Shimmer

By Brinda Berry

A heartbroken boy rescues a beautiful girl from drowning...but can he really save her? 

Draven isn't looking for a summer fling. Coral doesn't need attachments. But sometimes the riptide of attraction grabs us and pulls us under.

If you're a fan of The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson and other poignant tales, you'll like this story. If not, please take this as a warning. Sometimes, life is gritty.

This story is a novella first published in the anthology, LORE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweet Biscuit Publishing LLC
• Release date: Mar 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781533765840

Book preview

Shimmer

Shimmer

Brinda Berry

Sweet Biscuit Publishing LLC

Contents

Copyright

Also by Brinda Berry

Shimmer

High Tide

Secrets

Rendezvous

A Mer Ring

Shimmer

The Waiting Booth

The Waiting Booth

Also by Brinda Berry

About the Author

Copyright ©2014 by Brinda Berry

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without written permission.

SHIMMER is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copy Edited by Lori Whitwam

Shimmer

by Brinda Berry

She laughed and danced with the thought of death in her heart. 

― Hans Christian Andersen

High Tide

Draven Manning watched the naked female wade into the inky waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Silent as a hermit crab, he sat on the sand hidden by tall sea oats and studied her petite body, long hair thickly draped to the waist. She held a backpack, an odd addition to her nakedness, which she dropped on the sand. He could have loudly cleared his throat or walked back up to the house. But he didn’t.

Not that he was a total creeper. She’d appeared from nowhere like some magical mist formed in a female shape. The wind lifted strands of her hair away from her body increasing the otherworldly feel of the scene.

He continued to watch and acknowledged that wishing he could see better or had binoculars did fall into creeper territory. His friends always talked about what a nice guy he was. Maybe he didn’t want to be a nice guy.

Being the nice guy had landed him here in this tiny Gulf Coast town with his dad for the summer. He had no choice, because he couldn’t stand to look at the people he’d trusted. They had betrayed him, and he’d pretended it was no big deal. He lowered his forehead to his bent knees and pulled air into his lungs. A deep exhale steadied the shaking. He was eighteen, not eight. It was time to man up. Move on with life. Forget what had happened and quit feeling sorry for himself.

For a week, he’d strolled the beach by himself. In the daylight hours, families cluttered the sand so he waited for nightfall. He always returned to this spot on the sand to sit and think. He could’ve sat on the deck with the same view, but that’s where his dad always sat and smoked cigars.

His dad would already be in bed at this hour.

The girl swam farther and farther out to sea. Her moonlight swim went beyond his seeing range. She was far enough out that he couldn’t tell if a glint on the water might be her head or a fish or a buoy. She had to be an excellent swimmer.

Clouds moved across the moon to dim his view of her even more. A gust of wind blew sand into his face. He jumped from his spot and ran, his bare feet pounding on the packed sand. He saw the crashing wave deliver her body to shoreline and teasingly pull her back. Why hadn’t he noticed that she was in trouble?

He stomped into the chilly ocean. Shit. His jeans sucked up the water and clung to his legs. Shit, shit, shit. Waves pushed against his thighs, whipping him off balance until he braced himself for the tide.

She floated face down with her hair billowing out in thin tentacles. He grabbed her upper arms, flipped her body, and pulled her to shore. Her lower body dragged in the sand, so he picked her up. She probably didn’t weigh much, but her limp body sagged as he carried her like a sleeping child.

Out from the tide’s reach, he placed her on the sand and pressed two fingers against her neck. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. But not breathing, either. He couldn’t remember the steps. His heart slapped against his chest like paper caught in moving bicycle spokes. People learned CPR just in case. He never expected to actually need it. He squeezed his eyes shut, heard Coach Vorlosky’s calm instructions, visualized each step, and began chest compressions.

One push, two, three, four…one push a second how many times? Maybe thirty. He’d barely passed the test and wished he’d paid more attention. You better not die. I’ve had a shitty week. Come on, come on. Her head lolled to the side. He grabbed her chin, tilted her head back, pinched her nose, covered her mouth with his and blew.

He hovered above her mouth to see if she breathed. Strands of long, dark hair draped over her face. He brushed the hair out of the way and started again. On his fifth round of administering CPR, he glanced around for help, which wouldn’t happen at 2:00 a.m. on a deserted strip of beach in the middle of nowhere.

Her loud gasp, sounding like the reverse of a balloon losing air, startled him.

She turned her head to the side and coughed out water. What… She coughed again.…do you think you’re doing?

He barely heard her. The girl must be out of her mind, which would explain why she thought a night swim by herself was