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"My mother on the dock? This late at night? That's ridiculous," he said. "You must have been dreaming or imagining it."

He drew closer. He was wearing a light bluejacket. no shirt, a pair of pants, and no shots.

"No. I'm sure I did."

"You did not see my mother. You did not," he insisted.

"Someone was there." I said. "Waving a lantern."

"A lantern? What is this? Are you

manufacturing some story to write about?"

"No, really, I..."

"I have seen no one on the dock," he said firmly. "and I've been out here a good twenty minutes. The darkness, the lights, the ocean can play tricks on your eyes. Haven't you heard the stories seafaring men told, how they swore they saw their wives and mothers walking on the water thousands of miles from shore and home?"

He looked out at the sea. "There are just too many reflections, the stars; all of it can tease and tickle your imagination or your wishful thinking, that's all. That's all it was."

I nodded. "Maybe you're right," I said.

"Of course I'm right. I've lived here all my life. I should know." He paused and stared at me. "You should go back to sleep."

"Why are you out so late?" I asked. "It's after two in the morning."

"I have always had insomnia. Even as a child," he added. "I hated nap time because it didn't work for me."

"Don't you get exhausted?"

"You can be what they call overtired and still not fall asleep." he said.

"Maybe you should see a doctor. then."

"Don't you think I have? All they can do is prescribe some addictive drug. My mother gives me a cup of hot milk, and that helps, but other than that, it's my particular curse. We all have our private curses to live with. Isabel, don't we?" he asked pointedly. Even in the darkness, I could see how intense his eyes were.

All I could do was nod.

"You should go back to bed," he said. "And don't forget our bargain," he added, then turned and walked back to the house, choosing to stay in the shadows as if he were some nocturnal creature afraid of being seen.

I hurried back inside.

Why did he insist she wasn't out there on that dock? How could he not have seen her?

Was I imagining it after all?

As I feared, I tossed and turned and fretted in and out of nightmares until the first light of morning spread like warm butter over my face and shook my eyelids. I groaned awake and then lay there wondering about all that I had seen and heard just hours ago.

Had I dreamed it?

Or was my mother on that dock with a lantern, and was Linden hovering in the shadows?

Who were they, this mother and son who lived like hermits on this posh estate?

And how much of what and who they were was in me as well? Was my adoptive mother right about me after all, that I would develop some strange mental malady? Would I end up on a beach at night, staring into the darkness? Maybe for my mother there was nothing but darkness, even on the brightest, sunniest days. Was that my destiny as well?

Like a reader terrified by the words on the page. I was afraid to turn it and continue,

But I knew I had no choice. This was my story, too. now. These were my pages to read. I no longer had the luxu