Moondance Beach (8 page)

Though his only near-contact with her had been the night of Da’s ill-fated birthday dinner, she’d pop into his thoughts every now and then. How could she not? Her paintings were all over the Safe Haven. Once his mother discovered Duncan had removed that witchy-woman mermaid portrait from his room, she went and found him another one—even bigger and with even more naked flesh!—and slapped that sucker right up over the mantelpiece. “Maybe you’ll like this one better,” she said.

He didn’t.

Since Lena made her living painting mermaids, it was a sure bet she was just as flaky as his ma, but that didn’t
mean she’d shoot Duncan for trespassing. Shy, artistic chicks weren’t usually the type to carry rifles.

After about ten more minutes of running, the exhaustion caught up to him. He’d run as far as he’d planned but had to get all the way back. So he slowed to a walk, waited for his pulse to return to normal, then plopped down in the sand for a stretch and a rest.

As much as he disliked them, he couldn’t really blame the tourists for coming here. Bayberry Island was a pretty place, and though he’d traveled most of Asia, Europe, and North and South America, he’d seen none prettier. Duncan lay back, tucked his arms behind his head, and indulged in a little stargazing. It was a perfect spot for it, with very little light pollution and a new moon. He could see the cloudy sweep of the Milky Way and a fiercely bright Jupiter taking center stage. The Big and Little Dippers hung suspended overhead. And suddenly, a meteor shower burst across the sky, shooting out from the constellation Aquarius and arcing overhead, flashing and diminishing as it dipped below the northwest horizon line.

And that’s when he noticed something moving.

Duncan’s gaze shot to the water, where he saw a great swish of a tail breaking the surface not twenty yards from shore. What was it—a dolphin? He blinked. Waited. Nothing. Wait. It hadn’t been a tail at all—the head and shoulders of a person now appeared above the waterline. His instinct was to jump into the surf and carry out a rescue, but the swimmer was in no obvious distress. Something told him to be still. To wait and observe. So in stunned silence, Duncan watched a form rise slowly from the surf. He blinked again. Okay. He had to be hallucinating. It had happened to him once in the smothering
heat of Afghanistan, so why not here and now? Maybe he had pushed himself too hard.

Without making a sound, Duncan flattened himself into the sand, disappearing, remaining perfectly still while he stared in disbelief. This was better than any hallucination. Hell, it was better than any wet dream he’d ever had.

Not twenty feet away, a woman had materialized. She was gloriously naked, her pale skin gleaming in the starlight, a stream of dark hair flipped over her left shoulder and cupping a breast. As she continued to rise from the water, the rest of her loveliness was revealed. Duncan saw a slim waist, flared hips, and a dark vee between a set of perfect thighs.

He stopped breathing. He willed himself to be invisible. And she walked right past him, so slowly it was like she was in a dream state. That was when he saw her face in profile—lovely, delicate, and somehow bold. That was a strong woman. But who
was
she?

No way.

Could this vision be Adelena Silva, Mellie’s daughter? It was her beach, after all. But when had that timid little squirt become a mesmerizingly gorgeous woman? Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he had to be confused. Sure, the babe who’d just come out of the water reminded him of someone—some
thing
, really. A moment, maybe. A fleeting sensation. And though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why she seemed familiar, he was certain she wasn’t Adelena.

Right?

Duncan opened his eyes. He watched her as she continued down the beach, his brain now on high alert.
Pay attention
, it said. Then he saw it—the feminine curve of
her calf and the daintiness of her ankle. Put a frilly little sandal on it, and that was the leg he’d seen in the dining room of the Safe Haven.

Duncan waited until she was far enough up the beach that he could make his exit. Because he had been lying still for so long, tensed up and on alert, he had become quite stiff. He grunted as he pushed himself from the sand, somehow got himself over the fence, and headed down Safe Haven Beach. He jogged the three miles back to the bed-and-breakfast, his mind racing as fast as his heart.

*   *   *

“Gather ’round, ye maids.” Mona paused, swallowing hard as she blinked back tears. Oh, of all the ridiculous things! Here it was, three weeks before the festival, and she suddenly doubted her ability to step into the role of president of the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society. She’d held the job for forty years, for goodness’ sake, and she could conduct their rites in her sleep. Just because she’d found a suitable replacement and had finally retired last year didn’t mean she’d lost her knowledge and experience. She needed to calm herself.

Mona took a steadying breath and joined the sacred circle along with her friends. “O, Great Mermaid. Hear this plea of pure heart.”

The ladies gazed up at the face of the bronze goddess, who began to glow in the first hint of morning light. Eight female voices said in unison, “Hear this plea of pure heart.”

Mona continued. “O, Great Mermaid! We are twenty-one days away from our celebration of your power and grace. Your followers are already arriving. Bless the pilgrims who come to pay their respects. Bless the travelers
who return again and those who come for the first time. Hear the pleas of those who yearn for their heart-mate.”

The women responded together, “Hear them.”

“Help them remain open to the mystery of the sea.”

“Open them.”

“Ease their resistance to true love.”

“Assist them.”

“Allow . . .” Mona felt her eyes begin to sting. She sniffed. “Allow the water of love to flow through the hearts of all who come here.”

“Guide them.”

“Light their way to—” Mona had to stop. She felt as if she were about to burst into tears.

“You okay, Mona?” Polly Estherhausen twisted the tip of her flip-flop back and forth, extinguishing her cigarette butt on the brickwork of Fountain Square. “Would you like one of us to take over?”

As soon as the question escaped Polly’s mouth, she realized how insulting it had sounded. She raised her shoulders and winced. “Oops.”

No one was gazing at the mermaid now—they were all glaring at Polly.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“I think we need to do some kind of sensitivity training. You know, as a group.” Abigail Foster peered through the pale pink light into the faces of the eight members present. “Should we take a vote?”

“Sensitivity?” Izzy McCracken seemed puzzled. “I think we’re all plenty sensitive as it is. I mean, I suffer from gluten sensitivity. And I know Barbara can’t use those kitchen gloves because of that stuff . . . Oh, what’s that called, again? You know, what condoms are made of?”

“Latex?” Barbara Butcher offered.

“Right.”

“I have sensitive skin.” Layla O’Brien seemed happy to join the conversation. “Every brand of sunscreen I’ve tried breaks me out.”

“And that’s not even counting emotional sensitivity,” Izzy added. “I cry every time that Folgers commercial comes on. You know the one I’m talking about.”

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy.” Polly pushed her wig back into place and rested her fists on the waistband of her spandex mermaid tail. “Just say it, Abigail. You don’t want to fix our
group
. You want to fix
me
! Last fall I needed anger management. Last festival week you wanted me to stop using the
F
word. Last winter you told me I needed to sit under a full-spectrum sunlamp because I become a raging bitch after every Thanksgiving, like clockwork.”

Abigail crossed her arms under her coconuts. “Your mood swings are more accurate than the
TV Guide
, Polly.”

“That’s a symptom of menopause, you know,” Izzy offered. “But that ended forever ago for you, didn’t it, Polly?”

“I wish Darinda were still here.” Mona couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud! Tentatively, she raised her eyes to see each of her fellow mermaids cringing with guilt. She had not intended to take a passive-aggressive jab at them. It wasn’t her preferred way of dealing with conflict, but she was clearly off-balance that morning. “I apologize,” she told her friends.

“No.” Barbara approached Mona and took her hands in hers. “We are the ones who are sorry. We let you down,
Mona. You
finally
got a break from serving as president, and then Darinda up and quits.”

“It wasn’t like she
wanted
her mother to break her hip.” Izzy’s cheeks flushed. “She had no choice but to move back to the mainland. It’s what any of us would have done.”

“Yes, but not a single one of us offered to serve out the rest of Darinda’s term.” Abigail pursed her lips. “We just assumed Mona would do it.”

“And that wasn’t right.” Barbara squeezed Mona’s hands tighter. “One of us should have stepped up. You’ve carried this organization for nearly half a century, and you should be allowed to retire.”

“She’s right!” Layla scanned the faces of the other mermaids for support. “She has her grandbabies now, and Duncan is home, and then there’s the Frasier issue.”

“He’s not still dating Sally, is he?”

Polly shook her head at Abigail. “Open mouth, insert fin.”

Everyone got quiet. The only sound to be heard was the tinkling of the fountain, the cries of seagulls, and the distant whisper of the ocean. Mona wandered over to a bench and sat down, suddenly more exhausted than she had a right to be. The other mermaids followed, unnaturally silent, finding places to sit or stand near Mona.

“Have you talked to him since his birthday?”

Mona chuckled at Abigail’s question. “No.”

“Is he still calling you?”

Mona shrugged. “Calls, flowers . . . He even wrote me a ridiculous poem about sea spray and mermaids and shoved it under my front door.”

Polly nearly choked. “A whaaaat?”

“My question is, why all of a sudden? I think it’s because he embarrassed himself in front of the family with the whole Sally thing,” Mona said.

“Ha! He should be embarrassed! What an ass!”

Mona continued. “Honestly, I think our marriage is beyond repair. I’ve been thinking I should call a lawyer later this week and file for divorce—three years is a long time to be stuck in limbo.”

“I know what you mean!” Layla smacked her palms against her spandex-covered thighs. “I was stuck in Lubbock with my ex for three years and I nearly lost my mind!”

“We will be with you every step of the way, Mona.”

Everyone agreed with Barbara.

“And Duncan? Is everything all right with him?”

Mona put on a brave smile. “He’s great. I believe he’s going to make it back to active duty. It’s been remarkable to watch how focused and determined he is, and I’m happy for him.” She paused, careful to put a lid on her disappointment. “Really—I am. I am happy whenever my children are happy. I just wish that he would have discovered something—someone—worth staying for.”

“Oh, no!” Izzy slapped a hand over a coconut. “He can’t go!”

Mona sighed. “We gave it our best shot.”

“Lena’s painting . . .?” Barbara didn’t have to finish her question.

Mona shook her head. “I replaced it with another one and he took that one down, too. Number three is in there now, covered with a beach towel. He says they give him headaches.”

“Aha!” Abigail nodded knowingly. “He is not completely immune, then. Maybe there’s still time.”

“No.” Mona placed a hand along the side of her cheek, rubbing her temple. “Neither of them are in the right place. Duncan is already gone to Afghanistan, if not in body then in spirit. Lena has gotten lost in her art—I’m not sure how much of that magical little girl still lives inside her—and she’s shown no interest in him at all. It’s just not working.”

“But they are each other’s heart-mate!” Izzy began crying, pulling a tissue from her shell to blow her nose. “Ever since they were children! It’s the truest of true loves!” Izzy appeared panicked. “We’ve got to stop Duncan from leaving!”

Mona shook her head. “He is blind, and she will not make the first move. This has all been for nothing.”

Layla gasped.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Mona said, hearing the despair in her own voice. “Sometimes I look back on the last forty years and wonder if I was a fool to spend so much of my life in the service of love.”

Polly struck a match on the park bench and lit another cigarette. She took a puff, blew the smoke over her shoulder, and lowered her chin. “I’m just going to spit this out—all right, girls? I’m gonna be blunt, and I might offend some of you.”

Abigail feigned shock. “Say it isn’t so!”

Polly ignored her. “The writing’s on the wall, maids. We’re old. We’re cranky. We’ve got grandkids and wayward husbands and a whole range of illnesses—hell, even our bowels are irritable! We’ve hit a dead end.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “We’ve tried for years to get somebody—anybody—under the age of forty to join our society, but our recruiting efforts have failed. Who wants to hang out with a bunch of whiny old hags in mermaid
outfits? We’re a throwback to another time and place. We’re irrelevant.”