Page 127 of Any Port in a Storm

I nod against the fangirling my brain is currently doing. “I’ve spent countless hours at the Harvard Art Museums,” I admit. Both for dissertation research and for pleasure. Nick and I were just there last week, in fact. We grabbed coffee afterwards and made a whole day of it.

It was pure magic.

“In that case,” Margo says, “you definitely need to meet Rebecca. She’s got her claws on some awesome acquisitions. Including several of Rosetti’s.”

My jaw drops. “Rosetti?”

“Yeah. Christina.” She takes a sip of her drink.

I think I might pass out.

“What kind of pieces?”

Margo grins. “Letters. A few drafts of her poems. Some sketches.”

“Whoa.” My voice is reverent. “I’d love to meet Rebecca.”

“Come on; I’ll introduce you.”

So I follow Margo, as if in a trance, to meet her colleague, and I traipse along behind them for the rest of the day. We find Spillinger at one point, after the second lecture, but she buries her nose in her program and is far more reticent than usual. I make a mental note to talk to her on the ride home to make sure everything’s okay.

As it turns out, I close out the symposium with Rebecca’s card and without a ride. Spillinger rushes in at three with a story about an appointment she forgot. Margo quickly offers to drive me home. “I live in Brookline,” she explains. “It’s not too far out of my way to drop you back off at Hawthorne.”

“It’s a good half hour past Brookline,” I protest. “Each way.”

“Eh,” she shrugs. “I have a feeling we may be spending more time together in the future. I’d love the chance to get to know you better.”

My heart positively soars.

“I just don’t understand why Spillinger’s being so weird,” I’m telling Nick later as I dig through my refrigerator for the Diet Coke I know I bought last week. “I went to her office to talk through some research notes the other day, and she couldn’t get out the door fast enough. And she barely spoke to me at the literary symposium.”

“That’s weird,” Nick says from my couch. He sounds distant; strained.

“I thought so. I mean, she’s my advisor. It’s kind of her job. I’ve been trying to catch her all week, and she can’t seem to give me the time of day.” I straighten up, soda in hand. “I wonder if something happened.”

“Something?”

“Yeah, you know. Maybe her parents are sick; I know her mom had cancer a few years back. Or maybe there’s something with her house. Or with a guy.” I waggle an eyebrow.

“I don’t know that we can jump to that conclusion,” Nick says sharply, grabbing the soda I’m handing him.

“Is it really jumping to conclusions? I mean, what is she, 35? Not so hard to believe she’d have a nice man friend.”

He takes three aggressive sips of soda, then almost drops the can when he sets it on my coffee table.

“Nick.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

He blinks twice, then shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just a little jittery.”

I put my hand on his knee. “Are you okay? Do you need to go lie down?”

“No, I’ll be fine. You know how diet soda never agrees with me.” He pushes the can further away with his pointer finger.

I wrinkle my brow. “You’ve only had a few sips.”