The Mermaid Collector (23 page)

For her mother, however, the gossip was fuel. From the first indication that she was now the source of speculation and gossip in the small town, Ruby seemed to thrive on the attention, a charge that had frightened Tess at first, then eventually buoyed her.

“If you can’t join ’em, beat ’em,” Ruby used to whisper when they’d take Buzz’s truck into town on a hot day to lay out their towels on the end of the pier, settling in just to the right of the lobstermen’s footpath. They’d smile innocently behind their sunglasses until Buzz would arrive in a borrowed car to bring them home.

“It’s not that kind of pier,” he’d tried to explain. “You can’t spread out on it and get a tan.”

“We weren’t in the way,” Ruby had argued, finishing the last of the egg salad sandwiches she’d packed them. “Were we, lovey?”

Tess had shaken her head. Buzz had shaken his head too.

Of course, the content of her artwork—her propensity for nudes, usually couples in a variety of suggestive poses—hadn’t sat well with the residents, either, nor had her request for male models at the town meeting in late September. She was planning a large canvas, a portrait to honor the men of the Mermaid Mutiny, she’d explained. She envisioned them as mermen and was looking for four volunteers who wouldn’t mind posing shirtless. Several men had raised their hands, keeping them aloft until their wives had tugged them down.

“It’s art, for God’s sake,” Ruby had defended afterward. “Don’t they know anything about art?”

She had even offered to bring her work to Tess’s school, but the board had refused her, claiming her
work was too provocative for children. Ruby had been crushed.

“You could always paint something else,” Buzz had suggested as they’d sat around the picnic table, eating burgers and steak fries. “Something, you know,
quiet
.”

“Buzzie, there’s nothing harmful about the naked body,” Ruby had said. “And I won’t subscribe to all that Puritan crap. I won’t.”

For the next few weeks afterward, Tess was sure they would leave Cradle Harbor, sure her mother would wake her in the middle of the night, a garbage bag stuffed with their clothes hugged to her chest, and point them to the road, but she never did.

Now, as she stood in front of her sculpture, sixteen years after she and Ruby had arrived, a fierce sense of closure came over Tess.
Wish you could be here, Mom. Your daughter’s sculpture on display for the whole town to see. Just let them snub us now.

Was that why she’d wanted Pete so badly for so long? Tess wondered. Was that why she’d needed the town to see them together, no matter how many months would go by between their public reunions? It had meant something to be wanted by Pete Hawthorne: acceptance, approval, maybe even something to be envied. She’d believed that was love once—had she been a fool in that way too?

Her thoughts turned to Tom. She imagined him waking in that house, shaving at that chipped sink and using
that spotted mirror. What was he having for breakfast, or was he just sipping coffee, maybe staring out the window, maybe wondering the very same thing about her? The desire to see him swept over her. They’d made no concrete plans for the day since she had the sculpture to finish and he had Dean to settle in, but she craved something certain, something to look forward to.

She was thinking about Tom again when she heard the tap behind her. She spun around to find Dean in the window, his face pressed up against the glass, eyes crossed, tongue out.

She grabbed a handful of shavings and hurled them playfully at the window.

“I figured I’d try Tommy’s trick,” he said, coming into the shed. “See what it would get me.”

Tess set down her tools and let him give her a fierce hug.

“God, you smell good,” he said, sniffing her neck until she laughed and wriggled free.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was just out, and I figured I’d come by and see the great sculptress at work.” Dean stepped past her, moving toward the mermaid. “Look at that! Hot damn, you’re talented.”

“Thanks.” Tess looked expectantly at the doorway. “Where’s Tom?”

“He had to run some errands,” Dean said, his hands already on the sculpture, caressing the curves of the wood as if they were flesh. “He said we should meet back up
with him later this afternoon. He asked me to come over and keep an eye on you.”

Suspicious, Tess glanced at him as she retrieved her chisel. “He did, huh?”

“It’s true—I swear.” Dean followed Tess to the workbench. “So, what do you say I keep an eye on you over a beer?”

“A beer? It’s not even ten.”

“So?”

“So the pub in town doesn’t open till noon.”

Dean shrugged, undeterred. “Then we’ll go buy a six-pack and get drunk on the beach.”

“We could go back to the Point,” Tess suggested. “Bring food.”

“No, I want to see the town.” Dean took the chisel from her hand and set it on the bench. “Give me a tour. I’ll drive; you tell me where to go.”

“It’s a small town, Dean. There’s not much to see.”

“So we’ll go to another town,” he said, undaunted. “I’ve got a full tank of gas and nowhere to be. We’ll get lunch. We’ll get shit faced.” He tugged Tom’s crumpled twenty from his pocket and snapped it in the air. “My treat.”

Tess considered him a moment, thinking there was something strange, something off in his expression. He seemed nervous, jumpy. Or maybe it was just excitement. Sometimes it was hard to tell with people. How many times had she tried to read the flashes of expression that
had crossed her mother’s face, sometimes a dozen in an instant, and she’d clung to each one.

She wiped her hands on her seat. “I’ll get shoes.”

HE WAS A TERRIBLE DRIVER
, Tess thought as Dean steered them up Route 9. He was distracted, driving too fast, braking at the last minute, and never using his turn signal. It was a wonder he’d made it from Chicago. Several times his phone rang, but each time he squinted at the small screen and quieted it, finally just shutting it off and tossing it into the backseat. Tess said nothing, not wanting to pry. She could only imagine the sort of affairs Dean must have enjoyed in Chicago, the besotted hearts he’d left behind.

They stopped at a roadside market an hour up the coast. Tess ordered sandwiches while Dean made fast friends with two men pumping gas into their truck. Tess watched him as she gathered chips and a six-pack of beer, thinking again how wrong Tom was about things and how much her mother would have loved Dean. Back in the car again, she pointed them to a state park. She took the food while Dean slipped four of the six beers into a sweater he’d dug out of the trunk, rolling the cans into the braided wool and tucking the package under his arm, assuring Tess when she raised an eyebrow pointedly that no one would think twice.

As it was, they needn’t have worried. The beach was empty. They settled on a patch of sand, pulled off their
shoes, and began to eat. Dean opened a beer and nearly drained it before he reached for his sandwich, peeling off the wrapping in one long strip. Tess watched him as she ate. It was hard not to marvel at the differences in the two brothers when time allowed the comparison. As much as she had wanted to work on her sculpture, as close as she was to being done, she was grateful for the reprieve, grateful for this second chance alone with Dean. She had a feeling he was like her, ready and willing to reveal things, deep and raw things, things that someone like Tom would never confess, someone too secretive, too controlled. A part of her hoped Dean would offer those confessions
for
his brother. She craved knowing things about Tom, little things, big things, anything at all.

But her first question was one that had been tugging at her since their dinner on the lawn.

“Do you always lie about your leg?”

Dean gave her a sheepish grin. “I prefer to think of it as
embellishment
.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“It was a blur, really. That’s what they always say about those things, and it’s true. Your brain can’t really grasp what’s happening to it, I guess.”

“And no one ever came forward?”

“Nope.”

“Surely there was an investigation to find out who the driver was?”

“I guess there was. I don’t really remember. I was
pretty much numb for a good year after it happened. And when I wasn’t, I was just
wishing
I was.”

He took a long sip of beer, studying the water as he swallowed. Tess watched him, a great rush of sympathy coming over her as she thought about his lost chance at Olympic glory and imagined him so young, so strong, then losing the thing that had mattered most to him. Not only had he suffered the death of his dream; he had suffered the death of his parents too. She knew better than anyone what that was like—to lose the piece of your world you were certain you couldn’t live without.

“It must have been so hard,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugged, but Tess saw a faint sheen of tears when he turned back to her, an unconvincing smile fixed on his mouth. “Shit happens,” he said. “What are you gonna do, right?”

“I lost my mom when I was I sixteen.”

“Oh Jesus.” Dean’s smile vanished, concern worrying his pale eyes.

“She drowned in the cove.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That must have been hell.”

“It was. It still
is
most days. She was my whole world.”

“Of course she was.”

“It sounds crazy, but I still see her everywhere,” Tess said, picking up a piece of shell and tracing the smoothed edges with her fingertips. “Everything I do, every time I make something, she’s the first person I think about. It doesn’t matter if it’s a carving or a cake. I think how I
wish she could see this. I wish she could see
me
.” Tears rose along her lids; Tess blinked to dry them, smiling at her confession. “Crazy, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Hell, no.” Dean reached for her hand and squeezed it. She met his eyes, seeing the sincere empathy in them, his usual teasing gone now. “You want to know how many nights a week I wake up on the floor because I was swimming so hard in my dream? How I can still feel my arms hitting the water, how I can still taste the chlorine?” He smiled. “I bet she was amazing.”

Tess nodded gratefully. Of course he would understand. “It was just the two of us until we met Buzz,” she said, reaching for a napkin to dry her eyes. “Mom and I had our own way of doing things. It used to drive him nuts.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dean said.

“Tom worries about you a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Tommy?” Dean shook the can to hear the faint sloshing of a last sip. He drained the beer, twisting the empty can into the sand. “It’s not just that. He thinks the accident was his fault.”

“Was he driving?”

“No, our dad was driving. Tommy thinks it was his fault because the only reason we were even out on the road was because he wanted to go to some fucking party, which he
never
wanted to do.”

“That doesn’t make it his fault. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, well. That’s the thing you have to understand about Tommy: He likes living on his hook. I’ve tried to
help him down, but he won’t have it. He’d rather quarantine himself like some kind of leper, put both of us in little plastic bags, and seal us up from infecting the world, I guess.” Dean winked at her. “He opened the bag a crack for you, though. I never thought he’d do that for anyone. Shit, he won’t even do that for
me
.”

“He should,” Tess said. “He should do it for you most of all.”

Dean shrugged. “Now we just have to hope he doesn’t close it back up, don’t we?”

Tess looked over to see a large group moving down the beach, thinking of the hour. They’d been gone for a while now. “We should get home,” she said.

“Not so fast.” Dean rose slowly, favoring his leg. “You promised me a swim.”

“I did not. Besides”—she gestured to their empty wrappers—“everyone knows you aren’t supposed to swim right after you eat.”

“Then I guess we won’t swim.”

His grin was all the warning Tess might have needed, but she wasn’t fast enough to scurry out of his reach in time. Before she could protest, before she could do anything but scream, Dean tugged her to her feet and pulled her down the shore and into the surf.

THEY WERE SANDY AND SLIGHTLY
damp when they got back an hour later. Dean had agreed to let Tess drive home,
falling asleep shortly after they’d pulled out onto the road, and she was glad for the quiet. It gave her time to think on their conversation, to enjoy the fierce sense of relief she had in it. Her feelings for Tom were even stronger now, her desire to see him almost an ache. She wouldn’t reveal what Dean had said, what they’d shared, but she’d gladly confess to Tom how much closer it made her feel to him, how much it deepened her wanting of him. Not that it made that craving any more logical. If anything, it made it less so. The more she understood how different she and Tom were, the more she felt herself drawn to him.

When they came down to the Point and rounded the turn, she saw him right away, waiting on the porch, and her breath caught with excitement. Drawing closer, she could see his strained expression, his rigid posture against the column, arms folded, and a strange ripple of dread traveled her arms.

He was already halfway across the driveway by the time she had climbed out of the car, leaving Dean to sleep, and walked to meet him.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Tom demanded when he reached her, his voice sharp enough to slow her advance.

Tess looked at him, confused. “Tell me what?”

“He had an appointment at noon. It was important.”

“No, he didn’t say a word about it.”

“Of course he didn’t. He never had any intention of going.” Tom glared at the car as he spoke. “I never should have let him leave the house.”

Still giddy with sand and sun, Tess had to laugh at that, sure he could be cajoled into better humor. “What would you have done?” she teased. “Tied him to a chair?”

But Tom’s expression didn’t soften. “This isn’t a joke, Tess,” he said evenly. “He needs help.”

She relaxed her smile. “Help for what?”