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To Catch a Dream

by

Laura Kitchell

Chapter One

     “The time has come. He’s ready, and you have to go to him.”

Sargo spun around so fast tiny bubbles flew out of her green-brown curls and tickled her cheek. “What if I’m not ready, Mother?” she asked, wringing her hands.

The mermaid queen glided into the room. Sargo watched her slide an admiring hand along a sparkling, peach-colored coral wall. “You knew this day was coming.”

“But he’s human!” She spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “He’s not fit to be our king. I have no problem taking my place as queen, but I refuse to do it at the side of a man.”

Her mother ran a soft finger down Sargo’s cheek, affection glowing from her deep, purple eyes. Moving to the window, her lovely white hair billowed like sea foam. She looked down from the tower window onto the coral city below and said, “I’m going to tell you a secret. And you must promise you will tell nobody.” The older mermaid looked over her shoulder. “Promise.”

Gulping, Sargo drifted low, her tail fin brushing the pitted floor. “I promise,” she said, forcing the words past a throat gone tight.

The queen turned back around and stared out the window. Switching to the human language that only royals spoke, she said, “Every two hundred years, a king is born. The baby is left with humans to raise. Only our kings, queens and a secret sect of elders know this. When the king-to-be turns twenty-five, he takes the throne. He doesn’t learn his true heritage until the day he meets his queen.” She pivoted back around. “It’s your responsibility to tell our new king who he is. To teach him our ways.”

When her mother had spoken in the royal tongue, Sargo braced for the impact. A different realization hit her at once, and she struggled for breath. “Father was human?”

“No. He was raised by humans. Just like your life-mate. They have always been mermen.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand. Mermen have tails, like ours.” She gave hers a flick for emphasis. “How can one of us be raised on land?”

Smiling, the queen asked, “How do you think we know when a king is born?”

Sargo shrugged.

“The baby is born with legs.”

* * * *

Paul drove his truck with care down Shore Drive on his way to his favorite launch ramp. As his boat, secured to its trailer, bounced over a series of rough spots, he groaned.

He did not fish for recreation. He did it because the ocean called to him. He understood the habits and nature of sea creatures to an extent even he could not comprehend. His fishing buddies called it instinct, but he refused to put a name to it. He just knew he did not belong, and that was hard to bear.

Turning, he bumped along the narrow residential street leading to Cobb’s Marina. He drove around the shanty-style shop at the yard’s center and lined up with the ramp. As he hopped out, a marine laborer walked up.

“You alone, mister?” asked the boy.

“Yep.”

“Want some help?”

He had not looked forward to the hassle of launching his boat alone. “I’d appreciate it. The ropes are in the left deck hatch.”

With everything in place, he backed down the ramp until the boy held up a hand. He walked to the rear to make sure the boat sat far enough in the water. Satisfied, he headed for the winch.

“That’s a real nice boat you got there,” said the boy, holding the ropes.

“Thanks.”

“It’s a Bertram, right?” The laborer raked the boat with an appreciative eye.

“Yeah. A ’66 Moppie. I refurbished it.”

“Looks like new. I noticed you ain’t got a cooler. Aren’t you going to bring back any fish?”

“I had a live-well installed in the transom.” The boy did not need to know Paul had filled it with ice.

“Cool.”

Paul turned the winch on and the deafening grinding noise made it impossible for them to talk. The Moppie eased backward down the trailer. When he determined it had enough water under it, he released the winch cable and gave the hull a gentle push.

“She’s all yours,” Paul called as the boat floated back.

The kid stopped him as he walked toward the truck. “If you park between the Sarah Sue and the Bonnie Brave 1, nobody’ll mess with your stuff. Those yachts are at the end of the yard up there.” He pointed.

“Thanks.” Paul parked then met the laborer halfway down the dock. Handing his helper a ten-dollar bill, he said, “Take care of the launch fee for me, would ya?”

The kid took the money and shoved it in a front pocket. “Sure. Anything else I can do?”

“Nah. I’ve got it from here. Thanks for your help.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed at Paul’s neck. “What’s that?”

Pulling the collar of his polo higher, Paul shrugged. “Birth defect. It’s nothing.” The shirt snagged a little on the bumps and the sensation set his teeth on edge, making him shiver with a grimace.

He detested the defects, but not as much as he disliked the doctors who could not tell him what the sensitive, scaly patches were.

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