But I think of Naida, of the sister she can’t remember. You only get so many.
These are mine. They’re my sisters. It’s my power, it should be my choice and mine alone… even if we are stronger together. I inhale. “She has trouble remembering things. I’m helping her.”
Anne’s and Jane’s eyes widen. They look at each other. “She knows what you can do?” There’s a note of panic in Anne’s voice, fear, even.
“It’s fine,” I say swiftly, shaking my head. “She doesn’t remember anything from before a few years ago, and I touched her and… it’s not what you think, Anne. I promise, it’s fine.” Revealing that Naida knows about the power is one thing; that she’s something like a mermaid is another thing entirely.
“Did you tell her about Jane and me?” Anne says, voice low. I hesitate, wishing I hadn’t said anything. The secret was bad, but the look on Anne’s face is worse, as is what she’s said—Jane and me. Like the space between my sisters and me is much larger than a restaurant table.
“No,” I answer. “Well, I told her I had sisters. But I didn’t tell her about the powers—”
“We don’t tell people, Celia. We’ve never told people,” Anne hisses. “How could you?”
“I’m helping her. She needs me. You have to trust me, please. She’s fine. She can’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, she can—”
“No. She really can’t.” I breathe in as the waitress stops by to refill our drinks; I think she realizes she’s interrupted something, because she scurries away quickly when she’s done. I continue, “If you’re that worried, Jane can look. She can see I’m not lying.”
Of course, if Jane looks, she’ll know what Naida is, where she comes from—if I let Jane in to see details, she’d inevitably see the core as well. But I’m counting on Anne balking at the very suggestion that Jane essentially use her power against me. Use her power because they don’t trust me. Even if it’s true, it isn’t something Anne would want to admit.
Anne presses her lips together. “It’s fine,” she says swiftly. “If you say it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Her words are stilted—caught between saying what she wants to believe is true and what she’s scared isn’t. To be honest, I’m impressed. Anne is so used to being in control. Handing the reins to me is clearly uncomfortable, but she tries to manage it nonetheless. For that much, at least, I’m grateful.
“I promise. It’s fine,” I tell both of them sincerely.
“Can we meet her?” Jane asks.
My phone rings right as the last syllable is off Jane’s tongue; I’m relieved to see Jude’s number pop up and save me from answering Jane’s question. How could I introduce Naida to my sisters? How could I explain her?
“Good news,” Jude says the moment I answer. “I’m going to buy a new guitar today.”
“That’s… good,” I say back, a little perplexed.
“You should come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re involved now. You shouldn’t have saved me if you didn’t want to end up hanging out with me. This is entirely your fault.”
I pause for a long time.
Jude ups the offer. “And we can go get ice cream, if you want?”
I laugh, and Jude offers to pick me up at the café, then we hang up. Jane takes the easy bait, immediately asking about where Jude and I are going, what we’re doing, how long I’ll be gone, do I want to run home and borrow her new shirt. Anne isn’t as quick to forget about Naida, though; I can see her thinking carefully, choosing her words. She doesn’t speak until Jude’s car rumbles into the parking lot.
“Eventually we’ll get to meet her, right?” It isn’t really a question, not the way Anne’s asking it.
“Of course,” I lie swiftly, standing up and collecting my purse.
“Right,” Anne says, and I can tell she knows I’m lying. “Well, don’t do that again, Celia, telling people about us.”
“I didn’t tell her about us. I told her about me.”
“Same thing,” Anne says, like this should have been obvious. I shrug like Jane does when Anne’s irritated with her and turn, relieved when I push through the glass café door. Jude turns down some sort of bluesy music as I arrive and fall into the car’s front seat.
“Is Anne glaring at me? I think she’s glaring at me,” he says, nodding toward Anne and Jane in the café window.
“You can tell them apart?” I ask, impressed.
“Of course. Anne is the one who always looks like she might murder me.”
I laugh as Jude backs out of the parking lot. “She might. But no, she’s glaring at me. It’s nothing, really.” I brush it off. “So you finally got enough money?”
“Yep. Well, technically, I had it a few days ago. My roommates got tired of seeing me mope, so they got together three hundred dollars between them to loan me. Though now I have to do everyone’s dishes for three weeks.”
“You could afford it last week? Why’d you wait so long to go get it, then?”
“Ah… well…” he says, tapping the steering wheel with his palms as we turn onto the strip, a long, straight road that runs parallel to the ocean and is packed with tourist attractions, including the Pavilion. Jude continues, “This is weird, but… until the other night, it was like I had musician’s block. I couldn’t write anything.”
“What changed?”
Jude inhales, is silent for longer than he usually could stand. “I went back to the ocean.”
Something in me stops, alarmed, unsure. “When? What happened?” Did you meet Naida? Lo? Did you remember she’s really your Nightingale? Questions I’m afraid to ask…
“The other night, late. I didn’t get in the water, but I stood on the shore. And I got an idea for a song.”
I’m relieved, and ashamed of it. He should meet Naida. He should know she saved him. I should tell him.
“What’s the song about?” I ask instead.
He pauses. “It’s a love song. A sad one. I think it’s about the ocean.”