Undertow (21 page)

Ignoring the speed limit, I sped through town, arriving in the harbor with only a minute to spare. Parking was at a premium, so I decided to make like a captain and drive the Jeep up the dock to the vessel. I'd deal with the powers that be afterward. But when I pulled up to where my father told me the boat would be, there was nothing but water. I had missed them.

I missed my chance to say goodbye.

The part of me that loathed that word should have been happy, but even it wasn't. Instead, all I felt was sadness and regret. For once the regret was not for something I had done, but rather something I hadn't. I didn't see them off. I didn't hold Decker one last time before work and distance separated us. Worst of all, I didn't tell my father that I loved him—the very thing I had returned home to re-establish.

Deflated, I got back into the Jeep and backed my way off the dock. I drove the few miles to the airport and parked my rental car there for someone else to take eventually—when the next crew of newbies showed up in town, hoping to score jobs on a crabbing vessel. I felt oddly sad when I boarded the tiny plane; that feeling continued to plague me as we flew over the tiny coastal town. It hadn't felt like home for many years, but, in that moment, it did.

I watched out over the water, wondering if I could spot my father's ship as it jogged slowly out of the port to the sea, but I couldn't. Frustrated, I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes, my hangover taking priority again. I was embarking on a journey of my own, and the weight of that was more than I felt like dealing with while my headed pounded mercilessly.

I had always enjoyed feeling disconnected from where I lived, who I hung out with—what I did. But with my growing attachment to both my father and Decker, that enjoyment was overshadowed by doubt—doubt that I was doing the right thing.

“Too late now,” I muttered to myself under my breath as fatigue took me over. Maybe sleep was exactly what I needed to help me see things more clearly. I hoped that when I landed in Anchorage, I would have a more practical view of the situation, my head clear of the raging hangover it housed, and my emotions tucked away safely where they belonged.

* * *

A couple of hours later, we touched down in Anchorage. It was monstrous in comparison to my hometown, and I instantly felt a welcome sense of anonymity. My heart settled into a comfortable place because of it.

After renting a car and packing my things into it, I made my way through the foreign city to the hotel the hospital had provided for me and checked in. I was due to report for the early shift the next morning, so I only had the rest of the day to accomplish the basic errands I needed to, like grocery shopping. Thankfully, there was a place not far from the hotel, and I made my way there to procure the essentials I would need to survive until I settled in a bit more. The suite I was given was equipped with a kitchenette, which made me happy. I didn't want to have to eat takeout until I found a suitable apartment.

Once my errands were done, I collapsed onto the couch and flipped on the TV, needing some serious downtime before the adventures of the next day. I picked at the sandwich I'd made while watching a made-for-TV movie that lacked greatly in the acting department. Luckily, my ringing phone saved me from the alleged climax of the show, and I happily answered it.

“Aesa.” My father's voice was garbled and quiet on the other line, but that was relatively normal for the Norwegian Queen. It wasn't easy to get great service at sea.

“Dad!” I shouted into my cell, my excitement surprising even myself. “Why didn't you wake me up this morning? I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Yes, you did,” he replied enigmatically. “I had to leave the house earlier than I expected to, so I came into your room to say goodbye. You don't remember?”

“No. Not at all.”

He laughed lightly.

“You must have had quite a night with the boys then. I hope you made your flight to Anchorage.”

“Yeah. I'm here now,” I replied, stretching out on the couch to rest while we chatted. “I'm in the suite the hospital is providing for me until I can find an apartment.”

“Is it in a safe part of town?”

“Seems to be. I don't know that Anchorage has any especially rough parts, Dad, but I think I'm good where I am.”

“Good,” he said, sounding satisfied. “I will be sure to pass that along to Decker. I think he was concerned about that as well.”

Decker . . .

“Dad, I'm so sorry I didn't get there to see you guys off.”

“Aesa, you told me everything I could have needed to hear this morning,” he replied warmly. “Even if you don't remember saying it.”

“What did I say?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat ever so slightly.

He paused for a moment, silence overtaking the line.

“You said 'I love you, Daddy'.” I heard him choke up at the words as he relayed them to me. I hadn't called him that since I was very young.

“I do love you,” I reiterated, squeezing the phone tightly in my hand. “You and I still have a long way to go and a lot to sort out, but I do love you, Dad.” It was my turn to pause, the words I wanted to tell him lodging somewhere in my throat. “And I'm sorry . . . ”

“I love you too, Aesa. We'll have time for that when I get back and I come to visit you, but for now you should rest. You have a big day tomorrow, as do I.”

“Dad,” I shouted into the phone, afraid he would hang up before I got a chance to ask him something. “Can you do something for me?”

“Of course.”

“Can you tell Decker I'm sorry that I missed him this morning?”

“I can, but I don't think he's terribly stressed out about it. He said he had his chance to say goodbye last night. I don't think he expected you to make it this morning.”

“Oh. Okay . . . ”

“Because you were drunk, Aesa, not for any other reason,” my dad clarified, seeing through my response. “He seems to get you. True understanding from the one you love is hard to find. Do not overlook that.”

“I won't,” I said softly, stunned that my father felt it necessary to give me relationship advice when his had gone so poorly. Perhaps it gave him the best vantage point regarding the matter. “So you'll call me when you guys get back?”

“I'll call you before that, if you'd like.”

“Yeah. I think I would,” I replied with a smile on my face. “Go find some crab, quickly and safely.”

“Go save some lives.”

“Deal.”

“Talk soon, Aesa. Goodbye.”

“Bye, Dad.”

The click of his phone hanging up preceded the line going dead. It left me alone in my hotel room to contemplate everything that had just occurred in that one short phone call. My dad and I were officially mending our relationship. We both not only acknowledged it but had all but made plans to sit down upon his return and hash out the rest of it. And I knew we would, without fear of the past derailing us. We were beyond that now. We just needed to address those open wounds so that they could finally be laid to rest in a way my mother's body never could be.

I smiled to myself, suddenly pleased that so much was changing around me. I may have preferred a life with no attachments, but I was seeing the benefits of having at least a few. They would keep me grounded and steadfast.

I couldn't wait for them to return.

23

My first day at work was overwhelming. It was a fairly large emergency medicine hospital and staffed by a considerable number of people. Between learning names, policies, and the layout, I was ready to go home by the end of my twelve-hour shift.

I collected my things from the lounge area and made my way to the nurses’ station, wanting to let them know I was leaving and that I had appreciated all their guidance that day. They were an amazing support staff; I could tell that immediately. As they were congratulating me on making it through my first shift unscathed, a call came in over the radio.

The radio that connected them directly to the Coast Guard.

The man on the other end wasn't coming through clearly, but there were words that rang out through the speaker so loudly that I felt slapped by them. “
Norwegian Queen
” were two of them. They echoed through my head, never fully dying out while I stood by the nurses’ station completely paralyzed. My body was beyond numb; it was cold, like the night I was fished out of the very waters that were again claiming my father's ship. According to the report coming in, she had likely been taken already.

Her final resting place.

“Doctor Fredriksen,” a nurse called, grabbing me by the shoulders. “The Coast Guard is already en route. They will be here soon with the survivors. We need to prepare—you need to pull yourself together.”

“How many?” I whispered, still staring past her, unfazed by her sense of urgency.

“Three. They're bringing three men in with them.”
Only three . . . three of five.
“Please, we need everyone's help on this one. The ER will be swamped once they get here, and we need all hands on deck. This is no time for cold feet. You want to be an ER doc in Alaska? Then these are the kinds of cases you are going to see.”

I shook my head, focusing on her firm expression. With a nod, I indicated I could get it together long enough to be of use to them. She must have thought it was a miracle I had made it through medical school at all. The staff couldn't have known why I was shutting down, and I couldn't find the words to tell them.

Those few minutes ticked by in painfully slow motion while I ran around, helping to collect everything necessary to deal with the status of the victims being flown in. Two were reported to be stable but injured; the other was critical and unconscious. I kept playing the odds in my head, hoping selfishly that the three I wanted to survive had. It was a horrible thing to think, and I wanted to feel the shame I should have, but I couldn't. I wanted my father, Decker, and Robbie to be wheeled down the long hall to the ER so that I could see them again. I wanted to tell them I loved them—all of them.

Before my mind could send me down a path I didn't want to tread upon, Dr. Lewis came up behind me, ushering me out to the huddle of white coats in the hall. Dr. Wakefield was in the middle, handing out orders to all those in attendance, including me. I was to accompany the third gurney to ER5 and help assess the most critical patient under the watchful eye of Dr. Lewis. I wanted to tell them I couldn't and why, but the paralysis that had owned my body minutes earlier had made its way to my tongue, rendering it useless. I couldn't make a sound. I only nodded in response.

The crash of the double doors slamming against the wall at the far end of the hall jarred my attention back to the crisis at hand. Instantly, the white coat-wearing mob hustled down toward the first patient being carted into the hospital. My vision narrowed, seeing nothing but the barely visible head of the patient atop that gurney. He had brown hair, but it was wet, making it harder to determine who it was. Throwing protocol to the wind, I darted down the hall, my footsteps creating a loud reverberation in my mind. I couldn't hear anything but my breathing, those steps, and the muffled voices of the doctors calling out orders.

I pulled up alongside the quickly moving cart to see Robbie looking horrible, but alive. His badly bruised face was swollen with some lacerations, his one eye nearly engulfed by the inflammation surrounding it. His good eye was open and found its way to my face.

“Robbie,” I squeaked. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Before he could answer, he was pushed into ER3 and I was turned away by Dr. Lewis, who ushered me back down the hall, reiterating what my job was to be. But I wasn't listening to his inane ramblings. I didn't care.
One . . . 
I thought to myself. One of them had made it. While the thought was comforting for a fleeting moment, it quickly gave way to sheer panic. Two survivors yet to come. The two I most wanted still unaccounted for. Luck had never been on my side, the sea taking those I loved at will and without conscience. I feared it had done so yet again.

The second gurney rolled quickly toward me down the hall, and I broke away from the light hold Dr. Lewis had on my arm to see who it was. On the short trip, I prayed that it would be one of the two faces I wanted to see—needed to see.

But it wasn't.

“Aesa?” a confused and badly burned Brad called when he saw me. I took his hand in mine without looking to see that it was nearly charred. He shrieked at the pain, and I instantly let go, hating myself for my stupidity. I wasn't thinking like a doctor. I was thinking like someone who had too much skin in the game to be effective in a crisis situation. I watched helplessly as he was taken into ER4, then Dr. Lewis blocked my vision entirely.

“Do you want to tell me what your problem is, or should I just sideline you until I can deal with you later?”

Beseechingly, I looked up at him as the final gurney came bursting through the double doors. And then it hit me. One survivor left. Two men I loved still missing.

“It's my father's boat,” I whispered, turning away from him with eyes closed, aimed in the direction of the oncoming patient. I was too afraid to open them. My chest seized and breathing stopped entirely. I could not win. I never did. The sea always beat me, spiteful bitch that she was.