A - Immortal Sea

He heard a rustle as she settled beside him on the rock. “You mean, why not?”

“I mean . . .” Why did she have to think so much? “I guess.”

“I like you, Zack. I really do. But I don‟t want to get pregnant, okay? I‟m only sixteen. I don‟t want to get knocked up and

have to take some dead-end job for my father and work on the island the rest of my life.”

That was reasonable. Not that he felt very reasonable at the moment. But he opened his eyes. “I could use a condom.”

“Do you have a condom?”

Hot blood swept his face. “No. But I could bring one. Next time.”

His mother kept a box in the bedside table. No.

He could buy them from the grocery store. But then he‟d have to worry about hiding his purchase from Mr. Wiley. And

Dot. And every other fucking busybody on the whole fucking island.

But he would do it. For Stephanie.

“Zack, that‟s sweet. But it‟s not just about the condom. I don‟t want to get involved, not all the way involved, with

anybody yet. I‟m not ready to be part of a couple. I‟m still all about me. I want to go to college. I want to travel. I want

options.”

Rejection was hot in his body, bitter in his mouth. “You want options more than you want me.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Well . . . Yeah. And so should you.”

Options. Jesus.

His lungs hurt. His eyes burned. What options did he have? He was a kid, a freak, stuck in a body he couldn‟t control from

a father he barely knew.

He wanted . . . Stephanie. Something.

His longing pushed and twisted inside him in great, slippery coils, fighting to bust out. He had to get out, get away, before

he exploded.

“Fine.” He pulled himself together, pushed himself to his feet, held out his hand to help her up. “Let me walk you back.”

Hesitantly, she took his hand. “Zack . . .”

But he didn‟t want to talk anymore. He didn‟t want to think. He stalked beside her without speaking until they could see the

picnic shelter, the lights and the fire and people bustling under the roof. Something was going on. He didn‟t care. He waited

until Stephanie had stumbled halfway down the slope before he took off, running, into the night.

Toward the sea.

19

THE DOCTOR IN ELIZABETH TOOK OVER, PUSHING all emotion, the regret and the pain, aside. She would deal

with Morgan and her feelings for him later.

Now she had a patient in active labor and an imminent delivery on her hands.

“We need to transport,” she ordered, her voice brisk and professional. The doctor was confident even when the woman

inside wanted to crawl away and lick her wounds.

“She won‟t make it,” Caleb said.

“Not to the hospital,” Liz agreed.

Sixty minutes by lobster boat, twenty by LifeFlight. Margred‟s contractions were less than three minutes apart and over a

minute long. If Liz hadn‟t been so focused on her own conversation with Morgan . . .

She shook her head. No time for second-guessing or guilt. “The clinic,” she said.

Margred took a few short, careful steps from the shelter toward the beach. “I am sitting now,” she announced.

Sitting was good. The risk of infection made an internal examination in the field impossible, but Liz still needed to check

Margred‟s progress. A change of position might even slow labor. But Margred was heading in the wrong direction.

“Not in the sand,” Liz said.

Caleb took his wife‟s arm. “You can sit in the Jeep.”

“Here,” Margred said. Gripping his muscled forearm, she lowered herself heavily to the beach.

His other arm came around her immediately for support. He knelt beside her. “Sweetheart . . .” His deep voice shook with

nerves and laughter. “This wasn‟t in the birth plan.”

She shook back her hair, smiling up at him. “Not your plan.”

“Maggie . . .”

“Ah.” She bit her lip, her face contracting in pain.

Liz dropped beside them, put an encouraging hand on Margred‟s knee. “All right, now you‟re down, let‟s see what that

baby is up to.”

She looked around, evaluating the crowded shelter, the dark beach. Dear God.

“What do you need?” Dylan asked.

“Light. Drapes. Pads. Those tablecloths? Clean ones, if you‟ve got them. And my bag. In my car.” She reached

automatically for her keys, but the pretty blue dress lacked pockets. Half-rising, she craned her neck for her purse.

“Here.” Her black medical bag appeared as if by magic, held in a strong, long-fingered hand. She looked up and met

Morgan‟s eyes.

Her heart lurched. How did he . . .

He smiled thinly. “Your back window is broken.”

Her mouth jarred open.

Margred grunted.

Liz‟s head snapped back around. She focused on her patient. “Don‟t push.”

“I am having a baby,” Margred said with some irritation. “I must push sometime.”

“Not yet,” Liz said firmly.

Not until, please God, they got to the clinic, where she had IVs. Oxygen. Clean sheets.

She scrubbed her hands and arms liberally with hand sanitizer, prepared to do a quick check and transport. A cursory

examination, however, revealed Margred and her baby had no intention of waiting for sterile surroundings. The child was

already crowning, each contraction forcing its damp, dark head to the entrance of the birth canal.

Liz‟s stomach rolled and then settled. She was trained for this. Not practiced, perhaps, but trained.

Margred panted, her hair sticking to her flushed face.

“The Jeep?” Caleb said.

Liz inhaled, her mind racing. This was an emergency, not a disaster. Margred was in good health. Excellent history.

Normal fetal presentation. Women had babies away from the hospital all the time.

But Liz hadn‟t delivered one since her OB rotation more than ten years ago.

And she‟d never delivered a selkie baby.

She gave herself a mental shake. She‟d seen the ultrasound images. Margred‟s baby was human. As human as Zack.

She summoned a reassuring smile. “I think we‟ll all be fine here.”

“Here,” Caleb said sharply.

“Mm.” Liz completed her examination, patted Margred‟s foot. They had a few minutes to prepare. “Dylan, can you move

people . . . Thanks.”

Under the swathing tablecloth, she adjusted Margred‟s clothing.

“Mommy?” Emily‟s voice was high and thin.

“Your mommy‟s busy right now, kiddo,” Regina said. “Come wait with me and Nick over here. You‟ve seen our baby,

right? Grace, this is . . .”

Their voices faded away.

Thank God for Regina. Liz ran through the remembered birth protocol in her head while she sorted through her kit for the

supplies she would need. Gloves, alcohol, bulb syringe, scissors . . . First pregnancy, she thought. No known problems, due

date . . . Well, the date was irrelevant now.

Time slowed. Her world narrowed to the laboring woman on the beach, Caleb supporting her back. Lanterns cast pools of

light on hard gray sand, the checkered tablecloths. Margred arched, strained, panted, pushed, her hands gripping her knees, her

body rippling as contractions rolled through her.

“Good job,” Liz murmured. Sweat rolled down her back and dampened her bra. Her skirt was smeared with blood and

fluid. “Another push, now. Gently.”