I wanted to press him right then and there—to sort out all of the things that had haunted me throughout my life—but I stopped myself short. First, I needed to get to know him as he currently was, then I would work backward through our perceived differences and injustices in an attempt to mend what had so long appeared to be broken. Sensing my hesitation, he continued on as if he knew my thoughts.
“Aesa, would you like to bring some food up for us both? We could have a private dinner. It's been a long time since we've eaten together—as a family.”
“Absolutely. I'll go get it now.” I jumped out of my chair and made my way down the deep and narrow stairwell that led to the galley below. I needed the escape far more than I could have imagined, feeling a tear escape the corner of my eye as I reached the bottom of the stairs. Not wanting the others to see, I quickly wiped it away, drawing my sleeve across my cheek before proceeding into the kitchen area where the crew was lively, full of energy and hopes for a speedy and profitable season.
“Need something?” Robbie asked, his mouth full of the chicken they had prepared.
“Dad just asked me to bring him some food. I'll just fix plates for him and me and get out of your way.”
“Aren't you going to join us for dinner?” the young greenhorn asked, smiling wide. His cocky attitude was still intact, but there was a playful undertone to it that hadn't shone through before.
“You scalawags? That seems highly unlikely, you know, for a captain's daughter,” I replied, keeping the grin that wanted to escape well hidden. My dry approach wiped his expression clean in a hurry. The immediate blankness that overtook his face made me crack, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud. “I'm kidding. I promised Dad I would eat with him. I haven't seen him in a long time. He thought it would be nice . . . to have a family dinner, of sorts.”
“A long time?” Robbie asked with a raised brow. “That's a wee bit of an understatement, Aesa, wouldn't you say? Nine years is damn near a decade.”
“Glad to see you paid attention in math class, Robert,” I replied, heading to the stove to pull two plates out of the cabinet above.
“I pay attention to a lot of things, Ice. Don't get it twisted.”
“Then you know how much I hate that nickname, Robbie,” I volleyed back, heaping food onto my father's plate.
“I sure do,” he purred.
I turned to find him eyeing me tightly, not willing to say what was truly on his mind. He had spent the time I was away with my father. Surely he had heard things that led him to believe I was in the wrong for fleeing to the lower forty-eight and living my life as I saw fit. Robbie and I were going to need a little time alone so I could find out exactly what those things were.
“Ice, huh?” the greenhorn repeated, thinking he'd just gained leverage of some kind over me. He would soon find out that he had nothing of the sort. While the others either put their heads down and ate or watched with curiosity, I wheeled around, spatula in hand, to confront the newbie.
“The only ice you'll be talking about on this trip is the kind that you'll be beating off the side of the boat if the weather takes a nosedive, understand? My name is Aesa, pronounced Ice-ah. Not Ice. Not Aye. Not anything other than the name my mother gave me the day I was born.”
“I was just pulling your leg—”
“What's your name, kid?”
“Brad.”
“Great. Let me fill you in on a little something, Brad. I'm the go-to girl around here for meals and the medic when you're hurt, because it's not an 'if' but a 'when' you’ll need my help. If I were you, I would do my best to stay on my good side. Calling me Ice will be highly counterproductive in that endeavor, got it?”
He stared at me blankly, as if he wasn't quite certain how to proceed. The others, however, roared with laughter. All but one. Prison Tats seemed unimpressed by my rant and certainly didn't find anything humorous about it. He was staring me down coldly, and it made my skin start to crawl.
“Wow, Aesa. You really welcomed him to the boat,” Robbie added, quickly silencing the others in the room.
I shrugged in response.
“Like you guys are going to coddle him,” I retorted, knowing full well that after a long push without food or sleep, they would be all over him like ugly on a gorilla. I was just pointing out the obvious. Most greenhorns cracked under the pressure. Either the job was too grueling or the scorn they endured from the crew too great—he was soon going to find out one way or another. I just hoped whatever physical injuries he sustained in the process were manageable with my small medical kit and whatever else my father had on board to deal with an emergency.
“I'm going upstairs,” I announced, turning away from the crew to take my father his meal and hopefully eat mine in peace. Robbie had picked at some wounds that I was not expecting to deal with so soon, and especially not from him. It was easy to forget that he'd known me so long and so well that he would be comfortable calling me out without thinking twice.
I carried the plate up the stairs to the wheelhouse to find my father where he would spend the majority of the trip. The captain of a fishing vessel gets little rest, and, though his job was not physically taxing, it was a test of mental fortitude and endurance. It also required massive amounts of caffeine, nicotine, and various others things to help them through their sleepless nights, grinding through their gear (as the fishermen called it), for hours on end without stopping.
“I brought you some food,” I said upon entering.
“Thank you.”
Silence fell heavy between us as he ate and drove. I was content to just acclimate to his presence again while I poked around at my meal, not needing to fill the near quiet with idle chatter. There was no way to even try making up for years of disdain and distance in one evening, so it seemed futile to try. Instead, I sat across the tiny room from him and stared out at the black night as it bled into the sea, painting her the villain in all her darkness. I questioned why I had agreed to come and face her when she had taken so much from me, but deep down I knew the answer. Regret was something I couldn't bear—couldn't abandon. If she was going to eventually take my father from me too, she would do it after I'd done all I could to mend that which was so very broken. That was all I could do.
And an outcome I could live with.
5
Seasons on the Bering Sea are a bit of an illusion. Typically the weather ranges anywhere from awful to horrific, but that particular morning the sun was high in the sky, warming the faces of the crew as they prepared to launch the first pots of the string. It would take them hours, but it was nice to see them catch a break. The favorable conditions gave them a collective sense of hopefulness—a good omen, as it were.
Knowing that days like that were a blessing one couldn't overlook, I suggested to my father that I should go down and help out on deck, preparing the bait with Brad, the greenhorn. He seemed pleased with my enthusiasm, not realizing that I merely saw it as an excuse to enjoy the sun, and gave his permission. It only took me minutes to gear up and join the boys outside.
“Well, well, well . . . ” Robbie drawled as he worked the hydraulic system, or hydros, as they called them. “Looks like the Norwegian princess has decided to grace us with her presence on the Norwegian Queen's deck.”
“And I will promptly return to the galley if you're going to keep this up the entire time,” I shot back at Robbie, doing my best to mask the smile that threatened to foil my annoyed tone.
“Relax, Ice. I'm just giving you shit. It's what we do out here, remember? You should know that.”
“I do.”
“Are you going to help out?” he asked for clarification, never taking his eyes off of the hook he was guiding to the stack of pots at the far end of the ship. Dangers abound on the deck of a crabbing vessel, not the least of which is the crane and its hook. One wrong move and he could have knocked another crewmember off the stack, overboard, or just smashed their skull with a single miscalculation. It was far from an easy job, and R
obbie treated it with the utmost respect. It's why my father had allowed him to do the job, even at a relatively young age.
“No,” I quipped. “I thought I would just lay out on the deck and get a tan while I'm on this luxury cruise ship.” He stopped the crane momentarily to hazard a glance at my expression. I gave him nothing to go on.
“Get your ass to the bait box,” he ordered with a wicked grin. “You smell too good to be on a crab boat. We need to remedy that ASAP.”
“Yes, boss. Right away.” I nodded briskly to my superior, then made my way over to Brad at the baiting station. He could hardly contain his excitement. Greenhorn was synonymous with “low man on the totem pole” and got little to no respect on a ship. They had to prove themselves at every turn, all while catching grief from those around them for never being fast enough, prepared enough, or whatever other affront could be hazarded in their direction.
Brad seemed overly happy at the notion of having company.
“Looks like it's just you and me, Aesa,” he said, tossing a thirty-five pound block of frozen fish into the grinder.
“And the other four on deck.”
“Yeah, but they're busy doing real work,” he lamented, reaching for the scoop to mix the freshly ground bait around in the box.
“If you can manage to keep up, do your job, and not get killed in the process, you might just get to do real work around here too one day,” I countered, knowing that my father rewarded loyalty and a strong work ethic. Though there were times I was loath to admit it, dad himself possessed those qualities in spades. I clearly inherited them from him.
Brad looked at me thoughtfully for a moment then thrust a plastic container into my hand.
“If you can fill them, I'll hang them in the pots. I don't think Robbie would approve of you hanging bait. It's too dangerous.”
“Possibly, but I'm smaller and thinner than you. Who do you think would have an easier time getting in and out of them?”
“Your dad won't like it either,” he added, looking concerned.
“My dad was thrilled that I wanted to come out here and help. He'll probably pee himself with excitement when he sees me jumping into the pot,” I argued, stuffing ground-up fish into the bait container while Brad hooked a whole cod and hung it along the wall, ready to grab and place both inside the trap before launch.
“Should we ask Robbie? Maybe get his permission first? Your dad did put him in charge of you.”
“I think I'd prefer to watch him have a mild heart attack, if you don't mind. He's been the cause of many of mine throughout his life. I think he could use a little payback.” Brad still looked nervous. Robbie was lowering the pot onto the launcher while we continued to argue over who would actually do the baiting. “I tell you what. I'll hang the first one, and, based on how terribly he freaks out, we'll see who does the next. Deal?”
“And you won't throw me under the bus if he gets pissed?” he asked for clarification.
“I won't need to. You'll get blamed for everything that happens on the boat anyway,” I replied with a sly smile.
I received one in return.
“Okay. But I think he's going to lose his shit.”
“He will,” I agreed, pleased with myself that, for once, Robbie, the eternal prankster and class clown, would be getting played himself.
“Brad!” the crew yelled, alerting us to the fact that it was time to put our little plan into action. I collected all the necessary accoutrements and made my way over to the pot that was locked into the launcher.
“Oh, no,” Robbie squawked from behind his control panel. “What in the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Keep your pants on, Robert,” I tossed back at him as I shimmied my way up into the pot on my back.
“Get out of there before you hurt yourself, Aesa. I mean it.”
“I'll be done in a second; in fact, I would have already been done by now if you'd pipe down and let me do my job.”
Seconds later, I slid out of the eight-hundred-pound crab catcher and made my way back to the baiting station, walking by Robbie on my return trip.
“Don't try that again,” Robbie snarled in my ear, startling me slightly. “This isn't high school, Ice, and it isn't a game. People get hurt out here. You of all people should know that.”
“I know that perfectly well, Robbie,” I replied, wanting to be angry, but the fear and responsibility in his eyes wouldn't let me. “I just wanted to rile you up a bit.”
“Consider it accomplished.”
He turned abruptly and went back to his station at the hydros, launching the pot I had so expertly baited. After all the attached lines and buoys were thrown overboard, I felt the rest of the crew eye me from their various positions on the deck. Andy shook his head disapprovingly. Prison Tats, whose name was actually Damon, sneered, and Decker assessed me with a curious expression, as though he wasn't quite sure how to interpret what I had done. Maybe he was the only one smart enough to realize it wasn't the end of the world.
“Well, that didn't go very well,” Brad chided from behind me.
“I never thought it would go any other way,” I reassured him, returning to my place at his side. We worked like that for hours, stuffing bait containers and hanging cod, but, after my stunt, only he actually put anything in the pots. I didn't want to push Robbie any further. My point had been made.
“I think you should go in now,” Robbie said, his tone far more friendly than it had been the last time he'd spoken to me. “It's getting dark. I don't want you on deck when it is. It's not safe.”
“Okay,” I replied, finishing up with the container I was filling.
“We'll be breaking for food in an hour or so,” he continued, not so subtly hinting at something.
“Would you like me to get that started?”
“Yes. That'd be great. I'll send someone in to help you in a little while.”
“There's no need for that,” I argued, looking at him as I placed my finished task to the side.
“Yeah,” he protested. “There is. You have no idea how much food these guys are going to need. You need someone in there to be sure you make enough.”
“I don't suppose you'll send poor Brad in. He's getting pretty banged up already.”
“Hell no! I'm not cutting the greenhorn any slack.” His eyes roamed over the crew busy at work on the deck, assessing who he would pluck from their station to aid me at mine. “I'll send Decker down. He's usually the best in the kitchen anyway.”
“Whatever you want. You're the deck boss,” I said, feigning defeat. He didn't buy my charade for a second, his impish grin widening even further.
“Glad you're starting to acknowledge who runs things around here.”
“I'll see you at dinner, whenever that is,” I told him, walking off the deck before a smile broke wide across my face. It had been far too long—many years, in fact—since I'd had healthy banter with Robbie. He'd always been like an older, annoying brother to me while we were in school, and I never fully appreciated how much I’d enjoyed that. Getting to argue and bicker with him on deck reminded me.
A feeling of familiarity and warmth coursed through me as I stripped off my raingear below deck. I wanted to pretend that I didn't notice the feeling, but I couldn't. The reality that not everything about my life back in Dutch Harbor had been as terrible as I remembered it was seeping into my consciousness, tempting me to delve deeper into my memories. I physically shook off the idea, walking briskly toward the kitchen to rifle through the supplies and bang around in the cabinets. I felt conflicted. I hadn't intended to return and change how I felt about my home—my childhood. All I had wanted to do was attempt to repair things with my father. Remembering those happier memories threatened to complicate my original purpose for coming back, so I quickly immersed myself in another task, a distraction technique I had used since I was a child.
It worked as beautifully as it always had.
By the time I had everything perfectly organized and laid
out in front of me on the tiny prep space, I heard someone approaching from behind. I turned to see Decker smiling at me from a respectful distance.
“That is the most well-laid-out meal preparation this boat has ever seen. I guarantee it,” he noted.
“I like to have things in order.”
“I can see that,” he replied. A slight upward turn of his lips at the corners of his mouth suggested his amusement with me. “What exactly do you have planned for us to make?”
“Well, Robbie said you guys wouldn't be done for a while, so I thought I would make two pans of lasagna and let them cook while I worked on the vegetables,” I told him, indicating the separate sets of ingredients methodically positioned on the counter based on order of cooking.
“I'm not sure you need me at all,” he observed, taking in my operating-room-like precision.
“It's up to you,” I said casually, assessing him as he had me earlier on the deck. There was such a cool confidence in his demeanor, as though nothing fazed him because his self-assuredness trumped all. It could have been mistaken for cockiness, but I knew far too many men with actually inflated egos to have made that error. Medical school was filled with arrogant and entitled jerks who came across nearly the same way as he did, but there was a disingenuous note to their behavior that Decker lacked entirely. He didn't seem to care what I thought of him; nothing he did was for show. That was the biggest difference of all.
“So,” he started, keeping his eyes fixed on the squash he had started dicing into tiny pieces. “I'm guessing you meant to get Robbie's panties in a twist with your little maneuver today.”
“Possibly.”
“That really is a dangerous place to be, Aesa, even when the waves are mild. Just keep that in mind if you're planning to pull any more stunts in an attempt to give him an aneurysm.”
“You can't actually give someone an aneurysm,” I replied, quickly launching into a medical explanation of the impossibility of such an endeavor. I realized by the end of it that he had dutifully listened to my anatomical lecture without complaint, looking up at me on occasion with the most serious of expressions, forced or otherwise.
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