The woman nods. “In some cases, they were depicted as dragons or serpents.”
Brennan’s ring flashes in my mind under the streetlamp, the seal on the invitation. I swallow the eerie sense of déjà vu, the feeling that I am being led in circles past the same landmarks again and again.
Thalassa.Her name feels like the beating of my heart, like the sound the wind makes shearing up the cliffs outside the estate, the cymbal crash of waves. “I’ve never heard of her.”
The woman doesn’t seem surprised. “Whatever stories were told about these old ones have mostly been lost to time. But there is a myth about a fisherman who confronts Thalassa, angry that her waves cost him his catch and endangered his life. She tells him to blame the winds, for without them, she is as still and deep as the earth itself.”
It’s hard to imagine that woman with writhing hair and claws emerging from her head as calm, but it makes me wonder. Whatwould my grandmother’s reputation have been if she’d never met my grandfather? What would my mother’s life have looked like, and my own for that matter, if we’d never returned to Solidago? “I’m not sure I understand.”
“These beings…” she begins.
“Beings?” I’m unnerved by the word.
Her smile falters and stiffens, as if forced to remain on her face. “I meandeities, of course,” she’s quick to correct, but not before I see the shift behind her eyes, the flicker of fear. “They have little interest in the affairs of men. They take no responsibility for your circumstances. They simply are,” she explains.
“You seem to know a lot about them.”
“It’s my job to,” she answers, indicating the store.
When she doesn’t offer more, I ask, “The artist—are they local?”
“They are indeed,” she says, pale eyes gleaming. “Would you like to commission a painting?”
“No,” I tell her before I can change my mind, before I can come to my senses or recall that I gave all my money away only days ago. “I’ll take the one in the window.”
I slap a credit card down on the counter and realize a beat later that it’s not mine but the corporate one I borrowed—stole—from Calvin. There is a split second where I can take it back. I’m already in enough trouble, no need to add to my sins. But a familiar twinge of adrenaline stays my hand, growing inside me reckless and unchecked. That old sense of freedom I felt whenever I would light a stolen cigarette or mist myself with pilfered perfume, like I’m slipping out of a corset, taking a deep breath of air.
My eyes meet the woman’s as I pull my fingers away, leaving the card on the counter. “Wrap it up.”
LEVI’S SHOP ISempty when I step inside; I’ve obviously come during a lull. I try, and fail, to bustle the bags of Korean barbecue toward the counter quietly, willing my anxiety from a rolling boil to a simmer. When he looks up, I say brightly, “I come bearing gifts!”
The idea struck me when I stepped out of the gallery and spotted the restaurant across the street. He helped me once before. Maybe he can again. But it’s an imposition, to be sure, and I thought this would make it more transactional, level the playing field a bit. I couldn’t ask him for something again without offering something in return.
His eyes widen. “Don’t you mean, this time? You come bearing giftsthis time.” But the slow smile smearing across his face like honey tells me he’ll accept.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I tell him, more than a little embarrassed by my display. My guilt is evident in the sheer volume of food I brought. I don’t mention that his meal is courtesy of Pacific Creative, just like my new piece of art.
He lifts the receipt stapled to the front of one of the bags. “Barbecue.” He drops it and levels his turquoise gaze on me. “It looks like you bought the place out.”
I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks and drop the last of the bags on the counter. “There’s an edamame dish in there, too, in case you’re vegan or kosher.”
“I don’t keep kosher, but even if I did, this would likely not qualify. And I’m certainly not vegan,” he responds.
I sink against the countertop. “Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t matter, then.”
“You know, if you wanted to take me to dinner, you could have just asked.” His hair is in its customary bun, and his face is stubbly today where it’s usually clean-shaven.
I imagine rubbing my cheek against it. And then I imagine rubbing against other,lowerparts of him and heat overwhelms me. “I figured I owed you one,” I say, brushing off his date jab.
“I see what this is.” He looks skeptical. “Bribery.” But he still locks the front door and turns the sign toCLOSED. Then he pulls a second stool from behind the counter and scoots it over for me to sit while he sits on the one near the register.
There are several packets of silverware and a couple of bottled waters in one of the bags, and I dig them free as Levi beginspulling out containers of pork belly, bulgogi, hot wings, spicy squid, rice, and brisket, his eyes growing rounder at each one.
“I have a way of overdoing things sometimes,” I tell him, my cheeks burning. “And I didn’t know what you liked.”
“I’d say you have a way of doing things just the right amount,” he replies, digging in.
I like a man with an appetite. Roger preferred miniature foods—tapas and quail and sushi and caviar—as if they were controlled substances. Once he read that food should be chewed a minimum of thirty times before swallowing, and I would catch him counting for months afterward, dragging out every meal. I have to make a point not to stare at Levi as he eats.
