A - Immortal Sea

“You‟re not that old,” Emily said. “You could be my friend, I guess. If you want.”

The tentative hope in her eyes struck like a barb in his heart. He was one of the First Creation, elemental, immortal,

solitary. He did not make friends.

“Mr. Bressay?”

He stared down at her.

“I‟m hungry.”

He was, too. In his heart. In his soul, if he had one.

“I can take you back.” Now that he had marked the place, he had no need of the child‟s company. None at all.

“I have a sandwich. Peanut butter. In my backpack.”

Wordlessly, he slid the pink bag from his shoulder and handed it to her.

Taking it from him, she settled herself on the rocks and patted the flat place beside her.

He froze.

She did not appear to notice. Her small, grubby hands pawed through the pack, pulled out a squishy plastic bag. Peeling it

open, she extracted the mangled sandwich. She regarded it a moment and then carefully tore the bread in two. Smiling, she

offered him half.

The hook in his heart dug deep. An unfamiliar emotion welled in his chest. He did not need her food. But he was touched

by her determination to share what she had with him.

The way Elizabeth had last night.

Folding his long legs, he eased down on the rocks beside Elizabeth‟s daughter. Solemnly, he accepted the sandwich.

“Morgan,” he said. “If we are to be friends, you must call me Morgan.”

10

“I DON‟T CARE ABOUT THE HAIR.”GEORGE WILEY glanced at Zack‟s new dye job and away. “As long as it‟s clean

and out of your face. And I don‟t care about your clothes as long as you don‟t smell and I‟m not staring at your underwear all

day. I don‟t care about your lifestyle either.”

Zack swallowed. His lifestyle ? Shit.

“I’m not gay, Mr. Wiley,” he wanted to say. “Actually, I’m very interested in having sex with your daughter.”

But that wouldn‟t get him the job or Stephanie, so he kept his mouth shut.

Wiley shifted his weight, making his desk chair creak. The small office was at the back of the store, crammed between the

meat counter and the stockroom. The cold air smelled of bananas and spoiled milk. “Islanders, once they get used to you, tend

to live and let live,” he said.

Zack nodded to show he was listening, but inside he was wondering how long it would take for the Nazi twins, Todd and

Doug, to get used to him. And how he could avoid them if he was working at the grocery store.

Wiley cleared his throat. “This time of year, though, we get a lot of summer people. They think they want local color, but

they don‟t want to see anything that makes them uncomfortable.”

Again, his gaze flickered to Zack‟s aggressively black hair. Zack‟s stomach sank as he waited for Wiley to tell him he

didn‟t get the job after all.

His hands clenched between his knees. Screw it. It‟s not like he wanted to sweep floors and carry boxes for minimum

wage.

Only . . . He wanted an excuse to hang around her. Stephanie. And a job would prove to his mom he wasn‟t a kid anymore.

It was something to do, something to hold on to.

“So I‟ll tell you what I told my daughter,” Wiley continued. “If customers are distracted by your makeup, you‟re wearing

too much. This is a store, not a circus. I‟m not hiring you as a clown.”

Zack‟s heart thudded. “You‟re hiring me?”

Wiley ran a hand over his receding hairline. “Looks like it. I can use you thirty hours a week. Friday and Saturday are our

biggest days, Wednesday and Sunday you‟re off. Monday and Thursday we stock shelves, do the weekend store displays. Out

by eleven.”

“Eleven at night,” Zack repeated to be sure he understood.

Wiley‟s eyes—blue, like his daughter‟s—narrowed. “That a problem for you?”

It wasn‟t like he had school the next morning, Zack reasoned.

His chest expanded with the power of making a decision, taking an action, without checking first with his mother. He met

Wiley‟s gaze. “No, sir.”

Wiley gave a short nod. “I‟ll see you tonight, then. Six o‟clock.”

“Six,” Liz repeated. “But what about dinner?”

She bit her tongue the instant the words left her mouth. She was the one to insist Zack get a job. But she hadn‟t expected

him to find one so soon, she thought, torn between guilt and pride. And she‟d never intended him to work nights.

Despite their sometimes competing schedules, throughout her husband‟s illness and after his death, Liz had made the

family dinner a priority, a constant, a way of demonstrating to her children and herself that life went on.

And life did go on. Life changed. Zack was changing right before her eyes. He was barely wearing makeup tonight, she

realized, just a touch of liner to offset his long gold eyes.

He shrugged, apparently uncomfortable with her inspection. “I‟ll grab a sandwich before I go.”

“I‟ll make you something.”

“You don‟t have to.”

She needed to do something, to connect with him somehow, to make up to him in some way for whatever failures had

brought them to this place. “I want to.”

“Whatever. Thanks,” he added in a voice that meant “Leave me alone . ”

She fixed tuna melts, and the three of them ate dinner together. Early, so Zack could leave for work on time, although Liz

had no appetite and he kept looking at the clock.

At least he ate, she told herself as she carried their plates to the sink. But he hadn‟t spoken a word to her.

The doorbell rang.

“I‟ll get it.” Emily, always sensitive to tension, jumped up from the table.

Zack followed her into the hall.

Liz shut off the water with her elbow and reached for a dishtowel. “Make sure you see who it is before you open the—”

“Morgan!” Emily said.

Liz‟s heart bounded as high and glad as Emily‟s voice. Stupid heart. It was only the memory of her dream, the rush of sex,

the contact high she got from being in the same room with him, that caused that erratic jump in her pulse. Or maybe it was the

relief of having another adult in the house.

“And he brought a kitten!” Emily shouted.

Liz‟s jaw dropped. She closed her mouth. Swallowed.

Adult, my ass, she thought, and went to deal with the situation.

Morgan stood in the entryway, tall, dark, and formidable with winter pale hair and eyes. Against his chest in one large hand

he supported a small striped kitten. Emily danced around them as Zack watched from the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked, keeping her voice low.

Morgan raised his brows at her tone. “Your daughter already told you.” He unhooked tiny claws from his sweater and

handed the kitten to Emily. “I brought you a cat.”

“She‟s so cute,” Emily crooned, cuddling the little head under her chin. “What‟s her name?”

“His name,” Morgan corrected, “is up to you.”

Her eyes widened with delight. “I can name him?”

“You can keep him.”

“Now, just a minute,” Liz said.

“Can I?” Emily whirled, clutching the kitten to her breast. “Can I, Mommy?”

Liz‟s heart sank at the mingled hope and appeal in her daughter‟s face. She had enough to deal with already. They all did.