Herb nodded. “UCLA’s giving her a sabbatical?”
UCLA?Cassie struggled off Alex’s lap. “What doesUCLAhave to do with it?”
Herb smiled indulgently. “Alex probably didn’t get around to telling you yet. You teach there.”
“I thought I was an anthropologist.”
“You are,” Alex said. “You teach anthropology there.” He grinnedPicture Perfect
39at her. “Let me see if I’ve got it right this semester—you’re teaching Archaeological Field Training, The Australopithecines, and you’re heading a tutorial for Golden’s course on biology, society, and culture.”
Cassie rounded on him, furious, her anger eating away at the distance between them and making her forget her quiet role as an observer. How could he have neglected to mention this? She’d told him about the hand she’d found in the library the day before, the first clue to her identity.
And at the police station, when he’d confirmed her profession, she’d practically crowed. For someone so concerned with his own career, Alex should have understood. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I’ve got to call someone there. I might have missed a class. They might have seen the paper—”
“Cassie,” Alex said, “calm down. I had Jennifer call to let them know you’re all right and to tell them you’d be taking off sick for a couple of weeks.”
“And who the hell isJennifer?” Cassie yelled.
“Myassistant,” Alex said. His voice, low and soothing, ran over her shoulders and her back. He came to stand in front of her, grasping her upper arms and forcing her to look into his eyes. “Take it easy,” he said.
“I only want you to get better.”
“I’mfine,” Cassie exploded. “I’m perfectlyfine. I may not be able to remember who I am, Alex, but that doesn’t make me an invalid. I’d probably remember a lot more if you weren’t so intent on making all my decisions for me and—” Suddenly, her words dropped off. Alex’s voice had been soft as rain, and his arms were offered for comfort, but his fingers bit into her skin. Cassie looked down to a spot where a small smear of blood from the side of his injured hand had marked her shirt.
He was staring at her so intently he didn’t even know he was hurting her. Cassie felt her cheeks burn. She was accusing him, although she only knew half the facts. She had yelled at him, when all he’d done was try to help. She turned away from Alex, mortified that she had screamed like a banshee in front of him, in front of his agent. What had she been thinking? Of course she’d go to Scotland. She had the rest of her life to teach atUCLA.
Alex brushed her hair back from her forehead. He seemed to be waiting for her to come to her senses. “I’m sorry,” Cassie murmured. “I just wish you’d said something.” She pulled away from him, letting that uneasy shadow fall back into place between them. She smiled through her embarrassment at Herb, then walked onto the patio that led to the beach.
“Whew,” Herb said, standing and stretching his arms overhead. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cassie act like that.”
Alex watched his wife walk over the bright sand, the wind covering her footsteps almost as quickly as she made them. He saw her pick up a stone and throw it as far as she could, aiming to shatter the sun. “No,” he said quietly. “Neither have I.”
IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1975 AND SHE AND CONNOR LAY ON THEIR backs on the floating dock, rubbing their toes against the rough wood, challenging each other to see who could stare longest at the burning sun. “You’re cheating,” she said. “I can see you squinting when you think I’m not looking.”
“Am not,” Connor said indignantly. “You just can’t think of any other way to win.”
She was twelve and she was with her best friend, and it was one of those absolutely perfect days on Moosehead Lake, one that moved so slowly you were sure you were stuck in a photograph until, wham, just like that, it was over too soon. “God,” she said. “I’m totally blind.”
“Me too,” said Connor. “All I see is black.”
“Truce?”
“Truce.” Cassie sat up, groping along the dock past her fishing pole and Connor’s to find the skinny bones of his wrist. She pulled until she knew he was sitting up too.
She had known Connor for as long as she could remember. He lived next door and his father worked at the bait and tackle shop in town.
They had stolen still-hot elephant-ear cookies from her parents’ bakery;
they had been in the same class since second grade; they had learned to sail together on a battered old Sunfish bought with their pooled paper route money. They had both forsworn marriage, each thinking that with the exception of the other, the opposite sex was a miserable lot; they talked constantly of running away to the Canadian border, just to see if they could actually do it. Their parents said they were each other’s flip side, inseparable, two halves of a whole. Cassie liked that idea a lot.
It made her think of a picture in their biology textbook of a hermit crab that lived with a sea anemone on its back. The sea anemone, carried by the crab, had a better chance of finding food, and the crab was betterPicture Perfect
41protected by the sea anemone’s sting and camouflage. Separate, they had to take their chances. Together, they had a whole new chance at survival.
Connor jumped to his feet. “Want to fish?”
“Again?” said Cassie. “No.”
