Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (10 page)

“S
hoot me now.”

Rowan groused to herself as she settled into the giant-assed half-shell throne atop the Safe Haven B and B parade entry. How had this happened? It was all a blur. How had she allowed her mother to talk her into doing this? Why the hell had she agreed to be the B and B’s so-called Mermaid Queen? For very good reasons, she’d refused to ride on the family’s float since high school.

Then she remembered.
Guilt
. She was doing this out of a profound sense of guilt. Rowan felt a dead weight settle onto her bare shoulders as it hit her—when, exactly, could she expect this guilt to go away? How long would it be until she felt, in her heart, that she’d made amends to her family? How long would she have to carry the weight of the Safe Haven in her strong and healthy hands because her frail mother couldn’t? Five years? Ten years? The rest of her freaking
life
? Yes, Rowan knew it was selfish to even think this way, but she wished Mona would just agree to sell the Safe Haven and set her free.

“Lookin’ real good.” Clancy stood at the side of the float, smiling up at Rowan, his shoulders shaking. “Lovely flipper.”

“Bite me.”

He laughed loudly, bending forward at the waist and leaning into the flatbed’s crepe paper fringe trim. At any other time, Rowan would have laughed right along with him. She’d never been able to resist the contagious nature of her brother’s full-throttle guffaw. But there was nothing funny about this particular situation.

“Don’t you have some kind of emergency to handle?”

Clancy shook his head and gestured at the float. “None more important than this violation of everything holy.”

“Whatever.”

She looked away, trying not to give him the satisfaction of her chuckle. After all, he was right. The float was a joke. Mona and her buddies had pulled out all the stops this year. Liberace himself would consider this thing a little too flamboyant. The sides had been trimmed in corrugated cardboard waves, each two-foot-high peak embellished with an ornate swirl of a glittery whitecap. There were decorative displays of real seaweed, sand, and shells, along with strategically placed bouquets of sea grass. But it was the sturdy papier-mâché shell cupping Rowan’s butt that was the most over-the-top element of all. It was blinged from its base to its scalloped edges with so much glitter, rhinestones, and sequins that Rowan feared innocent bystanders could be blinded should the sun hit it just right.

She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be the only one to notice the irony; the glammed-out Safe Haven B and B parade float had no resemblance whatsoever to the worn-out B and B itself.

Just then, all four of the seasonal maids clambered aboard, obviously enjoying this new and unusual experience. They waved and greeted Rowan before taking their places around the shell throne, and she had to admit they looked adorable in their costumes. Mona had come through with the outfits, as always, but where her mother managed to store all her spare mermaid gear in the off-season was anybody’s guess.

The float began to move, inching its way out of the parking lot of the old Flynn Fisheries warehouse, now the island’s museum. Clancy walked alongside. He tipped his police chief ball cap to the giggling maids.

“Have fun, lovely ladies.” When he produced a chivalrous bow, the girls blushed and giggled louder. Rowan supposed the language of flirting was universal.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Dude. Step away from the help.” Clancy knew the rules—temporary summer employees were strictly off-limits. “Is Dad riding up front with the council?”

“Yep.”

“Is Ma riding with him?” Rowan already knew the answer to that and supposed asking was a form of wishful thinking. She’d been holding out hope that festival week would give her parents a reason to stand within five feet of each other and possibly even speak in pleasant tones to one another. But there would be no truce until the resort issue was resolved, and even then they might not be able to reconcile. A lot of ugly things had been said since the developers came to Bayberry, and Rowan knew her parents. It wasn’t easy for either of them to forgive and forget.

But it hadn’t always been like this. When she was young her parents had loved each other. Rowan still remembered how the house echoed with their laughter. Sometimes at night they’d put old records on the stereo and dance in the main dining room, and all three kids would hide behind the stair banister to watch as their father twirled their mother in his arms. When the fishery closed, the laughing and the dancing became less frequent, and the bickering more commonplace.

“Ma and Dad together on a float? Are you kidding?” Clancy frowned and shook his head at Rowan’s suggestion, then switched gears. “Do us proud, now!” He smiled at the girls and waved as the float lurched onto the public dock service road. With the first bump, Rowan grabbed her bikini top, unhappy that her C cups were shoved into what were clearly B-sized plastic shells. She felt ridiculous riding around half-naked like this. Her mother had instructed her to look regal while the employees threw bubble gum to the kids. Rowan could already tell that was going to be a serious challenge.

The Safe Haven float had been assigned midparade placement, right behind the mainland’s Falmouth High School marching band, a perennial fan favorite. Rowan appreciated John Phillip Sousa as much as the next person, but the thud of the drum line had already given her a wicked headache. She waved and smiled despite the pounding behind her eyeballs.

The first ten minutes went by without mishap, and Rowan felt her headache dissipate in the sea air and bright sunshine. Her shoulders began to loosen and her waves became broader. She began to smile. Fine. It would take a complete jerk not to enjoy at least a portion of this. It was one of those postcard seaside days, the sky and the ocean on their best blue behavior, a friendly breeze causing decorative banners and flags on the gaslights to dance. And, whether she liked it or not—putting the guilt aside for a moment—this island was home. This was her history. And if the festival did anything, it gave people a reason to cut loose and be ridiculous for a few days, locals and tourists alike.

True, she hated the mermaid, and she hated all the work that went into this week. But people came from all over to be a part of this, to party on the beach, to laugh and drink and maybe, if they were lucky, fall in love.

Rowan stiffened, suddenly sensing something was different. She gasped. She felt
him
. Oh God! Rowan couldn’t see him, but he was there, no question. Ash’s eyes were on her, and it took every bit of courage she had not to flip her flipper to the side, jump off this bitch, and take cover in the nearest shop.

“Mermaid! Mermaid!” A little girl in a too-big costume ran along, waving and calling out to Rowan. “You are so pretty! Are you real?”

Something in the child’s upturned face made Rowan want to cry. She was pure innocence. The kid was too young to know that there was no such thing as mermaids, or magic, or happily-ever-afters. Then Rowan noticed how her housemaids were enjoying themselves almost as much as the children in the crowd, giggling and smiling with that same innocence on their faces. Maybe all women held on to a small piece of that little-girl wonder. The chicks in the Tea Rose Room. Members of the Mermaid Society. Rowan wondered if, somewhere deep down and despite all evidence to the contrary, she might, too.

She grinned at the girl. “Yes, sweetie. I’m a real mermaid. You look pretty, too! Are you real?”

“I am!”

“Miss Flynn! Over here!” It was the family from the Seahorse Suite. The kids stood on the boardwalk with their mouths hanging open, and the mother jumped up and down in an effort to get her attention. Rowan returned the wave, laughing as she noticed how even the sourpuss dad was smiling ear to ear.

Maybe there was magic here after all. If so, it wasn’t the paranormal kind. It was the type of magic found in a perfect island summer day, while on vacation, making memories with the people you loved.

Rowan’s eyes scanned the parade route. She didn’t see him. Not that she wanted him—wanted to see him, that was.

The marching band suddenly switched gears and was now belting out what Rowan swore was a Kanye West medley, and her headache returned.

But she kept waving. And she kept looking.

*   *   *

Ash knew exactly where he would stand to watch the festivities and headed for a tourist trap a couple blocks from the public dock. He hadn’t chosen the spot for its view of the parade route, though it would give him a good vantage point as the floats crawled from the old fishery and headed down Main Street. He’d chosen the location for its name—A Little Tail—and the words stenciled upon the shop window:
MERMAID-THEMED SOUVENIRS, MERMAID/SEA CAPTAIN EROTIC NOVELS, ADULTS-ONLY CAKES AND CHOCOLATES, X-RATED SEA SHANTIES
.

This was the shop owned by Rowan’s best friend, Annabeth Parker, a chick who wrote mermaid porno in the off-season and sold it online. He’d purchased a few of her e-books, for research purposes only, of course, and had tried his best to read them. It was safe to say that whatever the stories lacked by way of plot development was more than made up for with sex—the kind of sex that could be had between sea captains and mermaids, which, as far as Ash had been able to deduce, was possible only because of how the mermaid’s anatomy morphed once she hit dry air.

Common to all of Annie Parker’s books was the variety of scenes dedicated to sex on the beach. Also, there was a good bit of sex in the captain’s quarters. And on deck. And under the stars, in front of the hearth, and in rented rooms at the inn. Ash’s takeaway from all this research was the knowledge that sea captains and mermaids were randier than a pack of wild bonobos.

Since he still had a good half hour before the parade began, Ash decided to go inside. A little bell tinkled to announce his arrival, not that anyone could hear it over the din of conversation, screaming kids, cajoling parents, and cell phone ringtones.

Ash began to weave in and out of the tourists, shelves, and display racks until he spotted Annie behind a small antique counter. She was prettier, and taller, than she’d looked in her pictures. As she chatted up customers and rang up sales, it was obvious that this was a truly happy woman. Her face was lit up with pleasure. She laughed freely. Her lightly tanned cheeks were permanently pushed up by her smile. Ash figured she either really loved her job or that fiancé of hers knew what he was doing. Ash scanned the shop but didn’t see the man who’d been prominently featured on Annie’s Facebook page.

So, pretending to be in the market for tacky New England mermaid souvenirs made in China, Ash took his time looking around. Crammed onto shelves were license plate frames, key chains, bumper stickers, coffee cups, ashtrays, photo frames, holiday ornaments, and temporary mermaid tattoo kits. Beach cover-ups, shorts, T-shirts, and sweatshirts of every description lined the walls. There were smartphone covers, children’s storybooks, shot glasses, and stuffed animals. Suddenly, Ash saw something that truly spoke to him: a hoodie sweatshirt featuring a vintage-inspired pinup mermaid tagged with the caption
SLIPPERY WHEN WET
. He found a men’s size large and tossed it over his arm, then headed toward the main attraction at the back of the shop. He figured any door with a sign that read
ADULTS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT
was a door worth opening.

He stuck his head inside. The room was packed with so many people he could barely squeeze in. He was almost overwhelmed by the scent of sunscreen and stale clove cigarettes. Obviously, this was the place to be if you were curious about any facet of mermaid sensuality.

Since the crowd seemed to be flowing clockwise, Ash began with the chocolate display to his left. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Despite his Boston blue-blooded origins, he was no prude, a point well illustrated with Rowan Flynn the night before. But Ash had never seen the likes of what lurked behind the glass display windows in this room. Most of the white, milk, and dark chocolate candies were standard-issue body parts. Some, however, featured human-human or human-mermaid encounters so complicated that Ash had to tilt his head to decipher the physics involved.

“I love, love, love this!” A young woman pulled her boyfriend to the glass and pointed to one of the more graphic depictions. “Will you get it for me?”

The guy’s grin indicated he loved, loved, loved anything she did. “We’ll take one of those,” he said to the shop assistant behind the counter.

“Hit me up as well,” Ash said, feeling swept away in the moment.

The cakes and cupcakes were next and, except for the proportions, most items were garden-variety sexual equipment. But Ash burst out laughing when he saw Annie Parker’s creative use of jujubes on all of her bare-breasted mermaids.

Annie’s novels were displayed under a banner that read,
ALL
SEA OF LUST
BOOKS ON SALE HERE!
Ash kept walking, past familiar titles like
Desire at High Tide
and
Ship of Surrender
, because he needed some air. He already knew how they ended, anyway.

A few minutes later, Ash stood at the cash register. Annie smiled at him as she totaled his purchases and reached for a small paper gift shop bag. “This sweatshirt design is my favorite. Totally retro.”

“It is.” Ash smiled at her in return and handed her two twenties.