20. Cole
TWENTY
Cole
Before we head to the fishing grounds, I steer us toward the place where Seb died. It’s dusk when we arrive. A brisk breeze peals over calm seas, or as calm as you can expect in the Bering Sea.
We need to pay our respects and lay Seb to rest in the fisherman’s way, in the way of our ship. We need to bury our captain.
The customs of a fisherman’s burial at sea vary from ship to ship.
Hundreds of years ago, sailors wrapped the bodies of their fallen brethren in sailcloth, and sewed them inside with a cannonball and whatever items they thought would comfort them.
With the passing of time, burials at sea became rightfully regulated, but the echoes of the tradition still linger.
Some crab fishermen sink a crab pot filled with the fisherman’s belongings.
The Morrissey family has passed down the same bolt of sailcloth for generations, carrying it from ship to ship, hoping it would ward off death.
Clearly, it’s not very effective, but it’s a family tradition, and a fitting tribute to Seb.
I spread out a square sheet of heirloom sailcloth on the bed and fold it in half diagonally, then pick up the thick needle I threaded with waxed sail twine. I sew the first stitch joining the two halves together. The pierce in the fabric pokes a hole in the dam I’ve kept my feelings locked behind.
I can’t do this. It should have been me.
“I can’t. I can’t. I—”
A hand raps the door.
“Cole?” It’s Morgan.
I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
The door opens. Morgan’s gaze dips to the fabric, then to me.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do this.”
Morgan closes the door and crosses the distance. The divide between us disappears. This isn’t about us, about trying to force together two mismatching pieces that won’t work. It’s just me reaching for my best friend because I’m scared, and him reaching back.
Wordlessly, Morgan sits behind me on the bed, and wraps his legs around my crossed legs. He reaches both arms around me and picks up the needle and thread, then perches his chin on my shoulder, and sews the next stitch.
Then I do.
We take turns like this until one side of the makeshift bag is sealed.
Then, as wordlessly as he came in, he leaves.
I want to call him back, and ask him to stay, but I’m frozen, hand clasped over my mouth, wondering if the pain I feel right now is how he felt every time I abandoned him when he needed me.
I marshal the courage to nestle the ten-pound cannonball weight inside the bag, then take down a photo of Finn that Seb had pinned above his bed. Looking into Finn’s sparkling, innocent eyes pushes me over again.
“I took him from you.” I choke on a sob, rubbing my thumb over his curls. “I’m sorry.”
I place the photo inside the bag, along with one of Seb and me when we were kids, sunburnt and speckled with freckles. Then, with a lump in my throat and numb resignation, I head down to the deck.
Wes adds a bottle of home-distilled gin to the bag.
“Are you sure Seb needs that?” Lawrence asks. “He wasn’t really a big drinker.”
“Lawrence,” Javi hisses, yanking him back by the hood of his Briar Anteros sweater.
“It’s okay, I brought some for us.” Wes opens his jacket and pulls out a matching bottle. “But just one sip for each of you. You can barely run the ship when you’re sober.”
“Rude,” Lawrence says.
Morgan places a baseball in the bag, avoiding my gaze. Was that the one we played catch with on Finn’s birthday?
“Just a sec.” Morgan lifts the backpack at his feet. “Finn has a few things.”
He unzips the bag and pulls out Finn’s mittens, a battered copy of the same seahorse bedtime story Finn’s loved for years, and an envelope with DADDY written in Finn’s blocky scrawl.
Morgan or Shay must have helped him write it.
The bag was already heavy, but the emotional weight of Finn’s offerings make it painful to carry.
“Last one.” From his jacket pocket, Morgan produces a black and red model boat no larger than his palm, exactly as Finn described on one of our calls.
“Wait, is that the Briar?” Wes asks.
“Yeah. I made it with Finn.” Morgan passes it to Wes, and the others each take a turn like they’re all blessing the boat before her maiden voyage.
“This is incredible,” Javi says.
“It came out alright,” Morgan says with a pleased smile.
Lawrence jabs Morgan with an elbow. “You know it’s way better than alright.” He brings the boat up to his eye like he’s trying to look inside the wheelhouse windows.
“Finn wanted Seb to have his home away from home, even after the Briar returns to Seattle.”
Lawrence passes the boat to me.
“It’s perfect,” I say and carefully lower it into the bag.
My fingers are steady this time as I pick up the needle and thread.
I can do this without Morgan. The others say a few words about Seb while I sew each stitch.
Wes delivers a moving eulogy, probably because the poor man has had so much practice.
Alejo thanks Seb for offering him a job and changing his life, then bursts into tears.
Lawrence talks about how he’d probably be homeless or dead from an overdose if Seb hadn’t given him a second chance when he relapsed.
I let their words drift away and fade into the sound of the ocean, keeping my distance from their grief before I drown in it. I tie the final knot and sever the thread with my teeth.
Morgan speaks last. Maybe he was waiting for me to finish, but I don’t know where to stand or if he even wants me with him, so I follow his gaze to the ocean.
“Seb, you made me your brother, and showed me what it was like to be a family. A real family. Not people connected only by blood and a last name. I don’t know where I would be right now if you hadn’t opened your home to me.
You took care of people like that. It’s so rare.
” His voice breaks. “Without you here, I feel like I’m on my own again. I wish I could have saved you. I wish…”
I tug Morgan into a hug. He stiffens at first, which kills me, but then he hugs me back as tightly as when he tried to stop the ocean from taking me, and buries his face in my neck, shoulders shaking with smothered tears.
The Briar sways gently beneath our feet, and a star-filled sky glows overhead, reminding me of the night we danced on Briar’s deck.
Our life was just beginning then. But now Seb’s gone, and our marriage is ending, and I want to go back to that night. I want to go back to before Seb died.
“You’re not on your own.” Wes squeezes Morgan’s shoulder. “We’re your family.”
The others agree. I wish I could too, but I’m the reason he feels so alone.
Morgan pulls away from me first, avoiding my gaze, and brushes the tears from his cheeks with a frustrated sweep of his fingertips. “Thanks.”
I feel so empty, the weight of Seb’s bag of artifacts comforts me, but soon my hands will be just as empty. I clear my throat. “You guys ready?”
“You don’t want to say anything?” Morgan asks.
I shake my head, avoiding his gaze. “The things I need to say are between me and my brother.”
There’s no point in making any grand farewells. Seb’s not here. He can’t hear me. When people talk to the dead, they’re unburdening themselves, but my guilt and abject loss can’t be put in a canvas bag and thrown overboard; it’s stitched into my heart. I’ll carry it forever.
But if Seb were here, if he could hear me, I’d apologize for letting him down, for how I’ve hurt his son, and my husband. I’d tell him how utterly fucked up I am now that he’s gone, and how much I wish I had drowned. I’d offer to trade places with him. No. I wouldn’t offer. I would beg.
I would thank him for raising me, for taking care of me when I was sick, for defending me from my dad’s disappointment, and protecting me from his method of punishment, especially when he drank.
I’d thank him for teaching me everything he knew about crab fishing so I’d always have a way to take care of myself, for nursing my injuries, for bringing me my husband.
But he’s not here.
“Wait. Not yet,” Morgan says. “Finn wants to watch.” He pulls out his phone, and calls Shay. “We’re ready. Alright, Finn. Are you sure you want to do this? Okay.” Morgan turns his phone around, and Finn’s face glows out from the screen.
I’m really glad he felt up to joining us. He wasn’t sure when we talked a few hours ago.
“Hey, Uncle Cole! Hey, guys.”
I plaster on a smile and wave. “Hey, Finn! Miss you, kid.”
Finn smiles thinly as the guys greet him. I should have stayed home this season like Morgan planned. Fuck fishing. Finn needs us.
“Did you remember to put the boat in, Uncle Mor?” Finn asks.
“Yep,” Morgan says.
“And the mittens? I don’t want Daddy to be cold.”
“And the book and letter to go with it.”
Our view of Finn cartwheels out of his hands and lands on the floor, giving us a view of the ceiling at Seb’s house.
“Whoops!” Finn says, appearing upside down. Next, we get a closeup of his hand, before he’s back on the sofa again. He straightens his spine, then looks away and back. It’s an uncanny imitation of Seb’s body language when he tried to mask his fear. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Let me talk to Finn real fast.” I swipe the phone from Morgan, and pass him Seb’s bag, then take Finn on a field trip to the forepeak.
“Uncle Cole?”
“Sorry.” I close the door, shutting out the noise of the ocean. “I just wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
“When I was little, I was scared of a lot of things, but your daddy always made me feel brave.”
“How?” Finn whispers, eyes glinting with curiosity the same way they do whenever I volunteer information about Seb.
“He’d say, ‘Look at me. Do I look scared?’ and I’d always say no, even if he did.” I laugh. “Then he’d tell me, ‘Don’t be scared. I’ll take care of you,’ and he always did.”
Finn gasps. “He told me that too!”
I smile. “I thought he might have.” My smile fades. “I’m feeling a little scared right now.”
“Me too.”
“Do you want me to say it? Maybe we’ll both feel braver.”
He nods.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, and channel Seb. “Don’t be scared. I’ll take care of you.”
Seb’s words provide me little comfort now that he’s gone, but my comfort wasn’t the point. Finn’s was. It’s my turn to be brave and take care of Finn the way Seb did.
I swallow hard. “Thanks, Finny. I think that helped. You?”
He nods. “Thanks, Uncle.”
“Anytime.” I wish I could hug him. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
Fear creeps back in as I cross the deck, and trade Morgan’s phone for Seb’s bag.
I’m terrified to say goodbye to Seb, but I can’t hide from my feelings anymore.
I have to face the pain of losing him. Silent tears streak down my cheeks, snatched by the wind, masked by the mist, as I walk to the rail my brother jumped from to save me.
The sound of the ocean fades, replaced by Seb’s voice whispering countless memories, some seemingly inconsequential that meant everything to me.
Haircuts and bedtime stories. The stupid fights we had when we were kids.
The half-asleep come here when I had a nightmare and asked if I could sleep with him.
The proud way he handed me his son, all bundled in blankets, and said: This is Finn.
I wait for a wave to gather, then drop the bag in. The ocean rises to meet it, taking the bag gently. There’s no splash. No sound. It’s just gone. Like Seb.
“Bye, Daddy,” Finn says.
Morgan turns the phone off speaker, and walks a few steps away.
“Rest easy, brother,” Lawrence says, voice thick.
Javi stands solemnly beside him, strong and unmoving. Wes passes Alejo the bottle of gin, and rubs his back. When Seb died, I abandoned them, but they rebuilt our fractured family without me. I’m thankful.
“It’s okay to be sad,” Morgan murmurs into the phone, blocking his other ear with his finger. “I’m sad too.”
A pause.
“I miss him too,” Morgan says. “You did a great job. I’m proud of you.
Your daddy would be too.” Another pause.
“I love you. Call me if you need to talk. Even if it’s the middle of the night...
Okay, I will. Goodnight, Finn.” He pockets his phone, and looks at me, forehead wrinkled quizzically. “Finn asked you to call him.”
“Okay. I’m going to ring the bell. I’ll call him after.”
“Cole, wait,” Morgan says.
“I want to do this one by myself.” I climb the metal staircase to the wheelhouse, and stop in front of the bell beside the door.
I ring the bell once, twice, three times, then four, continuing until I reach the eighth and final one, indicating the end of a sailor’s watch.