Page 27 of Hummingbird and Kraken

“Oh, but it’s the most beautiful dress. It has beads on it and ruffles.”

“No dress!”

“Hmmm…” he considered. “It sounds like you don’t want to be a person today, so you don’t want any blueberries. That’s really too bad, because they’re awfully tasty.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Just the dress. No shoes.”

“Just the dress and underwear,” Ro negotiated. “And then I’ll give you your pail.”

That seemed to be agreeable.

As Declan watched the two of them together, he started to realize just how bad New York had been for him. He didn’t want a child, necessarily, or at least not yet. But he wanted that closeness, that sense of community and family.

All of Mike’s friends were too busy being rich and impressive, the “right” kind of socially powerful gay men, to do something as simple as chase around a preschooler in a blueberry patch. He certainly didn’t have any family to speak of. The closest he’d come to having a community was the teen center where he volunteered, but the kids who came to his art classes changed every week.

Declan was more than happy to run around the farm and roll around on his knees, though. He caught and tickled the “blueberry thief” at least a dozen times, alternating the monster role with “Uncle Ro.” It made the harvesting take at least twice as long, but he was laughing and grinning the whole time.

Eventually, May wandered off to play with her pail, while they continued working. She carefully picked a few berries to put inside, then nestled them in handfuls of grass and pretty rocks. After she added each one, she came back to show him. He praised and cooed over each one.

They finished another row while she smushed the blueberries on the rocks, staining them blue and using them like paint. She must have felt the adult eyes on her, because she looked up at them and grinned, holding up two of her sticky rocks. They each pretended to eat the cookies, much to her delight.

May’s white, frilly dress was soon stained with dark juice and dirt, and Declan was all sweaty. All in all, a fantastic day. A long day, though.

“Ugh,” Declan groaned as he reached the end of the next row and stretched. “I’m exhausted. How does she have so much energy?”

May was carefully arranging small rocks in a circle and putting a blueberry on top of each one. The berries kept rolling off and she nibbled her tongue in concentration.

Ro shook his head, looking at her fondly. “I have no idea. Ready to break for lunch?”

“So ready.”

“Sounds good. We’ll eat and then I can show you around a bit more.” He turned and raised his voice. “Come on, May! Say goodbye to your friends. Declan’s going to help us make sandwiches.”

She thought for a moment, then waved to her pile of rocks. “Bye-bye.” The look she gave Declan was dubious, though. “Do you know how to make sammiches?”

Chapter 9

Geir

Geir watched the spotted fawn as it walked carefully across the clearing. Another followed behind it, and then the doe. He’d known, just by their age, that they were natural deer instead of People. Usually he could watch them for hours.

He shifted uncomfortably on his stiff legs. All three heads came up, pinning him with steady eyes, and then darting away.

Geir moved into a new position, bending his knees a little more. He was sitting on one of the rocks he often favored. He had settled here for days, sometimes, noticing time only when the sun rose and fell, when his clothing became damp with rain or dew.

Time, he had found, was endless. Flowing around him like a river around a pebble. He had long since stopped measuring it. Or even noticing its passage.

He stretched out his shoulders, not quite comfortable. Maybe he should sit below the tree. Or walk again through the forest.

When would Declan be back?

And how had time, his unnoticed companion, become so unpredictably vexing?

Geir had started bread dough this morning when Declan left. He was pleased to discover that the yeast in his refrigerator was still alive, though a bit slow to start. Manufactured yeast was a miracle.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made bread. Five years ago? Ten?

He had baked so many loaves of bread before. On flat rocks, in clay ovens, in heavy pans, or the gas-burning oven that he had now. Times changed, but grain and water largely did not.