Page 20 of Stay Close
“Your friend,” the captain says, glancing at the bow. “He ask such questions.” Captain Bloch taps a sticker on his console. “Highest safety rating.” He waves a hand around the boat. “Tourist launch during summer. During winter, we take supplies to the islands. Some passengers, when is good weather.”
He points into the depths of the ocean. “Is a forest. A foss…foz…”
“Fossils?” I ask, lighting on the right word. I’ve done my research.
He brightens. “Yes. A forest under there, turned to amber.”
He takes a medallion from around his neck and holds it between us, the tawny figure of a saint spinning in the light. He gives it a kiss and tucks it away again.
“Map.” He adjusts himself on the high seat at the control panel and reaches for a spiral-bound book, thrusting it into my hands. “Look. I call you when…” He waves at the horizon. There’s nothing to see now but steel-gray seas.
I return to the narrow bench, and Lucas scoots aside for me to take a seat. “I found the table,” he says, swinging a hinged surface in front of us. “Can I get you some coffee?” I spread the book open and nod.
“Coffee?” he repeats, louder for the captain. He answers by pointing at a cleverly concealed cabinet with a tall thermosof steaming hot water. Lucas works efficiently, returning with three paper cups, one for each of us.
I hold the coffee between my cold hands, letting the warmth infuse my skin, gazing idly at maps as familiar to me as my own face.
“Do you sail?” I ask Lucas, searching for any topic to keep myself from watching the way he cools his coffee, pursing his lips and blowing on the surface.
“Not even a little. Our family was into dirt bikes, so my dad cut in a track behind our house. Me and my brothers used to mess around on it when we weren’t working.” He takes a swallow, and I watch the play of muscles in his throat before clearing my own.
“Working?” I take a sip of coffee, pleased that I’m still able to hold up my end of the conversation when he’s existing hotly in my vicinity.
“Mom started us all out in her shop.”
“At the register?”
He clicks his tongue several times. “Mom had us mixing the dough at twelve and piping royal icing by the time we were fourteen. If being a protection officer doesn’t work out, I could make a killing in the cookie business.” He bumps my shoulder. “What about you? What was your first job?”
My lips pull to the side. “You’re looking at it.”
My childhood was filled with many improving things—Shakespeare in the park and Science Olympiads—but if I’d wanted a job, my mom would have quoted earlyfeminist poetry at me and asked if wearing a brown visor and a nametag might not disappoint Mary Wollstonecraft on some fundamental level. Dad would have run the numbers, wearing me down with the percentage of child prodigies aiming for early admission to Harvard run through some formula including the number of books I could read in a four-hour shift. Eventually, I would have agreed that my time was too valuable to trade for pocket money.
I see the mistake from this end. Maybe if I’d been a babysitter or had a stint at an automated car wash, scrubbing bug guts with a squeegee before sending the car into the curtain of sponges, I wouldn’t be so neurotic about getting this job perfect.
The silence stretches, and I look up to find Lucas watching me. “Who was your favorite teacher?” he asks, instead.
The moment of awkwardness passes, and one topic leads to others. We don’t have very much in common. I like Tolstoy. He likes alien monster books. I make Italian food from scratch. He orders Seongan fried chicken takeout. I take the metro. He bikes to work when he’s in town.
So many differences should be a disappointment. I should feel the same way I do at the end of a blind date. It should feel like sitting with Sara over a bottle of wine, explaining that I can’t go out with a man who subscribes to a legal theory I can’t respect.
It’s nothing like that. Every difference fascinates me and makes me want to learn more. The minutes spill away,uncounted and unmeasured, until the captain throttles back. Lucas stumbles into me, his cheek rasping against mine before he pushes himself away.
“We’re here,” he says. I nod.
“We have time to go around twice,” the captain calls, laughing when he catches us tangled up on this narrow bench. My color is high, but I have a job to do. Lucas pulls me to my feet, and I see Sove for the first time, a humped rock blending against the gray skies.
When we get closer, the captain begins slowly circumnavigating the island, and I stand, feet braced apart, staring through a set of binoculars. A clutch of sea birds has taken refuge on Sove, huddled against the wind, feathers ruffling. A crude weathered Sondish flag is painted on a flat area. Vorburg has made its own mark on the far side, where Captain Bloch turns off the engine and allows us to drift with the current.
It’s peaceful here, but when a sloppy wave hits the side of the boat, I lurch. Lucas catches me, hands at my waist. “I’ve got you,” he says.
I nod, not sparing him a look. I’m here for research. But when another wave hits, I brace myself against his chest.
“Time to go,” the captain says, at last, tapping his instrument panel.
“Anything to worry about?” I ask, lowering the binoculars.
He taps again. “Highest safety rating.” He calls us to the wheel, and Lucas holds my elbow, keeping me upright against the choppy waves as the captain explains hisinstruments. “Weather. North, Northeast. Is no problem. But stay on bench.”
