Lost at Sea

Ch. 7

From that moment forward, they were nearly inseparable. There may have been tension or awkwardness between other people, but she was so good natured and he was so laid back that it somehow worked. He would spend the mornings at the diner and make her bring everything under the sun, then join her on her lifeguard shift. If she was working a late shift at the diner, he would return and ask about her preferred dinner options. She'd always recommend skipping dinner and going straight for dessert, but he insisted on holding off until she was finished working and they could enjoy a scoop of ice cream or slice of cake together. In a strictly platonic fashion, of course.

When she didn't have an evening shift, they would spend time at his cabin. He did all the cooking at first, but she quickly asserted herself with a few recipes she'd picked up over the years making food for herself. She almost felt more comfortable in this cabin than did in her own apartment, which was really just dingy studio that she paid too much for and didn't have any of those small touches that made a home. Not at all like Poseidon's cabin, with its sea shells strewn about on window ledges, chipped but lovingly maintained wooden table, and fresh scent of sea salt that never grew sour.

She continued to ask him questions about the gods, and then other things, like the furies and the Minotaur and the cyclopes. (He grew somewhat uncomfortable at the mention of cyclopes, though she couldn't figure out why.) She'd grown up researching myths and fairytales, anything that could help her make sense of the things she saw. But it was so much different actually hearing about and discussing them. She ruled out her old suppositions, and jotted down new information. She could just barely recognize the beginnings of a new story idea struggling to emerge from the heaps of facts and figures and she wrote it all down.

And he continued to ask her questions, too. It had been sometime since he had spoken with a mortal so closely, and he wanted to learn not just everything about her life, but about greater society, too. This was not exactly the easiest challenge, but she did her best to answer his questions.

Finally, the day came when she shared her writing. She was used to submitting to teachers or writing contests, objective audiences. She'd never shared her writing with someone so close (because that was what he was, now) to her. She couldn't bare to sit there and watch, so she went for a walk along the beach while he read.

When she returned, she was almost too afraid to ask, but figured it was best to rip the band aid off. "So?"

Without lifting his eyes from the stack of papers in front of him, he said, "It was lovely, Sally. Truly lovely. Gods tend to get caught up crafts like weaving and singing and even poetry, but nothing like this. This is as extraordinary as you are."

Sally felt a heavy awkwardness pressing down on her that she hadn't felt since they'd almost first met. "So I guess I all that time I spent imagining you ripping it to shreds in disgust was for nothing. That's good."

He laughed, and so did she, and the tension was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

They'd been going on like this for nearly two weeks when Sally had the day off: no diner, no lifeguarding, nothing. Such a rare occasion was to be celebrated. Poseidon, naturally, was hoping for a beach day. But Sally had other ideas in mind. It was time to take this god of the sea hiking.

"Hiking?" he asked skeptically, his brows creasing together like they only did when she told him about things like Madonna or MTV. "I've been walking this planet for thousands of years, and I don't think I've ever been hiking. I don't see the appeal. Why would someone go climb a mountain and then climb back down it? Especially when there's a nice beach nearby where you can just relax?"