The Mermaid Girl by Erika Swyler Page B

stories are better.”
    â€œThey are, aren’t they?”
    Tucked in bed, Simon wanted to hear about the eel prince again. He liked bloody stories, so this time she embellished. She lingered on how the eel prince’s lazy, deceitful brothers-in-law lopped his head off with the sharp edge of a curved sword, and how blood poured from the eel prince’s body and turned the whole sea red.
    â€œThat’s why it’s the Red Sea,” she said, and felt clever for it. Though the eel prince was from somewhere else, somewhere far. God only knew who she’d first heard the story from. Maybe her father had told her, before he’d left to find another show. Her father went where the cats went; they’d been more his children than she. It might have been Stella, who sold popcorn and grinned out stories through two broken teeth. Maybe Michel had told it to her, when he was lush with booze. Sometimes, on the odd nights she’d spied a man leaving his trailer, he’d ramble until he fell asleep. He liked a story that was equal parts beauty and gore. Books, she hadn’t had books until she’d found Daniel and stopped moving.
    Simon rubbed the edge of the blanket against the bridge of his nose, just like he had as a baby. He probably would still when he was a man. It was still a shock to see her eyes and the shape of her face in a little boy.
    A shadow passed the door. Daniel in the hallway, waiting.
    *   *   *
    She was twelve and sitting on the bumper of the Airstream, pressing her knees together to make them kiss, when Michel told her, “I can’t keep the animals. The money required to feed them, the transport, it’s drowning us. It’s time to admit I run a better carnival than a circus.”
    â€œWhere will we go?”
    â€œA bigger show,” he’d said softy. “A proper circus. Your father will be fine. There are always places for fearless men.”
    There weren’t many places for young girls. Not places that would feel like home.
    â€œI want to stay.”
    â€œGood.” It was a simple word, but held infinite comfort.
    He told her that he’d had to beg her father and offer him an exorbitant amount of money. Later, Paulina learned from Lucia Russo that her father had asked Michel to take care of her, that he’d offered Michel money to keep her, but Michel had refused it. She’d asked Michel why.
    â€œBecause I should have taken better care of your mother,” he said. “And because a man like me doesn’t get to have children. But mostly, because men like me must make our families, and I adore you, little fish.”
    *   *   *
    After the fog of another headache Daniel asked her, “Are the pills not working?” Elbows on the kitchen table, he chewed his lower lip. A line dented his hair above the ears and circled around the back of his head, an invisible crown left by his safety goggles. If she ran her finger over it, she’d have to use the flat or the side to properly feel the shift in the smooth.
    â€œI didn’t take them this time,” she said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI never know how bad it’s going to be. Sometimes it’s just the blind spot, then gone.” It was also good to remember exactly how bad pain could get. Sometimes she deserved it, just a little.
    â€œIt’s irresponsible,” he said.
    She smiled like a cat. “Oh, you know me.” A nipped tongue, a tug on that crimped hair.
    â€œI do, Paulina. I do.”
    In bed, he said, “We’re leaving. We’re getting out of here. I’m sick of the ocean, I’m sick of boats. I’m sick of dirty air.”
    â€œOkay,” she whispered. It was nice, the moments when they both felt restless.
    â€œI’ll sell the boat.”
    â€œIt’s only half yours, and Frank loves that boat. So do you. He won’t want to sell. You don’t want to either,” she