The Mermaid Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

it. He didn’t ever imagine that it was still there, but he felt things that weren’t happening, water dripping on parts of his hand, a feather brushing skin that wasn’t there. He was lucky he didn’t have pain. He was more aware of the finger for its absence than he had ever been when it was part of him. Then he understood. Pills would never work; Paulina’s headaches were from absence—a phantom pain from missing the tank, the water, and Michel.
    Enola would grab on to the stub of his finger, as though she’d discovered a new handle, just the right size for her chubby fist.
    In the mornings he took to pressing his hand to the vanity in the bathroom, squeezing his other fingers against the space, seeing if he could convince himself it was still there.
    Paulina wanted to know how it happened, the exact why and the process.
    â€œI was distracted. Thinking about things, doing everything you’re not supposed to.”
    â€œWhat were you thinking about?”
    â€œNothing, really. I was just tired,” he said.
    She made a point to grab his hand more, the imperfect one, the spot where he had been.
    â€œDon’t trim yourself down any more,” she said. “Not ever. There’s just enough of you.”
    *   *   *
    On the beach, children playing in the water, she pressed his palm to the sand. Her hand was warm on top of his. A few grains of quartz gritted against his skin, glass waiting to be born.
    â€œLift up,” she said.
    The imprint of his hand remained in the damp sand. He stared at the truncated mark where his ring finger should have been.
    â€œWatch,” she said. With her left hand, she filled in the missing digit’s shadow. It was light at first, barely there as she figured out the pressure required to truly draw. He realized that she never knew how hard to touch, or when exactly touch began.
    She finished his hand.
    â€œThere we are,” she said.
    In the water Simon splashed around with Frank and Leah’s daughter.
    Daniel looked up the cliff, then at his house, which sat on the edge. Time and water were slowly carving the land to nothing. Terracing might stop it for a while, but it was fighting a losing battle. The island was shaving itself down, shaking away all excess. Trees, houses. He’d shaken away some excess.
    His surgeon said to be grateful that he hadn’t lost his thumb or index finger. He didn’t have to learn to write again; he’d never played an instrument. He taped his work glove’s empty finger to the back, which marked the set as his. No one took them by mistake now. His wedding ring made the easy switch to his right hand, where it sat more snugly than it ever had on his left. His life accommodated the small absence as though he’d been born with it.
    In the sand his hand was restored by the shadow finger his wife had drawn. He began to understand that missing made him complete.

 
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
    THE MERMAID GIRL . Copyright © 2016 by Erika Swyler. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
    www.stmartins.com
    Cover design by Olgra Grlic
    Cover photographs:
    Mermaid © Shafran/Shutterstock
    Waves © natsa/Shutterstock
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