by Vivian Wood
I frown. “Yeah. For a company that makes their money off of booking charters to Alaska, that was definitely costly.” I wince. “We had to refund a ton of money. It was a serious blow to the company’s coffers. I’ll be glad when we’re back to our normal routines.”
Adjusting her baseball cap, Malkia shrugs. “It’ll be okay. You worry too much.” She pulls her phone out, checking the time.
“We should go down to the Harborside Yacht Club now. You can drop off your registration fee and I can flirt with the pretty waitresses at the restaurant. Eh?”
I shake my head, but my lips do curl up into a smile. “Yeah, all right. I’ve done most of the scrubbing that I can do anyway.”
She smiles mischievously. It lights up her whole face. “It is my turn to drive. I cannot wait for those rich pricks to see me pulling up in their driveway.”
Grabbing the bucket that I dropped the scrub brush into, I nod. “Let me just leave this bucket over by the High Hope’s gangplank. I’ll meet you at the car.”
She trots off down the dock, in good spirits. She’s only recently decided to learn how to drive, despite being twenty two. So when I get to our car, an old green Land Rover that is battered all to hell, I’m not surprised to find her in the driver’s seat, grinning like a maniac.
I climb in the passenger side, careful to buckle my seatbelt. When Malkia drives, the experience can be harrowing to say the least.
“Ready?” she asks. Before I can even get a word out either way, she punches the gas and we launch into motion.
“Take it easy,” I caution her as she pulls out onto the road.
“Ohh, go put your worried face in the closet,” she says, waving a hand at my concerns. “I am fine.”
I make a face, but I don’t protest. Malkia is starting to be her own person, someone apart from the little brown kid that stuck out like a sore thumb in Seattle public schools. I want to encourage her, not tease her about her shortcomings.
I look at her, so happy to be driving, and I smile. “Once you’ve mastered this, you can focus on moving out of The Hub. Mom and Dad won’t like you moving away from home though, so we’ll have to get you a starter apartment. Somewhere close to them.”
Malkia flushes. “You would like that, Gabe. Let me tell you what.” She holds up a finger. “If I move out, you have the tiniest chance of stealing their hearts back.”
She snickers. I grin. “I don’t think so, sis. I lost that game a long time ago. Our parents went on what I thought was a vacation, and they came back with you. I took one look at you - six years old and with the cutest smile that anyone has ever seen — and I just gave up.”
She smirks. “I was cute, was I not?”
The way she enunciates each word makes me smile.
I nod. “You were so cute. Mom and Dad were already doting on you then.” I roll my eyes. “And they have never stopped.”
“A wise decision if I have ever heard of one.”
“Mm.” I look out the window at the seaside, the beach a mere strip of dark sand. The ocean is unusually calm just now, looking like nothing so much as opaque black glass. Malkia drives the SUV along a winding two lane road, sticking close to the shoreline the whole way.
“Michelle loved it when the ocean was calm like this.” The words are out before I really think about them.
I glance at Malkia with a frown. Her smile dims. “Oh?”
She doesn’t like when I bring up Michelle. No one does, not really. The topic of my dead fiancée stops conversations in their tracks at the very best of times.
I don’t say anything, so Malkia waits a few beats and then speaks.
“I know I have said this all to you before, but Michelle’s death was not your fault.” She looks at me, her expression serious. “All the things you found out after her death… her debt, her infidelity, her secret past… none of that had anything to do with you.”
Looking away out the window, I feel like someone just hit me on the stomach with a two by four. I can’t catch my breath for several beats.
Only Malkia feels close enough to me to be so bold with her words. She’s always been a truth teller, even when the truth hurts. I shift in my seat, reminding myself not to lash out at her for it.
I usually treasure Malkia’s no bullshit attitude. Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “Speaking of Michelle, I really want to win the regatta this year. We tried to win for the last four years, but no dice. We didn’t even place.”
A memory bubbles up, unbidden. For a second, I’m on board the Arctic Light, pulling at the mast rigging. Michelle is right next to me, laughing as her hair tie flies loose in the wind. Her hair splays out, vibrant as a newly minted copper penny.
It may have been eight months since she died, but sometimes it feels like it’s only been a few moments. The grief and anger are right there on the surface, pushing at me, but I just take a cooling breath.
Now is not the time.
Malkia slows as she takes a right. Harborside Yacht Club appears out of nowhere, looking like nothing so much as a shining palace tucked amongst so many docks and boats. It’s crisp white main building looks like somebody scrubbed it clean this morning.
“I think we have a good chance of winning this year.” Malkia looks over at me. “After all, this is the first year you’re sailing on the new, improved Arctic Light. Plus, you’ve got me as your first mate.” She pats my knee. “I am good luck, you know.”
She pulls into the parking lot of the yacht club, passing the first few rows of shiny Mercedes and brand new Audis.
I smile as she pulls into a space, a sigh one my lips. “So I hear, Mal.”
I open the glove compartment and fish out the registration papers and the check. I’m careful not to look at the dollar amount scribbled on it as I get out of the car.
The thousand dollar sign up fee came out of my savings, but after not working for two months, my savings account is all but wiped out.
I make a silent promise to myself. I’m going to place this year. No, I’m going to win.
And the winner gets thirty thousand dollars, not to mention a much sought-after exclusive contract to be the first company on the yacht club’s list when it comes to booking their lavish vacations.
That’s why there are so many other blue-collar entries into this regatta. Everyone wants to be the first charter considered when the yacht club has a trip to take.
Malkia and I walk toward the front doors of the yacht club. “You’re going to stop by the restaurant?”
She nods, smiling again. “That I am. I baited a few hooks when I was here two weeks ago. I want to check my nets and see if I get any nibbles from the ladies that work here.”
As I’m about to open the heavy oak door, it swings open. I back up, my eyes narrowing as I realize who is on the other side.
Fletcher Montgomery. He’s around my age, but he looks like he was born in a Patagonia Outdoors store. Boat shoes, khaki shorts, a light purple short sleeve button up, and a black puffy vest. Not a hair is out of place on his blond head, which irks me for some reason.
My expression immediately sours. “Fletcher.”
He gives me the biggest shit-eating grin. “Well, look who just washed up on shore. It’s Old ‘Woe Is Me’ Gabe and his trusty sidekick, Little Orphan African-nie.”
Malkia fires back immediately, without missing a beat. “You are so unimaginative. It is painful watching you try to come up with the shit that comes out of your mouth, Fletcher. Drop dead.”
She breezes right past him, utterly unconcerned. I however stay for a second, if only to see Fletcher’s cheeks color. He lifts his chin, sneering.
“Someone should send her back to where she came from,” he spits. He looks at me. “Why are you two even here? You’re bringing down the average income level in the club by a couple million.”
I smile, lifting my registration papers. “I’m here to drop off my forms for the regatta.”
He laughs. “You’re kidding, right? You
have zero chance of winning without your key player.”
A lump forms in my throat. He means Michelle, who introduced me to yacht racing five years ago.
“Don’t talk about my fiancée,” I growl.
He smirks. “Surely you know by now that I have a far greater knowledge of Michelle’s dirty deeds than you will ever have. I mean, I never stopped fucking her while you two were supposedly in love— “
Just like that, I grab him by the throat. I’m pretty damn tall, having almost a foot on Fletcher, and I am not afraid to use my size to intimidate him. “Learn some fucking manners, you fucking idiot. Don’t speak ill of the dead, especially not in front of me. And especially not about my fiancée.”
He starts turning red, but I push him away forcefully before he starts choking.
I yank the door open and walk inside, dismissing him completely. But I am shaking right now, the anger and grief and bone-deep sadness all stirred up inside me like a hurricane inside a bottle. My fists are clenched tight and my jaw is so tense that it feels like the muscles in my face might snap.
I hurry along the heavy wood-paneled hall, papers still clutched in a hand, already kicking myself for letting Fletcher get to me.
4
Luna
I swallow nervously as I climb the steps of the drab little office building. I pause in front of the dark wood front door. Hoisting my medical bag, I smooth my dark gray skirt.
“You’re going to do well,” I tell myself. Moisture pools in my armpits. I normally wouldn’t wear such a formal black top, especially not on this warm Seattle day.
But today is a job interview.
No, not an interview. The job interview. I really need this internship to put on my resume during this summer internship, while I transition from medical school into my residency. It’s vital for the doctors in charge of assignments to find me impressive, from what I hear.
Of course, my medical school only accepts a few positions as resume-worthy… and I found out about all of this a few days ago. And this is it, the only position remaining.
I look at the building one more time, biting my lip.
Aurora Borealis Charters, the sign above the door reads.
Blowing out a steadying breath, I open the door. A gust of cool air buffets my face as I step into the dreary office. Everything is just shades of brown in here. The faded carpet, the worn drapes, the chipped office furniture.
I swallow again. How is this place still open and making money?
There is a young woman seated at the reception desk. She looks up at me from an ancient PC, her expression puzzled.
“May I help you?” she asks.
I step fully inside the office, closing the door behind me. “Yes. I have an appointment with Daniel Byrne?”
The receptionist’s brow furrows. “In what regard?”
I set down my heavy medical bag with a soft thunk. “It’s a job interview. You’re still looking for someone with medical expertise, right?”
“Ohhhh,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “Sorry. You just look too young to be a nurse.”
I scowl at her words. “I actually just graduated medical school,” I say, keeping my tone as even I as can.
“Oh!” She flushes. “Sorry. Let me just go tell him you’re here.”
I bow my head. “Of course. Thank you.”
She goes through the only doorway, only bothering to partially close the door. “Daniel! The medical attendant is here!”
I fidget with my bracelets. Each one is a silver bangle from Tiffany’s, chosen with great care. One for each year of college.
I graduated with my two best friends, Cate and Harper, and wanted something to commemorate the time.
So I got us all matching bangles. It may be silly, but it really bucks me up to think about the meaning of the bracelets on days like this one.
The receptionist sticks her head out of the doorway. “Mr. Byrne will see you now.”
Smiling graciously, I pick up my medical case and head back toward her.
She ushers me down a hallway to a cramped office, where a shockingly handsome man sits behind his file-covered desk. He wears slacks and a tropical shirt, his salt-and-pepper hair cut close to his scalp. He stands up to shake my hand and I notice that he is quite tall and muscular to boot.
I flush as our palms touch.
“Daniel Byrne,” he announces.
“It’s a pleasure. I’m Luna Leone,” I say. The color in my cheeks flames higher under his measuring gaze.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
A little rich girl?
Someone too young to be a doctor?
I hope not.
“Sit, sit,” he says, resettling himself in his seat. “Let’s see…” He digs through the piles of papers on his desk, unearthing a file. He flips it open and leafs through the pages. “You’re from Mercy Southwest, right?”
I sit down in the only chair, setting my case down beside me. “Yes. I just graduated medical school in the top half of my class.”
Okay, I was number fourteen out of thirty. So what I told him was not a lie… it just wasn’t exactly the whole truth.
My lie draws his gaze up from the page. “Really?”
I shift in my seat, trying not to give in to my urge to fidget. “Yes.”
“Mm.” He looks down at my file again. “We usually don’t get the first draft of med students in here. Or second, or the third.” He smiles ruefully. “Actually, we usually only get the people that just barely graduated by the skin of their teeth. Cruising to Alaska and living on a boat for an entire summer doesn’t really appeal to a lot of people, I guess.” His brow hunches. “Especially not women.”
I blush again. “I see. Well, you were on the approved list of placements that my school gave me…”
He rocks back in his seat, studying me. “Why are you really here? Is this your backup or something?”
My cheeks are stained bright pink. “No, sir. This is the only place that I’ve applied.” I gulp. “I just found out about the program this week, though.”
He cocks a brow. “Ahh. So you ran out of other options, then.”
God, kill me now. “I prefer not to think of it that way, Mr. Byrne.”
Daniel’s gaze is heavy on me for a moment, then he rocks back in his chair again. “I think that kind of attitude will get you a long way, Miss Leone.” He looks down at my file again, sucking at his teeth. “Mercy Southwest has never steered us wrong yet. I’ll just need you to fill out a million papers saying that you won’t sue us if anything goes wrong.”
“That’s it?” I ask, surprised. I start to stand up because he does, but he waves me back down.
“Yep. As long as you are qualified, we’ll take you. I just need to bring my son in to meet you. He captains most of the charters that we take out so he’ll be your direct boss.”
Relief floods me. “Oh, thank you Mr. Byrne!”
Daniel gives me a hooded smile. “We’ll see if you’re still thanking me when you’re actually out at sea, with waves rolling below deck and no land in sight.”
My eyes widen, but he heads out of the office. I used to spend every summer on my parent’s yacht when I was a kid… but it’s been fifteen years since then.
Do most of the medical staff that this place hires deal with seasickness, then?
“Dad, I really don’t have time for this,” a gruff voice says.
For some reason, every hair on my body stands on end at that voice. I don’t know why it sounds familiar though.
I hear Daniel answer. “Just poke your head in, Gabe.”
I turn my head just in time to see a decades-younger version of Daniel appear. He’s probably only twenty seven, and he’s more muscular and fit than his father. His hair is jet black, shaved on the sides and slightly curly on top. The t-shirt he’s wearing would be boring if it weren’t stretched tautly across such a muscular chest. But his eyes…
He looks at me with eyes the exact color
of sea glass, a faint blue-green shade that gives me chills.
How could I ever forget those eyes?
It’s been six months since I got drunk and hooked up with a stranger in Vegas for my birthday. We didn’t use our full names and he left before I could ask for his number…
But I will never, ever forget those eyes. Or the things that his calloused hands made me feel that night… He made me scream his name four different times… then he vanished while I was drowsing.
Gabriel.
I knew him as G. Saying his name inside of my head excites me. I can feel my pupils begin to dilate.
“I—" he begins.
“You—" I start.
We both stop. My heart is suddenly beating hard enough to hear it in my ears.
“Gabe don’t stop in the middle of the damned doorway,” his father chides. “Come on now.”
Gabe looks at me, a silent plea on his face. He clears his throat.
“I don’t think we should hire a girl,” he says loudly. “Remember the last one we brought on? She didn’t even make it for two hours before we had to turn around and drop her off. Women aren’t cut out for the life.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Daniel doesn’t seem to notice the tension between his son and me. “That was eight years ago, Gabe. Get with it. Women can do anything they want to do now.”
I narrow my eyes. “You look familiar, Gabe.”
He actually blushes. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t see any reason I would. You must be confused.”
My brow hunches. From his guilty tone, I can guess that he’s flat-out lying. I don’t know why, though.
“Gabe, I just wanted to introduce Miss Leone to you.” Daniel looks at his watch. “Would you two excuse me for a moment? I need to take my pill and I think I left the bottle in my car.” He turns and heads out. “I’ll be right back!”
Gabe and I are left there, staring each other down.
“What the heck is going on?” I ask.
Gabe slides his gaze out the door, then whispers his answer to me. “You should not work here, little girl.”
