Familiarity tickled at the edges of Karl’s awareness, but he couldn’t place it. That gesture—Dan’s thumb circling his finger. Something about it niggled. Karl shook it away.
“Uh—I’m assigned to this room.”
“This room? Mine?” Karl’s insides lurched.
Dan rummaged through a pile of papers on the empty bunk. He folded one to a certain line of text and held it out. “Unless I read this wrong?”
Karl scanned it. His room number, all right. “Nope. You’re in the right place.”
He had space and accommodation for a roommate—an extra bunk and the desk that fit under it as well as several empty cubbies—but he hadn’t been assigned one in a while. He’d lucked out with various combinations of it being a small station and his being senior enough to get a pass when someone needed a roomie.
No way could the kid stay there, sleep in there, live so close to him.
Dan stared at him tensely and waited for Karl to say more. Something about Dan upended him beyond this stupidity. He couldn’t pin it down, but repressed anxiety or even anger lurked in Dan’s gaze. It was probably just nerves, the uncertainty of starting someplace new, and the desire to please.
Desire to please repeated in his head, and he all but punched his desk.
Goddammit. Karl pinched the bridge of his nose, turned on a heel to grab a haphazard mix of things, and edged past Dan into the hall. He didn’t like complications, so Dan would just not become one. The end.
“I was just about to shower. Make yourself at home.”
He caught a glimpse of Scobey loitering at the far end of the hall and growled in her direction. Lightning strobed to warp the hallway, and the afterimage of Dan’s form blurred his vision. In a literal clap of thunder, he left Dan and took a punishing, scalding shower, body numb and thoughts running wild.
DAN closed the door that Karl left open and leaned his forehead against it. He let out a long, slow breath and listened to the hammer of his rabbiting pulse.
Radin, his newly assigned roomie, the person he wanted to know the most and the last he wanted to meet. Standing in this room—all Radin’s—felt like entering established enemy territory.
Rooting through Radin’s things without having a bead on him had been a bad idea, but impatience won over better sense. At least he only got caught looking at the bulletin board. A clipped-out headline pinned to it, and it burned him, as did continued shock and the dislike he felt when Radin touched him.
A lot of dislike. He expected Radin to dislike him but not for it to affect him so much.
Dan flexed his fingers and pushed away from the door. It was a terrible decision to snoop, but he decided to take advantage of Radin’s absence and finish the job.
Three Ansel Adams posters dominated the wall on Radin’s side, stark black-and-white landscapes of mountains, ice, and running rivers. Dan liked them, and he liked Radin’s decision to keep the room relatively spartan, but that only meant they both appreciated no-frills and the great outdoors. The tall, narrow set of windows had no curtains, but the dark gray wall color wasn’t bad.
Rain lashed the metal siding and blurred the view, and the thunder was powerful enough to send tremors through the building. Dan flipped the overhead light on as the room continued to darken under the storm. What a start to already grim business.
He poked around in the dresser and then the bureau and found the expected socks, thermals, and just-so pressed uniforms. Then he squatted by the footlocker. A cloud of cedar wafted up from the line of sachets taped to the lid and the large carved wooden balls tucked in the bottom corners. Dan patted the items inside—wool blankets, a peacoat, empty rucksack—and savored the tingling, bright scent. But nothing there was of any use, so he snapped the footlocker closed and peered under the bed. Two clear plastic boxes and shoes. The boxes held notebooks and paperwork dated and filed for various incidents, but none from the day Dan wanted to see.
He grumped and clambered to stand carefully, so as not to disturb the perfectly made bed.
Field guides and a signal-flag glossary lined the bookstand on the desk. He ran his knuckle across the worn bindings and sighed. Not even a mystery or sci-fi mixed in. The desk drawers proved more interesting. Bulk-size bags of candy bars filled the bottom drawer, but Dan resisted taking one. Current files hung in the top drawer, and the center drawer was a surprising mess of pencils, pens, candy wrappers, an e-reader and its tangled cord, and a palm-sized plain black book.
Dan sat, tugged the rubber band from around the book, and flipped through the pages. Radin recorded brief notes about each day and daily weather conditions, and he included tiny illustrations, like a sun peeking from behind clouds or a lightning bolt and raindrops. There was another set of symbols that he couldn’t make out. It varied by day but repeated as the weeks went along.
He read several pages without thinking and then stopped short. It was ridiculous to feel like he was prying, given that prying was the objective, but he still shut the book, put the rubber band back on, and returned it to the drawer.
Maybe Radin kept a storage space or something, but Dan didn’t find any keys or receipts. He wouldn’t have time to run and find it today anyway.
He sighed and slid the drawer shut as he stood. The headline caught his eye again and blared in his brain like a claxon, like a whispered curse.
Rescue Swimmer Lost At Sea, Presumed Dead
Dan covered the headline with his hand, closed his eyes, and vowed again to find out why.
Chapter Two
KARL woke to the comforting, steady sound of the ocean. The storm had cleared, and the other bunk lay empty. He rubbed his eyes and lurched upright. Then he swung his feet to the floor and leaned forward on his knees before he could nestle back down. A few minutes after five, the sky barely light, and his thoughts had slowed to an unwilling crawl.
He hated mornings.
He squinted into the hallway, hit the head, and got dressed in the half-light of his room. If it weren’t for the assembly of tidily unpacked belongings, he’d be convinced Farnsworth—Dan, he thought unbidden, he liked Dan better—was a figment of his imagination.
They hadn’t seen much of each other after his hasty retreat to shower. Karl returned to a quiet room. Then he dressed and went to finish his day’s tasks and ended his evening having dinner with Scobey and Lang. There was no sign of Dan, who was apparently getting the grand tour of the station. Karl went to bed and fell asleep before Dan got back, and uncharacteristically, he didn’t hear anything after that.
His gaze dragged over the headline pinned to the bulletin board, and he frowned. It served as a reminder for him, and he wondered why Dan had stared at it so intently the day before.
The station buzzed with activity, and he avoided eye contact or greetings as he slunk down the hall to the mess. He could make coffee in his room, but why bother. Someone would have a pot on, and he wasn’t picky. Cup filled, he snagged a banana, steered himself to the back table, and slowly started to come online as he downed both.
The week’s duty roster was updated on the huge whiteboard on the opposite wall. He wasn’t on for another several hours, same as Farnsworth. Jameson saw fit to pair them for the week. A good call even if he was reluctant to admit it. They had to get to know each other to work together. Didn’t mean they had to be friends.
Karl washed his coffee cup and neatly avoided thinking about Dan.
“So, scared off the newb already, eh?”
Karl stacked the cup on the dish drainer and turned to lean against the counter. “What?”
Jenkins grinned, all smartassed and toothy, because he just looked like a smartass with his sharp, dark widow’s peak and deep-set eyes. And he was being one. “Worth.”
“Worth?”
“Yeah, Farnsworth. You see him? I don’t.”
“Okay, and?” Karl eyed the cup, still dripping water in the rack. He flipped it to his palm and got a refill.
“Well, he hied off an hour ago. We all figured,
yanno.”
Karl drank half his coffee and said, through an exasperated exhale, “No, I don’t know.” He scowled at Jenkins and made a go-on motion. “Where’d he hie off to?”
“He ran to town—and I mean just that.”
Heber crossed to the kitchenette from the doorway and readied mint tea in his ever-present travel mug. He’d always looked about twelve to Karl—tall, corn-fed, blond, and blue-eyed, an aw-shucks appearance that masked his steely determination and expertise to keep everyone under his care alive.
“God, Jenks, you’re such a jackass. You know Radin doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together yet.” Heber nodded at Karl. “Worth was up and at ’em over an hour ago and asked for the best route into town. I told him, and then next we know, he’s out the door and jogging. I called after him that if he wanted a ride I’d be off duty in time, but he waved and just kept going.”
“Ah. I can’t take credit for that.” Karl’s fingers twitched, itchy with the imagined pull of snagging his keys and taking off after. “Thanks.”
“Just looking out for your health.” Heber checked his watch. “But in three hours, I’m no longer medic in charge, so don’t look to me for help.”
Karl snorted and drained his coffee.
“What do you think of our new hotshot swimmer?” Jenkins wasn’t kidding anymore.
“Probably better than you, but that’s not really saying a lot. We’ll see.” Karl washed the cup again and shared a grin with Heber. “Catch you guys later.”
Heber lifted his tea, and Jenkins muttered something that didn’t sound like a polite goodbye. Without examining why, Karl decided to go after Dan.
Town was several miles from the station. Not an impossible distance by any means, but more than he would run. They might as well start getting to know each other. Meeting in town would make for a good icebreaker. Olive branch? Whatever.
In moments he had his keys, a towel, and two hoodies, and his chicken scratch on the sign-out. A chilling wind tried to push him back inside, so he paused in the small vestibule, pulled on one of the hoodies, and charged out with purpose.
Karl kept his ancient Jeep parked at the far end of the lot on an incline—made it easier to get going. He pumped the gas, popped the clutch, and cranked the engine. He repeated the process, and it fired up, loudly at first. Then it settled into its timing, and he eased off the clutch and got rolling.
It took longer than he anticipated to catch up to Dan, and he sweated the long moments thinking he’d gone off-road or fallen into the water or something. But, no. He steered around a fishhook bend and spotted Dan. His bright orange T-shirt stood out against the ocean mist and gray.
He slowed down and leaned over to unroll the window. “Going my way?”
Dan had maneuvered to the farthest edge of the narrow road, and Karl startled him.
“Sorry—c’mon, get in.”
Dan stared at him, and then recognition fired and won out over surprise. “Nah. I’m good, thanks.”
Karl kept pace. “Better if you just let me give you a lift. You’ve gone several miles, and it’s gonna rain. Last of the system that brought yesterday’s storm will whip through here, oh….” He peered past Dan over the water. “In about twenty minutes.”
“I mean it. I’m good.”
“Cold rain. Exposed to the heartless north Pacific—raging seas, wind, rain.” Karl yanked the Jeep to a stop and threw the towel out the window. His aim was true, and it wrapped around Dan’s head. “Just come on.”
Dan seemed to huff. Karl couldn’t be sure with the muffling effect of the towel, but then Dan’s shoulders sagged, and he climbed into the Jeep. He dried his matted hair and damp arms. Dan’s shorts had crawled up into his crotch, and Karl couldn’t keep from staring when Dan peeled his shirt off.
Their eyes met, and Karl held up a hoodie. “Uh, I brought this for you.”
“Thanks. You didn’t….” Dan stopped and shook his head. He put the hoodie on—it fit a bit tightly across the chest—and folded the towel over his bare legs.
Karl was still staring. He licked his lips, forced his gaze back to the road, and jammed the car into gear. “If you want it closed, you actually have to crank the window. Dry socks in the glove compartment.”
Dan didn’t respond, and they drove in silence, but after a few minutes he snapped the glove compartment open and changed his socks. Then he let out a little sigh of satisfaction that twinged every one of Karl’s nerves.
“Feel good?” he asked and then rolled his eyes. Dumb question. Dumb thickened voice. Dumb. “Take care of your feet, and they’ll take care of the rest.”
Dan smirked at the stock phrase they all heard over and over in service. “It does feel good. Thanks again.”
He smiled, and Karl saw the reluctance behind it and tried not to let that bother him. He saw more than nerves—a sadness, something lost about Dan’s expression. He hated that he noticed and the pang it caused in his heart. The nagging suspicion from last night returned, but he didn’t know what to be wary about.
Dan fiddled with a strip of worn paper, and something metallic flashed. He held the paper in his palm and went still. Unhappiness hung on him like a mantle.
Karl sighed. Vulnerability was catnip to him, as if he needed more to lock away and ignore about this kid. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get lost in it.
“Did you always want to be a Coastie?”
“Hmm?” Dan closed his fist around the paper and shoved both hands in the hoodie pockets. When he looked up, his eyes were clouded with questions and maybe a memory.
“I’m asking about your origin story. Small talk, you know?”
“Oh—oh. Yeah, more or less. For a while I thought I’d go pro surfing.” Dan shrugged. “I’m good, but not pro good. I’m one of those who swam before I walked and grew up on the coast with… someone who pushed me.”
“Into the job?”
The corner of Dan’s mouth lifted. “Kind of. It just felt natural to do. I’m a better swimmer than a surfer, and I love the thrill and challenge of the rescue. So here I am.”
Dan’s answer left a lot unspoken but Karl let it be.
“I grew up around here.”
“Yeah?” Dan’s voice warmed with interest, and he looked all around them at the beautiful, forbidding landscape.
Karl could almost hear his thoughts as Dan imagined what that childhood was like. Overall it was good, and Karl had no complaints about where he ended up.
“Yeah. Not many of us Alaskan-born Alaskans around. You’re lucky, kid—soak it up while you’re here.”
“You gonna show me the ropes?”
“Or if you give me trouble, tie you up in ’em.” Karl downshifted and swallowed when Dan turned to him, pupils tightening in focus.
They settled into an uneasy quiet. Heat spread from Karl’s groin to his chest, weakened his arms, and jumbled his thoughts.
“Well, here we are.” His voice cracked with relief as they passed the battered sign that welcomed them to town. “Is there somewhere particular I can drop you?”
“Anywhere is fine.” Dan’s arm jerked in the hoodie pocket, but he didn’t withdraw it. “I just wanted to get a look at Eider. Show myself around.”
Karl kept going into the center of town and pulled into EiderUp, the post office/small grocery/Army-surplus store. “This is almost the sum total of Eider, but have at.” He twisted to face Dan and propped his arm on the steering wheel. He could tell Dan didn’t want further company, but he wouldn’t leave Dan there, especially with afternoon duty looming. “I’ll meet you here in about an hour.”
“You don’t—”
“I will. Ropes, remember?”
Color dusted Dan’s cheeks, and Karl blinked, shifted forward, and killed the engine.
Dan slid from the Jeep and stood in the door. He wouldn’t meet Karl’s eyes as he fiddled in the hoodie pocket, and Karl pictured the strip of paper. He would have to keep the kid from ever joining in the poker nights at the sta
tion.
Then the rain he’d predicted began to patter on the cloth roof.
“Okay. I’ll be here.” Dan put his hood up, slammed the door shut, and walked away.
Karl listened to the rain and kept himself from watching Dan. He got a coffee at the everything store, caught up on the gossip, and sat reading in the Jeep. He mostly stared at the paper without comprehending the words, wondering what Dan was hiding and what he had really come to town to find.
DAN hunched into his shoulders and pulled the hoodie collar up over his nose. It smelled nice—fresh and spicy, like the room he stayed in. Like Karl.
He grunted and moved to stand under the eaves of the corner building. Getting a ride here and back to the station gave him a lot more time, and he was grateful for that and for the hoodie and the dry socks too. He watched Karl duck into the post office and hated how much he could like Karl, given the chance.
Dan checked his watch compass to get his bearings and started to jog west out of town.
Eider wasn’t much more than a clump of humanity stuck to a crossroads, and soon he was out of town and running past larger, spread-out, overgrown lots with camper shells attached to trailers, log homes, and a few A-frames. At the bottom of a hill, he found the springhouse alongside the road, and turned north and climbed a graded road.
He passed the cabin and had run a quarter mile to a dead end before he realized it. Dan slowed, looped back, and searched for the entrance. Eventually the curled-up ends of plywood jutting through the dying weeds at the road’s edge caught his eye, and beyond that, something like the shape of a house was covered in bramble and ivy.
The plywood bridged a metal culvert drain and led to a narrow pathway. Dan picked past a thorny patch, toed at the blunt front porch to be sure it was solid, and then tried the key in the padlocked door. It didn’t fit. Shock jittered up his arms, and he stepped back. He scanned the cabin, returned to the road to look it up and down, and checked his coordinates.
It was the right place. It had to be.
Staggered Cove Station Page 2