is wrong. Jesus Christ. What else don’t I know? And had he ever planned on telling me?
While I sit completely immobile, my heart thrashing around inside my chest, Fletcher’s eyes flicker to the television, the National Weather Station broadcasting the storm. For some reason, my attention catches on not only the gale warnings flashing across the screen and the power flickering in the house with every gust of wind, but the marine radio and the mayday’s coming through from boats in distress.
Tears begin to stream down my face. I can’t hold them back anymore, but I’m not going to cry over this. Nope. I sniff, using my sleeve to erase the weakness away. “And why didn’t you say anything to me when I asked you where the money came from?” I glare at him, my face full of pain and betrayal.
“I don’t know why.” He looks truly sorry, his words sincere. “I guess I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.” His eyes drift away, as if he’s contemplating his words deeply, and then lock on mine. “I knew you were going to be hurt, so I avoided it. I think Lincoln did too, and before he knew it, he cared for you too much to say anything.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer. He cares for me? Enough to use me for some sick attachment to his wife? Because that’s what he is doing, isn’t he? Had he been pretending this entire time that I was her? But why? Why had he done that to me? I wipe another tear from my face and push the emotions aside when the radio beside Fletcher crackles to life.
His voice hardens. “It’s bad out—”
He doesn’t finish before the distress call comes through, and a familiar voice on the other end. It sends a chill through me, frozen in silence at what I’m hearing.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Amphitrite! We’re taking in water!” And then a position comes over the radio.
Everything I thought I’d been feeling—all of the betrayal, the pain, the resentment for the situation I find myself in—it all stops in an instant when I hear Lincoln’s voice over that radio.
Gasping, I lock eyes on Fletcher, his face carved in fear.
My heart crashes to a halt, and I clamp my hand over my chest. “Is that their boat?”
Fletcher nods.
I know what calling in a mayday means.
It doesn’t matter that Lincoln lied. Nothing matters in that moment but him, the one across from me, and the child sleeping next to the fire.
The tears don’t stop. I don’t know what to believe, who to trust, who to be mad at, and who to love. Some scars, they don’t hurt. They’re numb. This one, I have a feeling it’s going to hurt forever.
Offshore - A term with variable meaning relevant to the area—some anglers would call fishing anywhere in the ocean “offshore” while some would only consider waters beyond the edge of the continental shelf as being truly offshore.
With the tide against the wind, the sea is rough and the boat is light, no match for the insanity of these swells. “This is bad! This is so fucking bad!” Din shouts.
“Stop your fucking complaining.” I jam my finger his direction. The reality? Nothing I do from here on out can control the outcome. Everything around us is drenched in sea. I fear we will be sinking in seconds. “If we die, it’s on you!”
“I didn’t know that was the radio button,” he argues over the raging storm trying to take us out.
Swells hammer against us, and I laugh, but it’s not from amusement. “You’re not a greenhorn. You’ve been on boats your entire life, and you didn’t know that was the goddamn radio button?”
He’s stone silent. Earlier, Din turned off the radio frequency, and we didn’t get the emergency storm warning that came through. Now… we’re fucked.
I knew the dangers. I did. One bad season, I can borrow to make ends meet. After two, like we’ve had, we were going under, and we forced the issue and that leads to disaster.
“Now is not the time for you two to be fighting!” Nivio adds, running his hands over his face.
Anxious nerves pulse at my temples. For a moment, I think this isn’t happening to me. I can see our future in front of us, and there’s no other option.
With an engine working, I can take the waves off the bow. Anywhere else, I’m screwed. Without power, the boat is turned broadside in the troughs. Another wave punches us