Page 69 of The Lighthouse Keeper and the Mermaid
For her cries sounded like whispers in comparison to the crack of a gunshot.
CHAPTER 81
The sound of the gunshot echoed across the water; it ricocheted against the rocks, and Kallias dropped down against her and her heart literally froze. No.No, no, no, no, no! Her mind wouldn’t stop screaming it.
She gasped out, “Are you hit? Are you hit?”
But Kallias didn’t look to be in pain. No, he was shielding her with his body, the lovely fool. “What was that?” he said, just barely able to peer over his shoulder in the position he was cuddling her in. She couldn’t see at all over his wide shoulders.
“It’s—” she started but stopped at the loading of a hammer.
“Get away from her! That was a warning shot, but this one will hit!” The voice trembled and she recognized it immediately: Mr. Wilson.
CHAPTER 82
Naked, with a mermaid atop her was not ever how she wanted to be found, by anyone, least of all Mr. Wilson.
But here, she had no choice. “Mr. Wilson, please don’t shoot!” she cried over Kallias’s shoulder to his great displeasure.
“Daria? Dear God, is it really you? I…I know you said you could never shoot someone, but this is different. Daria, he’s…he’s….” He couldn’t even finish it, so perhaps it was not that Kallias was a mermaid but what he was so clearly doing.
“No, my asking has nothing to do with my distaste for killing.” She looked to Kallias. “Get off me and go in the water. Out of sight for now.”
“But—”
“No. I can handle this. You being here will just make it worse.”
He looked so heartbroken by the words, but after a second, he nodded.
“Mr. Wilson, avert your eyes, won’t you? I’m not decent.”
“Oh, oh, I mean, yes,” he managed awkwardly.
Kallias gave her one last displeased look. “Are you sure?”
“Very. Please trust me.”
The corner of his lip pursed downward in a frown, but with a nod, he was in the water, and in only seconds, he had seemed to disappear, though she assumed he was somewhere nearby.
She hurriedly got back into her clothes. Mr. Wilson was in her father’s old boat, some thirty feet offshore, his left hand holding the lowered gun, his right over his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Wilson,” she said.
He removed his hand and looked around the little cove. His eyes seemed to settle behind her, no doubt to the trampled bed of flowers.
“I can explain,” she said.
His eyes seemed to ask, ‘Can you?’ but he was clearly too stunned to speak.
“If you just allow me a moment, I promise—I mean, well,” she stammered awkwardly. “I could make some tea? I could explain over tea.”
His nod was very,veryslow. “Tea would be fine. Let me row closer.”
But when he rowed closer and she stepped on board, he came to her, his hands hovering over her as if he could assess any damage. “Daria, did he hurt you?” His hand lightly touched her cheek, but the concern was so tender she did not push him off.
The gentle touch lasted but a second as she answered, “He did not,” and the hand dropped. His eyes were so pitifully sad, so horribly heartbroken that she felt bad for saying it. But she might as well say it now, tea be damned. “Mr. Wilson, I hope you do not think poorly of me. I promise you last night was our first—what I mean to say is….”
She paused, steadying her breath, realizing she had looked anywhere but him. But when she met his eyes, she felt hers again dropping. “I married him,” she said. She was sure it was a horrible place to start a story, but she didn’t want him to think of her as some whore. “Last night. We got married.”
