“And yet she never told me of her great-grandchild until she needed my help.” He waited for Eileen to fill in the missing pieces, but that’s the last thing I wanted her to do.
“She was one of the most suspicious people I’ve ever known. You’d have adored her,” I teased.
“But—”
“When did you give Eileen her gift?” His blank stare was a little disconcerting. “You said Mimi asked you right before she died . . . ? But Eileen’s had a few colds and skinned her knees and stuff. I’ve never noticed anything unusual in the way she heals.”
“He tricked us the night of the hurricane!”
“I did not,” he said. “I was present at your birth.”
Her mouth twisted, and she looked from him to me in utter revulsion.
“No, sweetie.”
“Completely human, remember?” Sal prompted.
Her theatrical sigh of relief might have made me laugh if not for the pain-soaked memory pushing its way forward . . .
. . . . . .
. . . Peach colored walls and beeping equipment on carts. Sharp, quick breaths and aching contortions.
“Have we been able to reach a family member?”
“The grandmother was a patient . . . died last night.”
My legs bent in unnatural angles. Plastic sheets sticking to my bare skin.
“She won’t let us do anything . . . ”
“How’s the baby?”
“Her water broke last night.”
“It’s been too long.”
Worried faces. Too many strangers. The feeling of being ripped apart from the inside.
“We need to take it. Give her—”
“Do not do that.”
“Who are you? Are you the father?”
“Sir, you can’t be in here!”
Hands cradling my head, hot on my face. Warmth spreading, tingling, burning . . . and finally, the deep, inexorable contractions of release . . .
. . . . . .
“ . . . and so what remained of your umbilical cord was the most effective location for transference.”
“And the doctors just let you stick a needle in my belly button?!”
“The medical staff was occupied.”
“They were busy,” my voice was rough, and I cleared my throat, “helping me.”
“Yeah, I know. I was a big baby.” She rolled her eyes.
“Your mother nearly died.”
“You did?” She sounded impressed.
“You would do well to express more gratitude.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you for sticking a needle in me when I was a defenseless baby. And while I’m at it, thanks for making me weird. And for screwing up my life! Is that better?!”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and counted to ten while she stomped away. The porch door was going to need new hinges after today.
“Sal, she didn’t mean it that way. And the other stuff she said . . . ” I left the sentence unfinished. How could I explain that for a thirteen-year-old she’d done a pretty damn fine job of handling everything so far?
He stood with the fluid grace of a yogi. “I am not her father, and should not have reprimanded her.” Glancing down, he offered me his hand.
“No offense, but you’re not human. I think that’s the problem.”
“Perhaps.”
His hand was still outstretched and waiting, so I grasped it and managed to unfold my legs smoothly, if not gracefully. A twinge behind my left kneecap made me wish for a couple of those modulators, though.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Just don’t get enough exercise.”
“Your hands?”
“Oh!” I’d forgotten. The bandages hinted at dark blotches underneath, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and they hadn’t hurt since Sal had done his shock therapy thing. “I’m good, thanks.” My cheeks heated. “I mean thank you. Really. For more than my hands.”
The afternoon sun found him just at that moment, gilding him in a surreal glory. Eileen was right. Did I even know the questions to ask?
“It wasn’t the doctors.” That’s not a question. “Why did you help me? Did Mimi know I wouldn’t be able to deliver? Did you make me forget you?”
He opened his mouth, but seemed to change his mind, and looked to the southeastern sky instead.
“I should go.”
“I’m sorry, did I . . . ?” I bit my lip. Had I upset him? “Are you okay?” Maybe his modulators had left him weak from earlier. “Do you need another snack or anything?” He certainly looked healthy now, though his clothes were rumpled and droopy from his intense sweating. “Shoes! You can’t go barefoot!”
With a rueful smile, he turned away, calling back as he descended the porch steps. “You do not need to try so hard!” An errant breeze blew his last words to me, “I will keep your adam safe.” And with a powerful burst, he broke into a run, bare feet pounding on the sand and gravel.
My Adam.
“See?” Eileen called from the doorway. “Even he knows!”
✽✽✽
The lithe craft skipped across the rough waters with a surprising grace, and Sal leaned against the console—not for support, but to will it to go faster. The spray and night wind were invigorating, and the sky rewarded him with a chill drizzle that steamed off his exposed arms.
The man beside him, however, was miserable in his fury and internal conflict. His posture was erect, unforgiving of the jolts as the boat broke through the choppy swells; and even by the meager glow of the instruments, it was clear his grip on the wheel strained more than just the muscles in his fingers.
“Are you certain?”
Adam glanced at him, his face dripping and faintly green from the luminous gadgets. “What?!” he yelled above the dissonance of engine and nature.
“Are you choosing correctly?!” Sal did not like amplifying his voice. It was nearly impossible to do so without communicating an intention to dominate or express anger, and somehow this man before him evoked feelings of compassion—even empathy.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Adam, however, seemed relieved for the excuse to battle—if only in words—so Sal obliged. The man deserved a release of some sort.
“Do not pretend to be ignorant, human! Even now, you can choose to forget!”
“I’m not abandoning Cara just so you’re free to—”
“Now you are acting willfully obtuse! You know I do not suggest that you forget her—or the infant!”
With a crash and a
