Page 10 of Jayce

“Are you a teacher like Priscilla?” Jayce’s voice shakes me from my stupor.

“Goodness, no. I hate kids.” Did I just admit that to him?

I steal a glance in his direction, certain I’ll see disdain on his face. All I see is that look of longing that rarely leaves his expressions.

“Well, then, what do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“What do you write?”

“I’m a freelance writer for a travel magazine, but I also write novels.”

“Does that involve a lot of traveling?”

“This is the longest I’ve been home since I started the job.”

Worry coats his brow. “When do you leave again?”

“I’m not sure. I have nothing planned right now. Maybe when I finish my current novel.”

“How many novels have your written?”

“I’m on my third.”

“Are they published?”

I nod and curl my legs up under me. He’s right about the posture position to calm my pelvic floor. It’s not the most comfortable way to sit. Dr. Lanny promises it will feel natural the more I train my body.

“Yes, I publish them myself.”

“Can I read them?”

“If you like cozy mysteries.”

“If I’m honest, I don’t read at all, but I’d read a book you wrote no matter what it’s about.”

“You don’t have to. Not even my parents have read my stuff.” I can’t hide the sting that truth inflicts. They don’t want to support what’s clearly, in their minds, a dead-end dream.

He turns toward me, away from looking at the road. “I’m not your parents.”

No, you’re not.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m the herd’s accountant.”

I scoff. “How does that work? Doesn’t the IRS wonder why you all live so long?”

“That’s why we need an accountant. We can’t file taxes for two centuries. We funnel our money through other accounts. Filing taxes with the IRS doesn’t happen, since none of us have birth certificates and social security numbers.”

“Do you have a driver’s license? What if we get pulled over?”

“We have an expert forger.” He says with a wink that sends shivers all the way to my toes.

“Do you have to move when people question why you don’t age?”

“Nah, we’re close enough to New Orleans, the city known for hauntings, witchcraft, and voodoo. It’s a fair assumption that our neighbors are more of a don’t ask don’t tell mentality.”

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