“I have to get up.” She pushed on his shoulders. Their legs tangled. She blundered from the hammock, knocking over the
glass of wine. “Shit. Oh, shit.”
“Elizabeth, what is the matter?”
“Nothing.” All she could see was an image of Zack walking through the house and out the back door to find them. To find
her, naked. “It‟s not broken, see?” She set the wineglass by the back door, the cool air tickling her bare ass, and tugged on a
sleeve of her blouse until Morgan rolled to release it. “I need to get dressed.”
Slowly, he sat upright, watching as she scrambled for her clothes.
Hopping on one leg, she shoved her other foot inside the damp fabric. “Damn, I have to change my pants.”
“Then you will change.”
“Right.” She pulled herself together, summoned control and a smile. “No use crying over spilled wine.”
He eyed her oddly. “Indeed.”
“Thank you.” She buttoned her waistband, bundled his clothes, and thrust them at him. “That was wonderful. You should
go.”
“Why?”
A flutter of panic. Because her voice wanted to shake, she sharpened it. “Zack will be home soon. I don‟t want him to find
you here. To find us together.”
“The one has nothing to do with the other.”
Maybe not. But she couldn‟t separate out the pieces of herself, the mother and the lover. And she couldn‟t put them
together.
“You can say that because you‟re a guy. Men can compartmentalize.”
“Zachary is male,” he pointed out.
“Zack is . . .” She bit her lip. “He‟s not ready for this.”
She wasn‟t ready for this.
“I am here. He must accept that.”
“Not now. Not like this. You said it yourself.”
“Said what?”
What was his problem? Sixteen years ago, he couldn‟t roll off her fast enough. Now, when she wanted, needed him to go,
he was stalling.
She stuck out her chin and looked him in the eye. “One night doesn‟t change anything.”
Zack found the beach, his private cove, even in the dark. There were some advantages to being a freak after all.
He shifted his grip on the grocery bags. Ten pounds of cat litter, seven pounds of cat food, a plastic litter box, and two
metal bowls, everything the kitten would need or his mom could want. But he couldn‟t face her yet, her anxious eyes, her too
bright smile, her questions. How was work? What did you do? What do you mean, think, feel, want?
His throat closed. He couldn‟t breathe. He dumped the bags at the foot of the trail where he‟d be sure to stumble over them
on his return.
He wanted to be left alone. Alone in his bed, listening to his music, with the Victoria‟s Secret catalog stashed under his
mattress. He grimaced. Not that he could beat off with his mother and Morgan downstairs. If Stephanie . . .
But Stephanie was seeing somebody. Some guy. Not him.
And now he would be stuck seeing her every day at work, knowing he owed her his job, knowing she liked him but not . . .
enough.
He sat on a clump of weeds to pull off his boots. Maybe he‟d just get his feet wet this time.
His heart beat faster with shame and excitement. His clothes chafed. Maybe not. Probably not.
He stood.
The night swam with stars and scents, throbbing, close. He couldn‟t pick out the constellations, but he recognized the
smells, pine and brine, kelp and loam. The sky was black and soft as velvet, the sea gleaming with reflected light. Zack
couldn‟t see where one left off and the other began. The waves ran over the rocks with a sound like chains. They called to him,
dragged at him hard. Pulling his shirt over his head, he dropped it on the sand.