The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

  PARKER’S SLEEP WAS FILLED WITH constantly shifting images of the ocean, and men with thick forearms and multicolored nets, and the sensation of sitting in rocking chairs that wouldn’t stop rocking. He felt like he woke up multiple times but didn’t have the strength to stay awake and kept slipping back under. Finally he settled into a dream where he stood on the edge of a stream that reminded him of eastern Oregon. A hot summer sun blasted down from above. But it invigorated him. Thick underbrush and grasses filled the other bank and spread out for miles till they reached a low range of mountains. Behind him was a lush forest.

  The river water was crystal clear, and all he wanted to do was sit on the soft turf along the bank and soak his feet in the stream. Forget his life. Pretend his dad had loved him as much as he loved Joel, and he and Allison were as tight as they’d been in the old days. He breathed in the peace of the dream. But the solitude didn’t last. A man appeared on the other side of the river and strode toward Parker. Cap on his head. Flannel shirt, worn. The dense foliage reached almost to the top of the man’s beat-up jeans, but he cut through it without effort. His thick forefinger was pointed at Parker’s chest, and the scowl on the man’s face said he wasn’t camping in the land of milk and honey.

  “Get up!” he growled.

  When he reached the edge of the other bank, he stopped and screamed the command again. The third time, Parker realized the voice wasn’t coming from his dream.

  Parker pried open his eyes and found himself staring into the dark brown eyes of a man whose face was less than a foot from his. The man had a forest of a beard, with eyebrows almost as thick. His head was covered in a dark red stocking cap, and he wore green rubber coveralls that came up to his chest. A thin scar ran down the left side of his chunky neck, and his voice sounded like he had half a potato stuffed in his cheek.

  “Where . . . who—”

  “The fish are running, and they’re not going to wait for your lazy glutes to get on deck. So move! Now!”

  “Wow. Overslept, didn’t I?”

  The man pointed a sausage-like finger at Parker. “A pal of yours vouched for you. Said I should hire you. I took a chance. Gave it to you even though the other three votes aboard this little luxury liner were against you. People would kill for this gig, guys younger and probably in better shape, so don’t screw with me. Got it, Rook?”

  “Yeah. Got it. Back off.” Parker pushed himself to a sitting position and scooted back. The cold hull of the boat pressed through his T-shirt.

  “Wha’d you say?”

  Parker gritted his teeth. “I said I’ll be right there.”

  “That’s what I thought.” The man slammed his boot into the base of Parker’s cot. “You sleep in again, you’re going swimming. Got it?”

  “Hey, it was a long flight. I didn’t sleep. I haven’t been—”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. This boat has a limited number of weeks left to make or break the entire year. So unless you shut your mouth and start working, I’ll give you a new set of teeth about half the number you have now.”

  The man turned and lurched out of the cabin. He slammed the door behind him, but the wood didn’t mute his final instructions. “Two minutes and you’re on deck or I’m throwing you overboard, and don’t think for a second that I’m kidding.”

  Parker’s gaze whirled around the tiny cabin to take in what he hadn’t been able to see in the dark when he arrived last night. Five bunks. Work clothes. Boots and gloves and hats. Not much else. He crept out of the small bunk and tried to get his footing on the stark gray floor. The boat lurched and Parker almost went down. Had to be rocking back and forth at more than thirty degrees. No picnic working on a boat moving like this.

  He pulled on his jeans, a long flannel shirt, a thick coat, and his work boots. The boat pitched hard. Parker lost his balance and slammed his elbow into a small wooden shelf to his right. Pain shot through his arm. Nailed his funny bone with perfection. Funny bone. Yeah, hilarious. What a stupid name for a part of your elbow and what a great start to the day. He finally staggered through the door of the sleeping quarters, then up the stairs that more closely resembled a ladder.

  The wind buffeted him as he stepped onto the open deck. Not bad but still cold. The rocking targeted his stomach. He formed a fist and punched his gut. He wouldn’t allow himself to get sick. He could do this.

  Two men stood with their backs to him, their legs braced wide, their arms resting on the railing. A third man stood by himself on the other side of the boat. The two at the rail turned, glanced at him, then resumed gazing out over the black waves dusted with dawn’s gray light. The tall, older man on the other side studied Parker from head to toe.

  The man who had woken him pointed at the men near the railing. “Guy on the left is Dawson. Don’t piss him off. The one on the right is Fredricks. Don’t piss him off either. The one over there is Abraham. You met him last night when you arrived, so he’s probably already told you to call him Abe. My name is Logan, but you’ll call me Captain.”

  The big man started to turn to walk away but hesitated, then called to Dawson, “Anything you want to add to the rook’s education?”

  “Yeah.” Dawson glared at Parker. “Don’t screw up.”

  “Fredricks?”

  “Same.” Fredricks grinned at Parker. “It won’t go well for you if you do.”

  “Abe?”

  Abraham shook his head. “We will see what we will see.” He glanced at Parker as if to say, Hang in there. But it might have been Parker’s imagination.

  Parker’s stomach heaved again and his head pitched forward as he gagged. No. Keep it down. These were not the kind of guys he wanted to see him throw up. Wouldn’t make the right first impression. But it was already too late. Parker lurched toward the railing and just made it to the edge as whatever he’d last eaten spilled over the side.

  “Yeeee-haw! Looks like we’ve got a puker, gents!” Dawson leaned back and shouted at the sky. “Gotta love the pukers.”

  Parker glanced back at the grinning faces. Even Logan joined the merriment, although his only way of showing it was to allow one corner of his mouth to turn up, and a glint hovered in his eye for a moment. A second later it vanished and he pointed at Parker.

  “You get a drop on my ship, Rook, I’ll take off your ring finger. Got me?” Logan’s eyes said he was dead serious. Parker stumbled forward two steps and grabbed at the railing as another heave overtook him.

  “Bait!” Fredricks hollered. “Feed the fish, baby!”

  “You’re gonna love going across the gulf, Rook.” Dawson grinned again. “Can get a little choppy at times. Roller coaster of the seas.”

  “This isn’t choppy?”

  Fredricks laughed. “Don’t worry, we won’t be headed that direction for another two weeks. Plenty of time for you to get your sea stomach.”

  Logan drilled Parker once more with his eyes and strode off. Parker glared at the back of Logan’s head and muttered, “That man needs to go down.”

  He glanced at Abraham, who must have had Superman’s hearing, because he shook his head, and his eyes said that trying to take down Logan would be a poor decision. Parker wandered over to Abraham. His hair was graying slightly under his baseball hat, but he looked to be in good shape. A cigarette was tucked behind his right ear. As soon as Logan was out of sight, Abraham pushed himself off the railing and strolled forward.

  “You ever smoke, kid?”

  “I’m thirty-five, not a kid.”

  “Everyone younger than me is a kid. Nothing personal.”

  Parker stared at the dark green, four-feet swells off the side of the boat and a horizon of low-level mountains in the distance. “Where are we? What part of Alaska? The guy who dropped me off last night didn’t think it was worth his breath to tell me.”

  Abraham handed Parker a pair of worn brown gloves.

  “You’re not going to answer my question, Abe?”

  Parker studied Abraham. Laughing eyes even when
he wasn’t smiling. Eyes that said he was a decent man. Hard to ignore a guy like that, especially since he might be Parker’s only hope for a friend on this boat. What had he gotten himself into?

  “We are looking at the saline waters of the great state of Alaska about five miles off the coast of Ketchikan, catching the freshest salmon the world has to offer. Your turn.”

  “I smoked once or twice in high school.” Parker pulled on the gloves. “Tried it a dozen times in college. That’s about it.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Trying to be tough. Tick off my dad.”

  “Ah, good reasons.”

  “Good?”

  Abe gave him a thin smile.

  “What about you, Abe? Why do you smoke?”

  “Did I say I smoke?” Abraham grinned.

  Parker pointed at his ear. “Then what’s that?”

  “A cigarette.” Abraham slipped it out from behind his ear and stroked it. “A reminder.”

  “Of?”

  “Lung cancer. A friend of mine got it. Took him early. It reminds me to treasure the moments I have on this earth.”

  Logan appeared around the corner of the boat’s cabin. He reached Parker in two strides and grabbed his neck with a hand large enough to easily palm a basketball.

  “I wasn’t kidding about tossing you overboard if you don’t work. But since it’s your first day, I’m going to cut you a break.” He shoved Parker backward toward Abraham. “Do exactly what Abe tells you, and start doing it now, Rook.”

  “My name is Parker.” Parker grabbed Logan’s hand and yanked it down. “Not Rook. Not Puker. Parker. Got it?”

  “You’re on my boat, so I’ll call you whatever I want to call you. You asked to be here, so you’ll follow my rules. You eat, you sleep, you work hard every second you’re on duty, you stay out of the wheelhouse, and you keep your mouth shut unless someone asks you a question. Are we clear?” Logan snarled at him as he stepped away.

  “Yeah.” Parker looked down and muttered, “They must have loved you in charm school.”

  Logan whirled back. “What did you say?”

  He glared at Logan as his dad’s voice echoed in his mind.

  “A strong man knows when to fight and when not to fight. A true man controls his emotions. His emotions do not control him.”

  Logan’s face seethed with anger. “You want to give me lip? Give it to me right here with your fist.” Logan stuck a thick finger into his chin. “But if you don’t want to mix it up with me, then shut up and work. Eat. Sleep. Work. Stay out of the wheelhouse. Are. We. Clear?”

  Parker glared at the man. “We’re clear.”

  Logan started to go, then spun back and launched his fist into Parker’s jaw with the power of a jackhammer. Parker crumpled to the deck. As darkness took him, he heard Logan mutter, “Now we’re clear.”

  twenty-nine

  WHEN ALLISON WALKED INTO HER office Monday morning, she found two construction workers putting up Sheetrock to cover over the six-inch opening between her office and Derrek’s.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  One of the men said, “I dunno. We were hired to close up this space,” and turned back to the work.

  They finished half an hour later, and half an hour after that, Derrek poked his head into her office and said, “Can I chat with you for a moment in my office, Allison?”

  “Sure.”

  She stepped inside Derrek’s office and found him hunched over drawings for a set of three resort cabins along a lake in eastern Washington. He glanced up at her, then focused again on the drawings.

  “How much work have you done on this account since you got here?” He tapped the drawings.

  She motioned toward the wall between her office and Derrek’s. “Why did those guys fill in the opening between our offices?”

  “Oh, yes, that.” He didn’t look up. “I’m sure I’ve been making too much noise and wanted to make it quieter for you.”

  “You didn’t. And I liked that we could—”

  “How much have you been involved in this account?” He pointed at the drawings again.

  “You don’t want me to overhear you?”

  “Truly, Allison, it was only done for you. I’ve been having quite a few meetings in my office lately, and I’m only looking out for you as I know you enjoy silence when you work.” He looked up and smiled. “Perhaps I should have spoken with you first. We could have saved a few pennies, but now what’s done is done, so can we focus on the subject at hand?”

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then moved closer and looked at the drawings.

  “I’ve done a fair amount of work with this client.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He glanced up again, then tapped the client’s name at the top right corner of the drawings. “And how many times have we met with them together? Four? Five?”

  “It’s been five times.”

  “Excellent.” Derrek sat back and gave her his full attention. “They like you. Your work on their account has been solid.”

  He grinned at her as if she should know where he was going with this.

  “Thanks.”

  Derrek leaned forward, his arms and palms stretched out on the drawings. “How would you like to take over the account? Be the lead on it?”

  “What?”

  “Be their main point of contact. Craft the proposals for new projects. Oversee the work on the account.”

  “Uh, yes . . . I’d like that.”

  Allison tried not to look shocked. Kalimera Resorts wasn’t a huge client, but they weren’t small either. Derrek’s suggestion that she carry the account was a huge vote of confidence in her abilities.

  “And, as you might imagine, I can move a bit more salary in your direction for handling the account. Plus, it will free me up to work on some larger projects.” He started to roll up the drawings, then stopped and waited for her answer.

  “That’d . . . that would be great,” Allison said.

  “Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll have Linda set up a meeting with them, and we’ll let them know.” He finished rolling up the drawings and slipped a rubber band around them.

  “Derrek?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  That evening, after all light had faded from the sky, Allison fixed herself a second cup of Earl Grey tea and headed for her den. She picked up one of her writing pens and returned to her chair, opened the journal, and began to write. The action filled her with the feeling of being in the exact spot in the universe where she was supposed to be.

  Monday, June 3rd

  The day today outside my body was beautiful. Inside, not so much. I’m still trying to feel my way and discover where I fit in . . . and know who I am and what role I play at the company and in life, for that matter. Easier said than done. I’m frustrated that the partnership is still not finished. It’s been more than a month already, but Derrek says there have been accounting mistakes, not from my side of things but others, and $100,000 was flushed down the toilet, so the timing isn’t right. Will it ever be?

  On the positive side of things, Derrek gave me a sizable account today, but I love it and hate it at the same time. Love it because it says he believes in me and trusts me to do a good job for them. Love it because it’s going to mean extra income while I’m waiting for the partnership to be finished. Love it because it’s going to be a fun project to work on.

  And I hate it because of what it does inside me. It makes me hope—no, believe—that things are going to be okay. But there’s still this part inside that thinks it’s never going to work out. And I hate it because when Derrek believes in me, I believe in me, but why does it take something or someone from outside of me to make that happen? Why can’t I believe in me all by myself?

  Far too much of me wants desperately to know that Derrek likes me, respects me. It’s easy to figure out why. I need a dad to show he loves me, since Dad didn�
��t know how. I know my longing isn’t going to be solved by finding a doting father figure, but that doesn’t stop the longing from welling up inside me.

  And then there’s the issue of closing the opening between our offices. How am I supposed to see that but as a sign of distrust?

  Show me truth, Lord—please show me all the truth I need to see.

  Allison slept well that night with no dreams, and when she woke, the gray of dawn had just started to creep into the early-morning sky. She showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, all the time picturing the words she’d written in the journal the night before. Finally she went to her den to see if the words had changed this time. Within seconds of opening the journal and turning to last night’s page, she saw the changes.

  Monday, June 3rd

  The day today outside and inside my body was beautiful. I’m discovering where I fit in and who I am and what role I play in life.

  Derrek gave me a sizable account today. I love it. It’s going to be a fun project to work on.

  Things are going to be okay. I believe in me. It’s going to work out.

  Allison shut the journal, went to the kitchen, grabbed her cell phone, and called Richard.

  “Yes?”

  “Richard? It’s Allison Moore.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Allison. You’re up early.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not at all. I’ve been up for an hour.”

  “I need to talk.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

  “I’m guessing you’ve had words change on you again.”

  “I have. Can you get together?”

  “I can. How about a late lunch?”

  “Perfect.”

  They met at Suprema’s Deli, and after their meals arrived Allison told Richard about her journal entry and how it had changed.

  “Tell me why you’re frustrated,” he said.

  “How do you know I’m frustrated?”

  Richard offered a kind smile. “It might be the scowl etched into your forehead.”

  “It’s that obvious, huh?” She pulled up a photo she’d taken of the journal entry that morning and waved at it. “Yes, I am frustrated. The words change and they change the meaning on paper, but I need more than that.”