When We Believed in Mermaids

by Barbara O'Neal

father

“They’re both”—she pauses, chooses her words carefully—“willful girls. And there is some

conditioning. Even in such a high-end house, it would be very rare. Dropping my bag on the buffet by the door, I head for

appears, briskly clacking through the

father’s Sicilian dishes the customers all came to

I look around at the other businesses in the area. It’s clearly a popular spot—T-shirt and sandwich shops interspersed with restaurants and hotel

the fact that my mother would not be there when the baby was born, but perhaps all women feel that way. Pregnancy

probably like it.” He nods and doesn’t press

island volcano. The boat bobs gently. “I love ferries,” I say. “Why?” He’s hung his

perplexed. “What?” “I have to think how to say

and the Boxcar Children, Harry Potter in many different formats, some regional work I don’t recognize and that intrigues me. I shoot

I could. But even if you’re suffering, you don’t get to do whatever you

people feel to do it, and I answer offhandedly. I don’t honestly remember which mountain it is, only that it’s on Vancouver

body is warm and solid, and I would know his scent in a football field full

feelings right now. There’s

murmurs close to my neck. “And they will

my hand. “I know, sweetie. I am too. One day, when the time is right, you’ll