Page 23 of A Christmas Harbor

“You’re not an escape.” David lifted his head to look him in the eye. “And if I have my way, you won’t be a one-night stand.”

* * *

The coffee was still hot. David poured two mugs, tossed a splash of holiday-spice creamer into each, then brought them to the port-side settee, the one that curved at both ends. Paul, who had put his undershirt back on but not his sweater, took his coffee and shifted over so David could sink into the corner spot.

“I was underway when Shawn was killed.” David didn’t look at Paul’s face, couldn’t bear the pity he’d find there. “I didn’t hear the news until two months later.”

“Why not?” Paul asked softly. “I thought you could get short emails.”

“The messages are reviewed first, both outgoing and incoming. Outgoing messages for obvious operational-security reasons, and incoming messages so they can intercept anything that might interfere with our ability to do the job. Big news like births or deaths come through the Red Cross to our CO. He decides whether to pass it on.”

“That’s so cruel.”

David shook his head, even though his gut was screaming agreement. “It’d be more cruel to tell me in the middle of a patrol. After all, I couldn’t leave, because surfacing enough for someone to disembark would destroy op sec, not just for our boat but for the entire fleet. Compared to other types of vessels, subs aren’t well-armed or well-armored against attack. Our greatest defense is stealth. So I would’ve been down there knowing my family needed me but helpless to do anything about it.”

“How did you find out?”

“The Navy told me when we arrived at port. I flew home to be with my parents, Anushka, and the kids. I’d missed the memorial service, but at least I could attend the funeral. He’d been cremated, and besides, Arlington Cemetery always has a backlog. It takes months to get interred there.”

“Was he…you know…in action?”

David nodded. “Herat. Insurgents.” His eyes grew hot, signaling that those were the only two words he could use without dissolving.

Paul laid a hand on his arm, his fingers warm and strong. “I’m so sorry he died. And I’m sorry your job kept you so isolated, even if it was necessary.”

David put his hand over Paul’s, intending to remove it, because the touch was making him crumble inside. Instead he held on for almost half a minute, until he could once again take a full breath. “You want to hear something peculiar?”

“Always.”

“Next to my crewmates, that isolation is what I miss most. Being away from everything, hearing barely any news, not knowing the ins and outs of every political drama or celebrity breakup. There’s no Twitter under the sea.”

“On second thought, that sounds amazing. Where do I sign up?”

David turned to face him fully, letting his knee nestle against Paul’s. “Sometimes during school breaks, I pretend I’m underway again. I turn off the Wifi and set my phone to airplane mode. During the summer, I take theMany Watersout to the middle of the Chesapeake and stay there as long as the weather will let me. Just reading, fishing, listening to music. Thinking.”

Paul’s eyes had grown wider and wider during this description, and now he inched closer. “Do you ever invite anyone to chill with you, or is this strictly a solo expedition? Because it sounds like the nautical version of Thoreau’s cabin in the woods, which is basically my perfect imagined existence.”

“So you want to ‘live deep and suck the marrow out of life’?”

Paul’s lashes fluttered as he squeezed David’s knee. “You just quoted Thoreau at me.”

“I did.”

“And you said the wordsuck, which has my mind going in a very non-transcendental direction.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

David wanted to lunge forward and kiss Paul again, to pin him down on this couch and feel every inch of what lay beneath those sweatpants.

But Paul had wanted to know him better first, and that wisdom went both ways. “Why are you here?” David asked. “In Annapolis. Today. Why didn’t you wait until after Christmas to look for an apartment?”

Paul’s smile faltered. “Well, for one thing, I’d put it off too long and was starting to freak out about finding a place I could afford.”

That didn’t add up. “You can do that online. To drive all the way from Iowa on Christmas Eve—”

“I couldn’t stay.” Paul pressed his fingertips to his own mouth, as if he’d just confessed a shameful secret. “I needed to feel like I was moving on. I’ve spent all year looking back, analyzing the wreckage.” His voice trailed off as his thumb traced the rim of his mug.

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