Siren's Storm

“Thanks,” Gretchen replied. Her body felt too heavy, her mind too numb, to think of a witty reply.

“Oh, lay off, Angel,” Lisette called from across the diner.

Gretchen grabbed her coffee and took another swig. Asia was sorting silverware nearby, smiling as Angel muttered to himself. “How does she get away with it?” Gretchen asked, half to herself.

“Lisette?” Asia looked up. “You mean, why doesn’t Angel get angry with her teasing?”

“Yeah. If anyone else talked that way to him, he’d be pissed.”

Asia shrugged. “He’s in love with her.”

“What? Oh my God, I thought they hated each other!”

Asia laughed softly. “No. They’re getting married next summer.”

“Whoa-I had no idea.” Gretchen sneaked a glance at sour-looking Angel, a prisoner behind his window. He was scowling at the waffle iron. “How did you find that out?”

“Sometimes people just tell me things.”

“I’m going on break, ladies.” Lisette pulled off her apron and stuffed it into a cubby behind the counter. “Anyone want anything from Conrad’s?”

“Get me a pack of that gum you’re always smacking.” This was from Angel.

“Was I asking you? See you all in fifteen.” Lisette gave them a toodle-loo wave and headed toward the rear.

Gretchen noticed the smile Lisette and Angel exchanged just before she pushed open the back door. She wondered how many of those glances she had missed.

Taking another pull of coffee, Gretchen reached for her notebook. A paper fell out, fluttering to the floor. Asia reached down to get it. “Good news?” she asked as she handed it back to Gretchen, face down.

Gretchen let one shoulder rise, then dip. “It’s just-a letter from my mother.”

The clean spoons clinked as Asia dropped them into their compartment. She didn’t speak or even look at Gretchen.

“She wants me to come live with her… in Paris.”

Asia nodded as she reached for the knives. “Will you go?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Gretchen tucked the paper into the notebook.

Asia nodded. “It’s not really about choosing one place or another, is it?” Her eyes held Gretchen’s.

“I’ve never been close to my mother,” Gretchen admitted. “She’s…” Gretchen shook her head, unsure how to describe Yvonne. “She isn’t my birth mother.”

“Does that matter?” Asia asked.

“Not really. My dad isn’t my birth dad, either, and I’m close to him. But I just think that she never really saw me as her daughter. She just saw me as this… person.”

Asia considered this. “But living with her might give you an opportunity to get to know her.”

“Or it might make me insane,” Gretchen countered. “And it would probably break my dad’s heart.”

“It sounds like you don’t want to go,” Asia said.

“Not particularly.”

“And yet you’re carrying around this letter.”

Gretchen sighed. “I guess I’m not sure I want to stay here, either.” She felt the pressure building in her throat.

Asia placed a hand on Gretchen’s arm. “The memories will follow you,” she said. Her voice was soft and somehow comforting, although the words were disturbing. The memories will follow me, Gretchen thought, and in an instant she was back on the beach. Her vision was filled with fire.

It was night, and the sail of Tim’s boat was in flames. Will was lying on the sand beside her, unconscious, and Gretchen was shivering in wet clothes. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there. She didn’t know how the fire had started. All she knew was that she was terrified. Gretchen checked to make sure that Will was alive. But when she heard the police sirens, she left Will on the shore and ran through the darkness to her own home. She heard Guernsey barking in the background as she sneaked quietly into her room. She peeled off her wet clothes and tossed them into the washing machine before her father realized anything was wrong.

Gretchen had desperately wanted to tell Will everything, but she didn’t know how. Part of her was terrified that Will would blame her for Tim’s death. And maybe I am guilty, Gretchen thought. That was the most frightening part-she didn’t know for sure.

“Gretchen!” Angel yelled. Gretchen jumped, startled. She turned and saw him glowering. “Order up.”

With a shaking hand, Gretchen grabbed the three Belgian waffles and delivered them to table fourteen.

When she got back to the counter, she saw that Asia had refilled her iced coffee. “Thanks,” Gretchen said.

“I’m back!” Lisette called as she bustled through the rear door. “Got your gum, you jerk.” She tucked it into the rear pocket of Angel’s hideous black-and-white-checked pants. She stuffed her purse into the cubby and pulled out her apron. “What did I miss?” she asked as she tied the apron strings.

Me spilling my guts out to Asia, Gretchen thought.

“We were just talking,” Asia said at last.

“Well, chat time’s over, toots,” Lisette told her. “Those ladies just sat in your section.”

“Back to work,” Asia said as she got to her feet. She gave Gretchen a warm glance and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Gretchen watched as Asia glided over to the older women. They smiled up at her as if she were a friend. Sometimes people just tell me things, Asia had said.

People, Gretchen thought. Like me.

“Gran!” Angus called as they slammed in through the back door and straight into the kitchen. “Gran!”

A white cockatiel in a cage squawked at them from its perch near the refrigerator. The house smelled stale, but the kitchen was tidy. Angus’s grandmother didn’t cook much.

“For God’s sake, quit yelling.” Angus’s grandmother shuffled in from the living room, a cigarette in one hand and an ashtray in the other. “And stop calling me Gran. My name’s Roberta.” She perched primly onto a cushioned metal folding chair and gave Will the eye. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Will, Gran. You’ve met him a hundred times.” Angus had his arm buried up to the elbow in a cookie jar shaped like a giant strawberry.

“Hello, Mrs. McFarlan.”

Angus’s grandmother took a long drag on her cigarette. Then she touched her bleached hair gingerly with a long, manicured nail. “You’re the Archer boy,” she said, eyeing his scar.

“Gran, you call these cookies?” Angus complained through a mouthful of Oreo crumbs. “They’re stale!”

“Don’t eat those; they’re ancient. They’ll probably kill you.”

Angus swallowed. He’d already polished off three. “Eh, they’re not awful. You want one?” This was directed at Will.

“I’m good.”

“So, what brings you by?” Mrs. McFarlan peered at her grandson with a keen eye as the cockatiel pecked at itself in a mirror. “Don’t tell me you came for the Oreos.”

“I was wondering if you remembered any of those old stories that Gramps used to tell-the ones about the seekriegers.”

“Oh, those old stories.” Mrs. McFarlan ground her cigarette into the ashtray, where the embers spread and scattered like dying stars. “I swear, Walfang fishermen are the most superstitious men in the entire world.”

Angus lifted his eyebrows at Will. You see?

“So what were they?” Will asked. “Angus said mermaids?”

Mrs. McFarlan studied him for a moment, tapping her nails against the wooden tabletop. “Something like that. But not like mermaids in pictures. No fins or any of that crap. More like wild women of the sea.”

“So you remember the stories,” Angus prompted.

“I remember. Arthur always half believed in them, I think.” The cockatiel had started making a racket, and Mrs. McFarlan crossed to the cage. “Come, sweetie, come out.” She pursed her lips into a wet kiss and offered her finger to the cockatiel.

“So can you tell us about the seekriegers?” Angus pressed.

Mrs. McFarlan cried out, tearing her hand from the cage. A delicate drop of blood traced down her finger where the cockatiel had bitten her. Angus grabbed a flowered kitchen towel and held it out to his grandmother, but she