went directly to voice mail. Where could the nut ball tree hugger be? Roger took a quick sip of his old-fashioned on the barstool at his favorite local watering hole, Laurel Tavern.

  “You’ve reached Glenda Hibbert with the California Coastal Commission. Please leave a detailed message, and I’ll return your call. Complaints can be addressed via email to Ghibbert at CCC dot com.”