“Tea?” Mrs. Brown perks up at this.
“Finest sweet tea in Folk Haven,” my grandpa assures them, pulling out chairs at the kitchen table.
“Of course. Sweet tea.” The brief flash of hope in Mrs. Brown’s face folds in on itself.
“My mother drinks hot tea,” Isla announces to the room. Just as I’m struggling for a way to smooth over the misstep in Southern hospitality, Isla keeps going. “She’s from England. So is my dad.” Isla points at the unobtrusive man. “Hot tea is a staple for them. Did you know teatime is a huge strain on the power grids over in England? There’s a surge in demand for electricity because everyone is using their electric kettle at once. I prefer sweet tea because of the high sugar content. I had yours at the town’s spring picnic fifteen years ago. Finn brought me a glass. I enjoyed it but didn’t understand why he was bringing me beverages. Now, I think it’s because he had a crush on me.”
Another silence descends over the room as Isla pauses to dig something out of her big, floppy shoulder bag, providing a respite for everyone gathered to absorb her twisting road of a speech.
I do remember that day. Isla volunteered to help build the stage for the evening musical acts, and she looked parched after hammering in all those nails. So, I brought her some tea and silently wished she’d confess how much she liked me, so I wouldn’t have to shore up my pathetic teenage boy courage and ask her out myself.
Instead, she thanked me and asked that I hold her hammer while she drank.
“That’s kind of you to remember my tea,” my grandmother finally says, a slow smile deepening the laugh lines around her eyes. “And I have a nice selection of tea bags. A warm cup before bed always helps me sleep better.”
The Brown parents offer their own hesitant smiles at that news.
“That’s good. Here.” Isla finally surfaces from her bag, pulling out a box. “I brought you all a puzzle.” She tilts the box, so we can see the picture—Hoover Dam, 1000 Pieces.
“That was nice of you. Love a good puzzle.” My grandfather grins, hands out to accept.
Isla passes the gift over. “I thought you four could work on that. My parents need to get out of their comfort zone and meet new people.”
The Browns share a look before turning skeptical glances back on their daughter.
Isla points at them both, a warning in her eyes, as if she expects them to misbehave. “This is good for you.” Then, the mythical woman turns all her piercing focus on me. “I need to speak to you.”
She extends a hand, palm open, fingers spread.
Waiting for me.
As if there were any doubt that I’d take it.
I slide my hand in hers, and she pulls me through the house, out the back door. Twigs and leaves crunch under our feet as we enter the woods that separate my grandparents’ house from the lake. I’ve stopped thinking of it as my house ever since I moved into the studio apartment above their garage, which is a separate building. There are apartments and the occasional house available for rent in town, and I can afford to buy a place of my own. But not on the lake.
And the lake always reminds me of the woman I love, so I don’t want to go too far from it.
“Tell me everything you know about selkies,” Isla orders after pulling me along for a stretch.
I glance back but realize she’s taken us deep enough into the woods that I can’t see the house anymore. Our conversation won’t be overheard even if my grandparents decide to sit out on the porch.
“I know you have a second skin.” Facing Isla, I meet her eyes and draw up the information Owen shared with me all those years ago. “And that you use that skin to transform into another shape. You can do that whenever you want, but the group that lives on Lake Galen mainly agreed only to turn on nights when there’s no moon. Figuring the darker it is, the safer you are.”
She nods, so I keep going. “I know that you are a selkie, and so are your parents. I know that Owen, Moira, Calder, Seamus, and Mrs. MacNamara are selkies, but Mr. MacNamara isn’t.”
When Owen first told me that, my heart tried to give me hope that I had a chance with Isla.
But that would only work if I ignored what I had done.
What your dad did, a voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like my grandmother insists.
“Owen said your parents had a bad experience and were extremely cautious. That if they found out what had happened to you and that I—a human—knew, they’d probably move you all away.” That was the worst threat my friend could’ve thrown at me to keep my mouth shut. “I know there are others like you, but Owen didn’t name names. Oh, and that the school nurse is a witch. At least, she was fourteen years ago. Ms. Madeline might have retired by now.”
“What else?” Isla presses when I fall quiet.
I shake my head. “That’s all I know. I mean, I can guess there’s probably a textbook amount of info he didn’t give me. But Owen made sure to tell me just enough to understand. And to keep quiet.”
“Nothing about mates?”
