The Paradise Catch (Starlight River #4)

PROLOGUE

"Mom, what's this?"

I frown as I hold the check between my thumb and forefinger, counting the zeroes. A million dollars, made out to me. I turn it over and over in disbelief. What the what?

"Mom? Seriously. Is this a joke or something? Did I take too much cold medicine?" I hold the check up to the light, wondering if there's a watermark stamped on the slip of paper. Something along the lines of: You thought this was real? Sucker...

She rests her chin on her hand. "The lawyer gave it to me yesterday when he read the will. That's why I had to go to Tallahassee. It's your ticket out of here."

My eyes are still on the check. "I don’t get it. This is for me?"

"It's your share of Aunt Wanda's estate. You were her favorite niece."

A laugh bubbles from my lips. "I was her only niece." I pause, because it's probably bad to chuckle under these circumstances, considering my dear, slightly batty crazy aunt is dead.

“She had a sense of humor.”

"Aunt Wanda lived in a trailer in Sopchoppy. She had this kind of money? That's hard to believe." I blink several times, recalling how she used to brag that she never owned a credit card, a new car, or a cell phone.

Mom lifts a shoulder. "She worked for the school district all those years. She was great at saving money and at investing. She did a bit of day trading. Guess I never told you that."

"No, you never revealed the detail that little, silver haired Aunt Wanda was the Wolf of Wall Street."

The corners of Mom's mouth turn up. "Remember how she used to reuse the tinfoil until it was paper thin?"

"Yeah, and the half-priced food in the dented cans. I remember when I was little, and we went to visit her. You made a big show of bringing food, because you thought we'd get botulism or something from the expired soup."

Mom and I grin at each other.

"That was her generation, never threw anything away, always reused and recycled. Those eighty- and ninety-year-olds are like that. I talk with them all the time at work. Listen to their stories. But my older sister was frugal to a fault. Cheap is a better word."

"Obviously," I sniffle, then sneeze. "Sorry. And you? Please tell me she left you something. You two were close."

"Are you sick?" Mom studies me.

"Just a little cold. Can't seem to shake it. Probably stress." It's always stress, lately.

"Hmph. Well, to answer your question, I received a little more than you did. Enough to quit my job at Mangrove Manor." That's the nursing home where Mom's worked for years.

A small breath escapes my mouth. "I don't know what to say. How to feel. What to think."

"Thank the universe for Wanda's thriftiness, and then start making plans. Put that in your purse." Almost as if she's worried that someone will snatch the check from me, she looks around the near-empty chain restaurant, then takes a long sip of her sweet tea.

With trembling hands, I take the check and slide it into a folder I'd gotten from work, the one that contains the details of the park's new mermaid show, Wish Upon a Starfish.

The folder is covered in glitter and the tiny seahorses I'd doodled on it during a slow afternoon, and the cheerfulness of it holding a check this size makes me want to laugh. And cry.

"This could change everything," I say slowly.

"No, this will change everything." Her tone is forceful, which is unusual when we're together. "This is your ticket out of this place, Leilani. Away from that... that... pitiful specimen of a man. Away from a life of poverty and misery."

"But... aren't you being a bit dramatic?

" I lick my lips. Gah. She's right. The love has long since faded between Brent and me, if it ever truly existed.

Why do I stay? Because I make nine dollars an hour — plus benefits — as a mermaid at a roadside tourist attraction in Florida.

It's enough to scrape by, but not to have a future.

A fact that Brent, who is the vice president of a local bank, never lets me forget when he splits our expenses right down the middle (even though he makes more).

I've tried getting another job, or a second job, but as it turns out, two years of college combined with looking cute and swimming underwater with a tail fin isn't exactly the experience most employers are looking for.

"You could do anything with that kind of cash. Go back to school. Buy a house. Open your own business, like you've always talked about." Mom's blue eyes, so much like my own, glisten with tears.

"Mermosa," I whisper.

"Exactly. Your mermaid bar idea. That's within your reach now. If that's what you want. But whatever you do, just don't do it here. Get away from that man. He's sucked enough life out of you."

Under the table, I twist my fingers together. "I'll have to think about it. It's a lot to take in."

A group of six guys, construction workers, sits at a table a few feet away.

Mom glances at them, her eyes scanning each one.

She's always loved the bad boys, and is on her fourth marriage.

Those kinds of men haven't been kind to her over the decades, and I guess I've somewhat followed in her footsteps in that department, because I like that type too.

Except I haven't married my bad boy. Thank goodness I've avoided that mistake.

"Please tell me that you're not thinking of staying with Brent."

"I'm not," I say quickly. "Whatever I do, I'm leaving him now that I have this money. I promise."

The enormity of my words hits me like a thirty-foot wave. I can leave. Not just talk about leaving, but actually go. Heck, I could walk out of here, drive off into the sunset, and never see this place again.

Hmm...

I tug down the sleeve of my navy cardigan, even though the diner is overly air-conditioned. Brent likes me in navy. He says my regular wardrobe makes me look like a "summer camp counselor."

"When did you stop laughing?" Mom's eyes search my face. “When exactly, did he kill your spirit?”

At first, I don't respond, then I lean in. "He hasn't laid a hand on me, Mom. He just doesn't see me. Hasn't in a long time."

"I know he hasn't hit you. You'd have told me. But he's been taking small things from you for years, and every time I see you, you've gotten a little paler. Like someone is turning down the brightness."

I press my lips together. "He gave me a fitness tracker for Christmas because he'd 'noticed' I was filling out. He introduced me to his manager last week as 'the mermaid girl.' When I told him about Mermosa — just the idea — he laughed. He called me 'cute,' in the voice you'd use on a toddler."

"Oh, Leilani." Mom lets out a long sigh. “I'll never forgive myself for encouraging that relationship in the beginning."

I shrug. "Brent can be charming. Was charming."

"You can't trust the charming ones. That was always one of my rules, and I broke it when you brought him home. Well, broke it for myself a time or two, also."

I press my lips together. It's so easy to feel defeated when I have these conversations with Mom. Even when there's a life-changing slip of paper in my purse.

"I'm just glad you didn't marry him. Or have his children," Mom says. "Just make sure you don't deposit that check in his bank. Open a new account somewhere else. Out of town somewhere. Don't tell him anything. Just leave in the middle of the night."

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?

Brent's a jerk, but he's not going to do anything that could jeopardize his job.

I think you've been watching too many of those Lifetime movies.

" She's probably right, though. My mind starts spinning with everything I need to do.

Maybe I should drive two hours to Tampa to open an account...

"I'm worried for you."

"It's not as though your relationship's much better. What about Frank? Aren't you concerned that he's going to gamble that inheritance away?" As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel terrible.

Mom's been through just as much as I have. More, actually. She and my dad had a nasty divorce when I was a kid, and I'd split time between them. Then there was Richard, and Johnny, and now, Frank. A parade of middle-aged, male mediocrity.

Frank's the reason I haven't moved out of Brent's house and in with Mom.

Her fast-talking fourth husband isn't just a gambler — he's the kind of gambler who let their bathroom faucet leak for nine months because the repair money was earmarked for the Daytona track.

I've never told Mom how often I check her bank statements when I visit her, just to make sure she still has rent.

I keep hoping she'll leave him for good.

"You can leave, too, you know." I fiddle with the soggy, thin, wood coffee stirrer, breaking it in half.

She fixes an unblinking stare on me. "You're not telling me anything I haven't thought of."

"Sorry," I whisper. "I guess we've both messed up."

Her eyes brim with tears threatening to spill over her lower lids. "There's still hope for you."

"And for you?"

She gives me a sad smile. "I'd like to think there is. And who knows? If you open your mermaid bar, maybe I'll come work there."

There's an uncomfortable silence for several moments, while my mind spins with possibility and fear.

"Wouldn't it make sense to open a bar like that here, near Weeki Wachee Springs? People already come here for the mermaid attraction."

Mom takes a napkin from a holder and dabs at her eyes. I can tell she's relieved that I've changed the subject from our messy relationships. As much as I hate to admit it, we're too much alike, always looking toward the future, never absorbing the lessons of the past.

Lately, though, the future has seemed equally as dismal as the present.

Until today.

"The park has a lock on all things mermaid in this area. Go somewhere different. Somewhere quirky, somewhere with money." She sips her coffee.

I swallow a growing lump in my throat. "The park's like home. I love being the most senior mermaid, and mentoring the younger swimmers."