Page 69 of Any Port in a Storm

“Because.” His gaze meets mine. “You’ve got Hawthorne’s best professor on your side. And I’m not giving up on you.”

My stomach somersaults at the look on his face, at his words. At the sense that someone is taking care of me. And at the way being with him like this is both familiar and new; a feeling I could find in the dark no matter how much time had passed because I’ve walked the path to it so many times.

I revel in his warmth against my cheek; his steadying presence holding me upright. “I’m sorry I got your shirt all wet.” I wipe it fruitlessly, trying to dry my tears from the fabric. Something lurches, low in my belly, at the sensation of his pecs under my fingers.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It’ll dry.”

“I guess it is pretty windy,” I agree.

“And you know what they say about the wind?”

“Mm?”

I feel his words vibrate in his sternum, where my cheek has slid to rest. “That’s where the answers are.”

Nick has an afternoon lecture before the one he invited me to sit in on, and it’s still unseasonably warm, so I head out to the balcony with an iced tea and my lesson plans. I’m feeling a little brighter, thanks to our morning at the Esplanade.

After we’d finished our sandwiches, we’d taken a long stroll through the park, which was virtually empty. I carried our masks in my pocket just in case, but the only person we came across was an elderly woman walking her dog, and she crossed to the far side of the grass to give us a wide berth as we passed. She did, however, shout a cheerful, “Hello,” and her corgi barked excitedly. That social interaction, insomuch as it was the only social interaction I’ve had besides Nick lately, felt amazing.

I can’t focus on my lesson planning. I’m too distracted by what Nick said—that the answers are in the wind. It sounds like a load of nonsense; something that I’d expect from a philosophy major, but not from my practical, detail-oriented friend.

Still, his assignment for me—that I try to take in all of the vibrant sensory details the world has to offer—floats to the top of my mind again. And leaning into that doesn’t feel like the worst idea. At the very least, it will be soothing.

So I close my eyes and breathe in the breeze. Let it swirl loose wisps of my hair, which is softening by the day in the absence of its usual assault by curling iron. I haven’t bothered styling it since lockdown started. Nick doesn’t care, and no one’s paying attention to my hair during Zoom lectures. Hell, they’re barely paying attention to my lectures at all.

The breeze wafts the scent of my neighbor’s tamales directly onto my balcony, so close I can practically taste them. I’ve never taken the time to introduce myself, but I know her name is Rosa, and she likes to cook for her grandkids. I think, when all this has blown over, I’d like to bake her some muffins and drop in to say hello.

While I’m debating between blueberry and chocolate chip, the wind picks up again. It tickles the end of my nose, which is looking a little pink after two days in the sunshine with Nick. It’s never taken much for me to freckle or burn, thanks to my pale complexion, but I’ve spent so much time inside over the last year that it seems the process is in overdrive.

Thinking about the park reminds me of the river, so I cast a glance back to the Charles. This time, I see three boats out for a sail. It’s certainly the perfect day for it. The kind where sunlight dapples through the clouds and dances on the water, turning the waves to glittering diamonds so intense you can hardly see. Even here on the balcony, I have to shield my eyes to make out the blue sail on the nearest boat.

The branch of a nearby cherry blossom tree that I’ve always loved watching from my bedroom window is very nearly in full bloom now. I’m considering when spring last hit Boston this early when my phone rings. Thanks to the intense sunlight, I can barely make out the caller ID, but I swipe right immediately when I realize it’s Grace.

“Hey, sweetheart! How are you?”

“I’m hanging in there, Laur. You?”

“I’m…” The third sailboat’s caught up to the other two, and they’re all moving in one well-choreographed line out toward the ocean. “I’m okay, actually. Better now.”

“Better?”

“Yeah.” I scooch my chair into the shade of the tree. “I’ve been having a bit of a tough time. But Nick’s helping me through it. We went to the Esplanade today.”

“Do tell,” Grace says, barely hiding her amusement.

I ignore the implication. “I’ve been worrying about finding a job. About figuring out what I want to do next. About whether I’m even going to have the chance.”

“Why wouldn’t you have the chance?”

“I mean, it sort of feels like the world’s never going back to normal, doesn’t it?”

She sighs. “I know what you mean.”

“Two weeks in quarantine has turned into two more weeks to flatten the curve, and now it seems like there’s no end in sight. My mom’s had time to do four grocery pickup orders, Grace. That’s how long it’s been.”

She snorts. “Given how averse your mother is to letting strangers select her produce, that is a little shocking.”

Grace has been my ride-or-die for so long, she knows all of my parents’ idiosyncrasies, and I know the same of hers. I’m struck by how lucky I am to have a friend like this.