Brine (4 page)

Allen shook his head. “Certainly makes sense with the conversation we were just having.”

“Shut up, Allen,” Ishmael said.

“Ishmael just told me she’s a mermaid.”

Diane looked up from her purse and perked her ears.

“Thanks for just blurting that out,” Ishmael said. “Makes me sound like a total idiot.”

“You darn well might be if you’re sprinkling that stuff on your nachos!” Diane said. “I will say that Captain Harry makes him some of the best fish food around. Good, clean stuff. Won’t hurt you. Whatever floats your boat.” Diane extended the container to Ishmael. “Feel free to put some on your eggs if you want to.”

Allen was looking intently at Diane. “Diane. Seriously? Were you listening to what I just said?”

“So she’s got a little fantasy of being a sexy woman of the sea.” Diane shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”

Diane started to set the table.

“My Harry swears up and down that he’s seen ’em. I just thought he’d been sucking on that pipe of his for too long.” She paused for a moment, her eyes growing narrower, thinking. “But we should probably take you to a doctor, darling. Get you checked out. Just to be sure.”

“Agreed.” Allen pounded his fist on the counter, triumphant. Diane was already tucking her napkin in her lap.

“I’m not going to lie,” Diane said. “I think this is one of the best mornings I’ve had in years. Reunited lovers and resurrected mermaids. I’m having one hell of a good start to my day. Totally worth skipping my pedicure appointment.” Diane picked up her fork. “Y’all mind if I go ahead and eat before mine gets any colder?”

“So tell us, Ish,” Allen said from the kitchen, arms still crossed. “Where did this mermaid take you after it rescued you? Where have you been for the past two weeks?”

“It was some sort of sea cave,” Ishmael said, joining Diane at the table.

“A mermaid
rescued
you?” Diane asked. “Damn, I missed a
ton
while I was on the phone. Can we rewind and start back at the beginning?”

“They kept me there and nursed me back to full health after the accident,” Ishmael said, swallowing her first bite. She was ravenous. “Geez, this is good. I’d forgotten what a great cook you are, Allen.”

“And so were there other things with tails there?” Allen asked as he pulled out a chair.

“Other mermaids, you mean?” Ishmael glanced between Diane and Allen, attempting to read their expressions. She couldn’t decide if they believed her or if they were just humoring her to play along. “Yeah, there were. I vaguely remember there being males and females. The dude ones had beards.”

“So what did these creatures do all day in their sea cave?” Allen asked.

“You don’t have to be rude, Allen,” Diane said.

With Diane’s support, Ishmael felt less tentative.

“Well, they played. Hunted for food. How many adults do you know that just hunt for food and play all day?” Ishmael put another bite in her mouth. “I mean, what do dolphins do all day?” She chewed and swallowed. “They seemed content to just be, I guess. Just to survive. They seemed happy. They kept feeding me this paste that took away the pain but made me drowsy. So I don’t remember a lot of details.”

“And you ate it? Some random paste that these sea creatures gave you?” he asked.

“Oh, Allen, stop being such a buzz kill,” Diane said.

“And no major injuries after your truck went off the cliff?” he asked. “No problems at all?”

Ishmael paused, chewing. She looked down at her body, shrugged.

“I mean, my whole body is sore, but otherwise, yeah, I feel fine.”

“Well then, I guess I’ve got no choice but to see this for myself,”

Allen said, shoveling salsa over his eggs. “Diane, does Captain Harry still have that 22-footer of his tied up at the marina?” he asked. “Sure does,” Diane nodded assent.

“How about we all take it out for a little spin?” Allen said. “And after that—Ishmael, I hate to say it, but you’re going back to Nicholas. I can’t get tangled up in this. I’ve worked way too hard to get my life back on track since we split up.”

“I’m happy to prove myself, Allen. But once I do, I’m not going back to Nicholas.”

Allen rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Ishmael, slowly chewing his food.

“I just don’t recognize you,” he said without breaking his gaze.

“I don’t know who you’ve become.”

Ishmael smiled.

“I know exactly who I’ve become,” she said. “And now you’re going to find out.”

THE BOAT MOTORED AWAY FROM THE DOCK with Allen at the wheel. Diane sat in the bow and kept one hand on her head to secure her wide-brimmed hat. A shout came from the docks and Diane waved and smiled like she was perched on the lip of a convertible in a parade.

The day was overcast and warm, but Ishmael wore Diane’s sunglasses and kept the hood up on one of Allen’s sweatshirts. She certainly didn’t want anyone to recognize her.

They rode straight out into the Pacific until land was visible, but too distant to be distinct. There were no other boats around. Allen cut the motor, and the boat tossed unevenly in the waves.

“Y’all better hurry this up,” Diane said from beneath her hat. “I don’t get my sea legs without a heavy dose of Dramamine.”

Ishmael stood and walked to the back of the boat. She stripped her clothes and stood naked for a moment on the stern. Allen pretended to be impatient, but Ishmael could feel his eyes on her.

“Here goes,” she mumbled to herself and dove in before she had the chance to think.

The water was chilly, but the tingle awakened her. She surfaced, thinking her teeth would be chattering, but instead, she was smiling, glad to be back in the water. She felt freer without a tangled mat of hair weighing her down. The sun broke briefly from the clouds; the warmth of light on her shoulders was like an embrace. She paddled with her arms, dragging her legs behind her.

Allen cranked the motor and idled alongside. She knew he was watching her every move, but she didn’t look up. She kept her eyes straight ahead, focused. It was exhilarating to know that in only seconds, two other people would know her secret.

“Ho-ly
shit
, will you look at that?” Diane exclaimed from the boat.

The water was cold, but she felt it now: the wrapping, the stretching in her toes, the bonding of her legs into one. She kicked and felt the force of her fluke behind her. The propulsion. She could hardly imagine the spectacle for the two witnesses gawking over the rail of the boat.

Her body felt so much stronger, so much more competent in this state. She rolled over onto her back and fluttered her tail beside the boat, looking up at Allen and Diane.

Allen beamed back at her, his eyes wide. His face broke into a smile.

“Unbelievable
,” he whispered.

Diane held out her arm to Allen, her eyes fixated on Ishmael. “Pinch me, sugar. Pinch me so I’ll wake up.”

Allen whistled with amazement. “I certainly had to see it to believe it,” he added.

“Doubting Thomas.” Diane smacked his arm. “I could’ve told you stuff like this was possible. You ever study any quantum mechanics? Sub-atomic particles and what-not? Now
that
is the strange stuff.”

Allen was shaky, giddy.

“How? That’s—your—it’s
incredible
,” he said.

“It is,” Ishmael responded, looking down at her fluke that had replaced her feet. “I would have to agree that it absolutely is.”

Ishmael laughed and then dove beneath the surface and swam straight down. It was remarkable to be able to swim like this. So fast. So strong. She pushed her body deeper until she felt her ears pop, her lungs nearly burst. She looped back toward the surface. The boat above her was just a blurry shadow. She kicked and shot upward toward the sunlight, breaking free of the water at the surface and shooting up into the sky among an explosion of water droplets. She heard Diane shriek with glee, then Ishmael tucked her body in the air and dove back into the water, relishing the silence and the solitude of this new realm that belonged to her.

She swam back to the boat and kicked once with such power that she lifted herself out of the water and perched her body on the edge of the boat. She smiled. There was nothing to say: words were trivial compared to her exhilaration.

Allen gaped at her. “You’re—this is—beautiful.”

“Note to self,” Diane said. “My Harry
has not
been smoking too much of his pipe.” She shifted around, looking at Ishmael from all angles. “You really do look pretty darn amazing, darling.” She stepped back. “You’re glowing. You’re in your element.” Diane gestured to Ishmael’s breasts and whispered, “Are those real? They’re so
perky
.”

“Ish, I’m—I was a jerk,” Allen said. “You were telling the truth. I’m sorry.”

“You were. And I was,” she said. “But it was an impossible thing to believe. So I forgive you.”

“So, wow. Holy shit. What now?” he asked. “Sky’s the limit, eh?”

“For starters, I want some more time out here. Would you come back and get me in a few hours?” Ishmael gestured to Diane. “You should take her back to the marina anyway. She’s going to get sick out here.”

Diane held a handkerchief to her lips, confirming her nausea.

Ishmael wanted some time alone in the water. Time to remember. To ponder. To get clarity. Her mom might be out there. She fell backwards off the boat and splashed back into the water.

When she surfaced, Allen was already yelling. “I can’t just leave you out here!”

“Yep. It’s official,” Diane mumbled. The color had drained from her face. “I feel like a pile of cow dung.”

“Go,” Ishmael urged. “I’ll be fine. You know I will. I’ve made it this far. I’m practically bulletproof at this point.”

“But what if someone sees you?” Allen asked.

“They won’t,” she said. “I can hold my breath for a pretty long time these days.” Her lungs did feel stronger when she was in this form.

“How will I find you?” he asked.

She kicked so that she rose out of the water enough to kiss his cheek.

“You won’t have to,” she said. “I’ll find you.”

Falling back with a controlled splash, she tucked and swam away from the boat, farther out to sea. The water rushed beside her as she sped off. Moments later, she heard the start of the motor and then the fading hum of the boat moving in the opposite direction.

SHE APPROACHED THE KELP PADDY from underwater and noticed a collection of narrow fish lingering beneath the floating island, flashing their iridescence as they circled under the protective shelter. As she surfaced, gulls were perched atop, resting and preening. It was an oasis of color, rich browns and yellows of the kelp forest combined with the stark alabaster whites of the birds amidst the vast blue.

She lay her head back and floated, catching her breath from the swim and staring at the drifting clouds in the distance. A single gull squawked and flapped its wings; then the flock of gulls lifted off the kelp at once and hovered in the air. She poked her head underwater: the glimmering schools of fish had become skittish as well. As peaceful as she may have felt moments before, she suddenly realized that she was far less acclimated than these creatures.

She dove underwater and swam beneath the kelp bed, peering around. When she surfaced, a few gulls still flapped in the air, but most had landed again. She kicked and rose up enough to tuck her head and dive beneath the surface. This time, she dove straight down, rocketing deeper into the dark water below. Her heart was already pounding. She was getting deeper—deeper than she had ever been. Her lungs were bursting; her eardrums throbbed, but she kept going. She was curious what this new body could accomplish. It felt amazing to push herself like this.

Finally, she turned back. There above her, blocking her path to the surface, was the creature that had scared the gulls off the kelp and had sent the fish scampering. She nearly choked in her body’s instinct to gasp.

The ivory belly of a great white shark sliced through the water. A single, simple line for a mouth, hiding rows of jagged teeth. Pointed fins reached out like wings on a fighter jet. The creature was at least three times her size.

Where could she go? What could she do? She would need a breath soon. Hell, she needed a breath now.

She forced her eyes wide. The salinity burned. The shark zigzagged deeper toward her. Its vertical tail pushed side to side like the beat of a metronome, curving its entire massive body to the right, then the left. King of the jungle, lion of the sea. No need to rush.

She couldn’t go any deeper; her eardrums would burst. She had to figure a way out of this. Alone. The realization made her head pound. She was seriously out of her league. She hadn’t spent her entire life in the ocean like the shark. She was still getting used to this new body.

The shark approached; she thought of all the knives inside that mouth. All the blood that would spill. All the pain. Hopefully it would be over quickly. She hated the thought of struggling, writhing.
Please don’t play with your food. Please just eat me and be done with it
. God, she needed to surface. She needed a breath. She was going to explode.

The creature’s size increased as it neared.

One bite and there would be nothing left of her. She thought of Allen, searching for her, confused. She hoped he didn’t see all the blood. It would be too gruesome.

Desperate for a breath, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She swished her fluke hard and pressed toward the sunlight above. The animal darted—faster than she could ever imagine a creature could move. The mouth opened; she saw the rows of triangular teeth out of the corner of her eye—a dark amphitheater of serrated shards. She waited for the bite to pierce her skin, the jaws to crush her.

She heard a shrill chirping. The sound came from nowhere and everywhere. Again, the sound. Distinct. Piercing. The next shrill shriek was followed by a dull thump. And another. Dull thump.

All at once, she was swooped up; she was racing to the surface, then her head broke through the crust like an eggshell cracked and she was in another world, the wind in her face.

She gulped, sucking in her first breath. Her sense of smell restored, the pungent stench of the kelp and bird feathers and fish scales again palpable in her mouth. She looked around. How the—?

She was at the surface. Breathing. Unharmed. Sunlight beat down on her peach-fuzz scalp. Surely the shark would come back for her. She squinted in the brightness and spun in all directions, searching for the trademark fin slicing the water.

She saw something. Near the kelp bed. She wiped her eyes, dove, and swam as fast as she could. Schools of fish parted like draperies in her path. She rose and saw a female hovering in the kelp. She wanted to hug her. She reached out, but the creature jerked away.

“You saved me!” she said, breathless.

The female only stared at her. Her teeth were rugged, the nails on her hands were fiercely long, her hair roughly tangled and ornamented with feathers and shells. She was savage, but not entirely frightening. Surely she had somehow fended off the shark. All the stories Ishmael had ever read about mermaids and all the pictures she had seen in storybooks did this creature no justice. This mermaid in front of her was never going to cover her breasts with starfish or sit on a rock and comb her hair with a shell. This creature was tough. Fierce. The female swam close, right up to Ishmael’s face, and reached out as if to grab her hand.

Ishmael instinctively pulled back. She looked at the female curiously.

“What’s your name? Can you talk?” she asked. “I’m looking—I’m wondering if you’ve heard of—my mother.”

The female moved her head, but Ishmael wasn’t sure whether she was saying no or merely shaking off the question in confusion. “Anna. Her name is Anna Morgan.”

Again, the female moved in and tried to grab Ishmael’s arm. Perhaps she wanted to lead her somewhere, but Ishmael wasn’t sure she was ready to follow.

Ishmael pulled her hand away. “I want you to say something.” The female clicked back at her. Ishmael tried to watch her face, to read her expressions, to understand.

“I don’t—I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” Ishmael said.

They hovered in the water, fluttering their tails to keep them upright and stable. The female pointed and Ishmael turned at the female’s gesture. All Ishmael could see was the length of the land, expansive behind them.

“What? Land? What are you trying—”

The female struggled out a word. “Ga-aw.”

“Gaw?” Ishmael asked. “Gaw? What’s gaw?”

The female said the word again, better this time. “Go-ow.”

“Go? Go where? Where should I go?”

The female continued to gesture toward land.

“You want me to go? Go back? You want me to go back to land?” The female only looked at her.

“Go back for what? What am I going back to?”

Still no response. Ishmael sighed.

Go back? To what?
A fiancé she’s not in love with who thinks she’s dead? A slew of paintings that would probably never sell now that she’d screwed her connection with the Santorini Gallery? And Allen? Was he worth going back for?

Wait a second.

Hadn’t her dad told her once that she had a grandmother named Maggie who lived on some island. Butter Island? Something like that. In South Carolina.

“Maggie,” she said.

The female perked up.

“Maggie?” Ishmael said. “You know something about Maggie?” The female chirped.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Ishmael’s brain started to buzz.
“Maggie
,” she whispered.

The female watched some birds in the distance. She seemed to be charting where they were diving for fish, planning her next meal.

“That’s it? I’ve got to go to South Carolina? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” She grabbed the female’s shoulders. “But I don’t have any money. No clothes. No ID. No car. I’m
dead
! I can’t go to South Carolina!”

The female jerked and dove, seemingly agitated by Ishmael’s sudden excitement. Ishmael let her go, transfixed by this new idea: an idea that might just work. Her grandmother was her mother’s mother. Maggie would have some answers.

Ishmael lay on her back and floated, a forearm over her eyes to block the sun. It was amazing how well this new form floated, how buoyant she could be.

How was she going to get to South Carolina? Plane ticket. No. No planes. That would require identification. She wasn’t ready to come clean and admit she was alive. That ruled out buses as well. Maybe Allen would drive her. Could she convince him? Of course she could. He was still in love with her.

She heard a noise and shot up. Please, not the shark again. A wave lifted her and she spotted the female in the kelp paddy. The female was picking through the floating field of brown bulbs and leaves, nibbling on whatever was edible. As Ishmael approached, the female held out her hand. Her fingers were thicker than Ishmael’s, clawed and weathered liked talons. And yet, there on that feral hand, perched on the pinky finger, was Ishmael’s engagement ring.

“That’s not a sight you see every day,” Ishmael said.

The female took the ring off her finger and shoved it securely into Ishmael’s hand.

“Go-w,” she said again, her voice untrained like a deaf person. Her mouth stretched out, sort of curved. Was that a smile? And then she went back to picking and eating the critters from the kelp. Ishmael looked down at the ring: a monstrous shimmering diamond set on top of a throne of sapphires. The pale gold band was inlaid with even more sparkling gems.

She secretly hated this ring. Every time she’d been asked to show it to someone, she’d felt ridiculous. She would’ve preferred a simple band, maybe a custom ring from a local jeweler.

But she could use it . . .
That’s it
! This was the money Ishmael needed. Sure, maybe it wasn’t the most honest thing to do, but Nicholas thought she was dead. The ring was lost to him. Knowing Nicholas, he’d probably already collected insurance on the thing.

Ishmael looked up to say something to the female—thank her or say goodbye—even if she didn’t understand, it was the polite thing to do. But the female was gone, and Ishmael felt a pang.

The sun had dropped lower in the sky. Ishmael turned toward the land and dove. Her body rose and fell as she swam, bouncing rhythmically like a ball across the water, sliding in and out of the waves like a ribbon thread through a swath of silk.