Chapter Five Madelyn #2
My son runs to the big blue-green beast. And I’m using beast in the best way.
When my brain is not in an utter panic, I have time to reflect on the size of Mercer.
The sheer bulk of his tentacles as they weave around him, the width of his shoulders, and how thick the muscles on his arms are.
He’s an odd combination of huge and lithe. Alien. Monster.
Gorgeous.
And courageous. I smother a smile at the memory of Zack’s conversation about the helpful lifeguard and melt when Zack runs, including a single little happy hop, to his arms, and Mercer scoops him up with one tentacle, then drops him into his arms with a look of pure affection that I’ve never seen my son experience.
Even my father, God bless him, always has a little touch of sadness in his eyes when Zack runs to him.
Oh, it goes away fast, but it’s like my dad knows that he’s stepping in, filling in for Eli, and that Zack deserves to have both a father and a grandfather.
I walk over quickly, shaking the thoughts away under the guise of fighting a stiff gust off the lake.
Mercer doesn’t know all of my baggage, and he doesn’t need to.
I’ll just be happy that he’s kind enough to do this, and be glad that Zack is making a new friend.
Maybe if we all stay in this town, Mercer can be a strong, kind, male role model, someone Zack will look up to.
“Good morning. Thank you so much for doing this.” I shake Mercer’s hand and give him a grateful nod, even while I’m somehow picturing Zack as a young adult, walking in cap and gown, with Mercer sitting at his high school graduation beside me.
We’re holding hands, teary-eyed, twin smiles of pride on our faces.
Where the heck did that thought come from? No, not a thought, that was like a vision, like a premonition! Where did it come from? And why is it so clear?
Mercer blinks into the bright sun several times. “It is my pleasure. And it’s on the house, you understand. Gratis. Part of my job is to protect the swimmers of Harmony Glen, and I can think of no better way to protect them than by making effective swimmers out of non-swimmers.”
“I can swim,” Zack protests.
“Then it’s time to learn to swim better. Without the floaties.”
“Oh. The floaties aren’t a thing?” My heart starts pounding as Mercer gently pushes away the yellow armbands I hold out.
“Not today. Not with me holding onto him. I promise you, he’ll be safe.”
“Yeah, Mommy, I’ll be safe.” Zack parrots as he pokes the small, round suction cup-like circles on Mercer’s tentacle.
Mercer tenses for a second, then smiles. “Ask before you poke, little fellow.”
“Sorry. They’re so cool. And your color is so pretty.”
“Zack!” I hiss.
“Well, I think your colors are pretty, too.” Mercer nods and wraps one tentacle around Zack’s hand.
My son holds it easily. “We’re going to head into the lake so we can get as much lesson time in as possible.
Madelyn, if you want to get in with us, just for your own peace of mind, come on in, but give us about ten feet of space. ”
I can’t help but stare and do some calculations, even as I give a cheery noise of agreement and plop my beach bag down on the sand.
Ten feet?
Look at those tentacles fan out in the water.
Mercer is having fun with Zack, getting him used to the water without floaties.
His tentacles are out, spinning in the water like a living carnival ride as Mercer turns slowly, and Zack goes up and down, passing from one to the other.
Mercer shouts out that he needs to catch his breath and hold it each time he counts to three.
I hold my breath, too, as Zack plunges down, then up, laughing when he breaks the surface with his wet curls plastered to his forehead.
“That’s the super important thing for humans, Zack. You don’t have the ability to breathe underwater. You have to learn to hold your breath before you go in, or as soon after as you can.”
“I got it!”
And for the next five minutes, that’s all that Mercer and Zack do, practice getting wet, going under, and holding their breath. Mercer is firm, but patient, and the way he teaches makes Zack laugh.
“Now, we learn to kick while holding onto something. Legs first, then arms.” Mercer holds out a tentacle like a living blue branch.
Zack grabs on, and the next ten minutes are all about kicking, putting his face in the water, lifting his head, and breathing out when Mercer’s other tentacle taps his shoulder.
I just watch, growing more relaxed by the second.
Well, duh, Madelyn. Who would be a better swimming teacher than a water-dwelling being? He’s a natural.
Zack’s having fun. It’s free. And it’ll tire him out. More importantly, it’ll keep him safe.
A bonus?
The scenery—and it’s not just the lake and the crystal blue summer sky with streaky white clouds.
Yeah, I know I’m a flabby toddler mom who hasn’t been to the gym in three years. I didn’t even start riding my bike again until a few months ago. The hot lifeguard will never notice me, and if he did, I’d run so far and fast that I’d need a forwarding address.
But I can daydream while I listen to Zack’s happy squeals interspersed with Mercer’s deep, calm voice.
I can have a little harmless enjoyment, even while my practical side bitterly reminds me that, sure, hunky guys like Mercer are great with kids when they’re getting paid, or on the clock, when it’s all fun and games.
But if by some strange miracle he might like me, I doubt he’d be dad material.
I shouldn’t even pretend for a second that we’re playing happy family. What a joke.
At least that’s what I tell myself until Zack, with his unfailing sweetness and that ever-bright curiosity, starts asking Mercer questions.
“Can you come out of the water? Off the beach? Can you ride a bike? Can you drive?”
Mercer answers everything with utmost seriousness.
“I can spend about a day out of the water at a time, but I always need to return to water. Yes, I can leave the beach. I’ve never tried to ride a bicycle.
There are no bike shops under the sea.” Mercer winks, and Zack grins.
“I probably could drive, Zack, but I don’t know how. ”
“My mommy could teach you.”
“I bet she could.”
“Zack, Mr. Mercer might not want driving lessons.”
“I don’t—not yet.”
“When are you coming to dinner? Do you want some of my juice boxes? What’s your favorite dinosaur?”
“Zack, honey. It’s more polite to have conversations that aren’t made entirely of questions,” I laugh nervously as the lesson ends, and I dry my motormouth little dude off.
“But I don’t know, and I don’t have any books about krakenmens.”
“Krakens,” Mercer corrects, smiling and clearing his throat to cover what I’m pretty sure was a chuckle. “I also like that big brain of yours, kiddo. People who ask questions get answers. When am I coming to dinner? That’s up to your mother. The house is probably still a bit of a mess, huh?”
“I helped unpack,” Zack declares proudly, little chest thrust forward. “I help a lot. Grandpa says I’m the house man.”
“Man of the house.” I start gathering things hastily, only to hear,
“Ah, very important. I helped my mother a lot, too. Yes, thank you, by the way. I would love a juice box. What flavor?”
“Apple. I don’t like grape.”
“I love grapes, but not the juice. Too sweet, and that artificial purple is an insult to grape-lovers everywhere.”
“I have to cut my grapes in half.”
Oh my God. My kid is telling Mercer everything.
Too many things. All little, insignificant things, but it feels so odd, like an invasion of my privacy and invasion of the kraken’s time and interest. “I’m so sorry.
Zack doesn’t have much chance to talk to other people. It’s mainly just the two of us.”
“I understand that.” Mercer looks at me, then sinks down, closer to Zack’s height. “I don’t talk to many people, either. I talk to my cousin. He says I’m a big grump and should talk more.”
Zack gives Mercer a highly offended look. “That’s mean! You’re nice. Not grumpy. My mom is only grumpy when I touch stuff she said not to touch.” His eyes get wide. “Don’t touch the laptop. Mommy loves her laptop. She’s on the line and pays the bills and buys toys.”
“I think we should go,” I say, wondering if the lifeguard will do CPR on me if I just die of embarrassment from oversharing. “I’m... I’m so sorry. I think someone is a chatterbox today,” I mutter, lifting Zack in my arms.
Mercer frowns. “He’s a very personable young man. If more people were sincere and sweet like him, I would talk more and have more friends.”
“That’s true,” I have to admit. “He is sweet. Just excited to meet a new person and tell them way too many boring details.”
“Oh, I wasn’t bored.” Mercer walks with us up the beach, waving at a girl with long brown hair in a red lifeguard shirt as she strolls to the lifeguard station. “I was about to ask what mommy does ‘on the line.’”
I blush. Did that sound as bad to him as it did to me, or am I being so weird around a single man because all of my small talk muscles are atrophied? “I’m a medical records transcriber. I do a lot of work for insurance companies that work with ‘boutique’ or ‘concierge’ practices.”
Mercer looks confused, so I elaborate.
“The kind of doctors who don’t accept insurance up front, so the patients pay out of pocket or pay an annual or monthly fee upfront, and then they put through claims to their insurance company.
Since the doctors aren’t in the system, they have different forms. I transcribe notes and records to support the claims and try to help people get some kind of compensation.
It’s a boring, but steady job. It pays the bills.
” I hug Zack tighter to my side. This wasn’t always my job.
I got it after Eli left, when late-night worry sessions between feedings resulted in phone searches for “stay-at-home-mom remote jobs for people with an unfinished health sciences degree”.
“That sounds tedious.”