Undertow Read Online Free Page B

back like a greedy child grabs a toy.
    The afternoon sun hid behind a thin band of gray clouds on the horizon. She ran her hand along the basalt jutting from the headlands and let the stone warm her skin; its smoothness contrasted with the angular edges of its layers. Inevitably, the bluff would disappear as the fissures grew wider and section by section it would crumble. Everything falls apart, she thought. Even stone.
    It was low tide, and shallow pools with sea stars and anemones clinging tightly to their edges dotted the exposed rock at the tide line. The whole beach crawled with life. Even the bare sand seemed in motion with sand fleas hopping about frantically; the sight of them made her itch. Tiny birds hopped among tufts of grass and feasted on the fleas. Farther back, yarrow and wild strawberry sent tendrils trailing over loose rock, seeking a place to root. Searching for a home, she thought, like herself.
    But the beach was a wasteland compared to the ocean, she’d learned in Marine Biology last quarter. Beyond the tide’s lowest reach, the black water dropped into an abyss which concealed fantastic animals like giant squid.
    Or , she thought, people like Him.
    Marissa turned back toward the cottage. She didn’t want to risk getting lost on this beach, so far south from where she’d met Him. Inside, she shivered even before shedding her jacket. It had been colder outside than she’d realized. In the cupboard she found a can of cocoa; a quick sniff told her it was stale, but at least it was chocolate. She put the teapot on the stove and went to the window to watch the sun splay brilliant orange fire across the surface of the ocean. Her heart ached with the now-familiar longing to feel His silken kiss again.
    On the corner table by the window, twenty or so books were haphazardly stacked. She browsed the tattered copies while she waited for the water to boil. One title caught her eye: Pacific Northwest Indian Lore . Taking it with her to the kitchen, she poured the hot water into a mug and absentmindedly stirred the chocolate while she scanned the contents page.
    She gasped when she spotted the chapter title.“The Maiden Who Wed a Merman.” Somebody must have put the book there for her to find. How did they know she’d be staying here tonight?Unnerved, but unable to resist reading the story, she sat in the rocker beside the window, spilling the hot cocoa over her hand in the process. She set the mug at her feet and turned to the chapter. The preface said it was a Coos Indian legend. The tribe had lived on the South coast before the white settlers arrived; like lots of coastal peoples, they left behind folktales about the sea. A thrill shot through her spine like an electric shock. She was so close now to answering the questions haunting her: Who is He? What is He? And how can Heexist?
    She rushed through the tale about a young woman who spurned all human offers of matrimony. One day a stranger approached her upon the shore and begged her to follow him out to sea, promising that she could return to land whenever she wishes to visit her family. Bethany, she thought . But her sister had been a little girl. In the story, the woman accepted his offer and lived in the ocean thereafter, even having a child with him. Years later, cloaked in otter skins, she went back to her people and collected all the arrows they shot at her, giving them to her son in the ocean. In repayment, the sea-dwelling people gave a beached whale to the villagers to share.
    Marissa shivered . The story was disgusting. Even so, it proved the Coos knew about creatures like the one who rescued her that night at Crescent Beach, people who lived in the ocean. Mermaids, or mermen, or whatever they were called. The legend proved what she already believed in her heart.
    And now her doubt was banished. Somewhere in the deep water, she knew He waited for her.

 
     
     
     
    Six
     
    W hen she woke in the hotel, she'd thrown on yesterday’s clothes,