Where the Heart Is...

During dinner, I couldn't stop myself from gazing out the window as the sun set over the darkening harbor. I couldn't stop myself from wondering how I had gotten there, somewhere in Alaska, some place I probably couldn't even find on a map.

"Where are we again?" I asked.

"Alaska," he said.

"No, this town—what's it called?"

"Oh this?" he said, following my gaze out the window.

His face was somehow different in the pink and grey twilight. He smiled, and for a moment, he seemed to drift off somewhere, his gaze distant and wistful.

"This is Ketchikan," he said, finally.

"Do you come here often?"

"Non," he said, shrugging as he turned away from the window. "Not often."

"But you like it here?"

"What's not to like?"

I glanced again at the secluded harbor, at the mountains that rose from the water, at the plain buildings in pastel colors that seemed to nestle around the dock like a pack of dogs huddled together for warmth.

"It is beautiful," I had to admit. "But there's not much here, is there? I mean, besides the salmon."

"Maybe not, but to the people who call it home, I suppose there's just enough."

"Oui," I said.

To the people who call it home.

"Home is where the heart is and all that…" he continued.

"Sure," I said as I turned toward the window again. "Sure."

Sure, I thought. But what about me? Where do I call home?

Of course, I didn't say that out loud.

I felt Laurent watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I half-expected some sort of snarky remark about my melancholy mood, but he said nothing. Instead, he finished his meal, set his napkin on the table, and let the waitress take away his empty plate, all without another word.

I thought that we would soon stand, soon pay the bill, soon walk back down the short road to the dock and settle our selves in for the night on the little boat. But when the waitress came to take my half-eaten plate away, Laurent leaned in and bat his lashes up at her.

"So what's good for dessert?" he asked.

She brought a menu which Laurent held between us, reading out each item with a forced enthusiasm.

"Banana bread pudding?" he asked.

"Non," I said.

"Chocolate cake?"

"Non."

"Strawberry rhubarb pie?"

"Non," I said. "You go ahead and get whatever you want. I'm just not in the mood…"

"Suit yourself, but since we did survive a particularly nasty storm…"

"Oh man!" the waitress said, "Tell me you guys weren't caught out in that mess today?"

"We were," I said, nauseous again at the memory of the lurching waves.

"…I think I will celebrate with something sweet," Laurent continued. He turned to the waitress. "We'll take the pie."

"Sure thing," she said. "And congrats on making it out in one piece. I heard it was a record breaker for the season."

"Merci," Laurent said.

The hairs on my neck stood up as she walked away.

"Hey!" I said after she'd gone. "I thought you said that storm was nothing."

"I may have exaggerated a little."

"So you lied?"

"Would you have rather known the truth?"

My stomach turned again, and my pulse raced. I couldn't tell if I was angry, or terrified, or relieved. I leaned back in my seat with my arms crossed, glaring at Laurent from across the table as he glanced around the empty bar.

And no wonder the bar was empty—and the port as well—everyone with good sense had stayed home. I glared even harder, my brows furrowed so hard that I gave myself a headache.

"What?" Laurent said. "You said follow the horizon and that's what I did."

"I didn't say lead us into a record-breaking storm!"

He shrugged. "I may have heard a warning or two…but the weather is unpredictable. We can't change our plans just because the forecast predicts rough waters."

"Yes, you can!" I said. "That's the exact reason weather forecasts exist in the first place!"

He scoffed. "We survived, didn't we? You are stronger than you."

I glared in return. But he just laughed and leaned in again.

"You'd make an excellent sailor," he said.

"Non. No way."

"Oui. I have no doubt."

"Nope. Never."

"You have the heart of an explorer," he said. "You said it yourself. You seek the horizon. And if you seek the horizon, then you also seek storms. You can't seek one and not the other. And so, you cannot say that you don't like them—the storms and the danger and the unknown—because that is the very thing you are seeking. If you say that you love the horizon and in the same breath say that you don't love the storms, well..."

The waitress arrived with one slice of pie.

"…then you are lying to yourself," he continued, his voice gentler than before.

She set the plate on the table.

"This one's on the house," she said.

"Would you look at that?" Laurent said. "It seems to be our lucky day!"

"Merci," I muttered.

"Don't thank me," she said. "Thank Elliot."

"Elliot?" I said.

"Elliot?!" Laurent said, whipping around in his seat. "Has he been here this whole time?! The scoundrel!"

I turned, too, if only to see what all the commotion was about.

A laugh barreled out from the kitchen before we saw him. He pushed open the saloon doors, smiling when he saw us. His skin was dark and his eyes were alight.

"Well, look what the squall brought in?!" he said, his voice booming and his accent British.

And when I looked toward Laurent, his face was glowing with an expression that I couldn't quite place.

Is he embarrassed?

No, it was only when the stranger approached the table and took off his knit cap that I realized what I was seeing—attraction.

Laurent stood and pulled the stranger into an embrace that was neither too rough, nor too tender. I sat and watched. My shock had made me rude.

"Delphine, this is Elliot," Laurent said. "Elliot, this is my sister, Delphine."

"Hello," I said, staring up from my seat.

"Elliot is a friend," Laurent said. "The one I told you about—the one with the boat."

"Oh!" I said, finally standing. "I'm sorry, I just…I wasn't expecting company."

I glanced at Laurent and he shrugged.

Is he blushing?

"Anyway," Elliot said, pulling me into a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Please! Join us!" Laurent said.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to intrude," Elliot said.

"Nonsense! What intrusion? It's no intrusion. Right, Delphine?"

Laurent gave me a sideways look and a—OW!—not-so-subtle kick under the table.

"Right?" he said again, leaning back into the corner of the booth with a contrived sort of nonchalance.

I sighed. "Right. Not at all."

Laurent smiled.

"Great!" Elliot said. "Drinks on me, then?"

As soon as Elliot's back was turned, Laurent leaned in, not an ounce of mischief in his eyes.

"Look," he whispered in French. "I know you're really upset about the glaciers and global warming and the snowballs and all that, but this is really important to me. It's not often we get to see each other, so, if you don't mind, I plan to take full advantage of the situation."

"D'accord," I said, slightly taken aback by his seriousness.

Laurent glanced in Elliot's direction.

"He looks well, don't you think?" he asked.

"Ehm…"

Then he turned back to me, his eyes alight again.

"Do you think he's happy to see me?"

"Oui. I do."

"I think so, too. When he walked in—did you hear that laugh?"

I leaned my head against the window.

"Mon Dieu," I sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said.

But as Elliot approached the table, I knew that this wasn't nothing.

He held three overflowing pints in his hands, and I knew—not only was this moment not nothing, it might actually be the closest thing to everything I'd ever seen of Laurent's life.