The Blue Blanket

Nate’s house contained four mugs, two chairs and no reason for the third place setting I found in his cupboard.

“Emergency,” he said when I held up the extra plate.

“An unexpected diner?”

“A broken plate.”

“You prepare for breakage before company.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter. “Apparently.”

I set three plates on the table, just to see him smile, then put one back.

He rented the little house behind the service road, fifteen minutes’ walk from the marina. I had been there once the previous summer to drop off a folder and had never gone farther than the step. Tonight I was inside, my sandals beside his boots, my bag on a chair he had cleared before I arrived.

There were things on the shelves I hadn’t expected. A stack of maps. A book of bird drawings with a receipt marking one page. I opened it to the…