My thoughts surprised me. Just in case of what? In case I brought a man to my bedroom? Yep, that was exactly in case of what. Rather than feeling embarrassed about it, the idea of lying naked with Cooper in my bed thrilled me. I imagined his lean body next to mine. I imagined entwining my fingers in his and feeling his body below me, our flesh pressed against one another. It had been so long since I’d made love to anyone. Maybe I could allow myself just one last hurrah.
I turned to my closet. Alice was right, time to let my inner mermaid shine. Now, where was that blue sequin dress?
Chapter 7: Cooper
I got home just before the nausea smacked me hard. I should have known from that first wave at The Glass Mermaid that I was in for a rough day, but the events that unfolded thereafter had caught me so off guard that I’d forgotten, for a moment, about my illness.
Once back in Gran’s house, however, there was no forgetting. I rushed to the bathroom and unceremoniously threw up my paltry breakfast. But that was just the start of it. I dragged myself to the living room, lay down on Gran’s old flower print couch, and barfed up air and stomach acid for the next two hours.
Using every bit of willpower I had, I forced myself into the kitchen to grab a ginger ale and some meds. The doc told me that the nausea would only be bad like this after the chemo, but it wasn’t true. It had been more than two months since my last treatment, and the nausea still hadn’t gone away.
I sat at the kitchen table sipping the drink and staring at the magnets covering Gran’s fridge. As I did so, I was taken back to my childhood, and I suddenly remembered sitting in the exact same spot, looking at the exact same magnets, drinking the same soda, while I listened to my mother retching in the bathroom. Gran had spoken softly, trying to soothe and comfort her. They didn’t know it was cancer until my mother was but skin and bones. She was gone just three months after they realized cancer was shredding her pancreas and ripping through her whole body. When I first got sick, I’d thought it was the flu. I’d hoped it was the flu. But it lasted too long, and I knew before the doctor had even told me.
“You’re young and strong,” had been the words that followed the first prognosis. “You’ll beat it.”
But the words changed as the months passed. “Pancreatic cancer is one of the most aggressive forms of cancer. It’ll be a hard fight. You said your mother died from it?”
And then the conversation dissolved into “we can continue the chemo but there isn’t much point in torturing your body. It will be a more peaceful end without it…plan on six months.”
My mother died when she was thirty. I’d turn thirty-one in June.
I took another sip then headed to bed. Even though my gran was gone, I still couldn’t bring myself to sleep in her room. The master bedroom was much larger than the small spare room with its twin bed, but each time I looked into Gran’s room, her crocheted coverlet on the bed, her perfume bottles sitting on a dresser filled with her clothes, I didn’t have the heart to touch it. I’d leave it like that to remember her. And when I was gone, her friends could sort her things more easily.
Flopping down on the stiff twin bed, I closed my eyes. With a little luck, the medicine would bring me some relief, and I could sleep through the worst of it. As I drifted off, my mind turned to Kate, her laugh, her smile. I’d never really loved a woman my whole life. Now, I finally met someone who made me feel in ways I’d never felt before. But I would be thirty-one next month. Fate had a wicked sense of humor.
* * *
I woke up around dinner time, my stomach aching with hunger. The vomiting had cleaned me out, and I’d slept through lunch. I was famished.
When I pushed off my blankets, I discovered it was freezing in the house. I grabbed my sweatshirt then went into the kitchen where I made myself some toast and a cup of tea. From outside, I heard kids laughing. Standing at the sink, I looked out the window above to see three boys in cut-off jean shorts burning down the street on their bikes, fishing poles tucked under their arms like javelins. They were headed toward the path that ran along Frog Creek which emptied out into the lake. I grinned and spooned sugar into my tea. I gazed up at the horizon. It looked like it might rain, but there was still time to get a quick painting done. I’d sworn I would paint every sunrise and sunset, reminding myself to relish each day I had left. Besides, I wanted to catch Kate on her evening walk. Maybe I could find her another piece of beach glass.
I ate my meager meal quickly. While I still felt hungry, I decided not to push my stomach. I headed out with a watercolor pad and simple paint and brush kit stashed in my bag. This would be sunset forty-four. How many more sunsets would I be able to capture before…? I’d given up the hope that I could beat the cancer. It had already spread from my pancreas into my lymph nodes. I was a doomed man. The sunsets and sunrises reminded me that every day was a gift. I just had to remember to cherish what was right in front of me.
Taking the path through the woods, I got to the beach just as the sun was setting. The boys, no doubt up to no good, had ditched their bikes at the end of the path in search of bigger adventures. I smiled, remembering myself in them. I headed down the pebble-lined beach, past Kate’s house—no lights were on—to a spot out of the wind just down a ways from her boardwalk.
I pulled out my watercolor pad, paint, and brushes, wetting the paint with some lake water, then got to work. The sky in the distance was dark. Somewhere over Canada, it must have been raining. I pulled out my phone and checked the weather. Sure enough, there were evening storms in the forecast. I’d have to work fast. But more than that, I was disappointed. If it rained, I’d have to wait until tomorrow night to see Kate. Or would I?
Sketching first with my pencil, I drew Kate walking along the beach. I dipped my brush into the yellow, mellowing it with white, and painted her hair. With careful strokes, I recreated her straw-colored tresses. Nagging nausea threatened, but I ignored it, fighting back the waves. I’d forgotten to take another dose of medicine before I left. No doubt I’d pay for it before the night ended. I turned back to the painting. Moving my brush slowly and carefully, I painted the luscious curves of her body, her white T-shirt and tan slacks, working to get her arms and feet just the right shade. I was working so intently on the painting that I was surprised when I heard the first crack of lightning in the distance followed by rolling thunder.
Frowning, I glazed at the horizon. Again, I was wracked by nausea. This time I had to fight back bile as I bent over in terrible pain. Between the weather and my body, I was done for the night. I packed up my supplies, stuffed the painting into a large Ziploc bag, and turned to head back up the beach. When I walked past Kate’s house, I saw the lights were still off. I debated, deciding it was probably pushing it too much to show up at her doorstep. I headed down the beach. A few minutes later, rain began to fall.
“Great,” I muttered, pulling up my hood. Of course I hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella.
I was almost to the forest path when the nausea grabbed me again. This time, however, it was accompanied by a sharp pain that took my breath away. I bent over, tried to breathe deeply, blowing out the pain just like I’d taught the children to do at Dolphin Key Sanctuary. After a moment, the pain resided, and I hurried toward the woods. I had no business out in the rain and no idea what the hell was hurting like that. I needed to get back. I needed to phone the on-call doctor.
I passed the bikes and headed down the small path that would eventually empty out on Juniper Lane. Under the shelter of the trees, the rain let up a bit but the thunder rolled and lightning cracked over the lake. The scents of pine and earth perfumed the air. I tried to breathe in deeply, to calm myself, but a moment later, a terrible pain stabbed my side, stopping me mid-step. Gasping, I leaned against a tree. I knew what would come next. I set down my pack, not wanting to puke all over it, then stepped away and began retching. Tea and toast hurled out of my stomach as a strange pain pierced my side. I gasped loudly as nausea hit me then with a terrible force, making m
e wretch so hard I fell to my knees. The pink pine needles cushioned my hands as I vomited, my stomach contracting over and over again. The lightning cracked and this time, I felt like it had struck me in the side. Black spots appeared before my eyes, and I crashed onto the ground.
* * *
“Mister?” I heard a soft voice call. “Hey, mister, are you all right?”
“Is he dead?” another, more distant voice, asked.
“Shut up, Scott. He’s sick or something. Mister?” Someone shook my shoulder.
I opened my eyes a crack. In a haze, I saw three young boys looking down at me. I couldn’t answer. I felt like I was drunk, my head swimming, the image of the boys lost in a blur before me.
“Mister, are you okay?” the boy asked again. He was kneeling on the ground beside me.
I tried to open my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Matt, you got your phone?” the boy at my side called.
“Yeah, my mom made me bring it.”
“Call nine-one-one,” the boy told him. “Hold on, mister,” the boy said softly to me. “Help is on the way.”
Chapter 8: Kate
I checked my reflection in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time. I’d put on just enough makeup that I didn’t look over-done, but enough to highlight my blue eyes and pink lips. It had been a long time since I had fancied myself up for a night out, even if it was just a night out in Chancellor. I’d tried not to spend the entire day thinking about my date that night. I went to work, ran the store, and closed up without much consequence save Alice’s harping on me to look hot. And I hadn’t even seen Cooper on the beach that dawn or dusk. I tried to keep my nerves at bay, but that grew increasingly impossible as the day wore on. My stomach was swarming with butterflies as eight o’clock approached. But eight o’clock came and went. I shifted in my dress and checked my cell again. Maybe he thought we were going to meet at the store? But he would have found the store closed. He could have walked back to my house by then. Very stupidly, I hadn’t even bothered to ask for his phone number. It was a small town. I figured I knew where to find him if I needed to, but Cooper never struck me as the kind of guy I would need to track down. Maybe I was wrong about that.
I pulled off my heels and flopped down onto my couch, propping my feet on the table.
Stood up, I texted Alice, but I deleted the text before I hit send. It was too humiliating.
Served me right. Looks were deceiving. Surely I knew that better than anyone. Just because he seemed nice, didn’t mean he was nice.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. To my surprise, the image of Kadan fluttered through my mind. I remembered his blue-green eyes and how his hair would take on honey-colored highlights in the summertime. He always laughed too loud, making my father frown at him. But I loved him and his barrel chest and his big, protective hands. I loved being crushed by his loving embrace. Kadan, the merman whose body I’d burned because the black sickness had taken him, had been the love of my life. Tears threatened. Careful, Kate. I was kidding myself. There was no love for me on land. There never had been, and I’d been a fool to let myself daydream. I took a deep breath. If I let myself cry, maybe I could join Kadan and my family. I exhaled deeply. Not yet. I grabbed my cell. It was eight forty-five. I rose and slipped on my sneakers. I might have been a fool for having hope, for letting my heart feel something it shouldn’t have for Cooper, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him get away with this.
I grabbed my keys, locked my house, and headed toward the beach. Juniper Lane wasn’t far.
* * *
The rocky shoreline crunched under my feet. There was enough moonlight to see where I was going, and I knew the path well. I’d even skipped my evening walk to get ready for the date. It had stormed bad the night before and rained all morning. There was, no doubt, troves of beach glass treasures to be had. The lake always gave up her most precious baubles after a storm, but I’d missed it because I’d been fawning over a man.
I headed down the beach until it met with the path through the woods that emptied out on Juniper Lane. It was a lot darker in the woods than I expected. I pulled out my cell phone. Still no call, no text, no anything. I flipped on the flashlight and headed into the woods. The water in Frog Creek was roaring. The rain last night had been hard and steady, thunder and lightning rolling off the lake. The path was muddy. I flashed my light on the ground. The path was littered with mud puddles. I dodged amongst the trees to miss a puddle but had completely overlooked the root jutting out from the ground. I tripped, barely catching myself against a tree, dropping my cellphone in the process.
“Dammit,” I cursed.
My legs were muddy, my dress rumpled, my make-up fading in the humid air. I was angrier than ever. When I got to Cooper’s house, I was going to give him a piece of my mind.
I bent to pick up the cell phone but noticed the root I’d tripped on wasn’t a root after all. It was a backpack, Cooper’s backpack. I scanned the light all around.
“Cooper?” I called.
The creek roared, but I was alone in the little stretch of woods.
I picked up the waterlogged backpack. It must have sat out all night. Maybe I was wrong. The local kids always came here to fish. Maybe the backpack was theirs. Cooper wouldn’t just forget his painting satchel in the woods. It seemed unlike him, though I was beginning to doubt I knew him very well anyway. Holding my light with one hand and balancing the pack on my knee with the other, I opened the pack and looked inside. Therein was paint, brushes, a cloth, a small jar, and a watercolor tablet sealed in a Ziploc bag. It was Cooper’s pack. I pulled the tablet from the pack, gasping when I saw the image. It was a painting…of me. He had painted me walking along the shore. He’d captured my likeness perfectly.
Okay, now I was really confused.
I stuffed the painting back inside the wet backpack and headed down the lane. I had to dodge through the high grass when I reached the road. The end of Juniper Lane was torn up with large tire ruts. I saw heavy boot prints in the soft, muddy grass leading to and from the woods. Had there been a fishing event? Why had there been so much traffic at the end of Juniper Lane?
I headed around the mud and up the street to the small house that sat on the corner. I remembered seeing Alberta Pearl sitting on the front stoop, her grandmother brushing out her long, dark hair. Alberta’s grandmother, Erica, had lived in Chancellor long enough to notice me and how young I always looked. She always eyed me like she knew there was something different about me. There were a lot of women like her in Chancellor, women who had a keen eye for the otherworld. It was no wonder folktales about witches and faerie people abounded in Chancellor.
The lights were off in the old Pearl residence. I walked up the steps, feeling like I was disrupting the ghosts who lingered there, and knocked on the door.
“Cooper?” I called. My anger had simmered down now that it had married with worry. Even if he did decide to stand me up, he wouldn’t just leave his paint supplies lying in the woods. Something was wrong.
I knocked again. “Cooper?”
The house was dark and silent, but in the back of my mind, I felt like someone or something was urging me to try the door. Against my better judgment, I did. It was unlocked. Carefully, I opened the door.
“Cooper? It’s Kate. Are you home?”
The house was dark. I could hear a grandfather clock ticking inside, but otherwise there was no noise. I looked back. There was a Range Rover SUV parked in the driveway. His vehicle was there, so where was he?
I set the backpack on the floor just inside then turned to go. But still, something nagged at me.
I cast a glance around, pulled off my muddy shoes, and then entered the house, closing the door behind me.
“Cooper?” I called.
There was a small lamp sitting on a table just inside the door. I clicked it on. It illuminated the kitchen wherein I saw row after row of medicine bottles sitting on the window ledge. Had Albe
rta been so sick? I peered around the corner into the living room.
“It’s Kate. Cooper, are you here?”
Nothing. But what I saw next surprised me. In the living room, the walls were completely covered with paintings. Sunsets on Lake Erie were always so vivid, and he’d caught their fire. All around the room were paintings, big and small, of the lakeshore at sunrise and sunset. As I looked over the images, I noticed something. There, again and again, he had painted…me. I appeared in no less than ten of the paintings. All the while I’d been watching him, he’d been watching me, working me into the sunsets. Sometimes he’d painted me as a silhouette. Sometimes he painted me bending to pick up beach glass. He caught me in the red dress I’d worn to a Chamber of Commerce charity fundraiser. I’d walked home from the event along the beach that night, my heels dangling in my fingers. As I studied the paintings, I realized that each was numbered. He’d painted more than forty, others still sitting on the floor to be hung.
My eyes scanned the walls. He’d catalogued every day. Why?
My anger subsided and turned to anxiety. Where was he?
I headed back into the kitchen, stopping to take a notepaper from the refrigerator which was covered in magnets. From animals, to fruit, to commemorative spoons, to framed pictures, there was barely a bare inch on the appliance. I pulled the little pen from the refrigerator notepad and started writing, telling him I’d found his pack, when a photo on the refrigerator caught my attention. It was a faded image of a woman in her twenties. At first I thought it was Alberta, but this woman’s hair was much redder. The image was in a little frame held by two angels. The banner underneath said “In Loving Memory” with the word “Daughter” hand-painted in gold above the image. Alberta’s daughter? Would that make her Cooper’s mother?
The Glass Mermaid (The Chancellor Fairy Tales Book 1) Page 3
