The Mermaid Collector (16 page)

Tess rolled toward him, and this time she didn’t need to ask for his embrace. Tom settled her against him as the wind lifted the edges of their blanket, brushing at the grass above their heads. Astrology, he thought, with its signs and legends. All the certainty she placed in things that were so uncertain—did she really believe it was all so clear-cut, so predictable? Was that why she lived her life
without rules or constraints, because she thought the universe would simply keep order
for
her? And what of her mother? he wondered. She spoke of her mother’s episodes like a child would, using romantic anecdotes to gloss over what any adult could surely see were bouts of deep depression, which Buzz had obviously detected and tried to remedy. Surely Tess couldn’t resent the man for his concern?

“Oh!” Tess sat up suddenly, her eyes round with alarm.

Tom rose too, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“We didn’t eat the cheesecake,” she gasped.

He chuckled.

“What?” she asked.

“By the look on your face, I thought it was something serious,” he said.

She gave him a gentle push, sending him down on his elbows. “That
is
serious, Tom Grace,” she said, coming over him. “That’s desperately serious.”

Tom scanned her face in the watery dark, fiercely attracted to her. He wondered what it would feel like to make love to her in this tangy breeze; to wake up under this sky, clothes and skin and hair damp with dew. “I could go get it,” he said.

She smiled. “And two forks.”

“Two forks, right,” he repeated as he climbed to his feet, leaving her to watch him cut through the grass and up the hill.

It was at that moment that Beverly, full from a passable dinner of shepherd’s pie, pulled her sedan to the side
of the road. She had finally found a vacant stretch of coastline where the pines thinned, and she could see at last the great tower in the distance, but, more important, she could see the outline of the keeper’s house above it. And then, there he was, stepping up to the door, slipping briefly under the yellow wash of the porch light, revealed.

It was hard to be certain from so far, but at this distance, he didn’t resemble Frank in any striking way. He was certainly taller than Frank, leaner, though his hair was dark—rust colored. Beverly squinted, as if it would matter, wondering if he meant to come back out and thinking it wouldn’t hurt anything to wait and see.

Wednesday

Two Days before the Mermaid Festival

TESS AND TOM HAD WATCHED
the stars until midnight, maybe a little later—Tess hadn’t been sure; they’d fallen asleep at some point and Tom had woken first, shivering, the spread slightly damp, so he’d gently roused her and they’d gone inside, Tom dragging a mattress with him and Tess carrying an armful of sheets and spreads she’d collected on the way. They’d managed to navigate their way upstairs and flopped the mattress onto the empty frame, resuming their embrace on the narrow bed.

Now the silver light of dawn was everywhere, and with it, the crisp cool of morning in an old house. Where had Tom gone? Downstairs, no doubt. On her way past the window, Tess looked out onto the back lawn, thinking maybe she’d see him there among the field of mattresses, but she didn’t.

“Tom?”

She passed the bathroom, walking through a veil of misty air, still fragrant with the warm smell of soap. He’d managed to get the shower to work—just how long had he been awake?

The house was silent. She came downstairs, peering down the hallway and then hearing movement on the back porch. Tess knew as soon as she caught the faint sweetness of cigarette smoke that it wasn’t Tom, but she pushed the screen open anyway. The man sitting on the steps with his back to her was lean and broad shouldered. His hair was the color of cherrywood, short and spiky, looking like a buzz cut growing out.

The screen released an announcing creak. The man swiveled on the step to face her, his blue eyes magnificent, almost silver. “Well fuck me,” he said, grinning. “Now I know why my brother was in such a hurry to get here.”

Tess let the screen shut behind her. She knew at once who he was.

“You’re Dean, aren’t you?”

“And you’re Tess.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I’m psychic.” Dean winked, handing her a piece of paper with a few tidy lines written on it.

“I hope you will too,” Dean said.

Tess crossed her arms, trying to cover herself; she felt underdressed and unprepared. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I know; I watched you sleep for almost an hour.…” Dean paused, seeing Tess’s eyes round with concern before he leaned forward and roared, “I’m kidding! You should see your face right now.”

She nodded over her shoulder. “I should really go. Tom doesn’t even know you’re here. He’ll be back any minute.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re staying. I want to see the look on Tommy’s face when he sees I found you first.” Dean patted the space beside him. “Come on—I won’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

Tess dropped down beside him, studying his profile as he dragged deeply on his cigarette, expelling the smoke away from her. He looked nothing like Tom, she thought, but he was handsome in his own way—strikingly so. She
noted his straight white teeth, remarkably white for a smoker, and his eyes, which looked right through a person.

He held out the pack. “Smoke?”

“No, thanks.”

“Health nut, huh?”

“Hardly.”

“Thank Christ for that.” Dean snapped the pack closed, then turned to her, surveying her again. “Man, you’re way too beautiful for my brother. You know that, don’t you?”

Tess smiled. “Tom warned me about you.”

“As well he should have.” Dean leaned back on his elbows. “He didn’t warn me about you, though.”

“I don’t see how he could have. We just met.”

Dean pointed to the lawn. “So, what’s with the mattresses?”

“Tom wanted to air them out.”

“Ah.” Dean snuffed out his cigarette on the bottom of his sneaker, dropped the butt on the porch, clapped his hands clean, and turned to her. “Let’s get going, then.”

“Where?”

He rose. “Where do you think? The beach.”

Tess looked up at him, tenting her hand over her eyes. “Shouldn’t we wait for Tom?”

“What for? He won’t swim with us.”

“Who’s swimming?” she asked, incredulous. “You don’t even have a suit.”

Dean grinned as he extended his hand. “Who said anything about a suit?”

TOM WAS RIGHT. WATCHING DEAN
cut through the white-tipped surf beyond her post on the empty stretch of pebble beach, Tess could see he loved to swim.

Several times he rose up out of the water and waved to her; Tess waved back, trying to imagine Tom and him as boys. They were like night and day.

When Dean emerged, she watched him make his way up the beach. He limped. She’d seen the hiccup in his gait on the way down and assumed it was just a sore muscle, too many hours in a car. Clearly, it wasn’t.

Dean stopped in front of her, then shook his hair over her like a wet dog.

“Stop!” she cried, trying vainly to cover herself.

He dropped down beside her, smelling cold. Water glistened on the end of his nose.

“I’m on to you, lady,” he murmured, leaning close.

“Oh you are, huh?” Tess said.

“Yup.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “I know why you won’t come in the water with me.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re one of these mermaids I saw advertised all over town, and you don’t want me to see your tail.”

“That would make me a
half
mermaid,” Tess corrected.

“Then I’m right?”

She shrugged playfully, scooping up a handful of pebbles and letting them slide through her fingers. “I’ll never
tell. Besides, you’re the one swimming like a fish. For all I know, you’re a merman.”

“Come back in with me and find out.”

“Maybe some other time.”

Dean lay down on the pebbly sand, folded his hands under his head, and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath of sea air.

“What did you do to your leg?” she asked.

His eyes remained closed. “I was rock climbing. Fell almost thirty feet.”

Tess gasped. “Oh God, that’s awful.”

“It was touch and go for a while. I was in the hospital for a long time. They weren’t sure I’d ever walk again, believe it or not.”

“When?”

“A few years ago.” Dean squinted open one eye at her. “He’s too old for you too, you know.”

She laughed. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“He’s thirty-five, for Christ’s sake. He’s
ancient
. You need a younger man like me.”

“Is that right?” Tess smiled. “And how old are you?”

“A mere thirty-four.”

“A baby,” she teased.

“It’s true,” said Dean, rising up on one elbow. “Ask anyone; I’m completely infantile.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So, what do you do in this place?” he asked.

“I’m a sculptor. Wood-carver, mostly.”

“An artist. That’s fantastic. Maybe if I stick around, I could model for you.”

Tess frowned, confused. “I thought Tom said you were moving here.”

“That’s what he likes to think.” Dean hurled a pebble into the water. “I told him I’d give it a shot; I didn’t make any promises. Tommy hears what he wants to hear.”

“Then you’re not staying?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Dean grinned at her. “Why? Are you saying I have a chance?”

“I’m saying we should go back,” she answered, blushing. “I think I heard a car.”

TOM FELT THE CHANGE THE
minute he stepped into the house.

It was a charge, an electricity in the air, as if someone had ripped off the door, filled the downstairs with helium, and nailed it back up. Dean did that to a space. He sucked the air out of it, leaving everyone around him gasping for oxygen. Even now as Tom searched the first floor, he could feel his lungs tighten.

“Dean?”

No answer, but there were two cars in the driveway, Dean’s and Tess’s, the sight of which had filled Tom with dread when he’d pulled through the trees. Relief had been his first reaction, relief to see Dean’s beat-up Jeep, relief to know his brother had finally arrived, alive. But it was
a fleeting reprieve. He had wanted to get there first, wanted a chance to step between Dean and the people of this small town, especially Tess. His brother was like a hot liquid you needed to temper, adding a small drop to eggs because if you added him too quickly, the whole world would cook right before your eyes.

Tom was on his way upstairs when he saw them. He caught a glimpse of the backyard through a window, and there they were, his brother and the woman Tom had just made love to, walking up through the hedges and laughing like old friends.

Tom might have known.

He walked out to the back porch and down the stairs to meet them.

“Tommy!” Seeing his older brother, Dean threw up his arms like an athlete who’d made a winning goal.

But Tom wasn’t yet ready to dole out hugs. Glad as he was to see Dean, frustration won out. “I must have called you a hundred times,” he chastised. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

“Look at his face!” Dean exclaimed undaunted, swinging an arm around his brother’s neck and cuffing him close. “What did I say, huh? I told you he’d panic. You’re terrified I stole your girlfriend, aren’t you, old man?”

“Okay, okay, okay…” Tom gently untangled himself from Dean’s grip, offering Tess an apologetic smile.

“So, do you want to tell him, or should I?” Dean came behind Tess, grabbing her around the waist. He pressed
his face to her ear, looking at Tom as he whispered loudly, “She’s crazy about me, Tommy. She told me so.”

Tom held up the bag in his hand and shook it, like someone looking to distract a ferocious dog with a steak. “I bought muffins.”

“Great—I’m starved.” Dean snatched the bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a fat blueberry muffin. He tore off a bite, spraying crumbs as he said, “Tell me there’s coffee somewhere.”

“In the kitchen,” Tom said, then added quickly, “I only got two. I wasn’t expecting…”

“So we’ll share,” Dean decided cheerfully, thumping Tom on the back as he thrust the bag back at him. He stepped between Tess and Tom, throwing an arm over each of them. “So, what’s the plan, kids? What are we doing today?”