She stopped. Her hand lifted, her fingers brushed across the circular bump underneath her T-shirt.
“There’s this popular café back home,” I offered quickly, “where you can do karaoke twenty-four seven. Does Mountaineers have something like that?”
Natalie’s hand lowered as she continued. “Not officially, though regulars do often break into song if they hang around long enough.”
“So the entertainment has nothing to do with music,” Paige said. “What does that leave?”
Natalie grinned. “Ice fishing.”
Paige looked at her. “I don’t get it.”
“There’s this small community of serious ice fishermen in northern Vermont. As soon as the lakes freeze over each year, they’re on them every day, carving holes, dropping poles, and seeing what comes up. It’s a pretty isolated sport, so after spending countless hours alone, they head to Burlington to warm up and hang out.”
“Yeah …” Paige shook her head. “Still not computing.”
“Eight years ago, when Mountaineers was lucky to get a dozen customers a day, this guy named Tuck Hallerton stopped by for a drink after a long day fishing. It was so cold out, he didn’t bother storing his catch in coolers; he simply filled his truck bed with snow and threw in the fish. When he went to the restaurant, he parked the truck on the side of the road, and what was inside got the attention of the few other patrons.”
“Because they’d never seen fish packed that way?” I asked.
“Because they’d never seen such big fish—especially not in the middle of winter.” Natalie looked behind her. Noting that her tables were still occupied, she turned back. “The things were supposedly enormous—the size of sharks. That night, people asked Tuck where he’d caught them, and he said that was between him and the fish. Those dozen locals—mostly men—were so impressed, they told their friends, who told their friends. No one had ever heard of Tuck before, but they were so curious about this mysterious ice fisherman who caught things no one else could, they started coming every night to see if he’d be there with more monstrous creatures of the deep. And he did return every now and then, so they did, too.”
I caught Paige’s eye. At the mention of monstrous creatures of the deep, this conversation had to be venturing into dangerous waters for her, too.
“Fast-forward to today,” Paige said casually. “How’d Tuck’s truck of fish lead to so much business?”
“It got people talking. Soon, other ice fishermen started stopping by to see how their catches compared. Then more curious patrons came to check out the new guys’ stock and do some comparing themselves. Now there are contests every night to see who caught the biggest, strangest fish that day.” Natalie patted the stack of purple paper. “Word of mouth is the best promotion any business can get … and I’m sorry to say that no one’s going to be talking about Betty’s pretty new menus.”
“Okay,” Paige said, “but they will be talking about the food. They always have, and what we serve hasn’t changed.”
“How about your clientele?” Natalie asked.
“It’s smaller. Hence the menus and renovations and everything else.”
“Numbers aside.” Natalie nodded to an elderly couple at a nearby table. “Are the people who come for brunch once the kind who’ll come back again and again—with friends?”
Paige considered this as she watched the couple. “Maybe.”
“What about the summer?” I asked. “When the lakes weren’t frozen? What kept people coming back to Mountaineers then?”
“Its reputation.” Natalie stood. “Because after a single winter, it had a good one. Even if people couldn’t see how the place earned it, they still wanted to see where the crazy things they heard about happened. To be part of the experience in some small way.”
As she left to check on the couple, I looked at Paige. “It sounds like the Bull & Finch Pub.”
“Where everyone knows your name?”
“Where everyone knew your name—until word got out that it inspired the bar in Cheers, that old TV show. Now it’s a Boston tourist hot spot.”
“Without crazy fish.”
“But with the kind of reputation Natalie’s talking about. The actors are never there, but people line up on the sidewalk anyway.”
Paige sighed. “Betty’s has a reputation. It’s been here more than fifty years. It’s been featured in countless travel magazines. People should already know about it and be coming to Winter Harbor just to try our famous soup.”
“But they’re not,” I said gently.
“Maybe it’s a slump. If we ride it out, maybe everything will eventually go back to normal.” Her voice was bright, but her frown deepened.
“You don’t think it will?” I asked.
“It might. Crazier things have happened, as we know.” She tried to laugh. “It’s just … remember that hospitality-management training program I was looking into? In San Francisco?”
I nodded. Before deciding to stick closer to home, she’d spent hours every night last semester poring over the Web site and course offerings.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it and I’d really like to go—”
I gasped. “That’s great!”
“Yeah, it is. Thanks. But it’s also really expensive. And between paying for Hawthorne last year, fixing up the house after Oliver wrecked it last fall, and pouring a boatload of money into these renovations, Grandma B’s change purse is getting a little light. She keeps saying we can afford it, but if the rest of the summer is as slow as the past few weeks have been … we’re in trouble.”
For a moment, my mind lingered on an image of Oliver in the basement of Betty and Paige’s house, cutting out pictures and newspaper articles as a dozen sirens—myself included—lay submerged underwater in makeshift holding tanks. Under Raina’s command, Oliver had chopped up furniture and torn up carpet to build the tanks. I hadn’t been there since returning to Winter Harbor, and according to Paige, I wouldn’t recognize it the next time I was.
I blinked the image away. Then, anticipating a stress-induced energy zap, I reached for my coffee.
“So what do we do?” I asked, as I added a spoonful of sugar.
Paige swapped the coaster for a notebook. “I guess we figure out how to entertain Winter Harbor.”
As she began brainstorming, I sipped the coffee—and made a note to compliment Natalie on her brewing skills. It was the perfect blend of bitter and salty, and tasted so good, I poured myself a second cup after finishing the first.
I was halfway through that cup before realizing something wasn’t right. I took another sip just to make sure, then picked up my spoon, dipped it in the glass bowl, and brought it to my lips.
The white powder wasn’t sugar.
It was salt.
Heart racing and mouth drying, I leaned across the table. “Paige, you didn’t happen to mention anything to Natalie about—”
I stopped. Sat back.
“Mention anything to me about what?” Natalie asked, standing next to us.
I thought quickly. “The ice maker. In the bar. The lever sticks so you have to jiggle it to keep the bin from overflowing.”
“Good to know.” Natalie nodded toward the lobby. “Vanessa, there’s someone here for you.”
I looked past her. Not seeing anyone, I stood. “Thanks. Be right back.”
As I started across the dining room, I checked my watch. It wasn’t even eleven, which meant Simon and Caleb weren’t on break yet. Had Simon left early? Because he couldn’t wait to see me?
The thought made me so happy, I quickened my pace. When the hostess stand came into view, it occurred to me that Simon wasn’t the only one who might want to make a surprise visit. There were the fishermen from last week. The trespassers from last night. They’d all followed me at some point, so could’ve followed me here.
It’s the middle of the day, I told myself. This is a public place. If they were going to make trouble, they wouldn’t do it here, now.<
br />
It was a logical argument. Still, my legs trembled so much by the time I reached the doorway, I started to lean toward the wall for support—
—and was caught before my shoulder hit the wall.
Not by Simon. Or by one of the fishermen or trespassers.
By my mother. Charlotte Bleu.
CHAPTER 10
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
She held my arm until I was upright and steady, then released me. “I’m sorry for startling you. I actually wasn’t sure you’d be working.”
But she knew I worked there sometimes. We hadn’t spoken in months, so that meant someone else had filled her in … or that she’d been listening without my knowledge. This in mind, I struggled to silence my thoughts.
“Do you have a minute to talk?” she asked.
I turned and checked the dining room. Natalie had taken my seat, and she and Paige were deep in conversation.
“Yes,” I said. “But not in here.”
She stepped aside to let me lead the way. Eager to get a real answer to the question I’d just asked, I hurried through the lobby, down the porch steps, and around the building. I assumed she followed close behind, but when I walked onto the dock and it didn’t wobble a second time under her weight, I turned and saw that she was still several yards away.
My head was a shield and my thoughts an onslaught of arrows as I watched her approach. I hadn’t seen her since the day after she’d saved Simon and me from Raina, Zara, and the other sirens at the bottom of Lake Kantaka last fall. That was when she’d said that while she’d love to see me every single day and make up for seventeen years of lost time, the nature of our relationship was up to me. If I wanted to see her that often, I could. If I wanted some time apart to process and accept all that had just happened, that was fine. Or if I thought it was best that things went back to the way they were before I knew she existed and had accidentally found her working at a coffee shop in Boston, that was okay, too. She understood her presence would be another major adjustment for my family and me, and that I might want nothing more than to try to forget the other changes the past six months had brought. She’d be available if I needed her in the meantime, but otherwise, I’d continue to live my life without her in it.
I went with the last option that day. Part of me had wanted to know everything about her, and in turn, me, but a bigger part had wanted to pretend like we’d never met. I didn’t know if I could handle any other truths. Plus, I could always change my mind. I’d come close a few times, too, like when I wasn’t feeling well or didn’t understand a particular reaction from a guy at school, but then I’d watch Mom, the woman who raised me, hug Dad. Or Dad kiss the tip of her nose. Or the two of them dance around the kitchen together. And I’d resist.
If I hadn’t, Charlotte’s appearance now might not be such a shock. I’d been too taken aback to get a good look in the restaurant lobby, but as she made her way toward the dock, there was no mistaking a change. Six months ago, she’d been tall, thin. Her blue-green eyes had shone. Her dark hair had been long and thick. Her fair skin had been smooth, without a single blemish or hint of a wrinkle. Not only had she looked great, she’d also moved that way; in the lake, she’d dove and swum effortlessly, like a young athlete in her prime.
The woman nearing me now walked with a slight limp, her upper back rounded. Her eyes were still bright, but her lids hung lower. Her skin was soft and fell against itself in gentle folds. Her hair was short, and the white strands far outnumbered the brown ones. She wore dark jeans, a long cashmere duster, and silver leather sandals, so she was still more stylish than almost every woman in Winter Harbor … but given what the clothes couldn’t hide, she also looked like she’d raided her daughter’s closet.
Her daughter. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to the fact that that was me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
I held out one hand when she started to step onto the dock. Hers shook as she took it.
“Of course you do,” I said.
She smiled, and for a second, her entire face lifted. “Not like that. I promised I wouldn’t listen and I haven’t.”
I tried to return her smile but couldn’t help wondering if that were true.
Now on the dock next to me, she squeezed my hand and released it. “You’re thinking you didn’t call. You didn’t reach out to me, yet here I am, going back on our agreement. I don’t have to hear it—I see it. On every inch of your face.”
“I’m just surprised,” I said, grateful that was all she suspected. “But I’m still happy to see you. It’s been a long time.”
She looked away, started walking down the dock. “Indeed it has.”
I looked back at the restaurant as I followed her. The parking lot was still nearly empty. Two employees sat out on the break-area deck, but they talked to each other and paid no attention to us.
“How are you?” she asked.
I considered my response. If she hadn’t been listening, she wasn’t fishing for a particular answer. “Fine. Good. Busy, but good.”
“It must’ve been quite a year. Last semester of high school, graduation, applying to colleges.”
“College,” I corrected. “Just one. Dartmouth.”
“Where Justine was going to go.”
I paused. She didn’t know the truth—that Justine had only pretended to apply and feigned acceptance in anticipation of running away with Caleb. Apparently, Dad had left out some details in his recent e-mails.
“Right,” I said, since that was easier than clarifying. “And I got in. I leave at the end of August.”
She started to put one arm around me, then seemed to think better of it and clasped her hands behind her back instead.
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
We reached the end of the dock and looked out across the harbor. Like the parking lot, it was nearly empty. Last summer, it had been filled with powerboats, sailboats, Jet Skis, kayaks, canoes—basically, anything that floated. This summer, it was mainly a fishing-boat thoroughfare, and that traffic wouldn’t resume until the fishermen returned late this afternoon.
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.
Tired. Weak. Thirsty. Even more than usual, for longer periods of time.
“Great. Our new house practically sits in the ocean, which helps.” I shifted my eyes toward her without moving my head. “I’m sure Dad told you we moved.”
“I’m sure he would’ve, if we were still in touch. But since we’re not, no, he didn’t.”
Her eyes met mine. I looked away. Their communication had also been part of our deal. They’d been in regular contact since she’d asked him to care for me, but had stopped writing after our official introduction. And since I could offer her updates myself, we’d agreed there was no longer reason for them to be in touch. Especially since it must’ve killed Mom to learn that Dad had been harboring a secret pen pal—and not just any secret pen pal—for so many years.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, a moment later. I wasn’t simply trying to deflect; I genuinely wanted to know.
A cool breeze blew across the water. As she tightened her sweater around her torso, I could make out the outline of her ribs.
“Vanessa,” she said, her voice soft yet serious, “I don’t plan to stay long.”
I turned toward her. “But you just got here.”
She probably heard the disappointment in my voice, too, because her head tilted to one side as she looked at me. “I only stopped in Winter Harbor on my way to Montreal. There are some people there I need to see—”
“Nenuphar people?” According to Charlotte, the Nenuphars were a group of very successful sirens who’d grown so powerful over the years, they’d developed abilities other sirens lacked. We were their descendants, which was the main reason Dad had been unable to resist her draw, despite being completely in love with Mom.
“Yes,” Charlotte sai
d. “I have some matters to attend to with several relatives.”
“I thought you stopped talking to them years ago. When you left there and moved here.”
“I did. But just like it was time to see you, it’s time to see them.”
“Even though they’ve killed more men than any other group of sirens in the world? Which was why you left in the first place?” Realizing immediately how I sounded—judgmental—I looked away.
“Yes,” she said. “Even though.”
I nodded, unsure of how to feel about this. Despite being related, we were practically strangers, so it really wasn’t any of my business. On the other hand, Charlotte had taken a life herself last fall; it was the first time she’d participated in the type of behavior she’d left home to escape, decades earlier, and she did so only to gain the energy needed to help defeat Raina and the other Winter Harbor sirens. She’d said afterward that she’d felt even worse than she imagined she would and vowed never to take another victim.
So what business could she possibly have now with the most dangerous sirens in the world?
“Anyway,” she continued, “I wasn’t certain I’d stop here until I was about to pass your exit on the highway, which was why I didn’t contact you ahead of time. But I don’t know.…” Her gaze fell to the dock as her voice trailed off. A second later, she raised her head and tried again. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. So I wanted to at least say hello and see if you needed anything before you couldn’t reach me anymore.”
“What about your cell phone?” I asked. That was the only number I had for her. “Won’t you have it with you?”
“I’m only meeting my cousin in Montreal. After that, I’ll be traveling through some very remote regions of the country. Cell service will be unpredictable at best.”
“But—”
“Vanessa!”
I spun around, bringing one hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun.
“Is that Simon?” Charlotte asked.
Dark Water: A Siren Novel Page 9
