by Julie Cannon
“Do you ever take anyone along?”
Was she fishing—pardon the pun—to find out if I ever brought a woman along? “Not often,” I answered honestly. “Entertaining makes it difficult to clear my head.”
“True, but there are lots of ways to clear your head.”
Was Bert flirting with me? In any other circumstance I’d say yes, but I was still off my game a bit. I also couldn’t see her face or eyes because it was too dark. I’m a good reader of people—well, with the exception of Ariel. I chided myself to stop using Ariel as a reference point for everything.
It had been like that in the beginning after she left. I suppose it’s like that for most abrupt endings to a relationship. Ariel loved that Italian restaurant. That was Ariel’s favorite movie. Ariel pushed the shopping cart like this. Ariel had invaded my psyche like an enemy, and ultimately my self-confidence. Repairing it was obviously still a work in progress.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bert
When I was on the bridge I preferred to be alone. Alissa had described it perfectly when she said being on the water cleared her head. It gave me a sense of calm and peace I’ve never found anywhere else. The solitude, no one between me, God, and the sea. It was humbling.
Unlike my peers, I often took the night watch. I couldn’t work every night; I have to be sharp and alert when we’re casting or retrieving the nets. But we wouldn’t be at our fishing location for another few days. Plenty of time to take a few shifts and catch a few hours of sleep. And thinking about sleep, Alissa had been quiet for some time. When I looked at her, her eyes were closed.
I’d often thought about what I would do if I found myself in Alissa’s situation. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, the only hope of rescue a sheer miracle. I’ve had hours of survival training, but I always wondered how I would fare if faced with what Alissa had experienced.
I hoped I would be mentally and emotionally strong. Physically, I think I’d do okay. Years of hard work had made me fit and strong. How would I feel if I knew I was going to die? Would I pray? Scream? Cry? Would I give up hope?
A cool breeze floated into the bridge when Blow opened the door. I looked at Alissa, who had fallen asleep earlier. Even though strands of hair blew across her face, she didn’t stir.
“How’s it going, Cap?” Blow asked, setting a thermos of coffee on the counter behind me.
“Quiet,” I replied. He was here to relieve me and I suddenly felt very tired. It had been a long, busy, stressful day, and if I’d be battling Alissa again all day tomorrow, it would be a doubly long day.
“Wake me if you stumble upon any more women floating in the ocean,” I joked.
I turned to Alissa. I didn’t want to wake her but she couldn’t spend the night here. I touched her arm lightly. “Alissa.” Her eyes opened slowly, and for a few moments a look of panic filled them. I stepped into her line of sight and it quickly disappeared.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Now it’s really time for you to get some sleep. Come on.” I touched her elbow and pulled her to her feet.
“I’m—”
“I know. You’re fine. Good, let’s go.”
Silently, Alissa followed me down three flights of narrow, metal stairs and through the hall to my cabin. I felt her eyes on me the entire time, but she didn’t say anything. When we reached my cabin I opened the door and motioned her to go in first.
“I’d offer you another shower, but I’m afraid we limit ourselves to only one a day. Captain’s orders.”
“And you’re the boss,” she said stiffly, definitely not in awe of my position.
“I’m just trying to do what’s right for the crew and the boat.”
“Obviously.”
“Breakfast is at six, but sleep as long as you’d like. It’s just another day at sea, with nothing to do till we reach the fishing ground.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“I’ll crash in the galley.”
“I’m kicking you out of your bed.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, lying with my fingers crossed behind my back. No way would I get any sleep on those chairs, but I refused to tell Alissa that.
“I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
“There is nowhere else. Unless you want to bunk with the guys.” A look I couldn’t recognize washed across her face. I think it was a combination of panic, fear, and uncertainty. “Don’t be a martyr. Just get in,” I said, my patience thin and my body tired. She hesitated a few moments, then stepped inside.
“You can sleep with me. It’ll be a tight squeeze but I don’t mind.”
I hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say.
“Don’t be a martyr, Bert. Just come in,” she said, repeating my words.
“Something wrong?” she asked after we’d both used the bathroom to get ready.
“Uh, no,” I replied weakly. I just wasn’t sure how you go about platonically sharing a bed with someone who doesn’t really like you. And there was no mistake how she felt about me.
“Get over it and get in,” Alissa said, finally spurring me out of my stupor and into action.
“Okay. I’m not going to turn down an offer to join a beautiful woman in my own bed.” I was trying to ease the tension from her face. When she smiled I saw a flash of relief pass over her lovely features.
“Inside or outside?” Alissa asked, pointing to the bed.
“Outside,” I replied. “If I’m needed in the night I won’t wake you getting out.” When Alissa pushed the sweatpants down her hips I tried real hard not to look. I failed miserably. She was wearing a pair of my boxers and looked just plain sexy. I pulled my boots off, tossed my jeans on the chair, and slid into bed beside her.
I didn’t remember it being this cozy, but then again we were now both wide-awake and completely aware of where we were. Alissa shifted a little, her bare leg touched mine, and a fire shot up my leg and smoldered in the pit of my stomach. Oh, dear, this was not a good idea. If I thought I wouldn’t get any sleep in the galley, I sure as hell wouldn’t get any with Alissa and her bare legs pressing against me. Even though she was being a bitch toward me, I’m still a living, breathing lesbian.
I hugged the side of the bed, not trusting myself to get too close. I hadn’t moved since I pulled the covers up, and I’d never felt as uncomfortable as I did right now. God, give me strength, I repeated to myself several times.
“For God’s sake, Bert, scoot over,” she said. “You’re about to fall off.”
Better than falling into you, I thought. I did as she asked, and after a few more adjustments we finally settled in. I don’t know how long we lay there, neither of us sleeping. My mind was racing with thoughts of what I’d rather be doing with Alissa in my bed, and staring at the ceiling wasn’t one of them.
“Go to sleep,” she said.
Yeah, right. The only way that was going to happen was if the last few days had never occurred. My body was far too aware of how long it had been since I’d had a woman lying beside me, and one as charming and beautiful as Alissa only exacerbated my reaction. Why couldn’t Alissa be the type of woman I despised? Better yet, someone I felt only friendship for. Why did she have to ignite the spark of desire not only because of her fabulous body but her sharp mind as well?
The throbbing between my legs convinced me that at this moment, what was in her brain wasn’t at the top of my get-to-know-Alissa priority list. I tried to make myself feel like a cad for lusting after her but gave up. My nerves were shot, and all I could think about was that she was going to be this close for the next few weeks. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to pretend I was somewhere else.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alissa
This nightmare was worse than the first one. I’m in the water, the waves churning angrily around me. My life vest is keeping my head above the waves, and I thank God I was aware enough to grab it on my way out. I spin around a complete three hundred sixty degrees, and the scenery doesn’t change. M
y boat is nowhere in sight, nor is land or anything other than dark skies and choppy water. I fight down panic as I realize my situation. I’m going to die. I am going to die. My body will never be found. My boat had burned and sunk without a sound hours ago. At least I thought it was hours ago. It was some time during the night when I bailed overboard, but with no watch and the sun not yet peeking above the horizon, I have no idea how long I’ve been in the water.
I’m glad I went to the gym regularly and even more thankful for all the miles I swam in the pool. I’m a strong swimmer, but as I look around I have no idea which direction to go. Even if I knew, the current will dictate my ending location, not my breast stroke. I can’t do anything but wait. Wait to be rescued, wait to be eaten by a shark, wait to die of exposure.
I’m afraid to close my eyes, fearing I’ll miss a boat or a rescue plane nearby. My eyeballs are almost as fried as my face. The reflection of the sun off the water has burned my face, and my lips are raw and swollen. The constant splashing of the waves against my fried skin exacerbates my condition. The pain is almost unbearable, but as long as it hurts, I’m still alive.
I’m exhausted, and as much as I want to drift off, I don’t dare. In addition to keeping watch for someone to rescue me, I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never open them again. Occasionally something brushes against my leg and I frantically look around for a fin.
In addition to being completely alone, helpless, and terrified, I’m totally naked. I was in such a hurry to get off my burning boat I made one stop, and that was for my life vest. As the sun moved across the sky and the hours passed, it definitely proved to be the best decision I’d ever made. I don’t even mind too much that the rough material has rubbed my nipples raw. I don’t even want to imagine what the salt water is doing to the other delicate parts of my body.
I sing every song I know and make up the words I don’t. I recite the names and physical descriptions of every teacher, friend, and girlfriend I’ve ever had. I revisit every vacation spot I’ve ever spent time in, all in an attempt to retain my sanity. If I don’t keep my mind busy I’ll soon start counting angels.
God, my head is pounding. I’m thirsty and cold. Miles and miles of water, and if I drink any of it I’ll die a miserable death. I remember reading an article that explained that because the kidneys are the filters for our waste they can only make urine that is less salty than salt water. Since sea water has more salt than regular water, the more you drink, the more the kidneys have to use existing water from our body in order to dilute the extra salt, which in turn makes us feel even thirstier. Ironically the more salt water you drink, the thirstier you become until you ultimately die from dehydration.
I must have dozed off because when I wake the sun has dipped below the horizon. Frantically I look around and cry when the view is no different than it was when I jumped overboard. I guess my body is compensating for the lack of water because I have no tears, and dry sobs wrack my body. I try to scream, but with my parched throat I can’t manage anything more than a croak. If I do spot a ship, how am I going to signal it? I certainly can’t catch anyone’s attention by yelling. I suddenly remember the blinking white light attached to the shoulder of my life vest. It can be seen during the day and is even more visible in the dark, which increases my chances of rescue. I can think of only one problem: someone has to be looking for it.
I watch the stars as they make their entrance into the dark sky. I search for the Big Dipper, Pisces, and Pegasus. I’m a bit of an astronomy buff and used to often spend hours on my boat lying on my back, the peaceful night sky washing away the clutter in my mind. Hours would slide by as I listened to the gentle slap of waves against the hull. Some mornings I woke to the early daylight rays of the sun slowly replacing the stars.
This would have been one of those nights, but it is anything but peaceful. I’m not a particularly religious person. I believe there is something greater than I am and the body is just a vessel for the soul. When the body dies, the soul is set free like a butterfly with wings. I’d always envisioned my death to be peaceful, preferably on my boat surrounded by friends and family as I cast out to sea. However, I didn’t expect it to be quite this soon and certainly not like this.
I scream when something bites my leg. I kick wildly to scare it away, then think better of it. My flailing might make me look more like a tasty morsel than I already do. Whatever bit me wasn’t big enough to be a shark. That particular predator would have bitten my entire leg off. However, the stinging in my calf clearly indicates that whatever it was has definitely broken the skin. I hope it isn’t bleeding too much or the next bite might be my last.
As more stars appear I start getting philosophical. Does everyone reflect on their life when they’re closest to death? It’s not like we have the chance to go back and do it again. Shouldn’t we take time at various intervals in our lives to be able to course correct, if necessary, before it’s too late? Is this my chance?
It certainly didn’t look like it. If I weren’t dead by morning I’d certainly be by this time tomorrow. No way would I survive another day exposed to the blistering sun.
I close my eyes, the flashing beacon penetrating my eyelids. My heart beats in time with the pulsating light. Is this what death is like? All the stars lining up? There is a certain rhythm when you’re born, and there must be when you die.
I keep my eyes closed, remembering happier times. The time my dad taught me how to ride a bike. My first car, first crush, first kiss. The day I signed the lease on the building that would house my company. The day I opened my doors for business. The first Alissa Cooper business card. I’m proud of my life, my accomplishments, and my contribution to society.
A face flashes across my eyelids. It has short, dark hair, blistering green eyes, and deep dimples. The smile lights up her entire face. Bert. Circumstances cut our meeting short, and even though I’d considered that a good thing, much to my annoyance, I’d thought of her quite a few times since. I knew with the whole law thing that I should steer clear, and it pissed me off that I didn’t want to. But the episode with Ariel had taught me to ignore the “want” and stick with the practical, sure thing—calculated, fact-based actions.
I drift off and don’t fight it. I’m exhausted and whatever will be will be. At this point it’s up to something and someone greater than I am. I’m in their hands. With one last look in the sky, I close my eyes.
I feel myself being pulled upward toward heaven and am at peace. Suddenly the smooth movements turn jerky as I’m lifted out of the water. I cough when my life vest digs into my throat. I open my eyes, completely disoriented. People are shouting, hands are grabbing my arms and legs, unbuckling my life vest. I cry out when cool air hits my raw, wet skin. Voices are talking, but my mind is so foggy I can’t make out what they’re saying.
“Alissa, Alissa.” The voice tries to penetrate the fog that has enveloped me. “Alissa.”
Bert’s voice cuts through my nightmare and I open my eyes. She’s leaning over me, concern written all over her face. I can’t catch my breath; my dream scared the shit out of me.
“Alissa, you’re okay, you’re safe,” Bert said, obviously trying to reassure me.
She has to repeat her reassurances a few more times before I finally begin to settle down. My heart’s racing and I’m covered in sweat. Bert gathers me in her arms. I’m safe, and that’s all that matters.
*
I can’t go back to sleep so I replay the events of two nights ago. After dinner I took a glass filled with three fingers of Crown over ice and sat in the deck chair at the rear of my boat. This was my favorite time of the day when I was on the water. The day was winding down, the air crisp and quiet. With each passing minute I felt myself relax more and more. It was the end of my third day out, and I was finally starting to feel like myself again. I knew seeing Ariel would be difficult, but I had totally underestimated the effect. Being in her presence completely threw me. I thought I was over it and her and had moved on, but the a
nger and betrayal that flooded me told me otherwise. Would I ever recover from her? No, I’d never get over what she did, but hopefully someday I would put it in the right place in my brain and move on.
It must have been close to midnight when I climbed out of the chair and started making my rounds. I followed the same routine every time I pulled in or out of my slip and when I anchored for the night. I double-checked the bow and stern anchor and made sure my sails were secured and that no loose lines were lying around. I secured the chair I’d been sitting in and took the key out of the ignition. I checked the cabin hatch, locking it from the inside, and locked the windows. I hadn’t used the stove or oven on this trip, but I checked that the propane valve was in the off position. The coffee pot was unplugged and all the water off. I checked the clip on my 9mm and laid it back on the nightstand—a girl can’t be too careful. Then I stripped down to what God gave me on my birthday and slid under the covers. The next thing I knew my boat was on fire and I was jumping over the side.
“What are you thinking about?”
Bert’s voice surprised me. “Now that my mind is a little clearer, I was just trying to figure out what happened.”
“Have you?” Bert’s voice rumbled in her chest under my ear.
“No,” I answered, frustrated. “I have a routine…” I proceeded to walk through it with her. Bert asked a few clarifying questions but otherwise stayed quiet.
“Did she sink?”
“Yes, but with none of the same fanfare or drama as the Titanic,” I replied. Sarcasm was my go-to defense mechanism for emotional pain, and I was a master at it.
“Do you remember your coordinates?”
“They’re in my log book, which went down with or burned up with her, whichever came first.” I’d had that same logbook since I started sailing. It was thick, with my initials embossed on a worn leather cover. Losing it was more painful than losing my boat. I could replace one, but not the other. I gave her what I thought was my location. “But I can’t be sure. That might have been the day before.”
