Waveborn

9

Jason said something but Cass couldn't process the buzz of his voice. She heard only the woman's hushed breathing; she saw only her face, with powder caked in the lines at her mouth and too much blue shadow on her eyelids. "I'm Cass." Her voice sounded distant. "I think you knew my mother."

"Your mother," the woman echoed. She spoke with a hint of a Texas drawl, drawing out the word. "Of course. I'm sorry. You just look so much like her...." She trailed off, staring as if memorizing Cass's face.

Cass's hand lifted to her hair. It was the first thing people noticed when they saw her: a mass of coppery frizz that no amount of hairbands, gel, or elastics could really keep in place. She didn't think she looked much like her mother except for the hair, but most people didn't look any farther.

"You're the little girl, then. I remember you, you and-" She broke off with a quick head shake. "Listen to me, going on, when you're here for some food, no doubt tired of nosy islanders. You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. I'm Maggie."

She started to turn; on impulse, Cass stepped after her. "Jen Simonson told me my mother used to come to town for grilled cinnamon toast, that it was her favorite food in the world-and I was looking for the place."

Maggie broke into a smile. "Honey, we've been serving the best cinnamon bread in the San Juans for coming up on twenty years. You want some?"

"Yes, please."

"Sit wherever you like. I'll be over in a jiff." With a wave, the woman disappeared through a swinging door to the kitchen.

"That was bizarre," Jason said. "Does everyone around here freak when they see you?"

"I don't know. I haven't hardly met anyone." But even as she spoke the words, Cass wondered. First Joe had said she looked like her mother; now Maggie thought she was her mother. Jason had thought she was someone else, too, someone he'd seen before on the island.

The memory of motoring into the harbor unspooled in her head. She'd been so certain she'd seen someone on those rocks. Not just someone, but a person who looked, even from a distance, like the photos of Cass's mother.

Which meant she looked like Cass.

An idea swirled at the edge of her mind like scattered sea spray, refusing to take shape. Her mother. Her lookalike.

Could they be the same person?

It was impossible. Jen had said her mother died. Even if she was alive-which she couldn't be-she'd be older than Cass by several decades. No one could get the two of them confused.

Maybe she'd seen a ghost-except Cass didn't believe in ghosts. Then again, she didn't believe anyone could have been on those rocks, either.

"You coming?"

Cass jerked back to the present, where Jason stood beside her at the counter, a quizzical expression on his face. She shook the fog from her head and let Jason steer her between tables and other customers to the rear of the diner.