Page 49 of The Captain
The firefighter nodded. A good man.
For a heartbeat the world went quiet between sets. In that lidless hush I had a stupid, mean thought:you cannot win this. The work you chose will not let you win. You will pour your life into the holes the ocean keeps and call it purpose until your hands give out.
I rested my cheek against the dolphin’s skin and let the thought burn through so it didn’t rot me from beneath. “I know,” I told the water. “I know. I’m here, anyway.”
My radio chirped again. “Allard,” Ryker said, voice flatter than usual. “Heads up. There’s a separate incident near Folly I need you to be aware of. I’ll brief you when you’re clear. And if your Marine reaches you, you’ll tell him to call me.”
My fingers tightened on the sling. “Copy,” I said. It came out level. That felt like a betrayal and an accomplishment at once.
Another set. Another lift. The bottlenose blinked. Just once. An agreement between us. I let my mouth make a small, dangerous promise to her that I would stay as long as I could and then some.
The long sling crew settled for a hold. We tucked towels. We shaded. We touched when touch helped and we stayed still when it didn’t. The crowd’s noise receded to the kind that keeps a person company without trying to fix anything.
At some point, I realized I was crying again, quiet, snotty, ridiculous. I didn’t stop. The ocean throws enough salt at me. It can take mine back.
I pressed my palm to the dolphin’s side and set my jaw and let the love I carry for these animals sit where everyone could see it. If it made anyone uncomfortable, too bad.
I didn’t know if we were going to save this one. I didn’t know where Jacob was. I didn’t know if the sound in my recorder belonged to the people I wanted to blame.
I knew how to keep a blowhole clear. I knew how to make a sling whisper instead of bite. I knew how to stay in a fight I wasn’t going to win and call the staying itself a kind of victory.
21
JACOB
The Coast Guard chopper had dropped me at Camille’s facility. I stood there, still in my swimsuit, the thermal blanket draped over my shoulders like a cape, salt dried on my skin. The glow from this morning—Lily’s smile, her voice,“I’m okay, Daddy. Now it’s your turn”—burned steady in my chest, a quiet fire building to something more. I felt alive, raw, changed, like the sea had scoured me clean and left something new in its place.
But I needed Camille. Needed to see her, to tell her everything, to make her understand I wasn’t a monster.
I leaned against a concrete post near the facility’s entrance, the metal cool against my back, and watched the road. The building hummed behind me, low and functional, its concrete walls alive with the faint drone of pumps and voices.
I’d been waiting since late afternoon, the hours stretching as the sun sank, painting the marsh a bruised orange. My phone was still in the duffel back at Folly, so I couldn’t call her, couldn’t text. All I had was the memory of her shocked eyes on the beach,the weight of her silence, and the hope she’d give me a chance to explain.
Dusk settled, the air thick with salt and the chirp of crickets. Headlights cut through the haze, and her SUV rolled into the lot, followed by a truck. Camille stepped out first, others spilling out behind her—all moving with the kind of purpose that said they’d had a brutal day.
Camille looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped, her dark hair tangled from the wind. Misery clung to her, her face tight, eyes shadowed, carrying the weight of something heavy—maybe the animals, maybe the Navy, maybe me.
My chest tightened, the glow dimming for a moment. I wanted to fix it, to take that weight off her, but I didn’t know if she’d let me.
She saw me as she crossed the lot, her gaze flicking up, and for a second, I thought she’d walk right past, her focus locked on the facility doors. But she paused, said something low to the others, and walked toward me. Her boots crunched on the gravel, deliberate, like she was deciding with every step whether to keep going. I straightened, the blanket slipping slightly, my heart thudding.
“Why are you dressed like that?” she asked, her voice flat, but her eyes searched mine, sharp and wary.
I glanced down at my swimsuit, the blanket, my bare feet gritty with sand.
“Long story,” I said, keeping it light, a half-smile tugging at my mouth.
She crossed her arms, her tank top clinging to her, sweat and salt outlining her curves.
“I don’t have time, Jacob. Now’s not great. There’s work to do.”
She turned, starting toward the doors, her stride clipped.
I reached out, my hand gentle on her arm.
“Camille, wait. I want to tell you everything.”
She stopped, her back to me for a beat, then turned. Her eyes held something—hope, maybe fear, I couldn’t tell. But it was enough to keep her there, enough to make her listen.
