Then, a guy steps out of the café. Elliot, I’m guessing, since I don’t recognize him. He’s wearing an apron and holding something small between two fingers as he approaches her. I see her look up, and for a split second, her entire expression softens. He says something low, probably teasing, but it’s enough to make her crack a small smile before she leans in to take the bite he offers her. When she grins at him, clearly impressed with whatever he gave her, his face brightens, and before he can stop himself, he sweeps her up in his arms, spinning her around like something out of a movie. She laughs, and I feel a strange ache in my chest as I watch them. The sight is both beautiful and brutal. She looks genuinely happy, and it’s not the kind of happiness I’ve seen from her in a long time.
He sets her back down, almost sheepishly. I can tell by the way he steps back that he realizes it might have been a little too much, a little too sudden. His hands linger awkwardly at his sides, his grin a bit more bashful now.
She laughs again, shaking her head in that way she does when she’s letting someone off the hook. But then, her gaze trails over his shoulder, and her smile falters. Her eyes catch mine through the windshield, and the warmth in her expression disappears in an instant, replaced by a tight, unreadable tension.
She stares at me for a moment longer while my hands grip thesteering wheel and my pulse grows too loud for the quiet of the cab. Elliot finally says something to her, inclining his head toward the door, and without a word, she nods and follows him inside.
I drive off after that, turning down side streets and bumping over dirt roads, staring out at parts of the island that I rarely see anymore. It’s maybe an hour later when I pull into my driveway. I’m both surprised and somehow not to see Eryn sitting outside on the curb.
She’s still in her Petticoat uniform, brushing dirt off the back of her shorts, standing stiffly, which lets me know she’s been waiting awhile. Even so, I take longer than usual to get out of the truck, as if metaphorically dragging my feet might make the moment last longer, unwilling to face what’s waiting.
I wheel over to her, stopping a little farther away than I would have before.
“I can’t stay long,” she says, her voice barely a whisper, “and I’m not ready to talk.”
Any hope I had evaporates the moment I hear the rawness in her voice. The way it cracks at the edges cuts through me like a knife.
“I just needed you to know...” She pauses, struggling to get the words out, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll still be the museum’s mermaid for the boat tour and for the upcoming exhibit reveal if you need me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest. I hadn’t even thought about the exhibit. But she doesn’t owe me anything. She doesn’t owe anyone anything.
Her eyes drop to the ground. “I don’t want to let anyone down who already bought a ticket,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “And your dad depends on me.”
I swallow hard. “This isn’t about my dad or a stupid exhibit. It’s fine, Eryn. You’re not...”
I see the way she flinches when I speak, her whole body tensing, and the pain of that reaction hits me harder than anything else she could say.
“There’s so much I need to say to you,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “I don’t know if you listened to any of my voicemails or—”
She starts to shake her head slowly, dropping it lower with each pass.
“Er, can you at least look at me?”
She winces at the shortened form of her name, but to my surprise, she does meet my gaze, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Eryn.” I’m the one who sounds broken now. “I’m so sorry—” But I cut off my own words when she visibly braces as though trying to shield herself from what I might try to say next.
So I stop.
And when she turns to leave, I let her go.
I carry her expression with me as I head inside, making my way to my bedroom next to the kitchen. It used to be the dining room, until Dad walled it off and converted it for me after the accident. My old bedroom upstairs is just a storage room now. Dad’s hunched over the kitchen table, the two pieces of the FeeJee mermaid laid out in front of him.
“Head fall off again?” I stop in the doorway. “That’s the third time this year. Why not just retire it?”
“It’s one of McCleave’s original exhibits. I just need some time to figure out a better support structure.”
Right, except there’s never been a good way to attach a monkey skull to a fish body, and after more than a century of repairs, some more destructive than others, it’s not looking good.
“Do you even have the tools you need here?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He looks up at me, exhaustion dulling his expression. “I ran out of coffee at the museum.”
I eye the beer bottle beside him, and he grunts in response.
“Late for you too. And did I see Eryn outside?”
It’s not really a question, given the large window to the front yard beside him, but I still hesitate, unsure how much he saw or heard. “Yeah.”
