Resonance

  ***

  "So Angel brought me over here to see you," I finished some time later. My glass was long empty. He picked his up and shook the remaining ice to see if there was anything left other than melt water, but there wasn't.

  "How about some lunch?" he said, and I realized that I was hungry.

  We went back up to the porch and found lunch spread out all over the table, which was set for two. Simon served me and then himself with spicy baked fish, beans and rice, and some sort of greens—definitely not lettuce or mesclun or anything my mom uses.

  "White wine?" he asked, holding up a skinny bottle with condensation all over the outside.

  What the hell, I thought. "Sure," I said. He poured.

  "Are you getting to the point where we can talk about the problem?" he asked as he put the bottle down. He took a bite of fish and glanced at me.

  "I guess," I said, taking a bite myself. "There's some other stuff I need to explain first, though, so you'll understand."

  "Go for it." He smiled and forked up some of the greens.

  I took a deep breath. "My mom's name before she was married was Ramona Paxton Mitchell. My dad's name is John William Wynand," I started. I told him all about my family, and I told him all about Shep's family, and by then we had just about finished dessert, which was cut-up fruit with some spices, maybe allspice, and maybe some booze. I had drunk more today, I thought, than any other day so far in my life, and it was still only lunchtime.

  It was time to tell him all about the lake. And then I knew I had to either shut up or tell him the situation. But it didn't happen.

  "Do you mind if we stop now?" he asked. "In the 'real' world"—I heard the quotes—"it's about eleven at night and I'm not good for much longer. It's time for my nap."

  "Oh—sure." I was slightly nonplussed and probably sounded it.

  "I'm not trying to blow you off," he said. "I just want to be able to give you my full attention—my alert, awake, functioning attention. How would it be if you came back here tomorrow morning and we carried on then?"

  "Fine," I said. "What time?"

  He shrugged and grinned. "After breakfast. Whenever you like. I won't go back yet—I'll just stay here a day or two, so we're on the same schedule."

  "Won't that mess up your schedule—in the 'real' world?" I asked.

  "Nope. Doesn't matter." He shrugged again. "When I go back, it'll be when I left. So it doesn't matter whether I spend a long afternoon here, or a year. Well, if I stayed a year, I might have trouble remembering where I was in my life when I got back. But a couple of days won't matter. I'll enjoy it." He got up from the table.

  "See you tomorrow?" He stuck out his hand.

  "Sure," I said and shook it.