Lights at Midnight : A Mermaid Story (Lights at Midnight Series Book 1)

by Orchid Leigh

  My room had a small built-in cabinet near the top of the stairs. I opened it. The space inside was shallow, with the back slanted in line with the roof. I pulled the light on.

  There were several shoe boxes stacked inside. I picked one up and opened it. It was filled to the brim with old photos.

  Many of them were of a pretty woman with red hair so gorgeously bright I might have thought it was dyed. But I recognized this color.

  I pulled on the streak of red tucked low on the back of my head. I had always had it, this strange burst of color among otherwise regular dull blonde hair. My mom had it, too—Dad said she did—and now I guess I knew where it came from.

  These photos were of my grandmother. They were of her around the house: one of her reading in a chair in the living room, another of her in her garden, and several more of her with a young boy and a man who I thought must have been my great-grandfather.

  Many of the photos were overexposed, being just a blurry mess of light, and I couldn’t make out what they were of. There was one I thought might be an image of a horse, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I picked up another box. This one was very light. I didn’t expect to find much in it at all. I opened it to reveal a red silk scarf.

  I unfolded the fabric and found inside a golden, heart-shaped locket. There were swirly, ornate details etched in the gold, with an oversized heart-shaped diamond resting in the center.

  Inside was another photo. I squinted and looked closer. If it hadn’t been for the dark hair in this black-and-white photo, I might have thought this picture was of me. It was my grandmother again; I was sure. She was younger, though, probably just a few years older than I was. She looked happy. She smiled with her eyes and was as lovely as the locket itself.

  I strung the locket around my neck and placed my journal in the box, securing it secretly among the others.

  ~

  “How’s the room, Ellie?” asked Dad. We were sitting down for dinner at an old farmhouse table in the dining room.

  “Oh my god, I love it,” I said, reaching for the bread in front of me and taking a joyous bite. I was so happy and relieved to ditch the pretense.

  Dad raised a cheerful eyebrow to Millie. “Well, that’s certainly good to hear,” he said. “Your grandmother has gone out of her way to make us feel at home, hasn’t she?”

  With a mouthful of bread, I smiled at him.

  “What’s that?” asked Millie.

  “Wha?” Breadcrumbs sprayed from my mouth.

  “The chain around your neck.” She pointed at me.

  Realizing she meant the locket, I pulled it out from under my shirt. Millie’s mouth dropped. They both stared in silence.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Can I see it?” Millie stretched out her hand.

  I unhooked the clasp and handed it to her. She carefully turned over the locket, shining the overhead lights through the diamond. The light sparkled and danced.

  “Jim, I think it’s real,” she said in stunned disbelief.

  She handed it to Dad.

  He turned it over the same way Millie had and let out a troubled cough.

  “You say you found this upstairs in a shoebox?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said defensively. I didn’t like the way they were looking at me. I was beginning to wish I had left it there. “The girl looks like me, so I thought I could have it.” It was a weak line of reasoning, I knew.

  Dad opened the locket. “How about that? She does. Just about your age, too.” He closed it again, regarding me solemnly. “You’re not going to be able to wear it, Ellie.”

  “But, Dad!” I protested.

  “Hey, I’m not saying it’s not yours, but you can’t wear it. This locket looks old, and if that very large diamond is real—”

  “I doubt it’s real, Dad.”

  He inspected it again and swallowed audibly. “Probably not,” he mumbled, more to himself than the room at large. “But if it is, it’s worth a fortune.” He paused on the diamond a second longer, then raised his eyes to mine. “You might lose it, Ellie. And if you don’t, someone will steal it right off your neck.”

  I put my hands around my neck, imagining the horror. “Okay,” I conceded. “So where do I keep it?”

  “Certainly not in a shoebox!” scoffed Millie.

  “No, certainly not,” agreed Dad.

  We all decided to put the locket in the safe where Dad kept his passport and other important items. I felt a little sad to part with it. To me, it didn’t make any sense to hide something so lovely away. But it was two against one, and I knew they were probably right.

  “This is one you can trust me on, Ellie,” said Dad as I handed it over. “You’ll thank me one day. I promise.” He closed the safe and turned the key, and that was that.

  For now.

  4

  I stood on our front porch and breathed in the remarkably fresh, fresh air, thinking now this was something they couldn’t put on maps or in photos.

  It was one of those unusually warm days right smack dab in the middle of February, sandwiched between the biting winter before and what was surely left of it.

  I listened to the birds singing their happy symphony in the sun and smiled when, every once in a while, they’d fall perfectly in step with the beat the drippy gutters were providing.

  The door opened behind me. Dad strolled past me on his way to the car, still busy unpacking our old life.

  “Can I walk to town?” I asked.

  Dad heaved and pulled out the last and largest suitcase. He plunked it on the ground. “Yeah, but take your phone.”

  “I got it,” I said, skipping down the driveway.

  On the street, I passed the lake, frosted in a blanket of ice and snow. It was deserted and quiet. And in the placid silence, I had a strange idea: that within the whistle of the warm wind blowing so pleasantly around me, the frozen water called out my name . . .

  I was smiling when I turned off the long gravel road and onto Main Street.

  The center of town was a busy beehive compared to the lake. The warm weather seemed to have lured out most of the small town’s few inhabitants, and they jogged, strolled, and scurried past the shops in town.

  I spotted the local store, Carle’s Market, and headed over. A bell chimed when I entered the busy market, and many curious eyes crept my way.

  In a rush to avoid the glares, I quickly turned down an aisle and smacked right into somebody. Our heads collided with a loud thud and I doubled back in pain.

  “Oh my god!” I cried. “I’m so sorry!”

  I glanced up to see a boy standing with his hand rubbing his forehead. I immediately recognized his rusty orange coat and shaggy brown hair. He was the same boy I had seen at the lake last night.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, feeling like a clumsy fool.

  He moved his hands to his pockets. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said quietly.

  “God, my head’s still pounding!” I was holding my forehead, waiting for the pain to subside. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me. Don’t spare my feelings.”

  “I’ll be all right,” he said with a laugh. “What about you?” He was looking at my hand still on my head.

  I lowered it. “Is it red?”

  “Yeah, it is. A little. You all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing my head again.

  I then lowered my hand to peer more closely at the kid in front of me. With the subsiding pain, my vision was clearing. I straightened up and smiled a little sweeter at the cute boy staring back at me.

  He had a nice smile, and his muddy, disheveled hair hid good eyes. And sprinkled just on the bridge of his nose was a cute scatter of dark freckles. I continued to smile and stare, but I didn’t realize it until he glanced away uncomfortably.

  I cleared my throat. “So where’s your dog?” I asked.

  He looked at me sideways. “My dog? How do you know—”

  “I saw you last night by the lake,” I s
aid, cutting him off.

  “Oh . . . uh . . . ya did? Sh-She’s at home.” He stumbled over his words awkwardly and his shy eyes darted back to the candy.

  I smiled at him, finding his clumsy struggle amusing. “Yeah, we’re new here. We just drove in last night.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “I figured,” he corrected.

  “Huh,” I said, feeling the world around me close in a little. “This small-town stuff is weird.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Where are you from?”

  “New York. Brooklyn.”

  “Geeez,” he said in a long wheeze that flowed out until all his air was gone. “Why would you move here . . . from there?” He looked at me like I was crazy. Actually crazy.

  “Eh . . . my dad,” I said.

  “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  He was so serious that I laughed. “So what’s your name?” I asked.

  “Peter,” he mumbled. He was back to being shy and shuffled his feet a little.

  “I’m Ellie.”

  He smiled at me, then quickly went back to the candy.

  “What are you going to get?” I asked.

  “Um . . . not sure . . .”

  “Twix are good,” I suggested.

  “Yeah, I like those, too,” he said. He picked up a Twix pack and turned to me. “It was nice meeting you, Ellie.”

  “You too, Peter. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  He nodded and rounded the corner to the register.

  I sat and stared absentmindedly at the candy for another minute, still thinking of the dull ache in my head and the boy I had smashed it into.

  “Hey, Ellie.” I turned, surprised to see Peter again. He was reaching around the corner with his hand out to me. “Here,” he said. It was a sample pack of Advil. “For your head.” He put a bottle of water in my other hand. “Don’t worry. Carle knows they’re paid for.”

  He smiled at me, then disappeared around the corner again.

  ~

  I sat at the gazebo alone—and feeling it, in this small town, so isolated and far from everything. The sun shining down helped some, and I was trying to soak in its bright mood as I sat in a sunny spot, people-watching and drinking the water Peter had bought for me.

  Everybody else at least seemed like they were succeeding in their efforts to be happy. The warm day was receiving a warm welcome, and I watched as people flowed in and out of the stores, looking delighted to be rid of the burden of winter and the puffy coats that came with it—even if just for a day.

  I was about to get up and head back home when I saw Peter again. He exited a small diner and stopped to hold the door for an elderly couple. He waited patiently with a big smile on his face as they toddled through, then waved them goodbye and turned down an alley and was out of sight.

  A smile lingered on my face as I started toward home and down the road that opened up in front of the lake.

  The icy water glistened beside me. The bright noon sun beamed on its brilliant white surface, creating a stunning spectacle of light so beautiful that my eyes were frozen to it. It begged and pleaded for my attention. I heeded its call and proceeded down the rocky embankment.

  A pebbled beach ran along the edge of the water for some time before merging into the dense forest surrounding it. The winter trees, set against the icy waters, created a sight that was completely breathtaking, and I imagined I might find this exact image on a postcard if I were to go check in one of the local shops in town.

  I walked down a long dock that stretched out on top of the frozen surface. I stopped at the edge and stared down at the dazzle of light that playfully danced and sparkled on the ice. I was hypnotized by the beauty and felt a sudden beckoning come over me, as if the water was calling my name again. I closed my eyes and imagined a warm day, the hot sun on my skin, the cool water below me, waiting for me, waiting to soothe, waiting to wash me in its coolness.

  The feeling, the desire to jump in, was so strong. I opened my eyes before it could take over. I looked down again at the frozen water, but I still felt the pull to go in.

  I shook my head to shake it off. “What the heck has gotten into me?” I asked aloud to the silence, but I stood still with my gaze transfixed on the frozen water in front of me.

  5

  “Got any plans today?” asked Dad. He was dressed in a suit and tie for his new job. His peppered hair was freshly cut and combed and sprayed into place.

  Fancy-work-Dad was always so strange to me. Dad to me was a T-shirt and flannel, with a beer or guitar in his hand. That attire didn’t cut it for most financial consultant positions, so he swallowed it, but I only ever saw him dressed so spiffy like this in the early mornings before work.

  He was busy packing his lunch and coffee.

  “I don’t know. I might walk back down to the lake later. Is that okay?”

  “Make sure you let Millie know.” Dad zipped up his lunch pack, looking glum. “Well, back to the grind for me today.”

  “Do you ever think about changing careers, Dad?”

  Dad glanced up, pondering. “This is kind of a change.” He straightened his tie stiffly. “Smaller company, at least.”

  “No,” I said. “Something more fitting. More you.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” I eyed him up and down, thinking. “I think farming would suit you.”

  Dad laughed. “Farming? Huh?” He smiled at me. “You think this city boy could be a farmer?”

  “A farmer?” asked Millie as she came into the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” I smiled at her. “Don’t you think it would suit him?”

  “I could see that,” said Millie. She put her arms around Dad, kissing him. “Those poor cows, though.” She laughed. “You do remember the fish, right?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed, remembering our poor fish, Larry. He hadn’t lasted more than a day with Dad when Millie and I were away on a girl’s weekend together. “Fish are hard, though,” I said with mock empathy toward Dad.

  Dad glared at me from under hard brows. “Let’s just see how this new job goes before we start talking about a career change, aye? Maybe we’ll be able to save some cows.” He grinned and picked up his lunch and coffee.

  “Good luck, Dad.”

  “Okay, baby,” said Dad, kissing me on the cheek. “Have fun, girls.” He kissed Millie goodbye and turned toward the door.

  “Bye, Dad.”

  “Bye, babe,” said Millie. She then turned to the kitchen. “I suppose I should finish unpacking and organizing all this stuff.” She sighed. “It sure is a lot of stuff, huh?”

  I surveyed the cluttered kitchen with her. “Yeah. Do you need help?”

  “No, no,” she said, still eyeing the room with apprehension. “This place is going to need all of my undivided attention.” She turned to me, looking worried that maybe she had hurt my feelings. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Oh no,” I said quickly, happy to get out of it. The offer had been completely out of politeness, to be sure.

  I spent the morning at my desk, doodling in my journal, then decided the ray of sun beaming across my hand from my window was a sign I should probably get out of the house.

  I showered and got dressed, then tossed my journal into my backpack. I zipped it up and headed downstairs.

  “Hey,” I called to Millie as I filled a bottle at the sink. “I’m going to go out for a bit.” I was having to shout over some pretty loud country music blaring from her cell phone. She was standing on a stool in front of an empty cabinet, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her tight-ringed curls pinned behind a red bandana. The counter below her was a clutter of teetering saucers and cups.

  “Okay, hon,” she said over her shoulder as she examined a couple of plates. She turned to me. “Oh, hey, can you mail those bills for me?” She pointed the plate she was holding at a stack of bills.

  “Sure.” I grabbed the pile of envelopes from th
e counter and swung the back door open.

  It was another welcomed, warm day. Everything was melting and wet. I removed my coat before I even made my way down the driveway.

  I walked down the road past the lake. It was still trying to entice me with its beauty, but I decided I would come back to it after I mailed the letters.

  I found the post-office at the other end of Main Street, past Carle’s Market and just a short swim past the gazebo. I quickly made it there and shoved Millie’s stack of bills into the mail slot I located in the post office lobby.

  I started to feel excited about the idea of going down to the lake and headed back in that direction.

  I turned onto the sidewalk and saw, down the street ahead of me, a shaggy-haired boy with an orange coat—it was Peter again. He turned into Carle’s Market. I picked up my pace, hoping to reach the store before he left.

  As I approached, a group of three boys wearing matching red basketball jerseys shuffled out of the back of a black SUV. They entered the store ahead of me. I moved toward the store to go in but stopped with my hand on the door, peering inside through the window.

  Peter was in the checkout line. The boys who had entered before me had stopped to talk to him, but he stood rigid with his eyes on the floor and he didn’t seem to be having too much fun.

  “Hey, look who it is, Boozer Jr.,” one boy called to his friends. The boy who was a good foot taller than Peter reached over and ruffled Peter’s hair. He tried to pull away, but the kid kept pestering him, while the other two boys just stood around and laughed. Peter did his best to ignore them and moved up the line to pay for his bag of chips.

  The cashier gave the bully kid a stern eye, and the group turned its attention to the slushie machine.

  Peter paid and shuffled toward the exit with his head still down. I hurried out of sight and ducked around the corner alley. I didn’t want him to see me staring at him like this.

  I waited a few minutes, then stepped back out. I glanced down the street in both directions, searching for Peter. He was gone. I sighed, knowing I’d missed my chance to try hanging out with him.