13. You Forget the Big Picture
You Forget the Big Picture
MATTHEW
It’s a tense few minutes here on the boat. I’m white-knuckling the railing and holding my breath whenever I notice the tiniest shift in the current or movement of the rope.
Suddenly, the surface of the water bursts open. Lillian gasps for air, and then she coughs, water sputtering from her mouth. The skin of her face is pale, her lips blue.
“Pull her in! Come on!” I instruct the guys while getting up on the edge of the railing, straddling one leg over the side so the second I get my hands on her, I’ll alleviate the strain of the rope.
I don’t fucking care about the cold water.
When you’ve lived in a place like this your whole life, cold is all there is.
There are various levels of cold, and the bitterness of the water is only one version. I’m used to it.
Lillian reaches for my hand, and I take it.
“I got you. Come on.” As I pull, I realize she’s got no strength left. I hang a bit farther off the side and slide my arm under hers to get a better grip. “That’s it. I got you.”
Between the three of us, we get her up onto the deck again. I sit her down quickly, pull her hood down from over her ears, and take the piece of equipment from her hand.
“Careful,” she chokes out, reaching after the metal tube before coughing again.
She’s fighting for her life, and she’s worried about the sample? The priorities of this girl. I place the tube down carefully on the bench beside me.
We need to get her warm as fast as possible, especially if shock is setting in.
She continues to cough. I pat her back hard to dislodge any water in her lungs.
“That’s it. Get it out,” I tell her.
While I attend to Lillian, Tuma and Jesse rush off to get blankets and towels, then put on some hot water for tea.
There’s an order of operations to something like this, one we’re all familiar with.
We’ve all nearly fallen victim to hypothermia at some time in our fishing careers. It’s just a part of the job.
Except watching Lillian struggling strikes fear in my chest. I am awash with guilt that I didn’t protect her. I should have insisted I go down instead. I shouldn’t have let her.
“You w-w-weren’t kidding. It’s f-uhhh-cking cold,” she says, trying to smile through her chattering teeth.
Despite my concern, I laugh and touch her cheek. I’m surprised by the action myself, but Lillian leans into my touch and grabs onto my wrist. “You got what you came for?”
She nods, trying to form more words.
“It’s okay. Don’t talk.” I start working on the knot. “We have to get you into dry clothes.”
Lillian’s chest heaves as I work. “I g-got you all wet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her and add with a smile, “Hazard of the job.”
She traps me there with a smile of her own. “Thank you, Matt.”
I could make her blue lips turn pink again if I do what I want to. But it’s not the time, and it’s definitely not the place.
But if it was, I’d kiss her. I’d kiss the hell out of her.
After Lillian is back to a stable temperature in the cab, we head to a good location to put out a gillnet. She insists sooner than I’d like that she’s warm because she wants to watch us work. “I promise I won’t get in the way.”
And she doesn’t. She watches, quiet and unmoving, almost like she isn’t here.
Almost.
Because from time to time, I am drawn to look back at her. Sometimes she’s taking in the scenery, and other times she’s watching the work with a pinched expression. And on a couple of occasions, she’s looking at me.
We get a few fish in the net and pull ‘em in. Some sockeye, which are almost out of season, but a couple of arctic char and coho, too. Not as many as we’d like.
That’s for sure. I take one and hold it out for Lillian to inspect and take notes on.
She talks to it sweetly as she takes some photos and admires its silver coloring.
“Alright. Done trying to make a pet of it?” Jesse growls from his corner. He’s been on pretty good behavior since Lillian’s dive, but now that she’s not close to freezing to death anymore, he’s got his sour attitude again.
Lillian watches as I hand over the fish to Tuma to be cleaned and scaled.
“Um, we usually eat a couple,” I explain to Lillian. “Boat food, you know. I don’t know if you’re a vegetarian or something, but?—”
“I’m not. I’ve tried, but . . .” She smiles sheepishly. “It’s just too restricting for me. I try to eat food that’s been sustainably sourced and?—”
“So, you’ll have some?” I ask.
She shyly lifts one shoulder. “What could be more sustainable than eating a fish I just watched you catch?”
I’m hit with a confusing wave of pride. Like I’ve done something right in her eyes.
I give a quick nod. “Have it ready in a jiff.”
Boat food is simple. Rice and fish. Filling, stick to your ribs food.
And yet, as I work in the galley to whip it together, I wish I had something to make it a bit more.
Because Lillian seems like a woman who expects more.
And why wouldn’t she? She’s from Los Angeles, one of those cities where “excess” should be in the name.
Why wouldn’t she want more if she can have more?
Still, though, I’ve got two hungry sailors to attend to, and given their mostly good behavior, I don’t want to get them on my case. Salmon and rice it is.
I’m shy as I hand Lillian her bowl of white rice and salmon chunks. “It’s not much, but?—”
“Smells amazing,” she says, taking the bowl.
“That’s what’s amazing about fresh fish,” Tuma muses as I hand him a bowl. “It’s not fishy at all. It has a sweet smell.”
“Mm, yes. It does.”
I settle on a crate across the deck from Lillian, and though my stomach is screaming for sustenance, I wait for her to take her first bite.
When she does, her face turns from curious to something akin to relief.
“Oh, my gosh. That’s so good.” She takes another bite.
“So fresh. I’ve never had fish this fresh. ”
“Not even in California?” Jesse asks, judgment flaring in the final word.
“I mean, maybe you can get it on a fishing boat in California but . . .” Lillian shakes her head. “I’ve never had anything like this.”
I’m way more smug than I probably deserve to be for a bowl of white rice and salmon. I’ll take it though. Anything I can do to please her.
God, I’m a mess.
“Thank you,” she says, her eyes pinned to mine. “For everything, but you know, for catching and cooking it. This is truly such a special experience for me.”
Meals with us guys are quiet. We tuck in, we eat a lot, and we eat it fast. But Lillian’s voice adds to the usual soundtrack of water lapping at the boat and soft breezes.
“I think Alaska is probably one of the only places that most people understand what the earth offers them. That’s why I was so excited to take an assignment up here.
In the city, you’re focused so much on yourself and what you’re doing that you don’t think about what the world around you is offering .
. . or what you might be taking away from it. ”
“You grew up in Michigan though,” I point out. “That must have been different from Los Angeles.”
Lillian throws a hand up. “It’s different, sure. But it’s not like everyone knows a farmer or engages daily with nature the way you all do. Everyone here knows a fisherman, right?”
“Couldn’t swing a cat and not hit one,” Tuma says.
“Exactly. You’re all engaged with the process in some way or another, whether by practice or association.
You all get it.” Lillian stops and takes a few bites.
“I want to feel that way more often. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in all the details, that you forget .
. .” Her eyes connect with mine. “You forget the big picture.”
By the time we get back to the harbor, the day has been long, and yet, I don’t want it to end.
I’m not ready for Lillian to walk off my boat.
I want to get lost in her thoughts for hours.
All day and all night. When was the last time I stayed up all night doing something as frivolous as talking with a woman?
Over a decade, that’s for sure. I’ve dated here and there, sure.
But a fisherman’s life doesn’t leave a lot of time to give to someone else.
Someone who wants to be with me has to make sacrifices, and I haven’t found that person.
The one who will make the sacrifices because I’m worth it.
It’s a two-way street, of course, but the one thing I can’t sacrifice is my work.
It’s too much for people. Everyone needs me to meet them halfway, and the best I can do is a quarter.
Even less now that the coho counts are down.
When we pull back up to the dock, I send the guys off to do their closing tasks and make sure the boat is in shape for the next trip. They both say their goodbyes to Lillian, leaving the two of us alone. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to.”
I point at her backpack which is the size of an adolescent ape. “You’re going to carry this thing all the way back to your car?”
“I’m a strong woman!” she shoots back, a smile plain on her face.
I back away from the bag. “So, you want to carry it?”
Lillian eyes it, then shakes her head, pieces of her auburn hair framing her face.
I pull the heavy thing over my shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”
After helping her onto the dock, we plod toward the parking lot. I’m slow partly out of exhaustion and partly trying to squeeze every moment I can out of today.
Lillian lets out a weary sigh. “I think I could sleep for days.”
“After the way you swam today, I understand why.”
“You really weren’t kidding. That was a hard swim.”
“Glad I had you tied up, huh?”
Lillian’s eyes widen.
“I, uh, didn’t mean?—”
She laughs. “You’re so funny when you get flustered.”
I scratch the back of my neck. I didn’t know I was the flustered type, but when it comes to her . . .
“I’m glad you had me tied up, Matt.”
Dammit.
“I mean, I clearly needed it,” she adds, bringing me back to the reality that I had her wrapped up in a rope to keep her alive, not for . . . not for any other reason.
“This is me,” she says, gesturing toward the hulking Chevy.
I unload the bag into the truck bed and let out a sigh. “Well, give me a call if you need me to unload that for you later.”
Lillian smiles. “I just might.”
It isn’t really a joke. If she calls, I’ll come running.
“It was cool to see you in your element. With the guys.”
I slide my hands into my pockets to keep from doing something awkward with them. “Well, thanks. I’m sorry Jesse can’t get his head out of his own ass.”
“I thought he was just fine. And hopefully now he’s a bit softer on me too.”
“I’m sure he is,” I say, although maybe I’m getting that confused with the way I’m feeling.
Lillian touches the door handle before pausing. “I’ll make sure PMI sends off payment to you ASAP.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Of course. That was the deal.”
“When do you want to go out again?” I ask.
Lillian’s tiredness evaporates and turns into warm hope. “You want to do it again?”
I want to do lots again with Lillian, and some other stuff for the first time too. “You’re not done with your research, are you?”
“No, but I didn’t want to assume. I know how you’re sticking your neck out for me.”
I step a bit closer and lower my voice. You never know who might be around. Who they’ll talk to; what they’ll say. “Don’t let my dad get in your head. He’s a hardass, and he’s . . . he’s not me.” I swallow. “I want to help.”
Her cheeks dimple with her smile. “Cool. Then, I’d like that.”
“Cool.”
“Give me a couple of days with the data. And to recover.”
I chuckle. “Sure, sure. Top of next week, maybe?”
We work out the details, anticipation and excitement bubbling under our words. When all is said and done, Lillian climbs into her truck, gives me a wave, and drives off.
I stand in the gravel parking lot for a while, tracing the sole of my foot over the rocks, trying to gather myself before I go back to the boat. No matter how much time passes, though, my chest still tickles and my cheeks are flushed.
I think about how badly I want to kiss her for the rest of the day. I dream about it too.
If I haven’t hit the point of no return with Lillian, I’m pretty damn close.