Mermaid

by Judy Griffith Gill

  Mark recognized that voice and stood up quickly, shading his eyes.

  The Zodiac came to a halt near the largest of the boats anchored in the bay.

  It was a forty- or fifty-foot cabin cruiser, shiny white, with a command bridge, from which a man in a gold-braided cap gave gestured instructions to the man in the Zodiac.

  At once, Mark recognized the cruiser, too. The Andrea! The small boat disappeared around her stern and was out of sight for several minutes. When it reappeared, only the man at the wheel and the child in the bow beside him were visible, and it didn’t take the cameraman bracing himself in the stern or the other cameraman on the bridge of the yacht to tell Mark what was going on.

  But what he couldn’t understand was why it was going on when he had heard Jillian adamantly refuse to do a retake of the scene. This was Amber’s fast, bouncy boat ride.

  Damn her! Didn’t she see this as “selling herself” just as much as letting him do things for her and Amber would be?

  No. Of course not. To Jillian it was a job, and presumably the candidate hadn’t asked her to go to bed with him, or if he had, she’d have refused both his offer and the job. He sighed, the whiplash of anger that had snapped through him subsiding.

  The candidate wasn’t the clumsy, idiotic fool that Mark Forsythe had been. Presumably—though he thought it was highly unlikely, the candidate wasn’t on the verge of falling in love with a mermaid. And he was. No, he was more than just on the verge. He had done it. The thought was stunning, and he had to sit down again while he absorbed it fully. Oh, hell yes, he loved her. That explained the jealousy, explained the fear he felt for her safety. It also explained why it was so damned important for him to have her come and live with him.

  But was that really all he wanted from her? All she wanted from him? Oh, hell, was that what had offended her so badly? Was it the way he had put it, the lack of commitment he seemed willing to give? Was commitment what she wanted from him? And was he, when it came right down to it, willing to give it?

  For long moments, he closed his eyes against the glare off the water, thinking deeply, wondering if it would be possible, if it could be the answer. He had sworn he’d never do it again, that it was too much trouble, that marriage changed things too much, made people look at each other differently. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  He already had seen Jillian in so many different ways, looked at her in her many guises, and he had wanted her in every one of them. He’d seen her first in her mermaid persona, a little bit of magic that took his breath away and filled his soul with joy. He remembered the look in her eyes after the first time they had kissed, and the compassion on her face while they discussed Chris. He had been touched by the tenderness she showed her daughter, by the fierce love shared by the pair of them, and he admired the concern she had for her mother.

  He smiled, thinking of how she had looked the second time he’d followed her home. Dressed in jeans and a blue blouse and with her hair like a golden cloud tumbling around her shoulders she had tilted her chin up and said in that soft, musical voice of hers, “You followed me,” as if she were amazed that anyone would care that much about her welfare. Of course. She was always so busy looking out for others, she probably never noticed at she needed looking after herself.

  He had seen her that same night rosy and weak from his kisses, passionate and giving. He had wanted her with such raging desire in his blood that, when he’d left, he’d sworn never to return, because wanting of such magnitude was dangerous to a man like him who valued his freedom.

  But it was that same desire that had driven him back to see her show and to follow her home again, to sit in that restaurant with her and talk until her eyes were so sleepy, she could barely keep them open. He’d been rocked by the swift surge of tenderness that had made him want to lift her up and carry her home, because when she was tired, her limp was worse.

  He thought, too, about the way she had looked sitting on the floor of her bedroom all tangled up in the quilt that had covered her to just above her knees, and the sheer nightie she wore that covered very little of everything else. He had hated the thought of her getting dressed, yet when she’d come out of her room in a green T-shirt, it had been all he could do not to grab her. Later, of course, he had grabbed her, and he had said and done stupid, impulsive things, but he meant to make up for it if she would let him.

  He would go to her house, ask politely for a date, take her somewhere quiet and private for dinner—maybe he could talk her into coming to his house—and then if it seemed just right, if he could keep himself under control, he would tell her he loved her and wanted to make slow, wonderful, beautiful love with her—all night long.

  And then he would ask her to marry him.

  Chapter Seven

  MARK BECAME AWARE THAT he was trembling as he sat there, that he was as scared inside as he’d been the first time the sergeant had hollered “Next!” and it was his turn to jump out of the airplane. But he had made the jump and survived. And he’d make this one, too, or he wouldn’t survive.

  The little boat was bouncing around like a cork, and even from a distance, Mark could see that Amber was no longer perched on the back of the seat but huddled down on it. Only her head and shoulders were visible behind the rounded side of little boat, but he could see one hand tightly griping the rope that ran the length of the hull. Apparently now she didn’t think her excursion was the “absolute best.”

  A tall, white-clad figure appeared in the cockpit of the cruiser as he had the previous week, fishing rod in hand. He stood with one foot on the low transom, the breeze toying with his hair. The hat with gold braid now hung, glinting in the sun, from a rod-holder bracket. He posed, smiling, and expertly flipped his lure and sinker out over the side, then began feeding line down into the water. Both cameras focused on the man, but now and then one of them would pan the surface farther out or sweep slowly along the shoreline. Most of what was happening occurred on the far side of the cruiser, and it seemed to be taking a long time. Ten minutes then fifteen dragged by while Mark waited for a glimpse of his mermaid. From across the water came the sound of Amber’s clear, childish voice once more. “Mr. Larson, how long will my mom have to stay down there?” She sounded tearful.

  He didn’t hear the man’s reply, but it didn’t seem to satisfy the little girl, because she moved from the bow seat, awkwardly clinging to the side, toward the center of the boat. The man with the camera was paying her no more heed than the one behind the wheel, and as she stood, teetering, Mark’s heart stopped. What in the hell was the matter with those men, letting a six-year-old child scramble around unaided in that damned little rubber raft?

  He saw her hunker down, gripping the front of her life jacket. He saw that her head was drooping, but after a moment she lifted it. Whatever she said was too quiet for him to hear, and he leaped from rock to rock, racing out onto a long point exposed by the low tide in order to get closer to her.

  “Mr. Larson, how much longer?” Mark heard her ask again.

  “I don’t know, kid. Look, you wanted to come. Nobody forced you. So if you’re bored with waiting around, don’t blame me.”

  “I’m not bored. I don’t feel good.”

  Of course she didn’t feel good, thought Mark. What the heck was the matter with Larson? Why didn’t he start the engine in order to keep the bow pointed into the waves? That way, the rolling and pitching wouldn’t be quite so uncomfortable. He was about to shout out his suggestion when the two men in the rubber boat consulted in indiscernible words. He heard the engines rumble to life, and he sighed with relief. They were going to bring her aboard the big boat where she’d be much better off, he thought.

  But to his amazement, the cameraman was the only one who left the Zodiac, leaping onto the rocks of a small island offshore, shouting to the men on the cruiser to focus right.”

  Then, quickly, he held up a hand. “There she is. Now, quiet, everybody.”

  Of course. That was why the engines were s
hut off, why the boat had been sent to drift out of the range of the cameras. Suddenly with a disgusted shout, Ken Bristol, congressional candidate, flung his rod to the deck in a fit of temper that would have done credit to a four-year-old. “Oh, hell, the damned line broke.”

  Jillian must have surfaced then, because he went on, “For Chri—Pete’s sake, Jillian! What the hell are you trying to do? You’re going to have to go down again, and this time don’t put up much of a fight. We need to make it look good, but not so good that you break the line. Where the hell’s that diver with her air supply? Okay? Everybody ready?”

  Obviously everybody was because another rod was put into the candidate’s hands, and again the cameras panned the water, the fisherman, and the photogenic shoreline, waiting for the moment when the even more photogenic mermaid who would bring much publicity to the candidate’s “Clean Up The Oceans” campaign.

  What they did not photograph, however, was the little girl leaning over the side of the Zodiac being sick, and the look of utter disgust on the face of the man at the helm, who only glanced at her over her shoulder then turned away.

  Mark muttered a curse, peeled off his shirt, and hit the water in a shallow dive. He stroked strongly toward the bouncing boat. As he reached the side, the man at the wheel never even noticed him, so intent was he on watching what was happening farther out. He noticed, though, when Mark reached up and pulled himself half-out of the water beside the sick little girl and said, “Amber, honey, it’s Mark. Want to get off this boat?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him woefully. She was crying. She nodded and clutched at his wrist. She sniffed and tried very hard to smile.

  “Mark, I got sick. My tummy hurts.”

  The man in charge of the rubber boat scrambled out of his seat behind the wheel and stumbled back to where Mark hung beside Amber. “Hey, Mac, get the hell away from this boat. There’s something important going on here.”

  “This,” said Mark, putting his hands under the waiting arms of the child who hung over the side, utter misery on her face, “is more important.” With that, he drew her over the side and down into the water with him. He kicked away from the boat.

  “Hey! What the hell?” The man, Mark noticed, managed to keep his voice at a faint whisper in spite of what was happening. “You can’t do that!”

  But Mark already had.

  “You want to come with me for a swim, baby doll?” Mark asked her. “We’ll go ashore, okay?”

  “Yes, please.” Amber showed no shock, no fear, only kept her wide, trusting eyes pinned on Mark’s face. She nodded vigorously.

  Mark stroked hard with one arm to take them farther away from the oar man had now lifted and was stretching it out toward them. He kept on talking as he moved her away from the boat out of reach now of the oar now aimed threateningly like a javelin.

  Mark knew it was an empty threat. As empty as the whispered order that Mark “bring that kid back here right now, or else!” The man was a functionary, one who couldn’t begin to think for himself, not even when he knew the child left in his care was being swept away by another man right before his eyes. He had been told to keep quiet, and keeping quiet was all he could do.

  As concerned as the man might be about his charge being kidnapped, clearly he put a whole lot more importance on not raising his voice or starting the outboard engine during the filming on the other side of the large boat.

  “You can come to my house until your mom’s finished work,” Mark said to Amber, grabbing hold of the loop at the back of her life jacket and rolling her over onto her back, towing her along with him.

  She tilted her head back and gave him another smile, this one more assured. “Sure, Mark. And you can let me go. I can swim, you know. Even without a life jacket. You just stay beside me so I know which way to go.” He could see she was worried, but determined not to show it.

  Mark nodded solemnly. This was one very little girl in a very big chunk of water, and he thought she was showing a lot of guts. With deliberately loud instructions to the man in the Zodiac as to where Amber could be collected, he swam away with the bobbing, life-jacketed child toward the shore, talking gently and reassuringly to her all the while until his feet bumped up against the rocks and he waded ashore, carrying her.

  Mark decided it was almost as much fun as catching a mermaid. Especially knowing that just as soon as her job was finished and his mermaid found out what had happened, she’d come swimming ashore after her child.

  He laughed aloud as he stood Amber on her feet and hauled the wet life jacket off her, leaving her in soaked shorts and a T-shirt. He led her to his house, wondering what in the world he would dress her in. He decided Edward would be the one to take care of that. He was going to have to go back to the rocks at the edge of the bay and wait for a mermaid. He found himself crazily, childishly excited about his next meeting with Jillian Lockstead, mermaid.

  He was sitting on the rocks twenty minutes later while Amber, who had completely captivated Edward, played with the vanful of furniture and the house he had brought for her this weekend in spite of her mother’s protest.

  He had left the elderly man and the little girl arguing like a pair of opposite-minded interior decorators over the placement of furniture in the rooms of the log house.

  He sat there for what seemed like far too long a time, watching the Zodiac drift. Then drifted back. It floated, bobbing, bouncing against the rocks, disappeared around the other side of the cruiser, and he started to feel flutters of anticipation inside his stomach, much the way he had when he had been thirteen and had decided that he was going to try to kiss Shelly Morton.

  As he gaped in shock, the cruiser’s engines started up with a deep rumble, the anchor was pulled back aboard, and the big boat left, Zodiac in tow. Mark stood, shouted Jillian’s name, even though he knew no one aboard the yacht could hear him, he shouted again. Then, as the large swell of its leaving came rushing ashore, Mark glanced down and caught a glimpse of blue-green just under the surface, a sheen of golden fire just under the surface swirling in a coil. At that moment, he was off the rocks, into the water, and gathering up his mermaid once more.

  It was awkward because this time she wore scuba tanks. He felt her chilled arms come around his shoulders and staggered back until he was sitting on a rock in water up to his middle. He peeled the mask off her and she spat out the mouthpiece.

  “Where’s Amber?” she demanded, and then sat forward so he could relieve her of the tanks and flotation vest.

  “Having a wonderful time with Edward. It was a case of love at first sight.” He paused, deliberately meeting her gaze, and added “Another one.”

  To his consternation, Jillian dropped her eyes and stared at the tanks he had removed from her back. They floated, bobbing, bouncing against l he rocks, hoses looking like fat, orange snakes. “Another one?” she whispered when she finally looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  And then Mark did what he had wanted to do the first time he had hauled this mermaid out of the depths. He placed his lips over her cold, salty ones and kissed them until they were warm and sweet and parted for him. Her arms went around him, and she responded as wildly and as I hotly as he’d known she could, dreamed she would. Even more than he’d remembered, more than he’d hoped, she was answering his most urgent question whether she knew it or not.

  Her mermaid suit was rough against his arm, is scales pressed into his legs, and the thick textured fabric over her breasts kept him from touching her as intimately as he wanted to. But this time there was no babbling little voice in his mind telling him that it was impossible for him to be holding a mermaid in his arms. When he lifted his head and stared at her beautiful face, once more he felt a bubble of joyous disbelief welling up inside him. Because, even if he didn’t truly hold a mermaid in his arms, in his heart he again held magic, and in his soul there was a brand new world.

  And this time he knew it was for more than just one moment.

  Slowly Jillian opened h
er eyes and said, “Oh, my,” before she felt his mouth descend onto hers again, felt its incredible heat, felt once more the hardness of his chest and the breadth of his shoulders and knew she had been waiting for him all her life. She gasped, her lips parting to admit his tongue, and a delicious heat rose inside her, warming every part of her, even her chilled skin.

  When he next lifted his head, they stared at each other for several seconds. “ ‘Oh, my’, is right,” he said, and she smiled weakly, feeling as if she had just tried to take a breath from an empty air tank. By the time she had managed to inhale, she was light-headed, dizzy, ready simply to let go and drift.

  As their mouths crushed together once more, the wash from a passing boat caught her tail and lifted it, tilting them backward. Then they were both underwater again, arms and legs and tail tangled, her hair floating across his face. His hands caught the strands and shoved them aside as his lips reluctantly left hers and they surfaced.

  It was all they could do to catch their breath before they were locked together again in a tight embrace, sitting waist-deep in the water, clinging to each other, oblivious to their surroundings.

  “I wondered,” she said moments later, running her fingers through the thick, dark brown mat of hair on his chest. “I wondered what it would be like.”

  “You knew what it would be like the same as I did,” he said roughly, his apparent confidence a thin mask for his insecurity. “You spent all week wanting to kiss me again, just as I spent all week lying awake aching for you. Didn’t you?”

  She nodded, smiling happily at him. “Only I didn’t remember exactly what the impact would he,” she admitted.

  “I didn’t expect it to be quite that...uh—impactful either,” he said in a ragged voice. “If just a kiss after a week of missing you is so explosive, what is it going to be like making love when time comes, Mermaid’? Think about that one.”