Seven Tears into the Sea

by Terri Farley

  Jesse existed and he remembered.

  “But what if he is a selkie?” My whisper flickered out, a condensation of all today’s sighs.

  If I wanted to believe he was, I could find plenty of evidence. He’d walked out of the storm-tossed ocean, apparently responding to my tears. He could read minds. There was the clothesline incident. Even Nana had “seen” him when he wasn’t there. And I had seen his reflection over my shoulder when no one stood behind me. Could selkies be invisible at a whim?

  Of course not. I raised my hands to cover my face and shook my head. I could explain it all away. Jesse would never convince me he really was a selkie.

  No, there was one way. If I didn’t have to take it on faith, if I saw him change with my own eyes, then I’d believe. But he wouldn’t. If that moment of transformation had ever happened in the history of the world, wouldn’t it be so vulnerable and private that a selkie could never allow a witness?

  When my hands dropped into my lap, there he was.

  Jesse walked down the Inn’s driveway, face shining at the sight of me.

  And seeing him, my heart leapt up.

  LEMON QUEEN(Santolina chamaecyparissus)

  With its sharply aromatic, yellow-button flowers, this plant has trouble staying in the background. Included in a bouquet, these flowers warn of false riches. Lemon Queen tends to get woody unless chopped back occasionally, but it never feels a thing. In fact, it thanks the pruner by rebounding with more profuse blooms throughout the summer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Your hair is so pretty.” Jesse skimmed a fingertip along the crisscrossed mesh Nana had braided from temple to temple like a headband.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Kind of.” But he probably knew I’d shivered because he was touching me. It had nothing to do with the balmy June night.

  “What about my clothes? Sadie at the bookstore said it was the thing to wear. ‘Piratical’ she said.”

  Jesse, you’re perfect, I thought, but I considered the black leggings and the flowing white shirt. “Do you think you’ll be able to swim?”

  “Of course.”

  Then the front porch light went off. It must be eleven o’clock.

  Why did the darkness make the smell of Nana’s violets so much sweeter? When I couldn’t see her, why did the stone maiden pouring water into the goldfish pond make a more musical gurgle?

  But the dousing of the lights didn’t happen at Jesse’s command. Nana had decreed no artificial lights after eleven o’clock.

  I took Jesse’s hand and led him into the Inn. “Let’s cut through to the beach.”

  Candle wax and potpourri mixed with sea scents blowing through the open casement doors. Even in the darkness we swerved around furniture, headed for the patio, without running into anything.

  Jesse didn’t linger or hug me in a secret corner. He hurried.

  Still holding hands, we walked down the grassy hill sloping to the packed sand bordering the waves. There were two bonfires on Sea Horse Inn grounds—a really big one, smelling of fruitwood and flowers, and another, which had been built right at the margin of the waves.

  I hoped that was the one we were going to jump.

  Tourists had gathered on the beach now, twenty or thirty of them, playing kazoos and singing in off-key voices. Many carried flashlights and wore hats. Cowboy hats, a horned Viking helmet, a drooping fool’s cap.

  The rowdy merrymakers included some townspeople, too.

  A girl I’d seen before wore a belly dancer’s bare-midriffed costume. She did a grapevining step around the bonfire, eyes fixed on Jesse. Her pinkish hair and heavily kohled eyes made her familiar.

  “Let’s go watch Red play the bagpipes,” I said, but when Jesse slowed, I asked, “Do you know her?”

  “She was in the village,” Jesse said as I strode on. “She offered me some grog from a cauldron in the square.”

  “I just bet she did,” I grumbled.

  “… and don’t forget to gaze through the flames at your lover to see his true face,” Sadie was telling some people in hiking boots.

  Then everyone hushed at the bagpipe’s skirl.

  Red wore a tartan kilt and a plaid fastened at his left shoulder. It was easy to overlook his knobby old-man knees and everyday orneriness while he played. He cradled the leather bag as if it were a child, and though I doubt anyone knew the song, they watched, faces turned amber by firelight, falling under a spell.

  “Gwennie,” Jesse pulled me against his side, arm around my waist, but it was the music that held him transfixed. His eyes widened and he leaned forward. When Gina Leoni joined in, playing a silver flute, which looked tiny in her hands, his face shone with appreciation.

  And then we were swept up by hands grabbing for ours.

  “Circle of arms, circle of strife, circle of blooms, circle of life.”

  The chant went on, the same words over and over, reminding people that Midsummer meant both change and continuity.

  We danced around one bonfire and then the next. Two down and seven to go, I thought. And I gazed down the black beach, seeing dozens of them, burning like pagan midnight suns as far as I could see.

  “Eat these!” Some girl I’d never met closed my hand around something grainy, then did the same to Jesse. “Fern seeds to make you invisible!”

  With her wide skirt bumping those around her, she flounced on down the beach.

  “In the city I wouldn’t think of eating these,” I told Jesse. “But here …”

  “Wouldn’t you like to be invisible?” he asked.

  But then Nana was at my side. “Poppy seeds,” she told me, and then I turned to listen to Sadie telling the Hobbits about the solstice fires.

  “In the earliest days, the fires were lit to warm the sun as it traveled on its winter journey, and some thought the height of the flames told the old gods our high hopes for our crops, or the size of the fishing catches we expected …”

  “It’s time for the race, Gwennie.” Shannon appeared out of the crowd, carrying a fistful of white cloth.

  It turned out that all the men were gathered at one end of the beach and all the women at the other. Once the competitors were blindfolded, they had to find each other. Only one each could they shout, “King, King, come to your Queen.”

  Before we parted, Jesse squeezed my hand. “See you in a minute.”

  Blatting horns and fluttering ribbons marked the starting line down the beach, and all of us made our barefooted way to it. Nana kissed me as I passed.

  “We are so going to win,” I told her, full of Jesse’s confidence. “You’ll have another crown for the mantel.”

  Once I reached the starting line with the other women, we were informed that we not only had to run blindfolded, but also had to have our thumbs tied behind our backs. A tide of laughter united us as we listened for the rest of the rules.

  The men would have their hands free, and their job was to untie our thumbs and run with us back to their starting line. The first couple across, won.

  Just before we were all blindfolded, we saw a little girl in a princess dress who would wave a wand and set us running with some magic word.

  “Go!” she shouted, and there was more laughter until we were reminded the run must be silent.

  Underfoot, the wet sand felt terrific. Shoulders jostled against each other, and the scents of lavender, soap, and perfumes of every kind came together.

  We could hear the men’s heavy footsteps approach. First one, then a dozen voices called out, “King, King, come to your queen,” and then giggles filled the silence.

  “I’m here,” said Jesse’s voice before I could call him, and he untied my thumbs, removed my blindfold, and led me running, but not toward the finish line.

  We splashed into the waves.

  “I think we should get used to it,” he said. “Swimming’s the race we want to win.”

  Every competitive bone in my body protested, but I didn�
��t really care if we won. Not that much. I cared about standing in the waves, holding Jesse’s hand.

  Before the swim there was a tug-o-war over the water, and though we didn’t join in, we watched.

  Before we could begin the swimming race, we had to wait for Shannon’s husband, Eric, who’d stubbed his toe on a rock.

  After five minutes of hopping and moaning, Eric recovered, and we all lined up knee-deep in the sea.

  I glanced over at Jesse just as Gina Leoni’s flute signaled “Go!”

  Together we flew forward lined out in flat racing dives into the sea. The sound of belly-flops splashed behind us.

  He matched me stroke for stroke. Each time I raised my dripping face, I saw his. My hands looked small parting the waters beside his. Instead of diving and darting, he stayed next to me until we reached the marker boat.

  Its candle-lantern glazed the ocean, turning the drops of salt water on Jesse’s eyelashes gold. A warm gust of wind assisted our turn, and then the magic dropped away.

  I felt fingers ripping the water at my toes.

  “Faster!” Jesse ordered.

  It was a point of honor, I could feel it. He could have tolerated losing the footrace. But he would not be beaten here.

  Riptides are ruthless, and Jesse created his own, ducking me under the surface before I’d snatched a full breath. The glow of the finish-line lantern made a shifting beam above us. We followed it through salt water, then finally burst the surface. For an instant I thought his energy would take him vaulting over the rowboat, headfirst, arching like a seal.

  It didn’t, of course, but I tackled him, and we met in a soaked hug before we slogged ashore. My wet blouse dragged against my arms. I staggered a step, feeling my bruised ankle for the first time all night.

  “Are you all right?” Jesse’s arm went around me, warm through the wet fabric.

  “I’m fine if you don’t count how loony we both are to attempt that jump!”

  There was the small bonfire before us, and it wasn’t that small.

  Now that all of us stood shivering, staring at it, I felt glad our clothes were wet. We might not be so combustible. A good thing, too, that we got a running start from the shore and leapt into the sea. That might put out any trailing flames.

  Just do it, I told myself. Like each dive I’d tried for the first time, this one was a leap of faith. And I had something really good going for me this time. I didn’t care about winning.

  “Farther,” I said when Jesse wanted to stop just a few yards from the fire. We backed up for a longer running start.

  “All right?” he asked as I ran in place with eyes fixed on the flames.

  “Almost,” I said, but then he took my cheeks between his hands and looked into my eyes.

  “Now?” he asked, grinning, and I nodded.

  There was a moment as we ran, feet beating hard wet sand, stretching taller as we neared the red-orange heart of the fire, that I thought we were either going down in flames or soaring together.

  Before we counted one, two, three, as planned, we were flying through a veil of heat and golden sparks. Air whistled. Waves crashed around us. We went under, then bolted to our feet.

  We whirled and splashed, exulting and entwined, until the crowd dragged us ashore for the crowning.

  After that there was no time to think.

  It took only minutes. Pagans aren’t much for waiting, I guess.

  No one had warned me the celebration ended with a kind of wedding. They gave us each a garland and told us what to say.

  “I crown thee King of Summer,” I said, and the circlet of intertwined leaves and flowers I placed on Jesse’s head slipped to one side on his wet black hair.

  “I claim thee Queen of Summer,” he said.

  I gazed through my wet ribbons and tangled hair as Red O’Malley played a jig on his fiddle, and Jesse kissed me.

  There was more dancing around the bonfire, more congratulations and hugs. We toasted and were fed King Cakes.

  Flushed with triumph and heat from the bonfire, I couldn’t help thinking of the fertility rites linked with the solstice. Rolling in the dew. Staying up all night. And we’d just been crowned summer’s last couple.

  I looked past the Inn, past the highway to the dark, grassy hills beyond. You could pretty much guess where this had led in the old days.

  But not tonight. Some people began drifting toward home. Quiet settled, and the big bonfires made a crackling background for Nana’s stories.

  Red rubbed his eyes like a sleepy toddler, though Nana claimed he’d tend the bonfires till dawn. Jesse and I slipped past him to stare into the embers of the fire we considered ours.

  Backs turned to the others, my arms circled Jesse’s waist, and his locked around mine. We hadn’t spoken for minutes. With my head leaned against his shoulder, I tried to figure out if it was my heartbeat or Jesse’s that rocked me.

  Then a voice sliced through the magic.

  “Oh my God, will you look at Gwen!” A shrill laugh spiraled so that everyone on the beach heard it.

  That quick, I felt stupid in my wet blouse, dripping ribbons, and cold feet. I unwound Jesse’s arm from my waist and whipped the garland off my head. I shoved it toward Nana and went to meet Mandi and Jill.

  My two worlds were colliding, and I wasn’t sure what to do. One thing I couldn’t do was leave Jesse behind. I forked my fingers through his, squeezed, then took a deep breath. I had the weirdest feeling that if I’d tried now, there was no way in the world I could have leapt over that fire.

  “Is that one of your friends?” Jesse asked as he walked beside me.

  For a minute I didn’t want to claim her. Mandi had found the guy least likely to transform into a fairy-tale prince. She meandered down the beach from Cook’s Cottage with Zack.

  “Yeah,” I managed.

  “Does she know Zack?”

  “I guess she does now.”

  Both shaggy and blond, they clung to each other, making a bad job of walking on the sand. Zack wore ripped jeans and a T-shirt stained with wine. Even from here he smelled like weed.

  Mandi, in a magenta tube top and jeans, had had her share to drink, too, but she held to him like a prize.

  A few steps behind, Perch and Roscoe dodged at Jill’s heels, hoping to get lucky. Jill made an impatient, shooing movement that said they were dreaming.

  “Hey, hon, come give me a hug,” Jill called. Her arms dropped when I got within reach and she saw how soaked I was.

  “Maybe not, I’m pretty wet,” I said, making the excuse for her. Besides, I didn’t want to release Jesse’s hand.

  Jill studied the two of us, and it didn’t take her long to figure out I hadn’t been expecting her tonight. She made an apologetic grimace.

  “I got off early and we stopped in—” She made a vague gesture.

  “Siena Bay?” I guessed.

  “Right. There was a band in the square, and Mandi got to dancing and stuff, and, well, you know how she never forgets a face. She spotted the guy we saw in the green truck when we were driving through last weekend—”

  Had it just been last weekend? Their lives had gone on as usual. Mine had spun out of control in a wonderful way. Except for Zack.

  Even drunk, he was gloating. Watching me, he rubbed his hand along Mandi’s hip, where her jeans were too low and her tube top too high.

  If I said anything, the situation would only get worse. Besides, I noticed Jill was letting herself have a real eyeful of Jesse. His white shirt hung open at the throat, and his weight rested on one leg. With his garland askew, he looked like a disheveled Shakespearean actor. Clever and irresistible.

  I was smiling when I glanced back at Jill.

  Her eyebrows were arched up into her bangs. I had no idea what she was thinking.

  “This is Jesse,” I introduced him.

  “He is pretty cute,” Mandi said, shrugging from under Zack’s arm. She hitched up her tube top as she approached.

  Mandi was completely
wasted. Everyone on the beach could see it.

  As she leaned over, trying to get her toes back through the flip-flop on her right foot, she watched Jesse to see if he was checking out her cleavage.

  Jesse wasn’t looking. I knew, because he’d turned to me instead. Just as he’d listened to my advice on wearing clothes, he was waiting for some tips on how to regard my drunken friend. This time I couldn’t imagine what to tell him.

  “So, like it’s a lot more fun back in the village,” Mandi announced.

  “A lot more fun,” Zack echoed, then bent her back-ward for a sloppy kiss.

  Jill gave an eye roll of disgust. We needed to get Mandi out of here for her own good, but I didn’t want to leave.

  For her own good, Mandi had better grow up.

  “Made me dizzy,” Mandi complained. She pushed Zack away, rubbed her forehead, then looked me over. “Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll go back to the village. That outfit is unbe—unbeliv—just too corny.”

  Jesse didn’t see it that way. “Gwennie looks beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” Roscoe sneered, as Perch bugged his eyes out in the direction of my wet blouse.

  In another place I might have flipped him off, but Jill’s glance slipped past Jesse. I knew by the way she straightened her shoulders Nana was coming.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cook,” Jill said. “It’s great to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” Nana said, then looking at me, she turned the garland around and around in her hands. “Gwen, you don’t really have to watch the embers down, if you’d like to take care of your friends.”

  I wouldn’t like to. I wanted to stay with Jesse.

  But Nana looked pointedly at Mandi, whose expression had changed from pouty to ill.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Nana asked, but I knew she didn’t feel solicitous. My friends were embarrassing her.

  I didn’t know how Nana was going to smooth this over.

  She didn’t. To my amazement Nana went to join her friends and left mine with me.

  “She needs to sit down,” Zack said, trying to get out of puking range.