Page 47 of When We Believed in Mermaids

I stuck my tongue out at Dylan, sure that would make him come after me, but he gave me an irritated glance and shook his head, carrying Kit around the back of the restaurant. I knew the drill. He’d make sure she brushed her teeth, then tuck her in, and if she woke up, he’d tell her a story. I almost ran after them, but my mother said, “Dance with Mama, sweetie,” and twirled me around.

Billy was there that night. I’d seen my mother flirting with him, even though he was super young, just a teenager or something, a young TV star who’d originally started coming with his agent; my parents loved when he showed up, bringing the promise of cachet. He had black hair and blue eyes, and everyone said he was going to be a very big star. He came over to dance with my mom and offered a hand to me, and I forgot about my baby sister getting all the attention.

The door to the past slams shut. A lifetime of secrets and lies later, I drive through the dark back to my neighborhood. Tears run down my cheeks, and I wonder who they’re for. My sister, Dylan? Or maybe that little girl dancing wildly for the entertainment of drunken adults?

I don’t remember if Dylan came back and made me go to bed, but I do remember drinking sips of Billy’s beer and the way I giggled over him pouring it into a coffee cup so no one would know I was drinking. It bubbled up my nose and took away my sadness and made me dance all the more, looking up at the stars, dancing with the ocean, with the night sky, with Billy, and with a lady who came over later to twirl me around. I remember tiptoeing around to the empty tables and sneaking sips of cocktails left in the dregs of glasses. I remember thinking I could do anything, be anything.

Anything.

Chapter Thirteen

Kit

We walk up the hill together quietly. Javier throws his arm around my shoulders, which has never been comfortable before, but our heights and gaits make it seem very relaxed, so I don’t shimmy away as I ordinarily would. In truth, I’m crashing after the long, eventful day.

He’s quiet too, humming under his breath sometimes, mostly just walking with me. I wonder if he’s thinking of his friend back in Madrid. He hasn’t said much about his life there, but maybe he’s just glad to be away.

As I am. I try to think about my sister, how to find her, but I can’t summon any urgency. I’ll get back to the search tomorrow. After all, she’s been missing for more than fourteen years. She’s probably not going anywhere.

For once, my overactive brain is quiet. It’s cooler tonight after the rain, and it’s easy to see that it’s Friday night. The streets are packed with students and young professionals. Music spills out of the establishments we pass.

It’s getting dark. I don’t have much to eat in my apartment, and my dress is a mess. I’m getting very hungry. “Should we drag a pizza back? I don’t have anything but coffee and eggs in my room.”

“Are you inviting me over?”

I might have run away before but not tonight. I nod.

“I have food,” he says. “Would you like to come to my flat?”

“You cook?”

“I am a good cook. Are you?”

“My father would have expected nothing less.” I smile up at him, and that too is a luxury. So rare that someone is taller than me. “I’m an especially good baker.”

“What’s your specialty?”

“Cake.”

“We don’t make such sweet cakes in Spain as some places. Do you know Tarta de Santiago?”

“Yes. Almond, so delicious.”

“Do you know how to cook that cake?”

“I have never done it before, but I would imagine I could.”

“Maybe you will one day.” He winks. “For me.”

“Maybe so.” As if there are more than a scattering of days ahead of us.

At the hotel, we ride the elevator up, and he leans in to kiss me. “Will you let me cook for you?”

“Yes.”

I get off on my floor to shower and change, and he continues on. In the hallway leading to my door, I’m alone for the first time all day, and suddenly everything feels like a dream.

I slam back into my body all at once, and it feels sad and exhausting, and all my problems are piled up, waiting for me. The question of why my sister faked her own death, where she is, the strangely clear recognition now that I’m at a distance that I’m no longer happy in the ER. I wonder how Hobo is doing without me. I wonder if I should call my mom again, but it was only this morning that we talked.