by Lena Loneson
“You just let them believe that?” Nora’s cheeks heated. She placed the cup of tea in front of her mother on the table, spilling a splash of milk onto the saucer. Her father had been maligned for years.
“What was I supposed to say?”
“You could have told me that he hadn’t run off. That you’d driven him away.”
“He never even wanted to meet you, Nora. His brand-new baby girl. He never came back, not once. And there were other reasons I couldn’t tell you.”
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his fault, was it? It was Mary Catherine’s. Would she have met her father if Mary Catherine had let it alone? Would he have been able to explain the sea’s call to her? Was that what it was—simply a desire to find her kin, who swam beneath the dark waters?
There were other reasons I couldn’t tell you.
Nora shivered. She reached out to take Mary Catherine’s cup of tea and brought it to her lips, sipping the liquid. It traced a hot path across her tongue and down her throat but didn’t warm her insides.
“So I’m human,” Nora said. “Then why do I feel the sea’s call so strongly? Why do I feel so lost? What are these?” She held out her hands, spreading the fingers as far as they could stretch with the webbing between them.
Mary Catherine looked up at her, watery eyes wide. “No good will come of the answer to that.”
“Haven’t secrets cost enough already?” Nora set down the mug of tea. “If Eamon hadn’t been there the first time we met, I’d be dead. You understand that, don’t you, Ma? I was out there in the waves, all alone. I’d be a corpse if it weren’t for him.”
Her mother’s face crumpled. Nora wanted to reach out to her, to embrace her, but she held fast. It was time to stop pretending that she took care of her mother, that Nora was the protector. It was time for Nora to stand on her own two feet—or fins or whatever she had. Nora waited, shivering beneath her wet clothes, inhaling the scent of burned bread as her mother sobbed.
When Mary Catherine began to speak again, her voice was low. Nora had to lean forward to hear it.
“When you were born, your fingers and toes were webbed. But it wasn’t just that,” her mother said. “There was a babe and then…no placenta. Instead a black furred object followed you out of my womb. One of the young nurses fainted. The older one recognized it immediately for what it was.”
“I have a pelt?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Nora was a seal herself? That was impossible—outside her dreams, she’d never been a seal. She searched her childhood memories and there was nothing. No nighttime excursions in seal form. The only swimming she’d done had been with pale human legs and arms. She’d never touched a fur pelt. How could she not remember part of herself?
Mary Catherine nodded. “You did. I had the nurse take it from you. You’ve never worn it. If you were ever a seal, it was only in the liquid of the womb.”
Nora’s whole body shook. That was what she’d been missing, what she’d sought in the ocean. Not her father. A piece of herself. Something akin to her soul, if her father’s experience was anything to judge by—something she couldn’t live without. That her mother had stolen from her. “Why did you do it?” The words escaped tightly pulled lips.
“To protect you. To keep you here, on land.”
“You didn’t have the right to make that choice.”
“I’m your ma. Protecting you is my job. It’s the reason I’m here on this Earth.”
A harsh laugh burst from her mouth. “I’m not even supposed to be on this earth. I’m supposed to be there.” She pointed toward the ocean. It wasn’t visible outside the cottage windows—it was kilometers from here, but she knew where it was, always. It was a sense of direction that had never failed her. She could find the water unerringly. “I’m not even supposed to be human.”
“Yes, you are. I’m human. And you’re my daughter.”
Nora rose from her chair. Her skin was cold—it was starting to numb. “Where is it?” She opened the kitchen cupboards one by one, quickly, as her mother sat at the table.
“It’s not here,” Mary Catherine said, her voice high and alarmed.
“You lie.” Nora brushed plates and dishes aside. A cup hit the floor and smashed. She walked over it, uncaring of the potential for injury. She pulled open the hall closet, moving cleaning supplies and mops. “Where is it?”
“I’m telling the truth. I learned my lesson with your father. It’s not here.”
“You learned nothing.” Nora moved to her mother’s bedroom, methodically tearing the room apart, stripping the bed of its sheets and blankets, flipping the mattress, pulling clothing out of dresser drawers. There was nothing there, nor in the recesses of the bedroom closet. Logically she knew she’d lived in this cottage her entire life and never seen it—Mary Catherine must have hidden it somewhere else. But she hadn’t known what to look for, had she?
No. If Nora had come across her pelt she would have known it instantly. It had been calling to her for years. Since her birth.
“Where is it?” she screamed from the bedroom. Mary Catherine hadn’t moved from her seat in the kitchen, a silent witness to Nora’s breakdown. Nora returned to the kitchen to face her, clenching her hands in fists at her sides. Her palms stung where her nails dug in to the flesh. “Tell me where it is or I’ll pull up the floorboards, cut into the walls to find it. You know I will.”
Mary Catherine’s face was impassive. She’d stopped crying. When she spoke her voice was calm. “You always were a stubborn child.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s not in the cottage. It’s somewhere you’ll never find it.”
She could tear the walls down, but Nora believed her. She knew the pelt wasn’t there. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
“I don’t want to lose you, Nora. I love you. You’re everything to me.” The sincerity in her face couldn’t be doubted. But love wasn’t enough. Nora realized that now. Love couldn’t fill her completely—she’d tried that with Eamon and she could never fully give herself to him until Nora knew who she was.
“You keep saying that—you don’t want to lose me to Eamon, to the sea, to my past—but isn’t this just how you lost Da? You can’t keep me caged up in here. I have to grow up someday.”
Mary Catherine didn’t speak. Her eyes stared straight into Nora’s. Her mouth was pursed, the wrinkles around it carved deeply into the skin. She had always looked old for her age, mistaken for Nora’s grandmother at times. This was what secrets had done to her. Nora wouldn’t let it happen to her too. “Fine,” she said, stopping short of stamping her foot. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find it or die trying.”
Wet hair whipped behind Nora as she left the kitchen barefoot, stumbling down the hallway. Mary Catherine called out as she exited the house. Nora didn’t stop to listen. She let the door slam. Pebbles dug into her bare feet as she ran from the house. Each small burst of pain felt like a bomb ticking in her head, ready to go off. The sting of cold rain on her face smelled too clean, too fresh—she wanted saltwater.
Outside the cottage and away from her mother, everything was less clear. They’d spoken of selkies as if the creatures were real. Surely Mary Catherine believed they were and believed Nora was one of them. But what evidence did she have? It could be that Mary Catherine was crazy, driven insane by abandonment and the birth of a deformed child who seemed molded from Irish legend. Or had her mother really thrown away her father’s freedom, calling it love?
Love. She felt something for Eamon. Was it that? They’d known each other for such a short time but he’d taken over her heart with a fierceness that scared her.
Was Eamon trying to contain her as well, take her far from her homeland because he knew what she was? Or was Nora, too, losing her mind, just like Mary Catherine? Was she crazy to believe that she could be a selkie, with no evidence save a woman’s rantings?
She could abandon it all. Start over, away from Mary Catherine, away from Eamon. Grow up, take care of
herself. But she would never know the truth unless she sought it out now.
She slowed her run to a walk, limping from the stones embedded in the flesh of her feet. She had run completely out of the village without a plan. Had anyone seen her tearing down the street like a madwoman? Not as if Nora needed more rumors.
Eamon was the first man she’d met who had treated her as if her deformities were normal. Normal or even beautiful. Whether she loved him didn’t matter—she didn’t need to know that yet. What she did know was that she could never find love without fully knowing who she was.
She’d never get the location of her pelt—if there even was one—out of Mary Catherine. And so the only answers were out there, in the sea, if she could only swim far enough to reach them.
Nora began her limping walk to the beach.
Chapter Nineteen
He wanted to buy her a gift, but what sort of gift?
Eamon stood in the hotel lobby later that evening, the milling crowds of people around him heading to dinner in the village, braving the rainstorm with large umbrellas and wellies, or down to the warm, dry Cave for drinks.
He spotted Áiné speaking to one of the bellhops. Excellent. When she turned away, he accosted her.
“I need a gift,” he said before the red-haired woman in the blue suit even had time to greet him.
Her expression warmed. She let some of her businesslike façade drop upon seeing him. “This is for the selkie girl?”
Word traveled fast in Donegal County. He might as well admit it. He nodded. “I want something special. Not flowers. Putting a wild thing in a vase wouldn’t appeal to her. Jewelry, maybe, or a songbook for her music.”
Áiné took his elbow and steered him behind the concierge’s desk. “Let’s sit and chat.”
He didn’t want to—he wanted to get right to work courting Nora—but he let her push him into the wheeled office chair. Áiné didn’t take a seat herself, preferring to loom over him. He gripped the armrest. “Really I just need a tip—maybe a local craftsman or something outside the village she wouldn’t normally see.”
“What did you do?” Her voice was brisk but her eyes oddly sympathetic. She still knew how to read him.
He sighed. “Moved too fast. May have scared her off.”
“A girl like that, you can’t trap her.”
“I know.”
“Do ye?” Her voice was low and skeptical. He couldn’t blame her. Had he really fucked up this time? He remembered the fear in Nora’s eyes when he’d mentioned Canada. But he didn’t care where they lived. Should he tell her that? They could move anywhere. He’d follow her anywhere. Would that just be worse, put too much pressure on her?
“Believe me,” he said to the hotel owner, “I know.” But Áiné wasn’t listening. Her head jerked to the side and she stared out past him.
“What is it?” he asked. Áiné pointed.
He swiveled in his chair to see Mary Catherine, Nora’s mother, scanning the sea of people at the entrance to the lobby. Her graying hair was loose, plastered to her face with water, and her eyes wild. Her dress was soaked. She hadn’t even grabbed an umbrella before leaving her cottage. Eamon jumped to his feet, the chair rolling off behind him. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he crossed the room to meet her.
“Is she okay?” he asked the older woman. Her makeup-less face was streaked with tears. Of course Nora wasn’t okay. Eamon cursed himself for being a complete fool.
“I was hoping she was with you. But she’s not.” Mary Catherine pulled a note from her blouse pocket. It was the same looping script, the same crumpled paper he’d seen before. He took it from her hand. I’m sorry, Ma. I have to go see. Whatever happens, I love you always.
“She’s gone to the ocean,” Eamon said. “How long has she been gone?”
“At least an hour. There’s so much coastline I don’t even know where to look.” Mary Catherine’s eyes, filled with water and surrounded by deep lines, were narrow and accusing. She had every right to look at him like that.
“I might,” he said. He shook his head. He knew where she’d jumped in last time, but would it be the same place? What if she was already out there, in the waves?
What could he say? “I’m so sorry.”
The woman nodded. “You just bring her back.”
He pressed the note back into Mary Catherine’s hand, squeezing it with his own. Whether he was giving her strength or borrowing it from her, he didn’t know. Eamon turned. Áiné was there.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He could look on the shoreline, but what if she was already out there? He’d gotten lucky the first time—she hadn’t been far from the beach. But he couldn’t swim forever. “A boat. Fast. Someone to pilot it. I have to get something, but I’ll be right back.”
“Done,” the redhead said. He trusted her to do it and didn’t look behind him to see where she’d head.
Eamon ran full-speed across the castle to the old wing, taking the stairs to his room two at a time. Why the hell hadn’t he given her the pelt when he’d had the chance? It took him two tries with the key card to get into his room. Every second he wasted was another that Nora could be lost at sea, drowning, helpless and alone, scared and with no idea of her true identity. What had Mary Catherine told her? What did she know?
He gathered up the pelt from the bottom of his closet and took off again for the hotel lobby, leaving the door to his room wide open. He nearly knocked down a family with a little boy, who pointed at the fur in Eamon’s arms, asking his mom, “What’s that?”
Áiné arrived at the same time, strands of auburn hair escaping her bun, carrying two haphazardly folded afghans. It was the closest to disheveled he’d ever seen her look. The man next to Áiné was on the upper end of middle-aged, his white hair and grizzled beard speckled with brown.
“You have a boat?” Eamon asked. The man nodded. He eyed the fur in Eamon’s arms but asked no questions.
“This is Seamus,” Áiné said. She was out of breath, gasping. She passed Eamon the blankets. He clutched them close with the selkie’s pelt. “Found him in The Cave, he’s only had three pints, you’re good to go. Doesn’t talk much. Boat’s in the harbor. Valet’s got your rental car. Right out front. I’ve called ahead to get the dockmaster warming it up. The boat. Owes me.”
“As do I.” Eamon wanted to fold her in a hug but there wasn’t time. “Seamus, how fast can you run?”
“Fast.”
Eamon grabbed his arm and the two men took off. Outside he snatched the keys from the valet. They nearly slipped out of his hand in the rain. The car’s tires churned in the mud.
Chapter Twenty
How many times had Nora stood here in her life, staring at the waves before her? The rain continued to pummel her trembling body. The sand beneath her feet stung her skin. But oh, the air smelled so clean—she sucked in a deep breath full of salt and freedom.
She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to drown. If Nora could have it, she wanted everything. She wanted to know Eamon, spend the days talking with him, hearing his stories of where he’d visited and maybe even travel with him. She’d never been outside the British Isles, and even then she hadn’t traveled for herself but had been touring with the band, music as the focus. She wanted to take care of her mother and make Mary Catherine feel safe and secure in a way Nora knew had to be possible. She wanted to keep making music, playing late into the night with her best friends in the world. There was so much to live for.
But those things couldn’t happen if the call of the sea kept getting stronger. Nora couldn’t live with the panic that ran cold through her veins when she tried to think of her future. She needed the tension of her history resolved, a sense of who she was and answers about her father.
And no matter how much she cared for her mother and for Eamon, they were tearing her apart. She couldn’t live in the pink cottage forever but she couldn’t give herself completely to a man either. Nora had been born here, in D
onegal County, and she was tied to these shores by an umbilical cord attached to her soul. She wasn’t built to follow a man, to uproot everything she’d known and move to Canada.
A grim determination came over her. She had to trust herself. The dreams told her that the water was hers. She shouldn’t fight it. It wouldn’t break her if she swam with it. Deep in her soul, Nora thought that she couldn’t possibly drown. The sea was part of her, not her enemy.
Chapter Twenty-One
When they reached the docks, Eamon left the keys in the ignition, pulling the shoulder bag containing the pelt from the backseat, holding it close to his body.
Seamus’ boat was a small one, messy and stinking of fish, but it had a motor with enough horsepower to get them moving quickly, cutting through the waves. The dark clouds seemed to get darker and the rain thickened. Of course. His little one couldn’t ever pick a bright sunny day with high visibility.
“Where to from here?” the fisherman asked.
“Head out until I tell you.” Would Keelin help him now that he’d moved on? Surely she’d want him to find happiness without her. But was it fair to ask that of her? There was no way he could find Nora in kilometers of ocean without a guide. It was his only hope. Eamon squeezed his eyes shut. He pictured Keelin’s cherry lips on their wedding day and remembered Nora’s soft gasp when he’d first kissed her. “Keelin,” he whispered. “Where is she?”
He was so tired of the sound of the wind. He opened his eyes, brushing rain from his lashes, squinting out into the waves. Brief spurts of sun that showed through the storm clouds illuminated no one on the face of the water.
At first the flutelike sound of the pennywhistle was so distant it could have been his imagination. Then it grew stronger, clearer, not buffeted by the wind.
“Keelin, is that you?”
“What?” Seamus yelled over the storm. Eamon grabbed his arm, pointing him in the direction of the sound.
