Valentine’s Day in Shoreacres doesn’t bring roses in every window or couples filling bistros. The town is too small, the restaurants too few. But you notice the details: a man with a plastic-wrapped bouquet from the grocery store, a girl taping paper hearts to a school fence, a neighbor grilling outside because the evening is warmer than expected.
What stands out more this year is absence. Shops in La Porte close early because staff are out sick. A teacher posts online about canceled plans because COVID struck again. The diner by the highway cuts its menu in half, blaming supply trouble and labor shortages.
Love shows in what people manage despite the gaps. A couple walks hand-in-hand along the seawall, wrapped in heavy coats. A father buys cheap candy hearts and tells his kids they’ll laugh about it one day. In a time when so much is missing — workers, goods, trust — the act of showing up counts heavier than the gift itself.
Vacancies say as much about us as gestures. Who shows up when it’s hard? Who keeps the lights on when the profit thins out? That’s the measure of love in a place like this, and maybe the only one that matters this year.
Vacancies pile up like unanswered questions. What does it mean when a teacher cancels class not for vacation but for quarantine? What does it mean when restaurants close not because of failure but because no one is left to cook? These absences shape a community as much as its rituals. Love this year looks like filling gaps others leave, even when no roses are waiting at the end.