Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  “Yes,” Corrie said with resolution. “That’s exactly right. This is my trip of a lifetime, and I can’t waste it by sleeping. Just keep making that strong coffee, Jules, and I will survive.”

  The station ran smoothly, much like the day before. Corrie and Zeb dived to collect anemone fronds, then Jules helped Corrie send down her bottles to collect water. When the last bottle was on deck, a splash made Corrie’s head whip around.

  “What was that? Did something fall overboard?” Corrie counted her bottles to make sure.

  “Probably just a fish jumping,” Jules said. “They’re frisky in the morning. Should we take these bottles into the lab?”

  “Yes, please. Then I might find Zeb and talk about the next station.”

  “You know what, I’ll find him and send him to the lab, okay?” Jules said quickly. Corrie shrugged.

  “Sure, that works. I’ll start filtering my water.”

  Jules retreated to the wheelhouse and Corrie was left to wonder at Jules’ reaction. What was Zeb doing that Jules didn’t want her to know about?

  She shook her head. Likely he was down tinkering with the engine or something noisy and smelly that she didn’t need to bug him at. She pulled on gloves and got to work.

  The rest of the day was a blur of diving, sampling, analysis, and running gels. At one point, they passed one of the caves in which Zeb had fashioned a net trap for the unicorn fish. When he returned from checking it, his face was even more closed than usual, and Corrie didn’t enquire about his success. It was too evident from his despondent expression. She hardly had time to ask, in any event. They tackled three stations in total, and by dinnertime Corrie was exhausted and ready to drop. She needed to get out of the lab, talk to a human about anything. Science was often solitary, and while she worked well in her own thoughts, she needed to recharge with company.

  As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, Jules appeared and leaned against the doorframe of the lab. He looked at her equipment with interest.

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  Corrie looked up from her pipetting. Her mouth formed an automatic “no,” but she paused. Was there something non-technical that he could do? She wanted to finish up as quickly as possible, and everything took so much time.

  “If you have steady hands and can squeeze into gloves, you can put these tubes in a rack. That would be amazing.”

  Jules sauntered over to the glove box and struggled to fit his hand into her medium-sized latex gloves. Gloves finally on, he stood expectantly before her.

  “Once the rack is full, take this water and pour ten milliliters into each tube.”

  Jules was careful and dexterous, a surprise to Corrie until she remembered his skill in the kitchen. His easy-going slacker demeanor hadn’t led her to expect it. She continued her work, but it was a relief to chat to someone while she did so. She had been too long on her own today.

  They were finishing up their respective tasks when Krista stopped by the lab.

  “She’s got you working already, Jules,” she said. “Is it a new calling for you? Maybe you shouldn’t have skipped your science classes in high school, too. You might have liked them.”

  “Some of my high school science was interesting,” Corrie said, wanting to come to Jules’ defense, although he didn’t seem perturbed. “But I really got my love of science from my dad. He’s a chemist and was forever experimenting in his shed in the yard. Lots of explosions and funny smells.”

  “See, if class had been like that, I might have stuck around,” Jules said with a laugh. “But we can’t all be mad scientists, or high-power lawyer types like you, Krista. Someone needs to do odd jobs. Might as well be me.”

  “Minimum effort, maximum free time,” Krista said, but without real rancor. It sounded to Corrie as if this was a conversation that the two had argued many times in the past.

  “Zeb and I are thinking of going to the Lasqueti pub tonight,” Jules announced. “Who’s in?”

  “A pub? Here?” Corrie was flabbergasted. “Where is it?”

  “On Lasqueti Island. There are a few local islanders who go, but mostly the customers are boaters. It’s pretty lively, decent food. At least until they shut off the power at night.”

  “Yes,” Corrie breathed. That was exactly what she wanted tonight. Leave the boat, blow off some steam, see other people. “I am in.”

  Krista looked disgruntled.

  “I don’t know. I’m not really interested.”

  “I didn’t make dinner,” said Jules. “So, it’ll have to be cold cuts if you want to eat.”

  Krista gave a long-suffering sigh.

  “Fine,” she said. “But I’m only coming for the food.”

  Krista left, and a few minutes later, Jules stood up.

  “Is that all of them?” He waved at the tubes in front of him. They were neatly arranged and filled. Corrie sighed with relief at a task she didn’t have to do.

  “Yes, you’re a lifesaver, Jules. I’m almost done here. Thanks for helping.”

  “Anytime. I’ll be prepping breakfast in the galley if you need more help.”

  Jules stripped off his gloves and disappeared through the doorway. Corrie pipetted a few more samples, then her cell phone rang. She stared at it in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone to call her on the boat. She carefully placed her samples in a rack and took off one glove to answer the phone. It was David.

  “Hi, David.”

  “Hi babe,” he replied. Corrie blinked at the new nickname, but let it slide without comment. He must be missing her. “I thought I’d try you. You’ve had your phone off since you got on the boat.”

  “No, but cell range is intermittent out here.” How many times had he tried to call? “I’m sure I mentioned that. How are you?”

  “Good, good. Just wanted to hear your voice. How is the sampling?”

  “So great.” She had no intention of telling him about the unicorn fish. He wouldn’t believe her. Who would? When she had firmer evidence, maybe she would tell him. Until then, it was a fairy tale. “Lots of great samples, and the diving is spectacular. We had three stations today, and I’m totally wiped. We’re going to a pub tonight—only accessible by boat, can you imagine—so I’m looking forward to letting off some steam there. I would kill for a beer right now.”

  “You’re going out drinking, you and the captain?” David said.

  “Yeah, and the crew.” Corrie narrowed her eyes, but said only, “Should be good. Anyway, I need to finish up my samples, but I’ll email you soon, okay?”

  When they had said their goodbyes and she had hung up, Corrie stared at her phone for a minute. Did she really seem that loose, that David should be so worried about her going to a pub with the crew? Jealousy was an ugly color on David, and she resolved to ignore the last bit of their conversation. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  ZEBALLOS

  Krista walked into the wheelhouse. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, as she always did on the boat, except that the jeans were fitted dark denim and the shirt was tighter than what she usually wore. She had even done something to her eyes with makeup.

  “Big night on the town?” Zeb said. Krista scowled.

  “You might be okay with salty hair and grunge, but I like to clean up sometimes.”

  “It’s nothing to do with the owner of the pub?” Zeb knew Krista used to have a crush on Phillip in high school. Phillip had bought the pub a few years ago. Krista, being Krista, had been far too abrasive to consider ever telling him her feelings. Zeb was certain that Phillip would never have guessed in his wildest dreams. It might have been over ten years ago, but old habits die hard.

  “I have no interest in Phillip,” she said stiffly. “That doesn’t mean I want to look like a slob in front of him. I have an image to uphold. You might consider cleaning up yourself.” She looked pointedly at his torn jeans and plaid shirt. Zeb looked down at his clothes and shrugged.

 
“It’s just Lasqueti.”

  “Go on.” Krista grabbed the wheel and waved him out the door. “Honestly. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” Zeb protested. “There are other reasons for that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But the clothes don’t help.”

  Zeb glared at Krista, but she ignored him to stare out the windshield. Zeb clattered back into the cabin area with practiced ease, still annoyed by Krista’s comment. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been approached by any women. His strange looks were off-putting to some and attractive to others, and he’d had a few flings chartering the boat with female divers who were entranced by his ease and grace in the water. There had even been a steady girlfriend just out of high school. The relationship had lasted until she went away to university and left him in their small town working for his father.

  The problem was, he was different. Krista’s fear for him, of others finding out his strangeness and exploiting it, had infected him over the years until he never considered even trying a relationship with someone. Besides, he was fine on his own. Someone else would get in his way, crowd his thoughts, talk too much, ask too many questions. He didn’t need that. He liked the freedom to swim away whenever he wanted.

  Zeb rifled through his drawers until he found his least ripped jeans and a shirt that wasn’t plaid. It would have to do. He threw the clothes on, took a cursory glance in the mirror to make sure his short hair was in place, and went to find the others.

  Jules was perched on a stool in the lab while Corrie put racks of tubes in the fridge. They were chatting up a storm, and Zeb’s skin itched. So much sound—he wanted to be in the water again.

  “We’re almost there,” he said when there was a break in the conversation. “Nearly ready?”

  “Yes,” said Corrie. She removed her gloves with a snap and threw them in a garbage pail with a satisfied look on her face. “Done and done. For the next three hours, anyway. I’m starving. Let me go change and I’ll be up in five minutes.”

  She rushed out of the lab. Jules swiveled on the stool.

  “She knows what she’s doing,” he said in a musing tone. “All sorts of different tests and samples she’s collecting. She has a plan, a bigger picture, you know? She’s going places.”

  “She’s on a mission,” Zeb agreed, not sure where Jules was going with this.

  “Yes, exactly.” Jules looked thoughtful, then he laughed. “Way too much like work. Type A, am I right? Come on, let’s get the dinghy winched out.”

  They anchored in a wide bay. At the head, a long dock jutted out from shore, where a large building shone with welcoming lights, and faint strains of music drifted over the lapping waves. Zeb could almost smell the food from here, and his stomach rumbled.

  Corrie strode onto the deck in a tight black skirt and form-fitting red V-neck. Corrie caught Zeb looking and looked defiant.

  “My roommate made me pack it. All my other clothes are too utilitarian for dinner out.”

  “It’s not that kind of place,” Zeb said. Privately, he thought the skirt suited her well. Jules, of course, had more appropriate words.

  “I think you look far too classy for this old dump.” Jules waved at the pub, then held his hand out for Corrie to grab. “But they will feed us, so we might as well grace them with our presence.”

  Corrie giggled and hopped into the dinghy. The rest piled in. Zeb squeezed next to Jules on the stern to pull the motor’s cord, and they roared away to the allure of food.

  The pub was busy, with customers spilling out onto picnic tables in front to enjoy the warm spring weather. Krista took the lead and marched across the porch to the front door. Her head was high and her shoulders back, and Zeb knew that she was scanning the room for Phillip so she would know exactly where to aim her most aloof look.

  Jules greeted the bartender like an old friend, although Zeb was sure they had never met.

  “What’s your poison, Corrie?” Jules asked in a hearty voice. An almost unnoticeable wince crossed Corrie’s face, before she answered in a hearty tone to match Jules’ own.

  “Any pale ale.” She turned to Zeb. “Zeb?”

  “Two lagers.” He indicated to Krista and himself, and the bartender nodded. Krista’s eyes were still scanning the room and she hadn’t noticed their exchange, but Zeb knew what his sister drank.

  “Hey!” Jules grabbed his drink and moved toward a table in the corner. Three men yelled their greetings at him. “Long time, no see!”

  “Find a table?” Zeb asked Corrie. She sipped her drink and nodded.

  “Yeah, definitely. My feet are killing me.”

  “I’m going for a walk,” Krista announced. “If you order something, get me a burger. I’ll see you in a bit.” She grabbed her beer and headed outside. Corrie looked confused.

  “Wow. I know she doesn’t like me, but that was obvious, even for her.”

  “What?” Zeb looked in surprise at Corrie, then frowned after his sister. “No, she doesn’t not like you, it’s just—complicated,” he ended lamely. Corrie raised her eyebrows.

  “Whatever. It’s no skin off my back. Come on, let’s find a table. Look! I think they’re leaving.”

  Corrie bounced over to the emptying table and deftly slid into a chair with a sweet smile at the departing group. Zeb joined her and wondered what to say. He wasn’t that great at small talk to begin with, and the only topics they had in common were science, of which they were ridiculously mismatched, and strolias, which they probably shouldn’t discuss in public. Luckily, Corrie had no conversational inhibitions.

  “This place is great! I love how it’s only accessible by boat. I remember, this one time…” She filled Zeb’s silence, and Zeb was relieved that his contributions were limited to appearing interested and occasionally agreeing. It was by turns fascinating and comforting to let Corrie speak uninterrupted. Would she end naturally at some point, or did she have an infinite number of things to say? She tucked a piece of her brown hair behind her ear, and he wondered idly if it was as silky as it looked.

  “What’s your stake in our little fish problem?” Corrie asked. “You’re pretty invested. I know my reasons, but what are yours?”

  Zeb floundered. Why didn’t he have an answer at hand? Of course, she would be interested in that. It was a wonder that this was the first time she had asked.

  Jules chose that moment to reappear, and Zeb sighed in relief. Corrie gave him a sharp look but let the subject slide. Bobbing in Jules’ wake was a middle-aged man, pot-bellied and gray-haired. He beamed affably with the expression of someone already well-acquainted with the bar. Jules held two more drinks in his hands.

  “Don’t forget to pay the tab, captain,” Jules said with a grin at Zeb, who shot his friend a look of resignation. Jules was always friendlier than he had cash to support. Zeb didn’t mind much. Without Jules, he wouldn’t have many friends. His exuberant partner-in-crime brought him out into the world, and a few beers was a small price to pay. He didn’t have to pretend to like it, though.

  “And who’s your friend?” Corrie asked.

  “This is Larry,” Jules said with a gesture not unlike a farmer showing off a prize cow. He sat in one of the empty chairs and set a beer in front of another one. Larry sat with a bemused air but wrapped his hand around the beer with a speed Zeb hadn’t expected from an inebriated middle-aged man. “I was talking to Darryl and Lily, over there.” Jules waved vaguely backward. “And they told me about a fisherman who caught something really weird the other day.”

  Jules paused to give Zeb a significant look. Zeb leaned forward despite himself. He had assumed Larry was one of Jules’ “great new friends” that he always picked up for a conversation or two on nights out. Zeb hadn’t expected to hear anything interesting.

  “Then, lo and behold,” Jules continued, slapping Larry on the back and making his beer slop over the table. “There he was, the man of the hour himself!”

&nb
sp; “Wow, what did you catch?” Corrie said with a flirtatious lean-in. “I love a good sailor’s yarn. Can you spin me a tale, Larry?”

  Zeb was impressed. Corrie looked like a flirting young woman, and Larry was lapping it up. Only Zeb could see the intensity behind Corrie’s fluttering lashes and sweet smile. Her interest was piqued just as his was. He decided to stay out of Jules and Corrie’s way, and simply listen.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Larry said with a knowing grin. Corrie rested her chin on her hand.

  “Try me.”

  “It was a month ago, now,” Larry began. He settled into his seat, clearly enjoying his captive audience. “You understand I’m licensed for groundfish. Any bycatch, anything not halibut, hake, cod, goes back to the sea. Well, we ran out the nets for the last haul of the day. Sonny was at the tiller, and my boy Trent was manning the winch, so that left me to handle the nets. When they dumped into the hold, there was something different there.”

  “What was it?” Corrie breathed. Jules caught Zeb’s eye and grinned at Corrie’s antics.

  “A fish that shined like a big old rainbow. About this long.” Larry held up his hands a shoulder-length apart. “But that wasn’t the strangest part. That fish, it had a horn.”

  “Come on, Larry,” Jules said. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth,” Larry said. He slapped his palm on the table for emphasis. “That fish had a horn. I nabbed the slippery devil—almost gored me with its pointer—and put it in a cooler. I wanted to show the boys.”

  “I believe you, Larry.” Jules put a hand on Larry’s shoulder and stood up. “Thousands wouldn’t, but I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the little boys’ room.”

  Jules wandered off, and Corrie scooted her chair closer.