“Dr. Adaire is an expert in orthopedics. It would be in your best interest to at least consider his recommendations after he see the images of your arm.”
“You give me way too much credit, Cristina. I rarely, if ever, do what’s best for me. I oddly enjoy throwing caution to the wind.”
I pressed my lips together tightly in disapproval.
“It says in your file that you’ve been working against medical advice.” He grinned at me, clearly pleased with the record of his recklessness. He offered no explanation or defense for his choice. “Okay then,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Let’s get this started, shall we?”
“Whatever you say, Cris. You’re the boss.”
“You’ll need to remain still through the procedure,” I explained as I began to arrange his arm gently on the table. Once the correct position was achieved, I stepped back to give it a final look. Satisfied, I turned to face him, giving him his final instructions. “If you need anything, just call. We’ll hear you in the other room.”
“Will do,” he quipped, flashing another smile my way.
I left the room in a hurry, not wanting to wait for whatever flippant response he might throw my way. But, to my surprise, one never came. Not even as the door shut behind me or when I went back to the control panel. He didn’t make a sound. He laid there patiently, still as could be. I started wondering if perhaps I had misjudged him. And then, with five minutes left in his scan, he broke the silence.
“So, tell me something, Cris. What does one do to have fun in Anchorage?”
“Nothing. Don’t talk unless it’s pertinent, please. Motion will complete ruin the quality of the images.”
“I’m not talking with my shoulder,” he retorted.
“No, but if you were to laugh or become stressed, that would cause minor movements.”
“I don’t seem to be in jeopardy of laughing anytime soon,” he mocked. “And I’m a low stress kinda guy, so . . . ”
“You work on a crab boat. There are few jobs more stressful than that,” I replied, unable to walk away from such in incongruous statement.
“True, but I like it. The danger doesn’t weigh on me.”
How nice for you . . .
The bitterness I felt at his declaration was hard to stifle. It took everything in my power to not make a snide remark over the intercom. By God’s grace, I managed.
When silence fell, I could practically see him thinking of what to say next. His displeasure with the sudden silence was plain. When he finally found something to ask me, his choice of topic took me by complete surprise.
“So, Cristina. Since you won’t tell me what there is to do in Anchorage, why don’t you show me? Tonight. We can start with dinner and go from there.”
It took me a second to process his request. It was not as if I hadn’t been hit on at work before, but, even though he had the cocky, I-know-I-look-amazing swagger, he didn’t seem to be an asshole. It was oddly refreshing, but hardly enough to make me consider his offer.
It seemed I didn’t need to, though.
“Sounds great. She’ll go,” Pam blurted out over the intercom on my behalf. When I leaned toward the microphone to reverse her commitment and tell him no, she swatted me away and continued. “She’ll meet you for dinner at eight at The Crab Shack. You seem like a resourceful guy. You should be able to find it easily.”
“Excellent,” he purred in response. “And thank your assistant for me, Cris. She has great taste.”
I completely lost my mind, pulling Pam away from the intercom button so I could chew her out without an audience.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growled. “What in the hell was that?”
“That was me securing you a date with a hot guy. What did it sound like?”
“Why would you do that?”
“It’s a date, Cris, not an elopement. I didn’t agree to sell you into the sex trade. I agreed, on your behalf, to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less—though I hope it turns into a little more,” she said, turning her gaze toward the room he was in. “That’s one fine piece of ass . . . . ”
“Pam!”
“What? I’m married, not dead,” she protested. “Besides, you need to get out more. All you do is work and hole up in your apartment. It’s not healthy. You need to get out, be young. Do stupid things like sleep with really attractive fishermen who will be heading back out to sea.”
“You need to tell him I’m not going,” I told her, pinning my nastiest glare on her.
“Tell him yourself,” she said with a sigh, sliding the mic toward me. “But you’re making a huge mistake.” Her expression became one of regret and sadness for a moment before returning to her original resigned detachment. She then continued on, “You have to live life while you have it, Cris. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.”
As if I needed to be reminded of that.
Pam quickly exited the panel room and disappeared for the rest of my shift.
“Ay dios mio . . . ,” I muttered under my breath just as the beeping sound in the other room alerted me to the completion of his CT scan. “The table is going to move. When it finishes, you can sit up,” I instructed from the security of my booth. I did not want to go in there to face him, but I had no choice. Professional responsibility called.
When I stepped the exam room, I found him sitting on the edge of the table, smiling again.
“So . . . eight o’clock?”
His words were less of a question and more of a peace offering, the tone in his voice indicating he knew I was less than pleased with Pam’s ambush. It seemed that he was giving me an opportunity to withdraw from the arrangement, which, ironically, gave me pause. I didn’t want to go out with him, or anyone else for that matter, but his no bullshit approach was strangely refreshing. That, combined with Pam’s warning, made me question if, for once, I should take a risk. Live a little. Be young and potentially dumb.
Then Mateo’s face flashed in my memory, reminding me of everything that could happen when you were young, naive, and in love.
“Yeah . . . about that,” I started, looking away from him as I busied myself with his chart.
“You can say no. It’s fine,” he said nonchalantly, surprising me even further. “Your friend really threw you under the bus in there. I’d probably slap her in the staff lounge if I were you.”
His words jarred me from the file, and I looked up to see him smiling devilishly. His eyes twinkled with mischief. Before I could stop myself, a chuckle escaped me. Something about the image of me smacking Pam around next to her locker was so ridiculous, yet oddly satisfying, that I just couldn’t help myself.
And in that tiny moment of pure happiness, I conceded.
“I’ll be there at eight.” That was my sole reply, after I had again tucked my emotions back behind the impassive façade I normally maintained. There was no “I’m looking forward to it” or “I can’t wait.” All I gave him was confirmation of my presence at the restaurant that evening, followed by my orders for his discharge and the need for him to schedule another appointment with the surgeon.
He didn’t look fazed by my apparent disinterest.
“See you later,” he said, taking his forms from me on his way out the door. Before the door closed, he looked back over his shoulder and gave me a playful wink. As soon as he was out of earshot, I exhaled heavily.
What has Pam gotten me into? I thought to myself.
chapter 2
Robbie
I drove home from my appointment with a smile on my face. Not in a million years would I have thought that she would have agreed to go out with me. Really, my original goal had only been to get a rise out of her—anything to crack her forced façade of professionalism. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen someone try so hard to look unpleasant―not even members of my crew after they were forced to work for twenty-four hours straight without sleep. They looked positively cheerful in comparison.
So, putting my boyish charm to good use, I tried t
o shock her. In the end, the one who was shocked was me. Granted, it was her friend who actually agreed to the date, but Cristina didn’t renege on it either, and I gave her every chance to. Hell, I practically canceled it for her. But, instead of jump at the chance to escape an evening with me, she confirmed her attendance, however reserved that confirmation may have been.
And then there was that smile.
Those five seconds when her walls cracked, then crumbled, exposed the most amazing laugh I had ever heard. Maybe because it was unexpected. Maybe because it made her face light up. Or maybe because the sound was sexy as hell, but all I knew was I wanted—needed—to hear that laugh again. And, moreover, I wanted to be the cause of it.
Needless to say, I was excited by our dinner plans.
I arrived at my hotel room and crashed on the couch. I had a few hours to kill, so I flipped aimlessly through the channels, trying to find something interesting enough to distract me while time slowly passed. I never did find a show to watch, but something else detained my attention: a phone call that I was hoping to avoid.
I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. I didn’t have the information that the boat owner was after—not yet, anyway—so I let the call go to voicemail and nervously awaited the flashing green light on my cell phone that would indicate I had a message waiting for me. It took a long time for it to show up, which was a shit sign for sure. Long messages were never good.
With a deep inhalation, I pressed the button that started the message. What seemed like a minute or two later, I exhaled. I had listened intently while he spoke about delivery dates, obligations to the crew, and, finally, an ultimatum: either I was back, ready to depart on the next voyage in two weeks’ time or I was out. He wasn’t about to risk any aspect of his multi-million dollar operation by taking a chance on a kid with a bum wing. Now was my time to either heal up or ship out, which made the results of my CT scan start to weigh heavily on my mind.
I hadn’t really taken the situation that seriously before. I was following up on the injury because I was ordered to, and, in fairness, my arm was increasingly bothering me. But I had never intended to really do anything about it other than pop some pills and deal. That’s what fishermen did—they pushed through the pain to get the job done. If this didn’t prove to be an option, I was sunk for sure. Unless my arm healed miraculously on its own in the next two weeks, I would be out of a job that I had wanted for as long as I could remember.
With that reality sinking in, I sat on the couch and stared at the TV, waiting for my date with Cristina, which I wasn’t so certain I wanted to go on anymore.
chapter 3
Cristina
From across the street, I waited in my car outside the restaurant, looking at Robbie sitting in the window. I expected to see a look of smug satisfaction on his face, but, instead, I found a pensive tension marring his boy-next-door good looks. Maybe, by some odd twist of fate, he didn’t really want to be here either. Were we playing a game of chicken to see who would flinch first? Odd as that thought may have been, it seemed possible in a bizarre way. Robbie was clearly more than what met the eye.
Against my better judgment, I got out of my car and made my way into The Crab Shack. When the hostess led me to his table, I watched him intently as we approached. The second he saw me, his expression lightened, making him look younger instantly, his trademark smile in full force. It was hard to focus on anything else when he turned on his charm.
But I knew better than to fall for a charming guy.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he said, looking to his watch. Little did he seem to know, I had been late on purpose; I wanted to make him sweat a bit to pay him back for his antics at the hospital.
“Fashionably late,” I offered in explanation as I peeled off my coat and draped it over my chair.
Our server came by only moments later and took our drink orders. Robbie ordered a draft beer. I ordered wine. Since I was already breaking my rules by going on a date in the first place, I figured I might as well throw caution to the wind entirely and have some alcohol. It was highly unlikely that Mateo would find me that particular evening. It had been a long time, and two cities ago, since he’d tracked me down.
“You look nice,” Robbie said, flashing me his grin. “It was worth the extra five minutes.”
“That wasn’t why I was late,” I clarified, taking a sip of water. “I was debating whether or not I should come in. I’ve been sitting in my car outside.”
“Interesting,” he purred, propping his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head on his hands. “What tipped the scales in my favor?”
“Curiosity,” I said curtly, offering no explanation beyond that.
“I see . . . ”
He continued to stare at me while I took yet another sip of water. I wondered if he would keep that up all night if I didn’t reply. My guess was that he would.
The waiter came back with our drinks, delicately setting them before us. I greedily snatched mine from the tabletop, needing to take the edge off, and quickly. Robbie seemed inclined to do the same, taking a long draw from the pint of beer he had ordered. Silence still hung heavily between us.
Then I cracked.
“So, this crab fishing thing,” I started, not knowing how else to break the ever-mounting awkwardness. “Is it a bunch of ruffians and scalawags smoking and drinking and fishing while sailing the seas? You know, yo-ho-ho and all that?”
He stopped mid-motion, his glass halfway to his mouth. He looked utterly stupefied by my assessment.
“We’re not pirates, for fuck’s sake,” he replied, taking another large swig of his beer. “We aren’t plundering and pillaging. We’re not looking for lost treasure. And, I can assure you, Johnny Depp is nowhere to be found on deck.”
I felt an urge to laugh growing. He’d taken my question seriously, but, then again, why wouldn’t he have? He didn’t know me—didn’t know if I was being genuine or not. For all he knew, I was some idiot girl who thought that Pirates of the Caribbean was a documentary on a seafarer’s life.
I tried to maintain my controlled expression, but eventually it gave way. The tiny amount of pain I saw in his puppy dog eyes did me in―I had gotten to him. The church-giggles soon escaped me, and I fought hard to keep them to a publicly acceptable level.
When he realized what I had done, he threw his napkin at me, nearly starting a small fire when it ricocheted off my face to land on the candle below. After a frantic splash of water from his water glass to extinguish it and excessive apologizing to the manager to not be thrown out, we laughed. Hard and loud. I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt, my face cramped, and I nearly peed my pants. Robbie’s face turned a bright red, and he didn’t breathe for what seemed like an eternity. Then tears ran down his face when he inhaled so deeply that he sounded like someone emerging from water after they’d been under too long.
“This is either the best first date ever or a total train wreck,” he wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. With the cuff of his sleeve, he wiped the tears away that had run down his cheeks during our collective outburst. There was something endearing about him when he did it, like he wasn’t afraid to really be who he was, even though he didn’t know me. There was no pretense, just him.
“Okay, so now that we’ve established that I have a rather dry sense of humor and you have a total lack of firefighting skills, can we go back to the crab fishing thing?” He looked at me dubiously. “In all seriousness, is that what you always wanted to do, or did it just kind of happen?”
“In all seriousness,” he mocked, his impish smile returning, “I’ve wanted to do this since I was a kid.”
“How did you ever get exposed to the career in the first place? It just seems like one of those professions that only few people know about, unless you grew up in a crab fishing town.”
“My dad was a crabber. I guess I just looked up to him.”
“Did you ever go out with him? To sea, I mean?”
“I was too young then.” I watched as his playful nature faltered for a moment, only to return a second later. “He left my mom and me before I could really learn anything from him, but . . . I still wanted to go. The day after I graduated from high school I was down at the docks looking for a gig as a greenhorn. A friend’s father brought me on, and that boat is where I stayed,” he said reflectively, appearing to relive the memories briefly. His playful demeanor slipped away again, and a sadness emerged momentarily in its wake.
“So, you’re still on his boat, but captain now? Did he retire?” I asked, finding myself quite taken with his story already.
“No. I’m running a different vessel.”
“Oh. Is that common? To jump around from ship to ship?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I left. I would have stayed, if I could have,” he replied, dropping his gaze to the flameless candle in the center of the table. “I wasn’t given that option.”
I could tell that there was subtext to what he was saying, but I didn’t want to pry. Lord knows that I could appreciate the need for privacy―for secrets. I had enough of them to last several lifetimes.
When I remained silent, he eventually lifted his eyes to meet my gaze.
“Crabbing is a hard and dangerous life, Cristina. Accidents happen. Ships sink. People die. That’s the lay of land for life at sea and the price we have to be willing to pay to play there. And I have known many fishermen who have paid with their lives.”
Anyone who knew how to recognize pain could have observed his. He was haunted by things he had seen and experienced in his time on the Bering Sea. His normally playful eyes now showed the ghosts that hid within him.
I had demons within me, too.
“Want to talk about something else?” I asked, desperate to change the subject and lighten the mood.
“Totally,” he agreed, reaching for his beer. “Something fun, or, better yet, something embarrassing!” His mischievous grin returned as he stared at me across the table. “You have to have some good stories from working in a hospital . . . spill. Did you ever puke on a patient with a really gnarly injury? Accidentally fondle one when you tried to maneuver him on the table? C’mon, Cris, I know you’ve got the goods.”
Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction Page 48