The Mermaid's Secret Read Online Free

I kept thinking about her drowning, picturing it a thousand times in excruciating detail. I would imagine those final moments before she slipped silently under the waves, her lungs filling with water, the cold finally settling into her skin. I wonder what was she thinking about.
    Did she think Trip would save her?
    All we know for sure about the accident is that Trip Sinclair was driving the boat. It was late at night. It was high tide. The boat ran aground and sank on an unmarked shoal near Tutatquin Point. Trip made it to shore, alone. Five hours later, he called the police. Kay’s body was found washed up on shore.
    There was no reliable blood alcohol test, since it took him so long to report the accident.
    And thanks to his extremely wealthy family, Trip was cleared of manslaughter charges. There was no jail time. We buried Kay. Trip went back to his life on the mainland.
    There were no apologies.
    I stayed out of the water for a whole year after that. When I got back on my board, I had lost my nerve. My cojones.
    But today I’m twenty-three, and being twenty-three sucks, and I need to get away from it all. When you live on an island like I do, the ocean is your only escape.
    I take a deep breath, tuck my board under my arm, and run into the water.
    Paddling out, I stay close to the jetty, which provides some shelter. As soon as I cross the point, the waves are even more monstrous than they looked from shore.
    Suddenly, I’m staring at a rising wall of water. It climbs higher and higher, steeper and steeper, changing its green face with every passing second. A moving mountain. My mind races. It calls on a million other images of waves I’ve faced before. Surfer brain kicks in. I judge the size, shape, speed, and wind all at once, trying to come up with an answer— over or under . Over, I decide.
    But I misjudge.
    The crest curls, then tumbles into a fierce white chute before I make it over the top. There’s a thunderous crash around me. The nose of my board catches in the break and lifts out of my hands, sending me over the falls and down into the churning, furious mess. I kick hard against the force of water on top of me.
    When I come up for air, my board is behind me, dragging in the whitewash toward the rocks. My mind goes blank. My body takes over. I pull on my leash, hop on my board, and paddle hard, hard, hard. Get away from the rocks before the next wave.
    But the next wave’s already here, a wall of water in front of me. This time, I’m ready. I don’t think. I don’t second-guess. I take in a deep breath and duck dive below the wave just as it breaks.
    I make it out behind the wave and paddle like hell to put more space between me and the jetty. Every breath is a struggle as I paddle farther and farther out, duck diving on every wave, even when I think there’s a chance I can clear the top.
    Learn from your last mistake—one of the principal rules of surfing. I wonder if Trip Sinclair learned from his mistake. There’d be so many lessons from that night: Don’t drink and drive. Don’t be reckless with other people’s lives. Don’t leave innocent girls for dead.
    Getting past the break zone takes forever with the onshore wind working against me. My body is a sail, driving me in the wrong direction. Every two feet forward is met with one foot back.
    By the time I’m out the back, out of the crash zone, I’m completely spent.
    Freddie and Josh Collins are the only other souls out here. If the waves were five feet smaller, the lineup would be mobbed. But today isn’t for novices. Freddie and Josh sit on their boards, silently gazing at the horizon. They’re old-school. Surfing is a religion to them, and you don’t talk in church.
    I lie on my board and recover, thankful for the quiet.
    Once I catch my breath, I push myself up to the seated position and stare out at the waves. A kernel of fear builds deep inside of me until it has