Page 113 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“Not for ages. I told Dylan.”

“Why the hell didn’t he expose him?”

Her face has a strange expression, as if it’s just dawning on her that he should have. She looks at me. “I made him promise not to.” She frowns. “I mean, he tried to figure out what was wrong with me for a long time, and I wouldn’t tell him. It’s impossible to express how much I thought it was my fault.”

My heart feels like it’s filled with shards of glass. “You were nine,” I whisper.

“Dylan should have told,” she says quietly. “Why didn’t I see that until recently?”

I shake my head. “Because we both loved him like he hung the moon.”

“And all the stars.”

I bow my head. “Why didn’t anyone protect you?”

“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that a thousand times. But you know, honestly, it wasn’t until I had Leo and Sarah that I realized how bad our parents were. We were sleeping on the beach, alone, when we were four and six, before Dylan came.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Think about that. A four-year-old sleeping alone with her sister on the beach.”

I half grin. “Well, we did have Cinder.”

She grins back. “Yes, we had Cinder. Best dog in the world.”

“Best dog in the world.” We high-five.

“So Billy never did anything to you?”

“No. I swear. No one did.” In the distance, a seagull rides the currents, and I’m reminded of the cove, our little beach. “Dylan was even more messed up than our parents, though. Remember the time he dived off the cliff?”

She shudders. “It’s a miracle he lived through that.”

“I think that was the point. Just like the motorcycle accident.”

She looks so sad all of a sudden that I feel bad. “Sorry, Jo—Mari. Bad memory.”

“Yeah.”

“The beginning of the end,” I say with a sigh. “Pretty sure that was one of his suicide attempts.”

She looks at me, eyes wide. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m such an idiot. Of course it was. That’s why he was so pissed when we brought him back to the house.”

I frown. “You seriously never realized that before?”

“No.” She shakes her head, splashes water on the front of her board. “I miss him so much.” She looks at the horizon. “So much.”

“Me too.” I imagine I can see him on his longboard, arms out. “He really was like some creature from a fairy tale, cursed and blessed in equal measures.” I think of his gentle hands braiding my hair. The easy way he folded clothes. The way he stood with us at the bus stop. “I wouldn’t be who I am without him.”

“I know. And you did him so much good.”

“Both of us.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You gave him peace. I think you were the only person who ever did.”

“I hope I did.”

“We should go back to shore. I think the storm is coming.”