Page 8 of Any Port in a Storm

“Shit.”

“The university’s going into lockdown.”

“Wait, what?” My fingers stop abruptly on the last hanger. I have no idea where my dress is.

“They’re going to be asking everyone to stay in for a bit. Just to stop the spread.”

“I see.” My mind’s racing—how will I teach my classes? Maybe I can email assignments or do Zoom meetings with students.

Sandra interrupts my thoughts with an apologetic sigh. “I’m afraid there’s more.”

“Okay?”

“You’ve been exposed, hon.”

This must be a bad dream. Like some sort of futuristic horror movie. One where scientists are playing with their research and accidentally unleash it on a full city of innocent people.

I’m picturing a virulent Flubber-type creature rolling through the streets of Boston when Sandra speaks again. “Someone at the CAS party just tested positive for Covid-19. That’s what they’re calling it; Covid. And anyway, the university is asking anyone who was there to isolate, just to be safe. Um, they’re asking for two weeks.”

I sink onto my mattress without even realizing I’m doing it. I’ve been exposed to a deadly disease? “Am I going to die?”

Sandra’s chuckle is stunted. “I don’t think so, sweetie. But if you start experiencing symptoms at all…you need to go to the hospital.”

“Jesus. Okay. And…what about the lockdown, again?”

“Keep that between us for the moment, if you can. The university’s got a crisis committee preparing an email to the rest of campus about it. But they’re going to be locking things down. Just for a week or two, you know. To stop the spread. So, on the bright side, your isolation won’t really matter all that much, because everyone else is going to be stuck at home, too.”

I feel the world slipping away at the edges with every word that leaves her mouth. “Okay.”

“I’m really sorry. But I promise, it’s going to be okay. It’ll just be a couple of weeks; then we’ll have it all under control, and things will be back to normal.”

“Back to normal sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Well, I should go. I have to ruin the day of 42 other students with calls like this one.”

My heart pangs for Sandra, who has to be the bearer of bad news, but whose sunny disposition makes her far better suited to be the English department’s collective grandmother. This must be horrible for her. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, no, sweetheart. But thank you.”

“Stay safe out there, okay?”

“You too, Laurel.”

While I’m pondering how I’ll pass fourteen days on my own without going absolutely insane, the doorbell rings.

I walk to answer it, then realize I can’t. I might be contagious. “Who is it?” I call through the door.

“It’s Nick.”

My heart slams into my ribcage. What the hell is Nick doing here?

“I’m sorry; I can’t open the door. I’ve been exposed to the virus.”

“So have I. That’s why I’m here.”

Right. Because Nick was at the party, too.

Trying to mash complicated feelings about Nick entering my apartment down into the depths of my soul, I open the door.