Page 87 of Any Port in a Storm

“It’s perfect for juxtaposing Christina with her brother,” I agree. “I think it’s the missing piece I needed for this section of my dissertation.”

Spillinger surveys me over the top of her green smoothie. Despite having more energy than anyone I’ve ever met, my doctoral advisor is strictly caffeine-free. I have no idea how she managed to earn her PhD and become the most popular professor in the English department by 35 without the occasional coffee or two.

I’m hoping if I hang around her long enough, she’ll eventually reveal her secret.

“How’s everything else going?”

“Not bad.” I smooth my skirt. “I’ve done very little else recently aside from write this paper.”

She tilts her head. “Want to take a break?”

“Well, I’m not working at the moment,” I joke.

“I have an extra ticket to the Massachusetts Literary Symposium. They’re going to have all kinds of panelists, plus some amazing exhibits from local authors. I was supposed to go with Dr. Nichols, but she has to travel out-of-state. It’s Tuesday—why don’t you come with me?”

My pulse flutters at the thought of going to a work event with Spillinger. Both at the notion of actually being there, and at the idea that she might deem me worthy to spend time with her outside of class.

“I’d love to go,” I say. “Thank you so much for inviting me; that sounds amazing.”

Her smile grows. “You know I think the world of you, Laurel. It’s my pleasure.”

A blush races to mask my meticulously applied foundation. “I appreciate that.”

“Not for nothing,” she continues, “but there might be some good networking opportunities at the event. I can introduce you to friends who teach at other colleges. It might help you when it comes time to look for an adjunct spot in a couple of years.”

“Oh, wow.” I pause. While networking does, in theory, seem like a great idea, the idea of rubbing elbows with my potential future colleagues fills me with panic. I’m not ready. I’m not important enough, knowledgeable enough to say all the right things; to make the best possible impression. Especially with Spillinger at my side, I know I’ll feel like such an imposter.

But I can’t tell her that, so I give a quick nod. “That could be helpful.”

As per usual, she sees right through me. “I promise, it’s not as scary as it sounds.”

“Oh—” I start, desperately racking my brain for some sort of coherent reply that won’t make her rethink bringing me in the first place.

“Laurel,” Spillinger says gently. “It hasn’t been so long since I was in your shoes. I know what it’s like.” Her blue eyes sparkle. “I’ve got you, okay?”

Relief floods my senses. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I may be your professor, but first and foremost, I’m just a bookworm who loves women’s lit.” She grins. “We’re the same, you and I.”

Now I smile, too. “Thank you. I think it’s just…I love my research so much, and I’ve been so invested for so long. I haven’t really given much thought to the after.”

“Well, working in academia is probably your best bet.” Spillinger straightens a pile of student essays near her elbow. “Not too much else for lit-loving ladies like us.”

I chuckle. “Love the alliteration.”

“See? I can’t turn it off. No better place for people like us than here at a university, surrounded by our peers.”

“Yeah,” I say, realizing she’s probably right—I must be overthinking this. What else am I going to do with a PhD besides teach? I need to stop getting in my own head and overcomplicating things.

“Listen, I have to get back to grading these.” Spillinger gestures to the pile at her right. “But I’ll see you Tuesday, okay? Meet me here at eleven.”

“I can’t wait,” I tell her. And I find that I really mean it.

Grace and I meet up for coffee on Friday afternoon. Ever since graduating with her Master’s, she’s been working for an educational publishing company based out of Springfield. “It’s not a writing job,” she’d told me ruefully when she accepted the position, “but it’ll have to do for now.” Ultimately, I think Grace wanted to put her English Master’s toward a staff journalism role, but she’s been taking it, as with all suboptimal things in her life, in stride.

In any case, Grace’s boss sent her into Boston for a conference this week, and I’ve got a lot planned for us. We try to get together whenever we can, but Springfield’s just far enough that our meetups have gotten less and less frequent since she left Hawthorne.

I miss her.