Page 111 of Faking the Pass
I couldn’t imagine putting something that was recently so fiercely alive into my mouth. My head spun dizzily, and the sweat I’d worked up now felt ice cold on my body.
“Maybe we could freeze it for a long,longtime first,” I said.
And by then I’ll be back in California, and you can eat it yourself.
“Freeze it? No way,” Presley protested. “That’ll ruin it. Seafood is always best fresh. I’ll cook it for us tonight. We can have it grilled or fried—or both.”
“Yummy,” I muttered as my stomach churned and the dizziness increased.
Presley’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “You okay? You look a little green.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should have taken that motion sickness pill. I think I’m going to just lie down until we get back into the harbor.”
Making my way unsteadily to the padded bench nearby, I stretched out on the cushion and closed my eyes, breathing through my nose as I fought off a wave of nausea.
“I’ll get Matt, and we’ll head for shore,” Presley said. “I should have brought you some crackers or something while you were fighting the shark. Seasickness can be worse on an empty stomach.”
Within a minute, he was back with the captain, who wore a sympathetic expression.
“Unfortunately, the medicine might not help at this point,” Matt said. “If you already feel nauseous, it’s probably too late. Give it a try though.”
He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.
“We’ll be back to shore in about forty-five minutes. Hang in there.”
While he left to go pilot the boat, Presley sat beside me on the bench and watched me swallow the pills then lie back down.
“I texted my family a little while ago and invited them over for supper tonight,” he said. “We ended up with a really good catch—way too much for the two of us. But maybe I should call them back and cancel.”
“No, no, don’t do that. They should definitely come over.”
My eyes closed again, trying to shut out the spinning world.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” I said. “If not, I probably won’t feel like eating tonight anyway. You’ll want someone to share the meal with.”
The way I felt, I doubted I’d ever feel like eating ever again.
In either case, I didn’t want to keep Presley from enjoying the fresh seafood or seeing his family. They were incredibly important to him, and he hadn’t seen that much of them lately.
Unfortunately, by the time Captain Matt pulled the fishing boat into its slip, I was feeling worse—not better.
Presley helped me to the car, holding one of my hands and keeping an arm around my back for support as I shuffled along.
“I’m sorry I ruined your fishing trip,” I said miserably as I lowered myself to the front seat.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “Our time was about up anyway. And you caught a shark big enough to feed the whole neighborhood—or at least a couple of my brothers.”
I managed a weak laugh then rolled down the window for the drive home—just in case.
The twisty turns of Presley’s driveway were no fun, but I managed to make it inside the house and to the bathroom before vomiting.
There had been no time to close and lock the door beforehand, and I realized when I heard the sink running that Presley had followed me in.
Mortification filled my veins, making me even more nauseous.
“Please leave,” I gasped before dry heaving over the toilet then sinking to the floor in front of it. “Don’t see me like this.”
He handed me a wet washcloth, which I accepted gratefully in spite of my recent request.
