Mermaid: A Novel

By Jessica Cushman

When beer drinking, joy seeking Tessa Ryan turns up missing on the last night of a Key West vacation, only the police seem concerned.

Jack Hough, her workaholic boyfriend (or fiancé, depending upon who's asked) is irritated, believing she ran off to prove a point. Nick, her long-suffering brother, is pissed. He thinks Tessa took off on another impromptu adventure. Paris again?

Soon, the woman Jack thought he knew has morphed into a perplexing stranger with more secrets than he can keep track of and Jack realizes a missed business meeting is the least of his problems.

As hours turn to days and questions reopen old wounds, answers become critical to those who thought they knew her best. Is Tessa truly a self-centered hedonist off to find her next dose of fun or has something sinister happened to the free spirited woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Cushman
• Release date: Aug 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393654223

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jack

APRIL 7th, 2014

From the journal of Tessa Ryan:

I went to church once. God was not there. But the pastor was. Pastor Dave.

I asked him to help me believe. To help me find Him.

He was kind, offered to pray with me. I went along with it because it was the least I could do. Kindness in return for kindness. But I still did not find God.

God.

Every day I talk to Him. Talk, not pray. To me praying is what you do when you believe, and talking is what you do if you want to believe. I need proof of this God that loves us so much, and the sun rising and setting isn’t it. That’s science. Is God, like beauty, in the eye of the beholder? Am I just not seeing, or is there nothing to see? Am I wrong to want proof, to need a sign that there is more to this existence than dumb luck and happenstance? I want to believe. I WANT to believe. But I’ve got so many reasons not to.

Pastor Dave said to love is to have found God.

If that’s the case, I’m screwed.

TESSA WAS GONE.

Jack stopped in the doorway, unable to commit to coming in or going out. Uncertainty was both an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling for him. He looked over the deck railing to the burnished-gold sand and jade sea beyond. Dawn had already given way to late morning.

And still, there was no sign of her.

Time was a merciless bitch, wasn’t she? Not resting for a moment, forcing you to dance to her beat. Today she was moving in unnerving spurts. How was it already 10:13? Hadn’t he just lay down to sleep? It seemed only seconds ago he’d reached across the bed and realized the left side was cold and empty.

Everything seemed to be functioning but him. The AC hummed, the ice maker clicked and clanked, the lighthouse-shaped clock ticked methodically. The house went on. It buzzed and beeped and made house noises, but there were no human sounds. No warm, fleshy people noise.

No Tessa sounds.

He sat on the couch and ground his palms into his eyes.

Was this even real? Maybe he was still sleeping, and Tessa was snug against his side taking up more than her share of the bed. As usual.

His hand drifted to the empty cushion next to him. Like the bed this morning, it was cool to the touch. But it was the lack of music that convinced him more than anything. Tessa equaled music. Whatever this was, it was no dream. It was as real as the cushion under his hand.  

He couldn’t find her.

Jack sighed, let his chin sag to his chest for a brief moment, then picked up the phone. An image of glistening rose-pink lips spread in a full smile flashed through his mind. The plane was scheduled to leave at twelve-thirty. It would be leaving two people behind. His hand trembled as he punched in the first number.  

Chapter 2

Nick

JUNE 6th, 2014

From the journal of Tessa Ryan:

My mother (and I use that term loosely) raised emotional heathens. When your role model hides in her bedroom ninety percent of the time and is alternately drunk and incoherent or bitter and mute, there’s very little human emotion to emulate. Thank goodness for school (NEVER thought I’d write those words!). But, by the time I was of school age, the damage had been done. I was an emotional cripple. Who would I have been had I not been her daughter? Someone that could receive a hug without the uncomfortable feeling of playing pretend, I think.

I remember one morning when I was six, we were in the kitchen before heading to school. I’m not sure why we were in there—it wasn’t to eat breakfast since we always got the free breakfast at school. That morning they were serving pancakes with peanut butter, and I was so excited for it. It had been gray and snowy out, and we had yet to put our coats on. As kids will do, we somehow got to messing around and were playing silent karate in the kitchen. We could make all the fancy kicks and chops we wanted to, but we couldn’t let out a single sound, not even one hiyah. Then Nick tried to do a kick as high as his head, and his socked feet slipped on the linoleum. As he crashed to the ground, I couldn’t help my six-year-old self, and I laughed out loud. We froze. For ten seconds we stood there, waiting, waiting, waiting, praying she hadn’t heard.

But she had.

She didn’t even bother to come out of her room. She just cracked her bedroom door open a few inches, and her hand shot out. I remember seeing a flash, almost like the sun had come out and reflected briefly on something, and then there was a loud shattering sound followed by the sound of her door slamming shut.

Our three heads turned at the same time to look at the mess the glass ashtray had made when it broke against the stove. Glass and ash and butts littered the already dinged up linoleum, and a new fist-sized dent marred the oven door. None of that mattered to me. What mattered was that I had gotten us in trouble. I remember opening my mouth, maybe to say sorry, maybe to ask if we should clean it up, when she shouted, Get your fucking asses to school, through her bedroom door, and you better believe we gladly went.

Before puberty hit, before Guess jeans and Tommy Hilfiger equaled your worth, before cliques and lonely lunches hiding in the bathroom, school had been sanctuary.

And then it became like everything else.

IT WAS A PERFECT NIGHT for sitting on the front porch swing. The air was clean and crisp and as still as the mountains around him. His little section of Northern California sky had to have more stars in it than the entire state. Even the mosquitos were scarce.

But still, Nick was annoyed. Pissed really. And tequila wasn’t fixing the problem.

Wish I could have one.

Nick kept his eyes on the star-riddled sky for a second longer than was kind before looking at Caroline. She stood hesitantly on the threshold, eyeing the glass in his hand.

You were an Absolut girl. He patted the empty seat next to him and held the swing steady as she settled in.

"I still am an Absolut girl. Just on hiatus. I plan to celebrate with a cosmopolitan once this little rug rat is out." She smiled and patted her belly.

Nick turned his face back up to the sky.

Too hot to sleep? Caroline asked, her hand flitting briefly over his hair.

No. Tessa.  

Ah. Crickets owned the night for a moment, then Caroline said, You’re worried about her. A pause. She’s a big girl, you know.

I’m not worried.

Nick’s sleeplessness had nothing to do with worry. It was irritation at his flighty sister that kept him awake. So, here he sat on the porch swing, drinking and wishing for a forbidden-upon-pain-of-death cigarette. Leave it to his dear sister to get that craving fired up again.

Well, she’s got you frowning at the moon for some reason. Spill it.

Same shit as always. Drama.

Nick loved his sister, no doubt there, but at times, he didn’t really like her. Nick was ashamed to admit it, but there it was. Sometimes he didn’t like his sister.

Yes, she can be dramatic and fickle and has a tendency to make life-changing decisions in the blink of an eye . . .

Such as relocating to the Midwest with no warning? And with little to no planning Nick had later found out.

But she loves you like crazy, and she’s going to be a wonderful aunt to our baby. Caroline gave him a look. You said her moving away was good for both of you.

Yeah. Nick knew that now. She’s happier.

And you?

Nick stood and set the swing to a gentle sway. Of course, honey.

They stared at each other across the yawning width of porch. Caroline swung, Nick leaned against the pristine white railing, each silently daring the other.

Caroline swerved first. She has Jack. He’s a good guy.

He’s all right. So far Jack had been good for Tessa, but Nick didn’t really know the man. 

Then what’s the problem? Did they break up?

There is no problem.

‘No problem’ has you drinking tequila at one in the morning? Caroline folded her arms under her breasts and settled in.

It’s nothing. Tessa left me a voicemail this afternoon.

Nick had been waist-deep in a hole in the middle of Highway 70 at the time and hadn’t listened to it until he’d gotten off work at six. After he’d listened to it, he wished he hadn’t. The message wasn’t bad, it was just goddamned dramatic, very old Tessa-like.

And?

And I’ve tried calling her back several times. Nothing.

Was she upset in the message?

No.

What did she say?

I can’t remember. Just saying hi, I guess.

Nick knew the message verbatim by now, having listened to it several times. He replayed it in his head as Caroline stared at him. He recalled Tessa’s deep, slightly nasally voice as clear as if she had been sitting next to him:

Hey big Brother, you’re probably working. I always forget about the damn time difference. She paused and let out an exaggeratedly long sigh. Anyway, I was just calling to say I love you. A short bark of laughter followed that. Me and Stevie, you know? Another pause and Nick could hear the distinct crack and hiss of a beer being opened before she started talking again. Do you ever wonder how well you can know someone? Like, really know them? It’s something to think about. By the way, quit worrying, you are going to be a great father. Anyway, I’ve gotta go, the ocean is calling my name. Call me later. Love ya.

There the call ended.

A message you can’t even remember has you worried?

I told you. Nick returned to the bench and tucked a stray blond strand behind Caroline’s ear. I’m not worried, just irritated. She could at least text me back.

Nick had called four times, sent seven text messages, and gotten no response. He assumed the knowing someone part was a hint that she and Jack had broken up. He was disappointed for her, for both of them really, but not completely surprised. Tessa could be a handful, and Jack had seemed a little too levelheaded to handle his wild sister.

She’s fine, Jack is fine. Let’s go to bed. You’ll probably wake up to thirty texts from her.

He looked at his phone. It was three-fifteen in Davenport. He drained the last of the tequila, tapped the empty glass on the wooden arm rest to no particular rhythm as the moon grew brighter in the sky, and then followed his sleepy wife into the house. All the while he wondered where Tessa was this time, because there sure as shit wasn’t any ocean in Davenport, Iowa.

Chapter 3

Jack

AUGUST 23rd, 2015

From the journal of Tessa Ryan:

I met a man today. Or yesterday. Whatever. A strangely lonely man. I don’t think he even knew he was lonely, if that makes any sense. I imagine it’s like a person born without eyesight. How can you miss something you never had? Lucky for him, I knew it.

He’s married, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Okay, lie, I do know how I feel about that. Not good. Not guilty, but not good. It’s more like, I feel bad that a relationship could deteriorate so badly, and I feel worried. Is that what’s in store for all of us? Thirty years of suffering through an unloving, unfulfilling marriage until death do you part? Is that what marriage is? A game of chicken where the last spouse standing gets to move on and live the life they dreamed of? Gets a chance to find the passion and love they dreamed of? That is sad as shit. And why do we have such strict ideas about how relationships should be anyway? Why can’t we romantically love more than one person at the same time? It’s not like we’re supposed to love only one family member at a time or one friend at a time. The restrictions we put on ourselves are so stifling. Why do we make ourselves suffer for such archaic ideals? Sorry, I digress. I will store this topic on the soapbox shelf for a later date. I’ll leave it at this: Leslie says I don’t understand the power of monogamy because I’ve never been in love, and I cannot disagree with that.

Side note: Sometimes I think love is a brainwashing job on a global scale and everyone’s drunk the Kool-Aid but me. Just thought I’d throw that out there.

He’s afraid he’ll never experience the adventure and excitement of youth again, that he’ll wither away into irrelevance and then die. Like Lovesong, by The Cure, I will make him feel like he is fun again.

Why you might ask? Why try to help a philandering stranger? Because he sees me. It’s been forever since I’ve been seen. I thought I was invisible, like a painting that’s been hanging for so long nobody notices it anymore. I exist again.

JACK HEARD THE CAR door shut from where he sat on the deck stairs. He stayed there for a moment, staring at the sand that was randomly whorled and sprinkled and clumped on the lower two steps. There was perfection in the randomness—the tiny particles transferred so precisely by careless feet and myriad acts of nature to create this exact mosaic. Her feet would have been instrumental in creating the masterpiece before him. He reluctantly stood, jumping over the last two steps to land in the already-hot sand. A brief twinge seared through his left knee, an age-old injury coming to call. When he rounded the corner, a cop was standing next to the car looking over the rear of the house, hands casually resting on his belt.

Jackson Hough? His voice was smooth and calm, as if he were selling cookbooks. He also didn’t seem to be sweating in spite of the ninety-degree temperature and eighty-percent humidity. His tan uniform was still starched and dry. Jack looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower and declined a towel.

Um, Jack, yes. Jack shifted, unsure if he should try to shake the officer’s hand or put his hands in the air. He settled on slowly sliding them into his pockets.  

I’m Officer Barks. Do you live here? The name Barks immediately brought to mind the cartoon crime dog of his youth. There was a pun in the making, but he found his humor well dry.

We’re renting it. It’s a VRBO. My girlfriend . . . Jack paused, simply thinking her name made him feel twitchy. Tessa and I are, but I guess were is more accurate now. We’re supposed to leave today.

Officer Barks walked closer and removed his sunglasses, an action for which Jack was inordinately grateful. Staring at himself in the reflective lenses had made him feel like he was still asleep and in the midst of a nightmare. The cop looked Jack over, eyes lingering on his bare feet.

Dispatch said someone was missing. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Pen poised over notepad, he waited for Jack to talk, as if he had all the time in the world.

"We went to bed late, around midnight. Tessa wanted to stay up and enjoy the place as long as possible, you know? Since we’re leaving today and all. Tessa loves the ocean. For the first time Jack felt his throat close up, embarrassment and consternation trying to rob him of words. If she had her way, every vacation would be by the ocean."

Okay, bed at midnight. Was that the last time you saw her?

Barks scratched in his notebook, and Jack wanted to do something—anything—to change the bland, professional look on the officer’s face. Maybe if he pulled his hands out of his pockets and shouted gun, Officer Barks’s calm facade might chip a little. Jack shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

Yes. We went to bed together around midnight, maybe a few minutes after. I woke up around four and realized her side of the bed was empty. Jack remembered it had been cold too. Nothing in the Keys was ever cold. Everything was hot and damp with humidity, but Tessa’s side of the bed had had an abnormal coolness to it. A coolness that Jack could not shake from his fingertips. It lingered there with a low electric hum. But I wasn’t worried. I figured she went back out, to sit by the ocean. One last look, you know? I was driving—supposed to be driving—today so I went back to sleep. When I woke up around seven, she still wasn’t in bed. 

Officer Barks paused in his writing. You went back to sleep for three hours? he asked, staring at his notepad.

Yes. Jack felt a muscle in his jaw twitch.

And you recall no disturbances during this time? he asked, still not looking up at Jack.

Nothing woke me up, if that’s what you’re asking. Jack shifted from foot to foot. Those last three hours he had slept the soundest he had the entire trip. I only woke up because my alarm went off.

Okay. The officer looked directly at him. When you woke up, did you go look for her? 

Jack stiffened. Of course. I searched the house first, and then walked down the beach each way. No sign of her. Her cell was still sitting on the counter, so that wasn’t an option. I waited around for a while hoping she’d show up . . . Jack paused, thinking back to those two hours during which time slowly drained away to what should have been their checkout time. By ten-thirty, the conclusion had been inevitable. Purposeful or not, she wasn’t coming back. Then I called the police.

In the re-telling of it, his efforts seemed lackluster at best, lazy at worst.  

You say all of her stuff is still here?

Jack nodded absently. His mind was distracted by the memory of the blood and the plump, pink-tinged drops of water falling, splashing, into the stainless steel sink. Fall, splash, fall, splash, down they came, strangely beautiful in their landing, like an unfurling rose. Everything about Tessa was beautiful.

Yes, all of her stuff is here. He didn’t know that for a fact, but he couldn’t say for sure something was missing either. The woman had brought enough luggage for a month, how could he tell if one bag was missing?

Can we take a look? Officer Barks pointed with his notepad, indicating the house.

We. As if they were in this together. Jack unclenched his jaw and led the officer around the side of the sunny yellow house. House was a stretch, but the raised bungalow had been heaven for a few days.

Jack skipped the first three steps and led the officer into the house. He stopped and turned in the middle of the open-plan kitchen, dining, and living area, sighing in relief at the artificially cold air. The officer stopped too, on the screened-in front porch, staring out to sea. Waves washed the shore with soft rhythmic strokes, leaving dark crescent shapes carved on the brushed-gold sandy canvas. The water changed color from light sea green to turquoise to a deep royal blue before becoming a glistening navy along the horizon. That far out to sea the ocean seemed so still it could have been solid concrete sprinkled with diamonds. Tessa had called it a dance floor for aquatic royalty.  

Beautiful view. I could see not wanting to leave, Officer Barks commented as he stepped inside and closed the door. If he felt relief from the AC unit churning away, he didn’t show it.

Jack thought back to the conversation just two days prior that had taken place on that very porch. Tessa had been rambling on about looking for jobs in the area while they were here. She had thought if they loved it so much for vacation, why not make it their life? Jack hadn’t had the balls to tell her that it wasn’t for him. He had laughed off the conversation as pipe dream talk and ended it with a blithe maybe someday comment. He was almost certain the shimmer in her eyes had been a trick of the light.

What makes you think she didn’t want to leave?

The cop looked at Jack, a peculiar expression on his face. Just a guess. You said she loves the ocean, and this is a beautiful view.

Barks walked farther into the house and gazed around. Jack tried to follow his gaze to see if he focused on anything in particular, something Jack may have missed.

Got a picture?

Jack started. He forced his eyes away from Tessa’s cell phone and back to the cop. Of Tessa?

"Yes, of Tessa. She is the missing individual, correct?"

Jack felt himself flush. Christ, he needed to get his shit together. He’d assisted with the birthing of farm animals since the age of eleven. Surely he could handle one wayward girlfriend. He dug his phone out of his pocket and brought up a picture. Tessa’s wide smile flashed back at him. With the sun shining on her dark curls and her eyes squinting against the glare, happiness seemed to radiate from the phone, warming his hand. He quickly handed it to the officer, barely suppressing the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. 

Barks looked at it for a long while before handing it back. Where were you sleeping?

Jack pointed left. There’s a master bedroom with an attached bath. That’s where we slept, but she put her clothes and suitcases in there, he said, pointing to the right of the living area, so we wouldn’t be so crowded.

The officer walked through the house, occasionally scribbling in his notepad. Jack stayed rooted in the middle of the living room, his memory flashing him pictures of Tessa against his will. Flash: Tessa, kneeling in the sand, a sweating Dos Equis in one hand, the other hand a sandy mess as she tried to build a sandcastle with no tools. Flash: Tessa, eyes wide as she grabbed for her loose bikini top just as a wave tried to knock her off balance. Flash: Tessa, back facing the camera, sitting on a beach chair in the middle of the surf, waves splashing up around her, hair in a high ponytail, slim neck turned to dark bronze under the intense sun. He could see the soft curve of her shoulders so clearly, decorated with sand and water droplets and sunshine, that he lifted a hand to touch her. Flash: Blackness, and she was gone.

Pardon me? Officer Barks appeared at the doorway of the second bedroom, eyebrow raised in question.

What? Jack stared at the officer, frustrated and relieved to have the unwelcome slideshow come to an end.

You said, ‘Quit it.’

I was just thinking out loud, I guess.

You looked through her stuff and believe nothing is missing? No clothing, no piece of luggage?

"Yes, I already said that. Nothing appears to be missing. I don’t know every item of clothing she brought, but no bag is missing, so if she packed up and left, she put her stuff in a garbage bag or something." If Barks noticed his mounting frustration, he didn’t let on. Jack felt the urge to say or do something outlandish, just to get a response, grow.

Where do you think Tessa is?

I . . . I don’t know. She’s probably sitting on the beach right now or on the end of a pier, wondering when I’m going to find her. Wondering how pissed I am.

You think she took off, but you still called the police?

It’s also possible she went for a late-night walk and maybe had an accident, twisted her ankle or something. Or met up with someone who wasn’t friendly. We’re wasting time here playing twenty questions when she could be in trouble.

All of which happened after you went to bed together around midnight? The officer said, consulting his notepad.

Yes. Maybe. Tessa loves the ocean.

Officer Barks stopped poking around to give Jack a long look. Do you have reason to believe there were unfriendlies wandering around here last night? he asked.

No. Jack lifted his hands palms up. But what else could it be?

You just said she might have left of her own free will.

Jack kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t doing himself or Tessa any favors at the moment.

Her wallet is still here?

Yes. Jack sighed and pointed to the sit-at counter that separated the kitchen from the dining and living space. Right where she left it yesterday. He shook his numb feet one at a time and followed as the officer walked into the kitchen area. Barks stopped and looked around, observing but not touching, his pen tap-tap-tapping against the notepad.

What time were you scheduled to fly out? he asked, looking over the kitchen like he was planning to buy the place.

Twelve-thirty. Jack looked at the lighthouse happily ticking away. So, in twenty minutes, he added.

They would have been landing in Atlanta soon. They had a two-hour layover, which he was okay with because there was a bar he wanted to try. A coworker had told him they had the best Bloody Marys. Tessa had bitched that layovers took time away from being on the beach. Hurry up and get to the airport just to wait and wait and wait, she had complained. All that time could have been spent on the beach. Jack rubbed his eyes. Any minute she was going to show up, having fallen asleep on the beach somewhere. They’d rebook tickets, and he’d yell at her for costing them money. They’d get home, have makeup sex, and everything would be fine. They’d go to work in the morning, and life would tick along just as happily as that stupid fucking clock. 

Is this blood in the sink?

Jack jerked his gaze from the clock. He had to swallow twice before he could speak.

Uh, yes. I mean possibly. She cut herself, making dinner. It was pretty bad . . . He trailed off as Officer Barks closed his notepad and walked toward him. We ended up eating cheese and crackers.

Mr. Hough, we typically wait forty-eight hours before looking into an adult missing person report, but given the situation—you guys supposed to be flying out today and all—I’m going to call some units in to do a quick search. How does that sound to you?

Jack felt like he was mocking and testing him at the same time. No answer he gave would be correct. He nodded and stumbled out the door to sit on the front porch, the heat and humidity the least of his concerns at the moment.

He had another call to make.

Chapter 4

Nick

DECEMBER 4th, 2014

From the journal of Tessa Ryan:

Paris. A beautiful, exciting city, forever tainted. For me at least.

I could never explain why I went there. At least not in a way that would make sense to anyone. So, I let people think I was just a frivolous, selfish girl who had acted on a whim. It was easier that way. The truth is I went because I couldn’t not go.

Well, that certainly cleared things up, right?

January of 2005 was bitterly cold. Now I find January to always be cold, but not always bitter. This one was both. I was living in Davenport, Iowa, by then, alone and infinitely lonely. My roommate was away for the weekend, and I was left to tend my mind. The relief of the workweek being over wore off quickly that Friday night. That alone should have been a sign to me. I live for the weekend. I was too antsy to sit and watch TV.