IT’S ONLY A LITTLE PAST FIVE, SOwhen the front door opens I expect it to be one of the other guys who live with us, but Andrew walks through the kitchen entryway. I stand a little straighter, awkwardness filling my gut.
“Hey,” he says. There’s a friendly tone to his voice but it sounds forced. Instead of coming around the counter to give me a hug or kiss, he sits on a stool at the other side.
At least he didn’t go right upstairs.
“Hey.” I’m about to offer him something to eat—expecting him to say he ate with the kids and the other caretakers—but then remember that he couldn’t have. The social is tonight.
“How was your day?” he asks.
My chest tightens. Seeing him almost made me forget about Blanca’s radio transmission. “Oh! Did you hear anything from Daphne yet?” I don’t want to tell him the story again if he already knows and is just asking me sarcastically.
After the transmission, Hickey and Daria left again to tell theCommittee what they heard. If Cuba got hit by a hurricane, there’s a small chance we might get hit, too—or at the very least a few days’ worth of bad wind and rain, possibly enough to delay the boat voyage north another week. Especially if the storm is moving up the coast.
“Just the usual town gossip,” Andrew says. “Nothing super salacious. Why?”
“We might be delaying the trip,” I say.
Andrew’s face clouds and the sad excuse for a smile drops. “Why?”
He’s probably going to blame me again. To jump down my throat and call me selfish or say I don’t care about Henri.
“The Cuban colony is getting hit by a hurricane. Radio Blanca broadcasted it late this afternoon. Hickey and Daria are talking to the Committee and figuring out the best course of action. They’re worried that we could get some severe weather in the next couple days or that the storm might head up the coast. But it depends on what the Committee says.”
He nods, his face softening a bit. “That’s probably for the best, then.”
“Yeah.”
And that’s it.
“You have to work at the social tonight?” I try. But I already know the answer. He does because he wants to. Though he’ll make an excuse and say it’s because Kelly was supervisor at the last social or he swapped with Daphne so she could have the holiday social.
But he shakes his head. “No, it’s Kelly’s turn.”
I nod. “Cool.”
“I should go wash up.”
“Okay.”
He stands and gets as far as the kitchen doorway, then stops and turns back. “You should, too. You smell like diesel.”
I know he’s only teasing me—though, yes, I do smell like diesel from the boat—but without the context of normal conversation it still feels like a dig. He must think the same thing because I see his mouth flatten.
“Do you want to come with?” he asks.
The idea of keeping this stilted conversation going all the way to the showers isn’t at all appealing, but I also don’t want to undo any of the progress we’ve made talking. And heiscoming to the social tonight, so maybe having the buffer of other people will help us, too.
“I’ll meet you there,” I say. “I have to check with Cara to see if she heard anything else from Hickey or Daria.”
He says okay and goes upstairs to get his shower caddy and towels. When he comes back down he has mine, too. He places it on the kitchen island.
“Don’t take too long. There’s bound to be a bunch of last-minute stinkers in line.”
I frown. “Stinkers?”
He groans. “I’ve been hanging out with kids for too long.”
I laugh as he leaves.
