Page 117 of When We Believed in Mermaids

I lifted a hand and waved.

They disappeared.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mari

I’m in Helen’s room that evening, going through the stacks of magazines she’s kept, looking for clues or maybe a stashed diary. Something. It’s still raining, and to keep the ghostly sounds from bugging me too much, I’m playing music on my phone. The sound is tinny, but honestly, I’ll take what I can get.

The tedious work is good for me. I have to engage my brain just enough that I’m not fretting incessantly about everything, but somewhere the information is being processed in the background. This goes there, and that goes here, and eventually it will all make sense. My mother. Simon.

Kit.

God, the hatred on her face when she left me! Maybe I shouldn’t have confessed everything. Maybe she didn’t need to know right now. But honestly, if we’re going to have a relationship at all, there can’t be any more lies. I’ve had enough lies to last me a millennium.

Because of the phone music, I don’t hear Simon until he’s standing in the doorway. At the sight of him, my heart stops momentarily. I really do love him like a being created just for me. His eyes are shadowed, his shoulders slightly bowed like Atlas’s, carrying the world. “Is this a good time to talk?”

I can’t read his tone, but I leap to my feet. “Of course. Shall we go down and have a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” He doesn’t come in the room to kiss me, and he’s careful not to touch me as we head downstairs.

“Are the kids okay?”

“Fine. They think you just went to be with your friend. Did you surf?”

“Yes. Piha Beach. It was great.”

The conversation feels as stiff as corsets. I busy myself with the kettle and cups, while Simon sits down heavily at the small table. “This is a strange room, isn’t it?”

“I know. Why did Helen do it over like this? When she had the money to do whatever she wanted. Why this grim green room?” He shakes his head, and I see the weariness in it. “Are you all right?”

“No, Mari, I’m not. I’m gutted.”

I bow my head. “I’m so sorry. It was stupid, but I really thought it would never come up.”

“Christ.”

“Are you ready to hear the story?” I hope it will go better with him than it did with Kit.

“I reckon I am.”

So I tell him. Everything, starting with Eden and Kit and Dylan on the beach. I tell him about the neglect and about the molestation. I tell him how wild I was and how early I became an alcoholic. I tell him about the abortion, and Dylan, and the strange relationship we shared, part lovers, part siblings, part mentor and mentee, entirely, completely screwed up.

And yet.

“We both loved him so much, me and Kit. He just fell into our lives and then fell out again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? At some point, somewhere?”

I can’t look at him. “I don’t know. I guess...I thought if you knew everything, you wouldn’t love me.”

He shakes his head. “Why? What about me made you think I would love you less if you told that story?”

I’m struggling to keep myself from crying. “Nothing about you, Simon. It was all my own shame. Dylan killed himself because of me. I ripped off my sister. I faked my own death.” I pause, my hands tight on my thighs. “The person I left behind was not someone I was proud of.”

“Oh, Mari. How shallow you think I am.” He still looks bowed. He sips his tea, then pushes it away. “I’m sorry that all happened to you, Mari. I am. No one should live like that.”

I lean back in my chair, waiting.