by Karina Halle
My mother definitely didn’t want me with her in New York, fucking up her new perfect life with her new man. But she had no choice. Though she wasn’t my mother in her heart, she was on paper.
And so I was shuffled between two parents who didn’t know what to do with me, who didn’t want much to do with me. How could I not hate myself?
Shay was the only thing I had. When I was with her, I could pretend that her love was all that mattered. I could pretend her love was the thing that was going to save me, redeem me, make me a better man. Make me a man, period, not just some scared damaged little boy.
But then it got to be too much.
I couldn’t keep up the charade forever.
I knew Shay deserved to be with someone that I wasn’t, because what I really was, deep down, beneath the emo poetry and the bad tattoos and everything else that I carefully crafted to hold me up, was someone inherently unwanted and unlovable. And, eventually, she would see that version of me. And she would leave me.
So I never gave her the chance. I pushed her away, put up the walls, started lashing out and cheating and doing more drugs and skipping school, because it was easier than being rejected by her.
That was my biggest mistake and I’m making it all over again.
I’m making excuses for us to be apart, I’m ignoring the fact that I’ve fallen back in love with her, that she makes me feel like a fucking god, and I’m pushing her away because I think it’ll be easier in the end.
But it won’t be easier.
It will hurt worse than before, and once again I’ll only have myself to blame. When you’ve lived most of your life in guilt and shame, the finger pointed inward, relentless in blame, it becomes second nature. You start to think you deserve it.
But she makes me feel like I don’t. Like I’m someone worth loving. That I have more to offer the world than what I’m currently giving.
I can’t lose that. I can’t lose her.
And yet it feels like right now, I’m about to lose it all. Every single thing that I love.
“What is it? Where are we?” Shay says sleepily, lifting her head and looking around.
“Just outside Trondheim,” I tell her. What I don’t add, is that this is her chance to say goodbye if she wants to take it. I don’t tell her because I don’t want to push her away anymore, and that’s exactly how she’s going to take it.
“I must have been tired,” she says, and then I take the exit onto the 707, away from the city and heading toward the coast. Her chance to leave me disappears in the rearview mirror.
She knows it too. She watches the exit disappear and a look of soft determination comes across her brow, her eyes focused on the road ahead. The road forward.
From where we are, it’s another three hours to the fishing village, and we’re silent most of the time. Sometimes the radio is on, but the pop songs and chipper yammering is too much for me to handle right now. Sometimes Shay talks about the villages we’re passing through, sometimes she brings up small talk, but she’s not taking any pictures and there’s this heavy weight that’s descended inside the car.
We’re both hanging on by a thread, waiting for what happens next.
Eventually, we reach the fishing village of Bessaker, nothing more than some old weathered red buildings along a rocky and lichen-covered coast. It’s hard land out here, bare and unforgiving, and though the sun would normally be out, right now the storm has swept most of the light away. It’s dark, almost as dark as night, and the wind flings itself off the Norwegian Sea, whipping against the car.
The docks are full of activity, with a news van from Trondheim, and other cars parked in the lot, people milling about, flares and flashlights at the ready for when the world plunges into night.
It’s so stormy, wet and rough out, that I tell Shay to stay in the car, pulling my Helly Hansen jacket out of the backseat and slipping it on, the rain already soaking me.
But Shay remains stubborn as always. She’s out of the car, yelping as the wind nearly knocks her over, and goes to the trunk, grabbing her flimsy rain jacket and pulling it on.
I grab her hand, part of me grateful that she’s by my side, even though it’s safer inside the car, then I’m pulling her along toward the crowd of people.
I make myself known, barely heard above the roar of the storm, and one of the search-and-rescue guys pulls us aside.
“You’re the captain of the Midnight Sun?” he says to me in Norwegian, looking me up and down. I get that a lot. Not that I don’t look like a fisherman, but that it’s not usual to have a twenty-five-year-old as the captain and owner of a fishing vessel.
“Yes, I lent the boat to my first mate, Epsen Larsen,” I tell him. “And Dag Nilsen is in charge of it for this round. They’re both very experienced, I don’t understand how this could happen.”
My voice is starting to crack, and I feel like whatever I’m being held together by is slowly unraveling. Even though Shay can’t understand what we’re talking about, she holds my hand tightly, giving it a strong, reassuring squeeze.
The search-and-rescue guy nods grimly. “I know. They started heading in when it got bad, but it was too late.”
I can’t breathe. “You know for sure the boat is gone?”
He shakes his head. “No. We don’t. But we can’t get a read off the boat. No signal.” He pauses. “We did pick up the signals from the survival suits, though. Six in total. That would be Dag, Epsen, and the deckhands, Erik, Tor, Hagen, and Vik.”
It’s happening all over again.
The survival suits.
They knew they were in trouble, they knew they were going down. The last radio transmission said they were bringing on water, so they put those suits on and activated the beacons, knowing they’d be sinking.
The signals often lead searchers to the dead.
My father went down the same way, except he was never found.
I stumble back on my feet, feeling dizzy, like there’s no air, and then Shay is holding me up, and the search-and-rescue guy has his hand on my shoulder, steadying me.
“Go and sit down,” he says to me. “I’ll let you know when we have news.”
I try to swallow, but it’s like I have chalk in my throat.
Shay leads me back to the Datsun, making me lie down in the backseat, the wind and rain battering the car. There’s so much darkness and fear in my heart, that it feels like I’m drowning too.
I lie there in agony, only Shay’s hand reminding me that I’m still alive, that she’s still here, and then darkness descends as the day turns to night. The only relief is that the storm abates, just a little.
But the vice around my heart, that clamps down even harder.
I must be drifting off to sleep at some point because I hear Shay’s sweet voice, sounding so far off. “Something is happening,” she says in a hush.
I open my eyes and slowly sit up and look out the rain-streaked window. The crowd has moved down onto the docks, lights moving around, and out on the water, I can see the spotlight of a rescue ship as it comes through the harbor.
Oh my god.
I throw the door open and start running across the parking lot, nearly stumbling as I go. I hear Shay yell after me, hear her footsteps splashing through the puddles, but I keep going. I go through the crowd of people, past the news cameras, past a few arms that try to hold me back.
It’s like my world goes into slow motion.
I see the boat pull in, people huddled on it, and my eyes are frantically searching for familiar faces. But I don’t see any, not really. It’s so dark and they’re huddled under blankets and I’m starting to fear that worst, that Epsen and Dag haven’t been found.
Then I start to recognize one of the faces as the boat comes to the dock. It’s a guy I’ve hired before as a deckhand. Yes. Erik Andersen. That’s him.
And then I start to see everyone else more clearly.
I see Dag.
And I see Epsen.
Both of them alive, wet
, pale. Here.
I let out a choked cry and suddenly Shay is at my side, holding onto me.
“I see them, I see them, they’re alive,” she says.
Oh thank god. I’m not just seeing things.
I nearly collapse right to my knees.
They’re alive.
I can’t help but exhale loudly, a tear running down my cheek even though I’m smiling, and when Epsen and Dag see me, they manage to light up too, as much as they can. I was so certain I’d lost them, so certain that they went the same way my father did. The relief pouring through me is indescribable.
They’re alive.
They get off the ship slowly, the search-and-rescue team helping them, and it’s obvious that they were all pretty close to death out there. They can barely walk, huddled under blankets, moving like zombies.
They shuffle up the dock toward us, Dag giving me a solemn nod, looking weary and ashamed, barely glancing at me, while Epsen’s eyes are frantic and brimming with tears.
“We lost the ship, Anders,” Epsen says to me, shaking, his voice harrowed. “She’s gone. She’s at the bottom of the sea.”
I refuse to let those words sink in. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter,” I say to him, making a move to embrace him. “You’re here.”
But the search-and-rescue guy pulls Epsen along, just as two ambulances wheel into the parking lot, red lights flashing. “We have to take them to the nearest hospital,” the man says to us.
I nod, trying to hold it together, watching as they lead Epsen, Dag, and the rest of the crew up the docks, toward the ambulances. At least they’re going to be okay.
But am I going to be okay?
“I’m so sorry, Anders,” Shay whispers to me. “About the boat.”
“All that matters is that they’re alive,” I tell her. And while that’s the truth, it’s not the whole truth. That I bury deep inside, for now.
Time starts to pass in a daze. Because it’s so late, I don’t have the energy to drive to Trondheim, but the owner of a local guesthouse decides to put everyone, including the search-and-rescue crew, up for free, May still being the slow season out here.
They give me and Shay a small room with a view that’s probably beautiful when the sun is up, and I’ve barely just closed the door to the room when I feel like I’m sucked into an undertow.
I collapse to my knees on the wood floors, feeling like I can’t stand a moment longer, like every part of me is sinking inward, into the darkness. It all hits me at once, like a sledgehammer to the ribs.
Shay rushes over to me, dropping to her knees, arms around me, and I lose it.
I fucking lose it.
I gasp for breath, tears flooding through me, and I cry.
I cry because I’m losing Shay.
I cry because I almost lost my friends.
And I cry because I lost my father, that I never got to tell him that I loved him, that I was sorry for acting the way I did, that I didn’t want to hurt him. I lost my father and I never got a chance to properly grieve him, instead I was just handed his life, the life he left behind, and I knew I needed to keep it going.
And it’s not like anyone passed me the torch and forced me to become a fisherman, to keep the boat. My sisters never did. Per didn’t. My mother, well, she never cared enough, but she didn’t either. I chose to take on my father’s legacy and live his life, I chose to do that because it was the only way I could come to terms with what happened. With his death. It was the only way I could make amends and forgive myself and pray that somehow, somewhere, he was forgiving me for being the rotten son that I was.
But now, now it’s been taken from me. The boat is gone, my father’s legacy is gone. It was the only part of him that I had left, and now they’re both at the bottom of the sea and I have nothing but memories and wishes that things could have gone differently.
I want him back. I want him living his life again. I don’t want to live his life for him anymore.
I want to live my own life.
“It’s okay,” Shay whispers to me, holding me tight, and she brings me back around into the here and now, to this room, to this moment in our lives.
She brings me back to her.
I want to live my own life now, and I want her in it.
There’s no more boat. There’s no more past.
There are no more excuses, no matter how afraid I am of getting my heart broken and losing her.
I have to start anew, with her by my side.
I pull back, breathing hard, the tears rolling down my cheeks, making my beard damp. I grab her face in my hands, holding her, afraid to let go.
“I love you,” I tell her, my words shaking, the emotions swirling through me. “I love you, Shay. I don’t want to let go of you. I don’t want to lose you. I want you to stay here, with me, in Norway. I want you to be with me. I want to love you like I never really had the chance to before, with every single inch of my heart, as fucked up and imperfect as it is.”
Her mouth drops open, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as she searches my face, looking for the truth.
I’m giving her all my truth.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” I go on. “I don’t want to be too afraid to love you and I don’t want to push you away. I know you do deserve better, but I also want a second chance at being a man who is deserving of your love. I may not always believe I deserve it, but I want to believe it. I want to change. And I want you to be with me as I do.”
“Anders,” she says through a sob, a smile breaking across her face. “I want to be with you too. I want to stay with you. I…I lo—”
“No,” I interrupt her, pressing my thumb against her lip. “Don’t say it back to me, my sparrow. It’s my word to give to you. It’s all I have right now.”
She leans forward and kisses me, tasting of salt, of love. Then she runs her hand through my hair, shaking her head. “We’ll get through this. All of this. We’ll pick up the pieces and move on. I know you lost the boat, I know that was your livelihood, that it was all you had left of your father, but I think he’d want you to start planning a new life for yourself. One that you want, not one that you shouldered because of guilt. And I want to be there for you, through all of it. I’m not leaving you Anders. I’m with you, by your side, to the end. Okay?”
Now I’m smiling.
Really smiling.
My heart feels like it’s bursting.
And, for once, I’m not burying it deep inside.
For once, I’m letting myself feel all of it.
All of my love for her.
For everything moving forward.
A second chance at life.
20
Shay
Two weeks later
“Everyone’s here!” Anders booms across the kitchen. “This emergency family meeting will come to order.”
Astrid gives me a withering glance from across the table before rolling her eyes. “We’ve all been sitting here for twenty minutes, Anders,” she says to him. “And you don’t need to yell.”
“I do need to yell,” Anders says, jerking his thumb at Per. “Because people like our uncle here keep leaving the room to check on farm animals that don’t need any checking on. The chickens now, really?”
Per shrugs. Even though they’re speaking in English and he can’t understand them, he gets the gist of it, and he’s as unbothered as always.
I’ve been in Todalen for two weeks now, back to working the farm with Per and Anders. I’ve actually come to enjoy it, the fresh air, the sense of comradery, plus the bonus aspect of working with cute animals. I’ve started enjoying it so much, that I’m starting to get some crazy ideas.
Of course, things have been kind of stressful these last few weeks too. Anders took losing the boat hard. I know that it symbolized his father for him, and that he never got a chance to really grieve his dad after he died. Losing the boat meant he had to face that grief all over again, and that’s not an easy thing to do. He
has his highs and his lows, his moods swinging one way or the other, but at least he’s not pushing me away anymore. When I offer to help him, to let him talk, to let it all out, he doesn’t hide the darkness from me. He lets it out and he lets me in and that’s making all the difference in our relationship.
Because, yeah, this is a relationship now. Our relationship. Something familiar, and yet fresh and new. Though Anders is hurting over the loss of the boat, he’s also opening up to the new possibilities for his future. He needs to make money to help the farm out, but he no longer has to be a fisherman. He doesn’t have to live his father’s life anymore. He can carve something out on his own, something that he wants to do.
We just don’t know what that is yet, which is why Anders is holding this family meeting.
After the boat sank, he sat down with Per one evening and went over their budget, looking at what he needs to bring in to keep things afloat. To be honest, it’s a little less than Anders thought, which took a big load off his shoulders. It’s still something, though.
But there’s no reason for Anders to have to take all of this on by himself. This is the family farm for a reason. It’s as much Astrid’s, Lise’s, and Tove’s, which is why he asked them all to fly back home and talk about the future of the place.
So far, it’s been a riot. I’ve missed having Astrid and Lise around, and even though Tove has a biting dry sense of humor that cuts a little deep sometimes, I get along with her too. There’s been a lot of beer and cider (and whisky, Tove’s choice), and Tove’s son Harry is an absolute menace, which I find hilarious. He’s always getting into trouble and listens to no one. He reminds me a lot of Anders.
Right now, he’s bouncing around on the couch in the living room, after he just ran around the kitchen table five times. He’s hooting and hollering in Norwegian, but everyone is focused on Anders at the head of the table. Forever a captain and taking command. Be still my heart.