“Yeah, sure.” Mikey snickered. “Like you’d leave before you finished filming all your little videos for the week.”
Marigold stood up and walked over to the railing. They’d dropped anchor close to shore, although it was hard to judge the distance in the dark. But it couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile, and the night was unseasonably warm. Without a word, she climbed over the railing and balanced on the edge of the yacht. It was only two floors. She’d jumped from higher before.
“Marigold, come on!” Jack shouted. “Don’t be stupid.”
“She’s just doing it for attention,” Ryan said.
Marigold smiled into the darkness, took a deep breath, and leaped into the air.
The water was freezing, but she’d been prepared for that, andafter breaking up through the surface, she began to swim, muscle memory kicking in as she sliced through the water with even, powerful strokes. After a few minutes, the voices on the yacht were swallowed by the night.
After about ten minutes, she reached the shore, took a few awkward, lurching steps, and collapsed on the sand to catch her breath. Perhaps this hadn’t been the smartest plan. She was freezing. She had no dry clothes to change into, no phone, no wallet. Jack would realize this and come fetch her in the tender eventually. The best thing was to stay put until he came for her. But the thought of returning to the boat made her queasy, and it was too cold not to keep moving. So with a groan, she’d risen to her feet and begun trudging down the beach until a warm orange glow caught her eye, beckoning to her from the darkness. It was a bonfire—a beach party, probably. She could hear music in the distance, barely audible over the crash of the waves. Surely they wouldn’t mind letting her warm up for a bit while she waited for Jack. As she approached, she recognized the chorus of her favorite Father John Misty song, except it sounded slightly different than usual—a live version maybe. Then she realized that the music wasn’t coming from a speaker. A man with a guitar sat on the sand, singing as he played.
Marigold stopped, hesitant to emerge from the shadows. This wasn’t a party, just a guy playing music on his own. What kind of weirdo did that? Probably the type of weirdo she didn’t want to encounter alone in the dark. Barefoot and sopping wet, with no way to call for help.Turn around, said the voice in her head. It sounded like Natalie. The smart part of her brain always sounded like Natalie. Except that it was hard to believe that this gravelly, soulful baritone could belong to someone dangerous. Murderersdidn’t listen to Father John Misty.Famous last words, she thought, then laughed to herself. At least, shethoughtit was to herself.
The music stopped suddenly. “Is someone there?” the man called.
“Yeah, hi,” Marigold said as she stepped into the glow of the fire. “I’m sorry to intrude. I’ll keep moving.”
The man stared at her, seemingly dumbfounded by the unexpected sight before him, a drenched woman in what was most likely a transparent white dress. “Are you okay?” He rose to his feet. “Where’d you come from?”
“Out there.” She inclined her head. He raised his eyebrows, and she realized that the yacht probably wasn’t visible in the darkness. “My friend’s boat. I went for a swim and ended up here.”
“But you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine… Oh, thanks,” she said as he handed her a sweatshirt. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get it all wet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, surveying her. “This is some right Little Mermaid shit.”
“Youwere the one singing. Maybe you’re the mermaid.”
“And you’re the sea witch here to take my voice.”
“I don’t have anything to offer you in return.” She patted her skirt. “No pockets.”
“It’s okay. My voice isn’t worth much.”
“I beg to differ. It’s beautiful.”
“I think that might be the hypothermia talking. Do you want to go warm up somewhere while you wait for your friends? My house is just there.” He inclined his head toward the narrow dirt road that ran parallel to the beach. She hesitated, and he added quickly, “Or I can bring you some dry clothes and a blanket if you’re more comfortable staying out here.”
Marigold waited for the voice in her head to sound the alarm, but it never came. “I guess I’ll wait inside, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” He picked up his guitar and motioned for her to follow him. “So, what were you doing out here?”
“I don’t like to play in the house. My neighbors have a new baby, and I don’t want to disturb them.”
“But you’re so good! I swear, I thought someone was playing Father John Misty, like out of a speaker.”
He shook his head. “I still think I might be hallucinating this.”
“Why?”
“That’s the only way to explain how a girl emerged from the sea to compliment my singing. So what’s your name, mystery lady?”
“Marigold,” she said, extending her hand.
“Marigold,” he repeated, as if trying it out. It’d been a long time since she’d met a man who hadn’t already known of her.The famous Marigold, they’d say. Or they’d pretend not to know who she was as some sort of power play, and then she’d sneak off to check her Instagram and discover that they followed her. They had opinions about her before they’d even exchanged a word. It was kind of refreshing to have a blank slate. To just be the girl from the sea. “I’m Hugo.”
Hugo had been true to his word. His house was just on the other side of the road, a small gray cottage. He apologized for the mess, and Marigold couldn’t argue with him there. Itwasa mess—old pizza boxes in the corner, empty beer bottles on windowsills, stacks of unopened mail. But it was also surprisingly cozy, especially once Hugo lit a fire in the fireplace and gave her an oversized flannel shirt to put on.
