Sea Struck (Lupine Bay Book 3)

by Maribel Fox

  What the hell is she doing? There’s no way for me to get her attention if she’s not looking at me, and she’s focused on something else, heading toward the sandy bottom. I start to follow, scowling the whole time — doesn’t she know how dangerous this is? If I hadn’t looked back when I did, I might not have realized she went the other way until it was too late. Just when I’m near the bottom myself, she turns through the cloud of sand she’s disturbed and holds up a little pebble, sparkly and blue.

  It looks like the one I found out in the bay yesterday, but there’s all kinds of weird rocks and shells out here, pretty little trinkets and things that have washed in from all over. She looks proud of the rock though, and it erases any trace of annoyance still lingering. It’s good to see her smiling like that again. Looking proud.

  I gesture up again, and this time I don’t trust her nod. I wait for her to start ascending before I follow behind, watching the sunlight swallow her.

  I’m ready to start lecturing her the moment I surface, but Callie’s studying the rock in her hand with such a serious expression that I don’t feel right breaking into the moment.

  “Have you seen these around before?” she asks, turning it over in her hand.

  I shrug. “There’s rocks all over, Callie.”

  “Not like this,” she mutters, drifting toward the boat where she can cling to the handholds while looking at it closer.

  “Did you find anything in your research?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look it up yet,” she admits. “But if this stuff is here, that’s promising. Maybe I can find what I’m looking for without going into the bay proper.”

  There’s an obvious hopeful note in her voice and it makes me sad for her. No one should be this terrified of something so amazing and majestic. The ocean is the lifeblood of the planet, avoiding it like this just seems unnatural.

  “Can we do this again tomorrow?” she asks, not looking away from the shiny rock in hand.

  “Long as the weather’s good… relatively speaking,” I add, fingers slipping on the rain-slicked ladder.

  Callie’s distant as I try to debrief from the day and go over what I taught her about diving and water safety. She peels out of the wet suit, the bathing suit underneath not any better at keeping me from being distracted. But there’s no way Callie’s noticing my distractedness with her own going on. Eventually, I give up on trying to have a real conversation with her and sigh.

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Hm? Yeah, yeah, of course,” she mumbles as she wanders across the deck, nearly slipping before she gets to the gangway. Girl really needs to develop some sea legs if she’s going to be hanging around.

  Why do you think she is?

  I hate to admit it, but the mean voice in my head has a point. Callie’s back for this little treasure hunt of hers, but I’ve got no reason to think she’ll stay once she finds what she’s looking for. The faster we find that, the faster this whole thing is over.

  Is that what I want?

  The wind blows her damp hair behind her, the gleam of copper bright against the gray afternoon.

  That’s kind of Callie in a nutshell. If you get used to having that bright spot things are much, much darker when it goes away.

  I learned that lesson already.

  Once she’s out of sight, I head inside, lost in my thoughts the rest of the night while the waves rock me into a trance.

  I’m up earlier than usual the next morning, and today I’ve got the scuba gear out. We worked on free diving yesterday, moving under the water without all the equipment strapped on, but if Callie wants to be able to be underwater for any length of time while she’s hunting for whatever it is, she’s going to need a tank of air and a mask. No getting around it.

  Once I’ve got all that set out, I start making breakfast. It’s for me, yeah, but I’m making more than I normally would because I know Callie will be here before too long. I also know Callie’s favorite thing to eat any time of the day is breakfast. I don’t know if she expects me to remember that, I kind of hope she doesn’t so I can just play it off as having extras instead of making breakfast for the girl I never stopped being sweet on.

  What the hell am I even thinking, making her pancakes and eggs? We’re not dating. Not even close. I don’t even think we could be considered friends anymore. I hate that, but it’s my own doing, so I can’t be too upset about it.

  From the tiny kitchen window, I can see Callie riding her bike up the path to the dock where my houseboat’s tethered and anchored. She leashes her bike before I open the door and wave her down.

  “Isn’t everything up here?” she asks, eying the scuba gear on deck.

  “Yeah, but I made pancakes and there’s extra,” I say, trying to play it casual. Callie chews her bottom lip, looking down at me from above deck, making me feel like a goblin trying to entice the pretty girl into his cave.

  “I guess I could eat…”

  “You’re gonna be glad you did in a little while,” I say, stepping back from the stairs. I hear a soft sigh of resignation, then Callie’s coming down the stairs, instinctively ducking her head even though the ceiling’s not low enough to brush even a hair on her head.

  “This is where you live, huh?” she asks, turning in place, getting pretty much the full tour with a three-sixty turn. I’ve got a postage-stamp-sized bathroom, and the bed’s in the bow behind a curtain, but other than that, my whole life’s on display here. I have a little kitchen with a single burner, a fridge big enough for a six-pack, and a sink just wide enough to wash my hands. The rest of the space is a combination dining, living, lounge area with a booth seat that can be used as a couch, or even a spare bed when the nieces and nephews come to stay.

  There’s only a couple hundred square feet in total, but it suits me just fine. Suddenly, I’m seeing it through Callie’s eyes, though, and the walls feel like they’re closing in.

  “Home sweet home,” I finally answer, trying to shake off the sudden shame I’ve never felt before. I love my place. Why am I letting myself feel like this?

  “Even when it’s storming?” she asks skeptically, one hand on the wall to steady herself as the water rolls beneath us. It’s the kind of ever-present gentle movement I don’t even notice anymore. Solid ground feels stranger to me than being on the water.

  “Might pick a safer place to moor if I can, but she’s never let me down,” I say, slapping one of the walls harder than I mean to.

  Callie licks her lips, then slides into the booth, hands clasped on top of the table primly.

  “Right, breakfast.” I whirl around and make her a plate quickly. It’s sloppy and I don’t like the way it looks, but for some reason my hand’s shaking, so I stop trying to make it look neater and hand it over.

  “Looks good,” she says, breathing in deep through her nose, like she’s trying to inhale the pancakes.

  “I’m no chef, but my mom taught me a thing or two.”

  Callie’s lips curve into a tiny smile as she spears a syrup-soaked piece of pancake. “How is she?”

  “Mom?” I ask. She nods. “She’s doing good. Loves being a grandma—”

  Callie’s eyes go wide, eyebrows high in her hairline. “You—?”

  “Pft, no,” I scoff, shaking my head quickly. “Lynn’s got three, Ella’s got two — twin boys.”

  “Oof.”

  “You can say that again. Their dad split before they even showed up. She’s had a hell of a time raising them on her own. There’s only so much I can do to help, but…”

  “I’m sure she appreciates it. That’s crazy. I still think of them as your little sisters trying to tag along with us. Now they’ve got kids?”

  “A bunch of them.”

  “No kidding,” she snorts. It’s such a free, uninhibited laugh that for a moment I forget about everything in our past and how much we can’t have little moments like this.

  “Take your time,” I tell her, standing from the table before I do something stupi
d. “I’ll be up on deck when you’re ready.”

  She looks surprised at my departure but doesn’t say anything to stop me or ask me why I’m leaving so suddenly. Probably for the best. I’m not sure I’d have an answer for her.

  Up on deck, I take a deep breath of the salty-sweet air, let it fill my lungs, the sea permeating through my veins into the furthest depths of every cell.

  It helps.

  A little.

  I’m not sure anything can totally take the edge off as long as I’m this close to Callie, but fresh air gets me close. Diving gets me closer. Luckily, I get both today.

  I give all the equipment another once-over, checking everything as thoroughly as I possibly can before Callie comes up. I’m not taking any chances when it comes to her. She might hate me, but the feeling is far from mutual.

  When she comes up from below deck, she’s already zipping up the wet suit she wore yesterday, looking more comfortable in it than before. It’s hard to take my eyes off her and I know she has to notice. Even the shame of being caught isn’t enough to make me tear my eyes off her narrow waist and the soft curve of her hips compressed by the suit. It’s hard to tell when she’s wrapped in neoprene, but Callie’s got a great ass. My memory does a plenty good job of picking up the slack where her suit’s not doing her favors.

  “You ready?” she asks, stepping into flippers.

  “You’re gonna use the tank today,” I say, handing over the harness.

  “Where’s your suit?”

  “I’ll put one on if I get cold. I’m acclimated,” I say, moving on quickly. “You want to be able to stay under for longer than a couple of minutes, it’s time for the next step.”

  Callie huffs, clearly not satisfied with my answer, but she takes the harness, nearly toppling from the weight.

  “You got that?”

  “Yeah, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it, it’s fine,” she grunts, hefting it up stubbornly when I reach to help. Even though she’s literally paying me to teach her and help her, she’s not going to take any charity from me. I shouldn’t be surprised, but circumstances considered — potentially fatal circumstances — I’m pretty annoyed with her insistence on being self-sufficient when she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

  Once she’s fully suited and I’ve made sure everything’s attached and working the way it should be, I jump over the side of the boat, letting the bay envelop me with its chilly embrace.

  This is much better. It’s always better to be in the water, but especially with how hot my blood’s been running lately. This cold dip is the shock to the system I desperately need.

  I surface and run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my forehead as I look up to Callie still clinging to the ladder on the side of the boat.

  “Come on in, the water’s fine!”

  “You’re joking, right? The water’s freezing, even with this suit. You’re crazy.”

  Not quite, I think. It’s hard not to smile at her clinging to the side of the boat, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. But now’s not the time, and this isn’t the situation for her to be stubborn.

  “Come on, you’ll get used to it in a couple of minutes. You’ve gotta get over it sometime.”

  She scrunches her face up, screwing her eyes shut tight like she’s prepping herself. Just when it looks like she’s about to let go of the ladder rung, a decent-sized wave rolls through and tips the boat the other direction. Callie clings tight as a barnacle, all the color drained from her face.

  “Cal…”

  She’s legitimately scared. Yesterday, she managed to do this somehow — maybe the thought of having to rely on me? Or knowing she was only free diving? I don’t know — but today it’s a serious struggle for her. It doesn’t help that the wind starts rocking the boat more viciously, until Callie’s white-knuckling the ladder.

  “Hey,” I say softly, swimming up to the side of the boat, taking the very bottom rung. “It’s all right. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I reach up, offering her my hand, but Callie just glares at it.

  “It’s just… The ocean, you know? I’m fine with swimming pools, but it’s just… a lot.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. I’ve always thought Callie loved the ocean as much as I do. I remember us on the beach with her mom way back when, wading out with the sea foam, hunting the beach for shells. It’s like she’s a different person. I don’t get it.

  “No one’s making you do anything,” I say, letting my hand fall back to the water. Callie sighs, her shoulders slumping. She lowers herself down a rung on the ladder, presumably so it’s easier to talk, but maybe this is just how I need to coax her into the water.

  “I know that. Obviously I know I don’t have to do it. But I need to. I hate having this irrational fear. I want to get over it.”

  I nod slowly, trying to keep a straight face even as my stomach’s sinking and my heart’s filling with lead.

  This isn’t about you, a voice says. I try to listen to it.

  “The first step is going to be just getting comfortable in the water here. This inlet’s protected, the boat’s right here, and I’m not going anywhere…”

  Callie drops down another rung, another sigh going with her. “I know. You can’t logic away an irrational fear, Miles.”

  Even as she says that, Callie drops all the way into the water, face to face with me, both of us holding onto the boat.

  “So what do you do?” I ask. It’s easier than thinking about the reality of what this all means for me. For her. For us.

  Not that there is an us. Or ever was. Or ever will be, now.

  Callie might want to get over her fear of the ocean, but there’s always going to be a part of her that holds onto that. A part of her that isn’t completely comfortable in the water, on a boat, diving — or with me. That part could never fully accept me for what I am. My true self. Even without a skin, I am what I am. You can take a selkie out of the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean out of the selkie.

  There’s a deep-down part of Callie that is terrified of something that’s a deep-down part of me. How could that ever work?

  “You’re really not cold?” she asks as I lead her by hand away from the boat. She’s shivering, teeth chattering, and her lips look vaguely blue.

  “I’m not, but you shouldn’t be this cold. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Callie nods, licking her lips, but when I try to make eye contact with her, her look is faraway and glazed.

  “Callie?”

  “When did it get so dizzy?” she mumbles, eyes fluttering.

  “Nope, that’s it,” I say to no one, wrapping my arm around her waist, scooping her up to take her ashore. I don’t know what makes Callie so petrified of the ocean, but having gone to grad school, I know how to recognize a panic attack when I see one.

  Once she’s on land with sand between her fingers, Callie’s breathing deepens, the quick shallow hyperventilating fading away slowly.

  I strip off the harness with the tank, and unzip the top of her wet suit to help her breathe. I don’t even pause to look as I unzip, too focused on her eyes and dilated pupils.

  “You’re okay,” I say. “You’re safe.” I force myself to take a long, slow breath, hoping she’ll instinctively mimic it.

  Convinced she’s not going to faint, I flop onto the sand next to her, my own mini-panic attack to attend to.

  I never would have expected that reaction from Callie, but worse than her rejecting that huge part of me outright is how her brief brush with peril affected me.

  I hate when my sisters are right. I haven’t ever gotten over her — I’m not sure I ever will — and I don’t know how the hell I’m going to keep working with her when this is how I react.

  “I’m sorry,” Callie finally says, her voice sounding thready and weak.

  “What for?”

  “For… all of that? I don’t know. I know that’s not normal.”

  I frown at that, turning to prop
up on one elbow. “What does ‘normal’ have to do with anything? Clearly there’s something that really bothers you here… What’s going on?” There’s no way she’s going to progress like this, but it’s not just about helping someone learn to scuba. Callie seems utterly traumatized and it hurts to witness.

  She sits up quickly, sand spraying in all directions as she scrambles to her feet in a hurry. “I need to go. Thanks for… I just… I need to go,” she mutters as she unzips the suit, stepping out of it on the beach. “I’ve gotta… I need to… Later,” she says, tripping over her words and the flippers she hasn’t managed to kick off. She’s trying to escape in her bathing suit, wrestling with the diving gear, and I desperately want to help her because it’s hard to watch, but I’m one-hundred percent certain that would make things worse.

  Having two sisters has taught me some things.

  As much as I want to call after her or follow her, I know Callie needs space right now. I’ve got no idea what’s going on with her, but it’s clear she wants to work through it on her own, and I have to respect that, difficult as it may be.

  And it might just be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.

  7

  Callie

  After my completely embarrassing meltdown the day before, we go out on the bay next, scanning for who knows what all over again. The next day, we’re back to diving practice, and we alternate like that for probably a week or so before Miles tells me he has other plans and can’t help me the next day.

  The news is honestly kind of a relief. I don’t even try to feign disappointment. I can use the break — both from the water and from Miles.

  I’ve been doing my best to keep it together, to keep from seeming like I’m in a state of panic every time I’m in the water. I don’t know how convincing it really is. It’s hard to be aware of that kind of thing when you keep having visions of the water closing in on all sides, the waves swallowing you up, darkness eating everything you can see until the surface is only a distant memory.