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These people aren’t like us. They’re frozen in time.”
    “It amazes me how a nice person like you can be so damned narrow-minded.” Sonny scooped up his room key from the dresser, pocketed it, then shrugged into his jacket.
    Leaning against the wall next to the door was Emily Christian’s tattered dragon kite. When Sonny had gone back to the wharf to get his boots, he’d fished the kite from the water. Now he tucked the dry, broken remnants under his arm and stepped into the hallway with Doreen, shutting the door behind him.
    “It’s called being realistic,” she said. “Normally I’d be thrilled at seeing you take an interest in something that’s going on around you. But Sonny—” The worry lines in her face deepened. “Not these people.”
    “Why not these people? You’re the last person I would have expected to be prejudiced.”
    “I’m not prejudiced. I’ll even grudgingly admit that the islanders have a certain charm. I just don’t want to see you involved in something that might be hard to get out of.”
    “Doreen, we’re talking about dinner, not marriage. You’re reading stuff into this that isn’t there.”
    She let out a deep breath and shook her head. “You’re probably right. Guess maybe I’m going a little stir crazy or something. Doting in my old age.”
    “Don’t get started on that old-age stuff. You’re the youngest fifty-seven-year-old I know.”
    “That’s funny. You’re the oldest twenty-eight-year-old I know.”
    He gave her his usual reply. “Go to hell, Doreen.” It was a standing joke between them. Seven years ago she’d wanted to photograph him. He’d told her no, but she’d persisted. She’d followed him, called, hadn’t given up, not even when he told her to go to hell. So he’d finally said yes, just to get rid of her. His career had been moderately successful up until that point. It had taken Doreen and her skill with a camera to make him famous.
    Now, every so often, just for old time’s sake, he told her to go to hell.
    She walked him to the top of the steps. “Don’t stay out too late. We need to be up by four to catch that pure light. Hopefully we’ll be able to wrap up in one more day and get the hell out of here.”
    Like a kid facing a return to school after summer vacation, Sonny felt a flutter of panic at the thought of going back to neon and concrete. He wished the vacation could last forever. Like an adult, he knew that was impossible.
    * * *
    Fog swirled about his feet as he followed the winding lane that led to the gray two-story house perched atop the hill like some moody painting.
    For a second Sonny wished he’d brought along his camera. It would have made a great picture. The house silhouetted against the darkening sky, the fog…everything in shades of gray. Lonely. Mysterious. A little magical. Just the right place for a mermaid to live.
    As he approached, smells of wood smoke mingled with the briny scent of the ocean and the smell of the damp earth underfoot. Warm light poured from latticed windows, reaching out to him across the uneven walk. He wasn’t sure which door to use—front or back. He finally settled on the front one that opened onto the porch.
    He climbed steps that had been painted a gray enamel, and knocked.
    From behind the door he heard excited voices followed by running feet. The door opened wide and he was greeted by three dark-haired girls. He wasn’t too good at figuring kids’ ages. He guessed one to be about twelve or thirteen, the youngest five or six.
    He’d seen the middle one before. She’d brought back his jacket. Dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, hair tied in a ponytail, she looked more… he wanted to say American, but they were all Americans.
    It was a little unnerving the way they were all staring up at him, eyes wide.
    “Hi,” he offered.
    “Hi.” All three spoke in unison.
    “Emily!” the middle girl shrieked, never taking her eyes off Sonny. “He’s here!”
    From behind the