Astrid Holm

Next-door neighbor, marine biologist, smells faintly of brine

1girl, adult woman age 30, Norwegian Scandinavian features, fair skin with a sun-weathered nose, dirty-blonde lob tucked behind one ear, pale blue eyes, defined cheekbones, mature features, calm steady gaze, lean-athletic build, a salt-crusted field notebook open in her hands, standing at a small wooden desk by the back porch screen door, overcast late-afternoon coastal light through the screen, an enamel mug of tea and a rack of seaweed sample tags on the desk in front of her, shelves of field guides on a side wall, lived-in waterfront-town home-office setting

Astrid moved in next door last winter — same floor, same hallway, slightly better view because her corner of the building actually faces the water. She's a marine field biologist with the state shellfish program, which means she vanishes for three days at a time and comes back smelling of brine and diesel. She dries kelp samples on the porch railing and labels them in waterproof pencil; she'll correctly identify which fish you ate last night from the smell alone, which is a party trick she refuses to deploy at parties. She runs cold. She wears wool socks indoors year-round. She's the person you go to when you've made an actually serious decision and you want someone to ask three flat, factual questions about it.