Leaving early was unusual for Lemon’s coven, but the mayor’s real estate rants had cast a shadow over their revelry. It wasn’t long before they said their farewells, one by one, until only the Cove residents remained—us, the Kanes, Vanessa, and Mr. Katzenberg, telling us how amazing the beach would be next summer, thanks to Prop 27.
“I don’t know, Katz,” Mr. Kane said. His tone felt both jovial and condescending. Like he could be insulting you, but you wouldn’t know it until later, when you were brushing your teeth and auto-replaying the night’s events, and your brain would suddenly go, Wait. “You’ve only been in office half a term. Already need a corporate bailout?”
“Bailout?” The mayor laughed, a throaty thing layered with the stuff he wasn’t saying either. “This is prime beachfront we’re sitting on. Atrophying, if you ask me. That’s why I think you should sell.”
“I already know what you think,” Mr. Kane said. “Everyone in this room knows what you think.” He laughed, again with the condescending tone. It didn’t seem to bother the mayor.
As the two went on about property values, I watched Christian and Vanessa across the table. He played with her hair absently, and she smiled, eyes at half-mast in lazy contentment. Christian’s other hand was tight around a glass of soda, probably spiked with something stronger, and every time his father spoke, his jaw clenched and unclenched. It happened so fast, so automatically that I wondered whether Christian even realized he was doing it.
“ROI in a place like the Cove is hard to predict,” Mr. Kane said. “Risky investment, if you ask me.”
Christian sighed. “You can take the corporate stiff out of the office, but you can’t take the office out of the stiff.”
I felt my eyes go wide. I couldn’t imagine me or my sisters talking like that to Dad or Granna, but Mr. Kane didn’t seem to notice the insult.
“Can we change the subject?” Vanessa asked. “All this expansion talk is puttin’ me to sleep.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes told a different story. I followed her gaze to Mr. Kane, who belatedly shot Christian a venomous look. Christian stiffened, alternately chugging the drink and clenching his jaw.
Mrs. Kane said nothing.
With five sisters, a single dad, and a grandmother living under one roof, along with all the field workers constantly on the property and an endless, rotating crop of resort guests, my family had its sticky webs too. I’d learned to navigate them, to find joy in those flickering moments of closeness even when they felt suffocating.
But walking into someone else’s family issues? One false step, and even without speaking, I could end up tangled.
When the mayor resumed the conversation with more praise for Parrish and Dey’s plan, I left the table, undetected and unstopped, and made myself busy in the kitchen. I was filling the sink with soapy water when I felt a tug on the hem of my sweatshirt.
From the height of my hip, a pair of vibrant blue eyes fringed in white-blond curls peered up at me.
I turned off the tap and smiled at Sebastian.
“I like your hair,” he said, twirling a lock of his own, which was almost as springy as mine.
I patted my head. Humidity was a commonality the Oregon coast and T&T shared; like Sebastian’s, my curls were everywhere, though his stopped at his chin, and mine coiled all the way past my shoulders.
He looked around to ensure we were alone. Satisfied, he waved me closer, cupping his hands around my ear as I leaned in.
“Can you please give me another piece of cake?” he whispered.
It was the best idea I’d heard all night, so I cut one for each of us from the leftovers on the range top, and together we sat at the counter.
Through a mouthful of chocolate cake, he said, “Did you know that Atargatis Cove is named for the very first mermaid? I’m going to look for her this summer.”
I’d read something briefly about the legend of Atargatis on one of my library visits with Kirby, but Sebastian clearly had the inside scoop. I reached across the counter for a Sharpie so I could ask him more about the town’s namesake, but then the air behind us shifted, and someone leaned in between us, warm and close.
“What sort of debauchery is going on in here?” Christian said. Immediately I rose from the chair, crossed back over to the sink with my plate.
“Well?” Christian said.
Sebastian giggled. “The usual sort.”
“Hand it over, Trouble.” Christian held out his hand, and after shoveling in a final bite, Sebastian gave up the rest of his cake. Christian finished it in two bites. He joined me at the sink, slipped his plate into the soapy water.
Sebastian darted back into the gallery.
And Christian just stood there.
Watching.
He didn’t cross his arms or put his hands in his pockets or inspect his fingernails like most people would. He was just . . . there. So relaxed and confident that I had to resist the urge to give him something—a sponge, a dish to dry, anything. He’d obviously connected the dots on my identity, which meant he knew I couldn’t speak, so by not saying anything, he was baiting me.
It worked.
There was a time when guys couldn’t get under my skin, when I’d come right back with a flirty innuendo, a joke, a rejection. A playful shove. A tease. One step closer and an almost-kiss.
All that confidence, all that moxie. All of it wrapped up in my voice, my music.
All of it lost.
I grabbed the Sharpie from the counter, scribbled on my palm. I held it up to his face.
Something I can do for you?
He laughed, raspy. “God, yes.”
I held his gaze and thought again of a hundred witty comments, all the flirty things I would’ve said if I’d still been able to say them.
If I’d still been me.
But of course I just waited, silently aflame.
It was Mayor Katzenberg who saved me.
“Chris,” he called from the gallery. “Come on out, son. Something I’d like to run by you.”
Christian rolled his eyes. “This’ll be entertaining,” he mumbled, turning away. When I didn’t move from the sink, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “You coming?”
I followed him out, reclaimed my chair next to Kirby.
Vanessa’s eyebrows were drawn close, pinched with worry. When Christian sat next to her, she put her arm around the back of his chair. It looked like she was about to say something, but the mayor barged ahead.
“Hear me out, boys.” Mr. Katzenberg regarded the men over the lip of his highball, amber liquid stilled like the crowd at the table, all of us waiting. He sipped loudly, then lowered his glass. “Up for a little wager on the Pirate Regatta?”
Kirby leaned close, whispering in my ear. “The regatta happens every August during the Mermaid Festival. Christian races with Noah on Noah’s boat, the Never Flounder? They—”
I cut her off with a look. I already knew about the festival; I wanted to hear the mayor’s terms.
So did Christian. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, tipping it up on two legs. “I’m listening.”
“I know you and my boy are close,” the mayor said. “But if you’re willing to race against Noah this year, and you win, you’ll get the Never Flounder.”
“You love that boat, Christian!” Sebastian wriggled excitedly in his mother’s lap. “We could take her on mermaid hunts!”
Christian’s eyes glinted for a moment, then dimmed. “Noah would never part with his baby.”
“Noah doesn’t own it,” the mayor said. “I do.”
“And if I lose, Katz gets the old Vega?” Christian laughed. “Hardly a fair trade.”
“Hardly indeed.” The mayor wiped his mouth with a thumb and forefinger, eyes shining like a pirate who’d just unearthed the treasure. “No, Chris. If you lose . . .” He looked at Mr. Kane, greasy lips twitching into a smirk. “Your father sells his property to P and D.”
Mr. Kane laughed, hollow. “Should’ve seen that coming.”
“It’s a good deal, Kane,” the mayor said. “They’re offering well above market value. And if people see the Cove’s prominent families selling the houses at Starfish Point, they’re more likely to jump on board with Prop Twenty-Seven. It’s a real chance to put this town on the map.”
“This town doesn’t want to be on the map,” Christian said.
“That’s exactly the kind of outmoded thinking that holds us back.” The mayor rattled off local businesses, people who’d benefit from the expansion. Tax incentives, growth, sustainable local economy, and everybody wins, restaurateurs and surf shop owners alike.
Lemon wasn’t on the list.
“It’s a win-win, guys,” he finished up. “You’re walking with the boat, or you’re walking with a hell of a profit on these houses.”
“Houses?” Christian said.
“P and D’s after the complete package.” The mayor tapped the table in front of him. “Your house and the neighboring property.”
Kirby’s leg twitched against mine, and Lemon’s eyes snapped to us, probably feeling the same shiver that passed through me. Lemon’s house, Lemon’s gallery, this very room, the sanctuary I’d been offered this summer . . . we were the neighboring property.
“Pardon the interruption of this little testosterone-fest,” Lemon said. “But do I get a vote?”
The mayor sipped his drink, hissing through his lips. He looked at Mr. Kane, who didn’t offer any reassurances either.
Lemon loved her home—the Mermaid Tears gift shop and gallery, the sprawling gardens, the view. The fact that the two most powerful men at the Cove were treating it like a business deal, a generic summer rental whose fate didn’t matter? Something they could toss around in a wager, with no care that Lemon’s life could get turned upside down?
That told me every last thing I needed to know about them.
Thankfully, Christian wasn’t taking the bait.
“Sounds like real good times, guys. But . . . pass.” Christian rose from the table, went to the kitchen for a drink refill. When he sat down again, he said, “Vega’s barely floating, and there’s no time to get her ready.”
“Nonsense,” his father said. “Take a vacation from breaking hearts this summer. You’ll have plenty of time to get her seaworthy.”
“She won’t sail past the docks, Dad. I was down there earlier. She’s a wreck.” Christian glanced at me, then back to his father. “What are you even playing at? The houses?”
“Don’t do it, Daddy,” Sebastian said. “Mama, tell him not to. I like it here.”
“Don’t look at me,” Mrs. Kane said. “This is your father’s game, apparently.”
“My great-grandfather built these properties, Meredith,” Mr. Kane said, smug. “I grew up here. They belong to me.”
“Yes, I’d almost forgotten,” she said. “For a minute there, I thought our marriage was an equal partner—”
“Hey, kids,” Christian said, “we all know you two are bonkers for each other. No need to blind us with the sunshine of your marital bliss.”
Mr. Kane cleared his throat. His wife leveled him with an icy stare. One of them was sleeping on the couch tonight.
“Should I start packing?” Lemon asked. Beneath the steely sarcasm I detected fear. She had to be nervous—I’d felt the shift in her energy, seen it in her eyes the moment someone mentioned “neighboring property.”
“P and D isn’t interested in tossing you out,” the mayor said. “They simply want to corporatize the properties up here under one umbrella. You’d still lease it, just from different landlords.”
“Different rent, too,” Lemon said.
He waved a hand, swatting at her persistence. “Better services, more security. Other than that, not much would change for you. And Kane’s house? It’s empty in the off season. He’s paying a maintenance company for upkeep when he could just let P and D rent it out year round, bring in more families, more money for the Cove.”
“More money for Parrish and Dey,” Lemon said.
“I’m sure they’ll keep the rent fair,” he said. “Whatever the market value supports.”
“Market value will skyrocket if those plans go through,” Mrs. Kane said. “Let’s not pretend, boys. P and D invests in beach communities to make a profit, bottom line. They start building condos, hotels, a Starbucks, more roads. Everything gets more crowded, more expensive. Half this town would be forced to move.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” the mayor said. “Sure, there’d be changes. Some folks would relocate, move somewhere off the beaten path. But we’re talking about a few sacrifices for the common good. A real chance to save this place. To make it better for those of us who stay.”
He seemed pretty certain that the plan would work, but it didn’t make sense to me. If everyone was forced out, what exactly was he trying to save?
“The Jameses are on board,” Mr. Kane said. “Right, Vanessa?”
Vanessa offered her disarming smile. “Don’t you get me into this mess, Mr. Kane. I leave politics to the politicians.”
“Neil told me he’d be listing your place this summer,” he said.
“Yeah, but it’s not for Prop Twenty-Seven. With all their campaign stuff, my parents just don’t have time for long vacations anymore. Mom’s not even coming for this season until next week, and Daddy won’t make it up here at all. But y’all?” She looked from the Kanes to Lemon and Kirby, skipping pointedly over the mayor. “You guys are the Cove.”
“Exactly.” Lemon nodded. “And what do you think the Cove becomes if we commercialize it, Wes? Take a drive up to Cannon Beach—that’s our future under corporate landlords.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Kane pointed at Lemon with the phone that hadn’t left her hand all night. “Cannon Beach is a perfect example.”
Cannon Beach was a great place for a day trip—they’d taken me up there a few weeks ago to see Haystack Rock from The Goonies. It had its own charms, but the town was overrun with tourists, a place whose original heartbeat was so deeply buried under the money it was no more than a faint throb. I couldn’t imagine the Cove turning into that, or Lemon and Kirby being okay there.
Mr. Kane narrowed his eyes at his wife and set his highball on the table, harder than he needed to. “If what Wes says is true, Meredith, we’d make a killing. We could buy a beach house anywhere.”
“But I like it here,” Sebastian said. “All the best mermaid watching is here.”
Mrs. Kane ruffled his hair.
“We come here every summer, Dad,” Christian said. “But . . . you know what? Whatever.”
For a moment no one spoke. It seemed like Mr. Kane might be backing down, looking out for his family.
Then the mayor’s eyes darkened. “What’s wrong, Kane? Afraid your boy can’t out-pirate mine? Is he into mermaids too? I hear that’s inherited from the father’s side.”
Mr. Kane’s jaw ticked, the gesture almost identical to Christian’s, but whatever response hovered on his tongue stayed put.
I looked at Sebastian, his sweet face unmarred by the mayor’s jab.
As ever, my heart thrummed with the unsaids trapped inside.
Christian sighed. “You really are a douche bag, Katz.”
The mayor laughed, but Christian wasn’t being funny.
After a tense beat the mayor drained his drink, then got up and headed for the kitchen. He returned with the half-empty bottle of scotch, poured himself a refill. He stretched across the table and filled Mr. Kane’s glass too.
Mr. Kane grabbed the drink. “I think we both know my son could swab the deck with yours, Wes.”
The mayor only smiled. “This mean you’re putting your money where your mouth is, friend?”
“Noah and I have sailed that race together every year for the last three,” Christian said. “Now you’re pitting us against each other? Forget the Vega. Without Noah, I don’t even have a teammate.”
“A little competition would do you boys some good,” the mayor said. “Plenty of willing sailors at the Cove this summer.”
I felt Lemon’s eyes on me, but I refused to meet them. I knew what she was thinking—I could feel the impressions forming, drifting across the space between us.
She looked away, probably talking herself out of it, pushing an unbidden thought aside.
But not before it reached me.
My hand was curled on my thigh, and I looked down and read the message on my palm, smudged now with clamminess.
Something I can do for you?
Inside I felt an idea take root, bloom.
I’d been sailing my entire life.
But not anymore.
I was probably better than a lot of the sailors here, maybe even better than Christian and Noah.
But I couldn’t go out there again.
I crushed my fingers against my palm, made a fist.
“All right, Katz,” Mr. Kane said. It was like Christian wasn’t even there. “We’re in.” He rose, stretched across the table for the handshake. “Your boy’s finally got some competition this year.”
It was a strange mix, Mr. Kane’s vibe. On one hand, he treated his eldest with little more than contempt. But the mayor got under his skin in a different way, a way that made him react fast. He bet on Christian, talked him up at the risk of losing his home. Lemon’s home.
“We’ll see who brings the competition.” The mayor downed his drink, lifted the empty glass toward Christian. “Let the piracy begin, Chris.”
“It’s Christian.” Christian’s voice was sour as he rose from the table, but he didn’t say no, didn’t back down from his father’s bet.
Outside, the clouds that had been threatening all night made good on their promise.
Lightning pierced the sky.
Rain lashed the windows.
From the first moment Mayor Katzenberg had said the word “wager,” it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. A blip, really, but a blip that left a chill in the house untouched by the earlier celebratory warmth. Silently I helped Lemon and Kirby carry the remaining dishes to the sink, and then I slipped into the shade beneath the sea glass tree, my favorite sculpture in the gallery.
Built along the north-facing windows in a dark corner, the tree was made from driftwood, bone-white branches that jutted out from a tall trunk. Tiny pieces of sea glass in blue, green, brown, and white hung from invisible wires like leaves that never fell.
The jewel-colored bits clicked together softly as Christian exited through the deck door, leaving his birthday party guests behind.
I pressed my forehead to the window and tracked him down the staircases, down to the sand below. He walked along the shore, past his house, unconcerned about the rain and the blue-white electricity streaking across the horizon.
I imagined his footsteps in the wet sand.
Dark, fading. Dark, fading. Dark, fading.
He disappeared in the mist.
My throat tightened, a feeling like tears rising, but they didn’t spill. They never spilled anymore; I always stopped them. Crying never brought anything back from the dead. It only felt like the ocean trying to drown you from the inside out.
The men were back to talking investments, oblivious, but as I watched the lightning gather and spill on the horizon, I knew their bet had set things in motion. Irreversible, impossible things. Dangerous things.
I also knew how to patch up an old boat. I knew how to sail.
But inside my head, the only place that could still hear my words, the echo said no. It said that I shouldn’t be thinking about the Kane family, the sticky web of it. I needed to keep my head down, help Lemon at the gift shop.
Not try to save the house from these dangerous, destructive forces. From men more powerful than the ocean.
I needed to collect sea glass. Keep my room clean. Do the dishes without being asked. Write poems and lyrics that no one would ever read, pretend I’d one day be able to sing again.
But maybe . . .
You’re too afraid, the echo taunted. You’re a fool to even think it.
I closed my eyes.
There was a time, not so long ago, I’d take a stage before hundreds of people. Grab my sister’s hand, move the crowd without a second thought. Now, everything in me felt frozen and stiff, the stage bravery no more than a memory.
Natalie would’ve known what to do. She would’ve told me the truth. Held my hand, caught my tears when I let them fall, even if she’d been the one to put them there.
But she was gone.
I was gone.
Behind me, someone flicked on an overhead light, and I opened my eyes, catching my reflection in the glass. For an instant, a heartbeat, a breath, I thought it was my twin sister.
I pressed my hand to the window, and her fingertips met mine exactly. We spoke in unison.
Oh, gyal. What am I supposed to do without you?