by T. Greenwood
Brenda waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t y’all worry about that. Those cabins would just be sittin’ empty anyways. You take all the time you need.”
* * *
They waited at the Holiday Inn for only an hour or so for Lorenzo to show up with the tow truck and Marsha’s car. The mermaids went back to the theater for the next show, but Ginny and Marsha stayed, nursing their cups of coffee and sharing a slice of key lime pie with extra whipped cream. Rain pelted the glass of the restaurant window as they watched the tow guy unload the Dart under the carport of a defunct gas station next door, and, as promised, after just about an hour under the hood, Lorenzo had repaired the cracked radiator.
“Good as new,” he said, as he joined them at the table.
Marsha thanked him again and offered to pay for a room for him at the Holiday Inn.
“That’s okay. I’m going to head over to see a buddy in Orlando tonight and start back north tomorrow. I did what Gabe sent me down to do.”
“Can I do anything to thank you?” Marsha asked. “Buy you some dinner? Pay for your gas, at least?”
Lorenzo winked. “Just remember your promise. Call Gabe.”
* * *
Brenda’s family’s orange groves were about a half hour drive south of Weeki Wachee, just north of Tampa. Brenda drove an old woodie station wagon, which Marsha followed closely behind in the resuscitated Dart. They arrived just before nightfall at an old white farmhouse with a wraparound porch, coming into view as a silhouette. Brenda and Theresa drove past the house and down a short dirt road, where, as promised, there were a series of old cottages, each with its own porch.
Brenda parked the car.
“Let me show you around. We’ll unload the car when the rain lets up.”
They followed her into a dark little one-room cottage. “There’s a little cook stove,” Brenda said, gesturing like a tour guide or a realtor. “A mini-fridge. There are bathrooms and showers out back, but you can come to the big house for all that. I asked my mama to put some clean sheets on the beds. She also has an old crib we can bring down from the attic for the baby.”
Peyton went straight to the bed and appeared to be searching for something.
“Did you lose something?” Ginny asked.
“I’m looking for the Magic Fingers!” he said.
Theresa let out a howl. “What kinda places you been staying, sis?” she asked. “Let’s go up to the house and you can get cleaned up and make whatever calls you need to make. We can get you settled down here later.”
* * *
Brenda’s mother, Lois, greeted them inside with coffee and hugs. Ginny was taken aback by her warm and seemingly indiscriminate affection. The house was bright and cheerful. Feminine touches everywhere: frilly curtains and doilies and ruffled lampshades. Lois, an older version of her golden daughter, smelled like soap and citrus. The Carol Burnett Show was on a small television in the dining room. The same show she’d been watching when Marsha called to tell her about the exposé just a week ago. She could hardly fathom all that had happened in the last week.
“If y’all have any dirty laundry, you just bring it up here, and I’ll throw in a load. I bet y’all could use a nice warm bath, too,” Lois said.
Ginny wanted nothing more than to sink into a hot tub. She hadn’t had a bath since they left Massachusetts. But she also knew that she needed to call her mother, let her know they’d finally arrived safely. And the kids needed baths more than she did.
“You look like somebody who might like chocolate chip cookies?” Lois said, bending down to Peyton.
He nodded, grinning.
“Terra, hon, can you bring that starving child into the kitchen and get him some cookies?”
Theresa smiled, took Peyton’s hand, and led him into the kitchen.
“Let me take the baby,” Marsha said, reaching for Lucy. “I’ll get her cleaned up down here. You go on upstairs and take a nice hot bath.”
“I really need to call my mom,” Ginny said.
“Take a nice soak first. Wash the road off.”
Ginny wanted to cry. All this kindness. All these women caring for each other. As she climbed the stairs, warm towels fresh from the dryer in her arms, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She found the bathroom at the end of the hallway as promised. It was clean and bright, with a deep porcelain tub. When she ran the water, it nearly steamed with heat. She even found a box of clumpy Calgon, which she tipped into the water, creating sweetly scented bubbles that she sank into up to her chin.
For the first time in a week, she was alone. Blissfully and completely alone. Still, while her body relaxed, her mind raced. She’d been so intent on the journey, she hadn’t given much thought to the destination. They’d arrived, but to what future? She was penniless. With two children. And worse, one of those children did not even legally belong to her. She was a fugitive. An outlaw. Lorenzo, thankfully, had not been sent by the FBI or Ab, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still being followed. They might have reached their destination, but that didn’t mean they were safe.
For the first time in a week, Ginny allowed the emotions she’d been keeping inside to spill out. She cried big hiccupping sobs, tears running hot down her cheeks and into the water. She allowed the sorrow to rush over her in waves. She slipped under the water and wished she could simply grow a tail.
She recalled the Hans Christian Andersen story “The Little Mermaid”—her father had gotten her an illustrated collection of fairy tales when she was a girl. Even as a young child, she’d thought that the little mermaid was no more than a foolish fish who gave up her voice, her magical life under the sea, just for a man. She could have stayed in her watery home with her sisters, but the temptation of love was too much. And at what cost? She was rendered mute, the prince fell in love with another girl, and even when she was given the chance to return to the sea by taking the prince’s life, she was unable to do so, and instead hurled herself into the water. What a fool, she’d thought. She’d never sacrifice herself for a man.
But then, here she was. Living a life she’d never planned to live. Making sacrifices she would once never have dreamed of making. Maybe she, too, was a fool. Maybe they all were.
She stayed in the tub until the water grew cold, and afterward wrapped herself in the fluffy robe that Lois had offered her. Her fingers were wrinkled into prunes, but at last her heart had slowed. Outside, the wind had calmed, and when she peered through the window, there was no rain falling. Perhaps the storm had passed. Still, the idea of making the trek back to the sleeping quarters seemed impossible.
Downstairs, Marsha had cleaned Lucy up and put her in a pair of fresh pajamas. Peyton was watching TV, eating cookies, and slurping from a tall glass of milk.
Ginny entered the kitchen to find the women sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee. There was a man there as well, which startled Ginny, and she pulled the robe more tightly around her.
He was maybe in his midtwenties, but his face was damaged with scars that made his features look like melted wax. She sucked in her breath and then caught herself. Isn’t this exactly what she’d abhorred about taking Lucy out in public: other people’s instinctual shrinking away?
“Ginny!” Theresa said brightly. “This is Brenda’s boyfriend, Tony.”
He stood up and reached his hand out. “You can call me Brooder,” he said. When he smiled, only half of his mouth rose. Brenda had mentioned at lunch that he’d been in Vietnam; she wondered if this was where he’d gotten burned.
“Nice to meet you,” Ginny managed. No wonder Brenda hadn’t even flinched when she’d met Lucy.
“Now that the storm’s passed, I think we’re all gonna go out for a drink,” Theresa said. “Maybe some dancing?”
“You wanna come?” Brenda asked Ginny. “I’m sure Mama wouldn’t mind watching the kids.”
Ginny shook her head. “Oh, no, thank you. I need to call home. I’m exhausted.”
Marsha said, “Yeah, we should
probably just get some sleep.”
“No,” Ginny said. “You should go. Have fun.”
“Well then, why don’t you sleep in my room tonight,” Brenda said. “I can sleep on the couch when we get back, and we’ll get you set up in the cottage tomorrow.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Ginny said, relieved not to have to go out again. “Thank you.”
“You sure you don’t mind if I go?” Marsha asked. “I could really stand to blow off some steam.”
“Absolutely. Go have fun. I am dead tired.”
* * *
After they were gone, Ginny asked Lois if she could use their phone to make a collect call, and Lois pointed her to a back room where she found a telephone and a comfortable chair. It seemed to be an office of sorts. Theresa had explained that Brenda’s brother, Bobby, was the one who ran the orchard now that Brenda’s father had passed. Bobby lived down in Tampa, drove up each day for work. It was just the women who lived there: Brenda, Lois, Theresa, and any other mermaids in need of a place to stay while they got on their “feet.”
* * *
Ginny dialed her mother’s number, asking the operator to reverse the charges. There was a pause after the charges were accepted, but it was a male voice on the other end of the line.
“Gin,” he said.
Ab? Her skin grew hot, and she felt sweat rolling down her sides. Her chest ached: with loss and anger. Relief and fear. Why was he answering her mother’s phone?
“Ginny?” he said again. She hadn’t spoken to Ab in nearly a week. His voice felt both remarkably strange and oddly familiar.
“What are you doing there? I called for Mama,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, she’s fine. Oh, my God, I can’t believe it’s finally you. You’re okay? How is Peyton?”
She needed to hold firm, to not crumble under the weight of whatever he might have to say. “I called for Mama.”
He coughed softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been, we’ve just been so worried. I’ve been staying on your mother’s couch for the last few nights, hoping you’d call. How’s Peyton? Are you okay? Peyton?”
“Ab, aren’t you going to ask about her, too? About Lucy?” she asked, feeling her shoulders stiffen, her back straighten with purpose. With resolve.
“Yes, yes, of course. Is the baby alright?”
“She’s not a baby. Not anymore. She’s two years old.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. She wondered where her mother was.
“Where are you?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he said softly, “I just need to know you’re safe. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I’m safe,” she said, but even as she did, the branch of a tree scraped against the window, startling her, and the wind howled an awful lament.
“I got a call from a repair shop in Savannah, Georgia,” Ab said. “He said you and another woman had come in with a car from Virginia that was overheating. Who are you with? Is Marsha there with you?”
She thought of everything that had transpired on the road, the miles and miles between them now.
She shook her head. “Please don’t ask any more questions.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I am so sorry, Gin. But this is crazy. You took our child, our son, and ran away. In the eyes of the law, you kidnapped her. Do you realize the danger you put everyone in? This is the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. This isn’t you,” he added, clearly exasperated.
“What do you mean, not me?” she asked.
“I just … I feel like I can’t trust you anymore.”
“Trust? You can’t trust me?” She snorted and thought about slamming the phone down on its waiting cradle. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? I trusted you that our daughter was going to be taken somewhere safe. I trusted you when you said it was the best thing for her. I trusted you when you promised me this. But you lied about everything. That place is a freaking hellhole, Ab. And you and your father are defending it. Those children are human beings. They are daughters and sons, and they are being treated like animals. The fact that you refuse to even consider this is beyond belief. You say you don’t know me anymore, but I’m starting to think I never knew you.”
There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line.
“Gin,” he said finally after drawing a deep breath. “I’ve been in touch with the school. I pleaded with them not to do anything drastic. They’re giving us until Sunday evening to return her. I can wire enough money for you to fly home from wherever the hell you are. But if you don’t come home, there is literally nothing I can do. They’ll send out a warrant for your arrest. They’ll notify law enforcement in all fifty states. Your phone calls here will be traced, and they will find you. Do you have any idea what this means? Do you even care?”
“What does your father say?” she asked venomously.
“My father?”
“Yes. I know he’s behind all of this. He’ s behind everything. I love you, Ab. I really do, but this has made me lose respect for you.” The words came forth in a rush, a dam let open followed by a flood of thoughts she hadn’t articulated since the first time that Abbott Senior commandeered their lives.
“Well, if you really want to know,” he said, “he doesn’t even know I’ve been in communication with the school. To negotiate. If he did, I’m pretty sure he’d have me packing up my office. This is a huge case for the firm. There are thousands and thousands of dollars at stake.”
Ginny balked. “So there it is,” she said bitterly. “It’s about money. The bottom line that would have you separate a child from her own family. That would damn a little girl to hell. For a job.”
“Gin,” he said. “My job is what keeps a roof over your head. It pays for the food on your plate. The clothes on your back. It’s what keeps you from peeling potatoes in some cafeteria.”
This felt like a slap, a bite. She thought of her mother, who since Ginny was ten years old had toiled away in the Amherst cafeteria, cooking for all those ambitious men. For all those other mothers’ sons. She had arthritis in her fingers from peeling potatoes. The work had crippled her.
“Do not bring my mother into this,” she said and then remembered it was her mother she had called. Her mother she had wanted to speak to.
“I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean—”
“Where is she? I need to talk to my mother.”
Ab was quiet. In the other room, she heard Lucy cry out, the rumble of that awful cough she’d been battling since they crossed over from Georgia into Florida.
“She’s downstairs at your aunt’s. She’s not feeling well,” he said. “She’s torn up about all of this. Just so you know. I told her what could happen to you. That what you’ve done could get you arrested. Could cause you to lose your son.”
Ginny felt a surge of sadness flood her senses.
“Is she okay?” she asked.
“Bonnie’s taking her in to see the doctor in the morning. Her heart’s been skipping beats. Arrhythmia?”
Ginny felt nauseous.
“Ginny, please just tell me where to send the money. Bring Peyton home. Bring her back.”
“You can’t even say her name, can you?” she said in disbelief.
“Please, Gin. God, please just do what’s right.”
What was right? There was no moral ambiguity here, if that was what he was suggesting. The fact that her husband insisted on defending a virtual prison to save a few dollars was morally corrupt. The fact that after all that she had been through, he was still just a ventriloquist’s dummy, his father’s hand up his back, his father’s words coming out of his mouth, was what was wrong here.
“I’m sorry, Ab,” she said. “I’m not returning her to the school.”
She heard him sigh in frustration. But just as he was about to protest, she said firmly, “Ab, please. You just do what’s right.”
She was trembling as she slammed the phone down onto its cradle.
There wa
s a small knock at the door, and Lois poked her head in. “Hey. I’m worried your little one might have a fever,” she said. “She’s got a pretty bad cough, too.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said. “I’m almost done. And thanks for letting me use your phone. I need to make one more quick call. Tell the kids I’ll be right out in a second. Oh, wait—can you tell me where the closest Western Union is?”
“There’s got to be one down in Tampa,” she said. “There’s a Yellow Pages in the desk drawer.” She closed the door again.
She called her aunt Bonnie’s house this time and asked the operator to reverse the charges.
“Mama,” she said when Bonnie put her on the phone. “Are you okay? Ab said your heart’s skipping beats?”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But listen, I need you to wire me some money. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. And you have to promise you won’t tell a soul where I am.”
“Of course,” she said.
Thirty-one
September 1971
Peyton had fallen asleep on the couch, but Lois was holding Lucy, cradling her more like an infant than a toddler.
Ginny went to pick Lucy up, but just as she reached for her, Lucy began to cough again. It was explosive, a croupy wet cough. Her face was red with the effort. She’d had just a small cough in the car; when had it turned into this?
“Oh, my goodness,” Ginny said, holding out her arms so that Lois could transfer her into them.
Her body was emanating heat.
“Oh, honey,” she said, brushing Lucy’s curls off her face to feel her forehead. She was burning up. Ginny looked up at Lois. “Do you have a thermometer?”
“Yes,” she said. “You think you can get her to hold it under her tongue?”
“God, I don’t know.” The idea of having to use a rectal thermometer on Lucy was so daunting. She avoided it at all costs with Peyton. “I’ll try.”
She was only able to get Lucy to keep the thermometer in her mouth for about thirty seconds before she began to shake her head and cry. But even in that short period of time, the mercury crept up to over 101 degrees. If she had to guess, she’d say that Lucy was approaching 104 or 105.
