Page 31 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“How long will you be here in Auckland?”

“I’m not sure, really.” I take a breath and find myself telling the truth. “I’m sort of on a mission—to find someone.”

“Not a lover, I don’t think.” His toes disappear beneath the surface.

“No. Not at all. My sister.”

“Did she run away?”

I sigh. “It’s a very long story.”

“This is your sister who died?”

I forgot I told him that. “Yes.” I give the answer a shortness that conveys my unwillingness to add more.

He nods, his eyes fixed on my face as his hands swirl over the water, graceful, strong. Beautiful hands graced with square nails. “Will you look for her today?”

A trickle of water makes its way down his cheekbone, slides along his mouth. I want to put my open palms on his bare shoulders. “Yes. I found some leads. But I probably won’t be busy with it all day.”

He smiles at last, and beneath the water, his foot brushes mine. “What if I help you look, and then you come with me on a sightseeing tour?”

I think of not having to spend the day entirely by myself. “All right. I’d like that.”

“Do you want to know what we will see?”

With a smile, I shrug. “Whatever it is, I’ve never seen it before.”

His smile is generous, considering. “Nor I.”

Suddenly there is a sway, a splash, and I feel off-kilter. It’s not my imagination—Javier tilts toward me, a hand reaching behind me for the lip of the pool.

I lift my head, looking for things that could fall on us; then I’m clambering out of the spa and heading for open space. “Come on.”

“What—?”

The sway, not terrible but unmistakable, comes again. “Earthquake,” I say, and hold out my hand.

He wastes no time, and we hurry out to the open passageway that leads back to the pool. “Is it dangerous?”

“No.” I rest my hands on the wide stone ledge. Sunlight floods the area. “Very minor, but you don’t want to be under anything that could be shaken loose.”

He looks up, but there’s nothing above us, only sky. The sway is less remarkable here, out of the water, and soon it’s gone. “That’s that,” I say.

“How did you know it was an earthquake?”

“I live in northern California. They’re part of the landscape.”

“Have you ever experienced a big one?”

I think of the cove, scattered with the decayed ruins of what had once been Eden and our home. “Yes, unfortunately. The Loma Prieta in ’89.” Then add the way everyone remembers it, “San Francisco.”

“How old were you?”

“That’s an odd question.” He’s leaning one hip on the ledge, and his hair has begun to dry in swooping waves. “Twelve. Why?”

“Such a thing will leave a mark, no? More or less, depending on your age.”

It was, almost certainly, the worst day of my life, but being twelve had nothing to do with it. “Really. And what does my being twelve say?”