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You’re right. What’s down there, anyway?
I still didn’t know how to explain. My mom … Even though I wasn’t actually speaking, my voice broke. I couldn’t force any other words out.
Kona nodded, like he understood, though I could see the baffled look in his eyes. He took the necklace that contained his seal skin from around his neck, found a little bit of open space in the cave, and in a dazzling display of silver light, he shifted.
I’d seen him as a seal before—of course I had—but he didn’t change often. I think because he believed it underscored the differences between us. Which I guess was true, but it didn’t matter to me. It’s not like Mark and I were any more compatible, mermaid and human. Besides, Kona was beautiful to me, and that was when he wasn’t in the middle of shifting. When he was, he dazzled me.
When I became mermaid, nothing particularly special happened, except I grew a tail. When he shifted, the whole room lit up with spectacular silver bursts of light that I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch.
And then it was done, and Kona, in his long, black seal form, was swimming in circles around me. I laughed, reached out a hand to touch him. He was smooth and sleek, cool and slippery to the touch.
Come on, I told him. I knew he understood me, but if he answered back, I couldn’t tell. In this form we couldn’t communicate.
I dived deep, followed the passages, one after another, until we got to the room I was aiming for. Kona swam behind me, and every once in a while I would feel him brush against my feet, tickling me.
It was good. It kept me sane. Without him, I’m not sure I’d have had the courage to come back here. Not after last time.
Then we were there, in the room with the memories, and Kona was back in human form. And naked. Even though it embarrassed me a little, I couldn’t help stealing a few glances as he shimmied back into his board shorts and looked around the room. The second he saw what was there, he pulled me into his arms and held me as tightly as he could.
Tears of the moon, he murmured softly. I’m sorry, Tempest.
What did you say? I asked, confused.
The pearls. He nodded at the wall. They’re called tears of the moon down here, because they can be charmed to hold regrets.
Is that what I’m seeing when I hold them? My mother’s regrets?
In one form or another, yes. He swam forward, reached out to brush a finger against a large lavender pearl.
Don’t do that! I told him.
He stopped abruptly, yanked his hand back. I’m sorry. I know they’re yours. I’ve just never seen them before in my entire life. I’ve heard about the magic that goes into making them. I’ve just never known anyone who actually went through the process before.
He glanced at me. She made these for you.
I don’t know about that.
I do. It’s hard to create these, takes a long time. There’s no other reason Cecily would have gone through the hassle if she hadn’t wanted you to see, to know. Almost involuntarily, his hand crept out to brush against one again.
Don’t, I said, louder and more strenuously this time. When he looked stricken, I added, It hurts. When you touch them. It’s excruciating to hold one in the palm of your hand.
Really? he asked. How many have you looked at so far?
Only three. They were … hard to get through.
I bet. Do you want to do another one? I could leave, if you like.
No, I told him. Stay. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to understand where I went, what I was doing. Why I feel the need to come even though it’s probably not the smartest move.
He looked shame-faced. I’m sorry. I really am. You were right—I should have known.
It’s fine. I wrapped my arms more tightly around him and squeezed. Thanks for coming with me.
Don’t be silly. He glanced back at the wall. Have you tried any of the sea-glass pieces yet?
I shook my head. No. I guess I just assumed they were the same thing. Aren’t they?
I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never heard of them before, but … I have a hard time imagining Cecily just randomly changed her mind about what she wanted to use. There must be a reason she switched to sea glass.
Should I—I reached for a piece of smooth, red glass, then stopped. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to go through another memory like what I had seen earlier. At least not right now.
Kona seemed to understand without my saying a word. Whatever you want to do, Tempest.
I nodded. Then figured it would probably be easier to do this with Kona than without him—at least this time. If I were alone and saw my mother kill someone else, I’m not sure what I would do.
Decision made, I closed my fingers around the glass and braced myself for the pain.
It never came. Instead, a soothing warmth spread out from where the glass lay in my palm—down my fingers to my arm and then through my whole body, inch by inch. It was an extraordinary feeling, especially after the agony that had come with the pearls.
Are you okay? Kona asked anxiously, when I didn’t say or do anything. Does it hurt?
No, I told him, right before another memory unfolded in front of me.
This one was different though. It was still hazy, still out of focus, but while it was my mother’s recollection, for the first time it didn’t center around her. Instead, it centered around … me.
I was wearing a purple swimming tank and a pair of black boy-short swim bottoms, and I was in the water on my surfboard, with the number four pinned to my chest.
The second I saw that number, that outfit, I knew where I was: at a surfing competition in Hawaii. I was fourteen—I didn’t have my Brewer board yet and was instead using the yellow-and-fuchsia one that had been my favorite for years.
I’d won the competition, and Roxy had wanted to sponsor me, but my dad wouldn’t let them. He’d told me I was too young for sponsorship, and no matter how much I begged, he hadn’t budged. Not on that.
But how had my mother known? I wondered as I watched my dad sweep me into his arms when my final score was announced and we knew I’d won. Moku and Rio were both there, jumping around and screeching like crazy people. When my dad put me down, four-year-old Moku yanked on my bathing suit top until I picked him up and twirled him around. By the time I put him down, we both looked dizzy as we stumbled onto the sand. It only made us laugh harder.
It had been a good day, was a good memory for me despite my mother’s absence. She had left three and a half years earlier, and I hadn’t laid eyes on her again until I’d followed Kona into the ocean.
But if this memory could be believed, she’d seen that day, knew everything about it. Had she been there, then, watching us the entire time? Too scared, too ashamed, too filled with duty to come ashore and celebrate with us? The idea made me sad, especially when I let myself think about how much I’d missed her back then. It felt strange to realize she had been there and I just hadn’t known.
I let the sea glass go, let it slip from my fingers and tumble through the water to the cavern floor. As it fell, I wondered how many other times my mother had been there, watching, and I hadn’t known. Was this a one-time thing, or was each of those pieces of sea glass filled with a memory of me, my brothers, my father?
If they were, if she’d been watching all along, what did that say about the way I’d always felt about her? Did it change things, when so much of my anger came from her abandonment of us?
