Chapter Thirteen
Cade
Lena leads me out of the Broken Oar an hour later.
The afternoon sunlight is weaker now. A storm is gathering just off the coast, more ominous than a fog bank.
I can feel the pressure rising, pressing in on my sinuses.
Or maybe I just have a tension headache. It’s been a rollercoaster kind of day. It took me too long to scribble something meaningful on that scrap of paper Big Lou gave me.
Lena leads me toward the last stop on the tour—the lighthouse on the point.
I’ve passed all the tests. I’ve stuffed the message to myself in the cork-stoppered bottle with my other “winnings.” But I’m not feeling like a winner.
Lena is right. There’s something about Mermaid Bay that is unique, that I’d mourn if it were to be bulldozed over to make something tame and pleasing to the masses.
It’s families have built something to respect.
“I want to thank you,” Lena tells me. “I learned something about myself today.”
“Really? What’s that?” Is it too much to hope for that her revelation involves me?
“That I need a new challenge.” When Lena looks at me in the fading light, I can sense her sincerity. “That I’m happy here, in Mermaid Bay, but I’m ready for something more than the status quo.”
“Is it too much to hope that change might include a man with a positive point total at or near twenty?” I try to joke but it feels self-serving.
“I lost count of your points hours ago,” Lena admits. “Will you do away with eel pie and the Mermaid Bay Legacy Tour if you succeed in your buyout plan?”
“You think I have a chance to buy everyone out?” This is the first time she’s seemed less than certain I’ll fail.
“I hope not.” Her gaze seems filled with sorrow. “But you’re different.”
You’re kind of different?
I’m not confident enough to say the words out loud.
We stare at each other the way almost-couples do, with tender smiles that somehow stand up to that coarse wind and acknowledge there are obstacles ahead we might not weather as well.
“How are you with stairs?” Lena asks, gesturing toward the narrow lighthouse. “We’ve got over sixty steps to the top.”
The light is rapidly fading and the wind picking up, tugging my short hair more insistently. “Stairs don’t bother me.” Uncertainty did.
We walk toward the lighthouse without speaking.
When we get there, Lena opens the unlocked door. There’s nothing inside but a concrete foundation and winding, metal stairs. It smells like a dank cellar. The wind howls somewhere above.
Without a word, we climb the stairs. I feel like what needs to be said between us will be said when the stairs have been surmounted. I’m just not certain the words Lena speaks will be the words I want to hear.
We reach the lamp room at the top. The big light has already come on and is rotating. I open the heavy, metal door leading onto a narrow, circular walkway around the lamp room the storm strikes. Once outside, rain pelts us hard, shifting directions randomly as if probing for a weakness.
Above us, the beacon of light is on, turning in a circular motion.
Between the wind, the rain, and the swiveling light, my equilibrium feels off. I reach for Lena’s hand, drawing her close. My other hand takes hold of the metal railing.
“Is there a riddle to be solved here?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard above the crashing waves below and hum of the lighthouse behind.
Lena shakes her head. “This is the point where the fisherman would come to hear his mermaid sing.”
This is goodbye.
The idea pierces my chest, taking aim at the heart I haven’t acknowledged in five years.
“Shhh. Listen,” Lena counsels.
No voice fills the air.
Lena taps my shoulder, then gestures toward the crashing waves below us. “This is also your moment of truth…where you toss that bottle with all your winnings out to sea.” The wooden heart. The wooden nickel. The note I’ve written to myself.
I’m suddenly loathe to toss it away. “Isn’t that bad for the environment?”
“No.” Lena shakes her head. Wet wisps of hair cling to her pretty face. Her forehead. Her cheek.
I store the memory of Lena in my head. But at the same time, I reach for her. My hands land on the wet jacket covering her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Lena touches one of my hands with her cold, wet fingers. “What you toss out to sea is just glass, paper, cork, twine, and wood. It’ll break down naturally.”
Naturally.
The word echoes in my head amidst the chaos of the storm.
Today, it’s felt entirely too natural to be with Lena.
I draw her into my arms, holding her close, trying without words to tell her farewell.
Her arms slide around my waist. Her head rests on my shoulder. “Tomorrow, you’ll leave.”
That hadn’t been my plan. I’d planned to stay, take what I’d learned of Mermaid Bay, and write up offers for businesses.
But there’s something about Lena in my arms that makes the idea of making those offers repugnant.
Because I want this. My mermaid.
I want Lena in my arms and by my side. Not just during the tour but always.
I draw back slightly, staring into her blue eyes before easing her back to me, fitting my lips to hers.
It’s a kiss that is a counterpoint to the storm. Gentle, humble, an introduction to feelings that I can’t yet put to words.
I should be confounded. With Emilia, the attraction had burned hot right from the start. And then somehow, the flame had extinguished amidst the daily grind of getting ahead. With Lena, things had started at a gentle pace and slowly built until my longing had become too insistent to ignore.
Lena pulls away from our kiss first. She looks at me the way I want a woman to look at me—like I’m the one she’s been waiting for.
But instead of kissing me again, Lena says, “Throw your bottle into the ocean before you leave.”
And then she disappears back down the stairs.