THE TRUTH ABOUT STARFISH

Prologue

“Sam.”

“Who…who is it?”

“It’s me, Sam. It’s Daddy.”

“Where…where are you, Daddy?”

“I’m here, Sam. With them.”

“With who, Daddy?”

“Don’t worry. They’re taking good care of me, honey. I’m safe, now.”

“But who is taking care of you, Daddy? And where are you?”

“The merfolk, Sam. You should see all the sandcastles that are here.”

Chapter One

It’s been a good two hours since my last search. Daddy would be pleased to know at least I haven’t given up on him. I throw open the screen door and start to dash down the stairs. But I don’t see my little sister standing there.

“Daddy’s dead.”

“Take that back.” I grabbed Kate by the shoulders. Five-year-old sisters didn’t know anything. For sure, five-year-old sisters who were six years younger than you.

“But he is,” she said.

“Don’t you ever say such a thing to me again. He’s missing, that’s all.” This time, I squeezed her shoulders. I was so mad at her I could bite an Airhead Extreme in two.

“You’re hurting me! Mommy! Sam-Sam’s hurting me!”

Mona‒I started calling her by her first name right after Daddy went missing‒opens the screen door and pokes her head through the open doorway. No makeup. She’d stopped putting it on ever since the accident.

“What’s going on, now, you two?”

“Tell her to stop saying Daddy’s dead. Oh, yeah…that includes you too.” That’s what I said on the inside. On the outside, I said,

“Kate and me was just…talking.”

“It would be great if y’all would get along at least some of the time…especially now, since your daddy…” Mona stopped, shook her head and closed the door. She’s worried. Everybody’s worried. But why did adults always think the worst about everything?

I leaned forward to within inches of Kate’s face, but made sure to whisper.

“You’re a little twerp.”

Kate turned up her nose and stuck out her tongue. Classic Kate.

“You’re a big twerp,” she said.

“Whatever.” I continued down the steps and headed for the beach. It’s where I was headed in the first place. To escape from Kate and Mona.

You see, Daddy’s plane, Rosebud, a Piper Cherokee 235, crashed in the ocean off the North Carolina coast. It’s called Rosebud because he painted a picture of a rose on the wing. And it was his pet name for Mona. Right after he flew those fishing guys to Lake Mattamuskeet. He was flying back along the Outer Banks through a bad storm. I heard some old timers say it was as “black as witches' cats and just as savage.”

Everybody says he died. But they haven’t found his body or anything. So how do they know he’s dead? Just because somebody’s plane goes down into the ocean doesn’t mean they died. The official word used was “declared.” Can you believe they even had a memorial service? It was back home in Smithfield. Only took a couple of hours to get to Whisper Beach. It’s on one of the Outer Banks islands. You have to cross over on a pretty long bridge. We’ve got a beach house and spent several weeks here in the summer.

It’s called Whisper Beach for a reason. There’s this legend that has to do with the fact that tons of sea turtles crawled up on the Outer Banks to lay, what Daddy said is called a clutch of ping pong sized eggs. I think it’s, like, from May to November, and they can lay 120 eggs that they cover up beneath the sand. Mostly loggerheads, but some green turtles and even some leatherbacks. When they find a clutch, the aquarium folks and volunteers mark it with stakes and tape to protect it. They’ll watch and wait and hope to be there when they hatch.

When the hatchlings crawl up out of the sandy nest at night ‒it’s called a boil‒ scientists say their instinct is to crawl toward light. That would be the moon over the ocean most of the time. But sometimes they don’t. Especially since there’s so many lights near beaches now. This is where the legend comes in.

On the night they hatch‒especially if there’s a cloudy sky covering up the moon‒mermaids wait out in the water. They call to the baby turtles to help them find their way. And on those nights, if you’re really quiet and lucky, you’re supposed to be able to hear the whispering.

Daddy said nobody just makes up legends. That they’re based on something somebody saw or heard or experienced. I’ve never been lucky enough to be around when a clutch boiled, so I’ve never heard the whispering. Doesn’t meant the legend isn’t true.

I didn’t go to the memorial service, of course. Daddy wasn’t there. I did listen politely to everything the preacher told me when he tried to talk me into coming to the service while I was sitting in the car. But I knew he was just telling me those grown-up neat and tidies. Seems like it’s easier for them to accept what they want the truth to be instead of doing the hard work it takes to keep hoping. After the stupid memorial service, Mona brought me and Kate back to the beach house. I think she thought being here would help us to get on with our lives or something lame like that. I figure we’ll be able to get on with our lives as soon as Daddy comes back.

He probably floated around on a broken wing for a long time waiting for somebody to pick him up. The Coast Guard went out there. First, they called it a “search and rescue.” When they screwed up and couldn’t find him after a couple of days, they called it a “search and recovery.” But the mermaids were keeping him safe, now. Until they’re ready to send him home. Daddy told me so…in a dream. If there’s mermaids out there looking after little baby sea turtles, why can’t they be out there looking after my daddy?

The mermaids I’m talking about were the ones they did that show about on TV. And I’m sure they have telepathic powers. It’s the only way he could contact me, seeing as how he’s out there in the ocean. I watched a YouTube that said we used a measly ten percent of our brain power. I figured our thoughts could travel around anywhere, especially when we’re sleeping, and we could thinkspeak with each other if we knew how. I’m sure the mermaids taught Daddy how to do it. Of course, this kind of thinking drove Mona nuts.

“Samantha Lynne Stuart, you are 11 years old, which is old enough to know that TV show was fake.”

“But…”

“No buts. And the mermaids people claim to hear around here whispering are just the sound of the quiet waves that break long before they get to the beach. It’s a fun story, that’s all it is.”

I knew better. That’s what the government and parents said when they didn’t want you to believe that something strange going on was true.

Daddy'd talk to me again. When he needed to. But in case I missed anymore of those “thinkspeak” dream messages, I was gonna keep looking myself. That’s why I’ve got my binoculars. I hoped wherever those sandcastles were he was talking about, it wouldn’t take too long for the mermaids to help him get home. Gonna keep bugging the coast guard to do their job too.

Speaking of sandcastles, Daddy and I had a knack for building ‘em. Anybody could pack sand or use a mold to build an ordinary castle. But we constructed masterpieces with ramparts, moats, towers, stairways, and hidden rooms. And we always scratched our names at the bottom right hand corner on the outside wall of everyone. It’s like we were sandcastle artists. Daddy said all our sandcastles were masterpieces until the tide came in. He said it transformed into a masterpiece memory. But I’m not building another one until he gets back. It’d be bad luck to build one by myself.

Speaking of Daddy, I had his green eyes and slightly turned-up nose too. People said the nose thing would turn out to my advantage later. I think they said that to try to convince me not to demand a nose job as soon as possible. After we find Daddy, I planned on having it done. He called my hair color “oughta be on a dog,”—you know—au-du-bon? It’s kind of a golden-reddish sort of color. He liked it when I grew it long. I’m never gonna cut it–ever. Well, at least not until after they rescued Daddy. I’ll grow it down to my ankles if that’s how long it took. They can’t make me cut it. This was America.

I should have brought a scrunchie, though.

Chapter Two

It didn’t take long to get to the beach from our cottage. The access path was two beach house rows away. As soon as I reached the top of the dunes, I could see the tide already knocking down some kid’s drip castle. It’s like the water tortured it one wave at a time. To put it out of its misery, I’d better smash it first. So as not to give the tide the satisfaction.

Something was out in the water.

It bobbed up and down not too far past the first breakers. Whatever’s floating out there kept disappearing behind the swells. A chill‒Mona called it a rabbit‒ran down my back. The castle’d have to wait.

“Daddy!” I waved my arms.

But it was just a tired pelican, rocking and rolling and resting over the waves.

“Stupid bird.”

I ran back to what’s left of the sandcastle and kicked it. Again and again. Pretty soon it was wet sand mush.

Build it…so it could be torn down.

“That is not logical,” I said out loud. Spock was my favorite character on those old Star Trek shows. Daddy loved Captain James T. Kirk. He’s all right, but Spock’s way cooler.

A group of people stood around something a little ways down the beach. Better go take a look too.

It was a staked-out clutch of sea turtle eggs.

“It’s been here for almost two months,” a guy from the aquarium said. “ May hatch any day now.”

“Yes!” I said on the inside, pumping my fist. On the outside, I asked him,

“Ever seen ‘em boil?”

“Several times,” he said.

“Ever, you know, heard the mermaids whispering?”

“Can’t claim that I have.” He laughed.

“Maybe this time, huh?”

“Would make the event special,” he said. “Oh, yeah, if you come down at night to check on the clutch, be sure not to turn your flashlight on. Remember, if they’re actually hatching when you get here, your light will confuse them.”

“Duh…Isn’t that why the mermaids whisper to them to make sure they come toward the ocean?” That’s what I said…on the inside. On the outside, I said,

“I know.”

I left the clutch and walked back up the beach. That goofy pelican still floated over the waves. Time to head back to the cottage for lunch.

And I wanted to get to the Coast Guard Station later.

Chapter Three

“How was the beach, Sam?” Mona’s in the kitchen when I came through the door.

“Do you mean, was I down there worrying about Daddy while you were up here giving up on him?” That’s what I said on the inside. On the outside, I said,

“Guess what? There’s a clutch staked off on the beach. Not right in front of our access but on down the beach a bit.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mona said. “How long has it been there?”

“About two months,” I said. “Pretty close to hatching.”

“Would love to see that.”

“Yeh, me too. Might even hear the mermaids….”

“Whisper?” Mona rolled her eyes. She probably didn’t think I actually saw the roll.

I ignored it. Spotted a scrunchie on the counter and tied my hair back.

“Did you build a sandcastle?” Mona wiped her hands on her apron. “You’re good at it, you know.”

Mona wanted me to get back into the swing of things. I was in the swing of things–like not giving up on Daddy. Like she had.

“Me and Daddy are good at it.” I corrected her. “And I’m not building another one until he gets back. What’s for lunch?”

“Your favorite: grilled Swiss cheese.”

She didn’t say something back to me about the “not building another sandcastle” thing. I didn’t push it. Just plopped down in my seat to eat my sandwich. Mona sat across from me, hands tangled up beneath her chin.

“What am I gonna to do with you, Sam?”

I changed the subject. One of Daddy’s tricks.

“I wish sandcastles would last longer.”

Mona sighed and got up to go adjust Kate’s position in front of the TV. It’s the five-foot rule in our house.

“Oh, they’re never gone for good.” She sat down beside me again. “The tide sweeps them away, carries them far out to sea to a special place, and builds them again. Just like they were built on the beach but bigger.”

“That’s gotta be what Daddy was talking about when he mentioned he was with the mermaids and the sandcastles.” That’s what I said, on the inside. On the outside, I said, “I wish that was true. Where’d you hear that story?”

“Whispering mermaids isn’t the only legend around Whisper Beach, you know.” Mona wiped up a bit of cheese that fell off my plate. “If you go down to the bookstore at the MARINA MALL, I’m sure Kirk Reed’ll tell you the story. You might find another book you want too.”

“I guess it might be fun to go to the bookstore, today,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “I need to check in at the Coast Guard Station anyway.”

“You know how I feel about you going to the Coast Guard Station, Sam.”

“Please don’t stop me, Mona. It’s something I gotta do. I’ll go to the station real quick and go to the bookstore. Please?”

She hung her head. Sighed. A good sign.

“Put your plate in the sink, first.”

“Done.” I jumped up, tossed my plate in the sink, grabbed my Atlanta Braves ball cap, pulled my hair through the opening in the back, and dashed out the screen door. “I’m gone!”

“Hang on a minute, Sam!” Mona shouted. “Please take Kate with you. She could do with looking at a book or two, herself.”

“Aw, Mona, please don’t make me take her with me.” Kate still had her eyes glued to Sponge Bob, but she turned at the mention of her name.

“Do I hafta go, Mommy?” she said. “I wanna stay and watch cartoons.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” That’s what I screamed on the inside. On the outside, I hid a fist pump and said,

“See, Mona, she doesn’t wanna go.”

“Kate.” Mona crossed the room and leaned down in front of the little urchin. “Y’all can stop and get ice cream on the way back.”

“Yeah!” Kate jumped up and pushed the OFF button on the TV remote.

“Thanks a lot, Mona,” I said.

She pulled a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook and handed it to me.

“Keep the change.”

I took the five and motioned for Kate to follow me.

“Come on, brat.”

As Kate fell in behind me, Mona grabbed the back of her T-shirt and held on.

“You stay with Sam and do whatever she says.”

“Yes, Mommy.” Kate smiled one of her innocent, yet diabolical grins.

I held up the five-dollar bill and glared at her.

“Yeh. No listen, no ice cream.”

Kate saluted me and stuck out a tongue that’s seen more airtime than Miley Cyrus’s butt.