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.”
“If I weren’t here, I’d say yes, you should take him. But I got to him very quickly,and see the way my tentacle is wrapped around him? I’ve been using an old kraken technique that has saved hundreds of swimmers and sailors since time immemorial. The tentacle compression on the diaphragm and lower lungs forces water out. And he threw up and is speaking normally—if a little bit scratchily. That’s to be expected. That was scary, wasn’t it?” I stroke back his wet curls, and I can’t help but let my finger stroke down his cheek. “You’re being so brave. So, brave in fact,” I lift my whistle off my neck and place it over Zack’s head, “that I’m going to name you an honorary kraken for fearlessness in the face of the mighty ocean—or lake. And this whistle will make you a lifeguard-in-training. If you come down to the lake early in the morning before my shift, I’ll give you swimming lessons, okay? No one swims quite like a kraken.”
I don’t know what made me do it. I like kids well enough, but I don’t usually engage with them much. This exchange is my version of totally mushy. Downright soggy, no pun intended.
But Zack turns around and beams at me with wide eyes, looking almost like the happy child who scrambled joyfully onto the sand this morning.
“You mean it?” he asks, clutching the silver whistle.
“I mean it. Tentacle promise.” I hold up the tip of one tentacle. “Shake on it.”
Zack grabs me (a little too hard) and shakes. “Whoa. You’re like a superhero.”
“Sort of,” I smile.
“You are... You are simply wonderful. I can never thank you enough. I can never repay you. I owe you... You have no idea what I owe you. I could never, ever repay... He’s my whole world,” Zack’s mother smiles through fresh tears, and then plants an enthusiastic kiss on me, right on the lips.
Holding me by the shoulder. Her son, in between us, clinging to her, his little head now resting on me.
Everything...
Happens.
Inside.
Everything that I’ve never felt but heard about, knew was real, but never dreamed about.
The part of an ancient brain that speaks of mates and sons like they’re the only treasures that matter, that knows love and desire, and feels the future in someone’s touch.
Two touches. The little hand still wrapped around my tentacle, and her lips caressing mine for longer than they needed to.
Lonely past. The chaotic present. The beautiful future. It’s all wrapped up in these two.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so... I didn’t mean to,” she gasps.
“Mommy!” Zack giggles, wide-eyed.
“Uh. Well. I’m very glad you did. I mean, I’m glad to help! I mean... I’m Mercer.”
