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Fitzwilliam Darcy sat on the deck of the family beach house on Anna Maria Island, Florida and gazed down at the mermaid swimming laps in the tranquil Gulf of Mexico. Her yellow bathing suit peeked through the waves and sunlight danced upon the aquamarine water. As usual, she fascinated him. His wife, Elizabeth, always chose the sea over the pool, but he understood why. Sea water ran through her veins. Such was the case with all mermaids.
For the last six months, his usual morning routine included coffee, Mozart, and watching her tranquilly commune with ebb and flow of the waves—a visual metaphor of their thirty-five years together. In spirit, he drifted with her until she disappeared beneath the surface. For as much as she loved floating and splashing above water, swimming beneath was her private sanctuary.
Idyllic moments like this did wonders for his morning crankiness, but she understood his temperament and need for solitude when waking up. Now retired from medicine, he enjoyed the freedom to awake on his own time—not pre-dawn as she did. She desired to reconnect with the sea at first light, then come back to the house for breakfast together. Some mornings he swam with her because he just wanted to be with her. Despite three decades’ worth of life’s storms, their marriage stayed in perfect harmony. Apart from deep love, respect, and understanding, giving the other freedom to do and be what they needed to for their soul and spirit to soar was their key to success. Further, the passion between them was still through the roof.
Was it all a bed of roses? He could proudly state that after three children and his stressful career as a cardiac surgeon, most times, it was the stuff of dreams. He was married to Elizabeth, after all. Never in all his life had he come across a person who could get a big tickle out of almost anything—particularly her taciturn husband and two sons, exactly like him.
Slender and leggy, his sea nymph finally emerged from the water. When she removed her swimming goggles, their eyes met across the expanse of the sand. Reminiscent of that fateful summer when he first laid eyes on her, she planted her feet apart in the white, foamy sand, shifted her weight, and perched a hand on her hip. Bearing a glorious smile, she raised her arm and waved to him. The pose always arrested his heart, but that’s why she did it. Elizabeth loved teasing him, and despite his faults, she still loved him beyond measure.
He waved back, and she pointed to her eyes for him to watch her. In a move he’d seen her do hundreds of times both above and below water, she jumped backward, planting her hands on the sand behind her, then kicked her legs up and over her body. His mermaid still had the enthusiasm and flexibility of the nineteen-year-old he fell in love with that enchanted summer. Of course, his extraordinary wife worked her lifetime to maintain it.
She jumped for joy and blew him a kiss. He blew her two back, as was their custom.
Ah, that summer...reminiscing about it never grew old, even if he had. It had changed his life and the course of every lofty vision regarding the perfect spouse, marriage, family, and career. And for that, he would be forever grateful to the Almighty and Elizabeth for giving him a chance. It was a year like none other: his first year of authentic living outside his boundaries. Every time he mentally went back to that fateful Fourth of July beach party, he could still smell the salt water and Coppertone.
While the rest of the world fixated on conflict with Cuba, JFK, cold and hot wars, nuclear threats from Russia, and the Yankee baseball battle between home run kings. Darcy ignored all the noise and focused solely on romancing Miss Elizabeth Bennet...
**
Although a native Floridian, Darcy wasn’t fond of the beach parties, but it would have been rude to decline his best friend Charlie’s invitation to celebrate Independence Day with the Bingley family at their beach house in Clearwater.
Propped up on his elbow beside bikini-clad Caroline Bingley on the blanket, he covertly watched her slather white lotion on her arms and flat chest. Every once and a while, she’d look at him from behind sunglasses and hat.
“Darcy, would you be a ginchy and get my back?” she asked, holding out the bottle with a sly smile.
“Yes, of course.” Politeness was his number one thorn, but it was deep-seated in him. Still living in the fifties, he straddled two worlds, not quite fitting in anywhere except Alpha Kappa Kappa Medical Fraternity and with friends who knew him well. In most social situations, among some of the more non-conforming, rebellious-types, he stuck out like a sore thumb. One girl—a Miss Florida beauty queen—called him a square, saying he was all show and no go when their nightcap after dinner didn’t result in her hoped-for outcome. He hadn’t dated since. Before med school, he had never considered touching a woman—who was not his girl—out in the open, but the American way of life was changing fast. Faster than his well-bred, uniformed upbringing wanted. Only five years ago, the nation went along to get along to maintain national civility and domestic felicity. Now everyone was protesting something. Social mores and even music had changed! But he would not; he’d remain a gentleman and a man of honor. Besides, his future profession demanded he always present himself as a man of respectability.
Ricky Nelson’s “Travelin’ Man” floated from the transistor, and he smoothed his hand over Caroline’s bare back, cringing at the feel of her bony spine under his palm.
“Oh, that’s simply fantabulous,” she groaned. “You have such fab hands, a surgeon’s hands.”
Since leaving Tampa for med school three years ago, they hadn’t been in each other’s company much, but it was obvious she never got over her schoolgirl crush. Back in ’58, Caroline had been a teenybopper swooning over Elvis—and him. Now, she couldn’t shut up about banning the bomb, Kennedy’s boss hair, and the “MD” about to follow his name. Caroline had changed with the decade, but he hadn’t and probably never would. He was old-fashioned—and he liked it that way. Just because the nation was on the precipice of major change, didn’t mean he had to follow suit. Yes, some things needed changing but not everything all at once.
Subconsciously, he rolled his eyes at her fawning, then looked over to his cousin Rick, Charlie and his elder sister Louisa, and her husband Hurst having a gay time at badminton. Until more people arrived at this beach party blast, he’d be damned if he would spend the time alone in Caroline’s annoying company.
“Would you care to join the others in badminton?”
Horrified, she picked up her fashion magazine. “Badminton? So uncool, Darcy. I can think of several other things to do in the sand, which include playing with a different kind of shuttlecock.”
“Excuse me,” he said, rising from the blanket, dashing toward the net. Easy girls bugged him, and he lacked patience or politeness for innuendo today.
Barely fifteen minutes of play passed before Hurst dropped his racket in the sand and announced, “It’s time for my boy Maris to give Mantle a real shellacking!” And just like that Hurst, Rick, and Charlie left him standing beside the gossipy Louisa at the net. Sure, he would have liked to listen to the second game in the Yankee-Tiger doubleheader, but it would have been uncivil to abandon her.
“Shall we continue to play?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I really should go up to the house to fix Hurst a Manhattan and something to snack on for the ballgame. “Say, Fitzwilliam, now that we’re alone...” She touched his arm to keep him from leaving. “I’m not one to pry into my brother’s love affairs, but did he mention the other guests arriving later?”
“He mentioned it but didn’t elaborate. Just said it was a surprise.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s invited a girl he’s had his eye on since coming home. Mind you, she and her friends are not our kind, but as usual, Charles is not thinking about his future. So, if you can be of assistance in dissuading him from his hormonal hot pursuit, we all would appreciate it.”
“What is her kind, if not ours?” Not that I consider your father’s nouveau riche war profiteering on equal playing fields with Darcy blue-blooded status.
“Well, she’s certainly not a Junior Leaguer. Her father is an orange grower,” she objected.
“Don’t you like orange juice?”
With the same horrified expression as Caroline, she declared, “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those de-segregation pinkos infiltrating Miami’s society scene. Please!”
“Louisa,” he calmly said, having underestimated the woman’s ability to see through his sarcasm. “I’ve yet to meet a communist sympathizer in Miami, at least not these days.” Are you even aware of the Cuban flight away from communism to Miami? “Given your abject disapproval, is the young woman in question Negro?”
“Worse! She’s a mermaid—a creature from the swamps of Hernando County!”
He’d not comment on the ludicrous statements, nor would he try to dissuade her or Charlie of their beliefs, even if his friend was in love with a colored girl. The fella was a grown man now and hanging on every word out of Kennedy’s mouth. The president had promised a frontier of new possibilities and Charlie appeared willing to answer the call to pioneer all kinds of change. If it included falling in love with a half woman–half fish, well, the more important issue should be whether his friend needed a psychiatrist. He certainly could assess the situation now that he was entering his fourth year of doctorate.
“A mermaid, you say. Have you taken Charlie to see the doctor yet?” he asked.
“This is not funny. You’re a sensible, reasonable man, Fitzwilliam. I’m quite sure given how my brother looks up to you, you can talk some sense into him. It’s bad enough he voted for that Catholic in the White House, but this is beyond the pale. Darcys and Bingleys do not mix with their kind.”
He was hardly the one to censure Charlie’s decision to vote for Kennedy the Catholic. He may have been old-fashioned, but he was no party-line voting Republican. In fact, he considered himself a Calvin Coolidge Republican and, sometimes, a closet Kennedy supporter. Back in November, he, too, had been optimistic about the young candidate’s take on things. Religion was entirely irrelevant. Very few in his conservative circle knew this about him because he had long mastered self-containment.
“I daresay we don’t mix with their kind.” He rubbed his chin. “Mermaids and humans...genetically, their children would be a fright. Real creatures,” he deadpanned. “Don’t worry—I’ll do what I can.”
“Good. I am sure in all your books, there must be a medical affliction, which inflames a man’s desire to sully his gene pool,” she said.
The sand scorched the bottom of his feet like some hot coal ritual to ward off evil spirits as they walked back toward Caroline.
“I don’t know of such an affliction, but then...the psychosis isn’t my specialty. I’m going into cardiology, intent on fixing hearts, not breaking them when they dare to defy the laws of Best Society.”
She missed his jab, and he smiled at her because it was the best politeness he could offer, if not entirely civil. Admittedly, he was working on bedside manner, but the Bingley family neuroses were beyond his compassionate patience. But Louisa’s highbrow manner inflamed his intolerant passive-aggression.
He noticed the increasing number of blankets and chairs on the Bingley private beach. Against the surf’s roar and rush, stereo sound from four radios broadcast the crack of the bat. Tiger fans cheered the ground ball hit. Good. He didn’t like the Yankees, all that bravado, all that show—and go. He preferred rooting for the underdog, no matter the team.
“Darcy, I’ve saved your place beside me,” Caroline cooed, but he simply smiled, then walked to the cooler for a bottle of pop. The sizzling sun and Caroline’s stare burned his flesh. It was going to be a long afternoon of both.
He kicked some sand onto his cousin’s foot to get his attention from the game, but Rick just moved over to make room for him on the cabana lounge.
“They’re saying it might be the largest attendance ever at Yankee Stadium,” Rick said.
“Oh yeah? Who’s pitching?”
“Turley versus Lary.”
“Turley’s done with that elbow. I’m sure the Yankees will trade him next year,” he said.
“Maybe. Your boy Lary is having a great season, though.”
“Yeah. The ‘Yankee Killer’ is on fire. Bet on it—this game is over before it’s begun. How much did you put down on the doubleheader?”
“Not much. Charlie’s all in for a hundred a game. So far, I’m up.”
He whistled at the waste of hard-earned money and leaned back onto the cooler, enveloped in the game’s play-by-play. This year was the most exciting baseball season he had ever followed. Between the race toward the pennant and the battle to beat Babe Ruth’s record, America was on tenterhooks.
Such went three and a half hours of scorching sun, fried chicken, the baseball game, and a win for both teams competing for first standing in the American League. Yet, Charlie’s infamous love interest had not risen from the sea to scandalize the Bingley family, and Hurst’s beloved Maris had only hit one home run. Even Charlie and Rick’s bet was a wash.
By late afternoon, the crowd had thinned to only a few beachcombers and one radio. Charlie switched the transistor off, and the three friends settled back with Schlitz beers and sweaters. This was the part of “going to the beach” he enjoyed. No crowds, no radios, just watching the scurrying sanderlings along the lowering tide and listening to the soft-rolling waves. He’d missed shooting the breeze with good friends and the occasional beer on a summer night.
“Louisa tells me a special girl was supposed to come to the party today,” he said to Charlie, keeping his word to Louisa.
“Janie and her friends are still coming.”
“Why not earlier for a real bikini beach bash?” Rick asked, ever on the prowl.
“They had to work today, but wait’ll you get a load of these chicks!”
“Are they human?” he asked.
“What? Are you crazy? Of course they’re human!” Charlie laughed.
“Louisa doesn’t think so.”
“She should talk—she’s the Creature from the Black Lagoon. My sister will never be happy with anything, especially not until you marry Caroline and I marry your cousin Anne.”
“Neither will ever happen, my friend. That’s a sure bet.”
Rick laid on his back, rested his flat-top head on his hands. Gazing up at the sky, he dreamily said, “Tell me more about the girls.”
“There’s so many to choose from, real knockouts, but Janie is the prettiest—a certifiable angel.”
“Beyond looks, what makes her so special?” he pressed, not that he expected him to say “gills,” or “a tail.”
“Jeepers! She looks like Marilyn Monroe and can also hold her breath for three minutes!”
Both he and his cousin burst out laughing, followed by Rick’s ever-dirty mind stating why the talent could come in handy. “Does she have a dishy sister?” Rick asked.
“Two are joining her tonight.”
“Are there any blondes?”
“Sure! There’s a whole bunch of ’em.”
“Then the rest are for Darcy,” Rick teased. “Cousin, you need to find a girl.”
That being the furthest thing from his mind, he simply chuckled and shook his head.
“Hey, boys, shave a beer for me,” Hurst slurred, approaching with an armful of firewood. “Can you lend me a hand with the bonfire?”
He and Charlie got up, but Rick stayed, no doubt daydreaming about a stacked blonde who could hold her breath for an inordinate amount of time. The guy tore through women on the quest for the one. At thirty and a Marine war veteran, he was the bona fide bachelor in the group but wanted to settle down.
Mirth and chatter from behind the dune breached their tranquil respite, and he frowned.
A group of at least ten girls and four guys burst out onto the beach, shocking the four of them. Rick bolted up; his gape spoke volumes. Hurst whistled, and Charlie ran toward the interlopers.
“Janie Angel,” his friend announced. “You finally got here. The boys were just asking about you.”
Clearly, he and the angel had progressed in their relationship because he kissed her grinning lips.
An equally girl, a brunette, watched the greeting. Planting both feet in the sand, she propped a hand on her hip, shook her head, and laughed.
“Guys—these are the angel mermaids of Weeki Wachee! Angels, this is Rick, Hurst, and that handsome devil is my best pal, Darcy.”
Weeki Wachee. Ah, now he understood. They were tourist-trap underwater performers. Of course, he’d never been to the place up in the boonies, but heard it mentioned a time or two when some of them toured Miami.
Rick welcomed every girl with a kiss on the hand and a boatload of smooth talking, but he simply waved. His gaze traveled the line of undeniable beauties. As mermaids went, each one possessed a unique mystique sans nude torsos and tails.
Charlie plowed through the names of the newcomers, but he only heard two: Janie Angel and her sister Elizabeth Bennet, two opposites. Although a far cry from “creature,” Charlie’s girl wearing a flip-up hairstyle smiled too much, but the dark-haired siren—definitely not half-fish—cocked an appraising eyebrow when their eyes met.
He smiled the first genuine smile he’d made all day. Well, third if you count the one after the Tigers stole home at the top of the ninth and the mention of Janie Angel’s breath-holding attribute. Only this smile came with a skipped heartbeat, for which there was no proper diagnosis or known cure.
The top of Elizabeth’s shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, and she wore a simple red, white, and blue sundress. Her brilliant smile put the sunshine in Florida.
There went his heart again.
Now abandoned by his fawning brother-in-law, Hurst and he lit the bonfire as everyone laid their blankets around in anticipation for what promised to be a spectacular sunset over the Gulf.
The crowd of new friends laughed and got acquainted. Even a few of the girls demonstrated some of their acrobatics with the help of the waterboys. Secretly, he wished the sexy brunette would join the performance, but she and the youngest of the troupe watched the others.
Admittedly, he felt uncomfortable by the newcomers. Settled on a long piece of driftwood facing the fire and the mermaids in the distance, he and a drunken Hurst attempted conversation about baseball. After an hour, Caroline emerged from the house in time for the sunset and competition with the other single girls.
She sat beside him on the log, hooking an arm into his. “You’re all alone, Darcy. You should have come up to the house for cocktails.” Snuggling against him she cooed, “It’s so wonderful to have you home again.” All he could manage was a polite thank you, unable to remove himself from her presence or her arm from his. Captivated by Elizabeth, he stole glances of her just to admire her smile, shapely legs, and how her shiny hair beckoned his fingers. There was something magical about her, and he couldn’t deny his immediate attraction. The myth was accurate; mermaids were enchantresses.
Caroline followed his gaze. “Darcy, why don’t we lay on the blanket together to watch the sunset?”
“I’m sorry, Carrie, but I’m comfortable here,” he politely rebuffed, but she remained seated beside him.
His gaze met Elizabeth’s across the fire. “They say mermaids have special powers,” he boldly called out.
Smiling, she brushed the hair from her shoulder. “He speaks!” she teased. “Yes, beyond mastering the sea, I can lose my tail and predict the future.”
“Darcy...” Caroline nudged.
He took a sip of beer for liquid courage, then removed Caroline’s arm. “Is that all mermaids do?”
“We merfolk have telepathy and can also hypnotize men.”
He walked to her. “Is that so?”
“Darccyyy...” Caroline moaned.
“You seem hypnotized,” Elizabeth astutely pointed out.
“Do I?”
“Your girlfriend seems to think so.”
“She is not my girl.”
“She seems to think so.”
He shrugged.
“Would you like me to predict your future and see if she is in it?”
“I don’t need you to tell me that she won’t be.”
She smiled coyly. Taking his hand in hers, she turned it over, examined his college signet ring, then pretended to read his palm. “Hmm...I see...a walk along the beach...fireworks on the Fourth of July, and a long, happy life.”
“Anything in there about war with the Soviets?”
“Nope. I only predict happy stuff. Mermaids embody peace and love. Sirens love to provoke war.”
He gazed down at the crown of her head as she searched his hand, smoothing her finger along its lifeline. “Okay. So now tell me what I’m thinking?”
Raising her face, her beaming smile bowled him over. “That you’d like to walk along the beach with me and watch the sunset before fireworks begin.”
“I didn’t realize I was so transparent?”
“You’re not. Telepathy isn’t mind reading—I simply sent you what was in my mind.”
Inside, he grinned like a fool, and she locked her gaze with his for silent, electrified seconds.
“Shall we?” he said.
“Lizzy where are you going?” Jane called out.
“To the sea with Blue Eyes.”
Side-by-side, they walked silently toward the scattering gulls and orange-tinged swash from the setting sun. A few furtive glances at the other made for an awkward beginning until she blurted, “It’s Darcy, right?”
“Actually, it’s Fitzwilliam. Darcy is my last name.”
He looked over to see if her lips twitched, as was usually the case, but there was no reaction.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Is that important?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“And how long have you known Charlie?”
“Almost eight years,” he said, admiring her quizzical brow.
“How did you meet?”
“I was a senior in high school, and he was a freshman who needed a bodyguard, I guess.”
“How noble of you.”
“He’s a great friend, an honorable fellow with a bright future ahead of him.”
“But you’re thinking...Jane’s not good enough for him.”
“I thought you didn’t read minds,” he teased.
“I don’t. I just know your type.”
“Ah, and what is my type?”
“Well, your type—have weird names—and wear expensive wristwatches and fancy school rings to the beach. Besides, your indifference to us tells me what you think of my type.”
“On the contrary. I...I don’t possess...I’m not comfortable around strangers—of any type.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, provoked into speaking more than short sentences. “Forgive my bluntness, but if I thought Jane was not suitable enough for someone in my social circle, then why would I agree to watch the sunset with her sister and not Charlie’s sister?”
Elizabeth chuckled, then grinned like he passed a test or something. “Just checking. Jane’s joining the Peace Corps next year, anyway.”
“I’m sorry for Charlie. He seems to really like her.”
“She likes him, too, but she took all that ‘what can you do for your country’ mumbo-jumbo serious. She’s such a gullible idealist.”
Elizabeth took his hand and made to continue walking, but he stopped her. The painted sky glowed vibrant orange and pink. The whitecaps had turned silver on the amber-gray water from the sun touching the horizon.
“Wait...just watch,” he said, facing out to the sea.
“It sure is lovely tonight.”
He whispered into her ear, “Can you hear it?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I hear it. The sea is calling to me.”
His heart called to him.
Watching the sun disappear, they stood with the Gulf spilling onto their feet and the sea spray filling his lungs. Intoxicating minutes passed with their hands thread into the others.
His breath caught at the sublime moment shared with this alluring stranger, but she wasn’t a stranger. It felt as if he knew her forever. He felt comfortable with her.
Elizabeth turned to face him, eyes dancing with orange stars. “That was beautiful.”
He swallowed hard. Her joyful demeanor conspired to expose his character and what he hid so deep within himself. He did the unthinkable: expressed himself. “You’re beautiful, Elizabeth.”
She laughed. “Me? I’m nothing special. Jane’s the pretty one. The one everyone falls all over themselves for.”
“You are too modest. Charlie and a handful of others may agree with you, but I see it differently.”
“Thank you. You know, you should come to the show,” she said, changing the topic and pulling him along to walk in the surf.
“Maybe.”
She chuckled. “A man of few words. Still waters run deep.”
“Perhaps they do.” He supposed the idiom described him—always keeping himself under strict regulation and living a disciplined, uninspiring life, apart from medicine. No woman or event, even the death of his mother, brought emotions to the surface.
“Tell me more about being a mermaid,” he said.
“Really? You want to know about Weeki Wachee?”
“I do. Have you performed there long?”
“Since I graduated high school.” She beamed. “We perform six days a week, eight shows a day doing underwater aquatics and ballet in the spring lagoon.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“More than anything. Once mastering your breath, you’re weightless, floating like in a dream. Any problem you had, you left on the surface. Not even a rainy day can touch you when you’re deep in the spring.”
“It sounds magical. How long can you hold your breath?”
“I just clocked at three minutes, fifteen seconds, but I don’t dare tell anyone! Jane holds the record, and she’s the star of the show at three minutes, three seconds.”
“That’s crazy. Why not tell anyone?”
“To what purpose? Jane is the deep dive champion performing the grand finale, diving down into the Grand Canyon while fighting the current and building pressure. You should see her, she’s amazing! One hundred seventeen feet!—and then she slowly resurfaces without the air hose! I may love the routines, but I have no intention of going that deep.” She laughed. “No, thank you! I’m comfortable performing at my sixteen-foot depth. For her, it’s about the thrill of diving, but for me, it’s about my oneness with the water and the marine life.”
He loved how her face lit when speaking of her time as a mermaid.
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s about fourteen pounds of pressure per square inch every thirty-three feet,” he calculated.
“Very good!”
“No wonder she’s the finale, but if you have a skill, you should use it.”
“Maybe I’ll say something after Jane leaves for God-knows-where because I’d never do anything to upstage any of my sisters or the other girls.”
He appreciated why she held herself back, marginalizing her abilities and beauty for others. There were so few humble, selfless debutantes in his social circle. Elizabeth was a breath of fresh air.
“Aren’t you afraid of gators?”
“I haven’t seen one, but sometimes they make their way into the lagoon. I mostly see turtles and fish, sometimes a manatee during the winter.”
“And the other girls, do they all do the same thing as you?”
“Oh yes! We all even take turns at the microphone, explaining the choreography to the visitors. There are twenty-nine mermaids, but ‘the angels’ are our own clique of good girl friends and family. We’ve known Charlotte and her brother John since elementary school. John’s a waterboy.”
“What do they do?”
“They’re there to assist, manage the air tubes we use and anything else. My sister Kitty is an angel too, but she just graduated High School and is in training now. The other girls we met through the show. Maria is getting married in September, so she’ll be leaving.”
“Is that required?”
She laughed. “For some girls, they want nothing more than to get hitched and have babies right away.”
He stopped walking, feet sinking into the wet sand. “And you?”
“I could never be parted from the water. Why, I’ll be at Weeki Wachee until I’m old and gray if my husband allows it or leaves me.”
“Any man worth his salt wouldn’t let you go because of such a silly obstacle to marital bliss.”
“Would you?” she asked.
He stepped closer to her. “What are you asking me?”
“Would you let me go if I were your girl?”
The breeze blew her hair, and he didn’t think he could let her go now that he met her. “Well...if I were your husband, I’d let you do whatever made you happy because then I’d be happy, and...we’d have a strong marriage.”
Elizabeth grinned. “And what would make you happy, Fitzwilliam?”
“Someday a family, but now...healing hearts, saving lives. I’m graduating from medical school next term.”
“How wonderful! Do you go to school in Tampa?”
“No, Miami University.”
Her smile faded. “Then you’ll be leaving after the summer.”
“Yes. After graduation comes residency, then fellowship. If I’m lucky, both will be in Tampa, but I can’t predict the future like mermaids.”
She stopped and took his hand. Pretending to concentrate, she ran her finger over his palm. “Let me see...hmm...I see both at Tampa General Hospital...and marriage, too.”
He chuckled, liking her prediction about his career direction, but marriage was far in his future. “Now tell me what am I thinking?”
Looking up at his smiling face, she said. “That you would like to take me on a date.”
“Again, I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”
“You are, Fitzwilliam, but that is what I wanted you to say.”
Unfortunately, this private time between them was ending with nightfall. The fireworks would soon begin, and he was sure the others would assume something ungentlemanly was happening between them. “I think we should head back,” he said without confirming or denying his desire to see her again.
“Head back? Is that what you want?”
“I think the others...your sisters...might be worried about you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Honestly? I’d like to watch the fireworks right here.” He removed his beach sweater, placing it over her shoulders. “With you...just the two of us.”
“I think you’re the mind reader,” she grinned.
They sat in the sand, and she leaned against him. He thought he’d gone to heaven from the fresh scent of her hair and nearness of her body.
Looking out at the shimmering sea and darkened sky, she said, “I think you’ll make a great doctor, but why a heart doctor?”
Again, her sincere interest in him encouraged him to open up a little more. “Because my mother died at thirty-seven of a congenital heart defect.”
She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’ll honor her memory by being a fab doctor.”
“Thank you.” He brushed his thumb against hers, saying nothing further, just enjoying her comforting nearness. Each time the evening breeze blew, her hair tickled his chin, but he didn’t mind. He could stay like this forever.
For too short a time, the fireworks lit up the sea and shore in colorful display. With each rocket burst and cascade of brilliant light from heaven he, too, fell like a million shooting stars...for the angel mermaid snuggled against him.
**
Although Darcy looked for any excuse to get behind the wheel of his new red Thunderbird, the joyride north to Weeki Wachee Springs came with all sorts of anxiety and, oddly, anticipatory glee.
His thoughts had traveled from regret at not kissing Elizabeth under the fireworks to practicing what he was going to say to her when he spoke with her again. He’d never felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach before, never really believing in the physical malady, but sure enough, his nerves proved it a valid affliction.
He never imagined taking a road trip to a roadside aquatic performance, but rationalized, ‘how bad could it be if Elizabeth agreed to be in it?’ Having determined her a reasonable, intelligent young woman who, although enjoyed the ridiculous, would never partake in it. Besides, ABC owned the attraction and dumped a fortune into it, putting it on the map as “The World’s Greatest Underwater Show.”
Feeling claustrophobic in the crowded, air-conditioned aqua theater submerged sixteen feet below the lagoon surface, he twisted his signet ring. His attention switched from ring, his watch, then back up to the windows and the rocks and giant conch shell in the middle of the lagoon cavern.
Opening the brochure, he read:
“Weeki Wachee Springs has a measurable depth of one hundred thirty-seven and a half feet and a diameter of one hundred twenty-six feet. From the shadowy depths of its subterranean spring rises a daily flow of one hundred sixty-five million gallons of crystal-clear water, which wends its way to the Gulf of Mexico, twelve miles away. It maintains a constant year-round temperature of seventy-four point two degrees.”
The theater lights dimmed, and he relaxed, hidden from Elizabeth’s view in the last row.
“Welcome to a magical world of weightless wonder and serenity in the spring of the mermaids, Weeki Wachee’s ‘Beauty in the Deep’ performance of ancient fables,” a lovely voice announced over the loudspeaker. “Prepare yourself for an experience like no other...”
Two mermaids emerged from the conch shell. All around them, bubbles floated to the surface in a shimmering entrance of graceful movements. Above the swimmers, brilliant sun and sky pierced the rippling water on the surface, illuminating them. He waited with bated breath to see if one of them was Elizabeth as they swam by, fins waving and bodies rolling to propel them forward. Scuba masks concealed their faces, but one of the girl’s dark hair flowed around her neck like a majestic collar. They wore matching yellow bathing suits and their legs—wowza! Toned, slender, and graceful.
Their aquatic routine appeared so effortless, and he searched the water for ropes holding them up, but there weren’t any. When needed, the mermaids took small inhales from the air hoses they carried. The ballet moves and breath control of their weightless buoyancy captivated him. The way the swimmers synchronized, what the announcer called the “foot-first dolphin,” spellbound him. Their arms moved gracefully, propelling them to circle in a somersault, ending in a ballet arabesque. It took incredible skill and a mastery of their lungs and physicality.
Lost in the enchantment of it all, he felt transported into an undersea world, understanding Elizabeth’s enjoyment.
Finally, the brunette removed her scuba mask. Releasing her long locks they floated above her head in a stream of bubbles. She smiled at the onlookers.
His heart skipped that damn beat.
Elizabeth: his angel mermaid.
Mastering the air tube in one hand and treading water to stay in one place, she held out something from her free hand. Dozens of bream fish circled around her. She placed the food between puckered lips, and he watched in delight as they picked at it. If she could laugh, he could hear it in the look upon her face!
Just as she had said, she was one with the water and marine life, and he was a land creature lost to her siren call.
He wondered if mermaids could really predict the future.
**
Snapping from his recollection, he admired Elizabeth running up the shore toward the house and his heart skipped. As much as she lamented that she had lost her beauty over the years, he still only saw the nineteen-year-old he fell in love with that wonderful summer of ’61. It seemed their love had arrested aging. Maybe they were just both young at heart, and once the kids left them alone to their devices, they were back to being just Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, the couple.
Dripping wet, she held onto both railings at the top of the deck staircase and grinned. “Good morning, Blue Eyes,” she said.
He simply held out his arm and his mermaid sashayed to him. Bending down to kiss him, he scooped his arm around her waist and sat her on his lap. “Good morning, enchantress,” he said with a kiss.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Until you got up, then I couldn’t fall back to sleep.”
“I’m sorry I woke you.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead, savoring the taste of salt upon his lips.
“I’ll say it again...” she sighed. “I am so happy you retired earlier than we planned.”
“Ha! You just like compliments on your back handspring.”
“True.” She chuckled. “Once a mermaid, always a mermaid.”
“So I was thinking...How would you like to take a joy ride in the T-Bird up to the Springs today?”
“You want to drive the T-Bird instead of looking at it in the garage?”
“I do.”
“You are such a romantic, Dr. Darcy,” she said raising her chin to look at him. He responded with a long languid kiss to her inviting lips.
“Elizabeth?” he breathed.
“Yes, my love?”
“When did you first realize you were in love with me?” he asked.
“You know when.”
He laughed. “I don’t. You told me when you knew I was in love with you.”
“I thought you always knew. It was love at first sight when I walked onto the beach, but when you showed up at Weeki the next day, and the day after, and the day after, I knew it would be forever.”
“Because you can predict the future,” he teased.
She took his hand in hers. “Of course! What an amazing summer, even if it took you three weeks to kiss me.”
“It was worth the wait.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“In your daydreams! It was just a kiss. I was a good girl!”
“Somehow, I remember it differently.”
“Okay, so maybe I let you steal a few kisses.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Only a few kisses...in the back seat of the T-Bird before I left for Miami? Or have you forgotten the stars twinkling over Rock Island. I sure haven’t.”
She laughed. “So that’s the reason you’ve kept that relic in pristine condition all these years!”
“Of course. Just don’t tell the kids. They’ll think their old man is a sentimental sap.”
“Fitzwilliam, they already know.”
He grunted, then smirked. “I was thinking we can drive up to the spring after lunch and stay to watch the sunset on the bay.”
“In other words, you’d like to park...in the T-Bird...for a little backseat bingo tonight, listening to ‘Sea of Love’.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes. But that was telepathy, darling.”
Inspiration Songs:
“Memories are Made of This,” Dean Martin
Modern