Authors: Katie O'Sullivan
Just as she reached the far end of the weedy patch, she heard a large splash and an unfamiliar voice. Kae froze, sinking down to the sandy ocean floor, hidden within the edges of the spongy field of seaweed.
“I can’t believe the rumors are true.” An unfamiliar merman swam right past the spot where Kae lay in hiding. Although he was as clean-shaven as a young boy, his hair was completely white, flowing behind him as his tail fin fluttered at high speed. “After all these years…” He swam so quickly that in mere moments he was miles beyond where Kae could see the flick of his tail.
Pushing aside the weeds, she squinted after him. All the older mermen she knew had long flowing beards, so she reasoned this one must be from a different clan altogether. “Only Adluo soldiers are rumored to swim so fast,” she murmured to herself, trying to piece together this puzzle. Shaking stray bits of the seaweed from her curls, she started swimming deeper into Nantucket Sound, wondering what the stranger had been doing on shore in Windmill Point. Everyone knew that Adluos hated drylanders. “Maybe it’s something to do with the peace accords?”
The upcoming accords had been the hot topic in the kitchens of the Summer Palace, as the servants cleaned the signs of winter’s neglect from the building and unpacked the supplies they’d hauled with them from the south. She’d listened with interest as the older merfolk discussed the whys and hows of the war, and whether the peace treaty would stop the Adluos from invading more of the north Atlantic. Kae’s own father didn’t think King Koios should be negotiating at all. “They’re terrorists making a grab for power,” she heard her father argue. “Their purity of race proclamations make me sick.”
Kae knew the Adluos despised all things human. Their territories were based mainly in the Southern and Arctic Oceans, far removed from most drylanders. At least, that’s the way it had always been. Until Prince Demyan rose to power.
Demyan stirred the anti-human prejudices of his own clan to a fever pitch. Angry words gave way to skirmishes along the southern border, which quickly escalated to all-out battle. King Koios had no choice but to negotiate a peace. Most Aequoreans were farmers, not fighters.
The victorious prince demanded a royal marriage in return for ending the war. Kae didn’t know what exactly it meant for her family, whether they would follow the Princess to the Adluo palace in the cold Southern Ocean or stay with King Koios in the Atlantic.
I can’t worry until I have something to worry about
, she told herself firmly, and swam faster. Finally she spotted the peaks of the castle’s roofline poking up in the distance. She should tell her father about the strange soldier she’d seen by the shoreline. But then she’d have to tell the reason she was so close to land. She wasn’t ready to tell him she’d lost her first medallion and taken a second out of the storage closets.
I’d rather tell Mother about Shea first,
she thought.
She’s more lenient with her consequences.
Telling her father about the soldier could wait.
Shea knew nothing about coastal geography. He’d spent his whole life in Oklahoma, after all. No oceans in Oklahoma. Thus, no coast. It wasn’t something they talked a lot about in his old public school either. Tornadoes, yes. Oceans? Not so much.
He knew his compass points. And he was a fast learner, since he instantly absorbed and remembered everything he read. From the oversized book on his grandmother’s lobster trap coffee table, he studied the geography and history of Cape Cod. He learned that the Pilgrims first landed on the tip of the Cape, in Provincetown. They eventually decided to sail north to look for safer harbors, finally landing at the famed Plymouth Rock. But Cape Cod was first.
The Pilgrims had their first encounter with Native Americans on Cape Cod. And many famous pirates had sailed in these waters, going around the arm-like stretch of Massachusetts that juts into the Atlantic Ocean. According to the book, lots of U.S. presidents had vacationed on Cape Cod and the surrounding barrier islands over the years, including John F. Kennedy, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama.
Shea read all this and more, but was still dissatisfied. All the information was about the land. There was nothing explaining the shifting sands of the beaches themselves. Nothing talking about the ocean in all its beauty and mystery. Nothing that helped lessen his nightmares.
Maybe Martha could take me to the library
, he thought as he made his way home from the beach. Kae hadn’t been there this morning, and he felt restless. Somehow, having met her the other day made him feel even lonelier than before.
As he wandered the streets of Windmill Point, he wondered which house belonged to Kae. He decided it had to be one of the big summer mansions along the waterfront, and not one of the smaller cottages. But which one? None of them really looked like they had anyone living there, except maybe the windmill house. That one at least had lights on, the rest looked abandoned. Empty homes with pristine gardens and lawns, thanks to the landscapers who zoomed in and out of the neighborhood once a week. Shea had narrowly escaped being run over one afternoon while walking Lucky.
He wondered if the windmill house could be where Kae lived, but after walking past it he realized it wasn’t really a true “McMansion” like the rest of the waterfront homes. It was more of a large sprawling farmhouse, and in serious need of a new roof, judging by the missing shingles. Someone rich enough to have live-in servants wouldn’t need roof repair.
As he passed one of the older, smaller homes on the corner of his street, he noticed the empty rocking chair creaking back and forth on the porch, almost as if a ghost had taken up residence. “That’s odd,” he said out loud, pausing in the street to stare at the empty chair. Lucky stopped, too, cocking his head to one side and looking in the same direction. “No, boy. It’s okay,” he reassured the dog, rubbing the top of Lucky’s head. “I’ve never seen that chair empty. And here it is two mornings in a row.”
According to Martha, the man who lived in that cottage had retired to the Cape some years before and was one of the few other year-round residents of the Point. Although his grandmother said he was harmless, Shea thought Mr. Guenther was a pretty creepy old guy. He always sat in the same chair, in the same spot, dark eyes staring, no matter what time of day Shea walked past the house.
Except Shea hadn’t seen him in that rocking chair yesterday. And he was absent again today.
“Maybe he’s away on vacation,” Shea told Lucky. The dog squinted his grey eyes. “Okay then, maybe he’s sick and stuck inside drinking tea. Either way, it’s kind of nice not to see him!” The dog whimpered as if in agreement, and they continued their way back home.
***
Back in the solitude of his small room, Shea sat on the edge of the twin bed. Martha said the room had once belonged to his father, Tom, and there were certainly signs that a teenage boy might have once lived here, like the faded posters of classic old rock bands covering one wall and dusty baseball trophies lining the top shelf. College textbooks and well-worn paperback science fiction novels filled the rest of the bookshelf. But not one single thing reminded Shea of his dad.
The Tom MacNamara he knew was a no-nonsense guy. Something either mattered or it didn’t. There wasn’t a lot of emotional middle ground. In fact, there wasn’t much emotion at all. Everything was black or white. The dad Shea remembered didn’t have time for playing sports or listening to music.
Shea sighed as he lay back onto the bed, wondering what had happened to take all the fun out of his father. The faded blue comforter smelled of detergent and bleach. Martha was a firm believer in the importance of cleanliness. She told Shea that after being married to a fisherman for so many years, she liked the smell of bleach because it meant things were truly clean. No matter how much the chlorine might fade things.
As the shower down the hallway turned on, the old water pipes in the house groaned in protest. Shea wondered cynically if his grandmother washed herself with bleach as well, her Irish skin so pale for someone who lived so close to the shore.
Rolling onto his side, he reached over to open the drawer of the bedside table and took out the stone he’d found at the beach. The sparkles were gone. It looked like an ordinary black rock. Even the strange hexagon-shaped hole in the center seemed smaller than he remembered. Less defined.
“It still looks like the one on Kae’s necklace,” he said, trying to convince himself. Without the shine of salt water on the surface, it was hard to think there was anything special about this particular rock. “Maybe it needs to be wet,” he decided, and slipped the stone into the pocket of his cut-offs. He felt the weight of it flat against his thigh.
He’d take the rock back to the beach and test his theory after breakfast, and see if he could get the sparkle to return.
Maybe he’d find Kae again.
Toenails clattered on the wooden stairs and Lucky pushed the bedroom door open with his nose. The dog spotted Shea and wagged his tail as he trotted across the small room. “Hey, boy.” Shea scratched the dog’s ears with both hands. The wagging grew faster until Lucky’s entire backside was swaying to the rhythm of his tail and Shea couldn’t help but smile.
The sound of running water stopped and the sudden silence seemed as loud as the noise had been. He heard the door to the bathroom creak open, and moments later another door slammed shut. The dog whimpered, his grey eyes looking toward the window. Blue sky and bright sunlight shone through the thin curtains.
“You can’t come with me back to the beach,” Shea told Lucky, shaking his head to answer the dog’s unspoken question. “The lifeguards will be showing up soon.” Martha had warned him that the lifeguard stands would be manned on weekends through Memorial Day, and then on a daily basis after that. Beach walks would have to be an early-morning only kind of thing. When he told Martha about his run-in with Officer L. Tandy, she laughed and told him not to worry. “Officer Tandy’s more of a cat person,” she explained, but Shea didn’t want to push his luck too far. The officer had let him off with a warning that first time, but Shea thought it wiser to avoid a second confrontation. It didn’t mean he’d stop taking Lucky to the beach – as far as Shea was concerned, that particular rule was meant to be broken.
The dog walked to the window. Putting his paws up on the sill, Lucky looked down to the street and gave a short bark. Shea rose from the bed, and went to stand next to him. Down on the street, a bicycle whizzed around the corner, out of sight. Could it be Kae? He took the stairs two at a time, Lucky close on his heels. His hand was already on the brass handle of the front door when his grandmother called from upstairs in her room. “Shea?”
“What is it, Gramma?” He quickly crossed back to the bottom of the staircase.
“What’s all that racket?” Martha now stood at the top of the stairs, a faded terrycloth robe tied tightly at her waist.
“Lucky needs to go outside,” he answered, which was true. But not the whole truth. He hadn’t told Martha about his new friend just yet, and wasn’t ready to do it now. Not when he needed to run after her and catch up.
“Don’t be long,” she said, turning toward her bedroom. “I’m coming down in a few minutes to cook breakfast. The most important meal of the day,” she reminded him. Shea heard the bedroom door snap closed once more, and headed out the front door, Lucky following.
The street was empty. He stood on the grassy part of the yard between the house and the street, looking in both directions. Tilting his head to one side, he listened for clues as to where the bicycle might have disappeared. Lucky stood watching the boy, and cocked his head the same way. Suddenly the dog took off running, headed toward the end of Pine Street away from the beach.
“Lucky! Come back here right now!” He started to run after the dog, and caught up with him in a yard further down the street. The dog skidded to a stop at the base of an oak tree and stood looking upward into the branches, barking madly.
Shea looked up and spied a small orange and white cat clinging for dear life to one of the lowest branch. He let out an exasperated sigh. The dog was chasing cats, not bikes. “That’s enough, Lucky. Leave the little guy alone.”
The dog looked at him, still wagging his tail in triumph. Seeing the disapproval on Shea’s face, Lucky’s tail slowed. He walked over and nudged Shea’s hand with his nose.
He couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, I’m not mad.”
Lucky wagged his tail faster. He lay down in the fallen leaves at Shea’s feet as the door to the house swung open with a bang. “What’s going on out here?” called an elderly woman from the shadows of her doorway. The orange cat yowled, and the woman stepped out into the morning sun.
She looks older than Gramma
, thought Shea.
And that faded dress must mean she shares Gramma’s obsession with bleach
. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I think my dog chased your cat up the tree.”
“Well, get him out,” the old lady told him, nodding her head with each word, the loose grey curls on her head bobbling in agreement.
Lucky thumped his tail on the ground in agreement, and Shea sighed. He turned to the oak tree, and looked up at the orange cat. The animal stared back down at him. “What’s the cat’s name?”
“Gingersnap,” the woman replied, scuffing her furry slippers down the graveled walkway. The cat looked at his owner and mewed loudly.
“Gingersnap,” Shea called softly. “C’mere.” He held up his arms. The cat looked down on him with disdain.
Make me
, he could practically hear it thinking.
The woman cocked her head to one side. “You must be Martha’s grandson,” she said, nodding. “You have that MacNamara look about you. I’m Ann McFadden, a friend of Martha’s.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, still looking up at the cat.
“You’ll need to climb up there. Gingersnap can never get down by himself.”
“Has this happened before?” Shea circled the tree looking for a way up. There was a broken branch on the other side to grab onto. The oak’s bark was thick and rough, offering a good grip for his bare feet against the trunk. He grabbed the stubby branch with both hands and started to pull himself up.
“I usually call the police department, and they send over a cruiser, especially when Mr. McFadden is out at sea like he is today,” she said. “The police aren’t busy in the off-season, and Officer Tandy is such a sweetheart. I was good friends with his mother, God rest her soul.”
“Officer L. Tandy?” Shea swung his legs up to the higher branch toward the front of the tree. The cat eyed him warily, but didn’t climb any further.
“Do you know Leslie?” Mrs. McFadden asked with a smile. “The Tandy family used to live over on Sea Lane. He took your mother out for ice cream a few times, but I think she was trying to make young Tommy jealous.”
Shea smirked at the officer’s name, Leslie. Wasn’t that a girl’s name? Then the rest of the old woman’s words sunk in. “You knew my parents?”
“Of course, dear. Mr. McFadden and I have lived here forever,” she said, patting her curls. “I remember when your grandparents moved into the neighborhood.” She paused. “I am sorry to hear about your father. Such a shame. Such a good boy he was.”