She walked the rest of the way to the dock slowly, already knowing what she’d find when she got there, and sure enough, tacked to the cork notice board at the entrance to the dock was a Sharpie-written note that stated: INTRO TO MARINE ECO’S TURTLE STUDY TRIP HAS BEEN POSTPONED—MEET IN CLASSROOM 128 AT 0900.
Charlotte sighed and glanced at the pretty, waterproof watch Grandma Myrtie had given her last Christmas. It was only 0730. She was early. Very early. “Well, that’s a good thing,” she told herself as she left the empty dock and began to wander along the beach. “Gives me time to relax before class.”
Relax?
Charlotte’s frown changed to a slow smile. She had a towel and a change of clothes in her backpack. And she had plenty of time to get to class. There was no reason why she couldn’t swim a few laps, change, and still make it to class on time.
Feeling lighter just at the thought of being surrounded by water, Charlotte hurried down the beach to a little cove-like indention that was littered with big, black rocks. She tucked her backpack behind one of them and skipped into the water, wading quickly out to where the waves were surging around her waist.
Charlotte drew a deep breath of damp, salty air into her lungs, and let it slowly out. Then she closed her eyes and listened.
She didn’t have to wait long, which surprised her. Usually she had to spend most of the day in the water before she began to hear them, but this day—this magical, windy, wavy day—Charlotte heard them right away.
Within the waves, lifting from deep under the water, the singing voices drifted to her.
The first time Charlotte had heard them she’d been six. She’d told her parents that she didn’t want to be called Charles or Charlie anymore because she wasn’t going to cut her hair ever again. Instead, she wanted it to be long like Mother’s. And she also wanted to wear pink bows in it and a matching pink dress.
At first her father had laughed, and six-year-old Charlotte had laughed with him, not understanding he was laughing at her, not with her.
Her mother hadn’t laughed, but that was no surprise. Caroline Marie Meriwether Davis only laughed when she was at her club with the other members of the United Daughters of the Confederacy—and then only after her second very dry vodka martini.
Charlotte’s mother had tried to shut her daughter up by slapping the sass out of her mouth.
It hadn’t worked.
But that day Charlotte had run to the beach and cried herself to sleep. She’d awakened to find half of her body being gently held by the encroaching tide and the sound of beautiful, harmonizing women’s voices filling her ears.
She’d stayed there, sitting half in, half out of the water, listening to the ocean’s orchestra for the rest of the day.
They’d found her at sunset. Charlotte had tried to tell her parents and the rescue team that she hadn’t heard anyone calling her because she’d been listening to the mermaids singing under the water.
They all said she was lying because no one heard the singing except Charlotte. No one ever heard the singing except Charlotte.
And now the mermaid chorus lifted alluringly from the turbulent waves, reflecting the passion that filled the ocean as it entered hurricane season.
Eyes still closed, Charlotte began humming with the ethereal voices, trying to catch words as she always did—and as always, she could hear melodies, but when she tried to isolate voices and words, they slid away from her like waves returning to the ocean.
“Bastien, dude! I’m bailing! It’s a bomb. No way I can handle that!”
The rough male voice intruded, first fragmenting and then destroying the mermaid voices. Annoyed, Charlotte opened her eyes to see a young guy trudging to shore not far from her. Tethered to his wrist was a long surfboard that bobbed along behind him. He wasn’t paying any attention to Charlotte. All of his attention was focused out on the water.
Charlotte followed his gaze to see that an enormous wave had formed and was growing, gaining momentum and height, as it roared toward shore. From the center of that wave, in the pretty, curling part that Charlotte thought looked like a lovely water tunnel, a surfer shot into view. He was balancing like a dancer, making it look effortless. His dark hair was blowing behind him. He was tall and his muscular chest glistened with water and sweat—and he was grinning as if he was having the best time in his life.
“Whoo-hoo! It’s a double overhead, dude! Bastien, you’re killing it!” The second guy had made it to the beach and was shouting at the surfer through cupped hands.
Charlotte didn’t even glance at him. She couldn’t take her eyes from the surfer. He kept riding and riding the huge wave as it got closer and closer to shore. She could see his eyes now, and was shocked by their brilliant turquoise color—a color that reminded her strangely of her own.
The wave kept coming and coming … until finally the surfer gracefully stepped off his board and onto the beach as his friend clapped and hooted for him. The surfer turned then, and bowed to the ocean, as if he was thanking it for the ride.
When he straightened he turned, and his eyes met Charlotte’s.
She saw him hesitate and even stumble for a second as another wave smacked against him, but he righted himself quickly and nodded to her in a very Southern, very gentlemanly way—something Grandma Myrtie would definitely have approved of.
“Hello, cher.”
His voice was deep and rich. And Charlotte thought his accent was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
“Good mornin’,” Charlotte spoke automatically.
“Aren’t you sweet. Douces comme du miel. I’m Bastien. And this here’s my podna, Dickie.”