the sweet, enticing memory.
He turned his head toward her, noting that she’d sunk her fists into her jeans pockets, hunching her shoulders again in a posture so guarded, it put his box turtle to shame. Darkness curled around her, making her look small and vulnerable, and achingly young.
“We’re not going into the simulator tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “It’s been a hard day and we could both use some rest.”
“But Einstein—”
“Einstein will have to wait. I’m not risking my equipment—or your life—by pushing you too hard.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” she snapped.
Very much like my turtle.
“I never imagined you did. I remember how you fired off that barrage of stones at the orc. No one with an arm like yours needs to be coddled.”
She smiled. It was a hesitant, ungainly grin that lasted less than a second, yet it managed to set his heart tumbling in his chest. Something very close to sympathy tugged at his heart. “Why don’t you want to talk about what happened in the simulator?” he asked again.
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she sighed, a sound as soft and forlorn as a night breeze. “I don’t want to end up as a footnote in some musty science journal, or as a point of illustration in your lecture notes. What happened to me in the simulator was very—special. Reducing it to a series of test results seems … I don’t know, like killing the golden goose.”
Sinclair wanted to tell her she was being foolish, but he couldn’t get the words out. As a scientist he’d killed more than his share of golden geese. Taking things apart to see what made them tick was his business, even if that meant gutting them of their beauty and mystery as well. The discipline had bled over into his personal life. He recalled how often Samantha had accused him of practicing it in their marriage. What she hadn’t accepted was that their“golden” union had been nothing more than dross from the beginning.
His smile turned brittle. “My wife used to say golden goose was my favorite meal.”
Jillian came to an abrupt standstill. “You’re married?”
“
Was
married,” Ian amended, still walking. “It ended a year ago, but I suppose old habits are hard to break.”
“I’m sorry,” Jill said as she caught up with him.
I’m sorry.
He’d heard those two words a hundred times, and had learned to hate them. During their marriage, pretty, petulant Samantha had prefaced almost all her sentences with it, especially when she was asking for forgiveness, or money. He’d indulged her in both for far too long. Now, of course, she didn’t bother. She just had her lawyer send his lawyer another demand.
Intellectually he knew Jillian had meant to be kind, and that she couldn’t possibly know the loathsome memories associated with those particular words. Nevertheless he spoke to her with more harshness than he intended. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I was raised by my grandfather as an only child. Being alone suits me. Besides, it gives me more time to spend on my—”
It took him a moment to realize she was no longer walking beside him. Turning around, he saw she’d stopped in her tracks.
“We’re here,” she said simply, nodding toward the modest town house that fronted the beach.
It was just the sort of place he expected her to live in. A floodlight illuminated the back of the house, showing its cheerful cornflower-blue siding and neat white trim, and the window boxes stuffed with colorful flowers. The condominium’s small back deck was all but enveloped by a jungle of houseplants, and a set of wind chimes picked merry, tuneless notes from the night breeze. The town house looked crazy, chaotic, and welcoming in a way no home of his ever had. He turned his gaze toward the ocean’s darkness, feeling as if he’d been robbed of something he couldn’t begin to name. “Well then, good night, Miss Polanski. I’ll call you tomor—”
“You can stay.”
Sinclair spun
He turned his head toward her, noting that she’d sunk her fists into her jeans pockets, hunching her shoulders again in a posture so guarded, it put his box turtle to shame. Darkness curled around her, making her look small and vulnerable, and achingly young.
“We’re not going into the simulator tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “It’s been a hard day and we could both use some rest.”
“But Einstein—”
“Einstein will have to wait. I’m not risking my equipment—or your life—by pushing you too hard.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” she snapped.
Very much like my turtle.
“I never imagined you did. I remember how you fired off that barrage of stones at the orc. No one with an arm like yours needs to be coddled.”
She smiled. It was a hesitant, ungainly grin that lasted less than a second, yet it managed to set his heart tumbling in his chest. Something very close to sympathy tugged at his heart. “Why don’t you want to talk about what happened in the simulator?” he asked again.
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she sighed, a sound as soft and forlorn as a night breeze. “I don’t want to end up as a footnote in some musty science journal, or as a point of illustration in your lecture notes. What happened to me in the simulator was very—special. Reducing it to a series of test results seems … I don’t know, like killing the golden goose.”
Sinclair wanted to tell her she was being foolish, but he couldn’t get the words out. As a scientist he’d killed more than his share of golden geese. Taking things apart to see what made them tick was his business, even if that meant gutting them of their beauty and mystery as well. The discipline had bled over into his personal life. He recalled how often Samantha had accused him of practicing it in their marriage. What she hadn’t accepted was that their“golden” union had been nothing more than dross from the beginning.
His smile turned brittle. “My wife used to say golden goose was my favorite meal.”
Jillian came to an abrupt standstill. “You’re married?”
“
Was
married,” Ian amended, still walking. “It ended a year ago, but I suppose old habits are hard to break.”
“I’m sorry,” Jill said as she caught up with him.
I’m sorry.
He’d heard those two words a hundred times, and had learned to hate them. During their marriage, pretty, petulant Samantha had prefaced almost all her sentences with it, especially when she was asking for forgiveness, or money. He’d indulged her in both for far too long. Now, of course, she didn’t bother. She just had her lawyer send his lawyer another demand.
Intellectually he knew Jillian had meant to be kind, and that she couldn’t possibly know the loathsome memories associated with those particular words. Nevertheless he spoke to her with more harshness than he intended. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I was raised by my grandfather as an only child. Being alone suits me. Besides, it gives me more time to spend on my—”
It took him a moment to realize she was no longer walking beside him. Turning around, he saw she’d stopped in her tracks.
“We’re here,” she said simply, nodding toward the modest town house that fronted the beach.
It was just the sort of place he expected her to live in. A floodlight illuminated the back of the house, showing its cheerful cornflower-blue siding and neat white trim, and the window boxes stuffed with colorful flowers. The condominium’s small back deck was all but enveloped by a jungle of houseplants, and a set of wind chimes picked merry, tuneless notes from the night breeze. The town house looked crazy, chaotic, and welcoming in a way no home of his ever had. He turned his gaze toward the ocean’s darkness, feeling as if he’d been robbed of something he couldn’t begin to name. “Well then, good night, Miss Polanski. I’ll call you tomor—”
“You can stay.”
Sinclair spun
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