You're Safe Here by Leslie Stephens

Author:Leslie Stephens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery/Scout Press
Published: 2024-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Maggie exited through the hill just a few yards east of the cafeteria entrance and paused to take a deep breath. The entrance was marked by seagrass on either side, and the fresh breeze coming off the ocean bent them toward the auditorium. She pulled her turtleneck up and zipped her coat to her chin, grateful that she still remembered how to dress for a cold evening after such a hot summer.

It would have been completely dark, but an event in the auditorium cast a glow all the way to the edges of where she stood. From the shadows, she watched silhouettes streaming from the lobby’s glass walls, and milling inside of them.

Her Device vibrated and a message notification appeared on her Lens from Noa. She blinked twice, and Noa’s voice came through her EarDrums. “Hey, M! I’m just wrapping up here, but I’ll see you soon! I have supplies.”

“See you soon,” she spoke back. Had she imagined it, or did Noa sound breathless?

Small lights illuminated her steps as she walked toward the main building where Noa had regularly spent fourteen-hour days since accepting her position the year before. The path was entirely empty—most people opted to take the quicker underground routes that connected to the shuttle, but Maggie preferred the path’s sloping curves and the view it offered of the main building, which looked at high tide like a giant whale coming to shore from the ocean.

Noa must have known that, because as Maggie approached the Japanese footbridge, she saw that she was standing at the apex of it, where Monet had once painted his water lilies.

“Hey,” Noa said, “I figured I might as well intercept you.” She held up a bottle and two glasses. Maggie didn’t stop walking until she was in her arms.

“Heyyy,” Noa said again, this time slower, oozing warmth as she nuzzled her nose into Maggie’s neck, wrapping her arms tight around her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Maggie said, her voice muffled by Noa’s chest. “I’m just really happy to see you.”

Noa gave her a squeeze, then said, “Look up!”

Maggie followed the line Noa’s finger made up to the sky just in time to see a meteor streak across followed by a long, bright tail. Noa let go, setting the wine down, and Maggie rested her hands against the bridge’s railing, letting her head hang back. The stars were subtle, but undeniably beautiful, and Maggie waited patiently for another ball of light to sail across the sky.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked as Noa opened the wine, a ridiculous splurge.

Her fingertips felt for the groove in the railing where Maggie imagined Monet’s easel had crashed into it, his oils falling into the water, poisoning the fish. She loved how intimate it felt, how connected she could be to the bridge’s history. Was he transfixed, watching them? Did he find beauty in the metaphor? The paints had fulfilled their destiny to become water lilies, just not at his hands, the pigments separating and floating briefly next to their oils before sinking to the bottom of the pond.

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