Free Barren Cove by Ariel S. Winter

himself closer to her. He reached for Mary’s hair; it had dried in the sun. She felt him brush his fingers along the bottom. She wanted to touch his hair too. Could it be that it really grew from his head? Could it be that he would have to cut it? She reached out and touched it. It was just like hers.
    â€œWe better go,” Beachstone said, jumping up.
    Mary was confused. She felt cheated. He was so angry one moment, then affectionate, and then distant the next. It made it hard for her to sort out her own feelings. Could it be that her brother felt the same way about the boy, and that was why he had wanted to hurt him? She was surprised to find that she could understand this—her own feelings of, what? Love? She felt as though she wanted to be beside him always, to appease him, to ease him, to serve him, and yet, it was crushing. Was it only two months ago that Father had brought him home? What had she done with herself before then?
    She had to run to catch up with him.
    Beachstone’s limp was better after the rest, but it gradually returned as they walked. He had slackened his pace again without noticing. “I could carry you,” Mary said when they stopped for a moment so that Beachstone could stretch.
    â€œI’m fine,” he said.
    Mary wanted to think of something that could make him laugh. She looked at the cliff face. It would be easy to scale it. Maybe she could carry him on her back and they could walk up above where the ground was solid. Perhaps the sand was hard on his feet as it slid away from beneath each step. But she didn’t say anything. They walked. When they rested, they leaned together, Beachstone’s arm held lightly around Mary’s waist. Beachstone didn’t seem as intent as before, but he didn’t deviate from his path. At one point he smiled suddenly, and Mary looked up to try and see what had made him happy. She didn’t see anything. It was only much later that she realized that was the moment when his human eyes could perceive the town for the first time. The cliff was little more than a steep incline now. It was dusk.
    They reached the town after dark. Beachstone was silent.His head dropped forward, but Mary realized too late what was happening, and he was on the ground in front of her before she could move to grab him. Stupid kid, he had pushed himself too far. Mary was angry with her brother just then. She watched Beachstone’s inert form for a moment. He had sprawled into such an unnatural position—and yet, it was supremely natural, for it had happened, hadn’t it, and happened only as it could have. Then she bent down and picked him up. She knew she needed to get him a drink, but all the lights in town were out; there was no one on the street. She walked through the empty streets, carrying Beachstone in front of her. She had never been in town at night, and it was all new to her. They were the buildings she knew, but without the people they were different. The stillness seemed appropriate, and she was glad that Beachstone wasn’t missing the town she knew, and yet she was upset that this new town, which she was seeing for the first time, couldn’t be shared with him. When she found nobody, she decided that there was nothing to do but to return home. He would sleep now. He could drink at home.
    She walked out of town, choosing the high ground for the return.

8.
    ASIMOV 3000 WATCHED over the boy. He hadn’t reset the night before, and he was afraid to reset now. He was afraid to leave the boy’s side. What had his daughter been thinking? Couldn’t she see how pale the boy was? He stood up and crossed the room. The day’s early light streamed through the lace curtains, casting the room in an opal glow. It didn’t seem fitting for the gravity of the sickbed. He would bring the boy water. He would wake him, force the liquid into him. She hadn’t brought water!
    At the door, Asimov 3000 turned back and looked