Page 40 of Spindrift

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Listen.”Morgan looked around to make sure nobody was about to demand more food.“Whatever’s going on with you and the field, you don’t have to talk about it. Imean, you can if you want to, but don’t feel that you owe any of us anexplanation.”

Emilia’sfingers touched Morgan’s arm. The grill hid the gesture from the rest of theparty, and Morgan reflected that she might as well have touched the hot metalagain as Emilia’s fingertips burned against her skin.

Emiliadidn’t say anything. She gazed at Morgan, her eyes the golden brown of amberhoney in the firelight, and Morgan read the silent thank you in their depths.

• • •

The thirdbeer was a mistake. Emilia realized it halfway through when the buzz hit herhard. She needed to stop if she wanted to drive home tonight, and she needed todrive home tonight because Nell was there. She dragged her concentration backto the conversation around her. Stormy and two people she assumed worked at theclinic were deep in discussion about a TV series she didn’t watch. Danielle andher wife chatted with each other across the fire, and Angie, Stevie, andLillian were looking at Emilia expectantly. She gnawed her lip. What had theyjust said?

“I’msorry. I was just thinking about Nell. What did I miss?”

“Doyou like food?” asked Stevie.

“Like,any food?”

“Maybewe should spare her,” said Angie. “She’s innocent.”

Stevielet out a solemn sigh. “No. The truth will set her free.”

“Ilive with total losers,” Lillian said. “Ignore them. Sometimes I cook for thesehellions.”

“Thethings that woman can do to an eggplant should be illegal,” Stevie agreed.

“Like,eggplant parmesan?”

“Youpoor thing,” said Angie. “There is so much more you can do with an eggplant.You need to come over.”

“Yes,you should. I don’t know when we’re doing it next, but I’ll let you know. Angiemakes amazing pierogies, too,” said Lillian.

“Polishgrandmother,” said Angie.

“Well,I’m very Italian, in case you couldn’t tell. We do olives.”

“I’ma mutt,” said Stevie. “No foodie heritage. But Morgan’s family is so Irish theyshit leprechauns and potatoes.”

“Ouch.”Morgan, who had finally finished feeding the guests, stood over them with aplate of food. “Got room for one more?”

Lillianglanced at Emilia, who currently shared a wooden bench with Stevie’s dog. “Ifyou move a dog, yeah.”

“Marvin,off,” said Stevie.

Marvindidn’t move. Lillian’s larger dog, however, loped over from the Watson’s sideof the fire to pant at her feet.

“Doesthat happen a lot?” asked Emilia.

“Nearlyevery time.”

“Marvin,”Morgan said in an excited voice. “Is that a squirrel?” The bench rocked asMarvin sprang to life. Morgan dove for the vacant seat.

“Cruel,but effective,” said Emilia.

“He’snever caught a squirrel in his life.” Morgan sat, leaving only a few inches ofspace between them, and cut into her steak. The perfectly done meat parted likebutter beneath her knife. Emilia tried not to watch. Lusting after a person wasone thing; lusting after their steak was another.

Morgannoticed her staring.

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