by Lynsay Sands
"Actually, we had twenty-six altogether, but only twenty-two still live," Basil said quietly. "And we had so many because . . . well, Mary and I both like children. We are allowed to have one every hundred years, and so we have. Our youngest is twenty-five and just got called to the bar. We are quite proud of him."
"We are?" Sherry asked with dismay. "Your wife is still alive? I mean I knew you must have been married at one time to have Katricia, but she was born back in--well, ages ago, for heaven's sake. I thought your wife must have died by now. But she's still alive? You're still married?" Sherry was shrieking by the end, she was so horrified at this news. Here everyone was squawking about her being his life mate, and shared pleasure and blah blah blah, and the man was married, for God's sake.
"Breathe," Basil said soothingly, reaching out to clasp her hand gently. He allowed her a moment to regain her calm and then said, "Mary and I are not now, and never have been, married or even involved. We are nothing more than friends."
Sherry blinked repeatedly at that and then snapped, "Friends who have had twenty-six kids together, but you're not involved? That sounds pretty damned involved to me."
Basil winced and shook his head. "You have to understand--"
"Understand what?" she bit out, and then said sarcastically, "No, let me guess. She doesn't understand you. Or she's cold and won't let you touch her, but you stay together for the kids. Or, oh, she's having a relationship with the plumber but won't agree to divorce because she's Catholic. Puhleeze," she growled. "You--"
"We are not married, by law or even common law. We do not now, and never have, lived together. We have only ever been friends and co-parents. The children were . . ." He seemed to struggle for the words to explain, and then sighed and tugged at her hand, urging her to sit beside him. Once she settled stiffly on the couch next to him, he said solemnly, "Sherry, living so long sounds grand and wonderful. No one thinks they want to die, but the truth is, it gets pretty damned repetitive. You get up, you feed, you work, you sleep, and then you get up and do it all over again."
Mouth tight, he turned to peer out of the window and then said, "I have been alive 3,538 years. That means I have seen roughly 1,291,370 sunrises and sunsets. I have eaten and slept and worked and . . . Quite frankly, it's boring as hell. That is why some of our kind go rogue and start misbehaving. They are exhausted and bored and need something to make them feel alive again. A life mate can ease that. But waiting to find that life mate is hell. I was in that place. I needed something to give me a reason to look forward, something to capture my interest and hold it.
"Mary and I grew up together. We were more buddies than anything else. We can read each other, and as the older one I imagine I can control her, although I have never tried. So, when she admitted she was growing tired of living, I understood completely. And then when she said she thought having a child might ease that, that it would give her someone to think about and care about besides herself, I thought . . ." His mouth tightened and then he said, "Well, I thought it was worth a damned try. It was certainly better than suicide by Rogue Hunter, so I agreed.
"We did not think," he admitted quietly. "We did not plan anything, we simply did it. And it worked. Gabriel was our first child, a beautiful baby boy. He gave us both a reason to get up in the evenings. He reinvigorated us. We are both alive and relatively healthy all these centuries later because of Gabriel, Katricia, Crispinus, Marius, Flavia, and all the others. And I did not regret it. I do not regret it. I love my children, every one of them, and I am also grateful to them because they saved my sanity and my life . . . and Mary is too."
Sherry was silent for a minute, and then asked, "You didn't live with Mary? Even when the children were little?"
"No," he assured her. "We are not life mates, Sherry. You do not understand what that means. We can read each other's thoughts. It is difficult to live with someone who can read your thoughts. You have to guard every little thing that goes through your mind, even one stray thought could unintentionally wound them. You can start the day with everything fine, one stray thought hits, and boom, it is a world war in the middle of your home."
She smiled faintly and said, "It can't be that bad."
"Trust me, it is. Think about some of your thoughts through the day. Is every one of them complimentary?"
Sherry frowned, considering her thoughts. As far as she knew, she didn't run around having insulting thoughts.
"You are shaking your head. You cannot think of anything insulting you might have thought?" he asked, and when she shook her head again, he nodded. "We are often not even aware of it." He hesitated for a moment and then said, "Okay, you walk into the office, or in your case, your store, one of the girls comes in looking a little peaked, gray-faced, bags under their eyes, etcetera . . . Have you really never thought, 'Wow, she looks like hell'?"
Sherry bit her lip. She actually had thought that. She never would have said it, of course, but she had thought it.
"Or you have never looked at someone and thought they have put on a couple pounds, or those pants make their behind look huge?"
Sherry grimaced. Yes, she'd thought that.
"Or, you are training a new employee and she seems slow to learn, you briefly lose your patience and think, 'Good Lord, she is so dense sometimes,' before you take a breath and try again?"
"Ah," Sherry breathed on a sigh.
"Or you think someone's laugh sounds like nails on chalkboard. Or someone is humming off-key and you think they are tone deaf. Or--"
"I get it," Sherry interrupted, and grimaced as she admitted, "Yes, I guess I probably have thoughts that could be considered insulting, and more often than I realized."
"You do not mean them as insulting. They are your thoughts, after all, no one can hear them," Basil said quietly.
"But immortals can," Sherry said on a sigh. "I guess that would make it hard to live with one."
"It is a little more complicated than that," Basil said quietly. "Younger immortals usually cannot read older immortals if we are guarding our thoughts, but it is impossible to constantly guard your thoughts. Well, not impossible, but it is stressful and that guard can slip. And of course, mortals cannot read immortals, but they also do not guard their own thoughts at all, and being constantly bombarded with stray thoughts, insults, and fantasies can be exhausting."
"I can imagine," Sherry said quietly, bit her lip anxiously and then asked, "But you cannot read my thoughts, right? Or can you now? Stephanie can now."
"No, I cannot read you," Basil assured her. "Which makes you the most restful person in Casey Cottage."
"Restful?" Sherry asked with a wince. That sounded about as sexy as snot.
Basil chuckled at her expression. "Believe me, it makes you the most attractive woman in the world. I can relax with you, Sherry. Usually the only time I can relax is when I am alone, but being alone is . . . well, lonely," he said dryly. "It is nice to be able to enjoy company without having to be on my guard. I have not enjoyed that since Acantha."
"Acantha?" Sherry asked. "Where is that?"
"Acantha is not a place, she was my first life mate," he said quietly.
"Your first life mate?" she asked with surprise. "So I'm not the first?"
"No," he said solemnly. "I was fortunate enough to meet a life mate while I was quite young. Sadly, I did not have her long."
"What happened to her?" Sherry asked.
"Atlantis fell six months after we were mated. She did not survive." He was silent for a moment and then added, "Acantha was a teacher. The school where she taught exploded during the first quake that hit. She was caught in the flames and . . ." He swallowed and then explained, "For some reason the nanos make us very flammable. She did not have a chance."
"I'm sorry," Sherry said quietly.
"As am I," he said solemnly, and admitted, "At the time, it felt like the end of the world, and I am ashamed to admit it, but I basically sat down and . . ." He shrugged. "I was not exactly motivated to struggle to surviv
e. I would have died there with everyone else, but for Lucian. He basically dragged me out of Atlantis, me and our brother Jean Claude both, though I do not know where Lucian found the will or desire to live himself. He lost not only his life mate in the fall, but his children as well."
"That's awful," Sherry murmured.
"Yes." Basil sighed the word and then glanced her way with a wry smile. "And this is some terribly depressing conversation. Besides, it all happened a very long time ago. We have all had more than three thousand years to grieve the loss of Atlantis and all those who died with it, family and friends, home, a life that can never be replicated."
Sherry nodded and peered down at their entwined hands, trying to think of another topic, something less depressing to discuss. After a moment she said, "If Atlantis was that advanced back then, imagine how much further ahead it would be now."
"Hmmm," Basil murmured, and then pointed out, "On the other hand, they might eventually have found a fix for the nano issue and then I would not be here to meet you."
She nodded silently at that, acknowledging it was true. She hadn't known the man long, but she was definitely glad to have met him . . . so far.
"So . . . why a kitchenware store?" Basil asked suddenly.
Sherry glanced to him with surprise and then grinned at his somewhat baffled expression. She supposed to a man, opening a kitchenware store would be the last thing he'd think to do. Especially a man who hadn't eaten in forever. Shrugging, she said simply, "Because I love food."
Basil considered her answer for a moment, but his expression didn't clear and he finally asked, "Well, then why not a restaurant?"
"Because I suck at cooking," she said honestly, and chuckled at the dismay this brought to his face. After a moment she assured him, "I don't really suck at it, but I'm not good enough to run a restaurant. Besides, I love all the gadgets and whosits in my store; pasta makers, ice cream makers, the gadget that peels, cores, and slices your apples . . ." She shrugged. "There are so many nifty things out there now that make cooking easier for women like me who are busy and want to save time. And then there are lovely serving sets, pretty wine decanters, cool stone ice cubes, and so on. There are so many innovations and new ones almost weekly."
"And you probably have every one of them in your own kitchen," he guessed with amusement.
"I do," she confessed with a self-deprecating smile, and then confessed, "I have pretty much everything and anything necessary to throw fabulous dinner parties. Sadly, I never get to use them. I never have the time, and even if I did, I haven't had the time to make much in the way of friends. I have a couple, but I've been so busy getting the store up and running that I let a lot of friendships drop."
"So a social butterfly who is held back by work?" Basil suggested gently.
Sherry considered that, then smiled with self-deprecation and said, "That or a wannabe social butterfly who hides behind her work."
Basil appeared surprised by her candor, but merely asked, "How long have you owned your store?"
"Three years," Sherry answered.
"And you're thirty-two now?" he asked.
"Yes, I opened it on my twenty-ninth birthday."
Basil raised his eyebrows and gave a silent whistle. "Impressive."
Sherry smiled faintly and shook her head. "Not that impressive. While I worked hard and saved every spare penny after university, I still couldn't have opened the store that young on my own."
"Then how?" he asked curiously.
Sherry shrugged, and avoided answering by telling him, "I could have opened it six or seven years earlier than that. Luther offered me the money to open a store when we graduated, but I refused."
"Luther?" Basil asked, obviously curious.
"Oh." She gave a slight laugh. "A friend. His name is really Lex, but I used to call him Lex Luther as a joke and then somehow it just became Luther." She shrugged and then smiled reminiscently before saying, "He's the best friend I ever had. We met in university, ended up both renting rooms in the same house when I moved off campus after my first year, and we're still friends today, though I don't get to see him anymore.
"Anyway, he comes from a rich family," she added. "So when graduation came, he offered to bankroll me on the store. We'd be partners. But--" She paused and grimaced. "I wanted to do it on my own. I wanted to prove to myself I could do it, and I had a plan. Besides, I didn't want to gamble on his money. I'd have never forgiven myself if the store failed and I lost his money."
"Is this Luther the man you were dating but were not exclusive with?"
Sherry noted that he was talking about it in the past tense, as if she'd agreed to break off her casual relationship with the man she'd been dating. But she let that go and shook her head. "No. Luther has only ever been a friend." She smiled and added, "Actually, I haven't seen him for years. He was offered a really good position with a company in Saudi Arabia about the time I opened my store, and other than the occasional e-mail, we hardly talk anymore. But before that he was kind of like a combo girlfriend and older brother all in one. And I think he's gay, although he hasn't admitted that to me yet." Sherry paused to ponder that briefly, wondering why Luther wouldn't admit it to her. It wasn't like she'd care.
Shrugging that concern away, she continued, "Anyway, he offered me the money to open the store, but I said no and set out to do it on my own. According to my big life plan, I would have saved enough to open my own store by the time I was thirty-four, and I would have owned it free and clear, no loans or anything."
"But instead you were able to open it at twenty-nine," he murmured, and then asked, "What happened? Did you win a lottery?"
"I wish," Sherry said softly, and shook her head. "No. I'm afraid my mother died. A heart attack at fifty-four."
"I am sorry," Basil said quietly.
"As you said about your wife, so am I."
"I presume you used your inheritance to start your store early?" he guessed.
Sherry nodded. "Mom had an insurance policy. I put it toward the store. I think it's what she would have wanted. She was always supportive of my dream."
Basil nodded. "And your father? Siblings?"
Sherry shrugged. "I had a brother, Danny. He was a year younger than me, but . . ."
She paused and swallowed and then it suddenly came out. Tumbling over her lips like wine out of a bottle, she blurted the whole story of how she'd lost her brother.
"He drowned when I was eight. We were on a boating trip to Cedar Point. We went with several other families we often boated with. We arrived just before dinnertime and were supposed to visit the park the next day. The boaters decided to barbecue at the dock that night, to save money for the next day, I guess. There were picnic benches and stuff on the shoreline for boaters to use. Us kids were playing while the adults barbecued on hibachis . . . hot dogs and hamburgers. Mom forgot the hot dog buns. Dad sent Danny back to the boat to get them." She glanced out toward the backyard again and said, "It took a while for anyone to realize he hadn't returned with the buns. When they went to check on him, Danny was floating between the boat and the dock. He was a good swimmer. We both were, but there was a gash on his forehead. They think he must have slipped getting on or off the boat and hit his head."
"So young," Basil said sadly, shaking his head. "That must have been hard on you all."
Sherry nodded. "My parents never got over it. They blamed each other and themselves. If she hadn't forgotten the buns, if he had gone for them himself . . ." She shook her head. "It wasn't long before they divorced. Dad moved out West, met and married a woman with two kids and had two more with her, and I haven't seen him since."
Basil frowned. "He never contacts you or--?"
"He called a couple times. E-mailed too," she admitted. "But I wasn't very receptive. It felt like I lost my brother and then he abandoned us. It also felt like he didn't care about me, like Danny was all that had mattered to him and I wasn't enough to keep him there," Sherry admitted quietly.
"I a
m sure that is not true," Basil said quietly.
Sherry shrugged. "He didn't try very hard to see or speak to me when I stopped taking his calls," she pointed out, and then sighed and said, "But that's okay. It was a long time ago."
"So, you are alone in the world?" Basil asked.
"No. I have three aunts on my mom's side and their families. They gathered around me and were very supportive when Mom died. They still are. They always include me in holidays and birthdays. And I have friends."
Basil merely nodded and asked, "So what did you take in university? Business?"
"Yes." She smiled. "It seemed the sensible degree if I wanted to own my own business one day."
"Very sensible," he agreed. "And did you use it before starting your business?"
"Of course. I worked in the offices of a large international building contractor based in Toronto. It was a good job, the pay was excellent, otherwise I never would have been able to save money as I did. And they were willing to pay all the overtime I wanted to work." She grinned. "I worked a lot of overtime.
"Ah." He nodded. "You never married, then?"
She glanced at him with confusion. "What has overtime to do with marriage?"
"Spoken like someone who has never been married," he said with amusement. "A husband would protest at so much overtime."
"Oh." She shook her head. "No. I've not been very lucky in love. I have terrible taste in men. It's been all losers and louses for me," she said wryly, and then added, "I was engaged once, though, for a bit."
"What happened to end the engagement?" Basil asked, curious.
Sherry shrugged. "It just didn't work out. These things happen. It's better this way."
He nodded and then smiled faintly. "Well, it is certainly better for me."
"How's that?" she asked.
Basil hesitated and then said, "Ask me that again a week from now."
Sherry stared at him curiously, but then turned to peer outside again as movement caught her eye. A woman had just come out of the house next door with gloves and a sun hat on and a basket in hand full of gardening tools. As Sherry watched, the woman moved to the rosebushes lining the front of her house, set down the basket, picked up pruning shears and set to work on her rosebushes.
"It's a beautiful day," Basil said quietly.