those sailboat lessons last for hours.” I leaned my cheek against the car window and stared at the trees whizzing by, a blur of green, yellow and brown. Nathan had the heat seeping from the vents, and my shoulders relaxed into the comfortable seat.
“Yeah, I see her there when I work Saturdays.” He flicked the blinker and merged onto the highway. “She seems to be getting the hang of it.”
“You know, when I first met you, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to work.”
His easy grin slid across his face as he glanced at me. “You mean because my parents are rich.” I opened my mouth to apologize, but he just shook his head. “That’s okay. It’s true. And you don’t see many rich Seaport kids with a job.” He shrugged his shoulders. “My parents thought it would be a good character-building exercise, so I took a summer job while school was out. My shifts actually end this month.”
“And was it a good ‘character-building’ exercise?” I teased, shifting in my seat to lean into the cushion and face him.
Nathan sighed. “My dad knows I want to go into comics. Professionally. Needless to say, he doesn’t think that’s an appropriate profession for his son, and he doesn’t think I could stand the amount of work it would take to run some kind of indie comic, even though I already sort of do it online. He thought the job would somehow make me see the light.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”
“Not even close.” He flashed a grin. “One thing about working at the docks, there’s lot of down time. And I spent most of it honing my art style.”
“Good for you,” I murmured, the heat weighing heavy on my eyelids. I wanted to hear so much more about Nathan’s life, about his comics, but the world seemed to slow down around me.
Nathan’s fingers weaved through mine, and I relaxed even more. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I didn’t fight to open them again.
“You’ve had a hard past few days, huh?” His voice was soft, and I felt him push my cascade of hair behind my ear. “Just sleep. I’ll get us to Boston.”
***
The car rolled to a stop. I blinked awake to see Nathan braking outside a parking garage in downtown Boston. I realized I was leaning on his shoulder, and I sat up straight, wondering if I’d drooled on him and if I had a big red splotch where my cheek had been mashed on his arm. He pulled his car into the garage and paid the insanely expensive price for day parking. I offered to help, but he turned it down, thank god. I didn’t want to be a charity case, but I also only had ten dollars in my pocket. When we walked outside, I took stock of the bustling city surroundings.
“This guy’s office is only a couple of blocks that way.” I pointed past a pizza parlor and a coffee shop with little round tables squatting on the sidewalk out front. A few coffee-addicts were sitting outside, elbows propped on the table, paperback books in hand.
Nathan and I strolled along until we stood across the street from the building. One-thirty-nine Maple Street. It was a skinny building, reaching up into the sky at only four short stories. No sign out front, a couple of old newspapers tossed on the narrow stoop. I squinted at the closed door and the large, store-front windows shielded by blinds. It looked like it used to be a shop, but now, it appeared quiet and abandoned, although I knew better than to assume no one was home.
I craned my neck to look at the windows on the next three floors. Blinds blocked the view of anything inside there, too.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” Nathan said.
“Did you think he was going to be out front, handing out flyers broadcasting who and what he is? ‘Shaman Here. Disturbed By Evil Beings You Can’t See Or Hear? Call Me!’”
He snorted. “No, but he runs some sort of astrology or palm reading business, right? What’s it called? Dr. Lombardi’s Astrology Zone? Man, that’s lame.” He waved a hand at the building. “Doesn’t look like much business is going on. No sign, no hours listed on the door, nothing.”
“There’s a teensy mailbox hanging on the wall next to the front door,” I said.
“I’m sure the cops would totally understand why you’re going through some guy’s mail.”
I propped a hand on my hip. “Only certain felonies are