Page 123 of When We Believed in Mermaids

She sighs deeply. “Sadly, it was George after all. He caught her having an affair with the carpenter and attacked her. He probably didn’t mean to do it, but that was that.”

“How did you find out?”

“Helen’s journals,” Simon puts in. “They were buried in about a thousand pounds of magazines, but she clearly couldn’t part with them.”

“She was in love with George too,” Josie continues, “and she’s the one who leaked the affair, maybe hoping he’d turn to her in his grief. Instead, he killed Veronica, and Helen covered for him.”

“That’s a very sad story.”

“It explains why she only lived in that tiny corner all those decades.”

I nod. Across the room, Javier is listening intently to my mother, but as if he feels my gaze, he looks up. He tilts his head toward the door, and I nod. “Excuse me.”

We walk down the stairs in silence, and then he stops. “I need to remove my shoes for a proper walk on the beach.”

I wait while he takes off those very expensive shoes, and his socks, and rolls up the hem of his slacks. His bare feet, white and strong, make me think of the hot tub in Auckland, of the day he came down in bare feet to my room and I was leaving.

I swallow.

We head for the edge of the waves, and he takes my hand. “Okay?”

I nod, suddenly shy. Embarrassed that I’ve not responded to his emails very much and that I’ve been such a bitch, really. “Thank you for coming,” I say politely.

“Pssht,” he says. “I was very nearly on a plane the next day, but it seemed you might need some time.”

“We haven’t known each other very long.”

“That’s true,” he says. His hair lifts in the breeze, blowing away from his extraordinary face.

“It feels rash.”

He looks down at me. “Love is rash.”

“Is this love?”

“Yes,mi sirenita.” He stops and takes my face in his hands. “It is absolutely love. For me, certainly.”

I look up at him, resting in those big hands, trusting him. “I’m so afraid.”

“I know. But you are not alone—I promise you that.” He kisses me very gently.

“What doesmi sirenitamean?”

“My little mermaid,” he says, smiling.

“Andgatita?”

“Kitten,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

The beach is empty of my ghosts, but I feel Dylan with me, laughing gently. “Those were Dylan’s names for me.”

“Mm. They’re my names now.” He kisses me, and I kiss him back, and I have a million questions, but they’ll be so much easier to answer if I don’t have to answer them alone.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper.

“I know. Because we are twin souls, you and I.”

“Alma gemela,”I say. “Can you have more than one?”