5. Henrik #3
Over the intercom, I say, “Why don’t you guys grab a quick dinner on our way over to the next strings?”
With the deck tidy and smiles on their faces, they rush for the door, pushing and shoving like a bunch of teenage boys.
The noise they make, disrobing from their gear and heading into the galley is laughable. “Derrik, what are you making?” James calls out.
“Why do you guys always assume I’m cooking?” Derrik questions as Kai climbs the stairs to the wheelhouse, a smirk tipping up his lips.
Below deck, I hear my brother’s deep baritone laugh.
Raising my brow, I ask, “You’re going to let them work it out, aren’t you?”
He continues to smirk, and there’s my answer. Kai, twenty years my senior, is the old soul on the boat. He’s been fishing on the Brina longer than I have, and I’ve learned so much from him. Including letting crewmates work out their issues.
“I can cook something,” Roy says in a timid voice. He’s trying to ease the tension of the moment.
I look at Kai. “What do you bet he’s a younger sibling?”
Kai just laughs. “That’s pretty damn obvious.” Our greenhorn is trying to break the standoff between Derrik and James.
Edgar laughs again. “Roy, you’re a greenhorn. You probably can’t even boil water. It’s best to sit down and wait it out.”
“But I’m starving,” Roy whines. “And for your knowledge, I can boil water.”
Edgar lets out a whistle, and James mutters something under his breath.
“What do you bet they’re locked in a stare-down?” Kai mutters as he heads back to the stairs.
Chuckling, I answer, “I’d say your odds are good.”
Kai, halfway down the stairs, looks at me and shakes his head. “Guys,” he hollers. “Stop staring at each other like you’re in love and make some dinner. This was supposed to be quick. I’m starving and so is the captain.” My laughter bounces off the walls of the wheelhouse.
“Fine. I’m making peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Who wants one?” James says.
“James, no one wants to eat peanut butter and honey when they can have grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Derrik scoffs.
Even though I can’t see it, I can picture the interaction between them perfectly.
James smirks, then fake pouts like he lost the disagreement.
He didn’t. He got what he wanted: Derrik to cook.
Across the galley, now opening soup cans and buttering bread, Derrik wears a smile, believing he won the disagreement, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Fifteen minutes later, Edgar hollers up the stairs, “How close are we to our pots, and what do you want to eat?”
“Twenty minutes, and I’ll take a bowl of soup and two sandwiches, please,” I call back, then sit back and wait for my food delivery.
Roy climbs the stairs, his hands filled with food for me. “Drew the short straw?” I tease.
He laughs. “No, I’m the greenhorn, remember. It’s my job.”
“They aren’t hazing you too badly, are they?”
He shakes his head. “Other than doing everyone else’s laundry, getting the last shower, and always being the last to eat, it hasn’t been too bad. The worst thing I’ve had to do was bite the head off of the herring.”
I smirk. “I had to do that when I was a greenhorn. It’s a tradition. But now that you’ve done it, you’ll never have to do it again. And it brought us luck. Did you notice how full those pots were?”
He nods and asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“This is great. Thanks, Roy.”
He leaves, and I don’t waste any time dipping my grilled cheese into my creamy tomato soup. I don’t know what Derrik does to make it so creamy, but I’m a big supporter. “Mmm,” I moan to myself while I finish one sandwich. Maybe I should have asked for three?
Shortly after they finish their dinner, the crew ambles out onto the deck. Even though the seas aren’t horrible, the clouds above us look menacing. While we were heading to our line, they grew heavy and dark, making me fear that bad weather is once again on its way.
“First pot,” Edgar yells as he throws his hook.
Within minutes, Kai reads my mind.
“Twenty,” he shouts into the speaker after the pot’s been hauled, emptied, and stored.
My shoulders slouch, and I send a silent prayer up to the heavens. Please, please, please let there be more crabs in the next ones.
Pots two through five have a combined total of thirty crabs.
“Shit,” I say to the empty wheelhouse. With numbers like these, the reality of us heading back early is a bust. We may have to head back to where our first strings were and see if we can’t get a second harvest from the honey pot.
Getting back to Kodiak depends on us reaching our quota and filling our tanks.
If we aren’t hauling solid numbers, our season will take longer than I hoped.
The draw home every season is strong, but now that the unknown siren is there, I’m desperate to get back.
The sooner the better. Ever since we left the docks, she’s been a constant in my mind.
I want the chance to meet her and find out why I’m so drawn to her.
It’s unexplainable and mysterious, like a problem needing to be solved.