SHE BENT OVER AND RESTED BOTH HANDS ON HER KNEES, her chest heaving. She listened, but heard nothing—the old man hadn’t followed her. Her relief lasted only a moment.
There was no electricity in the village, no phones, no radios. The old man had used lanterns to light his house, wood to fuel his stove. The nearest city could be miles away. Waiting until morning was a risk. Escaping across miles of unforgiving desert was not an option.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Waves rumbled from rolls of mercury into crashing, white tantrums. On the beach, there was a scattering of pangas with their motors lifted out of the sand, fueled and ready for the fishermen to leave at dawn. The tide was too low now, but she could wait, hide in the rocks. No—moving a boat with a motor and full tank of fuel by herself was impossible. She wasn’t even sure she could pull-start the motor if she got the boat in the water. Plus, stealing a boat would certainly rouse the men from the huts. She had to be more realistic.
She laughed. Was swimming away realistic?
“This is crazy,” she whispered. But she knew there was no other way.
She took a deep breath, charged into the foaming surf, and dove beneath a curling breaker. She resurfaced, the icy water making her gasp.
“Hard part’s over,” she said, her voice stilted by the cold. Her foot brushed something slimy, and she lurched and squealed. She closed her eyes.
“Still a good plan, Ishmael. You can do this.”
She paddled with her arms and frog-kicked her feet to get beyond the breaking waves. The reflection of the moon on the water was dimpled and golden, like the rind of a lemon. She swam toward the horizon, ignoring the doubts flooding her mind and her fearful imaginings of what was out there swimming with her. Using only her arms to propel her, she let her feet drag behind. Wasn’t that how it happened before? She could barely remember. The past few days—or was it weeks?—were a blur of bizarre memories.
She knew she could swim farther and faster if only her body could somehow return to that other form. That . . . aquatic form.
The last vivid recollection she had of her mother flashed through her mind.
Anna had come into the kitchen, tears still wet on her face, and kissed Ishmael on the forehead.
“Why don’t you go for a swim, Mommy?” Ishmael had asked.
Life got Ishmael’s mother down at times, but in the water, Anna had a way of reviving herself. Ishmael had spent a great deal of her childhood playing on the shore while her mother swam off in the distance. But that day long ago, when Ishmael looked up from her sandcastle, there was nothing but endless water. A lifeguard showed up. Then a man on a four-wheeler. Boats. A helicopter. Cops stopped by daily for weeks. Reporters called. Flowers were delivered. Sympathy cards. Casseroles.
The incident was reported as “an accident.” No way it was suicide, her father had said. Wiping tears from his daughter’s face while he tucked the covers around her, he’d told Ishmael that her mother had swam off into the sunset as a mermaid.
A mermaid.
Wasn’t that just something a dad told his daughter to take away the sting of a mother’s death? She’d never really thought he was telling the truth, had she?
Until now.
She felt the twisting sensation in her legs. It hurt, but she welcomed the discomfort. She was scared, but she couldn’t deny that she was also relieved. Relieved and curious. This time she was more alert.
The skin below her navel and down her legs suddenly felt padded, like she’d been zipped tightly into a warm sleeping bag. The bulk was burdensome, but she sensed that it made her more buoyant. Her feet fanned out; the webbing stretched like putty, connecting the gaps between each toe. She felt as if she were wearing thick stockings and someone was carefully pulling them off, somehow lengthening her flesh with each tug.
With her two legs joined, she gained strength from her lower half; she felt more power and control. What had been her feet and toes was now one massive flipper. It amazed her how easy it was for her to maneuver this new extension of her body, how instinctual.
She reached down with her hands and felt the thick skin beneath her belly button. She patted this new skin down her body until she reached what had been her ankles. There were no scales. She was not a fish. She was a woman with a tail for legs and a fluke for feet.
“Whoa. Wow. It worked.”
Kicking her tail, she propelled herself out of the water and into the air so that she lifted and arched. She felt a brief exhilaration but lost control, unsure of how to handle this new body hurtling through the air. She flopped back into the ocean with a clumsy splash. Choking, she brushed clumps of hair from her face.
“Okay, so I’m not ready for that move yet.”
She flexed her abdominal muscles and lifted her lower half so her tail was visible at the surface.
“I don’t believe this. This is insane.”
She dropped her tail back down and realized that she could easily move her fluke beneath her so that she hovered like a hummingbird in the water. She was able to steer herself up and down with mere flicks of this new appendage. She trailed her hands across the surface and laughed at the phosphorescence in the water, giddy with astonishment.
“Okay, Ishmael. Now what?”
She glanced around, hoping for some sort of answer or guidance. Finally, she tilted her head back and looked up to the masculine face on the lunar surface above her.
She couldn’t go back to Nicholas. He said he loved her— enough to put a gigantic diamond on her finger—but did he love her enough to take her seriously? He didn’t exactly think outside the box. He would never believe this.
But Allen might.
Bastard, she said, slapping the water. She hadn’t spoken to Allen in years.
She looked down at her left hand. The engagement ring was gone. She felt both guilt and exhilaration.
She tipped her head back with a sigh and admired the comfort her tail gave her as she hovered effortlessly in the water. With a strong kick, she dove underwater, and her tail breached the surface gracefully. She kept her arms extended out before her to help with balance. She felt the water stream past her and sensed her wake trailing behind her like a long, billowing gown. Her breath was heavy when she reached the surface. Water dripped from her face, causing her to blink. She puffed the droplets off her lips with heavy exhales, but she was feeling more confident in her ability to negotiate this new form.
She dove again, and this time she kept her arms at her sides and used only her tail to propel her forward. She was wobbly at first, but quickly she found a way to relax her arms and balance in the water without twisting or rolling to one side. She could feel strength all the way down her spine, her body surging forward with the movement initiated by her tail.
Not prepared for this kind of exertion, she surfaced often for air. Adrenaline pounded through her veins and drove her forward. She wasn’t sure exactly where she was, but she suspected she was still in Baja and home was to the north. She swam fast, checking her position when she surfaced. Her pace was astounding with this tail, possibly even reckless. She paused with heavy breaths, making sure the land was directly to her right. She planned to hug the shore in order to stay the course.
With this speed, she hoped she’d reach the States before sunrise.