His mouth parts. Only slightly. But it draws my attention just the same.
“Why?” he asks a moment later, once the apparent shock has worn off.
“Because,” I say stubbornly. I cross my arms, fully intending to let that childish answer stand alone. I don’t owe him an explanation. But without my permission, more words rush from my tongue. “I’m not going to let you do this alone.”
The lines bracketing his mouth soften. But the swallow he takes is hard. Firm. Flexing the muscles of his throat. Making mine go dry.
“Okay,” he says. But instead of opening the door, he retreats, back toward the coat closet. Hangers clang against one another as he reaches inside, rooting around for a few seconds before he pulls something out. “But I have rules,” he says, shaking out a jacketsimilar in size and color to the one he’s wearing. “One, you stay in the boat.”
My eyebrows jump. A boat? He has a boat?
“Two,” he says, gesturing toward me and spreading his arms wide, telling me I should do the same, “we stick together. And when we get to Alan’s house, you don’t wander off on your own. And I won’t either. Got it?”
“Sure,” I say, as he slips first one arm and then the other into the sleeves. “The buddy system. Makes sense to me.”
“Good.” He moves to my front, clasping the bottom ends of thejacket. He begins to zip me up, his face tense and solemn and entirely too close to mine. I take a step back, waving his hands away.Idon’t look at him as I pull the zipper the rest of the way to the top.
“And rule number three?” I ask.
“Right. Yes. Number three is…is…”
He falters, and I shoot a glance his way. “Don’t tell me you’re all out of rules already.”
He glares. “You need to take this seriously.”
“I am,” I say. “In fact, I have some rules of my own. Like…no barking instructions at me.”
“I haven’t beenbarkinginstructions at you—”
“Really?” I scoff. “What would you call it then?”
“Trying tohelp. Trying to keep you alive.”
“I don’t need your help.”
He laughs then, but the sound is dry. “Right. Of course. Of course you don’t.”
I blow out a breath. “I just mean…I can help too, you know. I can help with this.”
He watches me, his brows creasing, and I sigh.
I don’t know much about sailing in storms like this, but Iimagine we’ll have to work together to get through this. And at this rate we’re going to capsize the second we climb on board.
“What kind of boat do you have?”
He blinks, his expression clearing. “Calling it a boat might have been a bit of an overstatement. It’s really more like a canoe.”
“Likea canoe or it is a canoe?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It is a canoe.”
I stare. When Nikhil had said he had a boat, I’d pictured something with a motor. Nothing too large or fancy, but something that would help propel us along.
“It’s a good canoe,” Nikhil says, no doubt taking offense at thedisbelief that must be etched across my face. “A strong canoe. I made it.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Nikhil was always making stuff. When there were leftover materials from job sites, he’d bring them home and turn them into something new. Wood scraps became bookshelves. Or coffee tables. Or the desk he made for me. And once, he’d transformed spare metal into a garden trellis. It was like alchemy. Pure magic.
He’d tinker away in the garage after dinner. Sometimes for hours. I’d found the noise soothing. From my little hidey-hole in the guest bedroom, while I pored over wills and estates and the intricacies of secured transactions, I’d hear the buzzing of the saw, the dull thud of the hammer, theshh-shhing of the sander. It was the perfect background noise, clearing my mind, helping me to focus. And on the rare occasion the noise broke my concentration, it made me feel safe. Like no matter how stressed I felt in that room, no matter how overwhelmed and worried and lonely I might be, I wasn’t actually going through it alone.
