Page 45 of Second Tide's the Charm
Avoiding Adrian on deck turns out to be pretty impossible. Which is why I find myself making my way to the helm for a breather. Gabe is at the wheel, beaming like a pirate with treasure in sight as we cut through the moderate swells. I step up next to him, one hand grasping the frame for support, and he turns his wide smile toward me. “Never gets old,” he says, voice raised above the wind.
“How’d you get put on captain duty?” I’m grouchy from trying to pretend this is all normal. I’m beginning to think Adrian was right; it’s impossible.
Gabe’s brows dip together above his blue polarized sunglasses. “We take turns, just depends on the day.” He clocks my expression, then lets out a laugh. “Wait, did Adrian tell you there was some rule about it?”
“Yes!” A wave lifts the hull and I flex my knees. “He said no bet.”
“Bet?”
My cheeks flush at the wording. “I meant, he told me no.”
His smile disappears. “That’s weird.” Glancing over his shoulder, he asks, “Is he giving you a hard time?”
I blush at his unwitting word choice. “Not at all.” More like the other way around. A smirk tilts my lips at the thought, but I’m not supposed to be remembering the kiss. And thinking back, did he actually tell me I couldn’t drive the boat, or just that he wouldn’t make a bet on it? No way to call him out now, so I settle for glaring toward where he’s sitting in the bow with Sylvia and Liam, the doctoral students we’re taking out to perform ultrasounds today.
I remember when it used to feel effortless to sit with him. How our friendship blossomed into something more, natural as breathing. The texts that made the distance collapse to insignificance. The beginning of a love story that ended years ago. Now I’m keeping my distance, trying to erase it all.
“I meant what I said about the video,” Gabe says, getting me out of my head. “You did an awesome job on camera.” He returned two days ago from the Bahamas, but this is the first we’ve spoken. “Today should be no problem since you’ll have the sharks to focus on.”
I blow out a breath. “Not so sure.”
“I am.” He looks over at me. “You seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give up.”
“Yeah, but there’s always the possibility to fail in new and disastrous ways.” The thing is, I never used to mind failing. Or at least, didn’t let it stop me. Failure leads to new ways of thinking, but I’d never failed in such a major way, and it affected me more than I thought possible.
Gabe shoots me a wry look. “That’s a possibility too.” He looks down at the GPS, then back at the open water ahead. “I guess what it comes down to, is whether it’s worth it.”
One of the hardest parts of working in the field for me is the need to make small talk for the long hours of inaction, but it turns out Sylvia and Liam are easy to talk to.
“I’ve had more than my fair share of experience being on the receiving end of ultrasounds,” Sylvia says. “Had enough of them to last a lifetime with my high-risk pregnancy.” Flipping her braid over one shoulder, she rises up on one hip to pull out her phone and passes it to me. Her lock screen is a toddler with a precious gap-toothed grin.
“How old is she?”
“Three. Light of my life. She’s one of the reasons I’m so interested in conservation. Want to make sure she has an ocean full of biodiversity to explore when she’s older. Or y’know, she might spend her days in a studio making clay pottery. Whatever makes her happy,” she says with a proud smile, pocketing her phone.
“What’s our game plan for today?”
She blows out a breath and settles back against the railing, arms spread. “We’re hoping to do work-ups on pregnant sharks, and if so, we’ll looking at the species distribution of pregnant sharks, number of pups, what point in gestation the sharks have reached, and whether the animal has been tagged before to see if they’re returning to the same pupping grounds.”
“However, to do that, we actually need tocatch some sharks.” Liam, the other researcher, raises his voice for the last phrase, hollering over his shoulder at the water like it might make a difference, and we all laugh.
We’ve been anchored for nearly half the time allotted for drum lines, a type of fishing we’re permitted to use for research purposes only. The weighted drum rests on the seabed, with the line stretching to the surface, a conical buoy attached.
A buoy that hasn’t moved aside from the rhythmic bob of waves since we set the line. No movement means no bites. No bites means no sharks to examine.
All part of the job, but after the three years, these extra few minutes are surprisingly hard to bear. It also brings everything I’ve questioned to the forefront. Today the camera is the least of my worries; working closely with Adrian after our mind-melting kiss has pushed fear of the camera to the back burner. But the familiar setting soon eases my nerves.
Marissa and Adrian are working on their laptops across from me, and I’ve been chatting with Sylvia about her research while we cut bait. “Do you see a potential policy correlation for your findings?”
“That’s Liam’s interest,” she says. She lifts a scale-coated finger, then grimaces and lifts her chin instead, indicating her colleague. “He’s pursuing a PhD in marine science and conservation. He wants to work in policy. Prefers boardrooms to boat decks.”
“Heard that,” he calls from the stern, “and you’re absolutely correct.”
He makes his way over and settles on the seat across from us. “Two words: iced coffee.”
Sylvia shakes her head, reaching into the bucket for another fish. “Last week it was access to vending machines.”
“My love of creature comforts knows no bounds,” he informs her.
