Sea Legs

by Nina Hatch

  That is, until she didn’t.

  In the end, I wasn’t enough for her. I couldn’t protect her from her pain and she didn’t choose to protect me either. At least by the time she died, I had learned to stop believing her promises. Instead, I replaced her promises with some of my own: never count on anything or anyone. Never let anyone close enough to hurt me again.

  But I almost let Olivia get that close. That was my fault. I knew that first night I met her that I had to get away from her, that she touched something different in me. But when I saw her again, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to dance in the sparking flicker of her glow, to see her light up for me. I wanted to forget that with sparks comes flame, and I can’t risk the burn.

  The rising sun makes me narrow my tired eyes, and I’m just laying down when I hear a knock at my cabin door.

  “Come in.”

  I don’t know who I was expecting, but Captain Todd wasn’t on my short list of possibilities.

  “I was just down in Guest Cabin E,” he says, sipping his coffee as he stares at me. “You did a mighty fine job fixing that wall, son,”

  I don’t know what to say, so I stay silent.

  “It might look even better than the rest of the rooms,” he continues. “I was thinking we’d need to get it more permanently fixed after this charter season, but you made it look so good that I don’t think the owner’s even going to notice.”

  He hands me an envelope bulging with Euros. It’s more cash than I’ve ever seen. “Here, take this. I put in a little extra. You earned it,” Captain Todd says.

  “Uh, thanks.” I can tell without even opening the envelope that it could be enough to fix the transmission on my boat.

  “And also, before you go, maybe think about if you want to stay. You really saved our asses last night on that docking, and I’ve heard from a couple members of the crew that you’ve made yourself indispensable. We could use another good deckhand. Job’s yours if you want it,” he says, tossing me a white shirt with the Venus insignia on it before closing the door on his way out.

  I know I’m supposed to be grateful, I do realize that, but instead, I’m livid.

  This white polo shirt looks like another brown bag lunch or Christmas toy to me. Something some rich lady gives you so she can sleep better at night when you lose your mom, or your foster parents go to jail, or your defunded community center is now where the gangs meet up to recruit and fight. I’ve been offered bullshit charity enough times in my life to recognize it in any form, and in my experience, the only place hope ever gets you is higher up the ladder so that it will hurt more when you’re kicked down. And you’re always kicked down.

  I find Olivia dusting in the main salon, her golden hair lit from the rising sun behind her. The jagged hills of Schiaro pierce and fracture the morning rays in the distance.

  “What the fuck is this, Liv?” I say, shaking the polo shirt at her.

  She smiles, clearly not understanding my tone. “Isn’t it exciting? Congratulations! Now we can work together for the last month of the charter season!”

  “Jesus, Liv. I gave you an orgasm. That’s all I have to give you, there’s nothing more to me than that.”

  I watch the excitement slip from her face, replaced by hurt. It stings me to see her this way, but there’s no point in trying to postpone the inevitable by dragging it out, pretending this could be some kind of a relationship if I just stay longer. We both know she’s going to go running back to her beloved corporate career at the end of the month. All she’s looking for is a chance to take home some smug satisfaction as a souvenir from Italy — a memory of that time she got the lost local sailor boy a respectable job.

  “Is this who you think I am? Some fucking moron in a preppy white shirt just dying to say ‘yes sir, no sir’ and beg for the scraps that fall off every entitled asshole’s table?”

  “What? No, of course not. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you — you’re really good at this, everyone can see that. I figured you could use the extra cash to fix your boat, that’s why I talked to the Captain.”

  “So first you assume I’m some trust fund prick, now you assume I have nothing and I’m a charity case waiting for you to come fix my life?” I say, hurling the shirt at the wall. “I fend for myself. I always have. You don’t know a thing about me, Liv, and you need to stay away.”

  “Why don’t you let me know you then?” she spits back, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you stay and let me know you this time?”

  “That’s not a choice I’m going to give you.”

  I climb onto the railing and dive off the moving boat, swimming as hard and fast as I can toward the distant shore.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake

  I have three talents in life:

  I know how to eat pussy like a boss.

  I know how to make the best pasta carbonara.

  And, more than anything, I know how to leave first before someone leaves me. That was a skill that was a little hard to implement when I was a kid growing up in the foster care system. When you’re nine years old, the people at child services don’t just take your word for it when you say you think it’s time to pack up and go before things get dangerous. Instead, you just have to wait until the abusive drunk dating your drugged-out foster mom comes home one night and punches through your bedroom wall still waving a gun. Then suddenly everyone believes you.

  But being relocated five times in eight years to a new foster home each time did teach me to pack light and travel fast, and that has served me well.

  This time, though, leaping off the side of the yacht, I don’t feel the same relief of escaping. Instead, I feel empty, wrong, almost unnatural.

  I try to push it down. After swimming back to my boat from the Venus, making sure no one from the yacht saw where I went, I pull the sopping envelope of cash out of my pants, laying the bills out to dry, counting them as I go.

  Then I count them again.

  And again one more time, just to make sure this isn’t a dream.

  Captain Todd paid me just enough to order the parts I need to fix my boat and get out of this place for good. And that escape has to feel better than the one today, right? After all, everything is as it should be again — I’m by myself, where I can’t hurt anyone and no can hurt me, and soon I’ll be able to push on.

  I’m sure this uneasiness will pass after I get some sleep.

  “— Jake?”

  I’m about to lie down when I hear Luca yell my name from the beach near where my boat is docked. I don’t like to tell anyone where I live, and I’ve hardly had anyone ask me except Ernesto, but Luca followed me back here one night, so I still see him once in a while.

  “What is it, Luca?” I shout from the deck.

  “I just…thought I’d come over to talk for a bit,” he calls over the sound of cawing gulls. Bright light flashes in my eyes from the reflected glint off the bottle of whiskey he’s waving to me as an offering.

  Damn it.

  “Can it wait?” I ask, eying my warm bed with longing.

  “Oh, ci. Sure.”

  But I can tell from here that he has a worried look in his eyes, his brow furrowed. Something’s up.

  I sigh, climbing down from the boat to join him on the shore. “What wrong, Luca? Do you need me to beat someone up for you again?”

  “No. It’s not that. It’s nothing, really. It’s just —” I wait as he struggles to string words together. “Have you talked to Talia lately?”

  “No. And I don’t plan on it.”

  The fact that she keeps getting brought up makes the blood boil in my veins. I really do have to get out of this town.

  “Oh. Well, remember how I told you I might set up a meeting with her? I did. And it went really well. For a… a couple days at least.”

  “Luca, you shouldn’t even be wasting your time with this. The DiCicco’s have no real power here, they just like to pretend they do.”

  “Ci. It’s only, well, they started
a little side business,” he continues, wringing his hands. “Just running some drugs to a few of the clubs and bars the tourists like. Pills, uppers, nothing too bad.”

  “What?”

  Now I’m fuming. After watching my own life shatter over and over again, drugs meant nothing good to me. I’d experienced both collateral and self-inflicted damage, and I vowed long ago that I can’t watch anyone else go down this path.

  “Luca, you have to stop talking to Talia. Tell me you’re not involved in this.”

  “I only sold a couple times, and then I was going to stop. I swear. Mamma and I just needed a little extra money to get through the month. But…I got jumped in the alley yesterday. It was right before I made it to the club with the shipment, so I couldn’t deliver. Now I think Talia might have hired some thugs to follow me until I get her the money back.”

  “Wait, did they follow you here? How deep are you into this, Luca? Tell me the truth.” It’s hard to keep the rage out of my voice, but from the lines on his face and the pallor of his skin, I can tell Luca has already beat himself up enough over this.

  “I owe her 5,000 Euro. Jake, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” The words spill out fast, tears springing to his dark eyes, shoulders trembling.

  I grit my teeth.

  “Okay, Luca. Here’s what you’re going to do. I’m going to give you the money. You’re going to pay Talia back and tell her to go fuck herself if she tries to pull you in for any more deliveries. You’re not going to tell her you got the money from me or that you even spoke to me.”

  Luca stares at me, mouth agape, his body coming back to still before relief washes over his face. It’s like the first clean wave over the shore after a summer storm.

  “Wait here,” I tell him. Climbing back onto my boat, I gather more than three-quarters of the bills Captain Todd just gave me and bring them back to Luca, who is now weeping openly on the beach.

  I’ve never had anything to give anyone in my life, least of all money or anything of value. But now, the moment I do, I can’t believe how willing I am to give it up.

  “Grazie, Jake. Thank you so much,” he says, pulling me into a tight embrace, his voice breaking. “I will pay you back, I promise. This means everything. Wait, why is this money so wet?”

  “You don’t get to ask the questions right now,” I say sternly, but I clap him on the shoulder just the same. “Now take it and go. Pay off Talia and get out of there, that’s all the repayment I need from you.”

  Luca hurries up the trail that connects to the rocky beach, leaving me alone again.

  As soon as I pull my tired body back onto the boat, the same familiar emptiness I felt before I boarded the Venus returns, my most loyal friend. But the beast has gotten bigger in my absence, stronger now, more oppressive.

  I try to distract myself, looking for oxidation on the stern that I know isn’t there, re-waxing the hull that I just buffed up last week, alphabetizing a stack of books I borrowed from Ernesto.

  Pulling out my dining table to clean, I find the pile of mail Luca gave me when I went by the bar to use his computer last week. In the first letter I open, I see a note taped to a piece of plain white paper, one line of text written above it: ‘There’s a lead on your father. Believed to be residing in Milan, address below.’

  It’s exactly what I thought I’d been searching for the last three years — the reason I told myself I came to Italy in the first place. But holding it in my hands now, the words mean nothing. Just letters and numbers that crash around in my brain. It would be a good distraction to go looking for my father again, yes. But the effort seems empty after I’ve experienced something of substance.

  Finally, I sit down on the edge of the boat, barely rocking with the gentle swells. A seagull, just like the ones Olivia and I watched in Capri, lands on my stern line and bobs to the same rhythm as me. When the snowy bird clicks his beak and repositions himself to swivel on the line, he cocks his head to examine me with pale marble eyes. I feel a lump rise in my throat that’s impossible to swallow, like sawdust on my tongue.

  You fucking idiot.

  I went and left her, when what I want more than anything is to have Olivia sitting next to me, here on my boat. I want to hear her laugh again, to see how soft she can be when she lets go, to watch the seagulls with her again as they dip and sway on the unseen currents of the wind.

  I know I did the right thing by leaving Olivia on the Venus, but I also know, sure as the tide, that I’m always going to feel this emptiness without her. She’ll have forgotten all about me in a few days, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forget about her.

  Around the soft curve of the shoreline, I can just barely see the Schiaro marina from my hidden cove, and I look up to see that the gleaming white Venus must have docked there when I wasn’t watching.

  I wonder what Olivia is doing right now? I think, the question leaping fast to the forefront of my mind and giving me a sick lurch in my stomach at the same time.

  I need to try harder to distract myself.

  After recounting my now-depleted stack of cash, I think about my options. It’s not enough to fix my boat, not even close. But it is enough to take Bacon to the vet — I’m sure he could use some vaccinations — and it’s enough to buy some solid lumber to make Ernesto a new door. Something worthy of him that doesn’t stick or torque when it rains.

  Taking the long way to Ernesto’s means hiking up a few steep bluffs and climbing over a crumbling wall or two, but it keeps me from seeing the Venus docked in the marina, so it’s worth it.

  When I push through the door, Ernesto greets me with a wordless smile and a slap on the back. Then he disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a credit to how well we know each other that neither one of us bring up our argument from last week, when Ernesto pushed me out the door and practically sold me to the Venus to keep me out of trouble. Neither one of us is going to apologize, and neither one of us is going to admit that the other was right.

  I’m taking out my measuring tape and notepad when Ernesto comes back into the dining room, sliding my typical pizza order across to me on the counter, extra prosciutto on the side.

  “Amico, you look tired and miserable.”

  Some welcome. It’s a good thing his pizza is as good as ever. “Gee, thanks, Ernesto,” I grumble.

  “Dimenticalo, I’m only kidding. I missed you, Jacopo.” He pulls a jug of red table wine from under the bar and pours a hefty glass for each of us.

  “I hate to admit it, but I missed you too,” I say, clinking my glass with his across the table.

  “I meant to ask you last time, did the suit bring you any luck the other night?” he asks, smiling in full now.

  I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t know. Depends on what kind of luck you mean.”

  “Yes. That suit has been known to have that effect,” he says, pulling up a chair to sit by me. I’m the only customer, as always, but he still has the fire stoked high in the pizza oven, and the heat plus the wine lulls me into a bit of a relaxed state.

  “Actually, I did meet someone that night,” I tell him. “And then she was on the yacht too as it turns out.”

  “Mmmm,” he murmurs, nodding slowly as he takes a sip.

  “What’s that look for? It wasn’t anything, really. She was way too uptight. I’m sure I’ll find someone better tonight at Luca’s.” He pauses for a beat and I have trouble meeting his eyes with mine.

  “What was her name?” he asks.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “Ah. So you got scared.”

  “What the fuck?” I shove away from the table, bolting out of my chair to tower over him.

  Ernesto sighs. “Jacopo, do you know why I never asked you about your family? Where you came from? Why you’re here?” He looks up at me, eyes narrowed in challenge.

  “I don’t know, I wouldn’t have told you if you did ask, so I just figured it was smar
t thinking on your part. Unlike now,” I say, glaring back.

  “It’s because I can see right through you. I can see the pain. The fear. It was there from the first time you walked through my door — soaking wet and drunk — ordering a pepperoni pizza and not knowing a word of Italian. I didn’t dare ask then, and I don’t need to ask now.”

  I shift my weight, knowing this is my cue to storm out of here, but feeling rooted in place at the same time.

  “You’re not broken, though,” Ernesto continues. “Not anymore. You came in here cracked, ci, but where you had cracks I watched you fill them in. Where you’ve been hurt you’ve made into the strongest parts of you. Jacopo, you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to love.”

  I balk at that, not believing what I’m hearing. Ernesto must be burning a whole lot more than just cedar wood in here, maybe I need to check the ventilation after I finish with the door.

  “Love? Are you kidding me? I’m not ready. Never. And that’s not what this is about, not at all. Besides, I’m not right for her. She has her life all planned out, she’s only going to leave, and —”

  “— So what?” he interrupts.

  When I don’t have any response besides staring at him like the fool he is, Ernesto starts laughing, his chuckles echoing through the empty restaurant.

  “Look at that church, Jacopo.” He points to the back of the Duomo di Schiaro across the town square, a cathedral so massive it could fit the members of the entire town plus two summer’s worth of tourists. The church is a blend of architectural styles and developments spanning centuries, beginning with the core Romanesque Basilica di Santa Cecilia built in 1066 and expanding to the Byzantine bell tower and glittering mosaic facade completed in 1140, the refinished Baroque interior from 1656, and the majorca tile covered cupola finished sometime in the 1890s.