Page 17 of Sunset on the Solstice

Shelby agreed, if only because she didn’t have anything better to do.

Shelby met Orson at a little bar in the East Village. He was cute, if not handsome, about five-ten, with round glasses and a dark blue sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. They sat, Shelby with a glass of wine and Orson with a beer and talked for a while about what they were studying. Orson was an artist at Pratt University, which meant he was much more like Lily’s boyfriend, Mick, than anyone Shelby had ever gone on a date with or met at Columbia. But Shelby found that he was funny, that she laughed often, and he was open and honest, not braggadocious like other guys she knew. When she mentioned books she liked, Orson wrote down their names into a note on his phone, as though he really wanted to read them. She couldn’t remember Jared doing that. Then again, Jared had already read almost everything and didn’t need her guidance.

After a half hour of invigorating and funny conversation, Orson blushed with excitement. “Do you want to grab another drink? Or get some food?”

“That sounds great,” Shelby said. She knew of a pizza-by-the-slice place down the road, one of her favorites, so they put on their jackets and headed for the exit. Shelby half wondered if Orson would take her hand on the walk. She half wondered if he’d kiss her tonight, drawing her into his warm embrace.

Maybe I was wrong about Jared, she thought now, squeezing her eyes shut. It almost felt sacrilegious to think something like that, as she’d built a shrine around Jared in her heart.

But before they reached the bar exit, she heard her name through the throng of people. “Shelby? Shelby Vance?” It was a voice she didn’t recognize, but it was insistent, demanding that she turn and look. A guy in his mid-twenties strode toward her, his cheeks plump and his mustache curled at the ends. She’d never seen him before. How did he know her name? How did he know what she looked like?

“Yes?” Shelby asked, furrowing her brow.

“So you are Shelby Vance,” the guy said, proving it had been a long shot for him.

“Who are you?” Shelby asked. Beside her, Orson flinched, eager to get on the road.

“I’m a grad student at Harvard. Max Brett,” he said. “Just wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened.”

Shelby gaped at him. Her anxiety skyrocketed. “What happened?”

Max seemed to fake his own surprise. His eyes swam with curiosity and intrigue, as though he’d wanted to step into the drama of her world and was now pleased that he’d made a mess.

“I thought you knew. I mean, I thought somebody would have told you by now,” Max said. “I’m sorry.”

Panic wrapped itself around Shelby’s neck, and she found it difficult to breathe.

“What’s up, Shelby?” Orson asked. But already, Shelby’s worldview was narrowing, and all she could focus on was this Harvard grad student, his lips wrinkled, his eyes illuminated.

It was clear that something was wrong with Jared. Something had happened. And nobody had thought to tell her till now.

Shelby reached out a shaking hand and pressed it against Max’s shoulder. “You need to tell me everything,” she rasped, sounding like a stranger to herself. “Now.”

9

The subway ride from the East Village to the bus station felt like hours. Sitting on the edge of her seat, Shelby clutched her knees and tried to focus on her breathing. Running out of that bar and away from Orson and Max had felt like whiplash. Now, with only her wallet, her keys, and her light autumn jacket over the outfit she’d worn on her date, she was headed to Harvard University’s hospital. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to figure out if this was just a dream. But when she opened them again, she found herself looking at the late-evening subway riders, checking their phones, digging in their ears, and casting dirty looks at one another, as though tired of being surrounded by people in one of the busiest cities in the world. Shelby’s tears had dried on her cheeks, and she hadn’t bothered to wipe them away.

The bus from New York City to Cambridge was scheduled for an eleven fifteen departure, which was an hour away. Shelby bought a ticket, then slumped in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area. It occurred to her that she might have had time to go home and pack a bag, if only she’d had the foresight to look at the bus times on her phone. Jared would have said this was illogical behavior.

Out of her mind with fear and grief, she called her sister Lily to tell her what was going on. But Lily didn’t answer and instead wrote her a few minutes later.

LILY: How did it go with Orson? He’s cute, right? Can’t wait to hear! But I’m out with Mick, and we’re headed into a movie. Love you!

Shelby darkened her phone and pressed the back of her head against the wall. She considered calling her mother, but then thought it was better to sit in the silence of her own mind and try to figure this out.

Max had told her the following, which were all the clues she had to go on.

“Yeah, it was weird,” Max had said in the bar. “He was acting different when he got back to Harvard. Cagey, I guess. Apparently, he mentioned you to a few people. We thought he was brokenhearted, that he’d get over it soon. But then, he went out sailing by himself, and boom.” He raised his shoulders and closed his eyes. “Everyone knew he wasn’t the most experienced sailor. But nobody knew he was going out by himself. Nobody thought he’d dare to do something like that. I guess the waves got him. He hit his head and went underwater for longer than he should have. He’s been in a coma ever since. Must have been two weeks ago now?”

Shelby let out a sob, then stifled it with the back of her hand. Two weeks ago. A coma.

Guilt nearly consumed her. For the past two weeks, she’d been doing the work of demonizing him in her mind. She’d considered the idea that maybe he wasn’t the one, that she’d been wrong. She’d even let her sister arrange a date with someone else!

She should have been at Jared’s side. She should have been reading him books and talking to him, trying to draw him back from the darkness. If she’d known that he was so heartsick over her, maybe she would have left Columbia at the beginning of the semester.

No, she thought now, tightening her hands into fists. She couldn’t let those thoughts creep in. She’d gone back to Columbia because that was where her education was. That was where her professors had set up specific and wonderful curricula for her and her alone.

The bus from Manhattan to Cambridge took four and a half hours and landed Shelby in Cambridge between three and four in the morning. This, too, was not sensible, and she almost wanted to laugh at how stupid she was acting. Instead, she went to the bathroom at the bus station, washed her face with water, and headed into the night. She used an app on her phone to call a taxi, which took her to the hospital. The woman working the front desk told her that visiting hours weren’t till ten in the morning, which gave her six hours to wait around. Probably she looked so pathetic that they decided not to kick her out.