Our life had been simple, peaceful, a respectful accord drawn between the Native Americans and my kind. Then the Europeans arrived. We hid from them. They came and went across Lake Erie for a decade, never knowing what lay beneath the waves. While we kept the peace with the native people, the Europeans did not. It didn’t take long for them to start killing one another, and shortly thereafter, war began. It was 1812, and the Europeans had been all over the lake, confiscating our most sacred islands for their own use, sinking ships with their thunderous canons. When winter arrived that year, we found our regular wintering island inhabited by Europeans. We did not speak their language and feared their ways, so we did the only thing we could do. My father, the leader of my people, conferred with the Native Americans who permitted us to live on one of their islands. They knew what we were, but they also knew we meant them no harm. An accord was struck.
In the days leading up to the great lake freeze, however, several of the mers became ill. A strange sickness blackened their fingers and gave them a terrible cough. At the time, I was the strongest and fastest swimmer among my people. My father sent me back to our home below the waves for medicines we knew would ward off the disease. The frigid waters made the swim difficult. By the time I returned to the island, everyone was dead. They had wasted away, their fingers and noses turning black. I found the island riddled with corpses. I was too late. I burned the place, stopping the contamination, then fled to the mainland. In the days that followed, I too took ill. The medicines I carried saved me, and I survived the winter sheltering in a cave. The medicine cured my body, but the sorrow forever wounded my soul. My entire species, including my father, mother, sisters, and my betrothed, Kadan, had died. For many years, I lived with aching guilt. I had the medicine they needed. I just wasn’t fast enough to get it to them. Maybe if I’d tried harder, I could have saved them. But I had failed them all.
And now, my time was coming to an end. I could feel it. More and more my body felt…human. The first wrinkles at the corners of my eyes appeared two years before. The magic that lives inside mermaids endures until the end…or until we shed our dying tear. Mermaids’ tears carry the spark of life. I must have lost more than five-hundred years of life in the tears I shed for my people. It had taken all my power not to cry the life from me. But I had carried on. And now, my last spark was leaving me. When I was gone, mermaids would truly become what humans thought us to be, nothing more than legend.
Knowing what I did, what business did I have playing around with a man? If I grew to love him, eventually I would have to tell him what I was. That was impossible. And I had no idea how long I had left. A single teardrop could kill me or I might live on another hundred years, slowly aging. How could I explain that?
I had worn my mind out as I thought it over. At five o’clock, I locked up the shop and headed across the street. If there was anything or anyone that could take my mind off my worries, it was Alice.
* * *
“A date!” Alice said so loudly that her patrons turned and looked at her.
“Shush,” I scolded her.
“Finally. Okay, what are you going to wear?”
“I have no idea. I don’t know what I’m doing. Should I go? I don’t know.”
“Uh, yeah! I mean, he brought you a painting. Who does something like that? That’s like the classy version of a mixed tape. Snag him up, girl, or I’ll take a run at him.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” I replied. “Besides, what happened to Mr. Fix-it?” I asked, referring to the brawny repairman for whom she kept breaking things so she’d have a chance to win his heart.
“Not interested in me, that’s for sure. Nice guy, though. But,” Alice said as she sliced open an onion bagel, neatly arranging rolls of salmon-wrapped asparagus beside it in a basket, slathering the bagel with hummus, “the college brought in a new history professor. He’s doing some kind of archeology camp this summer. An Indiana Jones, but a ginger, type. Cute. I always had a thing for gingers. I can tell he’s a good guy…turkey and pepper jack, red onions, sprouts, and he likes his buns toasted!” she said, gesturing with a little spanking at the end. She stabbed a pickle from the jar with a long fork then gazed at it. “And from what I could see, that package was pretty…” she nodded to the pickle, raising her eyebrows up and down.
“Alice!”
“What?” she asked with mock confusion. She dropped the pickle into the basket beside the bagel and grabbed a cup of her freshly made avocado cream cheese. “Be right back,” she said, then headed across the café to serve her customer. She quickly scampered back, grinning, then said, “So, seriously, what are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. The purple dress?”
Alice shook her head. “Too girly.”
“I have that gauzy blue one I wore to that wine-tasting you catered.”
She shook her head. “You need something with sparkle. You’re the glass mermaid. Let your inner mermaid out!” she said jokingly.
Alice had no idea what I really was. If she only knew she’d hit the nail on the head. “Okay, I’ll think of something.”
I stayed at the café for another couple of hours, getting an earful from Alice. A brief spring rain storm washed through while I was in the café, the rain pounding on the roof in earnest, but it had gone as quickly as it came. Once the rains let up, I headed home. I still wanted to get in my nightly walk, and after a rain storm, there was always more glass on the beach. As well, I hoped I’d see Cooper again. There was still an hour before dark. I had time.
Dropping my bag in the foyer, I rushed upstairs to slip on a pair of shorts and T-shirt before I headed out. The night was turning humid. Finally, summer weather had arrived. I changed quickly. By the time I came out of my room and onto the balcony that overlooked the living room and had a fabulous view of the lake, it had started raining again. Dark clouds rolled across the lake from Canada, obscuring the sunset. Lightning illuminated the black clouds.
Frowning, I scanned the beach. I couldn’t see Cooper. Usually I could catch sight of him from the farthest corner of my balcony. He wasn’t there. He must have packed it in early because of the rain. A couple of minutes later, large drops splattered against the large windows of the A-frame. Yep, definitely too late. Thunder rolled across the lake.
I headed back to my bedroom and looked it over with assessing eyes. It was painted a soft tan color, almost pink, like a conch shell. I had sepia-hued photos of sailboats on the walls and framed sea stars and shells. My white bed was covered with an unbleached cotton coverlet. All in all, the room looked good, but I should probably change the sheets and tidy up…just in case.
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 tha
n 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 me 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 si
nce 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.
Falling in Deep Collection Box Set Page 65
