She gave a watery chuckle.
The sound woke a memory in the cavern of his heart that had been still and cold and silent for centuries—the echo of
another child‟s laughter. His sister, his twin, Morwenna. He had not let himself think of her in years.
“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?”