Page 24 of Any Port in a Storm

“Same.”

When she doesn’t reply immediately, it hits me—if she’s been watching the news at all, she’s probably terrified. Thanks to her potent cocktail of autoimmune diseases, Grace has always been more susceptible to illness than most. I curse my tendency to catastrophize for making me so selfish. I didn’t even think of how she might be feeling. “The news has been pretty upsetting, huh?”

“Yeah.” She lowers her voice. “I’m pretty worried. But I don’t want people at work to know—I really need this job.”

“They’re not going to fire you for your medical condition. That’s illegal.”

“Yeah, but I miss a lot of work as it is. I have doctor’s appointments constantly. I don’t need them coming up with excuses to get rid of me.”

I whisper, as if her coworkers might hear me, also. “Have you talked to your doctor about any of this?”

“I called my rheum. She basically said I should lie low until all of this blows over.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” She hesitates. “The world isn’t set up for people like me, you know?”

Something cracks beneath my ribs. “Aw, hon.” I don’t know how to respond, really, because I know she’s right. Grace has always needed more than the world is prepared to give—help with injections, expensive treatments, more precautions, special foods. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling right now.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, suddenly all business. “I have plenty of vacation time. I can always go hang out with my parents for a week or two if need be. Some country air might do me good.”

Grace’s parents live in an adorable small town in the Berkshires. All things considered, their house might be a decent place to ride out this chaos. “You’re welcome here, too, if you get bored and need a safe place to crash for a bit,” I offer. “I’m actually locked down already.”

“Wait, what?”

“Remember that CAS party for post-grads? It was the evening of our last coffee date.”

“I remember. You ended up going?”

“Yep.”

“How was it? Did you see Marcy Brower?”

I rack my brain. Marcy’s a friend of Grace’s who just finished up her second doctorate. “I can’t remember if she was there or not,” I admit. “Nick sucked me into a conversation with some of his history mentees, and I didn’t hang out too long after he left.”

“Ooh, Nick was there?”

I lower my voice as much as is humanly possible. “Nick is…here.”

“Excuse me, what?” Grace all but shouts. I’m sure the crotchety older woman in the next cubicle, whom Grace always complains about, is thrilled.

“We were both exposed to the virus. At the party.”

“Uh huh,” she chuckles.

“It’s not like that. He had nowhere else to go.”

“I…” Her dramatic exhale morphs into hysterical laughter. “Wow,” she says when she manages to catch her breath. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Listen. Sandra called me yesterday. Told me I have to quarantine; that the university’s going to be cancelling classes until this all blows over.”

“Damn!” Grace swears loudly. I hear someone in the background, probably the old lady colleague, yell, “Keep it down.”

I smile in spite of myself. Grace has always had the volume of a far more confident person.

“Yeah. So, anyway. I was busy making a mental list of ways to keep myself from going insane, alone in my apartment for two weeks, when Nick showed up at my door. He wanted somewhere to make a few calls. His roommate kicked him out.”

“I never liked Max,” Grace mutters.