16. I Need You to Climb Up
I Need You to Climb Up
LILLIAN
Icling to Matt’s hand. It is the only thing in the world other than the storm. The only thing that can keep me steady.
More than once, the skiff becomes almost perpendicular to the water, and I’m afraid we’ll be thrown into Bristol Bay.
My only saving grace is Matt. He’s coolheaded and seemingly unconcerned.
I think back to what he said, that the only time he isn’t thinking is when he’s on the water.
And the reason I understand is because I get it.
When you know something well, it’s a part of you, engrained in your every movement and thought.
So, I trust him to get me to the Bristol Belle safe.
Even if I see my life flash before my eyes at least three times.
As we pass Pilot Point, the heavens open up above us and water pours in sheets. I can barely keep my eyes open. I want to curl closer to Matt and press myself into his back, but I can’t move a muscle. I’m barely breathing.
When we emerge from the mouth of the Ugashik, the waters get even rougher.
I can see the Bristol Belle like a mirage on the horizon. She, too, is getting tossed on the water, and though she’s meant for such things, I fear for her life as much as mine.
“Hold on!” Matt shouts out over his shoulder at me, water beading through his beard.
He has to remove his hand from mine, and I lose all sense of stillness. I grab onto my seat, bracing my feet against the bottom of the inflatable skiff. I realize that suddenly, the thing could pop, and we’d be lost to the sea.
Don’t panic, I tell myself. I close my eyes and let my stomach settle into the rolling, unpredictable waves beneath us.
You’ll be fine. Matt has it under control.
I keep my head down as I am pummeled by rainwater. The chill aches down to my bones. Sea water sloshes into the bottom of the boat, soaking my socks.
The skiff’s motor starts to slow. I look up, thankful to find we are approaching the stern of the Bristol Belle.
That’s a difficult task when the skiff is bobbing and so is the gillnetter.
But we’re so close to safety . . . or some semblance of safety.
Because the gillnetter might be bigger than the skiff, but it still pales in comparison to the research boats I’ve been on.
I’ve never been on a boat so small. Never been in a storm this huge. Put them together, and what do you get?
Absolute terror.
With the throttle chugging low beneath the sound of the wind, Matt sits back on his haunches, reaching for the ladder. “I need you to climb up!” he shouts over his shoulder.
“What?” I shriek.
“You have to get up there and throw me the towline,” Matt says. “Come on, quick.”
I push myself up from my seat, my legs shaking, which isn’t helped by the swaying of the skiff. I fall back into my spot. “I can’t,” I say, for the first time in a long time genuinely believing it.
“Yes, you can,” he says. “The only other option is leaving you down here while I climb up, and I’m not going to do that.”
Matt clutches the ladder so hard the veins in the back of his hands pop out. “Lillian, look at me,” Matt says.
Through the torrent of rain, I meet his gaze. For a moment, the storm seems to let up. Whether it’s reality or a trick of the mind, it doesn’t matter. But staring at Matt, I’m hit with absolute calm. I believe him. I trust him.
“You’re going to go up there and grab the black towline and toss it to me,” he says firmly.
“What if I can’t find it?”
“It’s tied to a cleat. You can. You will.”
“But—”
He doesn’t give me another chance to protest. “Give me your hand.”
Matt takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, placing it onto the rung of the ladder. No going back now. I grab a rung farther up just as the boat rocks under me.
I scream.
Matt’s hand lands on the back of my thigh, squeezing to steady me. “I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere.”
Something steels inside me. Giving into the fear means losing time, which means threatening not just my safety but Matt’s. And I’ll be damned if something happens to him because I’m a coward.
I’m not a coward.
I heft myself up the ladder, not even flinching when my shoe slips against the metal.
“There you go,” Matt calls out after me.
His encouragement propels me faster as a strange combination of bravery and excitement washes over me. In seemingly no time at all, I’m on the deck, my sea legs stalwart under me.
I hear him shout to me again, but the words are lost under the sound of the storm.
The black towline is just as Matt said, tied off to a cleat, even though the coiled towline has shimmied out of place like a snake.
I grab it, nearly falling into the railing with the movement of the boat.
“I’ve got it!” I scream, peering over the side of the boat.
“Throw it down!” he yells.
I toss the end of the towline down and watch as Matt manages to coil it around his arm, calm under pressure. Astonishing. The way he moves is like he’s in a ballet. Tying off the boat, he manages to pull himself up the ladder, despite the fact the skiff has drifted to a strange angle.
I reach for him without thinking, clutching at his wet jacket and pulling. I’m probably not doing much, but I’m desperate to get him on board.
Matt manages to leap over the railing, right into my arms. He grabs my shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine, I’m—” I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“You need to get down below, alright?” he says. “It’s not safe out here with the?—”
“I’m not going to leave you up here alone!” I yell.
The weather takes that very moment to say, fuck you. Blinding lightning strikes close, and the thunder claps loudly in my ears. The boat rocks again, my grip slipping off Matt as I tumble backward.
But he’s quicker than the tumbling Bristol Bay waters. He sweeps me up against his chest with a free arm, keeping us upright by steadying himself on the railing.
“Goddammit, Lillian, if you’re out here, I’m going to have to worry about you, too!”
Our bodies are flush. And while I’m wet and cold and terrified, Matt’s body pressed to mine is impossibly hot.
Through gritted teeth, Matt keeps his eyes on mine as he instructs, “Now, please go inside, okay?”
I agree through a trembling voice. “A-alright.”
Matt’s arm relaxes just a bit. “I’ve got it taken care of, I promise. Just let me do my job. I’ll be able to do it better knowing you’re safe.”
I nod. It makes sense. I hate feeling useless, but now is not the time to assert my competence.
“This is what I know how to do best, Lillian. Trust me.”
I take a moment to cross the deck and step up into the wheelhouse, sliding the door shut against the wind and water.
There’s an eating nook across from the steering wheel, two benches facing each other, and beyond that, down some small stairs, the sleeping quarters.
Wooden bunks the size of coffins. I slide onto the bench and sit, clinging to the table as the boat rocks.
Closer to the boat’s center of gravity, the likelihood of seasickness is lower, but not zero.
And after the ride in the skiff, and now being stuck on the rolling sea, I’m queasy.
I spend the time willing my stomach to settle and focusing on Matt’s footsteps overhead.
Whenever he pauses, my anxiety flares until he moves again, reassuring me he hasn’t been tossed overboard.
Time passes. Grueling seconds turn into arduous minutes.
Suddenly, the door above bursts open, and the sound of the storm roars into the cabin. It takes me a second to realize it wasn’t the wind. I look up, but before I can see clearly, Matt answers my unspoken question.
“It should be okay in a minute or two,” he says, not looking up from the helm. He’s tense with concentration, steering the boat through the last of the storm. His hair is soaked, flattened, and dripping water down his forehead.
As promised, things calm down. The boat jerks less, and the floor evens out beneath me. I hadn’t realized just how tightly I was bracing every muscle in my body or how hard my heart was pounding, like the force of a fist against my chest.
I can breathe again.
I have more mental clarity for thoughts that don’t have to do with survival now, and the first thought upon seeing Matt slick with rainwater is . . . damn, he looks sexy. Not only is he sexy for knowing what he’s doing, but he’s also sexy while doing it.
As if hearing my thoughts about him, Matt glances my way. I smile and look out the window, so as not to betray my wandering mind.
We’ve outpaced the storm just enough to get more visibility.
I realize we’re going down the river farther, not following the coast back up the bay.
We move in silence, other than the sound of the storm and the taut, heavy breaths Matt lets out from time to time until he mutters, “Should be deep enough.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about until the bow of the boat turns toward the entrance of a slim creek on our right. “We’re going to go down there?”
He continues maneuvering the boat, already confident in his choice. “Safest option while we wait out the storm. I mean, we could stay on the river, but the reduced current will be welcomed if we remain here overnight.”
Overnight. I hadn’t even thought about that.
The ride down here was already hours long, nearly half a day.
Of course, there’s no way we’re getting back to Naknek.
Unless Matt drives us through the night, and I wouldn’t ask that of him.
Still, though, staying on the boat overnight prompts many questions.
Navigating into the creek turns out to be much less dramatic than I anticipate. Matt stops and starts frequently, stepping onto the deck and returning several times before settling, only to decide it’s still not quite right. I offer to help, but Matt only says, “Leave it to me.”
He doesn’t sound like a man who thinks a woman couldn’t handle the work. It’s just that he’s got it taken care of. He’s not going to let me struggle. He’s got this.