Free The Mermaid's Secret by Katie Schickel

in time for work.
    I rub my aching head and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair’s stuck to the side of my face. Puffy skin lines my eyes. I have that sick feeling that I did or said something stupid in my drunken state last night. Something embarrassing. Something I can’t quite remember, but that other people (namely Matthew) probably can. I vaguely remember going off on a tirade about what assholes great white sharks can be.
    Ugh. I will never drink again.
    I down a warm bottle of Gatorade and get dressed for work.
    As I pull on my Slack Tide shirt and a pair of clean underwear, I look around for my other birthday present—the comb of whalebone that Sheriff gave me. I want to hold it in my hands. If it’s here, then I didn’t use it to stab the shark, which would confirm that I definitely imagined the whole mermaid thing and I’m officially losing my mind. On the other hand, if it’s not here then maybe it is lying at the bottom of a cave in the ocean and I really did become a mermaid, in which case I’m officially losing my mind. Either way, I’m losing my marbles.
    I dig through drawers, look underneath piles of bras and bathing suits on the floor. But I can’t find it.
    In the light of day, nothing makes sense. Did I really become a mermaid or was I dreaming? Sometimes dreams feel so real that it’s impossible to tell the difference. Did I get a concussion, like Sammy thinks? I feel around my head for lumps. It makes me sick to think I would use a concussion to explain what happened.
    Trip Sinclair blamed his behavior of the night Kay died on a concussion. His lawyer actually convinced a judge that Trip couldn’t be held responsible for his actions (or lack thereof) in the hours after the accident because he had banged his head and didn’t know what he was doing. Obviously, the lawyer argued, Trip was impaired by an injury because he would have jumped in to try and save Kay, being an experienced sailor and all. At the very least, he would have called for help instead of returning home and waiting five hours before picking up a phone.
    Trip had suffered both physically and mentally from the accident, the lawyer claimed, and that was supposed to explain everything.
    *   *   *
    It’s high tide when I get to the boardwalk, lobster and scallop boats head out for the day. Restaurants are setting up for the breakfast crowd. My head throbs, the Long Island Iced Tea and tequila working their dark magic on the inside of my skull. Walking feels good and clears my head a little, which isn’t good, because now all I can think about is how bonkers I must have sounded telling Matthew about sharks and mermaids.
    He probably thought it was the tequila talking. The girl who spends so much time in the water she’s part mermaid. How cute. There are cheesy T-shirts all over Spinnaker Street to that effect: “You know you’re a mermaid if you drink like a fish and seas the day.” “Keep calm and swim on.”
    The hull of the Dauntless shimmers like liquid where it catches the reflection of the rising sun on the water.
    A handful of customers are already lined up at the shop to buy tickets for today’s trip. Harold hands me the keys to the mess locker as he rings up a party of four guys on a bachelor weekend. Beneath their ball caps and scruff, they look like they partied as hard last night as I did. Chunk blowers, for sure.
    I get a cart from the supply shed and load it up with cases of beer, soda, and water. Since this is the first trip of the season, I’ll have to stock the galley with nonperishables like ketchup and candy bars, along with the daily ration of frozen burger patties, hot dogs, cheese, milk, and bacon.
    When I get to the end of the pier, Ian pulls off his heavy rubber gloves and helps load food into the boat. Tony stands at the fillet table, cutting bait.
    â€œGonna be a good day, people. Let’s make