A - Immortal Sea

mountains of clams from washtubs draped in seaweed to long metal serving dishes. Volunteers heaped ears of corn in one tray

and piles of red potatoes in another. Dylan, his hands in industrial-looking blue gloves, lifted a coffee can of melted butter

from the rocks, swearing as the hot metal burnt his fingers.

She wanted this, to be part of this scene, not on the outskirts, an observer. She wanted to share in the joy and abundance.

She wanted this life.

With Morgan.

The guests flowed toward the picnic shelter where the tables were set. Regina‟s lobster boil was augmented by the island

potluck, Paula Schutte‟s tomato salad beside Edith Paine‟s blueberry cobbler, baked beans and corn bread and hot pepper jelly.

“We should join them,” Morgan said. He took her hand, making her start with surprise and pleasure. Had he touched her

like this before, so casually possessive? “Before the food is all gone.”

She twined her fingers with his, determined to hold on to this moment as long as she could. “My thoughts exactly.”

The fire had died to a red glow. The moon wove a silver web across the sea. Liz sat outside the wooden shelter with

Morgan, her hand linked with his, her stomach and her heart both full enough to burst.

The teens had drifted away from the volleyball net to flirt in the shadows or sprawl by the fire. She didn‟t see Zack. But

there was Emily, whispering secrets with Hannah Bly under the gift table. Nick rocked his baby sister in an infant carrier.

Children ran around the shelter, faces shiny with butter and excitement, as their elders sat with cooling cups of coffee, chewing

on brownies and the latest island gossip. Liz saw Dylan back his wife against one of the shelter‟s columns for a kiss. Margred

tipped her head against her husband‟s shoulder, her eyes as full of dreams as the moon.

Something about the way she stood, her pelvis angled, one hand on her lower back, snagged Liz‟s attention.

“She didn‟t eat much,” she murmured.

“Who?” Morgan asked.

“Margred.”

“She must be the only one who did not.”

Liz chuckled. “I may not eat again for a week. But it‟s nice the way everyone brought something. That‟s what I moved here

hoping to find, that sense of community for Zack and Emily.”

“And for yourself.”

It was the opening she‟d hoped for. Her insides jittered with nerves and anticipation.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Of course, it‟s not easy, coming here as the doctor.”

“But they need you.”

“They need the medical care I can provide. There‟s always a distance, a deference, between doctor and patient. I can know

the most intimate details of their lives—diet, depression, sexual dysfunction—and never be invited to their homes.” She smiled

ruefully. “Essentially, I‟m an outsider here.”

“Alone.”

“Yes.” She moistened dry lips. This was her moment. This was her chance. “You said once we weren‟t that different.

Maybe we‟re more alike than either of us thought.”

Morgan frowned, his gaze on the fire. “I have never sought to be part of a community. Or committed to anything but my

duty.”

Her hopes trembled. Her throat squeezed. “Is that a warning?” she asked with false lightness.

“An explanation, Elizabeth.” He looked at her, his eyes dark in the light of the fire. “The finfolk are fluid by nature. It is

our strength and our weakness. We are not bound by any form or by the land or by ties of family or affection. But . . .”

The water whispered and sighed. She waited, her pulse scrambling, hoping he would tell her, wishing he would ask her . . .

“Your children need me,” he said finally. “You need me.”

She did. Oh, she did.

She could live without him, had managed fine without him. But she wanted more in her life. She wanted passion. Joy.

Magic.

“I have seen Dylan with his family,” he continued heavily. “I will stay.”

He took her breath away. He was offering her everything she dreamed of, everything she wanted.

Except the words she needed most to hear.

The scrape of pots, the clatter of serving dishes, seemed a world away. She heard a soft exclamation and a thump from one

of the picnic tables, but all her attention was focused on the man beside her.

Her gaze searched his face. He didn‟t look like a man offering to share his life with the woman he loved. He looked like a

soldier charged with a difficult mission.

Or a prisoner facing a jail sentence.

She sucked in air, letting it out slowly. “Is that what you want?”

He regarded her without speaking, his hard, beautiful face unreadable. Maybe he didn‟t know how to answer. As Regina

said, this emotional stuff was all new to him.

Or maybe his silence was his answer. The thought slid into her chest like a knife.

“It‟s not that I don‟t appreciate the offer,” she said gently. “I do. I know what you are and what you have to do. I can

handle that. I wouldn‟t be the only woman to hold it together while her man was away at sea for long periods of time. As long

as I knew that you missed us. As long as I knew you wanted to be with us.”

His jaw set. “I have said I will stay.”

Love and hurt and exasperation churned inside her. “I‟m asking if you want us.”

“I want you . . . to be safe,” he said carefully. “I can make you happy.”

Her heart was breaking. He was breaking her heart.

“That‟s such a wonderful thing to say.” She swallowed hard. “Such a generous, wonderful, wrong thing to say.”

“Then tell me,” he snapped. “You want to control everything. Tell me what you want me to say.”

Love and disappointment surged, breaking her control. “I want to know if you love me!” she shouted.

Her raised voice carried across the beach. The commotion from the picnic shelter stopped. Conversations died.

“Um, Liz?” Regina stood before them, twisting her hands in her red apron. “I‟m sorry to interrupt this. But Margred needs

you. Now.”

Now. Zack‟s pulse pounded in his head. Throbbed against his fly. He squeezed his hand a half-inch farther between soft

flesh and rough denim, almost there, almost there, almost . . .

Stephanie‟s breath caught. Her stomach muscles jumped against his wrist. “Zack, no.”

He couldn‟t think. He could barely breathe. All the blood in his body had deserted his brain for his dick. “You‟re so . . .”

Warm. Soft. “Pretty, Stephanie. Let me . . .”

She wriggled. “No.”

No.

The word crashed and echoed in his empty skull. His body went rigid, all the parts of him that weren‟t stiff already.

“Please, Zack.” She lay under him on the flat granite ledge, her eyes enormous, shiny in the moonlight.

Please.

Swallowing hard, he worked his hand out of her jeans, curling his fingers against the sense of loss. Rolling off her, he flung

himself back, rapping his head hard against the rock.

Stars. Fireworks.

She gasped. Giggled. “Are you all right?”

“No. But I‟ll recover.” He dragged air into his lungs. The granite was cool against his back, the air cool against his front.

“Probably. In a couple of hours.”

Stephanie shifted. Lifted. He saw a brief flash of white hip and blue thong before she zipped up her jeans.

He closed his eyes, frustrated. Aching. “Why?” The word burst out of him.