“Mom, I didn’t—” Stella began, but couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
Nancy, looked back at her daughter, all the light in her eyes gone, and said, “It’s okay, honey.”
“Mom, wait!”
Nancy turned toward the dock and walked away, her daughter stilted and pleading for her to come back. Nancy kept walking.
* * *
When Stella got back into the car, she found an irate daughter facing her.
“What did you say to Gran?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s between me and Gran,” Stella said sullenly.
“Mom, stop treating me like I don’t know what’s going on! What did you say to her?” Charlotte demanded. “You hurt her! I can tell.”
Frustrated, Stella snapped, “Don’t you think it’s time for you to hang out with people your own age? Go with your friends. Play a little volleyball.”
“Volleyball?” Charlotte held out a handful of her purple hair. “Mom, do you even know who I am?”
“Listen, Charlotte, it’s summer. At the beach. Most kids would die to live where you do. And I would rather have you hang out with your friends. Whatever happened to Joanna Craven? You guys were tight for a long time. Plus, I think she’s smart enough to get into Stanford.”
Charlotte looked at her mom like she was a loon. “What does Stanford have to do with anything?”
“Joanna has been your friend since kindergarten. I’m just saying, hon, connections are what make the world go round. With the right connections, you can be highly successful in your future life. Plus, maybe you can learn how to golf. A valuable life skill like coding.”
“Golf. Coding. Really.” Charlotte’s deadpan delivery was potent.
“I’m just looking out for you,” Stella said with concern, as she touched her daughter’s knee.
“No, you’re not.” Charlotte removed her mom’s hand. “My success or failure reflects on you, Mom, and you care way too much about money.”
“That’s not true! I just want you to be happy.”
“When you say happy, though, you don’t mean happy. You mean rich. You mean ‘connected.’ ” Charlotte used air quotes.
“I do not,” Stella sputtered.
“You think it’s about salaries and titles and home values and 401(k)s. But guess what, Mom, you have all of those things. And you’re not happy.”
“I am happy!” Stella roared.
“Sounds like it.” Charlotte stared out the window.
Stella caught herself and took a deep breath. She continued, “Listen, I just don’t want you to screw up your life.”
“How am I screwing up my life by learning to sail with my grandmother! Mom, you are clueless! She’s surrounded by her best friends, she knows exactly who she is, and she is not afraid of anything. Gran is rich, but not because of money. She’s happy. And you want me to hang out with Joanna. Weed-vaping, sex-having Joanna Craven.” Charlotte then abruptly stopped her tirade. She had said too much.
Stella sat in the driver’s seat, mouth agape. “Joanna Craven is having sex and smoking weed?” she asked with genuine astonishment.
Charlotte shook her head. “Not everyone is who they seem, Mom. And that includes Grandpa Rog.”
Charlotte reached for the door and got out. She announced, “I’m riding my bike home.”
Stella was dumbfounded by Charlotte’s outburst and her revelation about Joanna Craven. Not to mention whatever Charlotte meant about her dad.
Stella knew she had hurt her mother with her words. But damn it if it wasn’t true. There was no way she was going to let Charlotte waste her potential. Her father had taught her to be strong, to succeed, to achieve. These were the very attributes that had led her to be able to create a life of privilege for her daughter to enjoy. It was disturbing that Charlotte didn’t think she was happy. Of course she was happy. Who wouldn’t be, with a gorgeous home in Manhattan Beach, a newly leased Porsche Cayenne, and a vacation condo in Kauai, all of which was reflected in her annual Christmas letter? Still, something prickled at the edges of her mind. Or was it her heart?
CHAPTER THIRTY
IT NEVER RAINS IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
It was late afternoon when Nancy heard the gentle patter of raindrops on the deck of the boat. The rain falling on the surrounding water sounded like the tinkle of piano keys all around her, quieting the usual sounds of the marina. The low-hanging gray clouds created a soothing light inside the boat. The familiar squawk of sea gulls was muted as they holed up in their hiding places. The usual din of boat motors in the distance was absent as well. Even Leon the pelican was nowhere to be found. Nancy got up and made coffee. Rain being a rare and wonderful thing in Southern California, she grabbed a blanket and sat under her canopy.
It had been drizzling most of the day as she sat with her thoughts and sipped her coffee. She’d let Suzanne snuggle in next to her as she ruminated on her conversation with Stella. She had long understood that she and her daughter weren’t alike and that it lent itself to a certain distance between them. They weren’t close like some mothers and daughters. They didn’t get together for the random glass of wine on a Tuesday night to talk about love lives and little things. They didn’t get their nails done or plan spa treatments together. Nancy felt deprived of that vital bond. But even though she hadn’t experienced it, it hadn’t stopped her from trying. That was the thing about moms and daughters, she thought. Even when it seemed like you were worlds apart, the bond remained, like a fine, unbreakable thread. Nancy loved Stella more than anything in the world. She knew her daughter needed a mother, even if Stella didn’t know it.
But it hurt to know that Stella thought she was a failure at her own life. It was a jarring and painful realization that being a good and devoted mother to Stella had not been nearly enough. While Nancy had Stella young, she had never thought that her surprise pregnancy was a mistake. She didn’t think about what she had given up. It was in Nancy’s nature to forge on with motherhood and embrace its gifts, to make her daughter feel intended and totally loved, just as her mother Grace had done for her.
But Stella was different. Stella, also pregnant young, resented the mistake of becoming a young mother. Somehow it had made her feel stupid. She’d also made it sound like she hated it more because she was following in Nancy’s footsteps. Perhaps that was why Stella put her career first—to undo the damage of her young pregnancy, to prove that she was more than her mother. As a result of Nancy’s lack of accomplishment, Stella was now forcing her ambitions onto her own daughter, not realizing that Charlotte might not exactly consider Stella a living inspiration.
She sighed heavily, wondering if this entire new chapter of her life might have been a big mistake. So far, her presence in the marina had caused nothing but problems. Stella was mad at her; Charlotte was mad at Stella; Roger was furious at everybody, including Mac and Tony; Santiago had been allegedly hauled off by ICE; and Chuck Roverson had gotten fired. All ostensibly because of her. Nancy wondered if it was too late to undo the damage.
She heard quiet footsteps approach. To her great and delighted surprise, Santiago appeared in front of her in a green canvas coat, wet from the rain. He was smiling under his usual navy tam, coffee cup in hand.
“Permission to come aboard?” Santiago said with a twinkle in his eye.
Nancy broke into a huge smile of relief and waved him up.
As soon as Santiago climbed into the cockpit, Nancy gave him a huge hug. “You had me worried, Santiago.” Then she released him and scolded. “It’s not good to leave a woman at my age alone with her worry.”
Santiago chuckled. “My apologies indeed. My friends over at Immigration wanted a word with me.”
“What happened? I knew you were in trouble, but I had no way to reach you.”
Santiago sighed and then said, “It is a long story.”
“How about a drink?”
He nodded.
She went to the salon and returned with two glasses and
a carafe of chilled white wine. They toasted.
“Thank god you’re back and safe. I missed you—I mean, we missed you,” Nancy said, trying to lessen her overenthusiastic concern. “What happened exactly? Does this mean you’re being deported?”
Santiago chuckled. “No, no, madam. I have been a citizen since 1977.”
Nancy shook her head slightly. “There’s a lot about you I don’t know, Santiago. That should change.”
He agreed. “Indeed. I am a quiet man.”
“A quiet man from, say, Cuba?”
“Wrong country,” Santiago replied, his sea-green eyes squinting just so.
He switched topics. “Odd though, don’t you think, that ICE showed up out of the blue, no?”
Nancy acknowledged it. “True. It’s not like King Harbor is a haven for illegals.”
Santiago took a sip of wine. “I have a friend in a very high place. After I was interrogated for over four hours by two rather green and unfriendly ICE agents who considered my paperwork fake, they let me talk to a supervisor, who quickly figured out who I was and my legal status as a citizen.”
A warm breeze blew up the channel, ruffling the napkins on the table and mussing Nancy’s hair. She looked into the direction of the wind, breathed it in, and then let out a long, slow exhale.
“This wind, it’s so unusual for this time of year.”
Santiago nodded knowingly. “Ah, the Winds of the Yamagaia.”
“The who?”
“An ancient Mayan wind. The Yamagaia, as she is known. The wild spirit of change.”
“I’ve never heard of the Winds of Yamagaia.”
“The legend says the winds come around once every few decades to unsettle things, to mix them up, to challenge what has been. The legend says that it also brings strength to those in need.”
That wonderful wind. Nancy sat silent for a moment, contemplating a force beyond her control. She thought of all that had transpired over the last few weeks. Perhaps the Winds of Yamagaia had been helping her all along, as if clearing the way.
“Maybe I needed that wind.”
She and Santiago quietly took another sip of their wine, the silence comfortable between them.
Then Santiago cleared his throat and said, “I made a phone call to my old friend. I found out that someone tipped the ICE that I was illegal.”
“Who would do that?”
“Who indeed.” Santiago stared at Nancy.
Nancy looked back at Santiago, her brow furrowed, thinking. She didn’t know anyone who would put in a false call with the intention of ruining someone’s life. But then a previously hazy window in her mind became clear. A small flutter of fear leapt in her chest.
“Roger?” She whispered his name, hoping Santiago would refute it.
Santiago said nothing.
Nancy seemed to sink in her seat as she realized the truth. She was well aware of Roger’s ruthlessness. But this was next-level despicable.
“Why?” It was all Nancy could say as she sat there clutching her wineglass.
“Roger Hadley strikes me as a man who always gets what he wants.”
“That’s true.” She paused. “So, what does he want?”
“You. Back.”
“No, he doesn’t want me. He wants to win.” Roger had unleashed his wrath upon her friends, neighbors, and the harmless dock master. She felt guilt, followed by a need to make everything right.
Santiago sipped his wine and nodded sadly. “Whatever he wants, it appears he will stop at nothing to get it. He is not a man who backs down from a fight.”
“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Nancy said quietly.
She fiddled with her wineglass and then lifted her eyes to Santiago’s.
“Fight back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROGUE WAVES
Having walked up three flights of stairs from the garage with a fresh bottle of bourbon, Roger huffed his way into the kitchen and retrieved a rocks glass. He was daydreaming about how he would reward himself with an elevator after his blockbuster deal, the Bayside Urban Renovation Project, aka the BURP, closed, when his phone rang. It was Claire.
“Hello, lover,” Claire purred. At the sound of his heavy breathing, she changed her tune. “What’s wrong? You sound like you’ve been hauling a water buffalo up the stairs. Was her name Nancy?” Claire chuckled at her own joke.
“Funny,” Roger managed to get out before bending over to catch his breath.
“Roger?”
“I’m here. I’m just a little winded.”
“Well, I’m about five minutes away. Can you come give me the parking pass?”
This request, while seemingly small, felt like the equivalent of climbing back down Mount Everest in his current winded state. His chest felt tight, heavy. “For fuck’s sake, just park in the driveway and you can grab it later.”
“Don’t be so grouchy.”
“The investors called. They need an assurance by next week or they’re pulling out. They said it felt like we were being ‘disingenuous,’ ” he growled.
“Shit.”
“That’s not very helpful, Claire.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Roger. You were the one who was supposed to get that hippie woman to vote in favor of our entire pier renovation. Otherwise it’s curtains.”
“I’m working on it!” he bellowed. He was still trying to catch his breath.
Roger sat down on a barstool and felt a slight flutter in his chest. Was that a palpitation? Nah, he’d just had a stress test.
But then Roger recalled all those horror stories his golf buddies had told him about some poor bastard who had been confidently pronounced fit as a fiddle by his doctor, only to croak on the fourteenth fairway the very next day. Roger was sweating too but he blamed that on his insane thermostat, which had a mind of its own. He’d made a note to get that thing fixed or destroyed. He fumbled with the plastic wrapping on the bourbon and finally got it open with the help of a nearby steak knife. He poured a finger of the golden-brown liquor into his glass. Before he took a sip, he tried to take a deep breath. A sharp pain, like an ice pick in his ribs, gripped him.
At that moment, Claire came up the stairs wearing a dress with pieces strategically cut out of the shoulders and waist, her gold hoop earrings almost as big as her head. Roger took one look at her and fell off the barstool, clutching his chest.
He heard Claire gasp and then fumble with her phone. “Hello? Hello? Is this nine-one-one?” he heard her say. “What’s your address, Roger?” she screamed at him.
He lay on his side as the ocean view darkened in front of him. Either he was dying or a storm must be forming just off the coast. All he could think about was how he was surrounded by idiots. A bizarre last thought for a dying man.
* * *
Back on Gypsea, the rain had stopped. The temperature had cooled, prompting Nancy to bring up two light blankets for her and Santiago. The moon peaked out from silvery clouds, and the air smelled like minerals and salt. Nancy lit a small candle and put it in the center of the table. They had just finished the carafe of white wine and were considering another when Santiago reached out and gently touched Nancy’s shoulder. It was electrifying. She leaned in, as if drawn by a magnetic force toward Santiago’s sparkling blue eyes. He came forward too.
Nancy’s cell phone rang.
Santiago moved back to his original position, and the moment fizzled like a lame firework.
She picked it up and saw that Stella was calling. She immediately answered. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Mom, Dad’s in the hospital. They think it’s a heart attack.”
“You’re kidding. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
Nancy hung up. She looked at Santiago and his ever-patient gaze and said, “I have to go.”
“You do?”
“Yes, Roger’s in the hospital. They think it’s a heart attack.” Nancy looked at Santiago almost a beat too long. He had to know what she was thi
nking. “Don’t get me wrong; there’s a part of me that thinks the shit got exactly what he deserves, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t at least check on him. Thirty-six years of marriage is hard to ignore.” She shrugged helplessly.
“It’s your kindness, Nancy. You have a good heart.”
“Ruthie says I have a guilt complex and an outsized sense of duty.”
“Maybe. But it’s a lucky man who has you by his side.” Santiago placed his empty wineglass on the table and got up. “Go. I’ll clean up.”
“But,” Nancy faltered, “maybe we can pick up where we left off later tonight?” she asked, hoping to not totally chill the moment she never thought would happen.
“Take care of your family.” Santiago kissed her hand and picked up the glasses.
Somehow that sounded like a no. Nancy sighed heavily before alarm mode took over. She gathered her rain jacket, grabbed her key, and headed to the hospital.
As she was walking up the dock, Nancy saw a bolt of lightning hit somewhere out at sea and light up the early-evening sky. She felt the rumble of thunder, as if the gods themselves were giving her an ominous warning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BAD MOON ON THE HORIZON
Nancy hated hospitals. The scent of industrial-strength cleanser, the beeping and whirring of machinery, the moans of patients in varying degrees of pain and discomfort. Remembering her mother’s blithe spirit moving between planes under the glow of fluorescent lights made her stomach tighten the minute she walked through the automatic doors. She quickly located Roger’s room and gently knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she heard a female voice say.
Beware the Mermaids Page 19
