Tempest Rising (38 page)

All I knew was that after all this time, after everything that had happened to me in the last couple of weeks, I wanted Mark to be happy. If Chelsea could make him happy, then I certainly wasn’t going to do anything to mess that up.

“Are you sure? I mean, I know you’ve been going through a rough time and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Mark. Honestly.”

He reached for me, dragged me closer so he could see my face in the porch light. “You swear, Tempest? Because I haven’t done anything—”

“Shhh.” I laid my fingers on his lips. “I swear, Mark. I’m fine.”

He reached out a finger, traced it down my cheek. “You really are the most beautiful girl.”

“You’d better be careful or I’m going to think you hit your head.”

“That’s one of the things I always liked about you—you never see yourself the way the rest of us do.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Cheerleaders are a whole different breed from surfers.” And then I was standing on tiptoe, brushing my lips softly across his. He kissed me back, his lips warm and firm, and for just a minute there was that old spark, the one that had kept bringing us back together no matter how many times we’d broken up.

And then it was just us, two friends, moving on.

“Good-bye, Mark.” I squeezed his hand.

“Good-bye, Tempest.”

I let myself out into the rapidly darkening night. The stars had just begun to peek through the purple sky and I watched, starstruck, as one shot across the heavens.

I wished on it, like my mother had taught me to when I was little more than a toddler, and then walked slowly home.

Chapter 28

When I got home, my father was sitting in the family room, reading a book while Moku and Rio watched
Batman
for the three thousandth time.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, watching my face closely.

“I did, actually.” I headed up the stairs. “I’m going to go start on my homework now.”

“There’s dinner in the kitchen. I left a plate for you.”

I started to tell him that I wasn’t hungry, that I’d get it later, but the look in his eye warned me not to push it too far. He’d been trying to give me more space than usual since I’d gotten home, but there were limits to that. And starving myself was definitely outside of those limits.

As I waited for my chicken and broccoli to heat up, I couldn’t help thinking about how funny life was. Six weeks ago, I’d had a mother I hated, a boyfriend I loved, and a life I was almost comfortable with. Now, I had no mom—to hate or otherwise—no guy, and a life that was anything but comfortable. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, I was close to being at peace. Who would have thought breaking up with my boyfriend could change my perspective so completely?

Since I was in the kitchen, I took the back staircase up to my room. But once there, I couldn’t settle. I kept looking out at the sky, at the ocean, and thinking about my mother. Thinking about Kona.

What was he doing now? Had he seen the shooting star? Had he wished on it like I had? Or was he too busy keeping up with all his princely duties to notice?

I opened my chem book, tried to get started. But the last thing I was interested in was the periodic table. Tossing it away, I tried English and then precalc. Nothing stuck. I was too restless, too twitchy, to concentrate on anything.

I prowled my room looking for something, anything, to do, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the ocean. It was wild tonight, the wind whipping the surf into a frenzy. It was beautiful and I wanted to be out there, wanted to dive deep and swim until I was too tired to go any longer.

But that was impossible. That wasn’t my life, wasn’t what I wanted for myself. And yet I couldn’t help wondering if I’d felt so peaceful earlier because I’d cut one more tie to my human life.

My eyes fell on the backpack Kona had given me so many weeks ago. I hadn’t touched it after I got home, hadn’t done anything but fumble in it that one time on the beach, when I’d pulled out the sarong.

Suddenly I had to know what was in there. I picked it up and my fingers were working the zipper before I’d even made it to the bed. I dumped the contents on my paint-splattered purple comforter and slowly started sifting through them.

At first I was disappointed. There was a pair of cute flip-flops with seashells on them, a violet tank top that matched the sarong, and my mother’s box. Nothing personal. Nothing that might have carried a message from Kona to me.

Not that I should really expect one—I’d dumped him and I hadn’t been nearly as nice about it as I had been with Mark. Why should he want to have anything to do with me after that?

But as I lifted up the T-shirt and shook it, something round and shiny fell out of it and bounced onto the carpet.

I scrambled off the bed and started searching my less-than-pristine floor. I tossed aside my dirty clothes, the book I had been reading the day before, and a bunch of pillows before I found it, nestled against one of my canvases.

I picked up Kona’s gift gingerly, shocked by how much it glowed in the dim bedroom light. My first good look at it told me it was an amethyst as big as a baby’s fist. It was a deep, rich purple—so dark that it was almost black—and cut so that all of its many, many facets reflected light.

I held it under my lamp, then gasped as it seemed to catch fire. Kona had sent me a sunburst, a moonbeam, a shooting star to light up the darkest nights of my life. I clutched it to my chest and tried not to cry—for everything I had already given up and everything I would give up in the future.

I sat there, curled up on my bed, for a long time, clutching the stone to my chest and watching as night quietly settled over the ocean. And then figured, since I’d already come that far, that I might as well go all the way.

I reached for my mother’s box and flipped the clasp open. I was nervous, my hands trembling just a little bit, but I refused to give in to the nerves. It was just a box, I reminded myself. Just a box, and whatever was inside of it didn’t have the power to hurt me. I wouldn’t let it.

I lifted the lid and on top, just as the queen had said, was a letter in my mother’s handwriting, addressed to me. I pulled it out, laid it on the bed without reading it. There would be time enough for that later.

There wasn’t much else in the box, just my mother’s engagement and wedding rings, a drawing of the ocean I had made her when I was seven or eight, and a picture of the five of us. In it, my mother was seated with Moku on her lap and Rio and I on either side of her. My father stood behind us, his hand on her shoulder and a huge smile on his face.

I studied the picture for the longest time. I had never seen it before and was shocked at how happy we all looked. At how much of a family we seemed. I turned it over, was shaken by the date on the back. It seemed impossible to imagine that in less than a year from when the photo had been taken, my mother would be gone.

I wanted to resent her, wanted to keep up the rage that burned within me, but looking at her in the picture—so young, so vibrant, so obviously in love with her husband and children—it was hard for me to stay angry. I didn’t know why she’d chosen to leave all those years ago; I’d probably never know. But wasting my life hating her, not wanting to be like her, wasn’t doing me any good.

I slid the photo back into the box, along with the rings and my drawing, then closed the lid and put it on my dresser next to its twin, the one I’d had for as long as I could remember.

The letter I kept.

I was scared to open it, terrified to read my mother’s last words to me. Would they be enough to satisfy the questions in my soul, or would they do nothing but give me more? I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life without answers, looking over my shoulder and trying to figure out what should have been.

I debated whether or not I wanted to open the letter for a long time, until finally I grabbed my hoodie and pulled it on. I shoved the envelope and Kona’s stone into my pocket and took the stairs two at a time.

“Where are you going?” my dad asked. He had given up on the couch, was now sitting at the dining room table on his laptop while my brothers played video games in the other room.

“Down to the beach for a while.”

“It’s night, Tempest. And cold out. Don’t you think you should stay in?”

I knew what he was asking, knew there was so much more to the questions than the words he said. I wanted to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about, but I didn’t know if that was true. If my time underwater had taught me anything, it was that there were no guarantees. And something inside me was pushing at me, telling me to hurry. Already my body was awakening, yearning for the sweet kiss of the water against my too-cold skin.

I stopped beside him, kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too.” He squeezed my hand, then turned back to the computer. “Don’t stay out there too long. I don’t know how safe it is.”

I wanted to laugh. After what I had faced down, there wasn’t much that I was afraid of anymore.

Then I was letting myself out the door and running to the beach, my hair and my worries trailing behind me like forgotten lore.

Once I hit the sand, I yanked the letter out of my pocket and positioned myself so that I was under the big yellow streetlight that was as much a beacon as it was a lamp. The paper was older than I thought and a million times more fragile, so I was careful as I began to read.

My darling Tempest,

I wish that I had an excuse. Wish that I could point to a definitive reason and tell you this was why. I know that even after all these years, this is what you are looking for. Something to tell you why it happened. Something that you can blame.

But you see, you had it right all along. Blame me. No one forced me into that sea six years ago and no one forced me to stay. It was a choice just as what you do now is a choice.

I sit here writing this, and I have to admit that I am curious. How did things work out? If you have this letter, it means you’ve come into the ocean to get it and that makes me doubly curious—as your mother and as the woman who has battled Tiamat for far too long.

I’ll be honest. Mermaids are supposed to live close to one thousand years and I am little more than six hundred. But I am tired, Tempest, so tired of the life that I have chosen. I miss the comforts of home, miss you and your father and the boys. How is Moku? How strange to know that my baby is eight and you—you are seventeen.

Which means I should have some advice for you—for you and Rio and Moku. But I don’t, because there is nothing I can tell you that you’ll believe. Nothing that I can say that you won’t need to find out on your own. Except choose wisely. Please, Tempest, choose more wisely than I ever did.

Saving your family, saving your clan, saving the world, is an addiction. But at the end, when you are old and tired, it is not enough. Nothing is enough that doesn’t come with peace of mind. Nothing is enough that doesn’t come with love. That is the lesson I have learned and I have learned it too late.

That being said, I have a favor to ask of you. I have no right to ask it, but I find that I must. My queen is ancient, my clan more so, but in a very precarious state. Despite our longevity we are on the brink of disaster—too many have had to put themselves above the clan.

Hailana needs you. My clan needs you.

I won’t beg, won’t take up any more of your time, except to say that you are more than I ever dreamed and yet still less than you could be. Thank you, Tempest, for loving me when understanding was too hard. Thank you for understanding when loving me is impossible.

Choose wisely.

I love you,

Mom

My hands clenched into fists and before I knew what I was doing, I had crumpled the letter into nothingness. Opening my fingers slowly, I watched as the wind caught the small fragments. Watched as they danced away on a current so sweet and pure that for a moment they looked like butterfly wings beating against the night air.

I watched the tiny pieces until they were out of sight and thought about choices. Thought about love. And when I turned, he was there, as I somehow knew he would be.

“Kona.”

He smiled. “Tempest. What are you doing here?”

“I think that’s my line, isn’t it?”

“No. I’m pretty sure it’s mine.” He watched me with those smoky eyes I had come to love so much. “I’m here a lot more often than you are, at least at night.”

“You are?”

“I am.” He reached for me, turned me gently around until I was facing away from the water and toward my house. “You see, if I sit here long enough and look hard enough, I can just make you out through one of those windows.” He pointed to the family room and then to my bedroom.