Page 87 of No One Aboard
“I prefer to fish alone,” he said.
She went silent. He turned his back.
It’s what he’d said to Sheila, who had tried so hard to enjoy what Jerry enjoyed but had fallen so short.
I prefer to fishalone, he’d told her in a moment of pure frustration after his wife had blubbered like a baby when he’d put a spike through a red snapper’s brain. They had been fighting for hours. For years, if Jerry were being honest.
Had they ever been in love? Time made it impossible to remember.
I think you prefer to live alone too, Sheila had said.
Jerry dumped out the bucket again and took a seat on it. Looking out. Open water. Quiet water. Devouring. Why shouldn’t he mine the ocean for all it was worth? He’d never get back what it had stolen from him.
Sunlight dappled the sea. Jerry’s head was heavy and drooped into his hands. He began to quake with heaving, angry jolts that shook his chest and belly. He raised his head and it only got worse. The light on the water was blinding. It could have been blades or diamonds. Jerry just wanted it to break.
He was on his feet then, bucket dangling from one hand.
“Goddamn it...” he murmured, but it wasn’t loud enough. “Goddamn it!” He raised the bucket into the air—“God-fucking-damn it!”—and brought it down.
The plastic bounced off the deck harmlessly, and so he scooped it up again and threw it overboard. Then the snarled handful of tackle and the container of bait and the nearest rod. All of it went over and shattered the surface, but not hard enough. He searched for something bigger, something more devastating, and he found it: an ice cooler for keeping fish. He picked it up, lifting with his legs, and brought it to the edge. Raised it high.
A hand touched his shoulder. Lainey.
“That hurts the fish,” she told him gently.
Jerry blinked at his equipment littering the surface, some of which was already sinking below. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Uh, sorry... Shit.” He set the cooler aside.
Then he jumped in.
Blue digested him, seeping past his protective layers, his T-shirt, his skin, and closing in on him. It would eat him if he stayed down here. He hadn’t been submerged in decades, hadn’t done a goddamn thing more with the water than fish it.
He broke the surface, no longer able to distinguish between his tears and the ocean as he gathered what he could of the gear.
Lainey scurried on deck. She lowered the swim ladder, and he climbed it, the bucket slung over one shoulder, the rod in his hand. He accepted the ragged towel she handed him and set the soaking fishing gear in a pile.
“Take us home, Lainey.” His voice cracked, and his hand went to his head to adjust the Bass Pro Shops cap. It wasn’t there.
Jerry peered over the side to see the twisted hat floating just beneath the surface.
“Don’t you want to—” Lainey started, but he shook his head and went to put away the rods and lines.
“No, Lainey.” He left puddles wherever he stepped. The ocean was unscathed, but here he stood, sopping wet.
Jerry turned on the engine, words cascading away at the sound.
“Leave it behind.”
Chapter 43
Rylan Cameron
Call sign: Minnow
Day 10 at Sea
Rylan had finished a drawing for Tia just as the sun started setting. He hugged the sketch to his chest as he went down the hall. He felt more clearheaded than he had in days. His parents weren’t angry with him. They were going to ensure they all stayed together as a family. He wasn’t going to lose Tia. He wasn’t going to lose anyone. He and Tia hadn’t spoken, but their birthday was tomorrow, and they’d have to make up for that. She’d been trying to help him by killing the fish. She’d done it out of mercy.
Rylan paused by the door to Nico and Alejandro’s bedroom. It was open, and Lila stood inside, facing the beds as if deep in thought.
