Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  Zeballos Artino had invited her via email to examine the boat for appropriate lab space and to discuss plans. He seemed friendly enough over email, although not forthcoming with details. Corrie was curious to see what he was like in person.

  She took off her helmet and wrinkled her nose at her flat hair. She pulled it back in a serviceable ponytail and strode to the dock. Her benefactor had said his boat was on dock five. The floating wooden slats shuddered and gave way underfoot as she wandered down the rows.

  At the end of the dock, there was an old fishing boat. Its blue hull was rusted in wear patterns at the bow, although it looked freshly washed. The aluminum cabin was far forward on the boat, leaving plenty of room on the aft deck for winches and other fishing equipment. White curtains were drawn across rounded windows that surrounded a bright orange life ring strapped to the side. It was nothing like the vessel Mara had traveled on, with a crew of twenty-four and berths for twelve scientists. Nevertheless, it was hers to command for the week. The thought thrilled her from scalp to toes.

  Corrie wondered how to announce herself and settled on a sharp rap on the metal hull.

  “Coming!” a man’s voice answered from the interior. Corrie waited with impatience, curious to see the face behind her incredible opportunity.

  Short blond hair emerged from the hold first, hair that was so blond it was one shade away from white. It was followed by a good-looking face of a deep olive, Mediterranean hue. When the man glanced up at her, Corrie was startled by the color of his eyes. They were of a gray so pale that only the dark outline of iris prevented the color from bleeding seamlessly into white sclera. The young man pulled himself effortlessly out of the hold and stepped toward Corrie with an outstretched hand. She shook it and noted his firm handshake and warm, dry skin against hers.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Zeb. You must be Corrie. Welcome aboard the Clicker.”

  He helped her step over the bulwark and onto the aft deck.

  “Thanks,” said Corrie. “Hi. So, this is your boat. Wow, um—” She laughed at her own stumbling. “Sorry, I meant to say first, thank you so much for this opportunity. It means the world to me. You have no idea—my own scientific cruise? Everyone was slack-jawed at the lab. It’s amazing. Funding is hard to come by, you know? Everyone likes the idea of science but getting money put toward it is sometimes like pulling teeth. Especially stuff that’s not super applicable.” Corrie caught herself. “Sorry, I’m rabbiting on. Just, thanks.”

  Zeb’s serious face twitched with a hint of a smile.

  “No worries. I came into money recently—Dad died and left me an inheritance—and I wanted to contribute to ocean science somehow.”

  Corrie glanced him over. He was wearing ripped jeans and a plaid shirt, common apparel for a rich hipster pretending to dress like the working man. To Corrie’s eye, however, the holes in the jeans looked worn through rather than artfully ripped. Perhaps he had them pre-worn by someone else for an authentic look. The thought made her smile. Zeb looked at her with a curious tilt to his head and she deflected.

  “That’s really great of you. Most wouldn’t bother. Know that you’re helping science and making this grad student’s dreams come true.” Corrie looked around. “Is there space for lab equipment? I don’t need a lot of room, but I do need some.”

  “Of course, right through here.” Zeb led her into the cabin from the aft deck. They entered a narrow space. A short bench was against one wall, and a counter on the other side ran underneath a small window with rounded corners. “Is this enough? We can figure out more space if you need.”

  “No, this is great. Is there somewhere I can store stuff? I’ll need to bring a few jugs of purified water, plus my dive gear.”

  “Storage space, we have plenty of.” Zeb gestured to the aft deck. “The hold is mostly empty. You can fill it up. Anything else you need?”

  “I have my own equipment. Oh, but I’ll need crushed ice occasionally.”

  “We have a freezer,” he said. “Will ice cube trays and a hammer work?”

  “That’ll do the trick.” Corrie beamed at him. His solution reminded her of MacGyvering solutions to science problems in her father’s shed. At home, they had what they had, and she had often helped her father find passable replacements for items they needed for an experiment.

  “One more thing,” she said. “You don’t have an old tank for holding water, do you? It’s for my own project that my supervisor doesn’t know about, so I can’t take one from the lab. If not, no big deal, I’ll look on used sites online.”

  Zeb’s eyes gleamed at this, but he said only, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

  “Well, great,” Corrie said. She looked around the little room and tried to imagine this boat as her home for a week. It was both bizarre and exhilarating. “Who else is coming?”

  “I have two deckhands, Jules and Krista. They’ll be helping out with anything you need.”

  Corrie nodded. A thread of relief snaked through her. As normal as Zeb seemed, spending the week alone on a boat with a relative stranger was a nerve-wracking proposition. Knowing that there would be others, including another woman, relaxed Corrie.

  “Why don’t you send me a rough plan for the first few days—where you want to go first, how long you need there—and I’ll plot a course given the tides and currents. When do you want to go?”

  “When can we go?”

  “You’re calling the shots.” Zeb said. “You tell me.”

  “Soon, I guess. This is crazy. I can really use the boat to go whenever, wherever, for a whole week?” Corrie’s heart raced from excitement. It was starting to feel real.

  “You betcha. The Clicker is all yours.”

  Corrie slipped her hand into David’s, and he gripped it firmly. They were walking down a sidewalk toward the movie theater. David had a movie in mind, but he wouldn’t tell her what it was. Corrie could have figured it out by looking at the start times, but she liked surprises. It was sweet of David. They’d been dating for about a couple of months, and she liked how he tried hard to keep things interesting. She would far prefer to try rock climbing or paintball for a date instead of a stereotypical movie, but at least he was trying. They’d gone ziplining last weekend, and while David had gamely gone along and forced a smile when she asked him if he liked it, Corrie could tell he was itching to put his feet on the ground.

  But he was sweet, and kind, and they worked well together. He was conservative in bed, but, as always, willing to try to please her. Corrie hoped that the movie wasn’t too long. David’s place was only a few blocks away, and she intended to take him there straight after. She bumped her shoulder with his playfully.

  “You really won’t tell me?”

  “That’s the whole point of a surprise,” David said with a sidelong look down at her.

  “I guess. I’ll just have to talk about something else, then.” Corrie thought for a moment. “Oh, remember my sampling trip award?”

  “How could I forget?” He smiled to show he was teasing. “You haven’t spoke of much else since you found out you won.”

  Corrie nudged him again.

  “Don’t be mean. I went to check out the boat yesterday. It’s an old fishing vessel, but they use it for chartered diving trips now, so it’s kitted out. Bunks are spartan, but they’ll do just fine. The lab space is small but more than enough for just me. I think it’s going to be great.”

  “What are the dates again?”

  “May first to eighth.”

  David’s face fell, although he tried to cover it up.

  “You’ll miss our Wednesday night date.” He gave her a mock-pout, although she could see it truly bothered him. She sighed inwardly. He was very regimented, and they’d gone out every Wednesday since they started dating. Sometimes she thought it was a sweet ritual, but other times it felt constricting. Mostly, it was sweet.

  “I know. But only one. Then we could do something extra speci
al when I’m back.”

  “Yes. For sure.” Corrie could almost see the cogs in David’s mind working away at a suitable “something special.” Then he shook himself and said, “What about the crew? Did you meet anyone?”

  “There will be four of us. I only met the captain. It’s the same guy who set up the award, Zeballos Artino. He seemed nice enough.”

  “Young or old? Model or walrus? Doofus or creepy vibe?”

  Corrie laughed, but it was a second before David joined her. Were his questions in earnest? She decided to answer them just in case.

  “Close to my age, as far as I can tell.” She chuckled again. “Not a walrus. What does that even mean? And like I said, he seems nice. Not a doofus or creepy. I’m sure it will all work out.”

  “Hmm,” David said in a neutral tone. “I’m sure it will, too. Let’s plan our special Wednesday date before you go, though, so you have something to look forward to.”

  “I’d like that,” Corrie said. She squeezed David’s hand. Was he jealous, or was she reading too much into his questions? She supposed they hadn’t been dating long. Although she thought her actions were clear that she liked him, it was still early days. She resolved to show him after the movie that he had nothing to worry about.

  “Here we are,” David said a minute later. They joined a line to buy tickets for the movie. Corrie looked at the posters and hoped that they were going to Footprints, a monster movie that had received good reviews. It was definitely up her alley. They reached the counter.

  “Two tickets to Fall in Love this Autumn, please,” David said to the ticket agent. Corrie’s shoulders slumped in dismay. A cheesy chick flick? Was there anything more cliché on date night? At least rom coms were usually short.

  “Surprised?” David said as they walked into the theater. “I didn’t think you’d expect me to take you to something like this.”

  “Yeah,” Corrie said with an attempt at a smile. “Big time. Are you showing me your willingness to do what I like at your expense?”

  “It sounds pretty noble when you put it like that. I kind of like rom coms, though.” David put his finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Corrie pulled David to the back row. If she was going to sit through this movie, she might as well enjoy it. “Come on, be a teenager with me.”

  Adrianna stood in front of Corrie’s closet door, looking at her clothes with a critical eye.

  “You’ll be gone a whole week on this cruise?” she asked.

  “Yep, back next Sunday,” Corrie said. “My lab equipment is packed, and now I need clothes and personal stuff.” She rolled up the power cord for her laptop and slid it in a backpack. Adrianna let out a deep sigh.

  “I don’t know, Cor. You’re not giving me a lot to work with here. There’s still time to go shopping—the mall doesn’t close until nine tonight.”

  “Shopping for what?” Corrie joined Adrianna in her examination of the closet. She leaned forward and slipped three T-shirts off their hangers. “Look at that. I just packed enough for three days. Easy peasy.”

  “You’re hopeless.” Adrianna took a black miniskirt off a hanger and passed it to Corrie. “Come on, work with me.”

  “You do know what I’m doing, right?”

  “You’re going on a cruise,” Adrianna said. Corrie laughed.

  “Trust me, it’s not that kind of cruise. It’ll be a dirty, sweaty, long hours, lab work kind of cruise. Not dancing, drinking, and swimming.”

  “Oh.” Adrianna deflated, then stood straight again. “But you should be prepared for anything. And there’s no reason not to look your best even if you’re working. If you must wear jeans, make them your cute ones. And take that skirt. What if you go on land for dinner one night?”

  “That is unlikely, bordering on impossible.”

  “Take it.”

  Corrie took the brandished skirt and accompanying slinky shirt with misgiving. There wasn’t much room on a boat in the first place. The only redeeming feature of the skirt was that it was very small.

  “Can you take care of my fish when I’m gone?” she asked.

  “Of course. Hot Lips is going to miss you.” Adrianna cooed at a pleco fish attached to the fish tank’s glass with its sucker-like mouth. “Aren’t you, Hot Lips?” She pretended to speak like a fish. “Don’t go cheating on me with other fish. There may be plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m your best fish.”

  “Don’t worry, Hot Lips.” Corrie squished her bag closed and zipped it up. “I’ll be studying bacteria and anemones, not fish.”

  ZEBALLOS

  Zeb surveyed his apartment with resignation. His normally sparse studio suite was piled high with boxes of stuff from his father’s house. He didn’t want it, none of it, but he had to go through every box just in case. Most of it was garbage, but what if there were something of his mother’s squirreled away? He had to search through everything to make sure. It would be just like his father to have something that he had never shown his son.

  He didn’t have time today, though. The sun had set, and he still had to pack for an early morning. The boat was already docked in Victoria, but he and Jules were driving down first thing and setting up for their departure the day after. Jules had his grocery list ready to stock the cupboards, so they had to stop at the store as well.

  Zeb found a duffel bag in his hall cupboard and went to his closet to throw clothes inside the duffel. It didn’t take long—he packed exactly what he always did for a diving charter, jeans and shirts and a swim suit—and he threw the duffel at the front door with relief.

  His gaze caught the items on top of his dresser. Although his furniture was sparse, his collection of treasures was expansive. Most flat surfaces, including the dresser, were covered with shells, dried seaweed, old fishing lures, and other items that Zeb had collected on his many dives. Prominent on the dresser was a plain wooden picture frame with a photo of Zeb as a six-year-old child being hugged by his mother and father.

  The picture drew out conflicting emotions in Zeb. There was the usual dull ache when he looked at his mother, as pale as a china doll with hair the color of his own. The picture of his father, his Mediterranean features filled with happiness in a way that Zeb could hardly remember, stirred up a mixture of anger and sadness that Zeb didn’t know how to deal with. He moved his eyes to avoid the confusion and spotted his whistle beside the frame.

  He nodded decisively. He couldn’t forget his whistle. Now that his father was gone, there was no one to stop him playing on the boat if he felt like it. He scooped it up and tucked it into the duffel bag with grim satisfaction.

  “Just try to stop me,” he said to the photo of his father.

  Zeb hadn’t closed the curtains of his window yet, and the moon peeked in. Between buildings, the ocean glittered with moonlight. Zeb gazed at it with indecision. He should go to bed soon. It was late.

  But a swim would feel so good right now. It took only two minutes to walk to the water’s edge from his place. He could swim to his favorite haunts and still be back in an hour, if he left now.

  The door closed behind him a minute later.

  CORRIE

  Corrie woke early, with the sun peeking through her closed blinds. Why was she awake already? A tingling of fear and excitement in her stomach reminded her before her brain did.

  Today was the day she would go to sea.

  She leaped out of bed and dashed to her closet.

  An hour later saw her driving the department truck with a yawning Daniel beside her and equipment in the back. She pulled into the marina’s parking lot, found a rolling cart, and started to load her equipment in.

  “What if I’ve forgotten something?” she said when Daniel joined her.

  “Relax.” He carefully placed a large plastic container on the top of the cart. “You’re in charge. Just tell the captain to turn around and come get it. This is your party.” He wiggled his fingers for the tr
uck keys. “Good luck.”

  When Daniel drove away, Corrie gazed after the truck, feeling a little lost. Then she took a deep breath and grabbed the cart’s handle with a firm grip.

  “This is my party,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

  The marina was quiet in the early morning. Metal shackles clanked against the masts of sailboats, the sound a gentle beat to punctuate the wail of a seagull in the distance. The thumping rumble of Corrie’s cart sang along.

  At the end of dock five, voices carried in the still air. Corrie slowed beside the Clicker until Zeb popped his head out.

  “Corrie! Morning.” He leaped over the bulwark with practiced ease and took a plastic container off the top of the cart. He yelled toward the boat. “Jules! Come give me a hand.”

  Another young man, about Zeb’s age, climbed out of the hold and wiped his hands on a greasy rag. His blue eyes lighted on her. He shook shaggy hair out of his face.

  “So, this is our resident scientist.” He looked her over. “I always picture scientists with glasses and crazy hair.”

  “And I always picture deckhands with gray beards and tiny pipes,” she shot back. “Looks like we’re both disappointed.”

  Zeb snorted but tried to smother it. Jules grinned.

  “I don’t bring my pipe out on the first day.”

  “Jules!”

  A tall, lithe woman with Zeb’s olive complexion topped with short black hair came out of the cabin and swatted Jules’ head hard enough to make him wince.

  “Ow, Krista.”

  Krista glared at Jules, then hopped over the bulwark to shake hands with Corrie.

  “Hi, Corrie. I’m Krista, and I’m here to keep these idiots in line.”

  Corrie grinned and shook Krista’s hand.

  “Thanks, Krista.” She leaned forward and mock-whispered loud enough for Jules to hear. “But between us, he doesn’t look too intimidating.”