51. Henrik #2
“I’ll let the guys know. They’ll be excited about an extended power nap.” He heads for the ladder, leaving Edgar and me alone.
Edgar steps to the wheelhouse’s front windows, stares out at the ocean, and says, “Carina didn’t go to Hawaii. Mia told me she didn’t take the job, and she’s staying in Kodiak.”
Silently, I hang my head. He has no idea I overheard his conversation with our sister.
“Henrik,” he says gruffly, thinking I didn’t hear him.
“Yeah,” I answer.
Crossing his arms, he questions, “Did you hear me?”
I nod, and his mouth opens and then closes, as if he wants to say something, but stopped himself.
“What?” I rasp, overcome with emotion as my thoughts of her consume me again.
My heart feels like it’s in a vise. I rub at my chest, hoping to ease the pressure, but it does no good.
My breathing increases, and I feel light-headed.
I lower my head between my knees. Focused on my breathing, I don’t hear Edgar approach.
He pats my back. “Are you okay, man?”
Even though I’m bent in half, trying to pull in air so I don’t pass out, I nod my head.
“You’re freaking me out,” he admits, then asks, “What do you need?”
I hold up one finger.
“One finger, one finger, one finger… of what? Do you want a finger of whiskey?”
Even through panic, I manage a laugh that sounds more like a snort.
“That’s a no on the whiskey? Got it.” I look up and he smirks. “What are you going to do when we get back to Kodiak?”
I shake my head because, honestly, I don’t know. After a few more deep breaths, I sit up straight.
Edgar stares expectantly at me. Finally, I admit the only thing running through my head. “I need to talk to her, but I don’t know if I can.”
“That’s fair,” he says before stepping away. When he reaches the ladder, he turns and asks, “Want me to bring you some dinner?”
“Sure. That would be great. Thanks.”
After he’s gone, I slip my phone from my pocket and turn it back on.
When the screen lights up, I see all the missed calls and texts I’ve been avoiding.
I ignore everything but one specific text thread.
Carina’s. It doesn’t say when her message was sent, but I’m curious what it says.
Was it before or after everything happened? One way to know.
Tapping the thread, a long message fills my screen.
From the first words, it’s clear she sent it after.
My breath catches. Glancing away, I ask myself if I want to read it.
I decide I do. I pore over her words—her apology and her explanation.
But no matter what she wrote, her deception claws at my heart.
No matter how often I reread her words, my brain refuses to accept her reasoning.
She’s pushing selflessness as her agenda, but her actions seem selfish.
Was I a ploy to keep her entertained until something better came along?
Was it all a lie? When we talked long term, was her definition of time different from mine?
Unease swirls in my gut as my brother returns with a plate full of spaghetti and meatballs.
I force myself to eat dinner, knowing I need the calories to get through the remaining time at sea.
The next few hours while the crew rests, I debate reaching out to Carina, but ultimately, I decide to wait until I’m home.
The extra few days at sea will give me time to straighten out my feelings about what happened with her, and figure out what to do going forward.
A conversation is undeniable, but when it will happen stands in question.
A day later, we’re headed toward Dutch with a full tank of king crab. While heading to our processor, my crew finishes cleaning and organizing the deck.
“Edgar, can you spare a moment?” He gives me a thumbs-up before he heads in.
“What’s up?”
I push back in my chair. “Tell me the truth. Was the lift struggling with those last few pots?”
He frowns. “It was. It’s started leaking oil. I’ve got to take it apart when we’re back in Kodiak.”
I run my hand down my face. “Think that will affect when we can leave again?”
He hums to himself as he considers it. “When are you thinking we need to leave?”
“I’d like to leave right after the New Year.”
Edgar strokes his scruff. “I think that’s doable. It’ll give me a few weeks in case I have to order parts.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Offloading at our processor takes a few hours, but an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me once it’s done.
We met our quota and everyone is safe. After being paid, I fuel up and then dock the Brina before my crew and I head into town.
We settle into a cozy restaurant for a celebratory dinner.
When everyone has a drink, I lift my water glass high and say, “Thank you for another great fishing season.”
We take our time eating, talking, and laughing.
We plan to leave early tomorrow to travel back to Kodiak.
I’m more than ready to get home, even though I’m unsure what awaits me.
When I’d finally calmed down enough to read Carina’s last text, the pain coursing through my weary body was endless.
She said she was giving me space. I know we needed it, and initially, it was what I wanted, but the thought of being away from her destroys me.
As we travel back, I have hours to contemplate everything. A discussion with her is something I both need and fear. What will she say? What will she do? Those questions are on repeat in my mind as the hours tick by.