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Chapter 1
Rhett
W
When I was younger, hen I was younger, I often daydreamed about finding a mermaid on the beach. I’d see her washed up on shore, maybe caught in a net, or cut by a fisherman, didn’t matter as long as she needed me. In my daydream, I’d hurry to her aid, no questions asked, no time to wonder how she existed. I had seconds left to get her back in the ocean or else she’d die. Before I carried her back, she’d stare up at me, beautiful, deep blue eyes, and ask for a kiss. Not wanting to disappoint, I’d lean down, and without fail before our lips met, Dad would holler something about the cows getting out or some horse threw a shoe and the whole thing would be ruined.
Her fins weren’t always the same design, her hair color changed with whatever girl I was pining for at the time, but for the most part, it all stayed the same. But this—this is different.
Because in all those daydreams, she was never sitting on a VW bug.
My horse, Chance, dances at the sight of it. Parked at the edge of the dune, tipped over the edge, greenery stuck in the grill—a Volkswagen Bug. It’s something out of the sixties too, not one of the modern makes. But it’s not just the car that makes me think of free love, hippies, and Woodstock, it’s the girl, or rather woman, sitting on the hood, bandana in her hair, shorts cut to who knows where and blonde hair blowing in the wind. The way she looks, I probably have smoke coming out of my ears as bad as she has it coming from the back end of her Volkswagen Beetle.
I nudge Chance to walk forward, navigating the sand, pulling closer to the waves and the water. Her head comes around to take in the sight of me. I need something clever to say to a girl like her, even if she’s the one who seems to have lost her mind.
“You miss the turn off?” She’s close enough she should be able to hear me, but she only shades her eyes against the setting sun’s light. I try again, but without trying to charm her. “You need some help? It looks like quite the predicament.”
Closer I get, the more that feels like an understatement. She must have plowed over the seaside dandelions by the way her tracks ripped it apart. Not to mention, I think I see her right-side mirror dangling from the cypress tree at the top of the hill. We’re at least a half mile, if not a mile from the highway. Can’t really claim she lost control. It’s more like a mad escape out of who knows what.
If she’s worried about it, I wouldn’t know by looking at her. She screws her pouty lips to one side and sucks the life out of my question until her cheek cave like she’s making a fish face.
“You’ve got it all wrong.” She kicks her boots up on the trunk in front of her like she’s chilling in her living room. “I was headed for the ocean. Dang engine gave out early on me.”
I clear my throat to cover my surprise. “My mistake.”
“It’s an easy one to make. People see a car and think roads.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t like staying inside the box.” She digs her heel in and draws the trunk back until her knees come up. “Figured I’d take this hunk of junk for a swim.”
“Pretty sure that’s littering.” Since my family owns this stretch of beachfront, the last thing I want is a rusted-out Bug poisoning the water.
“Oh, I agree, but there’s something you don’t know.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around her knees. I count eight bracelets on her right wrist alone but notice her ring finger is bare. “See, this isn’t just any car. This is a submarine.”
“Cleverly disguised.” Chance grows impatient. I give him a nudge, and we pull closer to my mermaid with no fins and no interest of rescue.
“You’ve heard of a Slug Bug, right?” Mischief dances in her eyes. She pats the hood. “This is a SubBug.”
This time I can’t hide my amusement. “Oh, see, I thought it was called a Bugmarine.”
That gem earns me a smile I’m not soon to forget. “That’s the model type. A SubBug Bugmarine.”
“It all makes sense now.” I’m staring at her a little too long, but it’s not like I can help it. My literal fantasy has come to life, albeit a little different than I expected back when I was a teenager. I’m no teen now, but I wonder what I’ve done in my adult life to earn such a reward. The air stales after our round of banter, and the smoke only grows thicker. “Seriously, you need a lift?”
She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “You got a hole I can crawl into? Maybe a cliff to jump off of?”
“I was thinking a taxi or something?”
Worry seeps in like low tide, slow, steady, undeniable. “I’ll be fine. Ride along, cowboy.”
“Sun’s setting. I’d feel wrong about leaving you here. It gets pretty cold by the water.”
“I’m not staying.” She looks out over the waves. “I can’t stay.”
Once more I’m struck by the way it looks like she was fleeing something. “You look like you’re in trouble.”
“More like I am trouble.” She waves me off. “Trust me, you don’t want to get involved.”
