Page 57 of Spindrift

“Hey,”said Morgan as she swung herself forward on a pair of crutches.

“Ohgod, I shouldn’t have asked for your help until your ankle healed.”

“It’sfine. I’m only using these to keep Lillian off my back. Plus, it’s the left, soI can drive if I’m careful.”

“Still,you shouldn’t . . .” she trailed off. Morgan was fully clothed in a clinic poloinstead of just a sports bra, but Emilia’s imagination filled in the blanks forher.

“I’lljust sit and tell you what to do if that makes you feel better.”

“Whydo I feel like I don’t believe you’re capable of that?”

Morgangrinned in response. “Let’s take a look at it in the daylight, yeah?”

Theymoved toward the boat together, and Emilia caught a whiff of horse. Shepictured Morgan calmly running her hands along a broad brown back, whispering soothingwords into a cocked ear. It soothed her. Once, she’d had an interest in largeanimal medicine, but she’d been persuaded out of it. She knew too many vetswho’d ended up switching to small animal after one injury too many, and thehours and pay were dismal. Not, of course, that shelter medicine had turned outto be any better. She shut down the thought and returned her focus to the Russorowboat overturned on the grass outside the boathouse. The crack looked smallerin the full sunlight. Morgan tossed her crutches to the ground and knelt besideit. Her fingers traced the hairline fracture in the fiberglass.

“Technically,we should sand this down.”

“Ifonly I’d thought to bring the sander I’m renting at great expense,” saidEmilia.

“Ithink I have some sandpaper in the boathouse. For splinters on my oars,” Morganadded when she saw Emilia’s raised eyebrows.

“Areyou prepared for everything?”

“Ifyou can find it in a standard toolbox, yes.”

“Sowe sand, then what?”

“Thenwe lay new fiberglass cloth and resin until it’s patched, apply an activator,and let it cure.”

“Well,since I’m basically an expert sander, where can I find that grit?” Emilia asked.

“I’llgrab it. You get your patch kit.”

Emiliaheld out a hand to help Morgan up. Her warm, firm grip reminded her ofsomething. “How’s your hand from the other night?”

“Youmust think I’m a mess. Burning myself, cow-kicked . . .”

“Iassumed you were still trying to make me feel better about falling overboard.”

“Ishould have led with that,” said Morgan.

“Here.”She slung Morgan’s arm over her shoulder. “It’s just a few feet. Forget the crutches.”

“Yousure?”

No,Emilia thought.This is exactlywhat I promised I wouldn’t do.

“Friendshelp friends,” she said instead. “Besides, it’s your turn to be the damsel indistress.”

Morgan’sblush rewarded her as color peaked beneath Morgan’s freckles. She settled herweight over Emilia. Emilia wrapped her arm around Morgan’s waist, where the absshe’d seen the day before tensed beneath her fingers. The short stretch to theboathouse seemed to simultaneously take years and end too quickly. Morgan also seemeda little more out of breath than the exertion required, but the dim flicker ofthe overhead lights failed to illuminate the expression in her eyes when theystopped by the locker Morgan indicated.

Shestepped away. Her body tingled where it had been in contact with Morgan’s, andMorgan fumbled with the lock without looking up.

Thelocker contained a jumble of boating supplies: oars, extra seat cushions, life vests,salt-stained jackets, cans of oil, rags, towels, ragged ball caps, a radio, andfaded cardboard boxes the size and shape Emilia associated with hardwarestores. Morgan rummaged through these until she pulled out a few sheets ofsandpaper.

“Youreally are prepared.”

Morganturned off the locker light, which was just a lightbulb and a chain. “Keep thatin mind if zombies start popping up.”

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