Page 37 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

“Yes,” Julian says, and I grin.

Outside, something bangs again and reality returns.

“Come on,” I say. “The whole town’s going to be a disaster. Let’s go be useful.”

The harbor looks like a giant child has thrown a tantrum in it. There are roof shingles in the gutters. A rowboat upside down in the middle of Water Street. Somebody’s lobster traps stacked in a heap against the war memorial. The sky hangs low and wet, and the whole town smells like salt and diesel and turned earth.

Four men are standing under the bait shed at seven in the morning, looking up at a dory on the roof.

“That’s Buddy Vachon’s dory.”

“That is not Buddy Vachon’s dory.”

“It’s got the transom.”

“Everyone’s got a transom, Ray. Buddy’s been in Florida since October. How’d his boat get on a roof?”

“Same way a grey one would,” Ray says, having stopped listening.

No one has suggested getting it down. That will come later. First there has to be a discussion.

This is how Black Harbor handles a disaster. We assemble, we assess, and we form a committee on the sidewalk.

Mabel is directing traffic around the downed tree on Point Road with an authority the actual state of Maine has never granted her. Eunice has set up a folding table outside the church with a thermos the size of a fire extinguisher. Theo is down at the town dock, up to his knees in cold water, swearing at a section of planking that has partly torn loose and is now trying to leave.

“Volkov,” Theo calls as soon as he sees us. “You any good with a hammer?”

“I’ve held one.”

“That a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

And that’s it. Julian rolls up his sleeves, and I stand on the pier with a box of supplies pretending I am not staring at his forearms. He wades into the freezing water beside Theo like he does this every Tuesday.

I keep expecting Julian to be above things. He’s rich and elegant and lives in a house with actual oil paintings. I keep expecting a version of him that stands at the edge of a mess with his hands clean and offers to write a check. But that version doesn’t exist.

He’s in the water with Theo for an hour, holding a beam steady while Theo drives lag bolts, then swapping so Theo can hold the beam and Julian can drive the bolts. He does it faster than Theo. I notice this while I’m helping Eunice, but I file it under the growing list of things I notice and don’t ask about.

When they’re done, the dock is more solid than it was before the storm. Theo claps a soaked hand on Julian’s soaked shoulder and says something I can’t hear, and Julian actually laughs. A real laugh, short and surprised, like it got out before he could stop it. My stomach does something inconvenient.

I look towards Water Street, towards the church, and towards the houses climbing the hill. No power. No coffee. Refrigerators slowly warming all over town. And suddenly I know exactly what I need to do.

“I’m opening the Salt & Sage.”

Theo nods as though this was inevitable.

“For breakfast?”

“For everybody.”

“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”

I turn to Julian. “I have to go.”

“So do I.”

Something in me gives a ridiculous little dip.