The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd Read Free Book Online Page B

here!” she yelled.
    Benne sprang into a funny jig, lifting her feet and marching in place. “Jes-sie, Jes-sie,” she chanted, and Max started to bark, which created an eruption of gulls along the edge of the dock. The other passengers paused to stare, then glanced at one another, embarrassed.
    Home. There was nothing to do but collect my suitcase and wade into it.
    There were half-moons, like pale, yellowish shadows, under Kat’s eyes. She embraced me at the same moment the aroma of the island penetrated, a powerful brew of silt, old crab pots, salted air, and black, gooey mudflats alive and crawling with pungent creatures.
    â€œYou made it,” Kat said, and I smiled at her.
    Benne laid her round face against the sleeve of my coat and clung to me like a barnacle. I put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze.
    â€œYou didn’t want to come,” she said. “You hate coming here.”
    Kat cleared her throat. “All right, Benne, that’s enough.”
    Benne was not finished, however. “Mama is standing on the bloodstain,” she said.
    I looked down. We all did. The dark, spattered edge of it was visible beneath Kat’s shoe. I pictured the frenzied dash they must have made to the ferry dock, the ride across the water, Mother’s hand wrapped in a JC Penney bath towel.
    Kat slid back her foot, and we stood in the late afternoon, in a moment of perfect stillness, and stared at my mother’s blood.

CHAPTER Five
    W e piled onto Kat’s golf cart, parked at the end of the pier. Benne sat on the back with my suitcase, and I climbed into the front seat, glancing warily at the air horn, thinking of the last harrowing ride in her cart.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Kat said. “I won’t use the horn unless someone is crazy enough to step out in front of me.”
    â€œI hate that odious thing,” I said.
    â€œYes, well, hate it all you want, but it has saved the lives of countless tourists.”
    â€œMama used to aim for tourists,” Benne said.
    â€œOh, I did not. ”
    â€œI believe it’s impossible for Benne to tell a lie,” I said, and Kat huffed as she pulled onto the narrow pavement.
    Overhead the sky was turning orange. I had the sense of darkness pressing in, pooling behind the brightness. As we swept past the island shops, no one spoke, not even Benne.
    The storefronts all had window boxes gorged with lavender pansies, even the tiny post office. Shem’s Bait & Tackle had been painted the color of persimmons, and the carved wooden pelican outside Caw Caw General Store now wore a pony saddle, I imagined so that children could sit on it. We passed a handful of tourists in front of Egret Expeditions, signing up for boat tours and bird walks. Even at the nadir of winter, the place seemed alive.
    I pointed to a small store wedged between Max’s Café and the Island Dog B&B. It had a blue-and-white-striped awning and a sign in the window that read THE MERMAID’S TALE . “Didn’t that used to be a fish market?”
    â€œIt went out of business,” Kat said.
    â€œThat’s Mama’s store now,” said Benne.
    â€œNo kidding? You own it? That gift shop?” I was surprised. I’d known Kat my whole life, and she’d never shown the least interest in shopkeeping. After her husband died—which had to be twenty years ago at least—she and Benne had lived contentedly off his pension and a little Social Security.
    â€œI opened it last spring,” Kat said.
    â€œWho’s minding the store right now?”
    â€œWhen I’m there, it’s open; when I’m not, it’s closed,” she said.
    â€œI like the name,” I told her.
    â€œI wanted to call it ‘Fin Fatale,’ but your mother nixed that. The woman has no sense of humor.”
    â€œShe never did.”
    â€œThat’s not true. Once upon a time, she had a great sense of humor,” Kat said.
    She lit