Lulu was watching him strangely. “Do you always talk to the fish you catch?”
“Not always out loud. But kind of, yeah. In my head.”
He’d been doing that since he was about Raul’s age, actually. He didn’t know why, except that as a fisherman, he felt a mix of gratitude and awe toward his catch. Maybe it was a way to honor the fish that came into his nets. Or onto his line.
“Anyone feel like salmon for breakfast?” he asked. “Raul, have you ever cleaned a fish?”
When the boy shook his head, he told him, “Let’s do this, pescadorito.”
Right there on the deck, he showed Raul how to gut and clean the salmon, and even let him use his sharpest filet knife to try for himself.
“I want to be a fisherman,” the boy announced as he tossed the guts overboard for a bright-eyed seagull bobbing expectantly off the port side. “Can I work for you?”
“Tell you what.” Tristan brought out the hose and sprayed the blood off the deck. “When you’re eighteen and you’ve graduated from high school, or whatever the equivalent is in Colombia, and you still want to be a fisherman, you give me a shout. But if you decide to go to college or something else important and exciting, I’ll understand.”
They brought the fish into the galley, where Lulu, looking preoccupied, was pouring water into the coffeemaker.
“We have to talk about that plane,” she said to Tristan in a low voice. “It could have been Antonov.”
“I know. But we need to include Raul. There’s no point in hiding things from him. He’s part of this.”
She nodded regretfully. “I know. I’ve been trying to protect him, but we’re probably beyond that by now. He can only hide out in the anchor bay for so long.”
As he cooked up the fresh salmon, Lulu sat at the table with the boy. Pale and serious, she looked much different from the woman who’d snuggled with him on the deck, or the woman who joked her way through pain. One more Lulu layer, revealed.
“Raul, you saw the plane that passed over us, right?”
He shook his head. “I heard a plane. But I was watching el capitán catch the fish.”
“Well, there’s a chance your kidnapper was on it. I knew he might try to follow us, even all the way out here. He’s awfully persistent, isn’t he? So we have to assume that he found us.”
Raul twisted his mouth to one side and looked down at the table. “Okay.”
What bothered Tristan the most was that he accepted the news so stoically, as if he was used to his life being disrupted at a moment’s notice. “The fact that the plane didn’t circle back is a good sign. And you still have us, kid. We’re not going to let him get you.”
“No, we absolutely are not.” Lulu pounded her fist on the table like a rabble-rousing politico. “We came this far, didn’t we? Help is coming from law enforcement, and all we have to do is hang in there. We can do this.”
“Yes. We got this.” Tristan turned around to emphasize the point with his spatula. “Say it with me, kid. We got this.”
Raul repeated the phrase, then frowned. “My English tutor wouldn’t like that at all. It’s not correct, is it?”
“The hell if I know.” Tristan smiled to himself as he turned back to the frying pan. They sure made a motley crew: the runaway royal-adjacent dancer, the desperado fisherman, and the rich kid with the English tutor. “But it gets the point across and that’s all I care about. I’ll say it again. We got this.”
He slid the spatula under the fish and flipped it onto a plate. Carrying it to the table, he slung one leg over the bench bolted to the floorboards. The aroma of steaming fresh fish brightened everyone’s expression.
“We just have to figure out exactly how. It’s time for a council of war.”
Twenty
After a lively discussion in which they threw out ideas ranging from painting the boat to look like a forest—that was Raul’s—to hiring their own plane to airlift them to the Aurora Lodge where they could shower—that was Lulu’s—they decided to keep moving, sticking to the hidden bays and coves that only a true local would know.
Tristan went on deck to pull up the anchor, while Lulu cleaned up in the galley.
But before they went anywhere, she had to make sure of something. She left Raul drying the plastic plates and tracked Tristan down at the bow of the boat, where a hydraulic lift was hauling up steel cable, spraying water as it coiled around a spool. The noise disturbed the peace of the serene lagoon. She imagined squirrels and birds all in a dither, wondering what was going on.
“Tristan, can you pause that for a second?”
He took his hand off the controls and the lift rattled to a stop. Dark gold scruff covered the lower part of his face, since of course he hadn’t shaved this morning. It suited him, made him look like a seafaring lion or a Gaelic warrior. “What’s up?”
“I just want to make sure that you know what you’re doing.”
“Woman, I’ve been running this boat since I was sixteen. I know what I’m doing.” He moved his hand back to the anchor pulley controls.
“No, that’s not what I mean. When I saw that plane fly overheard, I thought…” She swallowed hard. “They could have fired at us. We were sitting ducks.”
“Very unlikely. That would be an extremely difficult shot.”
That didn’t entirely reassure her. Or ease her conscience. “The point is, you’re putting your boat in the line of fire.”
His face tightened and his eyes darkened to thunderstorm gray. “Yeah. I know that. I knew it right about the time I pulled out of the harbor. Actually, even before, when I suggested you stay on the Desperado instead of leaving town.”
She felt her cheeks heat. A breeze whispered through the rigging, almost like a warning. “But I’m the one who chose your boat, so that’s my doing. You didn’t have a choice in that.”
“What are you getting at?”
She paused to collect her thoughts. “ You said you can’t make promises. Maybe we’re asking too much from you—”
He interrupted in a harsh tone. “It’s asking too much to prioritize your lives ahead of my boat? Is that what you think of me?”
Rattled, she scrambled for an answer. “I just…I’d feel terrible if something happened to your boat and it was my fault. Or you,” she added quickly. “But also your boat. I know how much you love it.”
A shadow came across his face. The morning air nipped at them, causing her to pull her jacket tighter around her. “You don’t really know me.”
The chilly words drew a gasp from her. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve known me two days, like you said. I always put my crew first. Even when I fuck it—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. Droplets of mist spangled across his thick waves. His suddenly agonized expression surprised her. What had he stopped himself from saying? And why? Apparently she’d stepped on a land mine while intending exactly the opposite. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you chose the wrong boat.”