“Did you go to Nantucket for lunch, or what?” Oliver asks, already waiting for me. He unties the boat the second my feet hit the deck.
“Sorry. Had to call Sara.”
“She doing okay?”
“Great, actually. Happier than I’ve ever seen her before and there’s been reasons to not be so happy this week.”
I think about the papers that arrived the day after she got home, finalizing her divorce and reiterating Chad’s selfish desire to not be part of their lives anymore. I thought Sara would break down and all the progress would be lost. Sure, she was sad, even cried a few tears. But she called her therapist, got an emergency appointment, and by the time I got home from work, she was all Zen and shit.
I’m proud of her.
“That makes me happy to hear.” He drives the boat past Blue Shark Islands and out to where we left our traps. The weather progressively worsens by the minute.
I pull the hood of my slicker down further to block the hard pellets of rain from falling into my eyes and tuck my hands in my pockets. I’d gotten lazy with the unseasonal warm weather, wearing T-shirts instead of my usual hoodie. A mistake I won’t make again. I’m shivering and my fingers are numb.
“Let’s start here,” Oliver shouts over the wind.
I give him a salute and shuffle to the winch. I spot the buoy and hurl the metal hook attached to a rope at it. I’ve done it eight million or so times, so my aim is impeccable. It hooks right away and I press the button for the winch to haul the trap out.
Oliver steps up then and helps me maneuver the trap next to the table where we sort and the holding tank where the lobster will hang out until we get back to shore. One by one, we sex the lobsters, releasing any females with eggs on them back to the ocean, as well as any that don’t measure big enough.
After that, Oliver takes us to the next drop point marked by the GPS. Each trap takes us longer and longer as the weather worsens. The wind has me leaning sideways just to stay upright. We’re not pulling in nearly what we normally do, but that’s to be expected. The real haul will come after the storm. Tomorrow will no doubt be profitable.
We’re nearing the last of the pots when Oliver shouts, “I’ve got to take a leak. Hold on a sec.”
I shove him toward the end of the boat. “I don’t need the wind carrying your piss into my face.”
“I thought all your people like golden showers,” he jokes and I flip him off.
I chuck the hook at the buoy and miss. Fucking wind. I throw again and it catches. I use the winch to lift the pot from the ocean and although I should wait for Oliver to get back before trying to move it, I’m freezing to my bones and want to get home to a hot shower. I bend my knees to ground myself, positive I can handle it on my own.
I get a tight grip and turn the pot around to walk it over. The mechanical arm helps to move it in the right direction, but before I get set it down, the boat hits a wave. The trap swings forcefully, slamming me in the chest and hurling me into the icy water.
The air is sucked from my lungs from the sheer temperature and I take in a mouthful of salty ocean but catch myself before inhaling it. Instincts set in and I try to kick my way to the surface, but my boots are like cement bricks sinking me farther down. I reach down and push on the left one with all my strength. It takes a few tries, but I get it off. The world is pitch-black all around me and disorientation starts to kick in. I’ll worry about that later. I fight with my second boot until that one is off, too.
A fisherman’s uniform is sufficient at keeping you dry, but it’s useless at keeping you afloat. Even with the weight off my feet, I still feel too heavy to swim. And even if I did swim, which direction do I go. Up is down and left is right, and I don’t know where to go.
Panic has me forgetting everything I know about what to do in this situation. The salt stings my eyes as I look around, but there’s nothing to see. I’m too deep and the sky is too dark to see any light coming from above. There’s nothing but emptiness in all directions and I’m seconds from not being able to hold my breath.
I have two distinct thoughts before I lose consciousness.
Please, Kian, watch over my sister.
I hope Mason is waiting for me on the other side.
Kian
“Hi, honey!” I rush over to Sara as she opens the curtain to Blur for our meeting. She shakes the rain off her head and removes her coat.
“Wow. This place is beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never been in here.” Her eyes travel the span of the club that I don’t think is that beautiful with the lights on like they are. What looks dark and sexy in the dim lighting, looks scuffed up and used with the overheads on. We could paint once a week and there’d still be scratches from the bulldog leather harnesses some of these idiots think is the dress code for a gay club, or one of the other hundred ways people insist on ruining things.
“Aw, thank you. Follow me.” I lead her up the stairs and into my roomy office. Enough time has passed that the first thing I see isn’t Archer fucking me against the window anymore, although it’s definitely still in my memory.
“So this is where you ran off to every time you left me at Focus.”
“It is. Please, take a seat.” I motion to the chair across from my desk and I walk around to sit on the other side. “I’m meeting you here because if you agree to take the job, you’ll have to pop in and grab mail or other paperwork.”
“Before we get to that, I want to apologize.” Sara’s eyes drop to her hands.
“Nope. No apologies. I know that person who was working for me before wasn’t the real you. I’m proud of you for facing me again. I know this must be hard.”
“Thank you.” She looks up with tears in her eyes. “I feel clear-headed and positive. I learned a lot while I was in treatment and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could handle it.”
“I know. And I also know Archer wouldn’t let you be here if you couldn’t handle it.” A twinge shoots through my heart at the sound of his name on my lips, but I push it away until later when I’m having my millionth pity party, followed by my millionth intention setting. That shit isn’t working.
“You’re right about that.” She blinks the tears away and smiles.
“So, how about it? Will you be my office manager?”
“Yes. I’d love that.”
“Excellent. When do you want to start?”
“I can start now, if you want. The kids are with Mrs. Porter for a few hours.”
“Let’s do it.”
We go over salary, that I thought she would balk at, but didn’t. Then I begin training her with the payroll program, the ordering system, and everything else I’ve been needing help with for a long time, but have been too stubborn to hire out.
Late afternoon comes fast. I didn’t realize how much I’d been doing alone until it was time to teach it to someone else.
Sara’s phone rings. “Sorry, I need to check that. It could be Mrs. Porter.”
“No worries.” I wave her off.
“Hello?” There’s a long pause before Sara’s hand flies over her mouth. “Is he okay? I’ll be right there.”
She jumps to her feet, grabs her purse, and fishes her keys out.