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Donovan
I’ve lost Jason. One second, he’s next to me; the next, he’s gone. He’s like a dog—short attention span, throw a Frisbee and it’s see-you-later.
I don’t much feel like mingling, so I snag a cup of hot cider and find a bench to sit on. I can see Hannsett Island from here, the twinkling Christmastime town it is this time of year. The Lighthouse Medical Center is the brightest spot on the island, a castle on a cliff.
I know a lot of people resent the small towns they grew up in. Not me. Hannsett Island holds some of the worst and best years of my life inside of it. I might be a Scrooge who scowls at the capitalist trap of holiday tradition, but I like routine. I like predictability. I like knowing that, every year, the Hannsett Island Ferry is going to look like Rudolph barfed all over it, and Mrs. Prichard is going to make the same watered-down cider, and Jeff Goins is going to belt carols like his life depends on it just so he can remind everyone later about that time twenty years ago when he almost got into Juilliard.
My parents passed on—my mom when I was a teen, my dad almost five years ago—but Hannsett Island, in its own way, adopted me. It takes care of me, and I take care of it.
I sip the cider. Sure enough, it’s watery, and it burns the roof of my mouth, but I’ll probably grab another before the night is over just so Mrs. Prichard can waggle her eyebrows and go, Can’t get enough, can you?
Another loner orbits nearby. Otto has broken away from the festivities. He’s leaning against the railing, pressed up on the fake garlands and red ribbon. His bulky helmet slides forward a little as he gets on his toes and peers over the edge to watch the water churn below.
“That’s how the mermaids get you,” I say, because I’m an asshole, but he’s also leaning pretty far.
Otto startles, as though he was doing something wrong, but when he sees me, he gives a shy smile. “I was just looking.”
“Wanna keep me company?”
“Okay.” He sits down beside me. He tucks his hands in his lap, looking small.
“You like the water?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I love swimming.”
“You’d like this place in the summer.”
“That’s what Mum said.” He rocks in place. “My last birthday, we had it at the community swimming pool. It was really fun. I can hold my breath longer than any of my friends.”
“Aquaman, over here.”
He beams. Fuck, he’s a sweet kid.
“When’s your birthday?” I pry, because I have a nagging that won’t leave. My Miss Clavel senses are tingling, and they have been ever since I first ran into Kenzi and Otto at the medical center.
“May 12th,” Otto says.
It doesn’t take me long to do the math.
A May birth means he was conceived August or September, probably. And if we roll it back to August, thirteen years ago…
Kenzi isn’t in college, like she said she was. She’s on the floor of a tattered sailboat, losing her virginity with her two best friends in the same room.
That jet-black hair. Those ice-blue eyes. It all makes sense now. Why Kenzi left in a rush. Why she never came back. Why she lied over the dinner table about Otto’s father.
He’s a mini- Jason King.
My brain is going into overdrive to process this information. But Otto is a kid—just a kid—and so I try to reel myself back in and have a conversation with him. “May 12th,” I muse. “Let’s see…that makes you a Taurus.”
Otto’s eyes get wide. “What’s a Taurus?”
“It’s the star sign you were born under. Everyone has one. Taurus is a good one. It’s a bull. It means you’re strong. Your emotions are powerful.”
Otto seems to think about this. “Are you a Taurus?”
“No. I’m a Virgo.”
“What’s a Virgo?”
