A sliver of moon hung high in the twilight sky, bathing the ocean with silvery light. Stars were already visible, glittering like diamonds against soft velvet. Max stood and leaned against the deck’s railing, taking it all in.
How had he stayed away from the Carolina coast for so long? And why?
The fact that he had no substantive answers to those questions made his gut churn. After college and graduate school, he’d just gotten so caught up in his career that one year turned into two, two into three, and so on. But this was where it had all started—right here on this tiny, precious island. And just like sea turtles always returned to their birthplace to lay their eggs, Max had found his way back to where he belonged.
Did he belong, though? The jury was still out on that. Nearly drowning before he’d unpacked a single moving box or set eyes on his uncle didn’t seem like a good sign.
Max sighed and raked a hand through his hair, salty and damp from his impromptu swim. It was too late for regrets. The deed was done. Surely things would seem more normal in the morning. What he needed most right now was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
He turned to open the sliding glass door and step inside the weathered beach house, but just as he grabbed hold of the door handle, his gaze snagged on a flash of white in his periphery. Max squinted in the semi-darkness and realized it was a dog. Not just any dog—thedog.
“Ursula?” Max said.
The little spaniel’s tail waved back and forth. She was standing on the deck of the beach cottage situated right next door, watching Max through the white lattice trim of his neighbor’s deck.
It had to be the same dog, right? What were the odds of an island the size of Turtle Beach having two of those fancy toy-sized spaniels?
Max snorted. As dog-crazy as this place was, there was no telling. He walked toward the railing, hoping to get a better look, but the little dog turned away and trotted through the open French doors of the other beach cottage and disappeared.
Max told himself he didn’t care one way or another if he lived next door to Ursula, but that night he dreamt he was underwater again. Sea foam and kelp danced around him as he tried to follow a bale of sea turtles, their flippers moving through the eerie darkness like graceful angels’ wings. Beside him, just beyond his reach, was a mermaid. Her long hair danced in the water, obscuring her face. Max couldn’t tell whether or not she wasthemermaid.Hismermaid. She seemed to grow fainter and fainter the closer he got to her, until he finally woke up in a cold sweat.
Max chugged a cup of black coffee from his uncle’s ancient percolator and tried to shake off the dream. He was losing it. For starters, sea turtles rarely if ever swam in groups. And mermaids were definitely not real, recent events notwithstanding.
He threw on a pair of khakis and a light blue oxford shirt, grabbed the keys to his uncle’s Jeep, and headed down the steps of the deck toward the gravel driveway, more than ready for a face-to-face with Henry. The automobile was old enough to be considered vintage, with a stick shift that required serious elbow grease. After stalling out a few times as he backed out onto the street, Max snuck a glance at the cottage next door and saw the Cavalier King Charles pup watching him from an upstairs window. Max wrestled the Jeep into first gear and looked away.
Mere minutes later, he knocked on the door of Uncle Henry’s new residence at the Turtle Beach Senior Center. Henry’s room was located just off the main lobby, where Max had passed a group of retirees who’d seemed to be gathering for some sort of exercise class. The shivering Chihuahua from the dog beach was nestled inside the basket of one of their walkers. Why did Max feel like he was being stalked by random canines?
“Max!” Uncle Henry looked him up and down as he swung the door open. He was exactly how Max remembered him—powder-white hair, eyes full of laughter, and a face weathered from a lifetime of island living.
The only thing missing was the scent of Captain Black cherry pipe tobacco. Henry had given up smoking a while back, but the sweet, aromatic scent had burrowed into the pine wood paneling of the beach cottage years ago. The absence of it here in Henry’s new home was startling to Max.
As was the sight of a turquoise yoga mat rolled up and tucked beneath his uncle’s arm.
“You made it. Good. Good.” Henry nodded. “I’m glad you stopped by, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to visit. Class starts in just a few minutes.”
Uncle Henry stepped into the hallway, shut the door behind him, and began hustling toward the lobby.
Max blinked.What the…
“Wait.” He chased after his uncle. “Where are you going?”
“Yoga,” Henry said without missing a beat.
“Yoga.” Max felt himself frown. “You doyoganow?”
“Five days a week. It’s very refreshing,” Henry said, as if a reclusive eighty-year-old scientist suddenly taking up group yoga classes was the most normal thing in the world.
“That’s…um, great, actually.” So much to unpack here, but first things first. “Look, we need to talk.”
Henry glanced at him, but kept walking. “You got into the house okay, didn’t you? The key was right where I left it?”
Max nodded. “Underneath the conch shell on the upper deck of the porch, the same place where you always hid it when I was a kid. Ace security. It’s a good thing this island isn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. Getting into the house wasn’t a problem at all.”
“Good,” Henry said as they rounded the corner into the foyer.
Max looked around at the room where he’d played bingo every Tuesday night of the summer visits when he was a kid. Now it was filled with rows of colorful yoga mats stretched from one wall to the other. A black-and-white spotted Dalmatian trotted from mat to mat, greeting the elderly yogis with a wagging tail, because of course.
Max sighed. “Uncle Henry, what exactly is going on here?”