Son of a Mermaid by Katie O'Sullivan Read Free Book Online

wondered if the windmill house could be where Kae lived, but after walking past it he realized it wasn’t really a true “McMansion” like the rest of the waterfront homes. It was more of a large sprawling farmhouse, and in serious need of a new roof, judging by the missing shingles. Someone rich enough to have live-in servants wouldn’t need roof repair.
    As he passed one of the older, smaller homes on the corner of his street, he noticed the empty rocking chair creaking back and forth on the porch, almost as if a ghost had taken up residence. “That’s odd,” he said out loud, pausing in the street to stare at the empty chair. Lucky stopped, too, cocking his head to one side and looking in the same direction. “No, boy. It’s okay,” he reassured the dog, rubbing the top of Lucky’s head. “I’ve never seen that chair empty. And here it is two mornings in a row.”
    According to Martha, the man who lived in that cottage had retired to the Cape some years before and was one of the few other year-round residents of the Point. Although his grandmother said he was harmless, Shea thought Mr. Guenther was a pretty creepy old guy. He always sat in the same chair, in the same spot, dark eyes staring, no matter what time of day Shea walked past the house.
    Except Shea hadn’t seen him in that rocking chair yesterday. And he was absent again today.
    “Maybe he’s away on vacation,” Shea told Lucky. The dog squinted his grey eyes. “Okay then, maybe he’s sick and stuck inside drinking tea. Either way, it’s kind of nice not to see him!” The dog whimpered as if in agreement, and they continued their way back home.
    ***
    Back in the solitude of his small room, Shea sat on the edge of the twin bed. Martha said the room had once belonged to his father, Tom, and there were certainly signs that a teenage boy might have once lived here, like the faded posters of classic old rock bands covering one wall and dusty baseball trophies lining the top shelf. College textbooks and well-worn paperback science fiction novels filled the rest of the bookshelf. But not one single thing reminded Shea of his dad.
    The Tom MacNamara he knew was a no-nonsense guy. Something either mattered or it didn’t. There wasn’t a lot of emotional middle ground. In fact, there wasn’t much emotion at all. Everything was black or white. The dad Shea remembered didn’t have time for playing sports or listening to music.
    Shea sighed as he lay back onto the bed, wondering what had happened to take all the fun out of his father. The faded blue comforter smelled of detergent and bleach. Martha was a firm believer in the importance of cleanliness. She told Shea that after being married to a fisherman for so many years, she liked the smell of bleach because it meant things were truly clean. No matter how much the chlorine might fade things.
    As the shower down the hallway turned on, the old water pipes in the house groaned in protest. Shea wondered cynically if his grandmother washed herself with bleach as well, her Irish skin so pale for someone who lived so close to the shore.
    Rolling onto his side, he reached over to open the drawer of the bedside table and took out the stone he’d found at the beach. The sparkles were gone. It looked like an ordinary black rock. Even the strange hexagon-shaped hole in the center seemed smaller than he remembered. Less defined.
    “It still looks like the one on Kae’s necklace,” he said, trying to convince himself. Without the shine of salt water on the surface, it was hard to think there was anything special about this particular rock. “Maybe it needs to be wet,” he decided, and slipped the stone into the pocket of his cut-offs. He felt the weight of it flat against his thigh.
    He’d take the rock back to the beach and test his theory after breakfast, and see if he could get the sparkle to return.
    Maybe he’d find Kae again.
    Toenails clattered on the wooden stairs and Lucky pushed the bedroom door