by Maribel Fox
“That?” I lean over to get a better look at the monitor, and when I do, I get a whiff of fresh sea air. Callie though, not the actual bay. There’s a difference in the scents. Hers is sweeter, brighter. The air outside right now is sharp, electric with storm potential. “That’s a rock,” I say, finally putting my brain back on track. She’s got me acting like a horny teenager all over again. Only this time I know I don’t have a shot in hell with her. Before I only assumed it. No doubts at this point in my life. Not after how we left things before.
How I left things.
“Oh,” she says, face falling, clearly disappointed. “That too, then?” she asks, pointing at another shape.
“Yep. The bay’s full of them. If you’re looking for a rock, I’d say you won’t have trouble finding one. Unless it’s a specific one…?” I ask, looking her way, gauging her for any kind of reaction. But there isn’t one. Callie’s focus stays on the screen, lips pursed tight now, eyes still shrewd, studious.
I don’t know a ton about what Callie does — as much as I’ve thought about her over the years and missed her, I knew better than to torture myself by constantly checking up on her. For the most part, I tried to let myself forget that Callie Seaver exists, only reminded when I’d run into her old man in town and we’d purposefully avoid making eye contact. It’s for the best. It’s worked out pretty well for me up until now.
Now I’m realizing that I don’t know her that well anymore, though. The person that I used to know better than anyone in the world — that knew me better than anyone — might as well be a stranger. Especially while we’re pointedly avoiding any acknowledgment of the past.
What I do know is that Callie’s into old stuff. Paleontology or archeology, anthropology? I don’t know. Some -ology. So I figure she’s looking for something out of place. Something man-made. Not just a random boulder. Maybe a shipwreck? I’ve heard there’s a few out here, but I’ve never gone looking for them, and never stumbled upon anything in my dives.
“It’s not a rock,” she says with a huff, eyes still glued to the screen though I get the feeling she’s tempted to take a break to glare at me. “I mean… I don’t think it is. I don’t know, Miles. I told you I’ll know it when I see it, and I haven’t seen it yet.”
She licks her lips, a tell she feels guilty for snapping even though her expression doesn’t change a bit.
I might not know what she does, but I still know Callie. I can still read her, and she’s nervous. About me? About searching for stuff? I don’t know; that’s all I’ve got. I feel like a joke might lighten the mood a little, but I’m not great at that kind of thing. Jokes or lightening the mood. If I tried to make a joke now, I’d probably piss her off more, and being on a boat in the middle of the bay with an infuriated version of my first love is not something I put on my to-do list today.
Not that I make to-do lists. That’d imply I know what I’m doing at any given point. Which clearly, this whole excursion has proved otherwise.
“That,” Callie says, straightening up, shoulders back, her index finger pointing. A big wave rolls under us, and Callie stumbles, casting a wary look towards the water from the cabin. She swallows, looking a little paler before that laser-focus is back on the sonar. “What’s that?”
“It’s… moving?” she murmurs, head tilted.
“A whale,” I say after squinting for a minute. Not often they come this far into the bay, but the storm might’ve brought him.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I’m not… Look.” I take her shoulder and spin her toward the window just in time to see the spray burst from the surface, diffused sunlight shimmering in a dim prism. Callie gasps, transfixed. That’s all the evidence we get of the whale’s presence until the boat rocks under us and she stumbles again — no sea legs on this one at all — but I’ve still got a hand on her shoulder, so she doesn’t go anywhere.
That does break the spell, though, and she pulls away from the window, blinking at me before her eyes lock on my hand and I get the message, pull away, both hands back on the wheel like the well-behaved professional charter captain I promised to be.
“I’ve never seen one of those out here before,” she says, her voice a little hushed, still in awe.
“Don’t remember you ever wanting to go out on the water before,” I say, trying not to make a face, but I know I fail. Callie and I were always similar in a lot of ways — our love of the ocean for one — but that’s where I never understood her. She couldn’t get past the beach most of the time, even with all this out here for us to explore. Her dad really did a number on her.
“Yeah…” she mutters, licking her lips. She’s still looking at the sonar monitor, but there’s a glazed disinterest creeping in. Disappointment settling in after a couple of hours of not finding anything. I know it’s not technically my fault that there’s nothing to show for all our time out here, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty. There’s not much I can do — I can’t just make whatever Callie’s looking for appear — but I feel compelled to help. Sitting idly by while she gets more and more despondent isn’t an option.
I can’t bear it.
“How about I get suited up and take a look around under the water? Maybe there’s some stuff down there that the human eye will pick up that sonar’s missing.”
“Miles, you don’t have to—” she starts to protest, but she’s not fully invested in it. There’s no telling what I’m looking for, or if we’re even close to the right spot — assuming it’s down here to begin with — but what else have we got? At least if I go under, Callie can have a few minutes alone to work through her disappointment without me looming over her shoulder.
“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” My attempt at reassuring her doesn’t do a whole lot. She looks past me, to the choppy water, the dark sky, clouds rolling in thick and menacing. If I’m going to do it, it needs to happen now before the weather gets too bad.
“Is it safe to dive with all that?” she asks, gesturing.
I shrug. “Of course. I’ll only be down for a few. Take a quick look around for anything that might stand out. What could it hurt?”
Callie licks her lips, drawing her teeth over the bottom one before she finally nods. “Fine. Okay. But just for a couple minutes? Those clouds look nasty.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to shore before it’s too bad,” I promise, already reaching for my suit. Technically, I don’t even need the thing — the cold doesn’t bother me, and I can breathe and see underwater just fine — but it’s good for show. Can’t have people asking too many questions. Especially not people as smart as Callie.
Being what I am doesn’t protect me from storms, but I was serious about only being down for a bit. I think it’ll make us both feel a little better to have put in that extra effort, even if it doesn’t amount to anything.
“Don’t take too long,” Callie says, chewing on her bottom lip as I heft myself over the railing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s worried about me. More likely she’s worried about her captain not being able to get her back to shore. It’s not that Callie’s a heartless bitch, it’s just that… Well, I deserve whatever bad thoughts she has about me. We’ll leave it at that.
Under the water, I’m a new man. The chains of dry land, the shackles of gravity are shed, and I’m able to move that way that feels natural to me. The water’s near freezing, but the cold doesn’t bother me; I’m aware of it, but not sensitive to it. Same with the murky cloud of silt that sits on the bottom, raising halfway to the surface in places. I can tell that it’s dense and I shouldn’t be able to see, but I can. It’s not the most useful supernatural power, but it’s mine and I don’t think I’d trade it.
Well… Maybe, but that’s beside the point.
While I’m down in the muck and cold, I take a closer look at some of the shadows we saw on the sonar, getting a better picture of the kinds of rocks down here.
They’re rocks. I don’t know
what to say about them. There’s nothing special, no cave paintings or hieroglyphics chiseled in. Weirdly, though, I feel like I should care about this one big rock. It seems like there’s something different about it.
There isn’t though. I look it over and over, spending more time than I should studying it for something worth bringing back to Callie. But it’s ordinary. Despite the feeling deep down inside that there’s something special here, there’s nothing to indicate this rock is abnormal. It’s covered in barnacles and slimy moss. There’s a snail claiming territory near the bottom, and that’s the extent of interest this rock has to provide.
I don’t know why it stuck out to me. Probably desperate to not come back empty-handed. I don’t want to think about the sad look Callie will give me when I surface with nothing new to share.
Staying down here longer probably isn’t the right answer either, though. Not right now. Not today when she’s up there anxious to get back. I told her I wouldn’t be long, and I’m going to keep to my word.
I angle up and start making my way toward the shadow of the boat in the distance, taking one last look down at the random rocks and plants littering the bay floor. There’s litter, too — a bottle here, an aluminum can there, normal trash from the beach that was forgotten or washed away. A sparkle of blue catches my eye, brighter than the water, glittering in the filtered light.
It’s a sparkly rock. Not quite a gem, maybe a crystal of some kind? The kind hippies use in their decor. Whatever it is, it’s pretty, and small enough to tuck in my palm as I head back up. It’s not an artifact or anything of significance, but who doesn’t like shiny things? Maybe it’ll at least get a smile out of Callie.
5
Callie
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, clinging to the railing as wave after wave rocks the boat under my feet.
Miles has been under water forever. Too long. I know he’s a professional, but even pros have to come up some time, don’t they? And with this inclement weather… I’m not sure Miles would be honest with himself about his abilities. Could he have put himself into more danger than necessary?
What are you so worried about? He’s a big boy.
The internal reminder sparks a little ball of heat in my center. I want to still be furious with Miles for everything, but it’s hard. It’s hard to ignore the familiar way he rakes his fingers through his hair, the shimmer of warmth in his dark brown eyes when he looks at me for a second longer than normal.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so concerned for his safety, but he wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for me, so my knuckles stay white on the railing, jaw clenched against every rolling wave.
“What’s taking you so long?” I grumble. Maybe he’s found something. I shouldn’t be so impatient. These things don’t happen quickly. Searches like this notoriously take weeks, months, years. I don’t expect Miles to find anything our first day out here, but the amount of time he’s taking keeps the ember of hope glowing.
The clouds cast a pretty deep shadow though. Earlier today the wind was crisp and swift, strong, but not as menacing as it is now. Gusts are getting violent enough to tip the boat — and me with it — and I don’t know how much longer it’s safe for us to be out here. What if Miles doesn’t come up before the storm breaks and I’m left up here alone?
It seems like it’s been hours since he’s gone down there, and there’s a feeling in the bottom of my stomach that he’s not coming up. Everything I’ve been told about the ocean is true: it’s dangerous, unpredictable, and it’ll take away the people I care about.
My throat tightens at the thought, memories trying to clamor in through present-day worry. Before I’m swept away down that path, there’s a splash, different than the waves lapping against the hull. I fling myself across the deck to the other side of the boat, spotting Miles’ dark hair clinging wetly to his scalp, water rolling down his face and neck.
“There you are!” I cry, looking around for a rope or something to help him up with.
“Wasn’t gone that long, was I?” he asks, hauling himself up handholds attached to the side of the boat.
“Long enough,” I mutter, arms folded over my chest as I send a wary look to the near-black sky. “Find anything?”
Up on deck, dripping and catching his breath, Miles starts to peel out of his wetsuit and it takes a lot for me to look away. It clings to him like a second skin, outlining muscles I didn’t know he had — he definitely didn’t have them before — making me wonder what other secrets Miles has developed since we’ve seen each other last.
My mouth goes dry watching him wrestle with the suit, his muscles flexing and stretching, his skin golden tan even in the cool gray light. I know I need to look away before he catches me ogling, but he’s far more attractive than any normal person has a right to be. Especially when that person is someone I’m still angry with. Why couldn’t he have grown a beer gut and a receding hairline?
“Nothing you’re interested in… Got you a souvenir though,” he says, holding his hand out for me.
I frown and open my palm to accept whatever it is, worried it’s going to be a crab or something.
No pinching crabs or gross slugs. It’s just a rock. A shiny blue rock, but a rock nonetheless. It’s smooth like glass, hefty for its small size, and jagged around the edges.
“What is it?” I ask, turning it over in my hand. Maybe it’s some kind of abalone or mother of pearl. A natural thing I don’t recognize and he’s trying to impress me with.
“It’s a pretty rock. If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it,” he says, thrusting his fingers through his hair to shake out excess water. There’s a huge puddle on the deck surrounding his wetsuit, and right now he’s in nothing but swim trunks and I’m trying my best to stay focused on the rock.
A little smile creeps in despite everything else. Miles seems defensive of his pretty rock. I close my fingers around it.
“You like pretty rocks do you?” I ask, teasing a little. I know I’m mad at him, and I know this is staying strictly professional, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice, right?
Dangerous waters, Cal.
“Who doesn’t?” Miles answers without missing a beat, without blinking. It’s a completely serious, no-nonsense answer. Of course it is, coming from him. He’s never really been the kind for sarcasm or joking. Other guys might try to play coy about liking something so glittery, but Miles has more than enough confidence to admit it. He’s not the kind of guy who’d mince words trying to talk around it either. Definitely not a politician; if I asked Miles the questions that have been plaguing me since we were teenagers, I’m sure he’d give me an honest and straight-forward answer.
But that’s part of why I can’t ask him. I don’t know if I can handle that level of truth. Not even after all these years.
“It’s probably nothing, but I’ll try to find out what kind of rock it is, you never know…” I say, pocketing the blue stone as another wave rocks the boat.
“We should get back to shore,” Miles says, buttoning the flannel shirt he left behind when he put on the wet suit. It’s bittersweet to watch him cover up his surprisingly-defined muscles, but it’s for the best. I’ve gotta keep my head on straight, eye on the prize. No distractions.
Rain drizzles steadily enough to make us both retreat to the captain’s cabin, shoulder-to-shoulder, the radio crackling with faint, unintelligible conversations. Waves make getting back to dock difficult, and there are a couple of close calls when I’m sure Miles is going to ram the rocks, but miraculously, he manages.
Once the boat’s anchored and tethered, it feels like we both let out a breath, and I realize neither one of us has said anything since we started back for shore.
“Made it back in one piece,” Miles says, tending to ropes and sails. I don’t know the first thing about boats, but he looks competent. And busy.
“Yeah… Thanks for that. So—”
“Let’s stick with a lesson tomorrow,” he says before I’m able to
start tripping over myself. “See you at my place?”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, my voice higher than normal. I slip going down the gangway, but manage to stay upright with the railing, only wrenching my shoulder a little in the process. I look back to see if Miles witnessed all that before I wince and turn back toward the beach.
Why is it that I turn into a stumbling, clumsy mess around him?
Blame it on the water. Even on solid ground I can still feel the waves moving under my feet, making my steps staggered and wobbly. I need to walk this off before I head back to the B&B or I’ll be getting questions about where I’ve been drinking and why I’m cheating on Rue.
Walking along the beach right now is a good idea anyway with the way the bay’s churning under this storm. Maybe something new and exciting has washed up on shore. I’ll never know until I look.
It’s still drizzling lightly on the beach, but the darkest clouds are offshore, and the wind here is calmer. I take my shoes off, holding both in one hand, the blue rock in the other. Sand squishes up between my toes, waves lapping up over my ankles, sending goosebumps up my arms and me scurrying further away from the chilly tide. My eyes are trained to the sand, but I’m not really focused on looking for anything. For once, I’m in the moment, feeling the dampness in the air, smelling salt and seaweed, my skin cold, my feet moving on autopilot.
“Ninja! Ninja come back here!” a little boy yells from down the beach. There’s a black blur of a dog sprinting along the rocks until it finds a hidden tide pool with a loud splash.
“Ninja, be careful!” the kid yells, following after his dog. I’ve seen him before. I’m pretty sure he lives at the B&B, the owner’s kid or brother or kid brother. Not something I paid a ton of attention to, to be honest, but he’s not alone — besides the dog, I mean. The other kid is with him — Nora. Nora spots me right away and grins with a little wave. I give her a half-wave back, hoping that’s not the invitation she needs to come over.
“I have treats,” Nora says, to the boy or the dog, I’m not sure.