***

        Backinthepresent

        "Reya,you''reoutinthewindagaindressedlikethat.Ifyoucatchacold,Idon''thavetimetotakeyoutothehospital."

        Adeep,metallicvoice,roughenedbyyearsbutsoftenedwithaffection,driftedupfromthecourtyardbelow.

        Reyaleanedoverthewrought-ironbalconyrailingandpeereddown.

        TherestoodLucian,hiswhiteathletictanktopclingingtohissweat-slickedskin,thefabricsheerwhereitclung,outliningthehardridgesofhischestandshoulders.

        Evenatforty,themanwasstillacatch,thoughnooneseemedinterestedincatchinghim.

        Reya''slipscurvedintoadimpledsmileasshewaved."Goodmorning,Dad."

        Lucian''sthinlipsquirkedupwardashetookinthesightofher—longhairtossinglikeseaweedinthewind,makingherlooklikeasirenpoisedonhercliff,luringsailorstotheirdoom.Hecouldalmostheartheunearthlysong.

        "Gobackinsideandgetdressed.We''rehavingbreakfasttogethertoday."

        "Okay,Dad!"Shebouncedawayfromthebalconyrail,vanishingintotheroomwithlight,eagersteps.

        Lately,Lucianhadbeenconsumedbyanothermajorcase,leavingnotimefordaysoff.Mostmornings,Reyafriedherowneggs,thoughtheyneverturnedoutquiteright—neverasgoldenandcrispattheedgesasLucian''s,neverwiththeyolkperfectlyroundlikeafullmoon.Heneverhadtimetoteachher,andshenevermanagedtomastertheheat.

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