Chapter Four Mercer
“Good morning, Mrs. Moskowitz. Greetings, Finn.” I nod at the woman power walking along the beach, and give the glashtyn fisherman a wave. We’re neighbors, of sorts, but I tend to keep to myself. Still, I pride myself that I’m starting to know the regulars, and I can definitely spot the newcomers.
The blonde, curvy human woman with a toddler that shares her blue eyes and curly hair bounces past, and my eyes linger for a long time, long enough that I have to shake myself and blink.
I wasn’t ogling the full, lush curves that she was flaunting with all the confidence of a siren, no. Definitely not.
I was noticing the child, obviously. Wondering if he knows how to swim. Wondering if his mother will put some sort of flotation device on him, like water wings or a life vest.
And okay, yes. I was wondering where the father is. It’s a sensible question. I saw that woman and her child yesterday. Briefly. No father about, which means she is watching a child alone, near the water.
Hundreds of women do that. Men, too, probably.
I still feel like there should be more than one pair of eyes on children near the water, even though the lake is pretty placid today.
Well, that’s obvious, you idiot. That’s why lifeguards are a thing. You’re starting to sound as empty-headed as Samantha.
Yes, that last remark was unkind and unworthy. Samantha wasn’t so bad. Just... distractible. It’s a human failing.
And you weren’t distracted by those two? Hypocrite.
I jerk my head back towards the water and decide to leave my perch and meander to the edge of the lake, my eyes scanning constantly.
It’s a summer weekday, so there are plenty of kids arriving.
Lots of mothers and school-aged children.
A few dads chasing kids with sunscreen. Some couples and their broods.
Within the hour, it’s crowded, but my eyes always seem to gravitate back to the woman in the purple top and black shorts.
She seemed so happy yesterday. I only saw her for a moment, and even I noticed that. Today, she seems... Unfocused. Sober. She plays with her son, but with a smile that comes and goes, like she has to work to keep it there.
I wonder what happened between yesterday afternoon and this morning? I muse as I motion some children with kickboards out of the way of a trio of older men who are having a loud discussion about the community budget while lifting water weights.
“Zack? Zack! Zack?!”
A piercing cry hits my ear like a dart, a physical stab. I whirl around, tentacles sending up sand and water.
It’s my stranger, the woman in purple and black, and her eyes are wide. She drops the phone she was holding, and runs towards the water like a champion athlete, hurtling over sandcastles and sunbathers like an Olympic sprinter.
Why? It’s my turn to scan the water and sand harder, and I’m shocked when I realize that Zack is on some pre-teen girl’s bodyboard.
“Allison! Bring that baby back here!” someone shouts, but I’ll deal with them later.
“Here, Mommy! I’m surfing!”
It’s one of those awful moments.
Two mothers running. The girl, Allison, turning to look towards the shore, letting go of the board—and Zack, standing up. Everything happening, all at once.
For a second, I think everything is going to be okay. The girl will grab him and sit him down. He’s wearing little yellow floaties. His mother is already swimming over.
And then Allison, in her haste to fix her mistake, I’m sure, grabs the board hard and yanks it back towards the direction of the shore, listening to her mother’s frantic commands.
Zack lets out a startled scream and topples into the water with his mouth open wide, falling hard.
“Out of the water! Everyone, out now!” I shout and blow my whistle hard and fast before diving.
As soon as my entire body is in the water, I snap all my tentacles closed, using the jet propulsion that is unique to cephalopods and krakens to send me forward at speeds no human can match.
One, two, three pumps of the coiling masses of muscle that make up my tentacles, and I have the little guy, a wide-eyed, flailing little ball who keeps screaming in panic as he’s trying to find the surface—and taking in more water as he does so.
I yank him out, holding him upside down, and wrapping one tentacle tightly around his middle while striking his back in the old kraken trick for expelling water.
A tidal wave of water and whatever the child had for breakfast comes out into the lake—and onto my hand, but I don’t care. He takes in a breath. A breath of air, not water, thank God and all the seas.
“Mommmmy!” His wail is beautiful to hear, even though it’s hoarse and accompanied by tears. I swish my hand clean and place him on my chest, my other hand patting his back, while one tentacle keeps squeezing, moving up and down to make sure his lungs are expelling any last bits of water.
“Zack! Oh, baby! Baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s here, Mommy’s here!”
The blonde woman is suddenly wrenching her child into her arms, taking my tentacle with her, cradling myself and her son to her chest as she peppers his head with kisses and her own tears.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say, wondering how I can get my appendage back without seeming insensitive.
The mother finally looks at me. Up close, even crying, she has a beautiful face, with full lips, a round nose, and flushed cheeks. It’s not some classically beautiful face. It’s far more sensual, with a natural sun-kissed look. Something out of a bathing beauty calendar.
None of these thoughts are useful or appropriate, but they stick, and I stick, somehow wrapping another of my tentacles and one arm around her back to guide her towards the shore.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I... I just moved here, and Zack never wanders off. He was talking to some kids right next to me. I got a text, and it turned out to be—well, it was a long text. I should never have read it. I should never have—”
“Ma’am, I wouldn’t blame yourself. I wouldn’t look at your phone if you’re the only one watching your son, though,” I say, hoping I sound stern but empathetic. “And you, little one? Don’t go anywhere without your mother knowing about it.”
Zack whimpers miserably.
I hustle them back to shore, and the sobbing Allison is there, her mother’s glare like fire on the back of the girl’s neck.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.
I want to be a babysitter this summer, and I thought since Zack and I were having so much fun in the sand, we could go in the water, too. His mom said we could!”
“I did?” The blonde woman looks horrified. “I said that?”
“Yes! I said, ‘Can we play in the water?’ and you said, ‘Sure.’”
“I said, ‘Stay by the shore.’ The shore of the lake.”
Allison looks horrified by her mistake. Her lower lip trembles as she explains.“He had floaties on. He said he could swim.”
“He can splash around, but it’s not actually what you’d call swimming. It’s not your fault. I understand.”
Zack’s mother shows a lot of compassion, which is good, since Allison is turning into a blubbering basketcase, and her mother looks like she’s about to explode.
“You must never take children into the water without their parents unless you ask the parents very specific questions. Like, ‘Can your child swim? How far out can he go?’ Even then, another adult should be with you. You’re just a child yourself.
” I fix my coldest glare on Allison’s mother.
“Ma’am, your daughter is wise to be thinking about a useful activity for the summer, like babysitting, but you’d better go over more safety protocols with her.
Where were you when this was happening?” I demand.
“Well. I ... I have another child to watch, my little boy and his friend are sitting by our umbrella,” she points, flustered. “My daughter can swim! And she’s almost twelve!” Allison’s mother sputters.
Amphitrite, help me. “That’s still a minor. Everyone learned a lesson today. Be more vigilant when children are involved—you can get messages later, but you cannot prevent a tragedy later.”
Zack’s mother squeezes him harder, sobbing in his curls, pressing my tentacle tip into the warm spot between their bare skin.
It’s a dizzying sensation that I can’t explain, being held by this mother and child. I shake my head to clear it.
“No more surfing,” Zack croaks.
“Not for a very long time,” his mother agrees with a wet laugh. Her eyes meet mine as Allison and her mother turn away, deep in a heated conversation, and slink back to the umbrella where two wide-eyed little boys wait.
“I’m really not the terrible parent you must think I am,” she whispers.
“That little girl was very nice. I don’t think she’s ready to babysit, but she’d be a good mother’s helper.
I hope she knows that it was just a series of little things going wrong.
I know she didn’t mean any harm,” the woman explains, looking at me with wide blue eyes and tear trails on her round cheeks.
“That is a very kind, compassionate stance,” I say, patting her shoulder awkwardly. My thumb lands on a tattoo—a tiny black handprint. “Zack’s handprint?” I smile.
“Hm? Oh, yes! From when he was just a newborn. Not that I had the tattoo, then, but... Yes, it’s his handprint.
I wanted to capture the best moment of my life, having this little guy.
Oh, thank God, he’s okay. Are you sure I shouldn’t take him to the hospital?
” She drops her voice and looks at me with terrified eyes. “You hear about dry drowning.”