“Have a seat . . .”
“Merrick.”
The officer wrote down his name, then proceeded to ask him a series of questions before Merrick’s rear even hit the chair.
“We need you to fill out a statement before you leave since you’re eighteen,” the officer explained after Merrick had given his last name and date of birth. His phone buzzed in his pocket. That would be Nikki. Again. Wondering where he’d disappeared to.
“Now, did you know the woman who committed suicide this evening?”
Suicide. A word Merrick had heard too often recently. The way the officer said it, so matter-of-factly, caught Merrick off guard. Maybe it wouldn’t have if his sister hadn’t attempted it three days before. Or maybe it was that no one ever talked about this kind of stuff. Not until it happened to them.
“No, I didn’t.”
“What happened? In your own words. Take your time.”
Merrick leaned back in his chair and blew a puff of air through his lips. He blinked up at the fluorescent light overhead and ran through the events, frame by frame, in his mind. Then he leaned forward, hung his clasped hands between his knees, and told the officer everything.
Had it only been a couple hours since he held a lifeless girl in his arms?
The sun had barely set when he left his hotel that afternoon, the lingering scent of salted sea air before him.
Merrick hadn’t intended to end up here, exactly. And he certainly hadn’t planned to stay more than one night. But somehow, after wandering around the small beach town’s historic area of shops and restaurants that first day, he’d found his way to the shoreline. The same shoreline where he spent so many summers as a child. It had been years since his family came for a season here. They used to come the weekend after school let out.
Those summers were the best. Merrick and Amaya and Mom. His father would come on weekends, only to be pulled away for work by noon on Saturday. Then he’d commute back to the city, Bluetooth glued to his ear.
Watching him drive away brought Merrick true relief.
He’d wished Hiroshi would never come back.
Merrick glanced at his phone. One missed call from Amaya. He made sure to call her each day since he left the city. He tapped on her name and pressed Call.
“Hey, dork,” she said after one ring. “Still MIA?”
He shook his head. The girl was ten going on twenty-two. “I told you, I needed to clear my mind. You’re still in the hospital a few more days, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Dad says I have to stay until Doctor What’s-His-Name with the black hair who totally looks like Professor Snape, FYI, says I’m free to go.”
Merrick laughed and a weight lifted. She was already her normal self. He needed to get back before Maya was sent home. He’d be there for that. Then together they’d work out a plan to find Mom and start over.
Dad not required.
“Where are you, anyway?” Maya asked, as she had each day since he left. He could hear the noise of some television show in the background.
She’d sense a lie in a second. He exhaled. “Remember that beach town Mom used to take us to as kids?”
“The one where Mom and Dad met?”
“That’s the one.”
“That’s like . . .” He could almost see her doing the math in her head. “Two hours south of here.”
“Do you think this is where she came? Harold said he followed her to a bus station.”
“Harold who?” Amaya asked. “Does he have a purple crayon?”
Her reference to the children’s book reminded Merrick how young she was.
“Funny, but no. He’s Dad’s new chauffeur. Drove me and Mom to the hospital the night—” He cut himself off. “Do you think Mom could have come here?”
“I don’t know.” Maya got quiet. The TV chatter ceased. “Maybe.”
“Don’t worry, Maya. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find Mom. I’m sure she would have taken us with her if Dad hadn’t threatened her.”
“You heard him threaten her?”
He toed the sand with his shoe. “Well, no, but c’mon. Mom wouldn’t leave. Dad probably blamed her for what happened to you.” Why did he feel he needed to defend himself to his little sister?
“Um, I have to go,” she said. “The nurse is here to check my vitals. Don’t be gone too long, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
She hung up first, then Merrick hit End. The conversation left him hollow. Amaya wasn’t defending their father. She knew what kind of man Hiroshi was. They both did.
Merrick took off his shoes and walked down the beach. Trees, a playground, and a few fallen logs cluttered the area. Driftwood used as makeshift benches added to the laid-back feel. The place was mostly abandoned this time of year. His favorite spot would be his for the taking.
It took him longer than it should have to find the old abandoned rowboat he used to play in as a boy. The sun was setting when Merrick climbed inside and sat, picturing the days he and his best friend, Nigel Grimsby, had played pirates. He and Grim hadn’t spoken or seen each other in years. Merrick hadn’t thought much about the guy until now. Did he and his family still spend summers here?
Their mothers had grown up together. Merrick used to call Grim’s mom “Aunt Ashley,” even though they weren’t related. There had also been a woman his mom worked for when she was younger, but Merrick had never met her. What was her name?
Man. The past was getting to him, as if it had been stored right here in this boat, waiting for him to peruse it like an old photo album.
Would Aunt Ashley be able to give him clues about his mom’s past? Or maybe that older woman still lived here. If he could track them down, he might be able to uncover some clues. His dad wasn’t giving anything away, and Merrick had already spent the previous day stalking his mom’s social media. She didn’t have any living relatives that he was aware of, and her city friends were more like convenient acquaintances. None of them knew the real Lyn. Not in the way Merrick did.
He pulled out his great-grandfather’s—Ojii-Chan’s—old harmonica as the sky turned a deep night blue. He messed around with a few chords until he got into his own rhythm. Merrick didn’t care much for jazz or the blues. He preferred to play his own songs, as his great-grandfather had taught him.
He sat that way for a while, playing the instrument Ojii-Chan once said was the most American thing he’d ever owned. An ache grew inside him. Merrick missed his great-grandparents. They were gone before he could learn all he’d wanted to from them. He was only ten the year they died, first Ojii-Chan, then Oba-Chan—his great-grandmother—shortly after. They had been married fifty-one years. They came to the States from Japan together, raising Hiroshi as their own after his mother was killed in a car crash. The man had never known his American father, who left before Hiroshi was born.
The harmonica turned cold between Merrick’s fingers. He paused, took a breath, then out of nowhere, fireworks blew up the sky above him. How could he forget? This place had fireworks for every holiday. He’d only ever seen the ones on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, but these weren’t much different. New Year’s Eve was three nights ago. Had the festivities been delayed by the storm?
The ocean’s surface came alive. Merrick blinked. Two figures—a girl and a woman—stood waist deep in the water maybe fifteen feet out.